How
did an Austrian wearing a bathrobe conquer Germany? It had something to do with a Russian bassoon
player. Based on crooner Udo Jürgens’
hybrid memoir-family saga novel, Miguel Alexandre’s two-part mini-series The Man with the Bassoon (trailer here) screens in its
entirety tomorrow at MoMA as part of Kino!,
their annual celebration of contemporary German cinema.
After
completing the expected encore in his traditional white bathrobe, modern day Jürgens
(playing himself) receives word from Moscow.
A long lost family retainer has a significant heirloom he wishes to
return to Jürgens. It is a statue of a
man playing a bassoon. Thus begins the
first of many flashes.
Jürgens’
grandfather Heinrich Bockelmann decides to immigrate to Russia after hearing
the beautiful lamenting Russian melodies of street musician. Amassing great wealth as the Czar’s family
banker, Bockelmann credits his success to that bassoon player. For their anniversary, his wife gives him a
statuette of the bassoon player, which quickly becomes the guardian of the
family’s good fortune. However, dark
clouds are on the horizon. With
socialist revolutionaries campaigning against the German economic elite, the
Czarist government dispossesses and imprisons Bockelmann and his aristocratic countrymen,
soon after Russia’s entry into WWI.
Escaping
Russia with their children, Bockelmann’s wife eventually re-establishes the
family dynasty in Austria. As viewers
know from several flashbacks, Bockelmann’s son Rudi eventually becomes a
provincial burgomaster and National Socialist Party member. Yet, as the war drags on, Rudi Bockelmann
runs afoul of his more zealous colleagues.
We know he will survive though, because in yet another flashback story-arc,
we see Rudi Bockelmann is the only member of the elite Austrian family to
encourage his aimless son Udo to pursue his musical ambitions.
Spanning
over one hundred years, Bassoon is
definitely an epic don’t-make-them-like-they-used-to miniseries. While many consider the boundary fact and fiction
therein to be somewhat porous, the bassoon must be true. Anyone making this story up would have chosen
a different instrument. Though the Bockelmann
family’s dark days are mostly caused by the Nazis and the Czarists, the
depiction of the xenophobic and anti-Semitic Russian revolutionary factions is
also an intriguing footnote within the Bassoon. In fact, the historical episodes featuring Jürgens’
father and grandfather are considerably stronger than his own raise-to-fame
story. Frankly, a lot of viewers will
want to see Jürgens (as he comes to be known) suffer more for his art.
Still,
Jürgens’ music may surprise some viewers.
His rendition of “There Will Never Be Another You” heard several times
in Bassoon swings politely enough. Starting very squarely in a jazz bag, he
became something like a cross between Sinatra and Czech vocalist Karel Gott (if
that name means anything to you).
Although he never really caught on here, he had his admirers, including
Sammy Davis, Jr., who covered a few of his tunes.
Jürgens
is also sufficiently convincing playing himself, but Christian Berkel carries
the heaviest load as the Bockelmann patriarch, Heinrich. Fittingly, he somewhat resembles miniseries
king Richard Chamberlain, aging decades while exuding an aura of integrity. In
contrast, David Rott is a rather weak screen presence as the young Jürgens on
the brink of superstardom.
