If I’m You, and You’re Me... Who’s Germany?

Certain words exist that are so definitive in their national tongue that they do not require a translation when being integrated into the American lexicon. It may be that the action, emotion, symbol, object, or whatever is being defined, is so distinctly characteristic of its originator’s home culture that it simply cannot be successfully translated into an English counterpart. Foreign words and phrases like “sangfroid” or “schadenfreude” are not easy to directly convert into English, so instead they are borrowed in their original form. One such example of this unique vocabulary phenomenon is the German word, “doppelgänger,” which ironically enough does not have a direct English language companion, even though the word itself describes a doubling, mirror image or similar counterpart. The doppelgänger is a motif that is so expressly German that it has no need for a proper translation, as no literal translation could capture the essence of what this word truly seeks to construe.  While the mythology behind the doppelgänger has since extended to other nations and cultures, it has remained a staple of the portrayal of German existence on screen throughout history.

            The doppelgänger existed long before film became the dominant mode of mass storytelling. In Der Doppelgänger: Double Visions in German Literature,Andrew J. Webber attempts to uncover just exactly what purposes the doppelgänger served in German literature, especially Romantic literature. His first characteristic used to define the doppelgänger also serves to help justify the naming of his text: “If I choose the subtitle ‘Double Visions’, then it is because my first premiss is that the Doppelgänger is above all a figure of visual compulsion-” (Webber, 1996, p. 3). Although he continues to add parameters to his definition of what constitutes a doppelgänger, this first rule is helpful in understanding just how this motif will have even more of a lasting effect on screen rather than paper. The phenomena of the doppelgänger is a visual experience that confounds the audience and makes them question their own sense of sight. The peculiarities of this fantastical motif were practically designed to astound audiences that were new to film. To understand the world around us, we must utilize different senses in different combinations in order to draw a reasonable conclusion about our environment. While literature uses vivid descriptions to paint pictures in the reader’s mind, film can cut out the middleman and display the same scenario in a way that is predominantly visual. Basically, without the “distractions” of the other senses, we allow our sense of sight to become stronger and more crucial to our comprehension of what is happening in front of us. Then, when our sense is fooled by the trickery of seeing double, we begin to doubt ourselves more than we’re comfortable to admit. In this way, Webber is right to conform his criteria to the basis of “visual compulsion” as this effect is indeed dependent on deploying a hesitation between the eyes and the brain, but I believe this also means that the doppelgänger motif is better suited for film, whose images can immediately force this hesitation to the viewer’s psyche.

Heide Schlüpmann makes the case that since films are a collective effort, worked on by many different people, they better reflect a collective mentality than a novel written by an individual does. The novel, it is argued, pushes a single set of morals from the solo author, while films contain the communal beliefs of everyone who had a hand in their creation.   Siegfried Kracauer and Friedrich Freska both shared ideas that would influence this train of thought, including their concepts of collective psyche and universal cultural force, respectively (Brockmann, 2010, p. 37).  These discussions pertain to the early silent film, The Student of Prague (1913), a film known to some as the first true art film. Paul Wegener, the star of the film, stated, “...I turned for the first time to film, because I thought I had an idea which could not be realized in any other medium...and I said to myself that it must also be possible to film E. T. A. Hoffmann’s fantasies of a Doppelgänger or mirror image, as if they were reality, and thus achieve effects which were not possible in any other art form-” (Schlüpmann, 1986, p. 13). In the film, Balduin, played by Wegener, makes a deal with a devil-like, supernatural being –Scappinelli –  but, is then unexpectedly blamed for crimes that his devil-summoned doppelgänger commits. There have been many different interpretations as to what this split in personalities could signify. It has been speculated that the split into two separate entities is a reflection of Germany’s pre-World War I condition that featured a, “physically unstable and divided Germany...worried about its status and willing to enter into morally questionable pacts to defend and enhance that status-” (Brockmann, 2010, p.37).

