Papas Cinema is Dead

I. Birth

The beginnings of New German Cinema can be traced back to a single page, published in the journal Filmstudio in 1962. Brief and characteristically subversive, it summed the Oberhausen Manifesto up in a few broken lines.

Papas cinema

is dead mani

festo of the yo

ung 1962 ho

pe or

disaster

(Rentschler, E. 2012)

The youth of West Germany were coming together, solidifying behind their new ideologies like water exposed to the cold. ‘Students began to protest at their universities and in the streets, their movement served as the vehicle for the generation’s frustrations with a nation that, rebuilt after the war, failed to live up to the promises of its architects.’ (Day, M. 2021) The rebellious left needed an outlet, and they found it, coddled in the palm of their parents, they found cinema.

The signatories of the Oberhausen Manifesto despised West German film of the time, finding it commercialised and lacking intellectually, as well as being isolated from other art forms and the political consciousness of their peers. With this negativity about the state of the cinema being made, came a natural positivity around West Germany’s cinematic future. The new filmmakers looked around at other European countries like France, Italy, and Poland, and realised, if the previous generation would not confront themselves, then it was in the hands of the next generation to do so. More than most countries there was a generational dispute, on the back of the Second World war in West Germany. “A lot of the politics of a reckoning, or a mastering, or a coming to terms with fascism, had played out in relation to family politics, really, and the question ‘what were you doing in the war?’ takes on a certain colouring.” (Barnes, H. 2017.) Therefore, it was not surprising for the signatories to claim that papa was dead, and on the back of the government funded conservative and tame films of the fifties, the Oberhausen Manifesto named three main things to strive for:

‘(1) free film from its intellectual isolation in the Federal Republic; (2) militate against the dictates of a strictly commercial orientation operative in the film industry today; (3) allow for conditions which make film aware of its public responsibility and, consequently, in keeping with this responsibility, to seek appropriate themes: film should embrace social documentation, political questions, educational concerns, and filmic innovations, matters all but impossible under the conditions that have governed film production.’ (McCormick, R. Guenther-Pal, A. 2004)

Out of discontent, came art, and out of that art came some of the finest cinema of Germany or, even, Europe as a whole. The aims of the Oberhausen Manifesto framed the scene, and a new filmic voice was born, highly original and unyielding in its desire to converse and be conversed with. New German cinema would become a part of the wider discussion of European film, but first they would have to make films worthy of it. For all their talk, now was the time for action.

II. Hope or Disaster

One of the signatories on the manifesto was Alexander Kluge. His first feature film garnered international acclaim and critical approval, becoming a marquee film in the beginnings of New German Cinema. Yesterday Girl (Kluge, A. 1966) is based on the story Anita G (Kluge, A. 1962) following an East German immigrant living in West Germany and the maltreatment of such a person during the time period. The film comments on social and political ideology, therefore directly correlating with the third point of the Oberhausen Manifesto, and it also views the world from an East German perspective therefore extricating itself from the confines of the Federal Republic. However, Kluge was looking around at the landscape of West German cinema as a whole and finding himself incredibly disillusioned with the climate.

In that statement, released in the 1962 Spring edition of Filmstudio, there is one phrase that stood out to Kluge, it seems. ‘Hope or disaster’. What had begun so vehemently hopeful, had began to wane. There was only one director latching onto the Oberhausen aims, only Kluge himself seemed to be attempting to make something in line with the original intentions. These frustrations would manifest themselves into his next film: Artists Under the Big Top: Perplexed (Kluge, A. 1968).

In an interview about this film, Kluge said: ‘I made the film under the direct impression of the student revolution… High up in the dome of the circus, the artists cannot react to the inhumanity of the world, and below on the ground, the clowns and circus workers can’t even begin to get the idea to start a revolution, to put in lots of effort and to change the world. So, what to do?’ (Cutler, A. 2016) Artists Under the Big Top: Perplexed (Kluge, A. 1968) follows Leni Peickert, she is a circus owner who yearns to create a new kind of circus, failing despite her efforts. One could reasonably discern that the circus represents New German Cinema at the time, and Leni is Kluge himself, desperately trying to stimulate creativity and push their respective art forms, yet unable to inspire any true progress from their literal and metaphorical clowns at their disposal. It would take nearly a decade from the signatories signing off on their manifesto of a New German Cinema, for a community to begin to spring up, and from it, three kings would emerge, to eclipse even Kluge himself in the furthering of West German film, bringing hope where there was so nearly disaster.

