Tuesday, December 7, 2010

American Method Acting and Brechtian Epic Performance Explicated... in terms of Implicit Theories of the Self

As promised, this is a paper which explicates two theories of acting, namely the American Method and Brecht's Epic Performance, and attempts to understand them in terms of 'implicit theories of the self' or 'topographies of the self'. This was the final assignment for a Performance Studies unit that I did at Sydney University, and surprisingly received 94/100 for it, with an overall course mark of 89/100. I hope it's an interesting read.

The deconstructionist Jacques Derrida, in remarking Western philosophy, comes to imply that the process of theorising ‘the self’ is one, which is conceivably marked by difference.[1] Derrida regards the self and other mental and phenomenal events as products of difference, wherein such an ‘event’ is defined by its relation to what it is not rather than its essence.[2] Derrida’s insight into the way people philosophise about the world, and subsequently about ‘the self’, is ironically and self-reflexively, unto itself, also just a philosophy. Regardless of this theoretical peccadillo, it is undoubtedly worthwhile to consider the methodologies and analytics of deconstructionism and post-structuralism when evaluating different approaches to and theories of acting. In fact, it seems very much so that the discipline of performance studies, at present, borrowing also from anthropology, psychology and sociology, has contentedly adopted this seemingly diagnostic methodology and worldview. In this way, Roach and Zarrilli, asks us to be cognizant of the (metaphorical) language, assumptions and ideologies that often permeate discourses of acting.[3] Zarrilli also, whether identifying as a ‘Deleuzian post-structuralist’ or not, notes the discrepancies that may exist between theatre/acting theory and practice; that often, the way in which theorists think of acting may not necessarily translate vis-à-vis onto practice.[4] And actors, in recognising the limitations of language in representing acting, may have no choice but to “live by” metaphors.[5]

This essay, as it’s begun to discursively do so, will explore two approaches to acting, namely Bertolt Brecht’s Epic performance and the American Method, and evaluate the ways in which they have been informed by implicit theories of the self. This exploration will make use of an array of theoretical concepts, belonging to Auslander, Appadurai, Derrida, Roach and Zarrilli, among others, to discern what is truly at stake (be it on a theoretical or a practical level) when approaches to acting are intricately and inextricably tied to a particular theory or topography of the self.

Firstly, in framing the premise of this essay, it will be instrumental to consider Auslander’s thesis. Auslander observes that theorists, as diverse as Stanislavsky, Brecht and Grotowski, “all implicitly designate the actor’s self as the logos[6] of performance; all assume that the actor’s self precedes and grounds [his] performance and that it is the presence of this self in performance that provides the audience with access to human truths.”[7] Here, Auslander is expressing this notion that in order for the spectator to derive meaning and ‘truths’ from the performance, he must be cognizant of the implicit theory of the self that the actor is seemingly embodying and presenting. Auslander further adds a remark by Chaikin for clarification: “Acting is a demonstration of self with or without a disguise,” wherein for Stanislavsky, this disguise is the actor’s own emotional experience, for Brecht, it’s the separation of the role from the actor’s own persona, and for Grotowski, it’s the divorcement from socialisation;[8] this idea that for a thorough grasp of the particular acting theory’s techniques, it necessitates an appreciation of the theorist’s underlying conception of ‘the self’. In contemplating these perspectives, Auslander discriminately arrives at his main thesis; he purports that “the self is not an autonomous foundation for acting, but [rather] is produced by the performance it supposedly grounds.”[9] Auslander clearly rejects any notion of the self as being self-evident, and suggests that the relationship between the self and the acting theory may not necessarily be one that privileges the former over the latter, but rather the two may be conceived of simultaneously; existing on equal planes. Furthermore, even if we do accept the argument that a distinct theory of the self precedes an acting approach, it does not preclude the possibility of the acting in (re)shaping and revising our theory of the self.

Appadurai also presents a convincing argument regarding the relationship between ‘the self’ and, in this instance, non-acting performance/acting. His peculiar phraseology of ‘topographies of the self’[10] implies that the theorisation of ‘the self’ is a process of survey and revision, of the content of the topography as being gleaned from historical-cultural everyday phenomenon, such as praise or any other form of linguistic interaction. And while there may be a dominant topography of the self that pervades, or underlies, a certain milieu, topographies can also vary individually – especially in this age of globalisation and multiculturalism, by the same token, this coalescence of nations and cultures may also generate an indistinct global topography of the self. Regardless, Appadurai still emphasises the utmost importance of testing topographies ethnographically.[11] He also delicately maps out a Western topography of the self, asserting that it is “anchored in a spatial image of layers … [with] the affective bedrock … directly tied to the somatic side of personality.”[12] Indeed, it will be imperative to entertain this conception of the Western ‘self’ against Brechtian and Method acting, two approaches that presumably draw from, and influence, such a ‘self’.

In addition, both Auslander’s concept of the cross-pollinating two-way street of acting/theatre and ‘the self’, and Appadurai’s argument of topographies of the self as being extractable from everyday phenomena, relate closely to Zarrilli’s thesis of “theatre-making [as] a mode of socio-cultural practice … not an innocent or naïve activity separate from or above and beyond everyday reality, history, politics, or economics.”[13] Zarrilli, in echoing the other two theorists, explains that “theatre is a complex network of specific, interactive practices … which helps to constitute, shape, and affect ‘selves’ as well as historical events and relationships.”[14] As mentioned, it is on these terms through which a consideration of Brechtian and Method acting occurs. Moreover, Zarrilli’s position of the active role that theatre plays vis-à-vis society, interestingly, reflects Brecht’s position on the matter too.

