Mephisto

Mephisto (1981) marks the first in Istvan Szabo's remarkable German trilogy, followed by Colonel Redl (1985) and Hanussen (1988). It won the Oscar for Best Foreign Film and made an international star of Klaus Maria Brandauer, the brooding Austrian actor famous for Never Say Never Again and Out of Africa. Working off Klaus Mann's novel, Szabo blends familiar themes into a powerful experience.

Hendrick Hoefgen (Klaus Maria Brandauer) is an acclaimed actor/theater producer in Weimar Germany. When the Nazis come to power, Hoefgen initially flees to Budapest, but the new government entices him back to Berlin with promised roles. His portrayal of Mephistopheles in Faust earns the attention of Prussia's Prime Minister (Rolf Hoppe), who names him head of Germany's National Theater. Hoefgen relishes his newfound power, but finds his shows restricted by Government censorship, his friends and lovers exiled or killed. Like Faust, Hoefgen finds himself manipulated by a Devil far craftier than he.

Mephisto stands among a plethora of European films addressing life under Fascism. Hollywood flicks from Valkyrie to Captain Correlli's Mandolin imagine that inside every denizen of Nazi Germany or Mussolini's Italy lurked a democrat busting to get out. In contrast, Euro dramas focus on the everyday dilemma of living under an all-consuming ideology. Some subsume themselves to the regime, in hopes of retaining normalcy: see The Conformist. Others, like The Damned's grotesque steel barons, make compromises that backfire horrifically. Their Marx-inflected lesson proves grim: against the tide of history, individuals haven't a chance.

Hungary's experience with Fascism was ephemeral. Admiral Horthy's regime was undoubtedly oppressive, but more reactionary than fascist. Hungary's tense relationship with Germany amounted to opportunistic land-grabbing in Eastern Europe rather than ideological solidarity; indeed, Budapest proved a key venue for Jews fleeing SS death squads. In 1944 Hitler used the homegrown Arrow Cross Party to oust Horthy, installing a brutal puppet state. Szabo more likely drew on experiences under postwar Communism than Ferenc Szalasi's short-lived government.

Mephisto strongly resembles Colonel Redl, showing a man inexorably forced into collaboration. Hoefgen begins as a flamboyant womanizer living with African mistress Juliette (Karin Boyd), even after marrying a respectable society girl (Christine Harbort). He flirts with "Revolutionary Theater" like a wannabe Brecht, proclaiming drama a vehicle for social change. More tellingly, one montage shows Hoefgen assaying various roles: historical, modern-dress, Shakespearean, comedic. This thespian pluralism offsets against SA goons beating Jewish stagehands or Hitler Youth drilling outside the theater. Fascism subsumes theater to the state; the individual vanishes.

What Mephisto achieves isn't pathos but sour irony. Hoefgen's no tragic hero, but a craven, delusional egomaniac. His hammy press conferences and bedroom antics are funny within the context of freewheeling '20s Germany. Under the Nazis however, he becomes a slick toady performing only state-approved roles. He doesn't blink as Juliette and his wife flee abroad, or when authorities execute a rival. He laughably protests that he's "just an actor" disinterested in politics, ignoring that one can't be disinterested under Nazism.

Klaus Maria Brandauer does fantastic work. This extraordinary actor relishes the chance to chew scenery, making a loud, boisterous impression early on. Yet he smoothly transitions into conflicted brooder, pompous puppet and finally, whipped cur. It's a performance of remarkable subtlety, Brandauer navigating a complicated arc without losing track of the character's core. He transforms Hoefgen from maverick to monster before our eyes.

Szabo provides striking direction. Lajos Koltai's rich pallette of vivid primary colors from the gloomy theater to drab Party functions. Szabo employs seamless jump cutting between performances, rehearsals and real life, keeping our sense of reality on edge. His striking images point up persistent story themes: a bizarre sequence with dancers all wearing white Mephisto makeup, echoes the Minister's observation that Faust is a metaphor for Germany. This amounts to a nightmarish feeling, emphasizing the interplay between Faust and Hoefgen.

The baroque stylings don't hide Mephisto's personal underpinnings. Novelist Klaus Mann based Hoefgen on Gustaf Grundjens, a real impresario-turned-Nazi mouthpiece. But in 2006, a newspaper revealed that Szabo himself worked as an informant for Hungary's Communist regime. Was Svabo, like Hoefgen, an artist confusing fantasy with reality? Certainly he was uniquely well-placed to analyze a man absorbed by forces bigger than himself.