Traffic

last night: 3rd German Silent Film Festival. film: Joe May's Asphalt. live music: Cynthia Alexander.

right. just to keep things in perspective, i really wasn't in the mood to watch the film; i'd seen The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari and missed The Golem, and that was pretty much it with the filmfest for me, and anyway, i would much rather have gone home and tucked myself in between the pages of Shriek. that tells you either one or any combination of two things: (1) i had low expectations for Asphalt, and (2) i was predisposed to not liking it. and watching the film itself, i confess to nodding off quite a few times.

Asphalt exists at the intersection (and divergence) of several filmic roads: between silent films and talkies, between German Expressionism and, well, something else. commercialism, maybe. anyway, the effect is something of an identity crisis: the film features more naturalistic performances and dialogue delivery more typical of talkies, but still retains the lack of audible dialogue and sparse intervening dialogue frames of silent films. most of the overtly Expressionistic elements of the film feel contrived, objectionable not so much because they are 'unnecessary,' but rather because they feel that way. admittedly, however, the subtler elements (such as the really tight headshots that remind me of Jonathan Demme's work) create an intensity that doesn't quite put it in the more comfortable realm of 'commercial' films.

those subtler elements are used to great effect by further augmenting the film's one true strength, in my mind: the aforementioned performances. this film is performance driven. i make this distinction from 'character-driven,' mind you, as the characters are actually rather insipid, not really particularly interesting or complex. Betty Amann has often been lauded for her performance, strengthened by the way her Elsa Kramer (also the most complex character of the film) is always lit and made-up. her character feels deeply rooted in earlier German Expressionist films, with her (literally, perhaps?) hypnotic eyes, oft shaded yet always luminous, and goth-pale flesh. she is all luminous, and the subtle twists of her brow, flutters of her eyelids and lips have a lasting, haunting effect. there are no better adjectives for Betty Amann in this film, to my mind, than those words 'luminous' and 'haunting.'

Gustav Frohlich, however, is also brilliant, despite playing the more conventional (and rather ridiculous) character of the naive policeman seduced by Betty Amann's 'well-dressed thief.' the honest face we meet at the start of the film is utterly transformed by the end of the film.

overall, the movie is well-crafted, with genuinely luminous (i can't seem to get away from that word) moments; i'd call it tepid. but that, admittedly, may just have been my mood.

which brings us to that other element that has drawn the faithful to the filmfest, helping sell the tickets out at every show: the live musical performance.

Cynthia Alexander's music, sadly, was the single greatest disservice done to last night's screening of the film. her band stumbled over (and fumbled) every transition, and it didn't help at all that the band's eastern-tinged music rambled through every minute of film, when so much of it would have been better served by utter silence, or at least a quiet lull. there were moments when the music did work, particularly in the bits when Joe May established the setting of the film with kaleidoscopic, oddly skewed sequences of automobile and human traffic. and there were other brief moments of brilliance, such as when the band mingled that eastern-sound with typical hollywood piano phrases for the more 'romantic' scenes of the film, or the sleazy improv sax that either slunk or swept in during the scenes of seduction.

that said, however, the execution of even those moments was sadly wanting, and one couldn't help feel that Cynthia Alexander and her band had worked-out a set of themes for the film beforehand, only putting them together like an ill-fitting jigsaw puzzle while they watched the film with the rest of the audience.

such an approach could, arguably, have worked: not for this band, though. not for this film. not for this performance.

too bad it was a one-shot. one might think the band could have done better with a second screening. or not.

so i went home disappointed, and tucked myself into a few pages of Shriek before turning out the light.