A bet. "Will the heroes survive their ordeal and defeat their adversaries?" It's a bet we make each time we watch a film, and there is an implicit contract with the storyteller to offer catharsis, some sort of emotional release coupled with reassuring closure, so that we can safely resume our lives after willfully undergoing the rigors of any good story. This conflict and tidy resolution is the essential component of any drama. The subversion of this contract in Funny Games explains why the film remains to this day such a controversial and frustrating work. It is also exactly why Funny Games is such an essential piece of cinema.
Haneke's willingness to challenge and provoke his audience is astonishing and daring. He breaks the fourth wall with Brechtian techniques and makes his audience complicit in the violence that they consume. For that reason, it is no wonder that this film elicits such strong emotional reactions. Take for example the cruel scene where Anna is forced to strip by her captors in front of her family. The direction of this scene is masterful. The camera keeps tight on her face, already painfully swollen with tears, as she is debased and degraded. It's an undeniably moving human moment that fully expresses the pain of being exposed and completely vulnerable in the face of inhuman cruelty. Considering the level of hostility directed at this film with its reputation of cruelty and senselessness, what's most impressive about this moment is the tenderness and sympathy with which it is directed. Haneke spares Anna the humiliation of being exposed before the audience by stoically keeping the camera on her face throughout the ordeal, forcing the audience to contemplate the effect of pornography on women. Whether you agree or disagree, many feminist critics argue that pornography is a form of media violence against women, and it is interesting that for all the critical discussion of media violence generated by this film, pornography usually doesn't enter the discussion. The infamous remote gimmick which denies the audience the cathartic pleasure of killing the bad guy stands out, but the subtle condemnation of pornography during Anna's ordeal is just as provocative. Consider that during the cat-in-the-bag game, the audience is denied the ability to derive pleasure from seeing a naked woman until she changes clothes after her son is brutally murdered right before her eyes. At that point, any eroticism that could be generated is lost and anyone who sought it during the earlier scene would likely be ashamed. I believe that this is another example of Haneke's brilliant mockery of the consumption of violence that seems to be lost in the discussion of the film.
Another layer is added to this by the fact that the child's eyes are covered by the antagonists, "to preserve moral values." That is an incredibly astute satire on the idea of censorship for the sake of the children and the assumption that making children blind to the violence around them prevents them from being affected by it. The child in the film was not only not blind to what was going on, he was perversely made to be part of it.
I'm having a hard time collecting my thoughts or even shaping a coherent analysis after seeing this brilliant film. I'd love further discuss and to hear anyone else's thoughts on the film, whether they loved it or hated it...and what you thought were some interesting themes and points raised by the film.
And you will know my name is The Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee!
I'm going to make a larger point about this film than I have elsewhere in this thread. I actually think the purpose of this film in particular, and Haneke's body of work generally, is much more basic than mere finger-wagging and hand-wringing on the subject of violence. This should not be underestimated. Regarding Haneke's message, violence is often the means, but never the end.
Evil never announces its presence, nor does it come in the form we would expect. The world of Funny Games, like our own, is a world where danger emerges from unlikely sources. In Funny Games, evil comes in the form of wealthy, well-dressed, and presumably educated neighbors requesting eggs. When evil is invited into your home, suburban security gates intended to keep you safe become an obstacle preventing your own escape. Golf clubs, symbols of leisure, become weapons. Remote controls frustrate audience expectations. A harmless wink becomes sinister. This is the world of Funny Games, and what is most disturbing is how much it resembles our own world. Here, polite words and formal introductions can belie the most horrible of intentions.
This is all just elaborate narrative window dressing, isn't it? Surely, the danger of all these things is only of concern to our characters, and not to us, the audience... For our most immediate purposes, the greatest danger lies in the fact that that the film, like life, has no clear moral viewpoint at all. Sure golf clubs and neighbors wearing white are dangerous in the context of the film, but these things are just symbols and plot mechanisms, aren't they? Because there is no such thing as moral certainty, our own lives are just as fragile as the eggs in the film. When a film refuses to provide an ethos, anything is possible. The same is true in life. We are on our own. No one can tell us what to expect, nor can we reliably guess.
Funny Games is the ultimate thriller, because its morally ambiguous world of lurking dangers hidden in plain sight is not so different from our own. Like the very best of thrillers, it makes us squirm. In this world, the people our neighbors introduce to us could very well be holding them hostage. Smiles mean nothing. Everything and everyone is suspect. Michael Haneke has clearly studied Hitchcock, but whereas The Master of Suspense always promised to keep his audience safe, Haneke is a filmmaker who seeks to challenge his audience; to make them uncomfortable, to make them question everything. His works are a call to reason. If Hitchcock wanted his films to be a slice of cake, Haneke reminds us that we are on a diet and that sugar is bad for us.
The structural conceit of Funny Games is as brilliant as it is disturbing. Our villains wear white, are highly intelligent, even charming. At first glance, they don't seem dangerous at all. But of course appearances can be deceptive. They play their roles as high comedy, and they want us to have fun; their victims, on the other hand are playing tragedy. The film presents both these irreconcilable moods with utter sincerity. Nobody deviates from their script. The effect of this is disorienting. How are we supposed to feel, and whose side should we be on? It is not clear at all whether we should laugh or cry; whether we should tense up or relax. Generally, audiences can safely assume that no matter what happens, the filmmaker won't break any rules. The kids will be safe, there will be a happy ending, everything will work out. But with this film, something is different. The stakes are much higher. Every laugh comes at a price and every plea for mercy is mocked; the villains, and the filmmaker do not play fair. Haneke's discipline and restraint on this point is maddening. He refuses to show us his cards. His films raise questions, we must answer them. We are left to our own devices. It's all very unnerving.
The villains ask us directly whose side we're on. They taunt and tease us just like their on-screen victims. But they remind us that it's all in the name of fun. They play their "funny games", but the victims aren't laughing--they're playing tragedy, remember. The audience is perversely implicated in these proceedings. The villains suggest that all this madness is for our sake. We are no longer at a safe distance from the action on screen. Because Haneke is playing "funny games" on us as well, it seems that our own plight is the plight of the central family of the film. Like them, we are hostages of this unrelenting scenario. We too are playing tragedy while the baddies laugh and have fun. For this reason, the film is an experience unlike any other. Our villains are above all entertainers, or so they claim. They insist that the terror reach feature length, for our sake. They are chiefly concerned with the value of entertainment, though whose entertainment is anyone's guess. Their words and charming delivery suggest that they're on our side. This incongruity is nothing short of shocking. What we hear and see are at odds with what we know to be the case! Words do not mean what they are supposed to. This is the world of Funny Games. It is also our own world. Are you brave enough for it?
If words and images can tell the truth, then they can also lie. Evil people do not play by the rules, but they pretend to. Can we recognize these threats when they come asking us to spare some eggs? Can we recognize these dangers which hide in plain sight and insinuate themselves into our world? Everything is at stake. When they tell us what is good for us, will we know better? In the most polite words, we are told that certain things are good for us, and moreover are what we want. But are they really? Our critical thinking is our only recourse, with regard to this film as well as in real life. Look harder, look closer. Pay attention. The greatest threats can come from the most banal and unthreatening sources. So question everything. Above all, take nothing for granted.
In the final analysis, violence is only utilized by Haneke because it emphasizes in concrete terms the point that danger is always present. This motivates the need to exercise critical judgment. Our actions, and inactions, have consequences. The ethical value of violence is not the priority of the film, though clearly it is an important component of Haneke's worldview. But as I have mentioned, Haneke's films do not have a clear ethos. He is no dogmatist. It is up to the audience to make sense of the world of his films as well as the world in which we live. The separation between the two is probably not as great as we'd like to imagine.
