The quote “it’s not what a movie is about, it’s how it is about it” is confirmed by Weimar cinema, as the impact of war manifests not just narratively, but conceptually throughout the medium. In film’s microcosmic capabilities the development of gender, explored in this essay as the social construction of masculinity and femininity, is also brought to light as the visual arts conveyed the mental torment of ex-combatants, as well as the liberation of women towards the end of the decade. This essay will analyse 4 hallmarks of Weimar cinema to demonstrate these claims, deciphering masculinity in the first two and femininity in the latter to explore the role of Weimar society in creative culture and the themes associated with gender. To do so, wartime cinema will firstly be considered so that a base for the cinematic shift is established.
Though recordings of the original front were banned over suspected espionage, enacted and pre-war patriotic films were released nationwide during war to conjure morale. Images from the Franco-Prussian War emerged to replicate the Great War, representing soldiers as lacking emotion and hypermasculine in their use of aggression, and women on the home front, typically exhibiting maternalistic qualities in nursing roles. This garnered popular support for the heteronormative, gender binary social order that had been at the forefront of German society. Gender conventions were evident in films like Bismarck (1914), as scenes consisting of political discourse are dominated by groups of bourgeoisie men recounting their love of the fatherland and planning military operations with great rationality and authority. Conversely, their wives are confined to scenes of domestic or leisurely activities, discussing war in a more fraught state. This suggests that, whilst it is unlikely film producers consciously drew on gender to evoke patriotism, gender was integral in Vaterland films in portraying a familiar German culture that incentivised people to continue the war effort. Through drawing on ideals of men being protectors of the nation state and women as nurturers, widely recognised tropes that dichotomously situated both genders within their sociological realm reflected a Germany that demanded complete mobilisation to protect these sacred, value systems. However, as audiences looked to fiction for light entertainment, the government felt pressure to abandon military films in lieu of a plethora of genres with greater aesthetic appeal. In response, general Erich Ludendorff ordered the merger of the main German production, distribution and exhibition companies into the government-subsidised Universum Film Aktiengesellschaft (UFA), with the intention of not only proliferating war films, but “upgrad(ing) the quality of German films”. Though interest in patriotic films subsided upon Germany’s defeat, the UFA enabled Germany to compete in the international film marketplace, soon becoming the largest studio in Europe. In creating new thematic territory, peacetime afforded producers the freedom to experiment creatively, stimulating depictions of gender that were absent during war as concepts of emotion and sexuality came to be embedded within the films developed in the ‘golden age’ of German cinema.
In examining the post-war cinematic era, a shift is reflected in the cultural status-quo Germany had once desperately sought to maintain as previous sentiments about Schaulust re-emerged; “if one looks to where cinema receives its ultimate power…suddenly it stands there in all its massiveness: visual pleasure”. Whilst the UFA produced Kostumfilme to compete with the historical spectacles created in Italy before the war, Autorenfilm and expressionism would become epochal of German cinema. Signifying a return to ‘cinema of attractions’, expressionism encapsulated the discontent brought about by societal volatility, engaging with themes of madness and betrayal which had been inflamed by war. Small-scale companies rejected realism and experimented with vibrant camera movements, geometrically dynamic set design and lighting, which was made a necessity due to the rationing of electricity, to disorient the audience and position them in the psyche of their characters. Whilst expressionist film makers did little to explicitly blur gendered distinctions, the incorporation of visceral emotion naturally reflected a departure from the stoic, mentally secure portrayal of men in combat to one that saw them in opposition with their own feelings, moving the conflict from the battlefield to their heads.
Carl Meyer and Hans Janowitz’s The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920) best reflects these themes as it details a series of murders committed in North Germany by a somnambulist controlled by hypnotist, Dr. Caligari. To encode the tortured mental state of the narrator, distorted design sets are used that “exaggerate dimensions and deform spatial relationships” which, accompanied with staccato lighting and music, make for a highly expressionistic mise-en-scene. Likewise, the non-linear narrative plays out in front of a backdrop featuring a castle overlooking a town from a hill, with the castle believed to depict the superior position of the oppressive German regime over a disposable German public. This is further indicative of a growth in anti-establishment attitudes as it is apparent dissatisfaction with a government many once sacrificed their lives for was becoming poignant enough to be reflected in the arts, with film acting as a mirror to society.
