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Film: The White Ribbon
Release date: 15th March 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 144 mins
Director: Michael Haneke
Starring: Christian Friedel, Leonie Benesh, Burkhart Klaussner, Ulrich Tukur, Steffi Kühnert
Genre: Drama/Mystery
Studio: Artificial Eye
Format: DVD
Country: Germany/Austria/France/Italy
Michael Haneke has become renowned over the years for making confrontational, provocative and often controversial films. From the cold-blooded violence of a film like Funny Games to the explicit sexual scenes of The Piano Teacher. In Hidden he proved himself not only adept at tapping into an individual characters psyche but also a national one, on that occassion looking at France’s colonial guilt over Algeria. While very different on the surface, The White Ribbon again taps into a national psyche, but this time the focus is on Germany.
The film itself takes place over a year, from July 1913 to the outbreak of the First World War, in a small village in Germany’s Protestant north. It is a quiet village in which little takes place until they are disturbed by a series of unfortunate events, beginning with a horse tripping over a wire and throwing off its rider, the local doctor.
Soon after this, a field (of cabbages) is scythed down; the local baron’s son disappears, only to be discovered with his feet and hands bound together, and his buttocks lashed with a whip; a barn burns down; a farmer hangs himself; and the handicapped child of the village midwife is kidnapped and discovered tied to a tree, severely beaten, and with a message on his chest that suggests that all these occurrences are divine punishments.
While we are led to believe these are random and unconnected occurrences, the new school teacher (Christian Friedel) soon suspects that it maybe the children of the village that are somehow behind these seemingly unconnected events. The implication made to the audience that these blonde, blue eyed children are the same generation that will bring about the rise of Nazism, and ultimately lead to World War II…
This may all seem rather heavy, and a tad on the pretentious side, but is certainly not as dry or elitist as you may imagine. This is not to say that it is a particularly easy watch either - it is a picture filled with a creeping sense of unease and a claustrophobic atmosphere, which Haneke has always been very good at it. It also follows Haneke’s thematic interest in ‘the root of evil’, which can be seen right throughout his catalogue of works.
It is not so much what is happening that unsettles, but the foreboding and what you don’t see. Also, easy conclusions or resolutions are not present - Haneke rarely ties anything up for the audience - the opening narration tells us the story will ‘clarify’ some of the events, but by the end, you may feel there has been more obfuscation.
This lack of resolution and the general air of mystery are elements most frequently cited by Haneke’s detractors - that and the lecturing tone of some of his films, with Funny Games, which was very accusatory towards the audience, probably being the guiltiest offender. This is the most humane entry in his filmography to date.
The most notable example of this is the growing relationship between the school teacher (Christian Friedel) and Eva (Leonie Benesh), which is both touching and surprisingly innocent - not at all things that Haneke is normally associated with. Both Friedel and Benesh put in very good, understated performances.
The rest of the cast are indeed equally impressive, with Burghart Klaussner giving an imposing performance as the stern pastor who puts white ribbons on his eldest children, Martin (Leonard Proxauf) and Klara (Maria-Victoria Dragus), at the beginning of the events to remind them of their purity.
Praise must also be given to the cinematographer Christian Berger, whose somewhat languid and sober shooting suitably fits the pace and narrative - the choice to frame the film in black-and-white reflects the bleak mood and oppressive atmosphere that pervades, and was also used partly to resemble photographs of the era, especially those of August Sander.
There are, thanks to the village children giving off the appropriate air of sinister and menace, comparisons to be had with The Village Of The Damned, but the rather derisory comments that this is merely that film with art house frills is unfair and unfounded.
When a film is heaped with critical adulation and prizes - it won the 2009 Palme D’Or and was nominated for Best Foreign feature at the 2010 Oscar’s - it is easy to try and pick holes and rail against the critical wind. Here, though, Haneke has created yet another great film, after the misstep with his US remake of Funny Games, and once again cements his place as one of the best directors working within world cinema today.
Film: The White Ribbon
Release date: 15th March 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 144 mins
Director: Michael Haneke
Starring: Christian Friedel, Leonie Benesh, Burkhart Klaussner, Ulrich Tukur, Steffi Kühnert
Genre: Drama/Mystery
Studio: Artificial Eye
Format: DVD
Country: Germany/Austria/France/Italy
Once known as the enfant terrible of the art house, Michael Haneke has garnered mainstream acclaim for the maturation and restraint displayed in later films such as The Piano Teacher in 2002 and Caché in 2005. His latest film appears to continue this trend, winning critical plaudits upon cinematic release, along with the coveted Palme d’Or at 2009’s Cannes Film Festival.