And you will know my name is The Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee!
Also, even if say for some or a lot of people to debate other's problems really is boring and depressive, does that really also extent to life and death threatening situations where a family is taken hostage by psycho criminals and is under threat of execution? Don't exceptions at least in these types of emergencies exist for such people?
Ha! Nice read. I didn't like the film much though. I don't like Haneke either. I think he's a troll, either one fully aware of his trickster or one who is subconsciously trolling. However, I love The Piano Teacher and very much like Cache. I've my own thoughts on it in another post in case you're interested.
Haneke as troll. For some reason, I don't think he'd take offense to that characterization.
I'm a big fan of Cache and The Piano Teacher as well. The polemics which are so explicit in Funny Games are much more refined and subtle in those two films. I think the former is arguably Haneke's best work, and the latter is a fantastic character study and probably features Isabelle Huppert's best performance.
And you will know my name is The Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee!
Hello, I may be entering late to the discussion. I've just got some appreciations to expose, but mostly doubts and questions about this great film.
I think Haneke works this film (As well as the remake) as an allegory to the relation between power and violence (violence appears when power is in jeopardy). Also, as agreed by mostly everyone, it essentially criticises hollywood horror and thriller films, as well as its objective public. However, if I were to stay in that reading, I'd be compelled to ignore the moral element the two boys cross over, as it would situate myself on a voyeuristic seat.
I've read almost all of your comments on this thread, Raiden, and I'm gladly surprised by your impressions and general analysis of this film. Have you watched the remake? Do you think there are conceptual differences between both? Most people say that Haneke remade Funny Games to appeal to the US audience in order to make his message spread from the roots of its conception, I feel there's more to it since both films have some subtle but significant differences. (I'd like to elaborate this sensation after you reply if it's possible).
I would love to hear your thoughts on Funny Games, both the original and the remake. In a peculiar way, I feel that this conversation is only just getting started. As with any cinematic masterpiece, the film seems to remain under an interpretive cloud no matter how much you discuss it. It's inexhaustibly rich for analysis.
Also, as agreed by mostly everyone, it essentially criticises hollywood horror and thriller films, as well as its objective public. However, if I were to stay in that reading, I'd be compelled to ignore the moral element the two boys cross over, as it would situate myself on a voyeuristic seat.
I was initially drawn to the standard interpretation of the film as a finger-wagging media critique, but I have come to realize that this reading actually misses what is so exceptional about Funny Games. If we read the film as a simple piece of moralistic agitprop, then it seems Haneke reveals himself as a hypocrite--as detractors of the film are quick to point out. As you suggest, this narrow approach to the film inevitably ignores a great deal of nuance and irony, which for Haneke's purposes are much more salient anyway.
When the movie came out many critics described it, without sufficient elaboration, as a critique of media violence. But what exactly is the point-of-view of this critique? What does Haneke say about cinematic violence? This crucial terrain seemed to be missed by superficial analyses--including my own early postings on this thread. Commentators consistently failed to adequately analyze the ethos of this supposed "critique". One of the purposes of this discussion, I suppose, was to explore potential meanings of the film and what exactly viewers should take from the experience in light of this poverty of analysis. As a fan of the movie, I was hostile to the detractors who labelled the film as heavy handed and condescending. I wanted to respond to these objections, but how should I have expected people to react to such sanctimonious readings of the film? "It confronts you with your own hypocrisy as a passive consumer of conventional Hollywood thrillers." No, this reading is way too simplistic. In retrospect, I came to realize that the moralistic ethos many took offense to wasn't actually coming from the film itself. It was being imposed by overzealous admirers of the film (myself included) who were insisting that people's visceral reactions to the infamous remote scene (reactions deliberately generated by Haneke) were wrong or somehow morally objectionable... It's no wonder so many potential admirers felt cheated. In this way, I feel many admirers of the film have missed the point and have done a disservice to Haneke's artistry by insisting upon a narrow moralistic reading of Funny Games. I've subsequently revised my original position in light of this epiphany.
My current position is that the primary agenda of the film is to shake its audience out of complacency--but not in the sense I initially supposed. Media violence does not produce more violence. On the contrary, it creates a disturbing ambivalence to violence. With Funny Games, Haneke masterfully manipulates his audience's emotions with Hitchcockian deftness. He creates an authentic experience of violence: utter helplessness and disorientation. His primary strategy to this end is to ironically subvert our faith in technology. There is a persistent motif of technology hindering the family's escape in this film. For example, the phone is useless to call the police; the security gate traps the young son who is too small to scale it; guns do not go off when they are most needed; a remote ironically frustrates audience expectation. It's maddening! But I believe Haneke is suggesting that the convenience and comfort which technology affords ironically serves to undermine our capacity for survival in extreme circumstances. After all, violence is sometimes necessary for survival, as this film demonstrates. Technology--including media--has "softened" society so to speak, and makes us vulnerable in unexpected ways. Funny Games taps into a primal fear that the technology we are so dependent upon can betray us at crucial moments.
Have you watched the remake? Do you think there are conceptual differences between both? Most people say that Haneke remade Funny Games to appeal to the US audience in order to make his message spread from the roots of its conception, I feel there's more to it since both films have some subtle but significant differences.
I have seen the remake, and my impression is that it is inferior to the original. The stark white visual style of Funny Games U.S. is appropriate since that film is humorless and grim compared to the original. This is surprising since it's a frame-by-frame remake. It just lacks the energy and vitality of the '97 version. I also feel that the remake lacks the incongruous dark comedy element which made the original so daring and radical. In the original, this perverse humorous aspect gave the film an additional dimension and prevented it from descending into stark moralism. Without this element, the remake seemed brutal and poorly executed. A great deal of substance was lost in translation.
I also feel that the subtext of class which animates the original film falls completely flat in the remake. I am inclined to suppose that populist American audiences are much less sensitive to class than their more hierarchical European counterparts. Speaking generally, European culture is much more rigidly formal and mannered than American culture. To illustrate my point, consider the introductory scene of both films: An upper-class family is riding in a car while listening to classical music. They collectively try to guess the composer of the piece. Suddenly, the music is drowned out by hard rock music--a sinister effect which foreshadows the fate in store for this oblivious bourgeois family. But this does not ring true in an American context. It's difficult to seriously imagine a suburban middle class American family merrily listening to classical music without vocal protests from the child. Americans simply do not appreciate classical music and high culture the way that Europeans do, and I think the juxtaposition of pleasant classical and assaultive rock music is much less shocking to an American audience than a European one.
Also, during the scene when Peter first approaches Anna for eggs, his escalating clumsy mishaps test her manners. While it is a trope of European high comedy for a foolish character to breach the rigid decorum of a dignified elite character, this seems (again) unbelievable in an American context. I just don't see an American housewife suffering such a destructive guest for the sake of manners. But this is, after all, the essential tension underlying the scene.
Moreover, Peter and Paul seem much less sophisticated and refined in the remake. As a consequence, the villains in the remake are less shocking than in the original film. Where Arno Frisch is charming and cultured in his assaults, Michael Pitt is morose and disaffected. One of the unsettling aspects of the original was that our first impression of the villains is that they seem like good company; mischievous, playful, polite, cultured, and with an infectious (if incongruous) joie de vivre. The charismatic magnetism of Arno Frisch, combined with his sadism, is disorienting in the original. He is a force of nature! This crucial seductive aspect of the villains is completely absent in the remake. Similarly, there is something icy and impenetrable about Naomi Watts. Her face is too familiar, and we do not feel the progressive breaches of her decorum as deeply as with Susanne Lothar, because we implicitly feel that she is safe. Her persona is too pristine. Watts never seems to sacrifice her dignity in the process of her torment, her tears are always self-consciously "pretty." She just passively suffers--a beautiful victim. In contrast, Susanne Lothar always (realistically) seemed to be on the verge of lashing out violently, but her dignified fidelity to rigid European manners consistently (and fatally) restricts her action.
