Films in their pure and finished form, like many other
cultural “artifacts,” are often taken over by overzealous critics or arrogant
academics. When I began writing about
films, I was tempted (and sometimes have given in to the temptation) to choose
a particular academic/philosophical outlook and deconstruct the film to the
maximum. But I have repeatedly failed. I have too much respect for art and artistic
vision to engage in the vacuous creation of pseudo-meanings.
I just want to experience the film. And just as the film is in its pure and
finished form, I will try (as much as I can) to present my interpretation
without ever violating the purity of the film.
Given this little preamble, how does one even begin to speak
of G.W. Pabst’s Pandora’s Box? Made in 1929, the film now belongs to the
category of those classic silent films.
It is quite forward, risqué and racy for its time. This is not to say that the film as seen
today has lost its potency, and is just a nice, quaint travel in time. In fact, it is the erotic presence of these
moving images, which brings richness of human experience even today. (Perhaps, now more than ever, we need a
return to the sensuousness of life).
The story moves much like an opera, and it centers upon main
character Lulu, whose sensuous eroticism overtakes any man (and woman) she
crosses paths with. Lulu is a seductress
of the highest order—perhaps of the most deadliest kind—an innocent seductress. Well, whether her seduction is “deadly” in
the metaphysical sense is open to debate.
Lulu is played by the magnificent Louise Brooks, who brings
Lulu to life on screen with such passion and verve—Louise/Lulu at once highly
erotic and virginal. Brooks herself has
repeatedly said that she really did not act in Pandora’s Box, that she was merely being herself.
Perhaps Brooks is right.
She may not be the greatest of “technical” actresses, but there is
something about her, which extends beyond the technicality of acting (one is
reminded of Maria Callas too, whose presence moved beyond voice). Lulu is the center of the picture. Even when others are involved in the scene,
and by all means we should be looking at them, the camera still stares at Lulu. She is captivating. And there is something quite ineffable about
Lulu/Louise.
In the film, she is the object of every man’s desire, and
one woman, Countess Geschwitz. And Lulu
does not seem to see the difference between genders—everyone is a person, first
and foremost, and she has amazing capacity to become connected to both sexes,
without a hint of carefully constructed thought.
What amazed me about this film is an absolute care taken in
presenting everything in detail. If only
filmmaking was like that today! There is
no sloppiness. Everything fits together,
and the images speak for themselves.
Brooks is highly expressive. She
conveys so many different emotions in a matter of seconds, and she does it
effortlessly. Pabst hardly gave Brooks
any direction because he did not need to.
He understood her and because of that, he simply let her be. Brooks took this as a sign of freedom, and
without thought, she infused every scene with her presence. One simply cannot not look.
Lulu, an innocent seductress, at times behaves like a child,
whose curiosity is quite endearing.
Because of this innocence, it is almost impossible to punish her for her
attempts at seduction. Why is this so? And who is Lulu then? It seems to be, that hardly ever in the film,
Lulu actually plots a seduction. She lets the moment develop on its own, and
then, she holds on to that moment. She
is not intent on possessing any of the men who always wants something from her. And despite her innocence, she is painfully
aware that everyone wants something from her, that they really do not love her.
Given the strange mix of innocence and eroticism, could we
say that Lulu is practicing a kind of “erotic morality”? Is the way she relates to people quite
“normal,” and that we have just not accepted it in the society? But would such a woman even exist if there
were no societal norms? It doesn’t
really matter whether we answer these questions, and perhaps we should be happy
with the ineffable, with the inarticulate flame that resides in Lulu because
she does not want to be deconstructed.
I have purposely avoided writing anything about the plot of
the film. For those reading this review,
and who have not yet seen the film, I do not want to ruin the moments of
surprise.
The Criterion DVD of the
film includes a wonderful booklet, which features among other things, Kenneth
Tynan’s 1979 essay “The Girl in the Black Helmet,” as well as Louise Brooks’
1965 essay, “Pabst and Lulu.” The set
has 2 discs (the film and the extras).
The extras include documentaries on Brooks and also an hour long
interview with her, “Lulu in Berlin ”
(1984). I am always worried about
documentaries that come as extras with the films because often times they are
disappointing. Usually, they are
self-congratulatory, or just plain idealistic.
The documentary, which comes with the set, “Louise Brooks: Looking for
Lulu” (1998), narrated by Shirley MacLaine, focuses on Brooks’ life of
difficult childhood (a mother who abandoned her, a sexual molestation by the
neighbor and the subsequent blame for it placed on young Louise by her mother),
passion for life, tragedy and disappearance from the society, and ultimate
“resurrection” in her later years. It is
as if Louise herself had different acts, and her life “reads” like an opera,
without the tragic ending. All these are
presented without fluff or dishonesty.
Brooks, for all her flaws, remained honest about each stage of her life,
no pretense, just like Lulu.
So far, I have watched this film five times, and I cannot
keep my eyes off of it. It is a captivating
picture for many reasons. I rarely make
lists of “the best films,” partly because it is difficult to choose, and partly
because each film is unique and cannot be looked at comparatively. But I am willing to take an intellectual risk
and say that Pandora’s Box is one of
the best films ever made. So, yeah, you
should watch it!
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