Set in a small German village on the eve of WWI, strange and mysterious events draw a cloud of resentment, repression and simmering violence over its inhabitants. A hidden wire injures a doctor travelling on a horse, loose floorboards cause a tragic fall, a boy is found tied up and thrashed, and a crop is savagely destroyed. The children of a strict disciplinarian pastor appear cool and inhuman.
As a young schoolteacher attempts to uncover the truth behind these sinister happenings, the moral corruption of the patriarchs of the village reveals itself, with dark implications for the next generation...
Haneke shapes his narrative as a series of interlinking vignettes, bringing to mind earlier works such as 71 Fragments Of A Chronology Of Chance (1994) and Code Unknown (2000), exploring the moral consequences of a pre-war context through minute, ambiguously symbolic actions.
Haneke has always been a divisive figure, and it is no surprise, then, to find that underneath the sterile tones and clean lines of his imagery lay emotional, political and thematic complexities which are ripe for critical and sociological dissection. Always an overtly provocative artist, he demands the viewer take a position, form an opinion, use their critical faculties and question what they are being shown. This is not just the effect of his style, but an intrinsic part of his philosophy, mirrored in both the substance of the film’s narratives (or lack of) and the forms they take.
In other words, Haneke’s films challenge conventional audiences, but they are also about challenging the audience. He attempts this balancing act by using transgressive, shocking elements to induce an instinctive yet intuitively moral response to the situations, whilst presenting characters’ actions without the given psychological motivations typical of Hollywood fare. Little explicit explanation is offered for the strange violence enacted by the village’s members, forcing the audience to interrogate the historical context, and wider themes of morality and consequence.
In many ways, The White Ribbon is a departure for Haneke. It is the first period film of his long directorial career and, after working in France for a number of years, it is the first of his since 1997’s Funny Games to be an Austrian/German production. The change of scene does nothing, however, to diminish or soften his unique auteurial vision, and Haneke has produced a morality tale of remarkable clarity, poise and power.
Haneke draws proceedings as a deceptively simple parable, a highly moral, vigilant allegory for the rise of fascism. The largely terrifying children of the village, at once supremely obedient and sadistically threatening, are shown as inevitable products of their upbringings. Whilst the children are ambiguous in their violent fragility, the adults of the village – the pastor, the doctor, the baron – are mostly revealed as brutish, strict, overbearing and hypocritical. They bring their children up in environments of violence and fear, yet expect of them innocence, subservience and perfect behaviour. It is these sad, confused, aggressive children, Haneke suggests, who will grow up during WWI and be instrumental figures in the rise of Nazism as adults.
Typically for the director, few narrative conclusions are revealed, answers are withheld, and the violence almost always occurs off screen. The camera lingers closely on faces, on blank, bleak landscapes, capturing withheld emotions and repressed violence. What makes the film such a success, however, is a newfound warmth in Haneke’s direction and his use of characters. Like all his films, The White Ribbon is difficult - a challenge to his audiences, but whereas in the past he has often refused to come in from the cold, here he constructs his vignettes around a central story of a budding romance between two genuinely likable characters.
Christian Friedel’s innocent, bumbling schoolteacher and Leonie Benesch’s nanny Eva provide a counterbalance to the cold sterility and tragic narratives of the rest of the film’s characters, providing a hopeful core of humanity. Both are played perfectly, but the acting throughout the cast is sublime. Haneke must surely be one of the most gifted filmmakers in world cinema in drawing out superb performances from child actors, and this film displays his gift in abundance. The pastor’s children, in particular, are entrancingly, chillingly well performed.
Composed with the subtlety and grace we have come accustomed to from Michael Haneke, The White Ribbon is a genuine achievement - a striking blend of style and substance with an unequivocal moral message. If you are prepared for the ambiguity and bleakness displayed by this film, you will come away surprised at the warmth at its heart. KI
Film: Funny Games
Release date: 25th May 2009
Certificate: 18
Running time: 104 mins
Director: Michael Haneke
Starring: Susanne Lothar, Ulrich Mühe, Arno Frisch, Frank Giering
Genre: Horror/Drama/Crime/Thriller
Studio: Artificial Eye
Format: DVD
Country: Austria
As you may have heard, this film is not an easy one to watch. Neither the more recent American remake, nor the twelve years that have passed since Funny Games was first released have diminished its impact. Some may instantly flinch at the mention of the word ‘torture’ and assume that this is the reason why people have cautioned against it. However, this is not Audition - and it certainly is not Hostel. What you’re getting here is what horror truly is. Michael Haneke here makes us contemplate what it means to display true malevolence on the screen. And he does so with such intelligence and restraint, it causes you to ask whether the outrage was necessary. From there on, you may be forced to ask whether we can make films as open and honest as we like, and whether or not there is any point to this medium at all. Hopefully, viewing Haneke’s film now will remind you that there most definitely is a point.