In the scene where Cesare, the somnambulist, attempts to murder Jane, wife of the narrator, the concept of masculinity and death depicted is incompatible with the killing scenes shown in Vaterland films. Throughout the film, Cesare is presented as submissive through pale make up and awkward physicality; both of which imply he is in search of his soul, aware of his estranged place in society. This could suggest the alienation felt by soldiers suffering from shell shock, which was referred to by medical officer David Eder as being rare amongst the wounded as “the energy taken to deal with it left none to spare for the creation of phantasies”. Even those who advanced arguments concerning the traumatic neuroses brought about by war that manifested subconsciously in combatants, proposed by Sigmund Freud, had little success in providing large scale solutions as concepts of psychoanalysis were yet to be proven. This case of Cesare, who was forced to kill Jane by Dr. Caligari, being forced to commit murder by his superior and subsequently being vilified by the audience could reflect soldiers feeling socially punished and scapegoated for committing brutalities enforced by military officials. Thus, it can be argued this era saw a development in the character trope of the soldier, with post-war depictions of servicemen being the past’s antithesis. Furthermore, the interplay between masculinity and death differ vastly as, whilst this scene parallels wartime films in its implication of men committing murder, Cesare lacks ferocity to the extent of him failing to carry out Dr. Caligari’s plan. He approaches Jane, who is asleep in her bed, tentatively clutching a single weapon and disposing it upon seeing her, unlike soldiers who were shown to launch simultaneous attacks. This connotes that men possessed empathy and did not lust for blood in the way wartime films had portrayed. The fact the scene takes place in the shadows also implies that murder was too shameful to be afforded the more brazen, daytime coverage it received during war.
Inspired by Meyer and Janowitz, films such as F.W. Murnau’s Nosferatu (1922) became iconic of Weimar cinema, further reflecting Germany’s socio-political climate through highly expressionistic mediums. The silent film, which was an unauthorised adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1897), chronicles the life of vampire Count Orlok as he purchases a house from Thomas Hutter and pursues his wife, Ellen Hutter, entrapping Thomas in his castle and leaving a trail of death before being lured into Ellen’s murderous plan. Laying the groundwork for a revolution in horror, the film utilises gothic iconography to illicit a mood of terror, relying on warped camera angles and single shots in photo negative to create suspense and reflect an abandonment of reality. The film is also indicative of an emergence of intimate cinema or Kammerspielfilme, depicting the oppressiveness of middle class life in Weimar Germany that came as a result of crippling war debts and national mourning. The senselessness of wartime death is reflected in Nosferatu’s narrative, with the death of Jane metaphorizing the lives sacrificed at war and Thomas’ subsequent devastation, as well as Orlok’s death, being indicative of Germany gaining nothing from this sacrifice. Though gender is not at the forefront of the narrative, conceptions of masculinity are further expanded on as the othering of Orlok prompts exploration of isolation and confinement.
The scene where Thomas embarks on a journey to Orlok’s castle conjures feelings of unease as the jarring stop motion and mismatched frame rates reflect travel into a domain more sinister than his own. The distant, obscure location of Orlok’s castle supports this, as well as its labyrinthine, vast structure which could reflect the psychological torment soldiers endured post-war; Thomas’s journey depicting departure into insanity and Orlok’s castle representing the boundless, intricate nature of mental illness. Wartime portrayals of masculinity are subsequently compromised as it becomes evident men lacked the mental reasoning and composure nationalistic films had shown them as possessing. Supporting this is that when rationality is shown within the film, such as when it is assumed the sailors on the ship Orlok hijacks are killed by a second wave of plague, an unexpected terror lies beneath this seemingly reasonable explanation. This may illustrate a battle soldiers fought internally during war whereby they may have felt obligated to act as if they had control of unfolding events, all whilst resisting the inner horror of witnessing savage combat. Furthermore, Thomas’s entrapment within the castle and interjected clips of spiders spinning webs connotes once one is lured into this agonising mental state, conjured by Orlok in Nosferatu and the politicians of wartime Germany, it is impossible to escape. This scene and the isolation of Orlok may represent a shift from the camaraderie and homosociality present during war, whereby soldiers would have felt solidarity over the trauma they collectively endured, towards solitariness brought about by being made to reintegrate into peacetime society. Film critiques have also claimed Orlok’s separation from society is a depiction of Murnau’s homosexuality, supported by the vampire’s nightly visits to Thomas’s room. The count’s seclusion may be indicative of Murnau’s feelings as a gay man in Germany where, even though homoeroticism played a role in Weimar’s liberal culture, Murnau may not have felt comfortable expressing his sexuality; a fear which would eventuate under Nazi rule. Shadows also reiterate these fears, with the entrance of antagonistic characters occurring through the growth of silhouettes, potentially reflecting an impending doom. Masculinity is subsequently further contrasted with wartime depictions, with men appearing to lack sanity and the resilience to escape their despair.
