Continuity and Crisis in German Cinema, 1928–1936 ed. by Barbara Hales, Mihaela Petrescu, Valerie Weinstein (review)

Scholars have long recognized the fiction of 1945 as a “Stunde Null,” a zero hour in which German culture supposedly reset the historical clock. As much as this myth of rebirth served a critical function for those seeking to move past National Socialism and toward democracy, it belied the many continuities that shaped the emergence of the postwar state. Far less examined, but no less important, are the continuities that reached from the Weimar period into the early years of Hitler’s regime. Indeed, even as critics have recognized the problem of using 1945 to signal an absolute break, the year 1933 has remained fairly steady in the scholarly imagination as a concrete and decisive turning point. There are reasons for this, of course—in 1933, Hitler’s takeover conclusively ended Germany’s first experiment with democracy, and the regime established the first concentration camps, setting in motion a system that would commit unparalleled atrocities. Yet as with the Stunde Null, not all aspects of Weimar culture ceased existing at the precise moment that Hitler took power. As the editors and authors of the fine new volume Continuity and Crisis in German Cinema demonstrate, the years 1928–1936 should be understood as a transitional period. Focusing on select cases from the history of German cinema, the collected essays together craft a picture of a culture marred by deep divisions, myriad inconsistencies, and much moral and cultural gray area. The result is a newly nuanced portrait of the interruptions and interconnections between the film cultures of late Weimar and early National Socialist Germany.

The anthology includes seven major sections, each with two essays covering major topics in film culture, from medium-specific concerns (questions of genre to the figure of the star) to major social-political issues of the period (such as the depiction of race and economic crisis). Christian Rogowski’s essay begins the volume with an excellent study of Hochbaum’s Razzia in St. Pauli, which explores how the film and its director exemplify the era’s basic “lack of orientation” (31). Rogowski argues deftly and persuasively for a reading of the film as foundationally conflicted—ambiguous in its appeal, its form, and its politics. The essay is followed by a contribution by Bastian Heinsohn that explores how film deployed street settings as a space to air and resolve political conflicts. Heinsohn—who reads these scenes in terms of political pedagogy—makes a convincing case for the centrality of the street, but his choice of films is perplexing: he compares the Communist Kuhle Wampe and Nazi Hitlerjunge Quex with Lang’s M. It seems a mistake to read two explicit propaganda films against the—however politically charged—feature, especially in the service of an argument about film as a form of training.

Two essays on issues of economic representation follow. The first is a compelling analysis by Paul Flaig of Die Koffer des Herrn O., which Flaig reads as a satirical meta-reflection on the manner in which the Weimar culture industry, in particular the UFA studios, participated in a culture of crisis that thrived on “surface distractions.” The second piece, by Owen Lyons, situates the depiction of gold in Gold and Der Kaiser von Kalifornien with regard to the worldwide economic crisis and what Lyons dubs the era’s “crisis of authenticity.” Connecting debates about the “gold standard” to the valorization of gold as a symbol of authenticity and purity, Lyons makes a strong case for how these films participate in a discourse of value with starkly nationalistic overtones.

The third section of the book features contributions by two of the volume’s editors. Barbara Hales links a series of hygiene films to the larger discourse of eugenics that emerged already in the Weimar era. Hales rightly concludes that the films contributed to the regime’s murderous policies, in part by elevating doctors...