A family of three are greeted by blissful sunny weather at a lakeside holiday home, the location for what promises to be a relaxing, refreshing break. It is not long before this promise of tranquillity becomes disrupted, however. It is when the mother, Anna (Susanne Lothar), is in the kitchen that she meets Peter (Frank Giering), one half of the duo that will bring misery upon her and her family in the hours to come.
When Paul (Arno Frisch) enters, the three family members quickly become prisoners in their own home, subjected to unbearable treatment at the hands of apparently motiveless captors. Only resilience and cunning can be of any use to the family in escaping their torment…
In the introductory scene of this film, director Michael Haneke illustrates, with no ambiguity whatsoever, two of the primary themes that haunt this film throughout: manipulation and menace. As Georg (Ulrich Mühe) and Anna drive peacefully with their son along a road that winds through an idyllic mountain side, they are accompanied by the sound of gentle classical music that emanates from their in-car cassette player. As soon as we have become relaxed in the ambience of this moment, the peace is suddenly shattered by the cacophonous blaring of a John Zorn track. The viewer is jolted by the screaming and thrashing of this sonic pandemonium, before the words ‘Funny Games’ pounce onto the screen in a bloody shade of red.
The menace exuded from Haneke’s film begins once the sadistic duo of Peter and Paul take control of the holiday home, and remains intact until the terrifying ordeal is over. It is largely due to this inescapable menace that the film is such an arresting, harsh viewing experience. By occasionally leading his characters away from the main setting as the plot develops, thus extending and amplifying the terror and panic in suspenseful scenes, Funny Games displays familiar tropes of the horror genre. This notion is exemplified in other areas of the film, such as the unforgettable motif of the golf ball. With this in mind, the radical approach of Haneke in subverting horror genre conventions is tangible, taking the form of a minimalist aesthetic, long-takes, cutting away from violent acts and significant post-production techniques.
While the film works brilliantly as a genre piece, where the viewer elects not to engage so much with its cerebral content, it positively shines when viewed from an intellectual position. In this fashion, it can be fully received as the genuinely important work of cinema that it is. The manner in which Haneke communicates his message is certainly confrontational - blatantly manipulating his film and breaking the illusion of film being unadulterated reality delivered by an unseen creator. However, the filmmaker’s message about how violence is depicted on the screen, and how it is viewed, is articulated with very few depictions of violence itself. This is where the filmmaker should be really applauded. Incredibly, for a film where violence is such a key plot element due to it being the manner in which Peter and Paul control the captive family, barely a drop of blood is spilt. Furthermore, even when an act of violence is captured on the camera, the cinematography could be hardly less graphic. And still, the film is unbearably taut - perhaps because so much of it is based on the power of suggestion. That the filmmaker is able to keep us gripped so tightly utilising this restrained approach is demonstrative of his undeniable skill as a director.
Just as unexpected as this is the fact that, in the midst of this physical and psychological torment, the audience becomes a part of the game as well. It is possible that this is another reason - albeit a subconscious one - that the viewer is more aware of the violence that unfolds in that living room. As a consequence of the viewer becoming an accomplice to Peter and Paul’s heinous plans, Haneke questions the nature of audience reception. Further into the film, as the brutality increases and the once content, settled middle-class family become enfeebled to the point of being pitiful, the contrasting confidence and command over the situation that the antagonists provide may be preferable to some, thus reaffirming Haneke’s point about how a filmmaker can manipulate a viewer’s feelings.
Funny Games is largely reliant also on the efforts of its leading actors to carry each scene with conviction. All four leads all do this with merit, giving superb performances, from Giering and Frisch’s clinical delivery, to Mühe and Lothar’s devastating portrayals of trauma and suffering.