To summarize, I greatly prefer the original which is elevated by its use of irony and humor to balance the grim content. I just feel that the remake is incredibly weak in comparison. The remake functions exclusively as a horror film, nothing more. I enjoy the remake as a technical exercise, but it feels too stagy and artificial in contrast to the immediacy of the original.
And you will know my name is The Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee!
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It's difficult to seriously imagine a suburban middle class American family merrily listening to classical music without vocal protests from the child. Americans simply do not appreciate classical music and high culture the way that Europeans do, and I think the juxtaposition of pleasant classical and assaultive rock music is much less shocking to an American audience than a European one.
In the original it feels natural to view that european upper-class family enjoying classical music, it feels just way out of tone in the remake. Also, they seem much more middle-class in the american version, and not so much of a higher stratum. Maybe that's my perception because of what I'm accustomed to get from a stereotype play- the kind that Haneke introduces frequently. I must concur with you on that matter.
I must add, mostly as a remark on Haneke's cleverness, the scene when Georg asks Anne to call the police. In the austrian film she doesn't know the number, in fact it feels normal that she ignores it completely. Of course, in the american one she immediately phones 911. Again, cultural adaptation falls into place.
I also prefer the original one, characters seem less cold and dark. As you say, it seems that they're constantly trying to settle in some sort of Stockholm syndrome, and more than once I felt myself sliding into their game. Whenever that happened, something violent occurred and snapped me out of it. To be honest, Michael Pitt seemed like a spoiled, arrogant brat; while Arno played the charming psychopath which makes the film infinitely more immersive, and interesting.
To continue with the family chatter, the austrians still have the rough outline of a patriarcal family hierarchy; on the other hand, the american ones coincide with the equal mother/father figure. To prove that point we should pay attention to the stripping scene. Ulrich Muhe plays the head-of-family dad, when his woman gets naked he is also being humiliated, that could be the reason why he can't hold his head up any longer. You know the rest of the story with Tim Roth's interpretation of that scene (I think this might've been pointed out somewhere in this forum).
You've offered some great insights on the differences between the original and the remake. I can't believe I didn't mention the 9-1-1 issue! That definitely threw a wrench in the crucial scene where Anna tries to call the police.
The original film, I believe, operates essentially as a perverse comedy of manners--like a satirical Bunuel film played for horror instead of laughs. The fulcrum of the drama is rigid European manners. Consider the scene at the dock where Anna maintains dignified and genial composure rather than hysterically screaming out for help. Whatever her motive, she opts for composure and dignity rather than compromising her bourgeois principles and thereby fails to save her family. Also, during the excruciating long-take after little Georg is shot we finally see Anna and Georg definitively confronted with the existential truth of the cruel indifference of the universe. There is no persuasive appeal to justice, morality or good manners that will spare this family from their mortality! Up until this point, they have remained insulated from the reality of death by the fragile veneer of civilization. They believed, incorrectly, that if they played by the rules, they would escape their ordeal. Their stubborn fidelity to manners in spite of their circumstances is rooted upon their misguided faith that the universe is ultimately just. It is no coincidence that the spectacular long take which shows Anna and Georg passing through the stages of grief culminates in a scene of the couple pathetically blow-drying a phone(!). Confronted with the full horror of their situation, Anna and Georg STILL cling to a false hope that civilization (and technology) will save them from their inescapable fate. The authorities are too far away to help them and yet the couple still seeks an improbable salvation. Their pleas fall upon deaf ears. God IS dead in Haneke's universe. I've come to the conclusion that this film isn't so much a "media critique" per se as a wholesale assault upon our modern faith in technology--and more broadly, our faith in civilization, progress, and the fundamental goodness of people. If the film has an ethos at all, I think it could be characterized as tragic fatalism.
Conceptually, the entire film is predicated on the conflict between moral civilized behavior and the amoral survival instinct. How much will it take for these characters to reach the breaking point and breach their good manners for the sake of survival? This is the core dramatic tension underlying the original, but (for better or worse) Americans do not place such a high premium on cultural refinement. So the remake crucially misses its target in this respect. I regard the remake as Haneke's single miscalculation in an otherwise impeccable filmography.
And you will know my name is The Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee!
I'm sorry. I really enjoyed reading your posts until you started mentioning that Americans do not appreciate classical music as much as Europeans do. While that might be true, you have no evidence to prove that not even ONE American family appreciates classical music. I'm not an American, but this seems like a bigoted response from an otherwise educated individual.
Also, you don't see an American housewife suffering such a destructive guest for the sake of manners? Are all Americans manner-less, in your opinion? That seems a bit far fetched, don't you think?
I saw the remake with some of my American friends and they totally understood the film and appreciated the context and commentary. You're totally wrong about your "view" of Americans.
The truth is, SOME Americans like classical music just like SOME Europeans enjoy classical music. SOME Americans have manners just like SOME Europeans have manners.
But overall, I definitely prefer the original. I loved Tim Roth in the remake, though.
Fair points, both--but I feel you're misrepresenting my earlier statements. Regarding the first point, I was talking primarily about the resonance of the juxtaposition between classical music and heavy metal for general American audiences relative to their European counterparts. As an American who listens to classical music in the car, the scenario itself is not a problem to me. Nevertheless, the cultural prestige of classical music isn't as deep for American audiences as European ones, since the latter have a long historical tradition of classical music as a meaningful symbol of refinement, crucially attached to a sense of cultural pride. The impact of classical music on the American imagination has simply never been as profound (or as linked to cultural pride). Therefore, the classical music being drowned out by heavy metal would likely not have the same impact in an American context, for an American audience. I'm not sure why this would strike you as a controversial point. What is iconoclastic in a European context is not necessarily so in an American context, for specific reasons. Drowning out classical music with rock music is properly understood as a cultural assault among European audiences. I seriously doubt that the impact is as significant for American audiences.
While I would still defend my initial point, I was perhaps being hasty regarding the plausibility of an American child quietly listening to classical music (and *guessing* the composer) during an extended car ride. But for the record, plausibility is not that important to me since I read the film as a satirical comedy of manners, not a slice of cinematic realism.
Also, you don't see an American housewife suffering such a destructive guest for the sake of manners? Are all Americans manner-less, in your opinion? That seems a bit far fetched, don't you think?
If you'll note, the point I was making here was based on the tradition of European high comedy, a satirical tradition which has no comparably prominent counterpart in America (where issues of class--and manners--are not as culturally emphasized). To say that the cultural emphasis on manners is not as deep in an American context is NOT the same as claiming that Americans are manner-less--that would be a false dichotomy. Bourgeois cultural protocols governing manners are much more deeply entrenched in Europe than in America simply because, historically-speaking, the traditions have been around longer in Europe. Considering that the primary tension of the film is between manners and survival, it is no surprise American audiences are more inclined to wonder why the family didn't put up more of a fight--concerns which have been frequently raised on this message board. I *suspect* that the reason for this persistent criticism is that the prestige of bourgeois propriety is much less important for Americans.
Anyway, my speculations were an attempt to explain a specific trend I notice in the negative reception of Funny Games between European audiences and American ones: The former tend to criticize the intensity of the violence, whereas the latter tend to criticize the believability of the scenario. To me, this critical discrepancy is revealing. How would you explain this discrepancy?