It was right after this period that German cinema reached what might be considered its golden age. Post-World War I, the Weimar Republic was founded, and it is during this time that many of Germany’s most influential films were released, many of which featured the doppelgänger motif.  The doppelgänger has become somewhat of a universal term to describe any kind of lookalike, double, clone, alter ego, or twin, evil or not, but it almost always came as the result of a supernatural, magical, or fantastical situation. This can be traced back to the original Faustian legend, which featured a now familiar deal-with-the-devil transaction that lead to the splitting of one’s self. Faust was a man who was more concerned with knowledge and medicine than he was with faith and religion, so maybe Germany’s infatuation with the doppelgänger is not only a way of dealing with an identity crisis, but also a way of coping with existential concerns and the religious stress tied to them. At this point in history, psychology was becoming more fashionable in the world of medicine; Otto Rank even released an extensive psychoanalytic summary of The Student of Prague known as The Double that has been referenced almost endlessly since its publication. In his review, Rank contemplates the “original problem of the self...which modern adaptors support, or which has been obtrusively pushed to the fore by new techniques of representation.” (Schlüpmann, 1986, p. 13) So again, while film pushes the boundaries of what we can physically interpret, the changing of mediums did not so much recreate the motif, as add another dimension to it. If “seeing is believing,” then films may have changed how people chose to believe. It’s easier to believe in a God when miracles are few and far between, but when humans can suddenly create their own “ghostly apparitions” it becomes more natural to question your surroundings, as if your senses have been lying to you all along.

Some people travel the world looking to find themselves while others trust they will experience an “Aha!” moment of self-discovery that reveals to themselves who they really are. The doppelgänger motif disregards this search for the most part, and when a person is divided into two different selves they always seem to know that they are themselves while the other is some form of imposter. This proves to be fatal in The Student of Prague, as Balduin shoots who the man he assumes to be a double, when in fact it was him all along, turning the would-be murder into a bizarre suicide. When it comes to deciphering who is who, you would think no one but the original doppel would know who’s authentic, but even that’s not always the case.

During this golden age of German cinema, some of the most influential films to be released had their share of ominous lookalikes and malevolent clones. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920) and Metropolis (1927), two of the most influential and groundbreaking films of their respective genres, both utilize the doppelgänger motif to varying levels. The use of the doppelgänger in Caligari continues the trend of psychologically inspired doubles, featuring a somnambulist named Cesare following Dr. Caligari’s evil orders when hypnotized, and also a twist ending, which uncovers the apparent truth behind Dr. Caligari’s mysterious identities.  Instead of being a madman using hypnosis as a weapon, it is revealed that Dr. Caligari is actually an asylum director while his alter ego was a character in a delusional story being told by one of the patients. In Metropolis, Dr. Rotwang creates a robot-clone of  Maria that is sent to sabotage the workers in their mission for equality and fairer living conditions. These examples help to show the growth of the doppelgänger motif as an identifying source for German society. Before, the doppelgänger was born out of a supernatural event, but now even medical and scientific scenarios, such as mental illness or a scientist’s experimentation, could lead to such a divide. Science is an even more terrifying topic than religion because it’s harder to grasp and the answers to certain questions aren’t as reassuring as the religious ones. Science being shown to simultaneously have unknown limits and God-like powers makes the audience uncomfortable because it also displays a complete indifference to human life, as opposed to the reassurance our egos would prefer.

(Pictured: L- “Evil” Dr. Caligari with Cesare; R- “Good” Dr. Caligari in the asylum (The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari))

The costumes that are deployed in these films also served to help as a visual aid when breaking down who was on the “good” or  “bad” side. Scapinelli, Dr. Caligari, Cesare, Dr. Rotwang, and Maria’s clone, the perpetrators of the doppelgänger motif in their films, all have distinctive clothing that clearly separates them from the “good” sides of themselves or the cast. Costume, especially in German Expressionist cinema, “was to always be a dramatic factor” (Eisner, p. 112) and the costuming of these characters helps to organize the two sides into more accessible and obvious categories for the audience. Cesare is a shadow of a person, dressed in all dark clothing and wearing dark face makeup, while Scapinelli resembles a “cross between a demon and a scarecrow,” according to Eisner. Using these dark colors to show the contrast between the groups is a way for the filmmakers to nudge the viewer in the right direction. With this example, we can see the German doppelgänger motif is no stranger to making a foreigner the “other” in this situation.

