Latest news with #Serebrennikov
Yahoo
21-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
‘The Disappearance of Josef Mengele' Review: An Artfully Directed, Intellectually Vacuous Holocaust-Ploitation Flick
Throughout the impressively crafted and increasingly exasperating 135 minutes that make up Kirill Serebrennikov's postwar Nazi-in-hiding chronicle, The Disappearance of Josef Menegele, the same question keeps coming to mind: Why am I watching this? Certainly, for those curious to know how the notorious Auschwitz doctor, aka the 'Angel of Death,' eked out the final decades of his life in various South American countries, changing homes and identities, farming, scheming and, yes, getting the occasional handjob, the film answers that question many times over. But for those who aren't Third Reich completists, nor have any interest in historical fantasy that does little beyond embellishing Mengele's ignoble reputation, this intellectually vacuous exercise can be tough to stomach — despite how well put together the whole thing is. More from The Hollywood Reporter Feinberg on Cannes: Oscar Contenders Emerging From First Half Include 'Nouvelle Vague' and Jennifer Lawrence for 'Die, My Love' 'A Magnificent Life' Review: Sylvain Chomet's Beautifully Animated but Clumsily Scripted Love Letter to Marcel Pagnol 'Peak Everything' Review: Piper Perabo Headlines a Cute Canadian Rom-Com Imbued With Very Timely Anxieties The Russian-born Serebrennikov is a talented auteur with plenty of style to boot, showcasing his directorial chops in six eclectic features made since 2016. He jumps easily between genres, from a scruffy rock 'n' roll flick (Leto) to a post-Soviet mindfuck (Petrov's Flu), from a brooding period piece (Tchaikovsky's Wife) to a continent-hopping tale of a political mystery man (Limonov: The Ballad of Eddie). A feted cinematic chameleon who was controversially put on trial in Russia, Serebrennikov can be hard to pin down. It's perhaps the latter quality that attracted him to French writer Olivier Guez's 2017 fictional biography imagining Mengele's life after World War II, when he was constantly evading arrest by local authorities or possible kidnapping by Mossad. Like its unwholesome protagonist, the film — and the roving camera of Vladislav Opelyants, shooting in gorgeously high-contrast black-and-white — is forever on the move, creating an immersive aesthetic experience that amounts to a big pile of nothing. To his credit, Serebrennikov never attempts to turn Mengele, played by August Diehl (A Hidden Life) in a committed performance that borders at times on caricature, into a likeable protagonist. There are no save-the-cat redemptions for a man who became famous for torturing, murdering and performing hideous experiments on countless Jews as part of a team of doctors overseeing medical services at Auschwitz-Birkenau. We never have an ounce of sympathy for the loathsome fugitive, whether he's trying — though barely — to reconcile with his son, Rolf (Max Bretschneider), who pays him a visit in Sao Paulo in 1977, hoping to finally get to know his long-lost dad. Nor do we shed a tear when he's forced to flee the farm where he's being protected — though barely — by a Hungarian couple (Annamaria Lang, Tilo Werner) who openly despise him. And we certainly don't get upset when, during his dying days, Mengele is unable to get it up while his Brazilian housekeeper offers him a massage with a happy ending. Watching The Disappearance of Josef Mengele leaves one without any real feeling beyond indifference or deep disgust. The one sequence capable of provoking some other kind of emotion is also the film's most problematic: Midway through the narrative, the screen suddenly shifts to color and we flash back to Auschwitz to watch some of the doctor's dirty deeds. Set to lush classical music serving as a counterpoint for all the atrocities we're witnessing, it's a moment of pure Holocaust-ploitation, pulling on our heartstrings while offering up snippets of unspeakable evil and squeamish gore. Unlike Jonathan Glazer's The Zone of Interest, which kept such scenes forever out of the frame, Serebrennikov's decision to show us Mengele at his absolute worst feels both morally suspect and cinematically vulgar. At best, it makes us hate the Nazi even more. Slightly more successful are the postwar thriller aspects of the story, which shift between time periods (from the mid-1950s to the late-1970s, with a prologue set in 2023) and countries (Germany, Argentina, Paraguay, Brazil) as Mengele keeps outsmarting those trying to bring him to justice, aided and abetted by a network of exiled Hitler sympathizers. He was also supported by his wealthy German family, who are as unapologetic as he is about what happened during the war and refuse to acknowledge his crimes. 