“Music is something that often allows me a deeper access to films and Petzold’s latest is no exception to that.”
Christian Petzold’s Afire
© Christian Schulz
In my mind is where things happen that others do not see, that maybe only I see, or that I maybe only believe I am seeing. Whether or not they are really there can often be hard to tell when it comes to subtle gestures and subtext. This exact feeling, the noticeable disconnect between what seems obvious and what is really being said is central to Christian Petzold’s film Afire, which affected me so deeply that it now seems like serendipity that I had decided to see this in cinemas with a friend of mine a few months ago.
Music is something that often allows me a deeper access to films and Petzold’s latest is no exception to that. As soon as the aforementioned in my mind by the band Wallners was playing at the beginning, I felt like I was in the right mood, even though I had no way of knowing what mood this would be over the course of the film. I just instinctively connected with it and was ready to follow it anywhere. The journey on which it took me is still leaving profound marks on my soul even today—months after the credits rolled.
“I feel seen” is an expression often used today when you feel understood or safe and secure, by someone or something, which is why I must say that Christian Petzold did not only see me, he gazed at me extensively. At least that is what it feels like to me because Petzold most likely just put his thoughts to paper. Thoughts that occupy his own mind and which he then used to do something which many good artists can do without effort, it seems, and which more and more people will hopefully learn to appreciate in the future when watching films: He gave space to his words and his story but at the same time he left space for me, the audience. Space enough to bring my own thoughts and project them onto the characters, to find myself in them or envy them for being unique in their own ways.
© Christian Schulz
“Music is something that often allows me a deeper access to films and Petzold’s latest is no exception to that.”
Here it is in all its glory again: Cinema, the “empathy machine”. For Leon, it does not come easy to share his sincere thoughts with the person he is talking to in those exact moments when they would be a fitting response to what was said to him. What happens in Leon’s mind and what comes out of his mouth instead as a perceived defense mechanism and fear of disappointment are two different things altogether. What he says out loud often makes him seem cold, distant, and rude. Leon hurts people with his words because he seems to be detached from his emotions. While we may still be laughing along with him while he is on a phone call making fun of a hotel employee’s pronunciation, it breaks your heart and makes you choke on your laughter when this very employee is suddenly back in the room, standing in front of him visibly offended and hurt.
To me, understanding Leon means more than just having empathy for him, however, because sometimes I can be like Leon. Strangely enough, this does not mean I sympathize with him because I can rationally make sense of why some of his words or reactions alienate others. To recognize something like that within yourself hurts, though, and Petzold shows us that Leon often regrets his statements just moments later. Defense is Leon’s offense. It is a first response before he has second thoughts. I can often feel how much it hurts to say the wrong thing as well, simply because you are afraid to say the right thing. Or worse: To say nothing for fear of meeting the situation with a true part of yourself. Fear of being too open and too honest and of allowing the person in front of you more than just a glimpse behind your carefully constructed walls, which are waiting exactly where the music led at the beginning: Inside my mind.
Not long ago I was out for a walk and someone approached me with the words “Excuse me”. The pronunciation was with an audible accent, so I too had those completely irrelevant nationality-related thoughts that Leon expresses when he first hears the name “Nadja”. In this situation, I could not imagine why anyone without an agenda or a desire to sell me something would talk to me on the street. That certainly says more about me than the person who attempted it. Now, I reacted very tentatively. I turned towards them but said nothing, just grinned in that seemingly knowing and aloof way, as if I had seen through them, caught them and their intentions—caught them red-handed even. I then turned away from them and walked on without having said so much as a word. Seconds later I felt remorse. I felt disrespectful and, in addition, I was curious who they were and what they and the person accompanying them had wanted from me. This even led me to walk in a circle on purpose, only to meet those two again and apologize. In my mind, both were Mormons from the local church near where I live. Their parking lot was crowded that day and I did not want to be converted. Converted … as if a few friendly words in public were tantamount to saying the Apostles’ Creed.
© Christian Schulz
“Here it is in all its glory again: Cinema, the ‘empathy machine’.”
Not long ago I was out for a walk and someone approached me with the words “Excuse me”. The pronunciation was with an audible accent, so I too had those completely irrelevant nationality-related thoughts that Leon expresses when he first hears the name “Nadja”. In this situation, I could not imagine why anyone without an agenda or a desire to sell me something would talk to me on the street. That certainly says more about me than the person who attempted it. Now, I reacted very tentatively. I turned towards them but said nothing, just grinned in that seemingly knowing and aloof way, as if I had seen through them, caught them and their intentions—caught them red-handed even. I then turned away from them and walked on without having said so much as a word. Seconds later I felt remorse. I felt disrespectful and, in addition, I was curious who they were and what they and the person accompanying them had wanted from me. This even led me to walk in a circle on purpose, only to meet those two again and apologize. In my mind, both were Mormons from the local church near where I live. Their parking lot was crowded that day and I did not want to be converted. Converted … as if a few friendly words in public were tantamount to saying the Apostles’ Creed.
Why am I telling this? To make it clear that these are the kinds of thoughts I am projecting into the space that Petzold left for me in his film and to me it seems the same kinds of thoughts rage in Leon’s mind. Physically (but also emotionally) Leon is detached. He chooses pining for someone from afar over being part of events with them and he rather snoops around through vinyl records and notes of the person he is interested in than strike up a conversation with her and talk about these things. Leon is his own worst enemy and worse yet, he knows it. Just how much Leon lives in his own perception of the world becomes clear in subtle but revealing ways when the film shows him lost in his thoughts, staring at the sea, while the stack of papers next to him that is the manuscript of his latest book is slowly but surely being blown away by the wind. Or right at the beginning of the film, when broad daylight turns to dusk at a moment’s notice while Leon is waiting at a crossroads for a friend’s return.
With Afire Christian Petzold has created an astoundingly powerful film, that is best seen without any preconceived ideas for it to have its full effect. Who knows …, maybe you will bring your own thoughts to the space the film offers and project them there.