Brecht’s writing on acting is intricately linked to his overall conception of theatre. Brecht seemed to theorise about acting insofar only as it served the formation of his ‘Epic Theatre’. Brecht wanted directors together with their actors, in their (epic) theatre productions, to realise their interpretation of the play/text; however, this interpretation, as Brecht stipulated, must identify and critique the macrocosmic forces (social, historical, cultural conditions) that have shaped the characters’ relationships, lives and world.[15] His theatre’s most fundamental principle was its activist commitment to social change, and in facilitating this, it had to present society and human nature as being changeable.[16] The means by which this occurred was through interpretive examples, not by direct depictions, as Brecht explicitly wanted to draw attention to theatre’s contrived, artificial nature: “[theatre] consists of the production of living illustrations of historical or imaged occurrences between people.”[17] Brecht was against ‘illusionist theatre’ and consequently aimed to demonstrate that the concept of ‘the structure of society (represented on the stage) as capable of being influenced by society (in the auditorium)’ was both possible and ideal;[18] this resonates strongly with Zarrilli’s thesis, in that Brecht’s theatre does not play a merely passive role in society, but rather has the power to change it. Brecht’s prime concern for his Epic Theatre was to show human behaviour as alterable, of man being determined by certain political and economic factors and, more crucially, “at the same time as capable of altering them.”[19] Thus, an aspect of Brecht’s topography of the self emerges here, one that is similar to the Western version, in that it is seemingly layered; influenced by a wide set of institutional (political, economic) factors. This understanding of the self is very much in the vein of the classical Marxist tradition of ‘Dialectical Materialism’ – “the idea that the individual is created by socio-political and economic factors and is, therefore, able to change his circumstances and environment.”[20] Brecht sinisterly saw these (man-made) factors/structures as often being used by men to oppress other men, and thus will be changed by men.

Brecht devised his acting theory in the context of achieving his politicised Epic Theatre. One such technique, the Alienation Effect (‘Verfremdungseffekt’), attempted to “make the spectator adopt an attitude of inquiry and criticism in his approach to the incident[s]”[21] illustrated on stage. Thus, this acting technique served to help realise the director’s textual interpretation and, from that, the historical determinants or “dark powers” that oversaw the materialisation of the incidents.[22] The A-effect first consisted of the actor’s acknowledgement of the removal of the fourth wall, as well as ‘magic’ and ‘hypnotic tensions’.[23] In drawing attention to the artificial nature of theatre, the actor’s relationship to the audience is no longer made on the basis of empathy, rather on the basis of critical and political awareness.[24] Moreover, the focus of this acting was not on the characters themselves, but rather on what happens between them, and with this, it offers enough information for the audience to discuss, criticise and change the characters and their milieu.[25] Rouse comments that Brecht shifts the focus away from the individual and the psychological to that of the group and the sociological.[26]

The aim of the A-effect is to make the actor’s object (character’s incident) “appear strange and even surprising to the audience;”[27] to de-familiarise familiar phenomena and people so as to make spectators see them from fresh angles.[28] In this way, Brecht did not want his actors to be completely transformed nor immersed by their roles, instead to simply present their characters with distance; it is through this detachment in which the actor is in a position to both remark and invite criticism of his character.[29] Three aids, which Brecht developed to help the actor maintain this distance, are (1) transposition into the third person, (2) transposition into the past, and (3) speaking the stage directions out loud.[30] Brecht condemned Stanislavsky’s “forcing of empathy” and actor/audience identification with the character in that it “encouraged spectators to resign themselves to the status quo by presenting [people] as powerless victims of their heredity and environment;”[31] circumstances are here ‘given’ and, to that extent, are not subject to question.[32] Brecht, however, in using his theatre to demonstrate that for any given situation a large number of options are available, aspired to show that social reality is neither determined nor always defensible.[33] The A-effect, nevertheless, is not devoid of emotions or empathy. The matter comes to be that emotions are instead reconfigured, wherein the spectator is free to experience different emotions from the characters; as Brecht explains, “[the spectator] can experience anger when the character on stage experiences joy.”[34] Hence, the actor is still allowed to run the gamut of emotions, given consideration of his character’s situation, of course.

Brecht’s other principal acting technique is the Gestus. Gestus is best understood as “a physical action or spatial configuration which reveals the ideological, social and economic relations between two or more characters.”[35] Thus, it is very much reliant on symbolism and allegory, as Bradley explains that in scene 6 of Brecht’s 1951 production of The Mother (Die Mutter), the tableau configuration of the teacher standing under the Tsar’s portrait while declaring that it would be senseless to educate the masses tenably exposed the Russian education system as a mouthpiece for the Tsar’s ideology and a hindrance to political change.[36] As a physical action, the gestus takes the form of bodily gestures and actions; these are meant to be expansive and are not psychologically connected to the character.[37] Krause notes that this in stark contrast to the Method, whereby actors are trained to work ‘from the inside out’; “waiting for [a] physical movement to be inspired by a psychological impetus, thereby ensuring a [subdued] lifelike result.”[38] Brecht offers a warning: “expressions of a gest are usually highly complicated and contradictory… the actor must take care that in giving his image the necessary emphasis he does not lose anything, but [emphasises] the entire complex.”[39]

As mentioned, Brecht’s topography of the self is of Marxian provenance. Brecht’s self is characterised by a conscious and a subconscious mind, with both being susceptible to social indoctrination, particularly the latter. The self is shaped by a diverse set of macrocosmic/institutional forces (politics, economics, religion, culture, history, etc.) that seem ‘given’, but man is capable of waking himself up from them and changing these (man-made) conditions. This aspect is reminiscent of a Western topography as it implies that the self is layered, with different institutional forces affecting different layers. As a Marxist, Brecht used epic theatre to highlight the ways in which the bourgeois oppressed the proletariat, but such a tool could equally be used to reveal the constitutions of race or gender.[40] Brecht ultimately saw the self in close relation to its environment, changeable insofar as society’s institutions change too.

