Bertolt Brecht on the Criterion Channel
My introduction to the theater of early 20th century playwright Bertolt Brecht was a college production of Mother Courage. Mostly I remember that it was a long and difficult play, and not just because it was a college production. It was sparsely set and filled with long speeches in stylized language. Actually, the girl playing the lead role was quite impressive in a marathon performance. I hope she got a good grade.
It was, then, as a near blank slate that I discovered two very different movies on the Criterion Channel based on works from Brecht: the 1969 Baal, directed by Volker Schlondorff, and 1931’s The Threepenny Opera, directed by G.W. Pabst. Each represents a different stage of the development of the playwright, and they have sharp contrasts as works of cinema, but they share a fixation with darker impulses and behaviors.
Baal, the more modern movie, is actually the older play, written in 1918. The streaming version of the film comes with several interesting interviews, so it is easy to view it with context. Were one to watch it without any introduction, they would see the story of a man who roams across sections of society, first among wealthy admirers, then to various seedy establishments, logging camps, and the wilderness, using and abusing the women and man who love him, all the while speaking in poetry, which is sometimes presented as a harmonica driven funky musical chorus.
The viewer may also see it as an artist wrestling with demons. The character Baal, played by Rainer Werner Fassbinder, is on a self-destructive path fueled by gin and accompanied by violent outbursts. It is a story presenting the idea that creativity is forged by a battle of opposing forces raging within, for here is a man of aching sensitivity, a lover of the earth and of beauty, who is also given to excessive cruelty and displays of outrageousness and anti-conformity. Here, art is understood as requiring inner turmoil and conflict. Baal’s chaotic force is countered to some extent by his friend, a composer named Ekart, who appears more rational and generous, but when the two become lovers it is as if Ekart has been drawn too closely into Baal’s orbit to provide balance.
The movie might also be understood in more mythological terms. His name is Baal after all. This was a term of respect given to an ancient fertility god, and like many ancient gods, monotheism demoted him to demon. Examined more as a myth, Baal is not just the artist wrestling with demons, he is the demon art that has been unleashed into the world. Art in this understanding becomes confrontational, challenges the ritual politeness of his bourgeois sycophants, but does not allow people to look away. But what to make of the brutality? Perhaps this is a parable of unresolved opposites, where a society that buries the dionysian impulses of the creative will have to reckon with it in some form or another.
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The movie was taken from circulation shortly after a television premiere because Brecht’s widow disapproved, and it was assumed lost for 30 some years. While it evidently stays true to the script’s dialogue, the movie is no doubt a far cry from the theatrical conventions that informed the play’s conception. As cinema, Baal represents the experimental spirit of the late sixties. One of the techniques employed was a simple blurring of the outer edges of the lens, which heightens the sense of artifice along with the language, but is in contrast to the hand-held camera and location settings. The effect is like watching a story unfold in a snow globe, where the viewer can feel some detachment from the less pleasant realities we are being asked to confront.
Like Baal, The Threepenny Opera is a product of its time, but of course a far different time. The 1931 production captures more of the cabaret feel and the musical elements of composer Kurt Weill, though it varies from the stage version. The history of the play, from its origins as an 18th century British satire to the movie, is an interesting one, and is well-documented by the bonus interviews and features on Criterion.
For those meeting the movie on its own terms, this is a story of a murderer turned thief turned banker, illustrating that those holding power and respect are literally no different than common criminals. However, there is some ambiguity regarding the past of the main character, Mack. The famous song Mack the Knife plays early in the story, and is a litany of Mack’s violence, but without that introduction we only see a crafty but feared organized crime leader whose least attractive trait is uptightness. This raises the question of whether the song is an honest, omnipotent chorus or the powers-that-be spreading misinformation about a challenger.
Mack’s rise is tied to others as he marries Polly, the daughter of Peachum, an entrepreneur making his money from filling the streets with panhandlers. Mack also has an old friend in the police chief, whose acquiescence to the criminal enterprises displays both cowardice and systemic corruption. While our window is on this squalid world, the view is partially lit by the broader society that enables it. The movie’s opening song has Mack addressing the wealthy from the point of view of the poor, suggesting that before they assume moral superiority, they should feed those they preach to.
The street singer who provides musical refrains throughout repeats the idea that trying to improve one’s status is futile. People can work hard and dream of a better life, but ultimately we are stuck with the fate we are dealt. Such a sentiment is reflected in one of the more sympathetic characters in a society structured around degrees of thievery and dishonesty, Jenny the sex worker. Her song Pirate Jenny is a revenge fantasy, but the revenge is the inevitable equalizing of death that faces all.
One thing that seems reflected in each of these movies is a conflicted view of social class. There is certainly righteous contempt for the upper class, even if their portrayals are limited. At the same time, there does not seem to be pure affection for the downtrodden, who sometimes come across as agents of the squalor that surrounds them. Some will happily take advantage of others, and as a group they are susceptible to manipulation by strong figures like wild-man poets and feared criminals.
In hindsight, each movie appears as an artifact of turbulence. The Threepenny Opera was released two years before Hitler gained power, and 1969’s Baal comes squarely at a time of radical social change in Europe. Still, each play was written in a much different context, suggesting that the turbulence is not necessarily that of a world in change, but of a playwright wrestling with his own demons, and that creative conflict is what finds audiences across decades.
