Sophie Scholl – Die Letzten Tage (Interview with Mark Rothemund)

© Julia Shuvalova 2006-7

It is interesting to notice that in 2005 two film-makers looked at the ‘last days’ of a famous person. Gus Van Sant (Last Days) followed a man-who-looked-like-Kurt-Cobain, while Mark Rothemund (Sophie
Scholl – The Last Days) told the story of the emblematic figure of the German anti-fascist movement. One can more or less confidently say that both directors wanted to ‘demythologise’ their protagonists, but here the similarity between two films ends. Cobain’s death is still under the veil of mystery. Rothemund was more fortunate: his film is based on the newly discovered archival resources. The film had won two prizes at the Berlinale 2005 and was shortlisted for an Oscar in 2006.

Rothemund’s Sophie Scholl is one of several films about the Resistance group The White Rose in Munich that German directors had done in the past. Two other films included Die Weisse Rose and Fuenf letzte Tage, both filmed in 1982 and both starring Lena Stoltze as Sophie Scholl. Marc’s film, however, is a good treat to all students of the Second World War history, as his film is based on archival material and memories. The viewers are also in for the experience of almost palpable realism. The film is set in the same buildings, and the crew went the extra mile to obtain the weather reports for February 1943. Turned out, the weather was warm and sunny.

In brief, in mid-1942 several medical students began to print leaflets containing damning information on the Nazi atrocities at the front. The main five members were all men: Willi Graf, Christof Probst, Alexander Schmorell, Hans Scholl and Kurt Huber. By February 1943, five leaflets had already been distributed. It was on 18 February 1943 that Sophie, Hans’s sister, volunteered to help her brother to distribute the sixth leaflet at the University of Munich. Later that day they were captured, a quick trial followed, and on 22 February Hans and Sophie, together with Probst, were condemned to death and executed the same day.

Marc’s film is unique in that it is based on the previously unknown archival resources. In 2003 the Bundestag archives were opened that contained interrogation minutes for the White Rose trial. To his unvaining surprise, Rothemund was given a permission to photocopy those documents. The bigger surprise came when he began to read them: “On the first page I read: she was lying. She was saying: I did not lay there those leaflets. And I realised: this speaks a person who fights for her life”.

The painstaking process of research for the film, which included many interviews with friends and relatives of the White Rose members and of whose who were involved in the trial (like a son of Inspector Mohr), was carried out for a purpose. Despite the fact that in Germany Sophie Scholl has long been perceived as a hero, with time she became ‘like a monument, a martyr’. The interrogation minutes that surfaced in the Bundestag archives showed Sophie as a human being. Admittedly, they seem to have only further strengthened her heroism.

* * *

In the past few years Germany has shown a strong interest in bringing to screen the reflections on the Second World War. Following the success of the last days of Hitler’s clique in Der Untergang (2004), Rothemund presented a story of the last days of Sophie Scholl, a figure opposite to that of Hitler. In fact, however, both Der Untergang and Sophie Scholl are the part of the larger trend of the past several years. Together with Van Sant’s Last Days, and also such films as Ray and TV series Elvis Presley – The Early Years, one may notice an increased interest in the well-known people “the way they really were”. Hence we see Sophie Scholl who denies her distributing the leaflets; Ray Charles who suffers from drug addiction and hallucinations; Hitler and his gang who continue to uphold their “ideals” even when they have already been defeated.

This looks quite close to revelations of contemporary celebrities who are dying to prove that they are as ordinary the mortals, as anyone else. And yet Godard’s thesis from Notre Musique remains as true as ever: only imaginary is certain. Rothemund’s attempt to render Sophie of her “heroic” halo is well-understood and needs no justification. His research resulted in a sensitive script by Fred Breinersdorfer, who brilliantly reconstructed the drama of interrogation and the trial. The unintrusive yet attentive camerawork highlights the top performances from today’s leading German actors. However, heroic halo not only remains, it may even have become brighter, – because Sophie’s heroism is, after all, a fact. Rothemund’s achievement has been in making an attentive viewer realise that heroes are still human. They love life and perhaps even more so because they are prepared to die for it.

* * *

As we continue talking with Marc, I ask him exactly how he decided to become a film director. “I didn’t decide it”, he says. He is the son of a German TV director. “My parents divorced when I was very young, and I lived with my mother. When I wanted to see my father, I had to go and spend my holidays with him on the set. And it was then that I discovered what a great joy it is when in a team you make a movie”.

