Diary of a Lost GirlThe world is rarely kind when it comes to the preservation of innocence, and it is often swept away on the tides of worldliness. Diary of a Lost Girl is the story of the young Thymian (Louise Brooks), who suffers a continuous series of unfortunate events and tragedies, ones which constantly threaten to drag her under into the cruel cynicism and vice which surrounds her. Just as she appears to overcome one harrowing misadventure, another waits to ruin her around the bend. Diary of a Lost Girl is an account of her increasingly challenging struggle to keep hold of her own soul.
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From the start of the film, Thymian is on the verge of her first unfortunate encounter with perversity at the hands of the pharmacy assistant, Meinert (Fritz Rasp), who ravishes and impregnates Thymian in her sleep following a birthday turned sour following the suicide of the former housekeeper, Elisabeth (Sybille Schmitz), who in turn was impregnated by her father, Robert Henning (Josef Rovenský), who owns the pharmacy where Thymian lives and Meinert works. When Thymian--now a mother some time later--refuses to marry Meinert, the baby is taken to a tragically incompetent midwife, and Thymian is cast out to be reared at a reformatory, which is straight out of Charles Dickens. She suffers under the spartan conditions, the ghoulish cueball of an enforcer (Andrews Engelmann), and a leering and domineering directress, who gawks at the young girls and is overly enthusiastic to encourage their exercise at the beat of a drum. Her only hope seems to come from the recently disowned young Count Osdorff (André Roanne), whom Thymian writes to speak on her behalf to her father and her wicked housekeeper-turned-stepmother, Meta (Franziska Kinz), who in turn shows the penniless young count the door. And when Thymian escapes during a riot in the reformatory with her new friend, Erika (Edith Meinhard), she and Osdorff seek refuge at a locale which Erika recommends, one which turns out to be a brothel. Thymian discovers that her infant daughter has perished moments after her liberation, alluded in the most chilling of ways when Thymian ascends the stairs to the midwife's apartment, just as a man with a miniature coffin descends. And as if to prove that life isn't done with Thymian yet, she is slyly and cleverly maneuvered into working for the brothel by the most unassuming and ingratiating madame. The destruction of her innocence seems assured.
Following Pandora's Box, Diary of a Lost Girl represents the second collaboration between director G. W. Pabst and star Louise Brooks, and shares some elements in common. Both films are set in Germany in the Twenties, and both portray a Germany where decadence, greed, and vice were a part of society. In Pandora's Box, they were largely embodied by Louise Brook's character, Lulu; in Diary of a Lost Girl, the tables are turned, and they are embodied by practically everyone else. From the moment we lay eyes on Meinert, he is instinctively detestable, prone to obsequious looks and a perversity which seems ingrained in his character. He lures Thymian to come to see him late at night, full well intending to take advantage of her one way or the other. He keeps a collection of pornographic photos at his workstation, barely concealed under prescriptions. He is plotting to take over the pharmacy from Robert by placing them in debt to him. He is corrupt, sneaking, and a rapist who gets away with it; worse still, he's far from the only one given to perversity in this cynical interpretation of the world. Robert's own vices are evident, his guilt showing at the fate he brought upon Elizabeth, his lust overtaking him in almost no time at all when Meta enters the picture, a gold digger herself who drives a wedge between Robert and Thymian for the purpose of ensuring her talons go unchallenged, sunk deep in Thymian's father. All of the party goers at Thymian's birthday look on at Meta and Robert, expecting his behavior, and looking as though they relish the sinful indulgence, justifying the bleakness in their own souls. The administrators at the reformatory are gleeful in their punishments, sadists looking to excuse their need to bully the girls left in their care because no one else wanted them. And when Thymian arrives at the brothel, she is transformed from her plain uniform into a stunner in an cocktail dress--not out of benevolence on the part of the madame, but as one would primp a show dog for a performance. When Thymian samples her first champagne, the jovial revelers look on with salacious interest, as if the alcohol would seal the deal to dissolve her purity and give way to the loss of her hope, so she too can become one of them. Resistances are tried and shattered, and good people are dragged down. Even the young Osdorff, who at first appears the noble love interest for Thymian, ends up letting his loins guide him, and he spends all his time drinking and spending time playing cards with the bordello staff.
The name for Diary of a Lost Girl comes from the eponymous diary which Thymian receives from her father on her birthday, one which has a lock and key--although the lock is forced open by her family in their efforts to ascertain who the father of her daughter was. Although Thymian doesn't do much apparent writing in the diary herself, she frequently tears pages from it to deliver a message, like the one she sends Osdorff, or the advertisement she writes to offer dance instruction in lieu of the madame's interest in leading her into prostitution. Each of these pages she rips from the diary are as if she were losing a part of herself in the process, her hopes carved from the notebook, planted seeds which never seem to bear the fruit she desires. Her only client for dance instruction is a perverse weirdo who is more interested in the madame's modification to the advertisement indicating the "beautiful" Thymian will instruct in the ways of dance, more interested in the implications than actually learning to cut a rug himself, leading to one more episode to chip away at Thymian's resolve and hope for a better life. One of the most astonishing obscenities which signifies Thymian is "truly lost", as one regular to the brothel remarks, is when she allows herself to be raffled off in celebration at a massive party, one which her father, Meta, and Meinert just happen to be attending. When Thymian locks eyes with her estranged father, you see her desperately try to push her way through the throng of fallen socialites, her father almost making the attempt himself, instead allowing himself to judge her with disgust. This is a crushing scene, because this is the moment where a father should rise up for his child, and he fails miserably. But goodness like that inherent in Thymian cannot be quashed permanently, and rises up when she is confronted with Meta and her two children, now on the verge of eviction, and Thymian commits a selfless act. It is an act of reclamation not just for herself, but the first step in revitalizing goodness in this world so consumed with selfishness, an act which is even saintly given how Meta treated her. This is the evidence of how, as the Osdorff's uncle observes, a little more love can make all the difference, the crucial lesson which Diary of a Lost Girl speaks so eloquently, silent movie or no.