Simple yet complex, subtle yet overt, Funny Games is many things, but just a straightforward horror/thriller involving the theme of torture, it is not. This is a film that deserves your attention, and is guaranteed to get it, too. BN
Film: The White Ribbon
Release date: 15th March 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 144 mins
Director: Michael Haneke
Starring: Christian Friedel, Leonie Benesh, Burkhart Klaussner, Ulrich Tukur, Steffi Kühnert
Genre: Drama/Mystery
Studio: Artificial Eye
Format: DVD
Country: Germany/Austria/France/Italy
Michael Haneke is a master of suspense - a director whose focus has lay solely on his power over his character and his audience. His past successes, of which there are many, have all probed a little deeper than the horror at their surface, and his name has been made not just by his signature direction but by his ambition also. The award-winning, Oscar-nominated White Ribbon showcases another string to his bow.
The film follows the lives of the inhabitants of Eichwald, a rural village in pre-First World War Germany. The villagers are mainly employed as farmers by the baron who is the lord of the manor. The baron runs the village with a tight hand, and the villagers depend on his favour and a good harvest.
The pastor is also a figurehead in a very protestant village; he preaches the strict word of God to the villagers, and most strongly to his young children, who wear white ribbons to symbolise their innocence and purity.
The villagers depend upon their doctor, too; he is a single man whose wife passed away during the birth of his young son. The doctor treats the villagers with care by day, but by night, he takes advantage of his young daughter and housekeeper who is the local midwife.
In the months running up to Ferdinand’s murder and the declaration of the First World War, a series of mysterious and vengeful events begin to take place in the village. The doctor is knocked of his horse by a wire placed between two trees and he is hospitalised; the farmer’s wife falls to her death through the roof of their barn; and then on the day of the town’s harvest festival, the baron’s crop is destroyed. The events cause a stir in the village as the baron urges the villagers to find the culprit of the crimes, and as fear spreads, the baron’s young son is captured and tortured before being found hung upside down in the woods.
Word of mouth and suspicions are spreading around the village as the baron’s wife takes her young family away from the dangers of their home. Events continue to worsen as more acts of sabotage, including the burning of a barn, disrupt the peace. The village’s teacher, who primarily had been more concerned with his growing romance with the young Eva, begins to notice a pattern to the acts that could inclinate the very children he teaches…
The White Ribbon is Haneke’s most accomplished work. He instils a tension that is felt even stronger than his past thrillers Funny Games and Hidden - the anxiety is as affecting as it is subtle. He presents the scrupulous details of the narrative without a soundtrack or any backing music, and this creates an eerie silence around the otherwise disturbing events of the film, and installs an atmosphere of uncertainty that has viewers on tenter hooks even when watching the most trivial of conversations.
Haneke’s direction relies on non-glorious effect as he captures the events through a still and often lingering camera. Shots of closed doors only alert the viewer to the horror of the sounds inside, and we are treated to a consistently off centre camera, which really brings a higher appreciation of the scene in front of it. As the farmer sits at his wife’s death bed, he is hidden by a cupboard - we only see the ripples of his back as he weeps, and as the camera loiters, we are treated to a portrayal of pain that could not have been simulated with a standard close-up.
Cinematographer Christian Belger is no stranger to Haneke’s films, having previously worked with the auteur on both The Piano Teacher and Hidden. He received an Oscar nomination for his work here, which is more than justified as he provides an authenticity to the film’s events. It’s hard to imagine the film in colour – filming in black-and-whitet echoes the peculiarity of the village with cutting realism.
Haneke’s portrayal of the village is very well realised as he shows us a hierarchy, religious infatuation and family life that has rarely been touched upon, particularly to non-Germans/Austrians. The men rule the roost over the women and children with a strictness that is hard to comprehend, and sometimes disturbing to watch. The pastor ties his young son to his bed at night to prevent him “succumbing to the urges of his young body,” and a scene in which the doctor ends his affair with the midwife is shocking in its cruelty and lack of restraint. The attack is verbal but wounds deeper than any physical act as he tells her of his disgust at her bad breath and aging body.
These characters and their lifestyles are for Haneke the perfect roots for the evil of his film to grow. Perhaps none are more affected than the children, whose faces, full of desperation, live on in your memory long after the film’s end. Haneke’s ambition to show this growing evil is applaudable, and the film’s meanings are as susceptible and ambiguous as its conclusion. This may be somewhat frustrating to audiences who may feel, after serving an undoubtedly overlong running time, they are deserving of more closure.
That said, a return to moral balance or a simple resolution to the story would hardly be fitting of the film, or of Haneke. Instead, it seems better to consider the reasons why the mysterious events took place as opposed to the mystery man or woman responsible. As the baron’s wife notes the village is a place of “malice, envy, apathy and brutality,” and these seem to be results in the lifestyle of the villagers.
