In a depopulated part of northeastern Europe, desperate men are fighting a hopeless, pointless war after the Great War has ended. It is the winter of 1919-1920 in Latvia, and the Treaty of Versailles will soon establish the independence of the Baltic states. Schlondorff has taken Yourcenar's novel and made a wonderful mood piece out of it. The acting is great: Matthias Habich is stiff and uncomprehending, Margarethe von Trotta is warm and lively as well as passionately Bolshevik, Valeska Gert, whom I remember from a Louise Brooks silent film, is the half-crazy aunt.
Schlondorff's films are tremendous literary adaptations that stand on their own as film creations. I see the world a little through his eyes, just as I see it through Renoir's, or Bertolucci's, or Altman's.
Schlondorff's films are tremendous literary adaptations that stand on their own as film creations. I see the world a little through his eyes, just as I see it through Renoir's, or Bertolucci's, or Altman's.