Learning the art of cinema from the very beginning was tough, but for Marc every stage was a challenge, to which he was keen to respond. Moving from a team assistant, ‘cooking hundreds of litres of coffee’, to a TV director and eventually to an assistant director on a big-budget film was a probing of his interest in cinema. His first feature was an acclaimed Love Scenes from the Planet Earth, which was followed by The Ants in the Pants (aka Only Two of Us) – a homage to the teenage comedies, like American Pie.

I ask Marc about his favourite film or director. His response comes in immediately: “Yes, I remember this because my parents got divorced when I was four or five years old and the first film to which I bought a ticket and went to see several times was Kramer against Kramer by Sydney Pollack, with Meryl Streep and Dustin Hoffman. It was just so real! But I also like Robert Altman and Todd Solondz”.

But it is undoubtedly his work as an assistant director on Puccini and Farinelli Il Castrato (both directed by Gerard Corbiau) that expanded his experience of cinema and paved the road to his own directorship. I have seen Farinelli enough many times for it to become one of my favourite films. It was not only big-budget, but also an international feature, and was nominated for an Oscar in 1994. What did working on it teach Marc?

“Oh, it was really important because I had to direct the audience”, he begins, evidently happy to revive those memories. “We filmed in a small German town, and I was the only member of the crew who spoke German. And Stefano Dionisi who played Farinelli stood on stage and tried to sing, like he was a great opera singer. It sounded so bad!” he shakes his head, smiling. “And in the script he sings so well that people faint when they hear him. So, I stood on stage next to him, and I had to explain to the extras: УThis will not be his voice! You have to imagine that he is a great opera singer. You will not hear his voice!”.

While I commend his effort, he adds: “Yes, it taught me that I could do it, that I could actually direct people. And Stefano and I are great friends these days”.

MirrorMask – Interview with Dave McKean

© Julia Shuvalova 2006
I spoke to Dave McKean in March 2006 when he came to Manchester to the premiere of his film MirrorMask at the Cornerhouse. The film that received awards at the Locarno and Sarasota Film Festivals in 2005 is about Helena, a girl who lives and tours with her family’s circus but wishes – like all teenagers – that she could be able to break free into the ‘real’ world. What happens instead is that she finds herself on the journey into the Dark Lands, in quest for a powerful object, the MirrorMask, to save the Queen of Light. On her way she encounters sphinxes, monkeybirds, strange objects a-la Henry Moore sculptures, and the omnipotent and dangerous Queen of Darkness. As the film progresses, Helena’s task becomes not only to find the MirrorMask, but also to escape the Dark Lands.

MirrorMask is yet another fruit of long-lasting collaboration between McKean and Neil Gaiman. The duo has been working together since the 1980s, enriching the world with one of the best-loved and original comic books, Sandman. McKean, a distinguished artist, has produced numerous works, among which are book illustrations, tarot cards and posters, promotional campaigns for brands, like Smirnoff and Sony, and films, like Sleepy Hollow (dir. Tim Burton). Although MirrorMask is his first feature, he made several shorts in the past, and, on top, he owns a jazz record label together with saxophonist Iain Ballamy.

MirrorMask may be one of the most original films of the recent years and at the very least is a compelling achievement on the part of McKean who wanted to transfer the surreal images, so often found in his drawings, on screen. There are several reasons for his opting for surrealist imagery in the film’s cinematography. On the one hand, his own artwork has been influenced by this art movement; on the other, surrealist artists were dedicated explorers of the realm of dreams, and Helena’s journey, as we eventually find out, was also a dream.

The dream-like, phantasmagorical type of story was in part dictated by the Jim Hanson Company, who provided the budget for the film. But you wouldn’t expect anything too realistic from Gaiman&McKean. “We ended up with a long email conversation and a kitchen table full of books, and CDs, and sketches, and bits of dialogue, and notes…I really wanted to build a city and wander round it, and Neil fancied doing something that was basically ‘The Prince and the Pauper’”.

In Dave’s words, he didn’t want to settle a film in one place, and, to add subtlety to the theme of dreamy peregrinations, a wandering circus thus became a metaphor for his vision. He does love circuses, both lavish performances of the Cirque du Soleil and little odd family troupes, travelling along the South Coast of England, where the artist lives. Some circuses or acts are the true gems, and finding them may be quite fascinating in itself. But whether big or small, these troupes of artists are always changing places, and their constant drifting in space and time was an inspiration for McKean.