III. Three Kings Bearing Gifts

By the middle of the seventies New German Cinema was in full swing and the key members of the movement had become evident. In 1971 Werner Herzog made the documentary Land of Silence and Darkness (Herzog, W. 1971) about deaf-blind people in West Germany, namely Fini Straubinger who Herzog met on his previous film, and their experiences with their disabilities. It was the first real success story concerning a New German director covering social issues. Tender and poignantly beautiful, the film does not seek to condescend, but rather, to highlight and inform via a medium entirely inaccessible to deaf-blind people, but perfectly capable of conveying their disabilities to an someone who would struggle to fathom being without two of their senses. Land of Silence and Darkness (Herzog, W. 1971) marked the first film of stylistic substance for Herzog, and for New German Cinema. In an interview about his previous documentary Handicapped Future (Herzog, W. 1971) he described the work as ‘in no way stylized’ (Cronin, P. 2002) and ‘dangerously conventional’ (Cronin, P. 2002). New German Cinema lacks a visual style, but this could almost be considered its style. Based in the Oberhausen belief system that values filmic innovation and real substantial subject matter that disputes and disregards commercialism, it resolutely refuses to brand itself and therefore is one of the stronger cases for auteur theory in all of Europe. As Herzog said discussing Land of Silence and Darkness (Herzog, W. 1971), ‘maybe there are some related ideas in my work, those connecting lines in this tightly woven fabric that is Herzog's body of work. Though I cannot be sure of this, I do know one thing. Let's say you turn on the television and see ten seconds of a film. You would immediately know that this must be one of my films.’ (Cronin, P. 2002)

In 1974, Rainer Werner Fassbinder cemented New German Cinema’s reputation for confronting social issues when he released the film Fear Eats the Soul (Fassbinder, RW. 1974). Considered by some to be nothing more than a shock jock, Fassbinder provided an earnest, heart-felt, even naively optimistic film with Fear Eats the Soul (Fassbinder, RW. 1974). Migration to West Germany, including many asylum seekers displaced by the second world war, had become extremely popular from 1950 onwards, leading to a resentment toward immigrants in retaliation. “In the late 1970s, societal debates on integration and the question of when the immigrants would return to their origin countries arose. Supposed problems and disadvantages of migration dominated the debate: migrant workers were presented as “not integrable”; furthermore, the growing number of war refugees who received asylum in West Germany was problematised.” (Manthe, B. 2020) Within this increasingly tense political climate, Fassbinder made a love story. The story of Emmi, a German pensioner, and Ali, the Moroccan migrant that she falls in love with was, one could argue, one of Fassbinder’s most shocking works, at least to the public at the time. Once again, following in the footsteps of the Oberhausen Manifesto, it embraced the thematic richness and intellectuality that the signatories so desired. It confronted the Federal Republic head on, unflinching in its message. What makes migrant workers ‘not integrable, Fassbinder is seemingly saying as every character around Emmi treats her and Ali with either fury or disgust, is not the migrants but the West German public, that even after the horrors of the Second World War, refuse to look inward when in search of problems.

While Fassbinder was looking inwardly, another promising young New German director, began to look outside of the Federal Republic and, further still, outside of Europe entirely. When it comes to the freeing of film from its intellectual isolation no one looked further than Wim Wenders. Alice in the Cities (Wenders, W. 1974) follows Philip Winter, a German journalist in the United States, who ends up responsible for a young girl when her mother disappears. It converses with the giant country in its own language, the traditional American road film. Wenders’ film is a critique on commercialism, portraying the United States as a soulless, brainwashed society, whilst also criticising Germany for their eager adoption of Americanisms, of a Germany framed by the music and images of the United States, a precursor to the commercialism that must follow such a thing. At one point Winter destroys the television in his hotel room when the commercials begin to play as an obvious attack on the culture. Herzog touched on this later in his 2002 interview saying: ‘The biggest danger, in my opinion, is television because to a certain degree it ruins our vision and makes us very sad and lonesome. Our grandchildren will blame us for not having tossed hand-grenades into TV stations because of commercials. Television kills our imagination and what we end up with are worn-out images because of the inability of too many people to seek out fresh ones.’ (Cronin, P. 2002) It becomes clear, then, that, whether directly or not, the directors of New German Cinema are linked by one thing, the Oberhausen manifesto and its aims. For what they lack in visual and stylistic coherence, they make up for in theme and in willingness to broach the subjects that no one else wants to. It took three kings to successfully create what Kluge and the rest of the signatories desired, yet still there is one more masterpiece to consider. Still, West Germany must look upon itself and confront its fascist past, if it is to avoid a fascist future.

IV. The Stage Behind an Iron Curtain

Imagine you are three years old. When you look around, you see the sordid affairs of your family. You see the ugliness of the growing Nazi party, rising in power, gaining in strength. You see the horror of growing. You see there is nothing to gain from maturity. Wouldn’t you decide not to grow? Wouldn’t you decide to stop?

