Deep in the Czech Republic’s Ore Mountains, a wind turbine screeches and groans, its ceaseless noise rumbling through the streets of the surrounding town and into the forest. A German engineer, Julius Schmitke, is sent to repair it, along with his obnoxious colleague Thomas. However, not long after their arrival Thomas disappears, forcing Julius to search through the town and the looming mountains.
In simple terms SCHMITKE is a fairytale, a fable of a wood that both warns and welcomes you. Julius Schmitke, played by Peter Kurth, has a face that seems to be etched with a permanent sigh. His life is noisy, and he seems to be haunted by the rumble of machinery. As we accompany Julius on his search for his lost comrade it’s not hard to see how the crisp mountains and the unknown perils underfoot act as the perfect trap for Julius. The ground beneath him could give way any moment, but in doing so it eliminates the noise: Thomas, the turbine, his satnav. All is quiet when deep in the forest.
The antagonist of the film, the aforementioned rustbucket turbine that refuses to die, torments Julius, and also demonstrates director Stepan Altrichter’s strongest skill. The film perfectly uses sound to show Julius’ disturbed mindset. In the distance the turbine sounds like a wailing, injured beast that needs to be put to sleep. However, much like Thomas’ disappearance, what first seems to be a simple fix soon proves to be an unachievable task. And, again like Thomas’ disappearance, it doesn’t take long to morph into nothing more than white noise.
The colourful locals could have been plucked out of David Lynch’s TWIN PEAKS
On a day-to-day level, Julius seems disconnected from his life. His work is met with little praise, and he has trouble connecting with his daughter. The Ore Mountains don’t serve the purpose of giving him the space to sort himself out, but instead heighten his confusion to a point of total resignation. The most striking demonstration of this is when he meanders through an abandoned mine. This old Nazi-era tin mine is made up of Escher-like passages: stairs leading this way and that, and gaping holes tumbling to unknown depths. The enchanting forest acts as its own character in the film. Hitting all the right beats, mist and shadows emerge, regularly reminding us where the ominous tension of the film bubbles up from.
Like much recent European cinema, SCHMITKE demonstrates skill in finding the light balance between dark mystery and comedy. Its moments of humour come from the colourful locals living deep in the forest: a gaggle of eccentrics, they could have been plucked out of David Lynch’s TWIN PEAKS. Whether delivered with wide eyes or indifference, their casual offerings of advice to Julius perfectly embody what is both humorous and frustrating about his situation. They give plenty of answers, just not to the questions he’s asking. Towards the end of the film when he finally surrenders to his predicament one can’t help but speculate if he has stumbled across a Czech Hotel California; a place devoid of both time and the need for it.
SCHMITKE certainly captures the draw of the forest as a sanctuary but also has no intention of suggesting it is one free of perils. Still, after staring at those endless mist-draped mountains one can’t help but feel the urge to don a bearskin hat and take a wander.
httpvh://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QVLA2eIQC2s
SCHMITKE screens on 7th Sep at 13.30