We consider this also in the light of the school teacher, a man who is portrayed ultimately as good. He does not concern himself with the envy of the other villagers and ultimately looks to serve others. His good nature is shown in particular with his pursuit of Eva to whom he is ever respectful - he contrasts the other villagers not just with the way his story ends but his actions leading up to it.
Eichwald is one of cinema’s most haunting locales, and the events there carried out between July 1913 and August 1914 (in Haneke’s world at least) are some of the most thought provoking and chilling cinematics of the director’s illustrious career. The talent on display from both cast and crew make this film not just a must see but Haneke’s greatest vision to date. LW
Film: Code Unknown
Release date: 19th November 2001
Certificate: 15
Running time: 112 mins
Director: Michael Haneke
Starring: Juliette Binoche, Thierry Neuvic, Josef Bierbichler, Alexandre Hamidi, Maimouna Hélène Diarra
Genre: Drama
Studio: Artificial Eye
Format: DVD
Country: France/Germany/Romania
Austrian director Michael Haneke has drawn comparisons with the late, great Stanley Kubrick due to the cold distant manner in which he observes the sometimes cruel nature of human behaviour. In his 2000 thriller Code Unknown, Haneke turns his critical eye upon the cultural and racial differences simmering underneath the urban sprawl of modern Paris, whilst at the same time delivering a fractured narrative which demands the audience’s attention from the opening scene.
When the younger brother of an actress’ boyfriend throws a piece of rubbish into a Kosovan beggar’s lap, a chain of events is set into motion which has drastic implications for all concerned; the affluent actress currently filming a thriller (Binoche), the black voluntary worker who confronts the youth in the street (Yenke), the beggar herself (Gheorghiu), and the actress’s boyfriend, coincidentally returning from a stint photographing the conflict in Kosovo (Neuvic). From this seemingly minor incident, the repercussions ripple outwards, and previously unrevealed connections between these characters begin to emerge.
The beggar is deported back to her country as an illegal immigrant, and the voluntary worker is arrested for affray, while there are problems too for the actress Anne - her relationship with her photographer partner is adversely affected by his problems with his rural dwelling father. Interspersed throughout are dramatic scenes from her new film, further blurring the lines between what is presented to us as reality and what is fictional.
As events seem poised to be resolved, all of a sudden some shocking revelations emerge and shake things up still further…
Michael Haneke’s examination of society’s failure to communicate in the 21st century is bookended by two fascinating and compelling scenes – the initial confrontation which sparks the narrative is presented as a long single take following the action on a typically busy Parisian street, handled effortlessly by the director. The penultimate scene, which features a public harassment of Anne by a youth of Moroccan descent, is both harrowing and spellbinding. Sadly, these scenes serve to highlight what Code Unknown could have been, for the film in-between does not live up to these individual moments.
All the usual features of Haneke’s work are present and correct - the lack of a music score, the stark colour scheme, the liberal use of natural acting - yet the overall event is far below the filmmaking heights that Haneke achieves in other, superior films. Perhaps the fault lies in the narrative structure itself: whereas in films such as Cache and Funny Games the plot is tight and tense, allowing the director’s trademark aggressive style to truly immerse the viewer in the action, in Code Unknown, the plot construction is too disjointed to ever really catch our attention.
All of which make the scenes that do work standout in their individual quality - a scene involving the beggar’s return to her native homeland is understated and quietly affecting, while the snippets we see of Binoche’s fictional thriller are of a quality high enough to make one wish they were watching that film instead (incidentally, the promotional team behind the film deserve derision for the dishonesty they display in using a dramatic still from one of those scenes as the poster for the film, thereby misleading the potential viewer as to the film they are about to see).
Binoche herself provides her usual sterling effort in the lead role, but even a more skilled actor than her (and there are few of those) would struggle with the limited material she is given to work with.
One of Haneke’s favourite themes is social awkwardness taken to an almost unbearable degree, and viewers who share similar tastes will not be disappointed in Code Unknown. We are constantly bombarded with images that we all recognise as times where we, as members of a society, can either stand up and assist, or keep a low profile and hope it goes away. From a middle-aged man breaking down and sobbing in his bathroom, to the aforementioned scene of abuse in a metro car - where a youth actually spits in Binoche’s face – Haneke keeps the same impartial, unflinching eye trained to the dark underbelly of the bourgeoisie, a hallmark that has served him well throughout his career.