Method’s topography, although also conceivably Western, is expressed differently. According to Group Theatre founder/director Harold Clurman, Method acting is a “means of training actors as well as a technique for the use of actors in their work on parts.”[41] Like Stanislavsky’s system, from which it’s derived, Method is best understood as a “procedure, not a series of rules to be applied specifically.”[42] The aim of this acting theory is to enable actors to create realistic and truthful behaviour in imaginary circumstances, as Krasner notes, “it trains the actor to make demands on the body through the use of stimuli and imagination, so that the body responds creatively.”[43] The process, through which the actor acquires this, as Lee Strasberg explains, is via “work in two spheres – the actor’s work on himself and the actor’s work on the role.”[44][45] Counsell, however, argues that the notion of a performance being ‘realistic’ is not an inherent feature of the actual performance, but rather derived from the way it’s received; realistic acting is the mode deemed realistic by its viewing culture, its innate artificiality comes to signify the ‘real’.[46][47] Robert Lewis notes that real behaviour on stage must be “really experienced, but artistically controlled, and correctly used for the particular character portrayed, the complete circumstances of the scene, and the chosen style of the author and play being performed.” Counsell develops this contention to its logical conclusion and argues that although certain (Hollywood) practitioners may perceive the Method as a ‘self-evident’ way to act, it is essentially just another acting style with its own iconography (repertoire of movements, postures, speech, etc), and ultimately actors draw from this pool of performance signs when they perform.

Method acting, in drawing on the actor’s life, past experiences, emotions and, even, personal traumas, implies that the self is a repository of memories; a deep and complex psychological being that is able to generate layers of meaning in an acting or non-acting performance, which lie beyond easy comprehension.[48] This also indicates that there is both an inner and an outer appearance or incarnation of the self. Strasberg’s private moment/affect memory exercise requires actors to tap into their repository, as they use personal stimuli to recall physical sensations, which then transfigure into a sensory image.[49] This sensory image subsequently motivates associated emotions and physical actions. The aim is to strengthen the links between sensory images and emotions, so that the actor is able to respond creatively on stage.[50][51] Moreover, the understanding of the self as a complex psychological being has resulted in the Method’s consideration of subtext and the employment of improvisation. From improvising, the actor builds a detailed inner life for the character, one that is sovereign from the play. This is divergent from Stanislavsky, whose characters are created to satisfy the play’s requirements, whereas in the Method, they are constructed despite those requirements, whereby the character’s internal reality takes precedence over the play.

Charles Marowitz writes that Method acting “encourages the actor to approach a role as if it were an invitation to reveal himself.”[52] This is related to both Stanislavsky’s concept of ‘perezhivanie’: of ‘experiencing’ and ‘living through’ the role, and Stella Adler’s acting ‘from yourself’ idea, where, after defining the difference between his behaviours and the character’s, the actor acts without thinking where his personal action ends and the character’s begins.[53][54] Krasner elucidates: “Authenticity appeals to the inner life construed as an expression or state of the self, offering physical and psychological understanding of identity. [And although] the social world may compel self-awareness of our class, gender, race, and/or ethnicity … the alleged true self is thought of as independent of the social world.”[55] Similar to Brecht’s topography, this ‘self’ is layered, with different institutional forces (i.e. economics, gender, race, etc) shaping different layers. These forces may also coerce humans to identify with a singular aspect of their identity (such as race) over and above the self’s totality. There’s also an allusion to the ‘true self’, the primordial somatic side of the self that’s independent of social constructs and labels and which resides at the bottom of these layers. This ‘true self’ seems to be a-cultural, responding only to instincts and impulses. There emerges here, this requirement of transformation, of behaviour on stage as being “really experienced.” The Method clearly rejects indicating and external imitation, something that Brecht contrastingly promoted in his acting approach. This notion of authentic behaviour on stage can be seen as originating from the American cultural value of authenticity. This value stemmed from America’s struggle to define its national identity at the fin-de-siècle and undoubtedly has affected Method’s topography of the self.

Method’s reliance on the self has attracted much criticism, however, these criticisms are fallacies in that they fail to fully realise the topography of the self that underlies this acting theory. One such is Brustein, who criticises Method actors for their seemingly lack of versatility; because of their interests in the self and themselves, Method actors “usually purvey a single character from role to role, one that is recognisably close to his own personality.”[56] Krasner refutes this claim and argues that the Method’s ‘self’ is “neither static nor fixed, but evolving … human beings reinvent themselves continuously. The self changes by entering into new relationships, and the actor must bring new ideas to each successive characterisation.”[57] Moreover, it also implies that there are different sides to a person. Hence, the actor is more than allowed to focus on himself when working on a new role, and this is not at the risk of perpetuating a fixed characterisation. Subsequently, this demonstrates the necessity of understanding the acting theory’s topography of the self prior to applying the acting techniques.

