Philipp and Philip

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20 September

I can only guess that the end of Philipp was meant to shock, but, as we had been in that location before, and I had thought then of what happens, it didn’t. I also didn’t feel that it necessarily fitted (although it could have done), and that what was a very well-played portrayal by Max Hegewald of acute embarrassment and pain at the pretences and stupidities of life (largely because of being at home with his parents) could have had some other resolution.

The scenes between Christa (Vanessa Krüger) and Philipp, when allowed to be themselves (and not involved in silly family rubbish at the ice-cream parlour, almost inevitably the place to go to with a new person in polite German society), are very telling, and went well, as a pairing, with snatches of intimacy in what followed, Above us Only Sky (Über uns das All).

I found the heart of Philipp there, and, by contrast, recalled only all too well how a significant birthday in my own life had to be spent with not only my family, but my parents’ friends, and their jokes, attitudes, etc. – I felt unsure whose birthday it was (whose needs are met by this coming-of-age stuff?), and, at a later stage in life (when leaving a job), really didn’t want it marked by a present that I didn’t want just because that was the protocol of moving on.

For some of us, such feelings of awkwardness stay part of life, and many other films in this festival feed into each other’s themes in this regard: Black Butterflies, Tomboy, and Tirza seem to do this, too. Philip Larkin, not with any great insight, enlivened a pretty unremarkable poem with his well-known opening line ‘They fuck you up, your mum and dad’.


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Sonnet 116

More views of - or at - Cambridge Film Festival 2011
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)

19 September

A rather faltering reading of Shakespeare in class (which did not, as I recall, include the closing couplet) starts Above us Only Sky (Über uns das All). The poem was still unmistakeable, and highly relevant: 'Love is not love / Which alters when it alteration finds'. We end with shots, the last with the credits rolling, of the place where Sandra Hüller, as Martha, had expected to be, but on a different basis.

In-between, she finds plenty of alteration, together with confusion, mistrust and loss, and a mystery for which she seems (doomed) to find no answer (and we no answer as to how it could financially have been maintained so that she did not know). Her courage in all this is immense, her denial is evidence of great hope, and she carries and conducts herself with a real knowledge of her worth, and of not wanting inconsequential formalities and pleasantries that do no more than irritate her by their emptiness.

Yet, as we would, we do doubt her mental state, whether, if not actually dissociating and trying to project one person's identity onto another, then perhaps seeking solace where time should heal (as the sonnet again says, 'Love alters not with [time's] brief hours and weeks, / But bears it out even to the edge of doom'): such concern is at its closest in one scene, where she barks out orders, and forces what she insists should be done in a humiliating and damaging way. But not a way that reckons with love, not a way that remembers being told that it is actually easier to make an apology weeks afterwards, although it seems awkward, because it has already been accepted in that time.

The warmth of the joking, the bantering, links this to the most positive parts in the short film Philipp that was shown before: there is a shared life that cuts through trite sentiments such as 'it feels as though we've always known each other', and appears, even with seeming 'impediments', to be 'the marriage of true minds'. (Lovely, also, to see all this against the background of Köln (Cologne), which has a special resonance for me since a long time ago.)


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