Snow Whitewashes German Cinema
In the 1920s Germany produced a series of so-called mountain films, with Alpine settings and lots of climbing. Some of them were documentary, but many were fictional. Leni Riefenstahl began her film career by starring in some of them, which is logical enough for this eventual favorite of Hitler’s, since the mountain films celebrated German heroism and ingenuity and fed into the essence of Nazi bravado.
Now comes North Face , another German film about mountaineering. In May 1936, the country is looking for national heroes as the Olympics approach. Alpine success seems a good way to find some, especially through the ascent, if possible, of the north face of the Eiger in the Alps, which had already claimed some German lives. A secretary on a Berlin newspaper, Luise Fellner, knows two young men back in the town she came from who are possible candidates for glory. Her paper sends her down there; her boss accompanies her; the two young men finally agree to attempt the climb, as do two Austrians. These matters give Luise a chance to develop her skill in photography. A predictable story develops in the days of preparation and, later, during the attempts. The film’s real interest and excitement, naturally enough in two senses, are in the climbing.
I have always loathed mountain climbing. Like auto racing, it seems a sport designed for a viewer who basically wants to see death, and like racing, though through much more difficult stratagems, it finds occasional means to satisfy that viewer. Still, when the camera ascends, the heart almost fibrillates. All the predictable climbing shots in this picture, all the hammering-in of pitons, all the swinging on ropes precariously fastened while the men arch over infinity–it is all simultaneously hateful, silly, unnecessary, and chilling. The screenplay, by Benedikt Roeskau, is based on a true story, all of it familiar enough except the last Alpine scene, which stings.
Yet the hazardous north-facing is less astonishing than the existence of the film itself. Made recently, it is set in Hitler’s world. Nazi armbands are worn, Hitler is heil ed when people arrive and leave, conversation refers to the pleasant state of the country. North Face won several awards lately from the German Film Academy. Don’t these facts mark some sort of turning point in acceptance?
Not long ago we had My Führer , a German film that made Hitler a buffoon. Presumably it demonstrated that a god had been de-deified. But now a German film presents life under Hitler as calmly as life under Merkel. I am not suggesting that this picture signals the return of fascism in Germany. Rather, it suggests an increase in speed. Everything is faster these days, apparently including the melding of the present into the past, the acceptance of the past as history rather than experience. As I recall, it took about a century before the English theater could accept Napoleon as a romantic figure. Now it needs only sixty years for Germans to accept loyal Nazis simply as people of the past living in accepted ways.
The film-makers have put in one unguent shot at the end. Luise (gently played by Johanna Wokalek) is a postwar photographer in New York and is taking a photograph of a black musician. No permanent Nazi, she.