over the moon
by Douglas Messerli
Rainer Werner Fassbinder and Michael
Fengler (screenwriters and directors) Warum
läuft Herr R. amok (Why Does Herr R.
Run Amok?) / 1970
In one of only two of Fassbinder’s
collaborative films, he and Michael Fengler focused on the story of a
hard-working, ordinary man, an architectural draftsman, whose life slowly comes
apart, resulting in a shocking series of actions.
Except for the outline of the story, most the film’s dialogue was
created on the set in improvised collaboration with the film’s major actors,
including Kurt Raab (as the central figure), Lilith Ungerer (as his wife),
Fengler’s son Amadeus, Franz Maron (as the Boss), Harry Baer (as an office
colleague), Peter Oland (another office colleague), Lilo Pempeit (as the
beloved office typist), Hanna Schygulla (as the wife’s school friend), and
numerous others—most of whom use their real names throughout.
The movie begins with four jokes, the first about blindness:
You hear the one about
the guy who goes into a bakery,
Orders a loaf of
bread? “White or black?” the baker asks.
“Doesn’t matter,” the
guy says. “It’s for a blind person.”
The second joke is about a horse long enough to seat 8 people, which
reveals the subject’s general ignorance of the species; the third, about a
young boy who asks how far it is to America, his mother answering, “keep
swimming”—a joke about, as writer Jim Clark suggests, futility. The third is
about a man murdering his wife. In a sense, these jokes, shared by Raab’s
office mates, Harry Baer, Peter Oralnd, and Lilo Pempeit, as they leave the
office walking through a dreary side street in Munich, serves almost as an
overture to the film we are about to see. And the film in general, like these
quips, seems to be comic.
Although her friend, Hanna Schygulla, staying with them for a couple of
days, evidently “does nothing” for a living—Raab slightly poking fun at her
somewhat empty life (“You’re a step ahead of us, an independent being.”) it is
a mild rebuke without deep bitterness—Raab seems comfortable with the somewhat
provocative guest.
Another scene, in a record shop, where
Raab attempts to find the record of a song he and his wife have heard on the
“hit parade,” continues the bubbling sense of irony, as the two young shop
clerks giggle about his old-fashioned taste in music. But the record, which he
nonetheless does find, is to be a gift for his wife, and, despite the slight
mockery of two women, he comes off in good spirits, bringing home a present
which, momentarily at least, reminds the two of their romantic youth, “Ages
ago.”
Raab suggests that he will soon be sent
to the main office, where he hopes that his job will entail more variety and,
perhaps, even a higher salary. And his wife shares his good prospects in
imagining a new apartment and even new furniture to go in it.
His parents, visiting the couple, seem,
at times, a little unpleasant, but they clearly dote on their grandchild
Amadeus and begrudgingly admire their son’s choice of a wife. Oma (Maria
Sterr), however later becomes more critical, particularly when, during a forest
walk in the snow, Amadeus goes temporarily missing, suddenly determining to
play hide-and-seek. A school teacher complains that Amadeus, although
intelligent, is inattentive, sometimes even forgetting the questions she has
asked; he also has difficulty saying the German SH sound, although is now
taunted by the other students for this defect. Like his father, the boy is
sometimes quiet and a bit unsociable.
Gradually, we perceive that the superficially normal and
well-established routines of the Raab household are confining and frustrating
for both husband and wife. Lilith complains of another friend, who is “hysterical.”
Raab is gently upbraided by his boss for not being able to put his
architectural renderings in three dimensional concepts. Raab admits that he
prefers drawing windows to the walls which he is assigned to create.
On the street, Lilith desires consumer objects which the couple can
ill-afford. In one particularly revealing scene, apartment friends gather,
bitchily commenting on Lilith’s husband’s increasing weight, the wife’s lack of
cultural involvement, and other issues while Lilith projects the myth that they
will soon be moving to a larger apartment, seating herself next to a neighbor’s
husband, who seems far more accommodating that the two critical women friends,
particularly when they begin to speak of Amadeus.
A visit to the doctor reveals that Raab suffers from severe headaches and high blood pressure, but the doctor’s only suggestion is that the patient give up liquor and—even more importantly, in a film where absolutely everyone except the child consumes dozens of cigarettes in constant clouds of smoke—tobacco.
If the events of the film have grown increasingly serious and tense, the
attentive viewer has felt this intensity in numerous other ways through
Fassbinder’s and Fengler’s often hand-held, documentary-like camera, in which,
time and again, Raab is kept slightly out of the picture. Focusing on two or
three figures at a time, the director’s frame keeps his central character at
the edges, holding on the periphery a man whose very job is to represent every
door, window, and wall. In the rooms he actually inhabits he has hardly any
space in which to live. Throughout, it is as if not only that Raab is one of
the quiet beings at the edges of life, but is simply not heard. During a long
and painful scene in which he sits with an old friend talking about their
school days, when they were forced to attend Sunday church services where they
sang “when grief and pain oppress me,” Lilith sits apart on the couch in clear
disgust of their shared and distant memories.
On the other side of the coin, the long penultimate scene of the film
presents us with a nearly unbearable “friend” of Lilith’s, again comparing her
evidently more affluent life with the more sedentary world of her friend.
Little by little, she describes her vacations: “I can think of nothing but
skiing.” In a long story—as Raab, again almost erased out of the scene as he
attempts to watch television—she recounts how she learned to ski, going through
everything from her flirtatious affairs with her ski instructor to the names of
several skiing actions she experienced before proclaiming, finally, her new
achieved skills, where she ultimately goes “over the moon,” clearly
representing the thrill of making the long plunge down the mountain, adding,
almost as a coda, the needed acquisitions: “I bought myself new skis, steel
ones, and ski pants.” Still at the edge
of the film’s frame, Raab’s movements are barely sensed, as he lights a
metal-casted candelabra before, suddenly appearing at the other end of the
screen, he moves toward the guest, pounding the object into her head. As Lilith
appears, he repeats the action upon her, before, slowly and carefully entering
his son’s room, from which he perceive through his shadow, the action is
repeated.
Showing up at the architectural office, the police report the three
murders, questioning Raab’s boss and colleagues before they are told that Raab
is in the bathroom. After a long pause, the police break into the toilet, only
to find that Raab has hung himself.
The actions we have just witnessed, as critics have observed, make us
reread the entire film. Why did this ordinary man, we can only wonder all over
again, truly go amok. One might be tempted to read this work as a kind of black
comedy in the manner of Joe Orton’s plays—if only the slow mounting evidence of
the societal abuse of this everyday human being were not so painfully tragic.
At work’s end we can only read the voyage “over the moon,” as a trip into sudden
lunacy, a break out from the stale and claustrophobic world in which Raab has
lived his entire life into a downward slope directly into death.
Los Angeles, June 15, 2013
Reprinted from Nth Position {England] (July 2013).
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