Films such as Der Blaue Engel (1930) advance notions of men suffering psychologically, but use developing character tropes of femininity to illustrate not only the frailty of men, but more so the dominion of women. Pioneering the genre of tragicomic, the sound film presents the transformation of Professor Immanuel Rath into a cabaret clown as he becomes captivated by dancer Lola Lola, played by German-American film star Marlene Dietrich. According to film historian Andrew Sarris, Dietrich’s development of Lola from “sensual passivity to a more forceful fatalism” over her desires leads to the professor’s defeat, evidenced by him being sectioned, and Lola becoming “ennobled by his jealousy” as her life remains relatively undamaged by her actions. This suggests a weaponisation of sexuality by women in Weimar Germany whereby men, shell shocked by war and enduring hardship socio-economically, were vulnerable to temptation. This is reflected in Der Blaue Engel’s overarching narrative of Immanuel becoming humiliated in line with his growing dependence on Lola to provide, with his breaking point being reached after being mocked onstage. The consistent theme of public humiliation connotes pride was externally constituted, relying on social reward and sanctioning to gain meaning, and the compromise of one’s social status incurred dishonour. Likewise, it can be inferred the effective performance of masculinity was embedded in normative expectations of men assuming breadwinner positions within the family unit and, in instances where women occupied this space, feelings of emasculation were common. The professional advancement of women in Weimar Germany supports this as they came to account for 36% of the workforce and represent a significant portion of the electorate, further demonstrating their encroachment on seemingly male territory. It can thus be argued this era represented empowerment for many women, with femininity transcending into the previously unexplored domains of sexuality and danger; both occurring in line with the post-war collapse in normative masculinity.
Divergence from wartime conceptions of femininity can be explored in Lola’s first performance scene where she sings They Call Me Naughty Lola. Immediately, Lola is rendered an object of visual consumption as her hyperfeminine attire of lingerie and heels is indicative of her confidence in her desirability. The lyrics of the song she performs, consisting heavily of euphemisms and references to men becoming beguiled by her seduction, enable her to project promiscuity and deviance whilst maintaining an aspect of coyness. In doing so, Lola rejects the stigmatisation of female sexuality as she departs from Vaterland depictions of women dressing modestly to convey a femininity that capitalises off the objectification of itself. Through monetising her sensuality, Lola inherently utilises Freud’s theory of sexuality being primal and instinctive as she partakes in a profession that taps into the subconscious desires of its consumers to generate profit. This is solidified by her lyrics, which allure men through their suggestive content but are not so blatant that the distinctions between her professional and personal life are blurred; Lola is enticing yet unavailable. Conceptions of the femme fatale are deeply encoded, as Lola embodies vamp characteristics that reject motherhood and rely on the enchantment of men to incite a desired outcome. This self-awareness appears relatively revolutionary as female sexuality would have been subordinated by male sexuality pre-Weimar, with women being restricted by conceptions of chasteness and only exercising sexuality to perform conventional femininity that was rooted in procreation. Furthermore, agency is demonstrated by the dancers frequently sitting to drink beer suggesting that, whilst their responsibility was to entertain their male clientele, they felt no pressure to ceaselessly perform. Not only does this reflect attitudes of women no longer feeling answerable to the men they once doted on as housewives, but indicates a financial security where women could work at their own pace and on their own terms. The fact they are drinking beer, a traditionally masculine drink, anchors rejection of gender binaries, as does it potentially illustrate the impact of Edward Bernays’s Torches of Freedom (1929) campaign where women whose “feminine desires were suppressed by…the modern world” were encouraged to break the taboo of smoking publicly, suggesting this scene echoed the sentiment of early 1930s feminism. It is thus evident Weimar depictions of femininity heavily reflected the changing status of women internationally, with women realising sexuality could be personally articulated, not externally imposed.
