Faust and furious

Sprechen of Goethe, have a look at the viral 2017 letter to the FT by Cambridge Germanist Nicholas Boyle, the third volume of whose mammoth Goethe: The Poet and the Age, subtitled In the Shadow of Napoleon, covering 1803-1809 (the OUP listing for V3 mentions a fourth volume with no further info), is due December 28, 2026: only twenty-three more years to go till Eckermann with the paragraph closing his Gespräche mit Goethe as he beholds the immortal G lying in resplendent state:

The morning after Goethe's death, a deep desire seized me to look once again upon his earthly garment. His faithful servant, Frederic, opened for me the chamber in which he was laid out. 

Stretched upon his back, he reposed as if asleep; profound peace and security reigned in the features of his sublimely noble countenance. The mighty brow seemed yet to harbour thoughts. I wished for a lock of his hair; but reverence prevented me from cutting it off. The body lay naked only wrapped in a white sheet; large pieces of ice had been placed near it, to keep it fresh as long as possible. Frederic drew aside the sheet, and I was astonished at the divine magnificence of the limbs. The breast was powerful, broad, and arched; the arms and thighs were full, and softly muscular; the feet were elegant, and of the most perfect shape; nowhere, on the whole body, was there a trace either of fat or of leanness and decay. A perfect man lay in great beauty before me; and the rapture which the sight caused made me forget for a moment that the immortal spirit had left such an abode. I laid my hand on his heart—there was a deep silence—and I turned away to give free vent to my suppressed tears.

c. 1993 I ordered for c. $5 from the bargain pages of a Barnes and Noble catalog a VHS copy of the German version of Faust (1926), one of my favorite films ever after, whose master director, F.W. Murnau (Nosferatu, &c.), left for Hollywood where a year later he filmed Sunrise, among the most beautiful films ever made and a staple ever since of many a Top Ten list. The superb set and costume design, the epic play of light and shadow amid Goethe's depiction of sin and redemption (note the haunting title card, in blazing Gothic script, closing the film, bearing the one word that alone promises to redeem us: Liebe - German for love) the portrayal of Mephistopheles, all fiendish leers and cavernous bat-winged cape, by Emil Jannings, the greatest of German silent film actors, with the beautiful Camilla Horn as the tragically doomed Gretchen - with one rapturous commenter after another at YouTube to back me up, I'm not quite going out on a contrarian limb here in suggesting you watch the superb version therein, and for a sneak-preview contact buzz scan the 75-image gallery at the IMDb. 

Here closing her post on Faust is Lea Stans, proprietress of my new-as-of-now favorite film web site, Silent-ology - not only are her truly Stakhanovite steam-shovelings down this most infinitely enchanting of rabbit holes truly majestic, but how can I, aged 11 in the Burnsville, Minnesota of 1973, who discovered silent films with a commitment to Buster Keaton as first among equals, possibly argue with a fellow fanatic who, a reader quickly learns, is a born-and-bred Minnesotan who discovered the pre-talking pictures via ... Buster Keaton?

Faust might be a bit harder for uninitiated modern viewers to get into than other German Expressionist classics, mainly because of its plot. It draws heavily on a background of folklore, poetry, theology, and myth. The story of good vs. evil, virtue vs. sin, and righteousness vs. hypocrisy is indebted to centuries of Christian thought and tradition. To put it mildly, it can go over a few people’s heads. Faust has more in common with the last 2,000 years than with trendy 21st century realism.

But for anyone looking beyond the beaten tracks of popular movies, Faust is an awe-inspiring experience. In a ranking of Murnau’s work, I might even place it above the venerable Nosferatu for its technical brilliance and type of transcendence that’s difficult to describe.

I watch it about once a year, on a dark autumn night when all is quiet. And every year for those two hours I fall under its singular spell.