Q&A WITH CHRISTIAN PETZOLD

Q. Questions of mistaken identity abound in your filmography. Why did you return to this topic in Miroirs No.3?

A. It was my friend Harun Farocki’s subject. For him, identity was a construction. To see someone who tries to live out a wrong identity is something cinema will always be interested in.

In this movie, Miroirs No. 3, I wasn’t so interested in this suicidal girl who meets a woman who has lost her daughter… I think it’s great when two people meet each other, at a party for example. At a party, there is the kitchen and all of the people who are not great dancers drink beer and talk there. Their first question is always, “What are you doing?” They are interested in your family name, your passport, and your profession. So, what a fantastic situation when two people meet, as in this movie, after a car accident and one says, “I’m Laura,” and the other says, “I’m Betty,” and that’s all. They are living in the present, without the past and without a future. This moment, when you don’t have an identity, gives you comfort.

Q. Music has taken a more prominent role in your most recent films. What has motivated this choice?

A. I want to talk about Frankie Valli, because I like talking about Frankie Valli. It all started with The Deer Hunter, which has that Frankie Valli song “Can’t Take My Eyes off You.” If there is really a movie against war, it is The Deer Hunter. It is one of the best movies I have ever seen in my life.

Then, I was part of a festival jury and saw a film from Miguel Gomes about the time of coronavirus, when there was no life anymore — no clubs, no dancing, no theater. It’s about a group of artists living on a farm, living a life of their own in exile. There’s one scene where they dance and this reminds us of the life that they have lost — the life of nights and dancing. In this scene, they are dancing to Frankie Valli’s “The Night.” When I heard this, I thought to myself, “What a fantastic song.”

When we started shooting Miroirs No. 3, I thought that these two young people, Paula Beer and Enno Trebs, needed a moment — a space for themselves without trauma. Without dead sisters, suicide, water, death symbols. They needed a moment of absolute presence. So, in this moment when they listen to Frankie Valli’s “The Night”, there is no dialogue. I said to the actors, “I just want to portray both of you with two cameras while you hear the song.” I didn’t understand at first, but then I understood that in this moment, it’s not just Laura and Max, the characters in the film, but it’s also Paula Beer and Enno Trebs. Both are sitting there, because they don’t have a mask.

You can play someone who is listening to music for 20 seconds, but after 20 seconds it just comes over you. This moment can create fear, but it can also liberate you. The two actors didn’t know what was happening and they started laughing. This laughter shows that they are free. For a moment, a door is opened and they come out of this world. When the music of Frankie Valli comes on, it is possible to liberate one’s self even if we are traumatized.

Q. You’ve been working with cinematographer Hans Fromm since your first feature. What is your working relationship like and how has it evolved over the years?

A. Our relationship is not like the one many directors and DoPs have. It has changed very little over 20 years. The great thing about Hans is that he is always on the side of the movie, the story, and the actors. He is never on the side of the technics. But, he learned this in our collaboration. I hate it when I see him with other men — it is like a marriage.

In Germany, DoPs all have the same car. It’s always an old Mercedes Benz and it’s full of garbage. They don’t have families. They have three-day beards. They are like James Stewart in Rear Window. In fact, all DoPs in the world are a little bit like this.

Hans is great because he has lived his own life for 20 years. When he is with other men, he is a different person. He’s like James Stewart in Rear Window, talking as if he’s wearing a leather jacket. I hate this. I hate buddies. I never went to the military because I hate buddies; I don’t want to be in the same room with three other men. Hans often gets beer and barbeque with the other guys — camera assistants, lighting specialists — but I’m never there. This is not my world and Hans is great because he understood that 20 years ago. I like people with two identities.

Q. What is the last film you saw and loved?

A. Casablanca. I hadn’t seen it in 35 years and I couldn’t remember it. It is a great, great movie, because it tells the story of 1940s Europe, its refugees and how they are waiting in transit. For me, people who are living in transit are the main subjects of cinema. They are ghosts. They are between countries. Nobody wants them.

Q. What’s your favorite football team?

A. In Germany, it’s Borussia Mönchengladbach. Worldwide, it’s Liverpool.

Q. If you could choose to organize one retrospective, whose would it be?

A. Rossellini, because I’ve seen Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca and I love the five movies they made together.

Q. How far back do you usually sit in a movie theater?

A. In the fourth or fifth row, on the right. Always.

Q. Who, or what, do you think is the future of filmmaking?

A. I don’t think it will change all that much.

We had all these discussions about when cheap cameras were coming and everything would change. But there were only one or two movies made on the cheap, like The Blair Witch Project and so on. Then 3D. That was the future. Now, the streamers. Yes, they destroy everything, but I’m confident that the collective intelligence of the audience inside the cinema will always exist. 

Two or three weeks before he died, Michel Piccoli said, “Cinema will never die, because you can kiss in a cinema, but you can’t kiss in front of a T.V. set.” 

Q. What image would you like to end this interview with?

A. From Persona by Ingmar Bergman. Liv Ullmann hearing Johann Sebastian Bach. Then, in the last moment, she’s looking.