The same sense of unsettledness is conveyed through the score composed by Iain Ballamy that intertwines Indian and Middle European music with tango, folk, and jazz. Fellini’s cinematic wanderings and Bunuel’s imagery also influenced the film to some extent. Ultimately, McKean’s goal was ‘to try and do some things that did not look literal. Most fantasy stories are sort of very realistic, and it’s great and extraordinary technical achievement, but… I wanted to do something that was non-literal and a bit more abstract’. It wasn’t difficult in some way, as McKean had a clear vision of what he wanted to achieve: ‘Basically a lot of my work is collage, and making the film is a kind of collage as well… so in that respect it was easy’.

What was not easy was, in particular, dealing with computers. The four Mackintoshes that the crew used for editing were named after the Beatles. ‘I was John’, says Dave, ‘and that was OK… But then we needed a fifth one, and our technical manager called it Yoko. And they all just refused to get on from then on. The Beatles broke up!’

From the start till the end, MirrorMask is about connections and contradictions between ‘reality’ and ‘image’. The prevalence of one over another is frequently debated and never ceases to attract interest. For McKean, known for his darkish ethereal images, which he lavishly brought to screen in MirrorMask, this question must have been particularly intriguing. So, ‘what is more certain: reality or image?’ I ask Dave.

‘I think most of my work, and this film is as well’, he replies, ‘it’s about that connection between what is the present, what is right now. We’re now talking here, we actually know this… But everything else – what we just did, walking in through the door, and an hour ago, and five hours ago, this now doesn’t exist anymore. It only exists in our memories, and so as far as I’m concerned it’s already up for debate, and it’s already a fantasy. And what will happen in a few hours time is also a fantasy. And we’re surrounded by it, and we have dreams, we have thoughts, and you have interpretation of what is going on right now, and I have a different interpretation. So, we’re sort of surrounded by this ball of fantasy, and it’s basically a fantasy, or dream, or imagination, or interpretation, any of those things. And so, that’s interesting to me, exploring the link between this tiny little nucleus of reality in the centre, and this great ball of imagination around it’.

Nevertheless, McKean’s work has always been about real life, as we normally understand it. I asked him to describe the imaginary world that he has been creating as an artist. ‘My own world is just trying to make sense of the real world’, he says. ‘I don’t like the sort of science-fiction art and fantasy art that is just about goblins and fairies and spaceships. I don’t really see the point of that. It’s entertaining and it’s fine, but I couldn’t do it. I needed to be about people, people who I have to deal with every day, and that’s what I’m interested in, I’m interested in what people think and how they think, and the things that they believe in, and desire, and are frightened of. So I’m interested in that side of life, really. And then I’m trying to sort of look at those things from a different point of view, or from metaphor, or from dreams, or from these other angles, because I think these are just interesting ways of seeing things’.

The continuous evolution and change have been McKean’s stimuli throughout his career, and he utters that his favourite project is always the one that comes next: ‘I love learning new things, so trying to make a film is an immense learning curve. And I don’t think you ever stop learning… I love the differences between things. If I haven’t drawn for a while, and I’ve instead made some music, or written something, or done some filming, when I go back to drawing, it always seems to be stronger and informed by all those other things’.

As expected, taking a rest is not in McKean’s plans, and he has already been planning several other projects, because ‘they just take so long to set up’, so it only remains to wait and see, what films the future brings. One thing is certain – whatever the subject, their cinematography will be like nothing you’ve seen before.

Кинолюбители (on “Torremolinos 73″ (Spain/Denmark, 2003))

о фильме “Торремолинос 73″ (Испания/Дания, 2003)

Автор: Julia Shuvalova (Юлия Н. Шувалова), 2006

В 1979 г. Кшиштоф Кесьлевский снял «Кинолюбителя» – историю заводского служащего, отказавшегося от спокойной семейной жизни с женой и дочкой ради искусства кино. Герой Ежи Штура преодолевал сопротивление начальства, непонимание жены и соблазны кинофестивалей, попутно «делая красиво» простым людям и общаясь с самим Кшиштофом Занусси.