'You did your duty, you didn't do anything wrong,' they keep reminding him. It's a motto Mengele lives by till the bitter end, dying the kind of natural death that his countless victims were never afforded. And he seems to have lived quite well for the most part, marrying his second wife (Friederike Becht) in a beautiful private ceremony captured by the director in a single take, the camera honing in at one point on a wedding cake capped by a cute little Nazi flag. Or else frolicking with his first wife (Dana Herfurth) along the Rhine, then having rough sex with her until he violently orgasms and nearly breaks the bed they're doing it on. Good for the doctor, bad for us. If there's perhaps anything Serebrennikov is trying to say in this noirish Nazi fantasy, it's that men like Mengele ultimately managed to escape retribution through the help of other people, who were either seduced by his commanding virility or remained loyal to the Third Reich long after the war ended. At a time when fascism is on the rise throughout the world, The Disappearance of Josef Mengele maintains that evil persists because some of us let it happen. It's the only possible takeaway from a movie that gives little justification for immortalizing such a vile life on screen. Best of The Hollywood Reporter 'The Goonies' Cast, Then and Now "A Nutless Monkey Could Do Your Job": From Abusive to Angst-Ridden, 16 Memorable Studio Exec Portrayals in Film and TV The 10 Best Baseball Movies of All Time, Ranked
Yahoo
21-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
‘The Disappearance of Josef Mengele' Review: A Post-War Study of the Nazis' ‘Angel of Death' Lacks Dimension
With 'The Disappearance of Josef Mengele,' Russian dissident Kirill Serebrennikov trains his lens once more on the fault-lines of democracy, and the ease with which fascism takes hold and cross-pollinates. However, the black-and-white-shot post-World War II biopic contains more ideas than it can handle, between a central character study — led by an impeccable August Diehl — mixed with a globe-trotting tale of evasion, along with numerous hints towards turning political wheels. The combination proves too unwieldy, at least in Serebrennikov's scattered execution. The movie's prologue, set in the 21st century, establishes what would become of the Nazi war criminal, as his remains are examined by medical students in Brazil. Among the group is a pair of Black twins, whose professor mentions Mengele's fixation with identical siblings, which both portends fleeting dramatic moments in the rest of the film, and also steeps this post-mortem study in dramatic irony. Mengele would've detested what became of his bones; there's a sense of catharsis to the mad doctor being reduced to parts on a slab. Unfortunately, what follows is seldom retro-fitted with enough dramatic power to earn this preemptive closure. More from Variety 'Fuori' Review: Jailtime Revives a Middle-Aged Writer's Mojo in Mario Martone's Uninvolving Literary Biopic Kevin Spacey Tears Up, Quotes 'Friend' Elton John in Fiery Speech at Cannes: 'I'm Still Standing' At Cannes, Politics, Penny-Pinching and Strict Red Carpet Rules Overshadow the Glitz, Good Times and Glamour Adapted from Olivier Guez's more straightforward non-fiction novel, Serebrennikov's screenplay jumps around in time, albeit with little purpose. It introduces us to Mengele (Diehl), the Third Reich's 'angel of death,' living in secret and looking over his shoulder in 1950s Argentina. The camera follows Mengele — at times literally, from behind — during his attempts to travel back to Europe, inducing a sense of paranoia in the process, while embodying a phantomic righteousness as it gives chase. However, these alluring flourishes quickly fade, as the movie settles into rote rhythms reminiscent of Serebrennikov's most recent effort (the agitator biopic 'Limonov: The Ballad'), in which the political is but window dressing to the personal, rather than part-and-parcel of it. For the most part, 'The Disappearance of Josef Mengele' hobbles between Mengele's stints in various South American countries — primarily, a Nazi-friendly Argentina under Juan Perón, and eventually a military-controlled Brazil — from the '50s through to the '70s. The film, in this way, offers hints at the perpetuation of fascist thought during the 20th century, coming achingly close to making a point as norms seem to shatter far in background (usually, over radio broadcasts). Instead, its constant back-and-forth functions as a highlight reel, denoting Mengele's marriage to his widowed sister-in-law, his