Every man for himself! God is against us all!
Aren’t we all like Kaspar Hauser? We grow up in a small, dark home – before being thrust out of it, helpless, into a bright, confusing world with nothing but a name. The force which does this wants one thing: “wait for me”, but we don’t wait. We wander and learn, and knit together the knots of our experience. Aren’t we all like Kaspar Hauser? We stagger backwards, eyes wide with incomprehension, into a scene established and blocked and choreographed by others for, we are told, our own great benefit. And we try to share the things we love, and we are cast aside for failing to live up to expectations we never agreed to meet.
Shouldn’t we all be more like Kaspar Hauser? He meets insults with politeness. He sees clearly, and speaks plainly, and steps lightly over the traps laid for him by those who think themselves intellectually superior. He feels deeply and honestly, and hears the shrieking confusion behind the words of those who believe themselves his spiritual betters. Shouldn’t we be more like Kaspar Hauser, who calmly accepts the fatal wounds inflicted by that same spurned force who thrust him into the world?
Bruno Schleinstein gives a performance of transparent honesty and moving simplicity…
On the other hand, Werner Herzog’s JEDER FÜR SICH UND GOTT GEGEN ALLE–KASPAR HAUSER is a pretty scrappy film, for all it introduces us to Herzog’s idea of Kaspar the Zen master (quite at odds with the real Kaspar, who seems to have been a bit of a git). There are some clanking edits. There are some glaring continuity botches. What we see of the town of Dinkelbühl (standing in very well for early/mid 19th century Nuremberg) has not quite been purged of anachronisms. Perhaps the budget didn’t stretch to a mob of extras, for the town is also strangely deserted. And perhaps those vintage pianos wouldn’t take the strain of being tuned, for they all sound ghastly. None of this matters, because the film is as gently charming as (Herzog’s) Kaspar himself. Bruno Schleinstein gives a performance of transparent honesty and moving simplicity (which is more than can be said for some others in the cast). Jörg Schmidt-Reitwein’s photography is as clear as it can be on the muddy film stock of the day, with well–chosen, nicely lit locations lending a convincing sense of time and place. The digital restoration is careful, respects the source material and is almost invisible.
At 110 minutes, this probably seemed like a long film in 1974, but the pace is careful. We are given enough time to absorb a scene before moving on to the next, but events do progress. We are never bored and never lost—something from which those contemporary directors who deliver with frantic energy 160-minute plus slabs of nothing notable happening could learn a lot. There was a thin audience at the BFI’s early showing, but the sun was still out on the South Bank. Hopefully this re–release will pick up decent audiences at the later shows. It deserves them, and they deserve it.
THE ENIGMA OF KASPAR HAUSER has been rereleased nationwide, including an extended run at BFI Southbank which extends into early August. Click here for further details.
httpvh://youtu.be/DBQMAEJoU4k