Recommended for: Fans of an engaging drama about innocence lost in a decadent and perverse world, and about retaining one's humanity in the face of it. Diary of a Lost Girl is an exceptional film, one which was painstakingly restored, a labor of love reflecting the passion to preserve a nearly lost cinematic gem.
Following Pandora's Box, Diary of a Lost Girl represents the second collaboration between director G. W. Pabst and star Louise Brooks, and shares some elements in common. Both films are set in Germany in the Twenties, and both portray a Germany where decadence, greed, and vice were a part of society. In Pandora's Box, they were largely embodied by Louise Brook's character, Lulu; in Diary of a Lost Girl, the tables are turned, and they are embodied by practically everyone else. From the moment we lay eyes on Meinert, he is instinctively detestable, prone to obsequious looks and a perversity which seems ingrained in his character. He lures Thymian to come to see him late at night, full well intending to take advantage of her one way or the other. He keeps a collection of pornographic photos at his workstation, barely concealed under prescriptions. He is plotting to take over the pharmacy from Robert by placing them in debt to him. He is corrupt, sneaking, and a rapist who gets away with it; worse still, he's far from the only one given to perversity in this cynical interpretation of the world. Robert's own vices are evident, his guilt showing at the fate he brought upon Elizabeth, his lust overtaking him in almost no time at all when Meta enters the picture, a gold digger herself who drives a wedge between Robert and Thymian for the purpose of ensuring her talons go unchallenged, sunk deep in Thymian's father. All of the party goers at Thymian's birthday look on at Meta and Robert, expecting his behavior, and looking as though they relish the sinful indulgence, justifying the bleakness in their own souls. The administrators at the reformatory are gleeful in their punishments, sadists looking to excuse their need to bully the girls left in their care because no one else wanted them. And when Thymian arrives at the brothel, she is transformed from her plain uniform into a stunner in an cocktail dress--not out of benevolence on the part of the madame, but as one would primp a show dog for a performance. When Thymian samples her first champagne, the jovial revelers look on with salacious interest, as if the alcohol would seal the deal to dissolve her purity and give way to the loss of her hope, so she too can become one of them. Resistances are tried and shattered, and good people are dragged down. Even the young Osdorff, who at first appears the noble love interest for Thymian, ends up letting his loins guide him, and he spends all his time drinking and spending time playing cards with the bordello staff.
The name for Diary of a Lost Girl comes from the eponymous diary which Thymian receives from her father on her birthday, one which has a lock and key--although the lock is forced open by her family in their efforts to ascertain who the father of her daughter was. Although Thymian doesn't do much apparent writing in the diary herself, she frequently tears pages from it to deliver a message, like the one she sends Osdorff, or the advertisement she writes to offer dance instruction in lieu of the madame's interest in leading her into prostitution. Each of these pages she rips from the diary are as if she were losing a part of herself in the process, her hopes carved from the notebook, planted seeds which never seem to bear the fruit she desires. Her only client for dance instruction is a perverse weirdo who is more interested in the madame's modification to the advertisement indicating the "beautiful" Thymian will instruct in the ways of dance, more interested in the implications than actually learning to cut a rug himself, leading to one more episode to chip away at Thymian's resolve and hope for a better life. One of the most astonishing obscenities which signifies Thymian is "truly lost", as one regular to the brothel remarks, is when she allows herself to be raffled off in celebration at a massive party, one which her father, Meta, and Meinert just happen to be attending. When Thymian locks eyes with her estranged father, you see her desperately try to push her way through the throng of fallen socialites, her father almost making the attempt himself, instead allowing himself to judge her with disgust. This is a crushing scene, because this is the moment where a father should rise up for his child, and he fails miserably. But goodness like that inherent in Thymian cannot be quashed permanently, and rises up when she is confronted with Meta and her two children, now on the verge of eviction, and Thymian commits a selfless act. It is an act of reclamation not just for herself, but the first step in revitalizing goodness in this world so consumed with selfishness, an act which is even saintly given how Meta treated her. This is the evidence of how, as the Osdorff's uncle observes, a little more love can make all the difference, the crucial lesson which Diary of a Lost Girl speaks so eloquently, silent movie or no.
Recommended for: Fans of an engaging drama about innocence lost in a decadent and perverse world, and about retaining one's humanity in the face of it. Diary of a Lost Girl is an exceptional film, one which was painstakingly restored, a labor of love reflecting the passion to preserve a nearly lost cinematic gem.