That is the set up for The Tin Drum (Schlöndorff, V. 1979). Based on the Günter Grass novel of the same name, it follows Oskar, a young boy who decides to remain a child even as the years pass by. Oskar witnesses the Nazi’s rise to power and the subsequent war that followed. The film won the Palme d’Or at the 1979 Cannes film festival and was a huge hit in West Germany. Most importantly however it confronted the themes that the Oberhausen Manifesto strived so ambitiously for. Oskar represents, and is a critique of, the German public, who refused to mature and confront the horrors of their own nation throughout the war. Oskar can also be interpreted as the generation that made up the New German Cinema directors and the signatories of the Oberhausen Manifesto. Those that must always relate their early childhood to war and the question that so often permeated their minds when considering their parents: ‘What did you do during the war?’

The Tin Drum is a fitting conclusion to New German Cinema, still there were films to come, but the end drew near, and with it the great thematic shadow that hung over the generation that outlined the Oberhausen manifesto was confronted. The war was dealt with, papa’s cinema was dead, and it was time to find new films to make. It was time to grow up again.

V. In Memoriam

Rainer Werner Fassbinder died in 1982 of a cocaine and barbiturate overdose. New German Cinema would follow soon after, leaving behind a wide collection of beautiful and intellectual films and a question that one will attempt to answer in this final conclusionary paragraph.

Were the New German Cinema directors successful in their pursuit of the aims of the Oberhausen manifesto?

I want to say yes. They were thematically interesting and intellectual, touching on a wide range of themes. They broke free of the Federal Republic’s grip and conversed, through the medium, with other nations and filmmakers. They were never commercially bankrupt, never controlled by what would make money. The Oberhausen manifesto and its signatories may not have realised entirely what they would set off, however, when they signed their names below that statement. The New German directors were massively individual, and yet, whether because of the aims set out in the manifesto, or because of the general generational consciousness of the time, they were much more communal than their films might suggest.

Rainer Werner Fassbinder was 37 when he died, leaving behind over 40 feature films, two television series, three short films, four video productions, and 24 plays. Talking about his death Wim Wenders said: ‘I was leaving the station in Munich early in the morning after getting off the night train. I saw the headlines, then I sat on the station steps and cried like a baby for 10 minutes. Rainer worked himself to death. I was angry at him when I realised the amount of sleeping pills and uppers and downers he had taken. Anybody could have told him he couldn’t go on like that for ever.’ (Gilbey, R. 2022)

Perhaps nothing is supposed to go on forever, but only confront what came before, uncertain of what is to come but hopeful of being the ones to shape it.

Bibliography

McCormick, R. Guenther-Pal, A. (2004) German Essays on Film, P201- P206.

Rentschler, E. (2012) Declaration of Independents: The 50th Anniversary of the Oberhausen Manifesto. ARTFORUM. Available at https://www.artforum.com/print/201206/declaration-of-independents-the-50th-anniversary-of-the-oberhausen-manifesto-31100 (Accessed: 9 December 2022)

Day, M. (2021) Fassbinder and the Red Army Faction. Jacobin. Available at https://jacobin.com/2021/08/fassbinder-and-the-red-army-faction (Accessed: 9 December 2022)

Barnes, H. (2017) The BFI Podcast #10 – Herzog, Wenders and the New German Cinema. YouTube [Podcast]. 24 April. Available at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sLH39QJWmyQ (Accessed: 11 December 2022)

Kluge, A. (1966) Yesterday Girl. Available at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5WASAuz_p6E&t=360s (Accessed: 6 December 2022)

Kluge, A. (1962) Anita G.

Kluge, A. (1968) Artists Under the Big Top: Perplexed. Available at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bT5xOTArUOk (Accessed: 8 December 2022)

Cutler, A. (2016) “Man Can Do Anything”: Alexander Kluge On ‘Artists Under the Big Top: Perplexed’. Brooklyn. Available at https://www.bkmag.com/2016/10/19/kluge/ (Accessed: 8 December 2022)

Herzog, W. (1971) Land of Silence and Darkness. Available on BFI Player. (Accessed: 11 December 2022)

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Fassbinder, RW. (1974) Fear Eats the Soul. Available on BFI Player. (Accessed: 12 December 2022)

Manthe, B. (2020) Racist Violence in West Germany Before 1990. CARR. Available at https://www.radicalrightanalysis.com/2020/01/20/racist-violence-in-west-germany-before-1990/ (Accessed: 15 December 2022)

Wenders, W. (1974) Alice in the Cities. Available on BFI Player. (Accessed: 12 December 2022)

Schlöndorff, V. (1979) The Tin Drum. [DVD, NPD1017] France: Argos Films.

Grass, G. (1959) The Tin Drum.

Gilbey, R. (2022) Wim Wenders: ‘When Paris, Texas won Cannes it was terrible.’ Guardian. Available at https://www.theguardian.com/film/2022/jul/01/wim-wenders-when-paris-texas-won-cannes-it-was-terrible (Accessed: 15 December 2022)