Conceptions of the femme fatale are further evident in films such as Pandora’s Box (1929), where femininity knows danger intimately. Featuring Cosmopolitan’s ‘poster girl of a generation’ Louise Brooks as Lulu, the melodrama details the chaos brought about by her charming ways and the events that ensue when she shoots her husband; the gun being a phallic symbol that anchors Lulu’s androgyny. Her threatening nature is further reflected in the film’s title, Pandora’s Box, as it is made immediately clear Lulu embodies Pandora, the Greek icon known for her beauty and responsible for opening the pithos containing the evils of the world. This could serve as a metaphor for female sexuality which, once tapped into, could incite uncontrollable turmoil through destroying the lives of men. It is thus evident Weimar film depicted femininity as a weapon, departing from Vaterland cinema that presented women as submissive to authority towards conceptions that rendered them authoritative within themselves.
The power Lulu exercises over her lovers and her sexually uninhibited nature is demonstrated in the scene where she unknowingly lures notorious British serial killer, Jack the Ripper, into her garret. The fact she finds Jack, who is known for preying on young women, and entices him into her space asserts that female sexuality is an unparalleled instrument that reigns superior to even the most brutal force. This determination is reiterated in that, despite Jack having no money, Lulu stands resolute in her desires. The sexuality of the femme fatale is thus made to seem accessible to a range of men irrespective of their financial position, as satisfaction is engineered as the priority above all else for this character. Similar to Der Blaue Engel, this indifference also indicates that Lulu is secure within herself as, though living in squalor, she does not require monetary assistance from men as she is confident she will source income elsewhere, further indicating the growing acceptance of women in the workforce. Furthermore, her dominion is iterated throughout the scene as she assumes a position above Jack on the staircase, looking down on him as she convinces him to follow her which he eventually agrees to, upon disposing of his knife. This is deeply symbolic as their positioning confirms that the supposed evil inherent in female sexuality is of a greater threat than the violence intrinsic in masculinity, reflecting a future of moral degradation brought about by the opening of ‘Pandora’s box’ that potentially parallels the horrors previously incurred during war. Likewise, the juxtaposition of foreboding brass music against close ups of her smiling connotes femininity is a mirage where the demure surface does not align with the devious interior. Parallels can be drawn here with Nosferatu where the despair of men was cloaked in their rationality, however in the case of women the contradiction between what they longed for against what they were afforded pre-liberation is revealed. It is subsequently evident visual and auditory thought tracking was a cinematic device capable of exposing the paradoxes of gender beyond the superficial.
To conclude, Weimar conceptions of masculinity and femininity consolidated one another. Sinister expressionism depicted a mentally disturbed masculinity agonised by war and unable to contend with the socio-economic climate of Weimar Germany, whilst the bewitching vamp trope present in many tragicomedies and melodramas mirrored a newfound feminine energy that reclaimed sexuality. Unfortunately, this era was short-lived as upon Adolf Hitler’s rise to Chancellor, film would have to be approved by Minister of Propaganda Joseph Goebbels for the ensuing 12 years, prompting much of Germany’s talent to flee to Hollywood. Film historiographies continue to contend the relationship between Weimar cinema and Nazism however, with Lotte Eisner arguing 1920s film merely combined romantic ideals with literary expressionism baring little semblance to the future, and Sigfried Kracauer claiming film makers embedded society’s yearning for order, even at the price of authoritarian rule, into their work. The enduring nature of this era remains consensus however, with the evolution of film noir and Hitchcockian techniques demonstrating the influence of the era that was born from devastation, materialised in visual and thematic mastery, only to be re-submerged into anguish just over a decade later.
