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![]() What Would Hergé Do? Illustrating "The Lives of Others" with Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck
It was only appropriate to confirm with the six-foot-nine German
director Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck that he is indeed the world's
tallest working film director, with a name that is almost the horizontal
equivalent of the vertical stature mentioned in every single interview
published with him.
"Michael Crichton?" von Donnersmarck asks as he slides onto the
nearby couch. Reportedly, they're the same height--just over two meters.
For a conversation about his first feature, "The Lives of Others" (Die
Lieben der Anderen), a controlled, suspenseful, paranoid delight, it
seemed the right comic note, heightened a few minutes later when I
discovered my tape recorder wasn't working (luckily, my cell phone could
do the job instead).
Set in East Germany in the early 1980s, several years before the fall
of the Berlin Wall, "The Lives of Others" tracks two lives. Captain
Gerd Weisler (Ulrich Muhe, "Funny Games"), an agent of the Stasi, the
secret police which held the goal "to know everything" about the
citizenry, takes up residence with banks of tape recorders in the attic
above the flat of more-socialist-than-thou but vulnerable playwright
Georg Dreyman (Sebastian Koch) and his actress girlfriend Christa-Maria
Sieland (Martina Gedeck). "Our only non-subversive writer who is read
in the West," harrumphs one of the artistic commissars.
Muhe's minimalist performance is marvelous (even if you do not know
that as a young actor in East Germany, he was spied upon by Stasi), with
subtle fluctuations in his role as a watcher, a noticer, as a spy, but
like an artist or a voyeur or a movie reviewer. There are layers of
timeless parable throughout, and "The Lives of Others" is an exemplar
of how ideas can be explored with more emotional immediacy and even
authenticity in fiction than in documentary.
There is a moment indicative of how the directness and simplicity of
the 33-year-old veteran of several shorts' design functions: soon after
Weisler has moved into place, he tries to imagine Dreyman's entire life
through sound alone. ("Presumably, intercourse follows," he notes to
his superiors after conversation stills between the couple.) The twenty
minutes or so it took to wire the apartment for sound is the only visual
reference that Weisler has, and von Donnersmarck shows him chalking the
floor to indicate the rooms below, trying to make visual a world that is
only in his mind, but also functioning like a set designer or director
in the theater blocking out an as-yet unfinished representation of
reality. It's not obtrusive, lovely in its own way, and it echoes even a
few days after seeing the film. Another directorial touch: shots that
are intercut between the observer and the observed, as an almost
continuous set of motions that suggest their interlocked tanz, a tango
of suspicion, but one that also causes Weisler to begin questioning, how
does a patriot act?
Spending part of his childhood in New York, and a graduate in
philosophy from Oxford, von Donnersmarck's English is strong, and
despite the art-house trappings of his taut, compelling first feature,
he's interested in other genres, and in particular, several studio
filmmakers, especially Robert Zemeckis and Peter Weir. I'd brought up
Weir because of the quiet intricacy of the sound design, and he
continued by championing Zemeckis. (He's told other interviewers he
wouldn't mind making a broad comedy or a horror picture, but didn't want
to be pigeonholed at the start of his career as a genre specialist.)
Zemeckis, he suggests, is a great and misunderstood artist because his
work is "democratic"--texts that function as quiet and unassertive
craft with depths of subtext that can be read differently by multiple
audiences.
We talked as well about a subplot that introduces the name of Bertolt
Brecht, the playwright and idealist whose years in East Germany surely
disappoints the hopes he had for the potential of some sort of socialist
utopia. His poetry, von Donnersmarck says, demonstrates the sort of
artistic confidence he would like to attain, and I suggested that there
is a sardonic and pragmatic side to the poetry that's harder to find in
his drama. Speaking of production design, von Donnersmarck cites another
confident artist in underlining his belief that subtraction is always
the way when designing a setting or a frame. "Do you know who Hergé is?
The man who drew Tintin? I always ask, `What would Hergé do?'" "The Lives of Others" opens Friday.
Also by Ray Pride Under Privilege
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Mister Dominick, tear down this wall!
What Goes Unsaid
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Iraq 'n' Roll
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Teenage Wasteland
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