And you will know my name is The Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee! reply share
Well, RaidenPLS, You certainly should be commended for exploring the issues in the film with depth and the sort of analytic thinking I think we could benefit more from. Thanks for the thought provoking ideas and the enjoyable conversations.
In the early discussions, there was a frequent line of thought expressed that enjoying or getting a thrill from violence depicted in the film was immoral and something that people should not experience, because such experiences are simply bad. I could not join in the acceptance of the concept. It had the smacking of the moral police man. However, in your recent posts, you seem to have moved away from the judgmental aspect of that line of thought.
I would like to share some of my ideas about the film. For me, it is an existential exploration of the inevitable experience of misery for all mankind. Let's not forget what we go through life trying to forget all of the time. (That sentence may seem mangled, but bare with me). That is, we exert great psychological effort to suppress the knowledge that we will all die, we will all experience pain of great magnitude, and the same goes for all of those that we love. There is absolutely no certitude that you, myself, or the other will not be slowly tortured to death.
There are also parts within us all that generally disgust and fill us with terror. According to Freudian theory, as young children, we all go through a sadistic, as well as masochistic, developmental stage. We do not simply grow out of these stages, though hopefully we traverse them in the most adaptive manner possible. Societies do not work well with people who kill, rape, torture, etc. Obviously, there are millions of individuals who did not form adoptive characterological traits or mechanisms to deal with these base desires. In today's age, these sorts are either killed while still young, put in prison for life, or rise to high levels of power. The majority of us do form sufficient coping strategies to deal with these drives so as to not act on them excessively. But the beast does need to express itself periodically. This is achieved through compromise and symbolic acts. Watching football, playing chess, and enjoying horror films are examples.
To my way of thinking, the director of the film turns the table on the viewer. We are usually unconscious of our feeding of our internal beast by vicariously unconsciously enjoying the viewing of others suffering. The film maker forces us to see these horrific aspects of ourselves when he removes the standard Hollywood movie conventions. It must be okay to cheer at the killing of the Black Hat. After all, he is an evil man who has caused our beloved characters to suffer. When the film maker unmasks our base instincts, we become more aware of things that we generally know about ourselves but do not like to think about.
I think it is also interesting to consider the question of who is the conveyor of the painful truth in the film. Of course, on one hand, it is the writer/director. Looking at it from a different vantage point, it is the most sociopathic college boy villain who plays a funny game with our minds by forcing us to see the unthought known. He is the one who speaks to us directly, while looking at the camera, and discussing the actions taking place. He is also the one who grabs the remote and reverses the film. The film maker could have simply shown the scenes being reversed without having a character perform the act. This guy just won't give us a break.
I propose that this most evil character represents the ultimate existential reality. To digress for a moment, I find the word "evil" somewhat lacking. It implies that there is a force that is responsible for immoral phenomenon. Some of us take to projecting the miseries of life into a metaphysical being: The Devil. However, I would propose that there is no real evil in the universe. It is a man-made concept devised to simplify an abstract process inherent to our existence. As to the “reality”, it seems to me that it is impossible to escape Evil. It is all around us and part of who we are.
A few other thoughts. I have always found it interesting that people respond to bad things perpetrated by humans upon other humans in a particularly intense and consuming manner. Jack the ripper killed less than 10 women, if I am not mistaken. Despite that the crimes occurred more than 100 years ago, they have become part of the collective consciousness of a good deal of the people of the world. However, every day, in every city in the world, there are far more people killed in accidents, from infections, heart attacks, etc. We don't react to such deaths as reflecting Evil. Why not? There are a number of answers that come to mind rather quickly. But I do not think discussing them would add much to what I have written.
On a final note, I believe the Coen brothers’ movie, No Country for Old Men, is a masterpiece that explores this very subject in a powerful and brilliant fashion. Evil is evil. It has always been here and it will always be with us. I suppose the question is: Are we better off deluding ourselves about its nature, or is it more healthy and helpful to understand and accept it for what it truly is? To go further, I would propose that this is the paramount question posed by the film.
I'm glad you appreciate the shift in my thinking regarding the film over the past few days. Hopefully, this suggests that I am moving in a more fruitful direction. I think I had a moment of insight when I seriously considered the fact that this film has no ethos; that Haneke deliberately avoids overplaying his hand by pushing an ethical agenda with Funny Games. If this is the case, then it was a mistake for me to conclude that Haneke was suggesting that the thrill of watching violence is immoral at all. These two claims--that the film has no ethical viewpoint, and that Haneke is insisting that violence is always wrong--are clearly contradictory. In other words, I was dead wrong. Haneke wasn't trying to punish audiences for wanting violence, as I assumed. He's much more subtle than that, and by no means a dogmatist. The visceral experience people had from the movie, the raw indignation, wasn't misguided at all. Rather, he was deliberately manipulating his audience into this visceral reaction. Immediately after posting elsewhere on this thread the other day, I realized the mistake I had been making. I actually wrote my most recent (re)analysis of the film in order to work this out. Paul rewinding the film is not intended as a "smacking of the moral police man" at all! It was supposed to make you think, to stimulate an authentic moral experience. Where Haneke is silent on the fate of his characters in the context of the film, the audience is supposed to fill this void and draw their own moral conclusions by invoking their own critical thought. If Haneke had been trying to impose his own agenda, this would have been counterproductive, ham-fisted, and yes, cruel and sadistic on his part; as people suggested to me earlier in this thread and elsewhere.
Also, my analysis of the irony in the film helped steer me in this direction. The disparate dramatic moods of the film (tragedy and comedy) enable the viewer to watch the film as either a black comedy or as a harrowing and horrific tragedy. The characters never deviate from their initial script. The villains play comedy and the family plays tragedy. These competing moods become more intense as the story progresses. The question whether we should laugh, weep, or cry out becomes salient. This confusion of tone is deliberately disconcerting, but Haneke simply presents us with this escalating tension. He does not steer us in either direction, but he does keep upping the stakes. With all this in mind, our critical response to the violence on screen becomes crucial.
I would like to share some of my ideas about the film. For me, it is an existential exploration of the inevitable experience of misery for all mankind. Let's not forget what we go through life trying to forget all of the time. (That sentence may seem mangled, but bare with me). That is, we do not all ourselves to remember at all times that we will all die, we will all experience pain of great magnitude, and the same goes for all of those that we love. There is absolutely no certitude that you, myself, or the other will not be slowly tortured to death.
This is a brilliant and profound analysis, and your sentence isn't mangled at all. I hear you loud and clear. I love your interpretation of Paul as a representative of "the ultimate existential reality". This is very insightful. Existentialists insist that the universe is indifferent to human suffering, and that there is no absolute moral truth. Humans exist, live their life. But pain and suffering (and ultimately death) are inevitable. Humans desperately try to ignore this uncomfortable truth. If I may tie this into my analysis, your point actually helps to explain the disparate moods being played by the villains and the family in the film, as well as the amoral tone of the film. The universe is indifferent, just like Paul and Peter. They are playing comedy, the family--utterly at the mercy of forces beyond their control--is playing tragedy. This conflict of mood is symbolic of the indifference of the universe to human suffering. This film insists upon revealing to us the existential truth; that suffering and death are inevitable. Hence, when it appears that Anna has gained the upper hand, Paul rewinds the film and reasserts his control of the proceedings. This reminds us that we cannot escape pain, suffering, and death. Nor is there any recourse which can spare us in the end. I think you are on to something significant here. So, if Peter and Paul are manifestations of the ultimate existential truth, then they are quite literally in control of the family's destiny. Once they have fulfilled their duty, they move on, continuing their "funny games"--which is really a metaphor for the cold indifference of the universe. So this film could be interpreted as a devastating dramatization and allegory of the human condition. I must confess, I am very intrigued by your impressive reading.
