Now that the holy grail of modern film is on DVD, finally and firmly in hand, we can take a close look at that thing called "Berlin Alexanderplatz." The famous Fassbinder shot is used throughoutactors revealed in hot lights through darkened doorways; as well as the ever present vertical lines slicing the screen like prison bars. Much of the film is shot with internal framing techniques, and when not, there is the broad expanse of Franz Biberkopf's apartmenta loft-like, two-level stage where threatening lights are constantly pulsating. Berlin Alexanderplatz may be a 15½ hour film, but it is played out theatre-style in Fassbinder's mental proscenium. In the heart of Berlin we wander with Franz, cages within cages, where realpolitik takes a back seat to survival. A crass, capitalistic jungle where more than 600,000 people have been thrown out of work in a matter of months (1928), is home to whores, pimps and thieves who have plenty to eat and drink. Our hero, Franz Biberkopf, fondly reminisces about Rosa Luxemburg. But this Berlin is not the workers' paradise that the great social revolutionary dreamed of and was then executed for. Is that perhaps her secret, broken down printing press in the middle of Franz's apartment, never touched or even casually mentioned? Fassbinder and Franz seem to reject all politics, left or right, and abandon themselves instead to the Weimar melodrama of instant gratification and the much replayed nightmare of a horrific crime. After our hero careens out of prison, where he has spent four years paying for the murder of his hooker-girlfriend Ida, he stays as drunk as possible, and despite his vow to live a good and upstanding life, draws into his orbit a string of women who love him obsessively and whore for him happily. His life force is irresistible, but he'd rather make his own, if clumsy, way. Franz soon finds himself in the ridiculous position of hawking a Nazi pamphlet he does not care about, the "Beobachter," while his socialist friends watch on in horror. That is, his socialist friends who are well connected to the local crime lord, Herr Pums, and are eager to have Franz join in on their sub-capitalist, black market enterprises. And then, as destined, Franz meets his soul-mate and nemesis, Reinhold. The ensemble acting of Berlin Alexanderplatz is miraculous, as is the iron grip Fassbinder had on his material. Günter Lamprecht as Franz truly does inhabit one of the screens all time great characters. The canvas is gigantic and his plodding, bearish performance with roller-coaster peaks and valleys often turns on the dime. Likewise, Gottfried Johns' Reinhold is Franz's seductive, sexy, utterly nefarious foil. All the women are memorable, especially Barbara Sukowa, Hanna Schygulla and Elisabeth Trissennaar. Don't miss the outrageously costumed Frau Pums (Lilo Pempeit), who also happens to be Fassbinder's real-life mother. We've waited 25 years to revisit Fassbinder's great Passion Play, Berlin Alexanderplatz. Definitely not for the squeamish, but rejoice and spread the word. P.S. The epilogue, which bothered me in 1983, has fully redeemed itself. It's not just a director indulging in every fantasy of his alter ego, but an earnest, if unfettered, look at Biberkopf's mind flying apart. Fassbinder ties the huge story up neatly and gives Hanna Schygulla's Eva some fantastic scenes in the process.
Review of Berlin Alexanderplatz
