George Hunka

Notes and comment

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    Banking on it

    Franz Sedlacek, Lied in der Dämmerung, 1931 © Oesterreichische Nationalbank/Kunstsammlung.

    I’ve never made a secret of my enthusiasm for the Neue Sachlichkeit/New Objectivity genre of early 20th century art, but until now my exposure has been limited to artists of Germany, such as George Grosz and Christian Schad. On my recent visit to Vienna I came across a few samples of the Austrian branch of this art, but alas, English-language material on these paintings and sculptures has been meagre.

    If someone would care to put up the money for another trip to Vienna, I’d thank them for allowing me to visit PREMIERE!: The Oesterreichische Nationalbank Collection, running through October 11 at the Leopold Museum, which features a terrific selection of Austrian Neue Sachlichkeit, early 20th century geometrical and gestural abstraction, and figurative work. Franz Sedlacek’s painting at the head of this post is unsettling in a way that the German New Objectivists only sometimes achieve. According to the Leopold web site,

    As a representative of Magical Realism, Sedlacek is often dubbed a “mystic of New Objectivity”. Working as a chemical scientist, the self-taught artist devoted his evenings to experimenting with painting, creating uncanny depictions. The effect of spatial depth, similar to that of a peep box, offers viewers the opportunity to delve into another world and to witness a surreal scene: Coziness gives way to trepidation, the apparently familiar becomes absurd.

    As it is, I will have to settle for the digital exhibition of PREMIERE!, which as fine as it is leaves one hungry for more. I hope a few of my new Austrian friends will visit the exhibition and report back. In the meantime, I can dream.

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    Lichtspiel

    Regular readers expecting frequent reports of my profound insights have I’m afraid been disappointed over the past month; life does get away from one, doesn’t it? I still plan to write more about my very meaningful journey to Vienna in March, but I am also still thinking about it and trying to find a good structure for the writing. I think I’ve found it and I hope to get to it soon. At any rate, apologies to all, and I still think fondly of my new friends in Austria.

    In the meantime I can recommend The Director, the new novel by Daniel Kehlmann and shortlisted for this year’s International Booker Prize. Lichtspiel, to give it its original German, Paul Celanian title, follows the great Austrian film director G.W. Pabst (1885-1967) from a brief exile in Hollywood in the 1930s through his return to Central Europe in 1939 with his wife and son (a fictional invention) to visit his ailing mother. He finds himself trapped through the war years and decides to work for the Third Reich, on films which he insists do not contribute to Nazi propaganda. The novel is a keen and often funny — not to mention timely — exploration of compromise and the artistic spirit (in one episode, Pabst acts as a co-director of a film by the spiky Leni Riefenstahl — yes, this film; in another, we’re treated to P.G. Wodehouse’s attendance at the Berlin premiere of Pabst’s Paracelsus in 1943), and I highly recommend it.

    2 responses to “Lichtspiel”

    1. J. Haynes

      George, thanks for info about THE DIRECTOR. Interesting premise, and it makes one wonder what compromises creative people are making in this day and age to appease flawed “leaders” in the US.

      I’d imagine: compromises aplenty.

      I naively gave Leni a pass when I first learned of her work, decades ago. She claimed not to know what was going on with Hitler et al, and gave the impression she was just a young filmmaker who didn’t realize what the Reich was actually up to.

      I later decided she knew exactly what was going on, but making films was more important than bypassing support of the Nazis. Too bad, because she really was a brilliant filmmaker. I wish she’d turned her talents in other directions. I don’t know if she EVER expressed regrets, and she lived to be 101 years old.

    2. George Hunka

      No, I don’t think she ever did. Brilliant filmmaker maybe, but to what end? And I understand that the final scene of Star Wars — when the heroes get their awards from whatever they get their awards from — was inspired by Triumph of the Will’s geometric compositions. It’s an interesting angle from which to consider what’s lost with compromise or, in this case, “homage.” As Jesse Pervical wrote in an essay for Medium, “Like I said, the visuals of Triumph of the Will cannot be removed from the context of the Nazis themselves. By utilizing their style, you ostensibly deem it worthy of imitation. You can claim you just want to use their techniques, but that doesn’t remove the Nazi overtones. Sure it looks great, but some visuals are ruined forever by association.”

      https://medium.com/@Jetfire852/the-influences-of-star-wars-triumph-of-the-will-9924f94d9f7

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    Opernachmittag

    I couldn’t let the day go by without noting that tomorrow’s Metropolitan Opera broadcast will feature the new Met production of Richard Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde, featuring Lise Davidsen and Michael Spyres; Yuval Sharon directs and Yannick Nézet-Séguin conducts. You can stream this via Philadelphia’s WRTI tomorrow afternoon, March 21, at 12:00 noon Eastern time.

    The New York Times‘ Josh Barone was enthusiastic about the new production earlier this month — “the event of the season,” he says (gift link to his review here) — and it will undoubtedly be worth the time. Davidsen is reputed to be nothing less than miraculous (director Sharon has given her a baby in this one; I’m thinking I’ll be glad to listen and not sorry to miss the visuals), and Nézet-Séguin conducted a terrific in-concert version with Nina Stimme last season. I confess I’m somewhat skeptical of director-centric productions by the likes of Sharon; on the other hand, I was spellbound by the Chereau Ring at Bayreuth and recently very much enjoyed Barrie Kosky’s Don Giovanni for the Vienna opera. The little I’ve read of Sharon’s A New Philosophy of Opera is intriguing and tempts me to read further — what do I know? Still, a baby?

    Event of the season or not, Tristan is one of the great achievements of the aesthetic imagination, an extraordinarily erotic and meditative work, Schopenhauer as music. Listen, and before a second listening read Bryan Magee’s The Tristan Chord.

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