Die weiße Hölle vom Piz Palü

Most of the time, its the world. Its not the story that matters, or the inflections we see as jokes. Or any of that when I watch a movie.

Most of the time it is the trill of entering another universe. A different cosmology where the forces that drive souls are different from the one I have chosen to live in. Its especially rewarding when I know that the cosmos was real so far as the filmmakers are concerned. So, for instance I like those films from radical Christians about fighting the devil in the end times, because the film itself is part of that battle for them.

I like watching films from the US side of the cold war, where impending and nearly certain brimstone was expected from an evil empire, the science stolen, with agents still among us.

And I like watching these German mountain films. All the ones I mention are generally insipid, but the filmcraft of these in terms of the visuals is competent and sometimes interesting. For instance in this one there is a remarkable — I will go so far as to say unforgettable — visual of the villagers rousing in the night for rescue. The scene is of dozens of men with spectacular torches (they called them pitch torches) weaving through snow hollows in a sort of swooshy haunt. But that's visual froth on the beer.

What we have here is a strange association of nature with place, of purpose with nature and of love as a sort of purpose. One can readily see how this world could support a notion of global destiny, and in fact one can see how close it is to the cosmos of Polish Jews and see why the threat seemed so real. You can even trace it through the cinematic career of one remarkable woman, Leni, who evolved through the mystery of place to the mystery of the body. The natural body, using a very specific notion of "nature."

But for someone like me, a cosmological tourist, a collector of abstracted curios, this one in Leni's chain is the most jarring because it has the strongest pulse. You hardly notice the woman. Its all mountain blood.

Ted's Evaluation -- 3 of 3: Worth watching.

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.

A beautiful frozen mountain landscape is the setting for some of the most spectacular film shots of the era which have not been surpassed even with todays technology - the use of shadow and light is excellent. The story is simple and believable of a young couple climbing in the mountains, she gets killed and he, unconsolable, wanders the mountains for years without her. Many years later another couple come to the same mountains, meet him and agree to climb with him as their guide. Disaster strikes yet again. The filming of the mountain rescue team and the local villagers is very well done. The fear of the families is clearly shown as they wait while their fathers, sons and brothers are risking their lives on the mountain and the psychological effects on the injured climbers as they battle with the elements is more than realistic. Excellent!

Former geologist Dr. Arnold Fanck created that extraordinary genre known as the 'Mountain film'. Visually stunning documentaries though they are, their value as pieces of human drama is debatable. Suffice to say this one is a glorious exception and has an added dimension thanks to its co-director being none other than G. W. Pabst, indisputably one of German's finest who was brought in at the suggestion of one of its stars, Leni Riefenstahl, well, according to HER anyway!

Whilst Dr. Fanck takes care of the scenic grandeur and shows us the mountain in all its rapidly changing moods, Herr Pabst handles the emotional tensions between the three protagonists, honeymooners Hans and Maria and the haunted figure of mountaineer Dr. Krafft.

Ashley Irwin's score for the 1998 restoration is never ceasing over its 135 minute length but is especially effective when accompanying the thrilling rescue attempt and the astounding aerial acrobatics of former WW1 ace, stunt flyer and future head of the Lufwaffe Ernst Udet, whose biplane soars and swoops among the peaks like an eagle.

As Krafft the always excellent Gustav Diessl brings his powerful presence to bear whilst Leni Riefenstahl as Maria is surprisingly appealing under Pabst's sensitive direction. Although not exactly one of the greatest of actresses she learnt the craft of film-making from Fanck and Pabst and became one of cinema's most superlative editors.

The mystic element of this and others of its type could not fail to appeal to the Teutonic temperament and it would not be long before the mysticism of the mountain cult manifested itself in the cult of Hitler.

Was not sure as to whether 1929's 'White Hell of Pitz Palu' would be my thing, as the subject is not one of the ones that would immediately appeal or be of significant interest to me. What got me to see it was my undying and long term love of classic film, being someone who has liked to loved other films that the directors and Leni Riefenstahl did. The positive reviews from trusted critics also fascinated me and were difficult to resist.

Although 'White Hell of Pitz Palu' won't be a personal favourite of mine any time soon, it was a very well done film in many ways. A very good film, nearly great even, with many brilliant things and few drawbacks, that is deserving of more credit. It is good to see most people here holding it in high regard and don't have much to add to what has been said very well already. 'White Hell of Pitz Palu' is not one of master director GW Pabst's best, but it is one of the best films of the not quite as influential Arnold Fanck. Riefenstahl is in a role that plays to her strengths.

Narratively 'White Hell of Pitz Palu' is very slight and thin under the surface. Meaning that there were for my tastes some dull slightly drawn out stretches, the film not grabbing me straightaway from a story perspective.

The character writing could have done with more meat, Maria is the exception to this but this is more down to Pabst's direction of Riefenstahl, he was unique in his direction of actresses and developing their strengths and that is obvious here. It is another story, in a good way, visually though when it comes to talking about being grabbed straightaway.

Because 'White Hell of Pitz Palu' is a visual triumph and looks breathtaking. The scenery captivates and is full of beauty and atmosphere. Enhanced by the perfectly framed and never static or overblown cinematography. The lighting also captures the mood perfectly. The direction is great from both directors, Pabst's is more distinctive for especially the seamlessness of the editing and the authenticity of the locations but Fanke's alpine footage is quite extraordinary and immediately recognisable.

It is a hauntingly scored film and the storytelling mostly has a lot of tension and one cares about the outcome. It does bring a lump to the throat. Riefenstahl is luminous and very commanding and affecting, one does care for her plight which was true for many of the films where Pabst was director or heavily involved in. Gustav Diesel is another standout, his character is not quite as interesting but the authority and intensity is present in his performance.

Concluding, very good and nearly great. 8/10