Die weiße Hölle vom Piz Palü

If I were to use just one word to capture the experience of seeing this film, it would be ASTOUNDING! Films dealing with mountain climbing such as THE WHITE TOWER, THIRD MAN ON THE MOUNTAIN or THE MOUNTAIN all pale in comparison with WHITE HELL OF PITZ PALU (1929).

There are two versions now available on DVD that are both worth seeing. Universal bought it for U.S. release and cut it from 133 minutes to a 79 minute length. This edition is offered by Grapevine Video (www.grapevinevideo.com)and was the first one that I viewed. With its source material being a 16mm reduction print the picture lacks somewhat, but in many ways this version plays much stronger then the 133 minute restored print offered by Kino.

Purchasing the Kino DVD I was pleased to see the stunning picture coming from a 35mm nitrate print. There were many fascinating scenes missing from Universal's release, but the film lacked the power of the shorter length. It is said that Universal used unused shots from this film for inclusion in several of their later sound films -- and that is not hard to believe. There are stunning shots all the way through the picture, but one gets the feeling that the makers were reluctant to trim any of their fascinating material.

I'd recommend purchasing both DVD's and watching the Grapevine release first. Then take a look at the uncut Kino version to see the wonder of the cinematography and enjoy the additional scenes.

I think you will find the dramatic power of the film is strengthened with the trimming. One might wish that Universal had left a bit more in their cut, but the film does work better with tightening.

At any rate this 1929 silent film contains excellent performances and astounding climbing shots, the likes of which I have never seen before!

In the 20's and 30's of the last century Arnold Fanck specialised in what we may call "Mountain films". In these films the mountains are characters of their own (they can be irritated and turn themselves against their climbers) but for the rest the films mostly lack full fledged stories. As such they resemble nature documentaries.

In "Die weisse Hölle vom Piz Palu" renowned director Georg Wilhelm Pabst was brought in to "repair" this lack of a plot.

My guess is that the scenes in the village and the mountan cabin are predominantly Pabst and the mountain scenes are predominantly Fanck. The mountain cabin scenes are about jealousy and rivalry (the man of a young couple senses that his fiancé is impressed by an experienced climber and wants to prove himself) The mountain scens are about heroism and self sacrifice when the three of them got into trouble in the mountains.

The self sacrifice is sometimes interpreted as having a hint of Nazi ideology (dying for your country). I wonder if this interpretation is influenced by the later career of Leni Riefenstahl, who in this film is "only" actress?

Apart from the story the beautiful images of the Fanck film are also there. They have been shot under difficult circumstances, the whole crew (from actors to cinematographers) being experienced moutaineers. I would like to call atention to the scene in which a rescue team with burining torches moves into the mountains and also to the scene in which the rescue team searches inside an ice crevasse.

Watching the movie in 2016 and being a mountaineer myself, I am in awe at the shots they did with the very limited tech they had back in 1929, both in climbing and in filming. Daring to say the least (and that extends to the flying scenes by Udet). I would love to see a Making-Of of this movie but that is obviously not going to happen.

Leni Riefenstahl is at her best as an actor and Gustav Diessl delivers a very convincing performance, lest not forget the actor that plays the mountain guide.

I would suggest this movie to everyone who climbs in the Alps, just for the climbing part (the middle 40 mins of the movie).

As with other esoteric film traditions that have given us an aesthetic and coherent worldview that matters - Soviet montage, Japanese jidaigeki, film noir, the Nuberu Bagu, of course the American western - actually more than anything with these things that vigorously beat with the heart of a nation or society, we need to relocate ourselves as best we can to where the specific world emanates from.

In jidaigeki, for example, it is the double-bind between duty and human feeling that drives forward or tears the soul, but instead of becoming visible in confusion and chaos, and this is what's so important, it radiates in perfectly disciplined form. We need to be able to see how the submission is both social evil and spiritual practice.