In conclusion, this essay has described two approaches to acting: Brecht’s Epic performance and the American Method, and attempted to map out the distinct implicit theories or topographies of the self that seemingly pervade and underlie each approach. In doing so, it first explored the theoretical premise by which acting has come to be thought of as being informed by a version of ‘the self’, borrowing namely from Auslander, Appadurai and Zarrilli. Both Brecht’s and the Method’s theories of the self are comparable with a Western topography of the self, though expressed and emphasised differently. Both see ‘the self’ as being layered, with macrocosmic/ institutional forces affecting the individual’s understanding of it. Brecht saw these forces of economics, politics and religion as changeable; in fact, of them needing to be changed as often they’re used by men to oppress other men. Method acting concurs with this understanding, but asserts that the ‘true self’ is independent of these socio-cultural constructs/labels; that although different layers of the self (e.g. class, gender, race, etc) come to affect one’s identity, there still remains an incorruptible, universal primordial self. In contrast, Brecht believes the self, or rather both the conscious and subconscious mind of the self to be extremely susceptible to the social world. Method also theorises the self in terms of the mind, in that it perceives the self to be a repository of memories – a deep and complex psychological being. These ideas of the self have undoubtedly informed the content of their respective acting theories and, more often than not, an appreciation of this topography is necessary prior to the application and appropriation of the acting theory.


Bibliography

Appadurai, Arjun. ‘Topographies of the Self: Praise and Emotion in Hindu India’. Catherine A. Lutz and Lila Abu-Lughod (ed.)’s Language and the Politics of Emotion. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. p. 1990.

Auslander, Philip. ‘“Just Be Yourself”: Logocentricism and Difference in Performance Theory’. Phillip B. Zarrilli (ed.)’s Acting (Re)Considered: Theories and Practice. London and New York: Routledge. 1995.

Bradley Laura. Brecht and Political Theatre: The Mother on Stage. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. 2006.

Brecht, Bertolt. Brecht on Theatre. John Willet (ed.). New York: Hill and Wang. 1964.

Clurman, Harold. The Collected Works of Harold Clurman. Marjorie Loggia and Glen Young (ed.). New York: Applause. 1994.

Counsell, Colin. Signs of Performance: An Introduction to Twentieth-Century Theatre. New York: Routledge. 1996.

Eddershaw, Margaret. Performing Brecht: Forty Years of British Performance. London and New York: Routledge. 1996.

Krasner, David [A]. ‘Strasberg. Adler and Meisner: Method Acting’. Alison Hodge (ed.)’s Twentieth Century Actor Training. London and New York: Routledge. 2000.

Krasner, David [B]. ‘I Hate Strasberg’. David Krasner (ed.)’s Method Acting Reconsidered: Theory. Practice. Future. New York: St. Martin’s Press. 2000.

Krause, Duane. ‘An Epic System’. Phillip B. Zarrilli (ed.)’s Acting (Re)Considered: Theories and Practice. London and New York: Routledge. 1995.

Lewis, Robert. Method or Madness? New York: Samuel French. 1958. p. 99.

Marowitz, Charles. Stanislavsky and the Method. New York: Citadel. 1964.

Mitter, Shomit. Systems of Rehearsal: Stanislavsky, Brecht, Grotowski and Brook. London and New York: Routledge. 1992.

Roach, Joseph R. ‘Preface’. The Player’s Passion: Studies in the Science of Acting. Newark: University of Delaware Press. 1985.

Rouse, John. ‘Brecht and the Contradictory Actor’. Phillip B. Zarrilli (ed.)’s Acting (Re)Considered: Theories and Practice. London and New York: Routledge. 1995.

Zarrilli, Phillip B. Acting (Re)Considered: Theories and Practice. London and New York: Routledge. 1995.



[1] Philip Auslander, ‘“Just Be Yourself”: Logocentricism and Difference in Performance Theory’, in Phillip B. Zarrilli (ed.)’s Acting (Re)Considered: Theories and Practice, London and New York: Routledge, 1995, p. 59.

[2] Philip Auslander, ibid.

[3] Joseph R. Roach, ‘Preface’, The Player’s Passion: Studies in the Science of Acting, Newark: University of Delaware Press, 1985, p. 16.

Phillip B. Zarrilli, Acting (Re)Considered: Theories and Practice, London and New York: Routledge, 1995, p. 8.

[4] Phillip B. Zarrilli, p. 1.

[5] Phillip B. Zarrilli, p. 10.

[6] Logos = Logocentrism: the orientation of philosophy toward an order of meaning – thought, truth, reason, logic, the World – conceived as existing in itself, as foundation.

[7] Philip Auslander, p. 60.

[8] Philip Auslander, ibid.

[9] Philip Auslander, ibid.

[10] Arjun Appadurai, ‘Topographies of the Self: Praise and Emotion in Hindu India’, in Catherine A. Lutz and Lila Abu-Lughod (ed.)’s Language and the Politics of Emotion, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, p. 1990, p. 92.

[11] Arjun Appadurai, p. 92-93.

[12] Arjun Appadurai, p. 93.

[13] Phillip B. Zarrilli, p. 1.

[14] Phillip B. Zarrilli, p. 2.

[15] John Rouse, ‘Brecht and the Contradictory Actor’, in Phillip B. Zarrilli (ed.)’s Acting (Re)Considered: Theories and Practice, London and New York: Routledge, 1995, p. 229-230.

[16] John Rouse, p. 230.

[17] John Rouse, ibid.

[18] Duane Krause, ‘An Epic System’, in Phillip B. Zarrilli (ed.)’s Acting (Re)Considered: Theories and Practice, London and New York: Routledge, 1995, p. 262.

[19] Bertolt Brecht, Brecht on Theatre, John Willet (ed.), New York: Hill and Wang, 1964, p. 86.

[20] Margaret Eddershaw, Performing Brecht: Forty Years of British Performance, London and New York: Routledge, 1996, p. 2.