Those expecting a neat resolution to the story will, as usual with Haneke’s films, be disappointed with the extremely open-ended finale, which barely qualifies as such. Whereas Cache made the viewer interpret their own ending by providing them with the most sparing of visual references in the last scene, Code Unknown does not even bother with this. Instead, Haneke opts for a multi-vantage point scene, revolving around Binoche’s apartment door, which is rendered ultimately pointless due to the overly oblique and frankly uninteresting material that the director decides to wrap up the narrative with.
Code Unknown is not wholly without redeeming features. Gheorghiu gives a touching performance as the beggar who is considerably more than that in her homeland, and the scenes set in Kosovo bristle with authenticity. Similarly, the individual scenes that follow the family of the voluntary worker quickly and effectively depict the everyday trials and tribulations that the ethnic minority underclass must face in modern France. Again, these scenes contribute to the overall sense of frustration, as they demonstrate what a fantastic and intellectually stimulating experience this could have been, rather than the hollow movie we are left with.
Code Unknown stands out as a rare misstep in Michael Haneke’s glittering Euro-intellectual career. Trapped somewhere in the mishmash of the social commentary and fractured thriller that was very much in vogue at the start of the 21st century - with films such as amores perros and Traffic also hitting cinemas - is a biting reflection of social mores and cultural misunderstanding. However, it was not until Cache, five years later, that Haneke finally made this film. Unfortunately Code Unknown suffers badly from sharing such similar features and themes, not to mention the same lead actress, for it cannot avoid seeming like merely a dry run for what was one of the best films of the decade.
Film: The Piano Teacher
Release date: 27th May 2002
Certificate: 18
Running time: 129 mins
Director: Michael Haneke
Starring: Isabelle Huppert, Annie Girardot, Benoît Magimel, Susanne Lothar, Udo Samel
Genre: Drama
Studio: Artificial Eye
Format: DVD
Country: Austria/France/Germany
Austrian director Michael Haneke wants to provoke you. Having challenged his viewers about the morality of horror movies in his 1997 film Funny Games, Haneke tackles the subject of repressed sexual desires and sadomasochism in The Piano Teacher (or La Pianiste), based on the novel by Elfriede Jelinek.
Isabelle Huppert plays Erika Kohut, a stern and abrasive woman in her early forties, who teaches piano and still lives – and shares a bed - with her overbearing mother, played by Annie Girardot, in their suffocating apartment. The opening scene shows the two characters in violent conflict with one another when Erika is scorned by her mother for returning home late.
Initially Erika appears cold and socially isolated, with little outside her musical interests – she is nothing more than a loner, if a formidable one. We learn that her father went mad, yet as the film continues there are glimpses into what is clearly a darker story. She goes to a peep show in a sex shop and, in an even more uncomfortable scene in the bathroom; she cuts herself between the legs whilst her mother calls out from the other room to tell her that dinner is ready. Beneath the strict composure lays inner torment and repressed longing. She is also fiercely jealous and resentful; at one point crushing a glass and pouring it into the coat pocket of one of her pupils.
The protagonist is introduced to a self-assured young student Walter Klemmer, who takes a shine to Erika, and auditions to join her music class. After much resistance on her part, he is accepted onto the course, where he pursues his teacher’s affections, and a relationship starts to develop. But Kohut only wants this on her terms and intends to list all her sexual desires in a letter to Klemmer for him to peruse at his leisure. The way he reacts, and the actions taken after, plunges the film into even more disturbing territories…
Isabelle Huppert is magnificent in the role of Kohut, portraying all the tortuous complexities of this character with real conviction. There is a wonderful scene where she watches Klemmer play during his audition - you see her trying to maintain her composure, yet little twitches in her facial expressions give away all the anguish and emotion raging inside her. There is great chemistry with Benoit Magimel, also strong in the role of Klemmer, who is convincing as the young man who is frustrated and frankly baffled by this perplexing woman. Both lead actor and actress received awards at Cannes.
Haneke always seems to cause a stir at Cannes, audiences famously walked out of the screening of Funny Games and this later, though equally controversial, film won the Grand Prix prize. The director seems to enjoy provoking a reaction from his audiences, testing their moral boundaries, but perhaps trying a little too hard to do so at times. He also leaves films widely open for interpretation, allowing audiences to make up their own minds, but also leaving them frustratingly lost for answers. Watching a Michael Haneke film can sometimes feel like being repeatedly prodded in the arm for two hours without explanation.
There is a lot which should be credited to this film, such as the fascinating development of relationships between the characters, and the classical soundtrack which binds the whole thing together. The use of music, particularly composers such as Schubert, is essential to the film, and communicates the mood as brilliantly as Isabelle Huppert’s facial expressions.
