betting on laughter
by
Douglas Messerli
Maren
Ade (writer and director) Toni Erdmann /
2016
With
the end of the Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey Circus, which recently gave
its last performance, we might also report the end of the great clowns. Yes,
the circus was very much about its animal acts—the tortured elephants, abused
tigers and lions, and misused camels and llamas—but, as I remember it as a child,
it was also very centered on skits with clowns.
I saw Emmett Kelly in the circus in the 1950s in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, and never
forgot him, nor the numerous other silly beings who stuffed themselves into the
little spaces of automobiles and other impossible containments. These beings
were at the heart of the circus as much as the large parades of pachyderms and
other bestial beings. James Stewart, if you recall, played just such a figure
in the movie The Greatest Show on Earth.
Now, if we believe the news reports and
other media items, clowns are dangerous beings who threaten women and young
boys. Gone are the days, surely, of mimes (I might add, “thank heaven”) who
crafted their art on the basis of clown figures.
More specifically, he is a kind of
foolish Lear, still loving his Cordelia, but also determined to destroy her
ordered life.
During a short visit to her mother back
in Germany, in which Ines spends most of her time communicating by cell phone,
Winfried leaves the birthday party early, returning to his beloved dog Willi,
an aging friend who, soon after, dies. The beautiful scene in which the deaf
dog cannot even be encouraged to return into the house, and in which Winfried
sleeps outside with his lifetime friend, demonstrates something about love and
commitment that his daughter will never quite comprehend.
Trickster, fool that he is, Winfried
suddenly shows up in Bucharest, patiently waiting for his daughter in the lobby
of her sleek office building for hours before she finally shows up, almost
refusing to recognize him as he appears, monster-like gag teeth in place, on
her periphery as she attempts to steer an entire corporation board to her
office whom she is attempting to convince to allow her company to make a deal
to restructure and outsource most of its employees.
Monster that Ines is, she nonetheless,
has spotted her father and immediately dispenses her secretary to find him a
hotel room and get him out of her way. Even then, she does not entirely
succeed, and, somewhat explicably, invites him along to a party that evening at
the British Embassy, where we hear the remnants of a speech about how the West
intends to convert the leftover former Communist acolyte into a modernist
industrialist paradise. If Ines simply sees the same task as part of her job
and duty, the wiser Winfried sees it for what it is, and also, soon after,
begins to see the destruction of his daughter’s well-being in the process.
If, superficially, Ines seems in control
of nearly all situations, she, in fact, is extremely vulnerable on several
fronts. Not only has she been kept on as a mere consultant, trapped in the
outpost of Bucharest, but she faces sexist attitudes at all levels, and is expected
even to keep the Romanian contingent at bay by continuing an affair with her
“team” member Tim (Trystan Pütter). Moreover, despite her important negotiating
role, she is also expected to take the would-be client’s wife, Tatjana
(Hadewych Minis) on a shopping trip, even though she herself seldom “shops,”
wearing a uniform of white blouses and black pants and waist-coats.
When she finally completely dismisses
her father, after having herself overslept an appointment with Henneberg, he
apparently sloughs off to the airport, presumably to never be seen again.
But then, of course, Winfried is a fool,
and returns, at a party she is having with her few women friends, as a new
being with a ridiciulous wig and trick teeth, as “stranger,” Toni Erdmann, a
man who seems to various contradictory beings. For her friends, he is a consultant,
a coach. For others he becomes the German Ambassador. For still others he is a
close acquaintance of Henneberg and, even more dangerously, a friend of the
company executive which Henneberg represents, Ileiscu (Vlad Ivanov).
Strangely, no matter how perverse his
looks and obvious lies, he seems to make friends of everyone who Ines rubs
wrong. Although many of this film’s scenes
are set in the wealthy enclaves of contemporary Romania, a trip to Iliescu’s actual oil fields, reveals just how
devastated is both the land and the workers. But even here, the absurd Erdmann
makes friends, despite getting one man fired with a joke. When he has to
urinate, however, another worker gently leads him to his poor home, making a
friendship that shows us just how aloof his daughter has been from all living
beings.
Attending a party to which he has been
invited by a woman Erdmann has met at one of his evenings out, he demands his
daughter sing, to his piano accompaniment, Whitney Houston's "Greatest
Love of All,” a celebratory
song for the guests. Ines, who obviously has sung the song as a child in his
own household, sings with great aplomb—if not in perfect key. The performance
reminds me a bit of the father and son duo in the Dardenne Brothers’ La Promesse, where the singing is a true
horror, but so beautiful that you want to cry. I did cry.
Even though he leaves soon after, Ines
follows, observing that, once again, his very presence draws people,
particularly children, to him. And in further evidence of her breakdown, hugs
him close to her, finally accepting his ridiculousness.
Many
critics describe this film as a “comedy,” but even the director could not quite
comprehend what they meant. “It isn't a comedy – I'm not really sure why people
think it is."
I’d argue that if you can comprehend A Streetcar Named Desire or Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? as
strange comic works (Williams is rumored to have laughed throughout his play’s
premier performance, mostly at the exaggerations of his character Stella and
Stanley’s proclamations), you might be
able to see Toni Erdmann through the
same lens.
I’d argue that all of these are odd kinds
of comedies, exaggerated views of family life that reveal the absurdities of
that institution. But maybe we’re safer simply describing this nearly 3-hour
film as a fascinating investigation into what it really means to live a life
with laughter and joy. Winfried/Erdmann is, indeed, often quite humorous, but
he is also a desperate man trying to redeem his seriously lost daughter. Both
he and his daughter represent extremes, and he has little choice but to play
out his absurd visions against his daughter’s own lost sense of humor about
living. I’m not sure Ines can ever truly regain her sense of balance, but, at
least, by film’s end, she momentarily takes up the costume and tries becoming a
momentary clown.
Los Angeles,
April 19, 2017
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