[21] Bertolt Brecht, Brecht on Theatre, John Willet (ed.), New York: Hill and Wang, 1964, p. 136.

[22] John Rouse, p. 231.

[23] Bertolt Brecht, p. 136.

[24] Laura Bradley, Brecht and Political Theatre: The Mother on Stage, Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2006, p. 5.

[25] John Rouse, p. 230.

[26] John Rouse, ibid.

[27] Bertolt Brecht, p. 92.

[28] Laura Bradley, p. 6.

[29] Laura Bradley, p. 5.

[30] Bertolt Brecht, p. 138.

[31] Laura Bradley, p. 4.

[32] Shomit Mitter, Systems of Rehearsal: Stanislavsky, Brecht, Grotowski and Brook, London and New York: Routledge, 1992, p. 42-43.

[33] Shomit Mitter, p. 43.

[34] Laura Bradley, p. 7.

[35] Laura Bradley, p. 6.

[36] Laura Bradley, p. 5-6.

[37] Duane Krause, p. 268.

[38] Duane Krause, ibid.

[39] Bertolt Brecht, p. 198.

[40] Duane Krause, p. 265.

[41] Harold Clurman, The Collected Works of Harold Clurman, Marjorie Loggia and Glen Young (ed.), New York: Applause, 1994, p. 369.

[42] David Krasner [A], ‘Strasberg, Adler and Meisner: Method Acting’, in Alison Hodge (ed.)’s Twentieth Century Actor Training, London and New York: Routledge, 2000, p. 134.

[43] David Krasner [B], ‘I Hate Strasberg’, in David Krasner (ed.)’s Method Acting Reconsidered: Theory, Practice, Future, New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000, p. 5.

[44] David Krasner [B], p. 4.

[45] Robert Lewis, Method or Madness?, New York: Samuel French, 1958, p. 99.

[46] Colin Counsell, Signs of Performance: An Introduction to Twentieth-Century Theatre, New York: Routledge, 1996, p. 53.

[47] Colin Counsell, ibid.

[48] David Krasner [A], p. 130.

[49] David Krasner [B], p. 12.

[50] David Krasner [B], p. 19.

[51] David Krasner [B], p. 16.

[52] Charles Marowitz, Stanislavsky and the Method, New York: Citadel, 1964, p. 43.

[53] David Krasner [B], p. 4-5.

[54] David Krasner [B], p. 25.

[55] David Krasner [B], p. 27.

[56] David Krasner [A], p. 132.

[57] David Krasner, ibid.

Friday, October 22, 2010

Coming Soon

Soon I will divulge to you, my beloved followers - it currently being only one, but that's o.k. - an essay about Method and Brechtian acting. Followed by my predictions of the nominees for this year's Best Actress in a Leading Role Academy Award. So stay tuned.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Weimar Cinema Aesthetics and Thematics: Robert Wiene's "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" and Fritz Lang's "Metropolis"

The pioneering Soviet Russian film director and theorist Sergei Eisenstein, in the 1920s, once described the silent cinema of the Weimar Republic as a “barbaric carnival of the destruction of the healthy human infancy of our art.”[1] Equally harsh, in the 1983, the German expatriate Hollywood actress Marlene Dietrich dismissed the films of her native tongue and early career as “trashy” and “rubbish.”[2] These are just two disparaging and mordant remarks by two cinema-artists who, serendipitously, during the period of 1918 to 1933, had loose connections to the Weimar cinematic culture and industry. Regardless of being positive or negative, there has been much commentary, criticism and debate devoted to the cinematic milieu of this liminal historical period since its emergence in 1918. The first accounts were from those of the Frankfurt School in the 1920s, critiques by Theodor Adorno, Max Horkheimer and Siegfried Kracauer among others, most of them revised and refortified their theses after the Second World War.[3] The most salient and renowned accounts of this cinema have been by Siegfried Kracauer and Lotte Eisner; Kracauer presents a psycho-sociological analysis in his From Caligari to Hitler (1947), meanwhile, Eisner provides an art historical perspective in her The Haunted Screen (1952). These two distinct post-WWII theses have become the two predominate grounds through which film historians have come to think and theorise about Weimar cinema. As a liberal framework and a rough timeline, the Weimar period can be divided into two halves, the first being from 1918 through to 1927 wherein Expressionism, as an avant-garde art movement, and the desolating aftermath of the First War World predominantly affected the aesthetics and thematics of the films, and the second half from 1928 to the appointment of Hitler as Chancellor in 1933 with the rise of New Objectivity and the growing popularity of the National Socialist ideology. This cinema, due to its unique historical context and placing, invites, more than any other, a socio-historical analysis. Moreover, what is also problematic is considering Weimar cinema within a German national cinema discourse, as most scholarly works have held the belief that German cinema is best defined and understood almost exclusively through an isolated engagement of the three milieux of Weimar, Nazi and New German Cinema.[4]

This essay, as it has begun to discursively do so, will investigate the ways in which the social, political, historical and cultural contexts of the Weimar period have come to shape the aesthetics and thematic concerns of its cinema through a reading of the diverse accounts and debates from differing historical vantage points and perspectives. Such an endeavour will inevitably draw consideration to the historiographical approaches of these film theorists, to a need of evaluating the assumptions, biases and limitations of their writings. In fact, one of the first commentators on the Weimar cinema and culture, Georg Lukács, writing in the 1930s, even warned his readers of the essentially subjective nature of historical writing, and implored them to inspect and scrutinise the discourses and ideologies at play, particularly with concern for the historian’s own normative commitments; it seems as though Lukács had foreshadowed the multifarious, and sometimes conflicting, debates that the Weimar cinema would come to bring.[5] Lukács’ warning suggests that any reading of Weimar cinema is fundamentally just one interpretation, one view of (art/film) history in an ocean of histories. Accordingly, not only Kracauer and Eisner’s, but also Thomas Elsaesser and Richard McCormick’s readings, from the 1990s, of Weimar aesthetics and thematics, will be entertained and tested against an analysis of Robert Wiene’s Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari (The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, 1919) and Fritz Lange’s Metropolis (1927).