(Pictured: L- Balduin and Scappinelli (Student of Prague); R- Rotwang and the Maria clone (Metropolis))

Germany, like almost all countries, puts itself and its citizens’ needs first and foremost. It is no surprise, then, that foreigners such as Italians or Turks are sometimes seen as the outsiders who are attempting to break Germany’s self image. In order for Germany to overcome these obstacles, they figure the only ones they can trust are themselves, even if they aren’t sure who they really are. After so many governmental shifts in such a small period of time, it’s no wonder German citizens can feel like they lack a true national identity, if one even exists at all.

 As German cinema continued to evolve, so too did the motif. After the Weimar Republic, the most notable and recurring dualities came from time-relevant issues including: Nazis having to hide their regrettable pasts, the multiple lives of people living under a Communist regime, Turks who must try to assimilate into a German society, women who are oppressed or attempting to live as both a mother and a lover, gay men who dress and talk differently to fit in, and so on. The doppelgänger may have started out as a mystical or paranormal occurrence, but as Germany has grown, so too has its collective understanding of what it means to be whole.

So is a doppelgänger one or two people? Is it just one person that has been split into two, or is it two people that have stemmed from the same being, like a fresh set of twins? “...Only by means of the other of itself does it have -- itself,” claims Wolfgang Iser, who is describing the kind of doppelgänger that exists even in real life. It is not a supernatural being who caused this separation of selves, but rather yet, the society in which they exist not allowing both selves to coexist. This is the doppelgänger that has seemingly come to represent Germany as film has moved from spectacle to realism and back to a balance between the two. This reading shows that the doppelgänger does not only arise due to a paranormal interaction, but that it just needs two opposing forces that cannot cohabitate to push “someone” out. It is here that the importance of socialization comes into play, as the doppelgänger shows how communication and social standing is necessary to be a part of society. Doppelgängers like Balduin’s apparition, Cesare, and Maria’s clone show the dangers of miscommunication and assumptions about a group of people. All the townspeople were convinced it was the real Balduin committing those crimes, and all the workers really believed it was their savior, Maria, who was causing the destruction of the city. The doppelgängers not only displayed objectionable behavior, but showed how quickly people’s trust can evaporate when put in a struggle or compromising position. Iser’s reading also makes the case that one’s public and private lives are meant to be balanced, hopefully as evenly as possible, but that neither is “to be seen as ‘by nature’ the better-” (Iser, p. 80). Simply put, the doppelgänger is always there, it’s just that it takes specific conditions to coax it out into the realm of a person’s reality.

All earthlings are tasked with the impossible feat of figuring out who they really are, and how one goes about solving that mystery is an adventure all on its own. Germany has had the unique experience of growing and changing as a nation almost as wildly and unpredictably as its film industry grew and deviated. The doppelgänger has remained a key motif throughout the history of German cinema, and has since become a trope that is noticeable in cinemas all around the world. How we are supposed to make sense of this world is anyone’s guess, but who better to consult than yourself? Schlüpmann goes on to say that the doppelganger- “represents an expression of an individual’s inability to free himself from the narcissistic phase,” so in the end, while the doppelgänger may appear to be a person’s wild side beginning to let loose, it is really the person showing that they are at the mercy of themselves unless they seek help from those around them. A national identity is not declared, but is built from a society whose population, geography, and culture is able to identify itself as unique or distinct among its counterparts. Germany’s reoccurring use of the doppelgänger motif reflects a society that is struggling to pin down a singular identity, although this never-ending identity crisis is one thing that has ironically become a distinctly German attribute.

Works Cited

Eisner, Lotte H. The Haunted Screen: Expressionism in the German Cinema and the Influence of Max Reinhardt. University of California Press, n.d. Print.

Iser, Wolgang. The Fictive and the Imaginary: Charting Literary Anthropology. Google Books.     JHU Press, 1 Mar. 1993. Web. 27 April 2017.

Brockman, Stephen. A Critical History of German Film. Camden House, 2010. Print.