To my way of thinking, the director of the film turns the table on the viewer. We are usually unconscious of our feeding of our internal beast by vicariously unconsciously enjoying the viewing of others suffering. The film maker forces us to see these horrific aspects of ourselves when he removes the standard Hollywood movie conventions. It must be okay to cheer at the killing of the Black Hat. After all, he is an evil man who has caused our beloved characters to suffer. When the film maker unmasks our base instincts, we become more aware of things that we generally know about ourselves but do not like to think about.
So the film actually provokes a significant insight, a feat which all films that thoughtfully consider the human condition seek to accomplish. No Country for Old Men is certainly another great example. It's not that Haneke seeks to condemn our response, but he does want us to become more self-aware and critically engaged. I'm also very receptive to your thoughts regarding evil. I am inclined to accept the existential premise that, in truth, the universe is fundamentally amoral. Therefore, there is no such thing as absolute moral truth. Naturally, this complicates our pursuit of goodness. People generally regard themselves as good and believe that evil lies elsewhere. However, as you point out, this is a delusion. If "evil", as we understand it, exists at all, then it is a fundamental part of us. Moral action requires a great deal of reflection and self-awareness. If this is an accurate summary of your line of thinking, then I'm in full agreement.
Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts. I really enjoyed the read, and hope to hear from you again!
And you will know my name is The Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee! reply share
I think you and I are on the same page. And your last post moves the analysis further. At risk if over doing the Freud thing, our creative labor would be considered one of the higher level "mature" defense mechanisms we can employ to cope with the intolerable aspects of our beastial nature (sublimation). Humor is another.
Speaking of humor, I initially was surprised to consider your premise that the boys are playing out a comedy, juxtaposed with the family playing out a tragedy. As I watched the film, I saw it as exclusively tragic, with some artful and thought provoking devices employed by the film maker. Of course, the boys are trying to have their fun. Their fun is achieved through humiliating, tormenting and absolutely controlling the victims. This is the joy of sadism. The viewer is never really told what motivates the bastards. Rather Paul gives conflicting accounts of how Peter developed his tastes. I had a feeling that Paul's explanation of Peter trying to cope with the ennui and apparent pointlessness of his life through sadism as a true description of both villains. But this is just supposition on my part. It may be another one of Paul's fabrications for the joy of confusion.
The violence in this movie, for me, was quite stressful. The family suffered more psychological violence than physical. Though, of course, there was plenty physical violence. When compared to a Tarantino movie, it might be an overstatement to say that in comparison there was only a little physical violence. But I know I am not alone in finding Tarantino movies hilarious. Maybe it is the gore right in your face, combined with brilliant dialogue and story, that elicits the laughter. I would be interested in further exploration of the tragedy/comedy dichotomy in the midst of such violence.
As for your reference to the audiences ignorance of what becomes of the evil-doers, I think that they are immortal. They are like super-heroes who never die. We will all meet them in the end, and have surely been brutalized by them multiple times throughout our lives. This seems to me to be another crucial point of the film. Evil exists and always will. Hollywood has made billions by intoxicating their patrons with the fallacy that we mortals can control and conquer Evil. Haneke yanks the intoxicant from our psyche. Hence, the discomfort. As in the Coen's No Country for Old Men, the monster perseveres and is last seen walking down a suburban neighborhood. Life sure would be a lot easier if Evil were to die. But I don't think he will be going away any time soon. Some theologians clearly think differently.
You mention the scene where Paul gives conflicting accounts regarding the villains' motivations. I believe that is an important scene because it illustrates that the actual motivation is irrelevant in the context of the film (even more so if your existentialist interpretation is correct). The villains could be terrorizing the family for any number of reasons. But this scene also reveals a more general and ultimately disturbing point. Paul's fabricated scenarios remind us of our feeble investment in various psychological rationalizations for the sake of explaining violence. Whenever violence occurs, we immediately wonder what went wrong. We try to explain it away as some kind of exceptional aberration with a discernible cause which can presumably be remedied. I think Paul is mocking this tendency, and I think I see the direction you are heading by mentioning Freud.
If we can explain violence, then we can control it. This is what we tend to believe, and we invest a great deal of faith in psychology's ability to make sense of the beast within us. The faith in psychology is so strong because we hope that knowledge will enable us to transcend our existential reality; that by presenting a rational account of the human mind, psychology will allow us to eventually eliminate violence altogether by eliminating or treating its causes. I think this particular scene is so disturbing because, initially at least, it appears that Paul is giving us a key to his psychology, and thus giving away too much. For a split second, I think the audience is reassured by Paul's revelation. We can at last explain his violence and no longer need to fear it. Or so we might assume. This relief is promptly snatched away from us, however, when Paul presents another account. Then another. Then another. He is deliberately mocking us and our optimistic faith in psychological rationalizations. As you noted earlier, according to Freudian theory all humans go through a sadistic developmental phase. Freud speculated that the human mind is governed not by rational processes, but by fundamentally irrational ones. Consequently, psychology can never provide a rational account of the human mind! We are violent creatures in the first place, and only acquire the capacity for moral agency through a process of socialization, but this socialization is never complete. It's a question of degree. Therefore, morality is not absolute because it is nothing more than the ability to operate according to ultimately arbitrary social norms. If this is true, then in fact morality is the exception and violence is the general rule. We are animals in the first place, after all. And like animals, we are governed by impulses, of which the rational impulse is only one. This is a disturbing notion, but one which dovetails nicely with your existentialist reading.
As for your reference to the audiences ignorance of what becomes of the evil-doers, I think that they are immortal. They are like super-heroes who never die. We will all meet them in the end, and have surely been brutalized by them multiple times throughout our lives. This seems to me to be another crucial point of the film. Evil exists and always will. Hollywood has made billions by intoxicating their patrons with the fallacy that we mortals can control and conquer Evil. Haneke yanks the intoxicant from our psyche. Hence, the discomfort.
This is a rich reading of the film, I must admit. And yes, the violence in the film is very stressful. Props to Lothar for her remarkable commitment to the role. I think a chief factor in the distressing intensity of the violence is primarily attributable to Haneke instructing his actors to play the drama at different wavelengths. And as far as I'm concerned, Arno Frisch is definitely among the most sinister villains ever committed to the screen. And I think this is precisely because his charismatic performance is at such a radically jarring disconnect from the proceedings. I can't help but laugh at his antics at various points during the film--especially during the "hot-cold" game. I'm not sure if this is due to my discomfort and alienation, but I'm hopeful that that is the case. Perhaps Freud was right, as you mentioned, when he suggested that humor is a sublimated defense mechanism.
Frankly, I'm utterly enamored with your existentialist reading of Funny Games, as well as your comments regarding Freud. Freud is very interesting to me, but I'm not especially familiar with the specifics of his work beyond a cursory understanding. My knowledge of him is mostly indirect, since I'm much more familiar with the work of his intellectual predecessor, Friedrich Nietzsche--who, interestingly was also a major influence on the Existentialist movement. For that reason, I do not think it is a stretch at all to link your existentialist reading with Freud's insights regarding human psychology.
And you will know my name is The Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee! reply share
Nice to see that you are still replying after all these years.
I just want to reaffirm that I think the film is presenting these situations to get you to feel. I know you retracted your statement on Haneke condemning the audience for wanting joy in violence, even justifiable violence. He had the remote rewind the scene just to illicit a reaction. The whole film is being played for the audience in a way not many films do. Summed up, the bad guys win, the bad guys also talk to the audience in their usual tone getting us to participate just by watching the film, and nobody survives.