As mentioned above, Kracauer and Eisner’s critiques have received substantial amounts of esteem and any new reading of Weimar cinema is required to acknowledge their works. Kracauer’s thesis of Weimar cinema as proto-fascist cinema and the linkage of film Expressionism to National Socialism has its origins in Lukács’ work.[6] Lukács, in 1934, argued that “Expressionism was undoubtedly one of the diverse bourgeois ideological currents that would later result in fascism,” Petro elaborates on his reasoning and explains that “[Expressionism’s] tendency towards subjectivism and romanticism linked it ideologically to the irrational mysticism of Wilhelmian philosophy, … one of the central sources of Nazi beliefs.”[7] This proposition was then extended by Kracauer in 1947 with his From Caligari to Hitler, wherein he exclaims that these films reflected “the inner dispositions of the German people.”[8] Kracauer’s argument is based upon the theoretical premise that social tendencies are best revealed in cultural phenomenon, in popular culture; this relationship, however, is not an entirely neutral one either as he contends that Weimar cinema, comprised of Expressionism and Abstractionism, was also susceptible to fascist Nazi manipulation and control, and therefore incapable of fully revealing the visible social world.[9] Yet, the aesthetics and thematics of a large number of Weimar films did reveal an aura of gloom, fatalism and disorientation, which Kracauer clearly saw as psychological manifestations of the Germans’ predisposition for authoritarianism. Kracauer attributes this aura to Expressionism and consequently blames the movement for providing a means to Hitler’s accession; that Expressionist cinema with its preoccupation with the fantastic, the Gothic and the purely formal qualities of the film medium had diverted the German audience’s attention away from immediate social realities. He writes: “the bulk of German people could not help submitting to Hitler … [because] … it all was as it had been on the screen. The dark premonitions of a final doom were fulfilled.”[10] Thus German film Expressionism with its evocation of the Gothic, though traditionally considered a high point in cinema history, becomes an example of all that cinema must avoid; for Kracauer, instead of bringing about the redemption of German life, this cinema had brought about its regression due to being both inclined towards and manipulated by Nazism.[11]

In contrast, Eisner theorises Weimar cinema from an art historical perspective and sees it as a development, and evolution, of German Romanticism, wherein the “modern technique [of cinematography] … merely lends a visible form to Romantic fancies.”[12] She asserts that this period, strongly “stimulated” by dual influences of Max Reinhardt’s theatre and Expressionism, was the greatest period of German cinema. Eisner illustrates that the German attraction to the Gothic amplified during the First World War; that “mysticism and magic, the dark forces to which Germans have always been more than willing to commit themselves, [had] flourished in the face of death on the battlefields”[13] and consequently led to a revival of German Romanticism. This revival saw German artists tend to a new kind of brooding speculative reflection called ‘Grübelei,’ which eventually culminated in Expressionism.[14] Moreover, Eisner also notes that the social and economic conditions of poverty and constantly insecurity helped to fuel German enthusiasm in this “apocalyptic doctrine.”[15]

In her analysis of Dr. Caligari, Eisner informs that both the prologue and epilogue of the film were added as an afterthought in the face of objections from its authors Carl Mayer and Hans Janowitz. The aim of these modifications was to falsify the action and ultimately reduce it to the ravings of a madman, when really, the intention of the authors was to unmask the absurdity of asocial authority as represented by Dr. Caligari, the superintendent of a lunatic asylum and proprietor of a fairground sideshow.[16] This structuring of the narrative, however, fits well with the artistic direction and style of the sets, which decidedly have a “gloomy hallucinatory atmosphere” to them.[17] These sets, though often criticised for being too flat, have visual and textural dimensionality; a depth, Eisner argues, that “comes from deliberately distorted perspectives[,] from narrow, slanting streets which cut across each other at unexpected angles … [and] the inclined cubes of dilapidated houses.”[18] The sets come to adopt aesthetic attributes of Expressionist paintings and sculptures and, through that, play a crucial role in affecting both the stylisation of the acting (as other figurations within the Expressionist tableau) and, thematically, the characters of Cesare and Caligari (the former as the somnambulist who kills without motive or logic and the latter who, lacking in human scruples, acts with the criminal insensibility and defiance of conventional morality, which the Expressionists foresaw as being pervasive in society).[19] For Eisner, it is the aesthetic qualities of the Expressionist German film, and the Gothic ideology already imbued within the aesthetic, that facilitates a reflection of German society.