Schlüpmann, Heide. "The First German Art Film; Rye's The Student of Prague." German Film and Literature: Adaptations and Transformations. Ed. Eric Rentschler. New York: Methuen, 1986.  Web. 18 April 2017.

Webber, Andrew J. The Doppelgänger: Double Visions in German Literature. Google Books.

Clarendon Press, 7 June 1996. Web. 22 April 2017.

Objectivity and Subjectivity: How Triumph of the Will Reopens Discussion

          Leni Riefenstahl’s Triumph des Willens (Triumph of the Will, 1935), documenting the 1934 Nuremberg Rally, is often seen as the quintessential documentary film. Along with the notoriety attached to Triumph of the Will for its propaganda material relating to Adolf Hitler and the Nazi party, Riefenstahl is noted for crafting an early nonfiction film that presented many innovations in cinematography and editing. Additionally, there is much controversy as to whether this film can be understood as an objective recording of events, or if the film is profoundly illusory due to the presentation of propaganda material as seen through the filmmaker’s subjective lens. As I began to read about this film, the idea of subjectivity and objectivity really started to interest me. As a film major, I have studied different ideas about how film itself relates to objectivity and subjectivity, especially with nonfiction films. One thing that seems to be missing in these arguments, however, is the possibility of a film being both. I shall argue that while Triumph of the Will is subjective in its execution, it may be objective in its ability to act as a visual documentation of the rally’s horrifying events. Furthermore, by focusing on a few specific scenes in Triumph of the Will, we will be able to understand the film as both a piece of subjective propaganda and as an objective visual document, in order to think about subjectivity and objectivity in film more broadly.

First, it is important to provide an overview of Triumph of the Will and how it came to be. The film documents the Nazi Party Congress of 1934 in Nuremberg, an event that had been taking place there since 1927. The film was commissioned by Adolf Hitler, who provided the funding for the project and even chose the title. This project was unprecedented in its funding situation, as an enormous amount of money was given to Riefenstahl and put into this film. Hitler and Riefenstahl came to meet shortly after he came to power, and embarked on what was noted as “a productive relationship.”[1] Adolf Hitler came to recognize Riefenstahl’s work as an artist after he had seen her film Das blaue Licht (The Blue Light, 1932), a mountain film that also starred Riefenstahl. Riefenstahl was also seemingly fond of Hitler, as she had been to Nazi party rallies and was impressed enough to reach out by letter for a chance to meet the Führer in person.

Triumph of the Will, however, was not the first film that Riefenstahl made documenting Hitler and the Nazi party. Sieg des Glaubens (Victory of Faith) chronicles the Nazi party rally in Nuremberg, which was held from August 31 to September 3, 1933. The film, released later that same year, was an early example of Riefenstahl attempting to craft a nonfiction film. In Victory of Faith, there are countless scenes of Ernst Röhm, the head of the Nazi’s parliamentary wing the SA (Sturmabteilung), marching together with Adolf Hitler seemingly on behalf of the same objective. However, Ernst Röhm was murdered per Hitler’s orders, along with hundreds of other SA leaders, after this film had been released. Adolf Hitler essentially wanted to present a new film to the masses that highlighted his rise to power, while also presenting the party without the likes of Röhm and the other purged members. By commissioning Riefenstahl to document these events as she did the year before, Hitler was working to erase Röhm from the Nazi party, as well as show that he was in complete control of a party that was very unorganized behind the scenes. Of course, Triumph of the Will does not show any of this disarray, but there was much confusion inside the party as to what direction it was heading towards.  Furthermore, the death of President Hindenburg in 1934 allowed for Adolf Hitler to merge the positions of Chancellor and President, therefore giving him complete control of the state. Thus, Triumph of the Will came to fruition, as an attempt to show the Nazi party in a different light, with Hitler strong as ever at the helm. Furthermore, the planning and funding of the film marked a grave difference from the previous Riefenstahl-Hitler collaboration, which had been much more informal. Additionally, it has been reported that Riefenstahl had a staff of up to 170 people, with over a dozen people specifically operating cameras.[2]

The understanding of objectivity and subjectivity is often talked about and argued over in a way where film as a medium is considered, which is definitely necessary for proposing overarching theoretical constructs. However, it may be that certain films cannot conform to one specific theoretical approach regarding objectivity and subjectivity. Therefore, it is important to look at a films specific techniques and historical background, in order to interpret the relationship it may have with objectivity and subjectivity. By first understanding how film as a medium relates to Triumph of the Will specifically, we can then move forward and see how it may be significant in some historical sense.

