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randy_byersSo everybody knows that film in Weimar Germany is one of the jewels in the cinematic crown, right? The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, The Wildcat, The Golem, Nosferatu, Warning Shadows, Waxworks, Variety, The Student of Prague, Metropolis, Berlin, the Symphony of a Great City, Sex in Chains, Pandora's Box, Asphalt, The White Hell of Pitz Palu, People on Sunday, The Blue Angel -- the list of great or innovative or provocative Weimar films goes on and on. Well, until 1933, of course, by which time most of the great film-makers had fled the country for Paris or London or Hollywood.
Berlin was a hotbed of great artistry and decadence in many forms, and one of the big theatrical hits of 1928 was the musical The Threepenny Opera, written by Bertolt Brecht, with music by Kurt Weill. Amongst the early fans of the show was the film director G.W. Pabst and the producer Seymour Nebenzal (who amongst other great movies produced Pabst's Pandora's Box and Fritz Lang's M). Nebenzal bought the rights to the movie, and Brecht began to work on a treatment. However, Brecht was becoming more of a Marxist in this period, and he wanted to change the story to reflect his new ideas. Nebenzal took him to court for breech of contract and won. The credits in the final film read "frei nach Brecht," which I believe means "freely from [or after] Brecht" -- that is, based on, but not by.
The film apparently changes the story pretty freely indeed, particularly in the third act. It also uses only half of Weill's music. Nonetheless, it is marvellous. It all takes place in a London of the imagination -- a London set that is a work of art in itself, which the camera of Fritz Arno Wagner explores restlessly, making it seem huge and full of new corners and alleys. It is a story of the underworld, full of thieves, murderers, prostitutes, beggars, dance halls, warehouses, and docks. It is cynical of propriety -- and in a Germany being taken over by monsters in fancy uniforms, how could it not be? For all that they rejected Brecht's new Marxist ideas, the film still equates thieves and bankers in the most direct manner. Its sympathies lie with the beggars, who are used by everybody, even by the thieves. Mack the Knife may be softened from his portrayal in the stage show, but he still cheats on his wife Polly and lies about it.
This is Weimar film-making at its pinnacle, right up there with The Blue Angel and M in sheer beauty and painstaking craftsmanship. It's a wonder to look at, with reflections on every surface -- on shop windows, puddles in the street, oily dockside water, mirrors, and eyes. It is dark with shadows and cynicism. Lotte Lenya knocks the song "Pirate Jenny" out of the park.
And hundreds will come ashore around noon
And will step into the shadows
And will catch anyone in any door
And lay him in chains and bring him before me
And ask: Which one should we kill?
And at that midday it will be quiet at the harbor
When they ask, who has to die.
And then they'll hear me say: All of them!
And when the heads roll, I'll say: Hurray!
And the ship with eight sails
And with fifty cannons
Will disappear with me.
Berlin was a hotbed of great artistry and decadence in many forms, and one of the big theatrical hits of 1928 was the musical The Threepenny Opera, written by Bertolt Brecht, with music by Kurt Weill. Amongst the early fans of the show was the film director G.W. Pabst and the producer Seymour Nebenzal (who amongst other great movies produced Pabst's Pandora's Box and Fritz Lang's M). Nebenzal bought the rights to the movie, and Brecht began to work on a treatment. However, Brecht was becoming more of a Marxist in this period, and he wanted to change the story to reflect his new ideas. Nebenzal took him to court for breech of contract and won. The credits in the final film read "frei nach Brecht," which I believe means "freely from [or after] Brecht" -- that is, based on, but not by.
The film apparently changes the story pretty freely indeed, particularly in the third act. It also uses only half of Weill's music. Nonetheless, it is marvellous. It all takes place in a London of the imagination -- a London set that is a work of art in itself, which the camera of Fritz Arno Wagner explores restlessly, making it seem huge and full of new corners and alleys. It is a story of the underworld, full of thieves, murderers, prostitutes, beggars, dance halls, warehouses, and docks. It is cynical of propriety -- and in a Germany being taken over by monsters in fancy uniforms, how could it not be? For all that they rejected Brecht's new Marxist ideas, the film still equates thieves and bankers in the most direct manner. Its sympathies lie with the beggars, who are used by everybody, even by the thieves. Mack the Knife may be softened from his portrayal in the stage show, but he still cheats on his wife Polly and lies about it.
This is Weimar film-making at its pinnacle, right up there with The Blue Angel and M in sheer beauty and painstaking craftsmanship. It's a wonder to look at, with reflections on every surface -- on shop windows, puddles in the street, oily dockside water, mirrors, and eyes. It is dark with shadows and cynicism. Lotte Lenya knocks the song "Pirate Jenny" out of the park.
And hundreds will come ashore around noon
And will step into the shadows
And will catch anyone in any door
And lay him in chains and bring him before me
And ask: Which one should we kill?
And at that midday it will be quiet at the harbor
When they ask, who has to die.
And then they'll hear me say: All of them!
And when the heads roll, I'll say: Hurray!
And the ship with eight sails
And with fifty cannons
Will disappear with me.