Meanwhile, the critiques of Weimar cinema by historians writing in the 1990s seem to be less fatalistic and less inclined to narrativise the films in terms of only Nazism. This is possibly because with the advantage of time passing and the impartiality of hindsight, one is better able to see the underlying currents and trends of a society than when social-political events and tragedies are still current and prevailing. Thomas Elsaesser in his article ‘Social Mobility and the Fantastic’ (1990) perceptively argues a case for the thematic concern of economic success and social mobility, and how it gets encoded in fantastic forms, as evident in certain Weimar films. He notes that though it is not only pertinent to Germany, the possibility of improving one’s fortunes does have special prescience for the Weimar period.[20] Elsaesser links this theme back to the Germany of Bismarck, wherein small feudal courts and petty aristocratic principalities were superseded by an industrial bourgeois nation-state, yet still prevalent was an elitist feudal social mentality.[21] This social mobility seemed to be most achievable in the democratic Weimar period and so most German films utilised the Gothic Expressionist aesthetic to elucidate this. But this ideological message that the films conveyed did have a contradictory element to it, Elsaesser writes:

“On the one hand, it is the direct expression of the ambition and desire of that class who seeks refuge in cinema because their real prospects are so limited. On the other hand, being chosen by fate and chance for social success is itself a distorted version of class-struggle, insofar as a personal, individual solution is offered by the film, while the question of the whole class or group is blocked off and suppressed. [This form or representation of] Social rise is thus a version of the class struggle that denies the existence of this struggle.”[22]

Elsaesser pinpoints this in Dr. Caligari in the Gothic-fantastic figure of the sorcerer’s apprentice, whereby the personal struggle of Cesare in overcoming Caligari’s magic forces and regaining his agency comes to figuratively represent that of the working class, who are constantly overruled by the authoritarian military class and their decisions for the course of German history. Moreover, this figuration of Cesare also symbolises the fears of industrialisation, developed capitalism and modernity, of the workers’ divorcement from their product and the artist’s loss of control of his work of art.

Elsaesser recalls that after every failed revolution, in 1798, 1848, 1918, 1968, Germany experiences a revival of romantic art and fantastic Gothic literature; that Goethe’s Faust, Hoffmann’s Prague, Herzog’s Aguirre, Caligari and Metropolis’ Rotwang all have a kindred bond in that they come to help express Germany’s frustrated desire for change rather than resistance to it.[23] This concept is metaphorically expressed through Dr. Caligari’s multiple Oedipal scenarios as permitted by the film’s unique multi-perspectival framing. The sexual repression attached to the ‘Oedipalised’ father-daughter and father-son relations comes to stand as a substitution for social and political repression, for the younger generation’s inability to supersede the older generation’s authority.[24] Elsaesser recognises that it is the Gothic aesthetic and fantasy genre’s aptitude for representing current conflicts as well as disguising them that enables Weimar films to express such complex and deeply rooted social issues. This melding of the German past with the present suggests a sense of historical continuity and a way of working through contemporary class relations, sexuality and authoritarianism inoffensively.[25]

There is, however, an aspect of Elsaesser’s article that is perplexing and problematic. He criticises Kracauer’s “double reduction” methodology, Kracauer’s narrativising of German (film) history wherein all events are seen to lead up to Hitler and fascism, and instead calls for a more organic interpretation of Weimar cinema.[26] Yet, strangely, he coerces the films in his analysis to his reading of social mobility and consequently makes the two paragraphs written prior redundant.[27] Possibly, Elsaesser is suggesting that Weimar cinema can be viewed beyond the Nazi discourse.


McCormick in his essay ‘From Caligari to Dietrich’ (1993) theorises Weimar cinema in terms of Feminism, women’s social liberation and the male anxiety attached to this. He, like Elsaesser with social mobility, acknowledges that though this is a universal theme pertinent to all modern societies, it has special relevance with the cinema of the Weimar Republic.[28] This is because historically the Weimar Republic was the first democratic constitution to offer women the promise of legal equality. Both Weimar society and its films saw the emergence of a ‘new woman’ who exercised unprecedented forms of both social and sexual autonomy.[29] This proto-Feminist mentality was further perpetuated by the exponential visibility of gay and lesbian subcultures coexisting in Berlin, as well as the progressive political struggles of repealing abortion and homosexuality.[30] These changes to the German mentality and patriarchal authoritarian status quo inescapably led to mass male anxiety over castration. McCormick notes that this mass anxiety was manipulated by the Weimar cinema, and overtly enacted out and thematised.[31]

Lang’s Metropolis, the last Weimar Expressionist film, is an interesting film to test the argument that McCormick presents on Weimar cinema. In considering Metropolis’ narrative and characterisation, it almost seems as though Lang and his screenwriter, Thea von Harbou, were presciently aware of the masses’ fear of women’s liberation and the media’s (and other films’) victimisation of women and other minority groups as the source of society’s instability. In the film, the human Maria is kidnapped by the inventor-sorcerer Rotwang, as ordered by the city’s authoritarian ruler Joh Fredersen, and her image is replicated into the robot Maria. It is the robot Maria who, under the control and order of her kidnapper and Fredersen, incites and inspires a workers’ revolt, which eventually leads to a near destruction of Metropolis. After initially having the workers on her side, her destructive (sexual) potential is then realised and she becomes the scapegoat through which society redeems itself, returning back to the patriarchal status quo. Appropriately, robot Maria is burnt at the stake like the witch she is perceived as. Yet when retracing the narrative’s causal origin, it is evident that the true destructor of Metropolis is its ruler. Lang seems to be suggesting that real social and political changes still remain at the hands of men in positions of authoritative power. The machinic Maria comes to be a martyr figure; she is subjected to all the shame that a typical Pandora attracts, but is not the source for man’s downfall or castration.

Moreover, even though the film is set in the future, it evokes plenty of Gothic themes and aesthetics. Metropolis seems to be fascinated by death with the most blatant case being the personification of the seven deadly sins and the Grim Reaper. Death is aligned with the machines, first the Moloch machine that feeds off the workers’ flesh and second the robot Maria. With its second connection to Maria, there seems to resurface a notion that anything that renders men redundant or castrated is deathly.