relationship with his domineering father and, eventually, the efforts by his adult son Rolf (Max Bretschneider) to connect with his estranged father. Rather than these factual bullet-points serving as a backdrop to explore Mengele, they become foregrounded to the point of subsuming any sense of overarching theme, let alone a cinematic fluidity between eras. The film is at its most potent during its brief foray into Mengele's Nazi past — about halfway through the runtime — taking the form of rare color scenes presented as grainy, celluloid footage shot by the Nazis themselves. The gleeful cruelty contained in these images is downright gut-churning, and makes for a necessary foundation to later moments of the elderly, fugitive Mengele being forced to confront his torturous wrongdoings. Diehl, despite being caked in old-man make up, digs deep into Mengele's chilling contradictions and compartmentalizations, which arrive with a nearly comedic form of self-awareness (Mengele detests the idea that he may one day be fictionalized on film), making the character seem even more pathetic. However, these moments can't help but feel too little, too late. Take, for example, a kind of scene that has become practically expected of modern films on human atrocities — from the 2013 Indonesian genocide documentary 'The Act of Killing,' to the recent World War II dramas 'Oppenheimer' and 'The Zone of Interest' — in which a figure confronted with the reality of their mass murders keels over and vomits, as if in pithy attempt to expel their guilt. Such an instance arrives here as well, albeit without the requisite buildup that might make Mengele's inescapable nausea meaningful. It's a beat that feels mostly self-contained, rather than emanating from a combination of all the preceding drama. Similarly, Mengele's twisted fixations are but details casually shaded into Serebrennikov's sketch, appearing in isolated moments rather than existing as defining characteristics, baked into the character's gaze. His persecution, presented in spurts across the various timelines, seldom leads to a coherent story of a man being chased by demons of his own making (despite frequent allusions to Mossad catching up to other Nazi leaders). Diehl goes to great lengths to embody a figure noxious to the eyes and ears — in the most subtle, skin-crawling ways — with the crouched body language of a man resultant to be seen. However, the film as a whole rarely pierces this veil. 'The Disappearance of Josef Mengele' never builds a complete and detestable human being. Its concerns, ironically, feel far too logistical for a figure whose cold calculations disguised a more vivid and monstrously human collage. The result is a film that gestures towards some novel complexity, but elicits only a shrug. Best of Variety The Best Albums of the Decade
New York Times
04-05-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
With a Different Ending, ‘Don Giovanni' Becomes a Requiem
Partway through the dissident Russian director Kirill Serebrennikov's new production at the Komische Oper in Berlin that pairs Mozart's 'Don Giovanni' and Requiem, text is projected across an abstract set piece representing a graveyard. 'Here,' it says, 'the dead teach the living.' At this point in the opera, the statue of a murdered man is about to come to life to confront his killer. But there is perhaps another meaning to be found in the text. 'It's a requiem,' Serebrennikov said in an interview, 'for all of us.' His production, which runs through May 23 before returning next season, follows a pre-20th-century performance tradition of dispensing with the final sextet of 'Don Giovanni,' a pat moral lesson sung after its title character is dragged to hell. Instead, the hellfire blaze of D minor and major leads directly into the soft, D-minor chords of the Requiem. That work was left unfinished at Mozart's death, in 1791. Serebrennikov, together with the choreographers Evgeny Kulagin and Ivan Estegneev, stages the roughly 20 minutes of music that Mozart completed as dance theater. Don Giovanni's soul, embodied by the former Pina Bausch dancer Fernando Suels Mendoza, struggles against and finally accepts death as the chorus and soloists perform last rites. 'The Requiem is not only a funeral Mass,' Serebrennikov said. 