But, at one point, when Erika rolls on top of her mother in bed, it was hard to see how much further the film could push the boundaries. In fact, after the initial shock, the next reaction it provokes is laughter – and a hysterical kind of laughter. There is a truly hilarious moment when Klemmer picks up the letter detailing all of Kohut’s sexual requests to which he responds, “Heavy.” It may ease the discomfort, but the comedy found during even the film’s darkest moments seems out of place.
The Piano Teacher really is a powerful piece of work, as collectively interesting and disturbing as Erika Kohut’s toolkit. It’s just a shame that Haneke feels he has to hammer away at the audience to such an extent. KB
Film: Hidden
Release date: 19th June 2006
Certificate: 15
Running time: 113 mins
Director: Michael Haneke
Starring: Daniel Auteuil, Juliette Binoche, Maurice Benichou, Annie Girardot, Bernard Le Coq
Genre: Mystery/Thriller
Studio: Artificial Eye
Format: DVD
Country: France
Being spied on as we go about our daily lives is virtually impossible to avoid in CCTV-covered cities across the globe, but in Hidden, director Michael Haneke’s 2005 thriller, surveillance is given a far more ominous dimension.
Georges and Anne Laurent are a married upper-middle class couple who enjoy a comfortable, if slightly muted existence in the stylishly understated, book-lined Parisian home they share with their 12-year-old son Pierrot.
Both Georges and Anne have good jobs that they seem to enjoy: Georges is the host of a TV chat show about literature and Anne works for a publisher. They have dinner parties with friends, and tend to the needs of their slightly sullen son, but we see their routine being shattered right at the beginning of the film, when they watch and try to make sense of a video that has been anonymously left at their front door.
The video, shot from an adjacent street, shows them leaving their home on their way to work. Who sent it and why is a mystery, but as further videos and disturbing drawings begin to appear, Georges is forced to look back to his childhood, and an episode from his past that he would have preferred to remain hidden.
At first, Georges is unwilling to share his suspicions about a young Algerian boy who his parents adopted then later sent away, and his relationship with his wife suffers as a result, but as events unfold and edge beyond his control, his past comes messily spilling out, with terrible results…
There is no neat conclusion to the events that unfold in Hidden, and Haneke deliberately avoids providing the audience with a definite answer as to who was responsible for the videos and drawings. Whether this makes him a bold provocateur or a perverse fraud is a matter that has divided many viewers and critics, but what is certain is that Haneke enjoys unsettling audience expectations, and disobeying narrative conventions.
Frustrating, thought-provoking or both, Hidden is not afraid to touch a few raw nerves in its treatment of everything from colonialism and marital fidelity to childhood innocence and guilt. If there was a Hollywood remake of Hidden, and Haneke chose not to direct to it himself (as he did in the case of Funny Games), such topics would no doubt be dealt with in a far less ambiguous, open-ended way, but that is not the case here.
Haneke seems to revel in the insecurity and lack of certainty that plagues his characters, and he makes sure that we, as viewers, share in this unease. At times, you are not even sure whether what you are watching is part of the main body of the film or a section of one of the surveillance tapes. The two blur into one another, and we can’t help but be drawn into this voyeuristic, deeply unsettling world, wanting to see and know more.
Daniel Auteuil (Georges) and Juliette Binoche (Anne) are both exceptional in their roles, each expertly drawing out the nuances in their respective characters. It’s difficult not to sympathise with Georges as his cool facade unravels under the pressure, but, at the same time, you question who the real Georges is, as he begins to show increased aggression and an inability to own up to his past mistakes. Anne, too, elicits conflicting responses in the way she responds to the growing turmoil: at times vulnerable and confused, at others tetchy and self-centred.
Lester Makedonsky’s Pierrot, likeable yet prone to typical preteen sulkiness, is cleverly kept on the margins and we’re never quite sure what he makes of his parents. Does the Eminem poster in his room signal a rejection of parental control, or is he just another well-to-do kid going through growing pains?
There are significant stretches of the film where not a lot really happens, and the tone is one of detachment, as though what is happening to Georges and Anne is more of a rude inconvenience than a crisis in the making, but this only serves to make the film’s shocking moments all the more powerful and emotionally jarring.
The final scene, a static long shot showing pupils leaving a school, is quietly devastating in the way it echoes the earlier surveillance footage and suggests new, profoundly disturbing possibilities. If you don’t watch very carefully, you may miss this final sucker punch, and the full, quietly chilling effect of Hidden may remain exactly that.