Unlike all the above though, here we have an even more obscure type of genre gone in a matter of years, the berg- or mountain-film. Coming to it now, we may be simply inclined to marvel at a few mountain vistas, make a few concessions about the awe-inspiring courage of filming in freezing temperatures with the bulky equipment of the time, and move on to where a story is being told. Move maybe to Murnau if we want to stick in the vicinity, who was then at Hollywood orchestrating human destinies as city symphonies.

But this is a different beast from those city films, popular then in Berlin, Moscow, Vienna, where modern life was joyous motion, a coiled spring anxiously bristling with modernist energy ready for the leap forward; here life, though optimistic at first, young and happy, gradually it turns sombre, is taught humility through suffering, obeisance through the confrontation with the elemental forces from planes above. It comes out on the other end, older, less innocent, hardened, perhaps wiser.

One can see how these images - young, tireless men and women wishing to carve their destinies in rock, though finally succumbing to the decree above - could inspire agitprop for the Nazis; we know the tragic, bitter history of Leni Riefenstahl, both hers and the one she sculpted from bodies on film, and here she's the woman who reasons, yet also instigates, the passions between the men that cause the catastrophic events. She accompanies the disastrous journey, watches aghast from a little out of way, and returns mute with loss. It's a poignant foreshadowing of her own history.

The story is about a couple who arrives at the mountains to celebrate their marriage. They frolic in the snow. Life is so blissful, a champagne falls from the sky to wish the newlyweds. The first shadow in this snowed meadow is the apparition of a second man, the ghost of a man wandering the chasms that swallowed his girl.

The two men as one really; they have the same name, the young, reckless one informally called Hans, the older, now wiser with suffering called Johannes. So the journey is simultaneously about these two; the older man vicariously walking again with the woman he lost, hoping to prevent what he couldn't, the younger walking to prove himself worthy of the other, to prove perhaps that he won't lose where he did.

There are amazing shots of shadows rolling down the craggy snowed wilderness that presage disaster. Portents of doom abound in the mountains, crevasses whispering glacial secrets, snow spilling over the edges.

We encounter later this tradition in the films of Rossellini; the mountain in Stromboli as the summit of closeness with an absent god. But here, properly German, the mountain offers not even the space of the confessional; it remains to the end indomitable, the abode of inscrutable forces beyond the human sphere. It is merely the precipice where human destiny is halted; where it submits or perishes. But whereas in Picnic at Hanging Rock, a continuation of these films, human destiny vanishes completely from the precipice, here we know the man's resting place; entombed behind a sheet of ice, he is foolhardy yet immortalized in the way of a hero.

All else aside, you should see this for its aural qualities alone. Few filmmakers have evoked a better vastness; no doubt Herzog has seen this film numerous times.

This 1928 movie is filmed entirely in black and white with minimal German dialogue. The White Hell of Piz Palü opens with the male protagonist, Dr. Johannes Krafft, who mountain climbs with his wife on their honeymoon. At the sight of an avalanche, he laughs arrogantly. Nature seems to retaliate, and moments later Dr. Krafft's wife slips, plummeting down a small, deep crevice. The encounter with forces of nature initiates Dr. Krafft's grief-driven search effort to rescue his wife.

Dr. Krafft is later joined by another couple, Maria Maoni and Hans Brandt. Collectively, they embark on an epic journey to conquer nature's untamed forces. Replete with majestic scenes of snowy mountains, blowing clouds and untainted lands, this film is the perfect example of a Bergfilm. The film takes place in the Dolomites, a section of the Italian Alps. Arnold Fanck, the director, is also the father of the Bergfilm and provides a genuine representation of the German mountain film. Nature functions as its own character, exerting its powerful forces upon the mountain climbers.

The landscape scenes and vast openness present in this film contribute to its aesthetic representation of the mountains. The plot is simplistic and the lack of actual conversation compels the viewer to focus his/her attention on nature as a driving force. Even though there is no color, the white, snowy mountainous setting speaks volumes and invites the viewer to see the innocence of white as a darker shade of hell.