The remote scene has been mentioned a lot and the I was taken aback by the sophistication of the film as well. There was no gratuitous violence or images. During the disrobing scene it is just on the woman's face, and we are not allowed the built up desire to see her naked. If I remember correctly, we see the intruders faces. The intruders are many things. They are evil, they are the inevitable, they are death. But on the intruders faces, I think it is a strange fact. Are the intruders us? They know that we know what is coming. But they are enjoying the sight of the woman and not us. So I think it could be interpreted that they are the storytellers of all fiction.
They control what we see and they know how we feel. This little game they are playing shouldn't be fun. They know exactly what is going to happen by the end of the film as characters. As storytellers they know how we are feeling so they are getting pleasure out of our discomfort. Not just the family. The end of the film ends with his face, yes, it shows that it goes on and they aren't captured and such, but the emotional feeling roots to the fact that he knows what we just witnessed. And he is happy about it.
The scene of Georg Jr. running around the neighbors house. With the view on violence them, we could easily say that Haneke is taunting us with the fact that the little child has a double barrel shotgun and we want to see him kill the villain. Kind of upsetting, feeling happy over a kid killing a man even if he is worse than terrible. A kid killing someone would leave such an effect on his mind. I don't know, I feel there is more to it. Haneke has an agenda with his film, so I don't think he would spend so much time on a kid running around eventually getting caught.
Interesting to read that Marxist analysis. I am only a novice when it comes to Marxist and Freudian themes in films. I would like to read more of them to art, so I have a better understanding of applying them to movies and books, because so far I am just Bourgeoisie vs. Proletariat and conflict theories. And for Freud I am a little bit better with the psychosexual development theories, id, ego, superego, and some dream analysis. I only took Psyche 101 and we don't learn Marx a lot in school because "Communism bad".
I am ambivalent about the family not fighting back. I guess the film is trying to anger you that they aren't fighting back, but even in the beginning it shows how passive they are. They can't even get them out of their house at first. I don't really understand why she didn't tell her friends at the docks what was going on when she found her dead dog.
I think the acting was very good. The kid felt like a kid. The intruders were scumbags but not just scumbags enjoying what they were doing. They were playing with their prey, but "Fatty" looks so vulnerable at times with his face and the fact that Paul kept on calling him a negative nickname. And the way that the intruders always tried to make it seem like it was the families fault for the situation they were in. For the audience, I believe Haneke is trying to get us to angry at the fact that it isn't, and that the family doesn't even call the intruders out on their logic.
The family does nothing to match wits or really put on a fight for survival. You would think their paternal instinct would catch in and I think it is interesting the child dies first and the intruders leave. The main person the man and woman are fighting for is their son. I don't know if Haneke is being critical of family relationships or if the family is used to better the reaction the audience will get from the film.
I did like the fact that the camera stayed on Paul in the kitchen when the gun went off. I don't know the importance of the television in the room for the scenes it is mainly used for.
I really like the thought you put into the film. I rarely see that around here on this website.
Thanks for the response! I definitely agree about the humorous presentation of the villains, particularly the vulnerability of Peter whenever Paul calls him "Fatty". In a peculiar way, this attention to detail made the villains fully-realized characters in their own right--and for that reason, even more frightening.
I think that an important theme of the film is the extent to which we try to insulate ourselves from uncomfortable experiences, and the complications created by this state of affairs. Haneke presents a fairly typical gated community as the setting of the film. This is not insignificant. We are invited to interpret this gated community as a symbol of this desire to construct an artificial sphere of total comfort. But as the film progresses, the illusion that we can insulate ourselves from pain and suffering in such a gated community is systematically shattered.
I am ambivalent about the family not fighting back. I guess the film is trying to anger you that they aren't fighting back, but even in the beginning it shows how passive they are. They can't even get them out of their house at first. I don't really understand why she didn't tell her friends at the docks what was going on when she found her dead dog.
In order to fully appreciate the maddening scene at the docks, I think it is necessary to compare it to an earlier scene: The scene in which Georg and Anna (and the audience) are first introduced to Paul by a neighbor. During this seemingly innocent meeting, we encounter Paul as a fellow member of civilized society. Appearances suggest that everything is fine. There is no apparent tension at all. Paul is mannered, polite. He knows the formal rituals governing human interaction. By virtue of this knowledge, he appears to be one of us. Of course, we know better. In this instance, appearances belie the reality of the situation. This irony is fully revealed in the later scene at the docks. Anna is now on the other side of the exchange. She and her entire family are in jeopardy. Their lives are at stake. But the rigid rules of politeness demand that Anna maintain her composure even under this extreme scenario. She is unable to even ask for help. Of course, we know that her neighbor was in a similar situation in the earlier scene. He was being held hostage by Paul, and yet he could not ask for help. What is it that prevents both Anna and her neighbor from crying out for help from friends in these extreme situations?
The juxtaposition of these two parallel scenes provides for the audience a more complete picture. I believe Haneke is parodying the inherent dishonesty of formal and rigid manners. While manners help facilitate comfortable and pleasant exchanges, they also conceal the truth. Critics of the film often complain that this is unrealistic. That anyone would cry out for help under such circumstances. But we are all guilty of this very same thing, in a small way. We have all had that peculiar experience where we may--in truth--be upset or miserable, but for some inexplicable reason, when someone asks us how we are doing, we say "Oh, I'm doing fine". We smile politely but that smile belies our true feelings and concerns. We don't want to inconvenience anyone else with our petty troubles. So for the sake of appearances, we put on a facade. By doing this, the exchange is pleasant, harmless. But we haven't actually communicated anything at all.
The polite conventions which prevent us from talking about our troubles reveals something even more sinister. We do not want to know other people's problems. Other people's problems are boring, depressing. We want to be insulated from discomfort, to enjoy our little distractions and diversions. In a sense, we construct our own psychological gated community in order to achieve this complacency. We are not interested in the social, political, and economic injustices that happen every day throughout the world. As long as bad things aren't happening to us, they do not concern us. But having lived our entire lives in such comfortable circumstances, whenever danger confronts us, we are unable to act appropriately. It is no coincidence that Anna and Georg did not know the number for the police. They have (presumably) lived their entire life in safety and comfort. Trouble was always on the other side of the gate, so to speak.
I did like the fact that the camera stayed on Paul in the kitchen when the gun went off. I don't know the importance of the television in the room for the scenes it is mainly used for.
I too loved the inappropriate humor of Paul making a sandwich while the gun went off in the other room. It's a scathing image because I believe Haneke is making fun of complacent Westerners who go about obliviously satiating their own appetites while unspeakable violence and cruelty unfolds elsewhere in the world. The blood spattering on the television images of a car race is a similarly ironic image. We generally try to "compartmentalize" our experience of violence. Certainly a key component of the enjoyment of high-speed vehicle race is the threat of danger involved--conveniently at a safe distance from us, the viewers. We generally expect to see blood only on the other side of the television screen, but here this expectation is brilliantly subverted.
I really like the thought you put into the film. I rarely see that around here on this website.
Thanks for saying that. It's sometimes discouraging to hear responses such as "too long, didn't read." But really, a film which is as provocative and rich as Funny Games seems to invite such exhaustive analysis. I've read a great deal of both positive and negative reviews which speak abstractly of the message presented by Haneke in this film, but not too many which actually explore that message in concrete terms... So I always enjoy a healthy discussion.
And somehow it always feels as if no matter how much we say, there is still so much ground to cover. To me, that is proof we are dealing with a great work of art.
And you will know my name is The Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee! reply share
Their lives are at stake. But the rigid rules of politeness demand that Anna maintain her composure even under this extreme scenario. She is unable to even ask for help.