As a medium, it may not be possible to ever achieve objectivity in a film. For instance, the simple act of a filmmaker editing different clips of footage together is subjective. That is, filmmakers have to make decisions on what to show and what not to show, so that the film takes shape through their decisions. Furthermore, clips juxtaposed together work to create some form of meaning that is not there before an edit. Andre Bazin notes that editing and montage works to “create meaning which is not objectively contained in the images and which derives solely from placing themes and images in relation to one another.”[3] An example of this form of subjective editing can be seen in Triumph of the Will around the 43-minute mark. In this instance, Hitler enters a rally event and the film cuts between shots of Hitler acknowledging the huge crowd and young men in a marching band. Furthermore, there are shots of young members of the audience juxtaposed with Hitler waving, as if he were specifically acknowledging the young members of the crowd. This type of editing is similar to the Kuleshov-effect, where one can simply place two images together to create some form of meaning that was once unrelated. While these young men may have been at this same rally and really participating, the fact that they are in some way related to or empowered by Hitler is implied only through the use of editing.

Additionally, in film, the camera has to be set up in a way that is partial to the filmmaker. Unless a camera is dropped into the middle of a scene and left untouched, the framing and location have to be decided by the filmmaker. In Triumph of the Will, there are many examples of the camera being placed in a way that seems to be set up and subjective. Often times, Riefenstahl uses low angle shots, which portray Hitler and other Nazi leaders in a powerful and influential way. For instance, there is a specific scene towards the end of the film where Hitler is introduced to give a speech. As he walks on stage and begins to talk, Riefenstahl has the camera lower than his body, to give the impression of him looking down on or being above the crowd. Riefenstahl then cuts to shots of the crowd, and this time the camera is placed high above everyone else as if it were looking down from the ceiling. These two camera angles work to create an impression that Hitler is above everyone else, as well as having control over the crowd of people who are before him. This goes hand in hand with the intentions of Riefenstahl and Hitler himself, as the objective for this film was to portray Hitler as being in charge and commanding of the Nazi regime. Riefenstahl claims to have crafted a cinema vérité style film, by simply observing and documenting history.[4] Ultimately, the scenes where low angle shots are used make this a false claim, since there is a clear intention in trying to present Hitler in a specific way.

For these reasons, I argue that as a medium, film could only be objective if it were to take on the role of some kind of live-streaming camera that was not to be moved, that is, a long take of images that are not cut to create some form of montage. As Bazin said, “The automatic way in which photographs are produced has radically transformed the psychology of the image. Photography’s objectivity confers upon it a degree of credibility absent from any painting.”[5]  When this objective reproduction is tampered with, we begin to see the effects of the filmmaker’s own ideology transformed onto the screen.

Film as a medium is susceptible to subjective influence since a filmmaker has autonomous control on what images are shown and how they are juxtaposed. This idea of what a documentary film even is comes into question, as the word itself implies the survey of a real event. As Brockman notes, “However, Triumph des Willens also illustrates how difficult it can be to define terms like ‘propaganda’ and ‘documentary.’”[6] This idea of what a documentary film is becomes blurry once the influence of a filmmaker is recognized. In conclusion, objectivity seems to be hard to achieve in film due to the filmmaker’s control and influence on an image. In Triumph of the Will, the editing and camera angles show the film’s ideological purpose, thus, it is important to note that this film is subjective in its execution.