'It was written, like 'The Tibetan Book of the Dead,' not just for those still living, but also for the dead: to help them find a condition for themselves after death.' Serebrennikov's production — the final in his cycle of the Mozart-Da Ponte operas at the Komische Oper — opens with Don Giovanni's funeral, and transforms the plot into a nonlinear series of scenes set in the bardo, the Tibetan transitional space between life and death. He leans into the enigmas of the title character and the work as a whole, starting with its label as a 'dramma giocoso': 'funny tragedy,' Serebrennikov said, 'the mixture of all genres, all intentions.' Hubert Zapior, who sings the title role, said in an interview that the process of working on a Serebrennikov show involves 'struggle' against preconceptions and the expected. The reward, he said, is getting to 'make the character new, and interesting, giving it a whole new quality.' James Gaffigan, who took up the music directorship of the Komische Oper in 2023, said, 'I never would have taken this job at this house if I didn't like these sorts of things.' Referring to the liberties the production takes with 'Don Giovanni,' he added: 'Would I choose to do it all the time? Not necessarily. But when you have someone as brilliant as Kirill, I want to make this work.' (As if to illustrate the point, Gaffigan's office is decorated with a large red neon sign that says 'Yes.') Serebrennikov sought to broaden Don Giovanni's tastes as a seducer. To that end, Donna Elvira has been transformed into Don Elviro, sung by the male soprano Bruno de Sá. That role, a character often written off as a harridan, requires ferocious energy and includes both sustained high singing in two enormously difficult solo arias as well as low notes in ensemble singing. 'It's a weird range for any soprano, or mezzo-soprano,' de Sá said. 'But I think I've never had this deep a connection with a character. He's so misunderstood. He just has a broken heart.' In a traditional production, de Sá would readily go on as Elvira in drag, the way that mezzo-sopranos strap down their chests to play trouser roles. 'But the fact that it's a man in this show brings something else,' he said. The Catalog Aria, in which a mourning Elvira learns from Leporello about his master's many conquests, 'becomes a whole different universe.' 'But at the end of the day, it doesn't matter if it's a man, or a woman, or a trans person,' he added. 'Human emotions are always there.' Gaffigan said that the idea works for the opera. 'How great is it that Don Giovanni's not just seducing women, he's seducing everyone?' he said. 'This is not a check box to say, 'Let's do something crazy.'' Critics have mostly agreed. In Die Deutsche Bühne, Joachim Lange described the 'casually irreverent creativity' of Serebrennikov and the production, writing that the show 'sounds more cerebral than it appears onstage' and that 'Serebrennikov manages to tease out the humor of the whole thing in almost every scene.' Ulrich Lange, writing in the Tagesspiegel, praised de Sá's 'heart-piercing' singing and the orchestra's 'sharp Mozart sound.' The Komische Oper, predicated like all repertory companies on the uneasy relationship between the living and the dead, is on track to sell 92 percent of its tickets this season, an enviable figure for any house. In 2024, it was named Opera House of the Year at the International Opera Awards in Munich. But the state of Berlin, which is the house's largest funder by far, is sharply cutting culture spending, threatening the ongoing renovation of the company's longtime home theater and its annual operating budget. This season, those cuts have already led to the cancellation of one premiere, of an East German operetta adaptation of Oscar Wilde's 'The Importance of Being Earnest.' In Serebrennikov's production, Leporello holds up a sign in the second act of 'Don Giovanni' dryly noting that a tenor's aria 'was unfortunately cut due to the slashing of Berlin's culture budget.' On opening night, audience members cheered and applauded. 'We're not safe in any way, shape or form,' Gaffigan said. 'We're fighting for our survival. From year to year, we don't know what's going to happen.' In an emailed statement in German, Christopher Suss, a spokesman for the city's cultural department, said that 'there will be no halt to construction' on the house's renovation project and emphasized that 'the closure of this unique opera house is out of the question.' He wouldn't comment on further cuts because the city's budget is in the process of being negotiated. On Friday, Berlin's top culture politician, Joe Chialo, resigned his post; his resignation letter laid out his opposition to forthcoming planned cuts that, he warned, would 'lead to the imminent closure of nationally renowned cultural institutions.' 'I have never seen anything like it, where a company is doing so well, and we're terrified for our own existence,' Gaffigan said. 'Doing as well as we are doing, I thought the Komische Oper would always be there. And one night you wake up and realize, 'Maybe not.''