I have read every word on this thread because I'm fascinated by the film and the rich interpretations from you, RaidenPLS, and others who have replied here. But isn't the reason Anna says nothing at the dock much more practical - because Peter is left alone with her husband and son in the house at the time? Isn't the reason she doesn't speak out to the neighbors simply an effort to protect her loved ones, and not "the rigid rules of politeness"? The same reason the neighbors at the film's start don't speak out - because Paul is alone with their daughter at the time?
Still, I find intriguing and appreciate your thoughts about how people generally won't say how they really feel because the people asking really don't want to know. I agree that the exchanges in the film could "represent" these types of interesting interpretations but simply feel that, on the face of it, there are much more immediate motivations for the characters' actions (or lack thereof) in these scenes. In fact, I think throughout the film, each family member's inaction stems from the desire to protect the other two. They want to believe that if they play the funny games, their captors will release them. Their protective psychological mechanisms will not allow them to realize the true extent of their captors' sociopathy/sadism (at least not until their son comes back and tells them that he's seen the neighbor's daughter dead in their house, which is after the dock scene).
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Thanks for sharing your observations, soo_z_g! As you correctly point out, Anna's motivation in this scene is entirely practical. She is trying to keep herself and her family safe in this desperate scenario, and this requires her to conceal her terror and desperation.
While you are correct that it is possible to stop at the water's edge and take the film at face value on this matter, my reading about the scathing critique of rigid manners I believe Funny Games displays comes from the distinction between appearances and reality emphasized by Haneke's deft presentation. The execution is truly ingenious! He is teasing out a deeper irony about the unexpected danger of bourgeois manners--which is especially salient in a European context. In the earlier scene, Anna and Georg's introduction to Peter is genial and polite, but this formal introduction belies the reality of the situation. We meet the angel of death dressed in pristine white tennis clothes, charming and smiling, in the most banal and unassuming circumstance. By inverting the earlier scenario with the scene at the docks, Haneke is dramatizing how deceptive (and indeed dangerous and self-thwarting!) the rigid social protocols of politeness and bourgeois decorum can be. The stakes of that earlier scene were, we now realize, life-or-death despite the pristine surface. And now the audience is as helpless as Anna!
My own observations about the counter-productivity of rigid manners are drawn from the motif of dangerously deceptive pristine surfaces that I see everywhere emphasized throughout Funny Games. In this film it is the comforts and luxuries of civilization, including artificial manners, that consistently doom Anna and her family. From the moment that the elegant and charming Paul is first introduced and a bumbling Peter comes knocking with a seemingly harmless request for eggs, our assumptions about evil are systematically subverted in the most perverse manner possible. Try watching this film as a pitch black comedy, it's an even richer and more disturbing experience, if that's possible. In Haneke's world, life, and the possibility of living, are consistently undermined by the artifice of civilization in the most surreal ways possible. It's like being subjected to a twisted Jacques Tati film. In a sense, it's as if Georg and Anna are being slowly strangled to death in real time by the unforeseen constraints and complications of bourgeois comfort, by civilization itself! Every gesture of sophistication, every refined word delivered with elegance and aplomb by Paul acts like a maddening drip-drip-drip upon the consciousness of Anna and Georg, as well as the audience. He's so sinister! Never has an appreciation for golf equipment been so ominous... Arno Frisch as Paul is cinema's most wicked white clown. He is grim death masquerading as a gleeful and charming agent of mirth and play.
Haneke's fidelity to this subversive method is remarkably disciplined throughout the film, and indeed elsewhere throughout his body of work: If you've seen Code Unknown, recall the scene in the Parisian metro where Juliette Binoche is taunted and harassed by an Arab youth as a crowd of aloof bourgeois bystanders look on. Perhaps surprisingly, it is a physically unassuming elder Arab man who courageously intervenes and confronts the thug. His dignity and quiet heroism, perfectly understated by Haneke's direction, is a rare moment of hope for humanity in the filmmaker's largely bleak catalogue. Or consider the shocking scene in Benny's Video where Benny's upper-class family responds to their son's crime by cooly resolving to cover up the murder he has committed. The reaction of the most "civilized" people in the room in these instances is disturbing and shameful, and these moments stand as an implicit critique of the systematic moral bankruptcy that enabled the Holocaust--a barbaric crime on an unimaginable scale carried out by one of the most civilized and culturally advanced European nations. Haneke, an Austrian national, has been obsessed by the complicity (and hypocrisy) of the refined European bourgeois--his own social and economic class--since the beginning of his career. He feels we haven't yet absorbed the disturbing insights into human nature that these outrageous casual atrocities reveal. How can these atrocities happen over and over, despite our own pristine surfaces? It is this question which his films explore, and he means to upset our complacency: "I wish you a disturbing evening."
I submit that, if Haneke is a disciple of Hitchcock, bourgeois manners is Haneke's equivalent of Hitchock's ticking bomb hidden under the table. Bourgeois manners are the the object of suspense whose full significance is known only to the audience and the filmmaker, never the helpless characters on-screen, who remain oblivious and carry on with their affairs blissfully unaware. Like the bomb under the table, respectable bourgeois manners here exert a secret negative influence on the narrative. We watch, squirming in our seats, hoping that our on-screen surrogates recognize the lurking danger in time to diffuse the bomb and save themselves. Unfortunately, Haneke has a relentless and unforgiving streak of perverse cruelty that the playful Master of Suspense never had. Haneke mercilessly takes refined bourgeois manners to its logical conclusion as a didactic exercise and, with the stern and unforgiving moralism of a Protestant schoolmaster, refuses to indulge his audience.
And you will know my name is The Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee!
Thank you for your thoughtful and, as always, eloquent response. I didn't read the paragraph about Code Unknown or Benny's Video, though, since I haven't seen those films. This was my third Haneke watch, after The White Ribbon and Cache.
Now having reading other threads on this board, I'm surprised at the number of people who fault the family for inaction, when the obvious threat of further harm from Peter and Paul in response to such actions seemed blatantly obvious to me. I agree with those on these boards who have said viewers expect the family to successfully fight back because they have seen this type of intelligent/heroic action in other movies. I much appreciate your deeper read, however, beneath the "pristine" surfaces.
I also enjoy your comparisons to Hitchcock, since I am a big fan. And am quickly becoming a big fan of Haneke as well. In Funny Games, Haneke brings the devil himself, in the form of Paul, into a seemingly serene setting, much as Hitch did in Shadow of a Doubt, or as Park Chan-wook did when homaging Hitch in Stoker. But the setting in Funny Games is even more extreme in that the community is gated, which extra safety and civility, as you've said, actually comes to thwart any possible escape for the hapless family.
I also have loved your comment that the family was told to play this seriously while the villains were told to play comedy. While I didn't pick up on it while watching the film, upon recollection, this point is evident and I think does much to add to that subversion of expectation.
Code Unknown, Benny's Video, and especially The Piano Teacher are all excellent. You're in for a treat as you dig deeper into Haneke's filmography. His movies are all remarkably consistent in terms of quality. Arno Frisch gives a haunting performance in Benny's Video that is a morose, introverted counterpoint to his irreverent and mischievous turn as Paul in Funny Games. It's as if young Benny has acquired a showman's generosity to become Paul, with his ironically magnanimous accommodation of audience expectation, at the expense of a hapless middle class family on vacation. I have no idea why Arno Frisch didn't become a major star in European cinema after these two performances! Few actors are as charismatic as Frisch in Funny Games. It's easily one of my favorite performances. Benny's Video is a chillingly austere psychological portrait, Haneke's muted, more sober response to Hitchcock's sensationalistic Psycho. The structural debt to Hitchcock's film is obvious. It's like Psycho directed by Robert Bresson.