On an individual level, however, Triumph of the Will may be able to serve as an important historical document, which we can classify as objective. Of course, it is the case that the film was made with subjective filmic techniques, but that should not stop us from viewing it as a representation of Nazi propaganda itself. Those who argue that Triumph of the Will should ultimately be dismissed as providing any true account of the Nazi rally because it is subjective and set up are failing to recognize that this film serves as a purpose in providing evidence of Nazi history.  Siegfried Kracuer argues that Triumph of the Will is not credible due to its staged material. He says, “From the real life of the people was built up a faked reality that was passed off as a genuine one.”[7] Ultimately, it is this exact faked reality that we should be studying and trying to understand. Triumph of the Will as a piece of propaganda is important to understanding how regimes and filmmakers use visual media to skew the truth. Rather than try and separate these two arguments of subjectivity and objectivity, we should work in a way to acknowledge the de facto status of both.

 As I considered this film, I could not help but think about our own political situation in the United States, and what would happen if our President suddenly announced the plan to commission a film of an upcoming rally. The purpose of this speculation is not to spark a political debate, as that would be redundant given today’s tense landscape. Rather, I thought about Triumph of the Will and how this is an example of horrifyingly effective propaganda. By studying the techniques that Riefenstahl uses, such as camera angles and editing, we have an example as to what propaganda material may look like, and we are able to point back to this film as an example of Nazi obfuscation.

Brockmann argues that Triumph of the Will should be looked at as a historical document that chronicles the Nuremberg rally.[8] While he does a good job at presenting the case for Riefenstahl’s film as both objective and subjective, he ultimately settles on one specific side, that of it simply being a historical document. By contrast, my goal is to introduce the idea that something can be both. That is, a film can serve as both subjective and objective, by doing different things. As a document, Triumph of the Will serves as a valuable record of what Nazi propaganda looked liked. Additionally, it is important to take into account that while some of the scenes including crowds of people were ultimately set up and reshot, these people are still supporters of Hitler and the Nazi party and gathered in Nuremberg to show this. I feel that Triumph of the Will may serve as an important survey on the level of support for the Nazis coming from seemingly young and mainstream citizens. It is important to note that if you are to view this as an objective piece, you should do so in a way so as not to ignore the clearly propagated and staged material. For instance, David Bathrick argues that this is exactly what is happening when filmmakers use clips of Triumph of the Will in their own films, as a way to present “the facts” about Hitler and the Nazi party. When discussing the implications of using these clips, he writes that filmmakers “quoted verbatim from Triumph’s celebration of party sound bites as the self-evident truth of Nazi reality.”[9] This idea that Triumph of the Will is being used in contemporary film to misrepresent true Nazism is why it is also important to classify Triumph as subjective on a broader level. Then, as you are able to navigate through what may be shown through the filmmaker’s ideological lens, the film may be seen as a historical document that helps us to conceive of what Nazi propaganda looked like.

In conclusion, instead of separating the idea of objectivity and subjectivity in film, I feel that it is necessary to embrace both. Triumph of the Will is a clear illustration of film being able to achieve both objectivity and subjectivity. While the filmic techniques used by Riefenstahl are clearly subjective and match the Nazi ideology, the film ultimately acts as an objective document, being an example of visual propaganda and Nazi ideology. As the argument over objectivity and subjectivity in film will surely continue, I hope that the conversation shifts towards trying to understand films’ specific implications. By doing so, we will be able to consider the significance of a film that may have once been understood in relation to a single theoretical concept.

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[1] Stephen Brockmann, A Critical History of German Film (Rochester, NY: Camden House, 2010), 153.

[2] Stephen Brockmann, A Critical History of German Film (Rochester, NY: Camden House, 2010), 153.

[3] André Bazin, et al, What Is Cinema?: Volume II,1st ed. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 89.

[4] David Thompson, The new biographical dictionary of film, 5^th ed. (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2014), 822.

[5] Andre Bazin and Hugh Gray, The Ontology of the Photographic Image, (Film Quarterly: vol. 13, no. 4, 1960), 4–9.

[6] Stephen Brockmann, A Critical History of German Film (Rochester, NY: Camden House, 2010), 161.

[7] Siegfried Kracauer and Leonardo Quaresima, From Caligari to Hitler: A Psychological History of the German Film (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2004).

[8] Stephen Brockmann, A Critical History of German Film (Rochester, NY: Camden House, 2010), 151-66.

[9] David Bathrick, The Afterlife of Triumph of the Will: The First Twenty-five Years (2008.), 74.

Submitted by Gannon Dodson.