Could
anyone be less lovable than a Romantic era poet? Heinrich von Kleist is a
perfect case in point. Perennially disappointed in the world, he makes
everything about him. Not surprisingly, he has trouble finding a partner for a
proposed suicide pact, but an untimely (and perhaps inaccurate) medical
diagnosis will convince the upstanding Henriette Vogel to unexpectedly accept
his invitation. They take a long and awkward final exit from life in Jessica
Hausner’s Amour Fou (trailer here) which opens this
Wednesday at Film Forum.
As
a married woman of considerable social standing, Frau Vogel completely accepts
the gender hierarchies of early Nineteenth Century Berlin, declaring herself contentedly
subservient to her husband Friedrich Louis. Her only hint of subversion is her
fascination with von Kleist’s novella The
Marquise of O. Meeting von Kleist in person is a bit disappointing at
first, but a platonic friendship slowly develop between them.
Kleist’s
first choice for a dying companion is his cousin Marie, for whom he has carried
an ambiguously romantic torch, but she is too sensible for his foolishness. He
then propositions Vogel, assuming her life as a wife and mother must
necessarily be one of quiet desperation, but again he receives a polite
demurral. Tragically, when a series a fainting spells leads to a long distance
diagnosis of a malignant tumor, Vogel’s perspective changes drastically. However,
von Kleist is less enthusiastic about the pact knowing she has her own reasons
for accepting rather than the great honor of meeting her end at his side.
Hausner’s
screenplay will convince audiences von Kleist was the most miserable and narcissistic
amongst the self-absorbed lot that were the Romantics. In many respects, it
savagely satirizes his self-indulgence angsts and melancholia. Unfortunately,
we still have to spend an awful lot of screen time with him.
Yet,
the potential for subversive comedy is mostly undone by the severity of the
atmosphere and the bloodlessness of the performances. Only Birte Schnöink’s
Vogel and—ironically—Stephen Grossmann as her husband occasionally show any
hint of real emotions. In contrast, as von Kleist, Christian Friedel drifts
through the film like a petulant vampire. Of course, that all seems to be part
of Hausner’s plan. She tightly controls the film with her coldly rigid sense of
composition. Granted, at times her visuals are striking, bit they are also
distancing. At times, Amour Fou hardly
seems like a motion picture at all, but series of frozen tableaux.