It's funny that you mention the similarities between Funny Games and Shadow of a Doubt. I hadn't considered that, but you're correct, of course. It's an apt comparison. I'm also glad your most recent comment mentioned the number of people who fault the family for inaction in Funny Games. This reaction seems to be uniquely (or at least predominately) American, and says much about our cultural assumptions in contrast to those of European high culture. In fact, this is a significant part of why I think the remake falls flat. The United States is a pioneer country of rugged individualists, less densely populated, and our expansive landscape gives us a proximity to the rhythms of nature that encourages a pragmatic sense of realism. Indeed, Americans are more realistic about violence, hence our obsession with owning guns. If you actually review the critical response on either side of the Atlantic, the divergent responses are revealing. Americans are more pragmatic and comfortable with violence, faulting the family for not fighting back harder. Whereas, at the Cannes premier, European filmmakers and critics were horrified by the intensity of the violence. This reluctance to deal with violence explains the family's fatal hesitations! European audiences, much like the family in Funny Games, seem to place a much greater emphasis on manners and restraint, and consequently find the violence more shocking and unpalatable. With Funny Games, Haneke systematically sabotages faith in manners and civilization, hence it is MOST effective for repressed European audiences, rather than an American one. The whole film is a satire of rigid European manners, and so the family's mannered response to violence is exaggerated for comic effect, even though the actors grimly play it straight.
American audiences may miss the suave urbanity and refinement of Arno Frisch as Paul, a feature which is essential to his subversive impact as a villain. Michael Pitt's horrendous performance in the remake, departing from Frisch's cold aristocratic glamor and adopting instead a drippy, morose, and angst-ridden manner, demonstrates why Funny Games does not and cannot work in an American context. Michael Pitt, unlike Arno Frisch, has a flatness of affect and does not conspicuously savor cruelty and violence. There is no prankish comic dimension, no aristocratic finesse (characteristic of bourgeois refinement) or infectious joie de vivre in Michael Pitt's assaults, hence he is not nearly as disturbing. Pitt plays the sadistic killer as affectless and troubled--the exact opposite of Arno Frisch's more insidious characterization. Pitt's version of Paul is emotionally disconnected from his brutalities where Frisch archly comments on his own cruelty in a game-playing, supercilious sort of way. Pitt's performance is an American cliche. We are already over-familiar with this type of disaffected criminal, drawn from documentary footage of modern young sociopaths like Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold, or more recently, Dylan Roof, who actually resembles Pitt in a remarkable example of life imitating art (http://media2.s-nbcnews.com/j/newscms/2015_25/1082611/150618-dylann-roof-booking-820p_11069ce38f78610cb06b948da5dc0d55.nbcnews-ux-2880-1000.jpg). Something is conspicuously "off" about Dylan Roof and Michael Pitt as Paul. Both are dead behind the eyes. But the scenario demands that Paul be someone mannered and polite that you would willingly invite into your house! This is the reason Arno Frisch is so terrifying! With his effortless charm and courteous manner, he passes that test. Pitt is just an angsty and alienated teen terrorizing a family... How unimaginative and boring in contrast to the arch posturing and arrogance of Arno Frisch's suave and debonair performance! The distinctions of class that form the basis of the film's satire are no longer as central in American life. Consequently, the remake--in which the scenario is sloppily introduced into an American context--misses its proper target. The characterizations of Peter and Paul in the original film actually seem drawn from the psychological profile of the patrician thrill-killers Leopold and Loeb, who were arrogantly upper-class, educated and erudite, and poised for success. That sensational crime shocked the American consciousness in the early part of the 20th century, a moment when American culture was much more stratified by class divisions in the European manner. So, the American cultural consciousness has already absorbed and integrated this experience... Haneke is clearly out of his element in an American context and has no feeling for American cultural assumptions. He is very much a product of the European bourgeois.
At a deeper level, Funny Games deconstructs and corrects naive liberal assumptions about the nature of evil. Adjust social inequality, give everyone an equal share of wealth, and criminality will disappear--this is the whole philosophical premise of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, the founder of modern liberalism and the influential predecessor of the progressive ideologies of both Karl Marx and British utilitarianism. The importance of Rousseau among European intellectuals CANNOT be overstated. Rousseau's ideas and moral assumptions remain the basis of European education to this day. This is why a violent film like A Clockwork Orange reduced Jacques Demy (a veteran director of celebrated frothy musicals) to tears at its premier! Funny Games, like Kubrick's film, is an assault on the moral assumptions of liberalism so central to the worldview of the European bourgeoisie! Benevolent liberals always assume that people are fundamentally good, that violence and criminality are symptoms of poverty and deprivation. But Haneke's psychotic villains are always the product of wealth and privilege... In fact, Paul's urbane sophistication is a radical intensification of this principle. His polish and erudition give his violence a sense of grace and delicacy that is all the more shocking.
Here is the interview with Jacques Rivette where he mentions that violent films make the delicate Jacques Demy weep. Lol! He also dismisses Haneke's films as morally repulsive. This comment is especially revealing. Hence, Funny Games is a systematic assault on the *moral* sensibilities of the modern European bourgeoisie. European humanists like Jacques Rivette and Jacques Demy, otherwise ideologically insulated from the reality of violence, are the TRUE target of Haneke's satire...
What a disgrace, just a complete piece of sh!t. I liked [Haneke's] first film, The Seventh Continent (1989), very much, and then each one after that I liked less and less. This one is vile, not in the same way as John Woo, but those two really deserve each other – they should get married. And I never want to meet their children! It’s worse than Kubrick with A Clockwork Orange (1971), a film that I hate just as much, not for cinematic reasons but for moral ones. I remember when [A Clockwork Orange] came out, Jacques Demy was so shocked that it made him cry. Kubrick is a machine, a mutant, a Martian. He has no human feeling whatsoever. But it’s great when the machine films other machines, as in 2001 (1968).
A child is brutally killed in this movie. That is sick. I remember Hitchcock saying that he regretted the famous sequence from 'Sabotage' where a boy is killed in an explosion having unknowingly carried the bomb.
"The boy was involved in a situation that got him too much sympathy from the audience," Hitchcock said, "so that when the bomb exploded and he was killed, the public was resentful" . When Truffaut suggested that the sequence "comes close to an abuse of cinematic power" Hitchcock responded, "I agree with that; it was a grave error on my part" http://www.criticalcommons.org/Members/brettservice/clips/sabotage-3-b omb-_compress.mp4/view
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------__@ ----_`\<,_ ___(*)/ (*)____ » necspe,necmetu •´¯`» O let not Time deceive you, You cannot conquer Time» reply share
There is a specific reason for Hitchcock's regret: The death of the child in the film Sabotage violated his own rules regarding suspense in cinema... If a filmmaker builds tension with suspense, Hitchcock felt there to be an ethical duty to the audience to relieve that tension. You have to keep the character safe. The reason Hitchcock felt that moment was a failure was not because he killed a child (think of Hitchcock's pitch black sense of humor), but rather because it violated the rules of suspense. Haneke, in contrast to Hitchcock, couldn't care less about suspense. He's trying to achieve a different effect entirely.
For the record, for the duration of the *one* scene in Funny Games concerned with suspense in the Hitchcockian manner, the child is kept safe... I'm referring to the scene in which Paul stalks Little George to the neighbors' house. The scene climaxes and concludes with George pointing a shotgun at Paul. The gun does not go off. Here, Haneke observes Hitchcock's rule, but for the benefit of the *wrong* character... Too funny!
And you will know my name is The Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee!
So which "most important rule in storytelling" did the movie "break" and also, how come the OP does NOT see it as a bad thing at all and still considers this film brilliant?