In conclusion, this essay has attempted to explicate the various interpretations of Weimar cinema and, in particular, account for the ways in which they see Weimar cinema aesthetics and thematics to be affected by the historical context of the period. The theories of Kracauer, Eisner, Elsaesser and McCormick were considered against a textual reading of Wiene’s The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and Lang’s Metropolis, revealing that any interpretation of a text is still just one interpretation, likewise, any reading of the Weimar cinema is ultimately still just one reading of film history, with the historiographical approach being half the story. Kracauer argues a case for Weimar cinema as proto-fascist cinema, meanwhile, Eisner sees it as an extension of German Romanticism. Both post-war authors seem to suggest that the Expressionist aesthetic, with its implicit Gothic ideology, has the capacity to reflect the German psychology felt during the Weimar period. In contrast, the two 1990s theorists, Elsaesser and McCormick view the Gothic motif as a means of connecting present events to the past and critiquing contemporary German society via its past; both Elsaesser and McCormick, in formulating their theses, attempt to shift discussion on Weimar cinema away from Nazism, and lead it towards other sociological phenomena of social mobility and women’s liberation.


Bibliography

Bergfelder, Tim. ‘Part One: Popular Cinema’. In Tim Bergfelder. Erica Carter. Deniz Gokturk. Eds. The German Cinema Book. London: British Film Institute. 2002.

Eisenstein, Sergei. ‘Griffith, Dickens, and the Film Today’. Reprinted in Thomas Elsaesser. Ed. Space, Frame, Narrative: An Early Cinema Reader. Norwich: University of East Anglia. 1986.

Eisner, Lotte. The Haunted Screen: Expressionism in the German Cinema and the Influence of Max Reinhardt. Trans. Roger Greaves. Berkeley: University of California Press. 1969.

Elsaesser, Thomas. ‘Social Mobility and the Fantastic: German Silent Cinema’. In Mike Budd. Ed.. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari: Texts, Contexts, Histories. New Brunswick and London: Rutgers University Press. 1990.

Kracauer, Siegfried. From Caligari to Hitler: A Psychological History of the German Film. Princeton: Princeton University Press. 1947.

McCormick, Richard W. ‘From Caligari to Dietrich: Sexual, Social, and Cinematic Discourses in Weimar Film’. In Signs. Vol. 18. No. 3. Spring 1993. 640-668.

Petro, Patrice. ‘From Lukács to Kracauer and beyond: Social Film Histories and the German Cinema’. In Cinema Journal. Vol. 22. No. 3. Spring 1983. 47-70.

Petro, Patrice. ‘The Woman, the Monster and The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari’. In Mike Budd. Ed. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari: Texts, Contexts, Histories. New Brunswick and London: Rutgers University Press. 1990.

Filmography

Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari (The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, Robert Wiene, 1919)

Metropolis (Fritz Lang, 1927)

[1] Sergei Eisenstein, ‘Griffith, Dickens, and the Film Today’, reprinted in Thomas Elsaesser, ed., Space, Frame, Narrative: An Early Cinema Reader, Norwich: University of East Anglia, 1986, p. 260.

[2] Patrice Petro, ‘The Woman, the Monster and The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari’, in Mike Budd, ed., The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari: Texts, Contexts, Histories, New Brunswick and London: Rutgers University Press, 1990, p. 164.

[3] Tim Bergfelder, ‘Part One: Popular Cinema’, in Tim Bergfelder, Erica Carter, Deniz Gokturk, eds., The German Cinema Book, London: British Film Institute, 2002, p. 3.

[4] Tim Bergfelder, p. 1.

[5] Patrice Petro, ‘From Lukács to Kracauer and beyond: Social Film Histories and the German Cinema’, in Cinema Journal, Vol. 22, No. 3, Spring 1983, p. 47.

[6] Patrice Petro, op. cit.

[7] Patrice Petro, p. 48-49.

[8] Patrice Petro, p. 51.

[9] Patrice Petro, p. 52.

[10] Siegfried Kracauer, From Caligari to Hitler: A Psychological History of the German Film, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1947, p. 272.

[11] Patrice Petro, p. 52.

[12] Lotte Eisner, The Haunted Screen: Expressionism in the German Cinema and the Influence of Max Reinhardt, trans. Roger Greaves, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969, p. 113.

[13] Lotte Eisner, p. 9.

[14] Lotte Eisner, op. cit.

[15] Lotte Eisner, op. cit.

[16] Lotte Eisner, p. 18.

[17] Lotte Eisner, op. cit.

[18] Lotte Eisner, p. 21.

[19] Lotte Eisner, p. 25-27.

[20] Thomas Elsaesser, ‘Social Mobility and the Fantastic: German Silent Cinema’, in Mike Budd, ed., The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari: Texts, Contexts, Histories, New Brunswick and London: Rutgers University Press, 1990, p. 174.

[21] Thomas Elsaesser, p. 172.

[22] Thomas Elsaesser, p. 174.

[23] Thomas Elsaesser, p. 172-3.

[24] Thomas Elsaesser, p. 186.

[25] Thomas Elsaesser, p. 172.

[26] Thomas Elsaesser, p. 173.

[27] Thomas Elsaesser, p. 174.

[28] Richard W. McCormick, ‘From Caligari to Dietrich: Sexual, Social, and Cinematic Discourses in Weimar Film’, in Signs, Vol. 18, No. 3, Spring 1993, p. 641.

[29] Richard W. McCormick, op. cit.

[30] Richard W. McCormick, p. 642.

[31] Richard W. McCormick, op. cit.