Filmed just before the Nazis came to power, and banned when they did, DIE 3-GROSCHEN OPER is a brilliant version of the Brecht classic.
Set in a dystopian London full of dark shadows and concealed streets, director G. W. Pabst foregrounds the musical's satire of corruption. Macheath's (Rudolf Forster's) gang patrol the streets looking for anything to steal, rivaled only by Peachum's (Fritz Rasp's) gang of would-be beggars who become thoroughly proficient at putting on an act so as to screw more money out of the punters. In this stew of corruption concepts such as marriage mean little - although Macheath marries Polly Peachum (Carola Neher), he scarcely remains faithful to her, preferring to keep his regular Thursday date in the local whorehouse with Jenny (Lotte Lenya) in particular. Sentenced to death by hanging, Macheath eventually escapes from prison and joins Peachum in a huge cartel that dominates the center of London.
Kurt Weill's music and Brecht's lyrics offer a stinging satire of contemporary life. The tunes might be memorable, but here they are sung with an emotionlessness designed to make viewers reflect on their true meaning. The narrator (Ernst Busch) addresses us direct to camera, not only prompting our responses but warning us about what will happen next. Such techniques are part of the technique known as Verfremdungseffekt, or alienation, designed to prevent us identifying with the characters and thereby forcing us to concentrate on the text's social criticism. Pabst manages this aspect of the film extremely well; by the end we fully understand the implications of living in a rapacious society where only the fittest survive.
Having said that, DIE 3 GROSCHEN-OPER is also a very funny film. There is one particularly memorable set piece taking place in an isolated warehouse where Macheath and Polly are due to be married by a timorous Reverend (Hermann Thimig) who is looking for any excuse to escape at the earliest possible opportunity. The fact that he cannot do so attests to the strength of Macheath's gang.
Brilliantly restored in the early 2000s, Pabst's film combines early sound techniques and a clever management of space to produce an acknowledged classic, as timely today as it was when it first appeared over eight decades ago.
Set in a dystopian London full of dark shadows and concealed streets, director G. W. Pabst foregrounds the musical's satire of corruption. Macheath's (Rudolf Forster's) gang patrol the streets looking for anything to steal, rivaled only by Peachum's (Fritz Rasp's) gang of would-be beggars who become thoroughly proficient at putting on an act so as to screw more money out of the punters. In this stew of corruption concepts such as marriage mean little - although Macheath marries Polly Peachum (Carola Neher), he scarcely remains faithful to her, preferring to keep his regular Thursday date in the local whorehouse with Jenny (Lotte Lenya) in particular. Sentenced to death by hanging, Macheath eventually escapes from prison and joins Peachum in a huge cartel that dominates the center of London.
Kurt Weill's music and Brecht's lyrics offer a stinging satire of contemporary life. The tunes might be memorable, but here they are sung with an emotionlessness designed to make viewers reflect on their true meaning. The narrator (Ernst Busch) addresses us direct to camera, not only prompting our responses but warning us about what will happen next. Such techniques are part of the technique known as Verfremdungseffekt, or alienation, designed to prevent us identifying with the characters and thereby forcing us to concentrate on the text's social criticism. Pabst manages this aspect of the film extremely well; by the end we fully understand the implications of living in a rapacious society where only the fittest survive.
Having said that, DIE 3 GROSCHEN-OPER is also a very funny film. There is one particularly memorable set piece taking place in an isolated warehouse where Macheath and Polly are due to be married by a timorous Reverend (Hermann Thimig) who is looking for any excuse to escape at the earliest possible opportunity. The fact that he cannot do so attests to the strength of Macheath's gang.
Brilliantly restored in the early 2000s, Pabst's film combines early sound techniques and a clever management of space to produce an acknowledged classic, as timely today as it was when it first appeared over eight decades ago.