L'enfer blanc du Piz Palu

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.

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!

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.

Other comments nicely point out the excellence of this film's mountain photography. That's why you should go watch it. Yet, before viewing it, i feared the plot and the film's perspective on humankind might be quite annoying. Gladly, this is not so.

Leni Riefenstahl has a rather doubtful reputation for acting Nazi propaganda films - but this film is quite free from patriotic or chauvinist sub tones. In fact, it is pleasing even from a modern feminist perspective, actively avoiding and rebuking gender clichés, which is quite astonishing in a piece of art dating from pre-WW2 times.

Many ancient mountain films, in particular German ones, praise heroic fight. On first sight, some people claim this one does so, too. On closer inspection, i don't think so any more. Granted, Dr. Krafft does act heroically - but it's completely obvious less obsession and more prudence from his part would have served everyone much better. Hans wants to be a hero - but for that very reason is proved the greatest fool. Maria, the least heroic of all the party and the most sensible, clearly leaves the best impression in the end. A film can hardly promote heroism by showing off its dumbness...

The film has its weak points, but naming these rather shows how good it actually is: The film's location is the Piz Palu north face. Yet, many scenes have been taken in the Piz Morteratsch south east face. So far, no problem - a north face has bad sunlight, but the film dwells on light. On top of that, turning a film in the Palu north face would have been suicidal. That ice wall is indeed extremely dangerous and quite famous for its icy avalanches. Yet, the faking of the location could have been better concealed in many scenes. Viewing a panorama in the background that simply cannot be seen from the location the foreground is meant to represent IS disturbing if you know the whereabouts. A few glitches are even worse: For probably technical reasons, when searching for climbers in the steep Palu north face, the film actually shows scans of a flat glacier basin (the Vadret Pers glacier tongue, as far as i remember). This gross inconsistency will annoy you even if you do not personally know the Bernina mountains.

The weakest point of the film are the subtitles. Clearly, they are meant to help understanding of the plot - remember this is a mute movie. A few of them are certainly required, but they are simply far too numerous, and many just rehash what is obvious from the fine pictures, anyway.

But hey, superfluous subtitles and faked locations - we ought to be glad not to find more serious defects to complain about...

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.