Austrian director Michael Haneke has stated that he uses his films to pose questions rather than provide answers, and it is this approach that makes Hidden such a compelling and memorable viewing experience. JG
Film: Funny Games
Release date: 25th May 2009
Certificate: 18
Running time: 104 mins
Director: Michael Haneke
Starring: Susanne Lothar, Ulrich Mühe, Arno Frisch, Frank Giering
Genre: Horror/Drama/Crime/Thriller
Studio: Artificial Eye
Format: DVD
Country: Austria
When Michael Haneke’s Funny Games was first screened at Cannes in 1997 audience members (including a few critics) were so shocked they walked out halfway through. The film has continued to provoke and divide audiences ever since, and has recently been remade by Haneke scene-by-scene in English, primarily, he says, to reach an American audience. Although containing many elements of classic horror, the film was never intended to be regarded as such, but more as a moralistic comment about the influence of media violence on society.
A middle aged couple Anna (Susanne Lothar) and Georg (Ulrich Mühe), and their young son drive out to spend a quiet week at their lakeside house in the middle of nowhere. There they are approached by two mysterious young men in white gloves (Arno Frisch and Frank Giering) whose polite behaviour turns increasingly threatening and violent.
Over the course of a night, they put the family through a series of sadistic games, bordering on torture, with apparently no reason or explanation. The men are polite and courteous, totally without remorse and regard their victims with mild amusement as the games grow increasingly degrading and unpleasant.
We are complicit in the violence as the aggressors repeatedly turn to the camera and address us directly with encouraging remarks and knowing winks. Also, in one particularly memorable scene, the characters refuse to accept developments in the story and actually take action to interrupt and dictate the flow of the film…
The message in Funny Games is very simple and very direct. Haneke presents us with two hours of realistic, sadistic brutality and forces us to examine our reactions. In a world awash with media images of violence and our seemingly insatiable appetite for more of it, Haneke confronts us with exactly that in its raw, unvarnished state. It’s disturbing and unpleasant to sit through, and this is exactly the point. Violence is not an adrenalin-pumping Hollywood explosion in Haneke’s eyes - it is disturbing, it is unpleasant, and we’re not allowed to forget for a minute exactly what it is we’ve been cheering for all these years.
Here, violence has a face, or rather two faces in the form of Paul and Peter (their names change several times throughout the film). They conform to no bad-guy stereotypes - they are polite, courteous, witty and calm. In one scene, they offer (to their victims and to us) several possible background stories for themselves which could explain their behaviour, then reject these as obviously untrue or immaterial. Haneke questions, through Paul, “what is it that would make this behaviour acceptable to you?” It’s another uncomfortable question that everyone watching Funny Games will have to answer themselves.
The camerawork is largely motionless and impassive, compounding the clinical atmosphere of the film and, at times, giving the sense that we’re watching the events unfold through CCTV. The acting throughout is impeccable, particularly from Susanne Lothar as Anna who is really put through the emotional mill, driven to the end of her nerves by the ordeal and the callousness of her aggressors. Given the nature of their characters, Arno Frisch and Frank Giering, as the two strangers, don’t have too much to go on but do a very good line in creepy, polite menace.
Haneke’s direction of the violence itself is masterful, or rather the implication of violence in that (aside from one notable instance) nothing is shown on screen - although you’ll later swear you saw all manner of horrible things take place, you didn’t actually see any of them. This is an exceptionally clever trick in a film about violence and attitudes towards violence. No hand-wringing, outraged moral guardians can accuse Haneke of making an exploitative piece splattered with gore and unnecessary brutality; on closer analysis, you realise the violence you believed you have witnessed was completely in your own head.
It’s all very clever stuff, but whether it makes for a good film is questionable. One feels as if what Michael Haneke really wanted to do was to make a violent horror film full of tension and old-school terror but didn’t quite have the courage of his convictions and made Funny Games instead. It’s a shame as well, as there’s some genuinely nail-biting moments to enjoy, such as a midnight chase scene between Paul and the young boy which owes as much to John Carpenter’s Halloween as it does to cutting edge European cinema.
A thought-provoking, unsettling piece. Not so much a film, more a well made lecture aimed directly at you. If you’re interested in examining your own attitude to screen violence then Funny Games is definitely worth a look, but be warned: if you’ve ever guiltily enjoyed a violent film, you’re likely to emerge feeling like a bad person who’s been given a thorough telling-off. That’s not exactly what I’m looking for in entertainment but it’s a powerful experience none the less. LOZ