Почти 15 лет спустя испанец Пабло Бергер «перечитал» Кесьлевского, и так родилась комедия «Торремолинос 73». Итак, в 1973 г. Альфредо (Хавьер Камара), служащий издательского дома, зарабатывает выразительные взгляды и радикулит, обивая пороги испанских квартир с предложением купить энциклопедию Гражданской войны. Чтобы спасти бизнес от разорения, предприимчивый издатель предлагает сотрудникам принять участие в совместном со скандинавами проекте по исследованию и созданию «энциклопедии репродуктивных нравов». (Исследовать, собственно, предлагается манеру заниматься сексом в разных странах). Согласие чревато политическим преследованием; отказ равноценен увольнению. И вскоре служащий вместе с супругой уже активно заняты тем, что в обстановке полной секретности совмещают приятное с необходимым. Мало-помалу Кармен (Кандела Пенья) становится звездой экрана (в узких кругах), в то время как Альфредо окончательно «заболевает» кино.

Притом, что, как следует из одной английской рецензии, в фильме присутствует множество ссылок на истинно испанские реалии (включая намеки на испанский софткор 1970х), параллели с Кесьлевским очевидны. Как и польский «Кинолюбитель», Альфредо начинает запоем читать книги о кино. Там, где у Кесьлевского в кадре ходил «натуральный» Занусси, чьи фильмы произвели глубокое впечатление на главного героя, в «Торремолинос» фигурирует мегафон Ингмара Бергмана, с автографом последнего, а его работы Альфредо изучает так старательно, что для своего первого полнометражного фильма решает использовать графику и сюжетные линии «Тайной печати».

Различие же состоит в том, как оба режиссера решают неизбежный конфликт между повседневностью и творчеством, а также как они рассматривают отношение своих героев к фильмам. В «Кинолюбителе» приобщение к искусству не просто стало лакмусовой бумажкой для проверки прочности союза, но и расставило приоритеты так, что фильм-как-ребенок стал важнее уже имеющихся обязанностей родителя. В свою очередь, «Торремолинос 73» – фильм о любящей семье, которой для полного счастья не доставало только детей, и кому кинематограф убедительно доказал невозможность их иметь. Проверке в результате подвергается не столько сам союз, сколько человеколюбие и пресловутая мужская гордость.

Ближе к концу фильма драматичность ситуации, еще усиленная бергмановской меланхолией, начинает понемногу тяготить. Впрочем, дело спасают не только блестящие актерские работы, отличный сценарий и тщательная реконструкция течения испанской жизни 1970х, но и все предыдущее время фильма, которое успевает задать тон зрительскому восприятию. Однако целлулоидное «детище» все-таки отходит на второй план, и в финале нас ждет хэппи-энд со счастливым семейством, отец которого, отринув лавры гения артхауса, снимает свадебные церемонии…

And a short review in English that I published at IMDb.com:

When I first watched this film in 2005, I loved it, although at the time I was perhaps ready to agree that the second half of the film stumbles in a lot. But having recently seen ‘Camera Buff’ by Krzysztof Kieslowski, I am absolutely convinced ‘Torremolinos 73′ was inspired by it, in one way or another. This is not to deny originality to Berger’s creation, but the acquaintance with the Polish film can seriously help understand and evaluate ‘Torremolinos’. It can let us appreciate some details (compare, for instance, a cameo appearance of another Polish filmmaker, Zanussi, in ‘Camera Buff’ to the ever-powerful presence of Bergman’s loudspeaker in ‘Torremolinos’), but, most importantly, it allows to see, what exactly the subject of the film is.

If our understanding is not informed by ‘Camera Buff’, then ‘Torremolinos’ is a vinaigrette of politics, porn and art-house cinema. If it is, then the main topic is exactly the one that makes the film somewhat ‘heavy’ in its second part and which was one of the central topics in Kieslowski’s film. Cinema becomes a wedge, which is hammered between the routine and creativity. Aspiration to make ’serious’ films and the cherishing of a film as one’s child violently confronted the parental responsibilities of Kieslowski’s protagonist, who gave in to creative impulses. The conflict in ‘Torremolinos’ is slightly reversed in that cinema becomes a more complex agent: it is the reason for misunderstanding, but it also unveils the problem and in the end even helps to resolve it.

It is nevertheless the importance of the choice and its connection to various problems concerning family life that bring a kind of dullness into the second part of ‘Torremolinos’. In this case it might be useful to agree with those who call this part ’subtler’ in comparison to the upbeat start. In particular, this second part contains an easily unnoticed topic of how much insult the male pride can take, and whether or not it is worth being guarded when love is at stake.