From the Life of the MarionettesWealth and privilege cannot fill the existential void of a pointless life devoid of purpose and the profound despair that comes from seeing only the mere shadows of love and affection. From the Life of the Marionettes is a drama about a depressed, upper-class professional named Peter Egermann (Robert Atzorn), and the time surrounding his psychotic, murderous breakdown. Interviews are conducted with those who knew Peter after the killing, and flashbacks depict the writing on the wall, and how no one did anything meaningful to prevent it.
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From the Life of the Marionettes shares similarities with many of writer and director Ingmar Bergman's other films, not least of which is Scenes from a Marriage. This is especially evident in the tense scenes between Peter and his wife, Katarina (Christine Buchegger), which waver between merely guarded conversations with angst-infused dialogue to full-blown emotional attacks on one another. (Peter and Katarina Egermann were originally featured as supporting characters in Bergman's The Passion of Anna, although From the Life of the Marionettes transplants them from Sweden to Germany.) Peter's psychological breakdown happens in view of his friends and family--including Katarina--yet none are adequately equipped (emotionally or morally) to prevent it, similarly recalling Bergman's Hour of the Wolf; and Peter snaps when he's confronted with a world he can no longer understand. From the Life of the Marionettes differs from other Bergman films in how it introduces sudden and shocking violence in the first few minutes, while establishing dramatic irony in the subsequent scenes about Peter's inevitable killing. Even before Peter is properly introduced, he is seen muttering to a prostitute--named Ka (Rita Russek), short for "Katarina"--that he is "tired". Her attempts to console him are met with violence; she flees--topless--to a stage used for a pornographic peep show, and hides. Tragically, Peter finds her, kills her, and then--as described later by Peter's untrustworthy therapist, Mogens Jensen (Martin Benrath), who Peter called after the murder--sodomizes her. Despite this intentionally appalling prologue, much of the rest of From the Life of the Marionettes is consistent with Bergman's characteristic style--a drama filled with introspective and intimate conversations between people seeking meaning in their lives. Moreover, the opening scene is shot in lurid color, which fades as the life from Ka's body does, a metaphor for Peter's forever altered perception of the world following this hateful act. The provocative (and arguably exploitative) opening is designed to assault the audience with the brutality of horrifying violence, framing the way that Peter's descent in to madness is subsequently interpreted. Shortly afterward, the film cuts away to Mogens giving his testimony to the police, which is followed by a flashback where Peter and his therapist discuss the murderous impulses Peter has been dreaming about. Peter says that he fantasizes about slitting Katarina's throat, and the tension of his fantasy is heightened as he describes a "straight razor" before it emerges on the screen in his twisted dream; in this self-referential moment, the scene is framed just like the famous "mirror scene" from Bergman's Persona. Mogens is one of the first people who might have acted on Peter's obvious call for help; instead, the manipulative shrink patronizes Peter, then phones his wife after he believes Peter has left--not to warn her, but to try to seduce her. Peter shares that he and Katarina maintain an "open relationship", but Peter's face betrays his true feelings; despite this liberal bourgeoisie lifestyle ensnaring him, it is killing his soul. When Mogens finally delivers his "diagnosis" about the subconscious motivations for Peter's murderous rampage, it comes off as spurious at best, and is emblematic of the self-serving therapist's own narcissistic need to categorize Peter's breakdown as something textbook while laying the groundwork to follow through on his own desires for Katarina.
Like with other films by Bergman, the theater is an important trope in From the Life of the Marionettes; even the title insinuates that the characters are little more than puppets playing out a perverse scenario of psychological and physical harm and self-harm. Following Peter's brutal murder of Ka, the police question his friends and family to ascertain why Peter--heretofore an upstanding (if morose) member of society--would engage in such a terrible crime. Peter's mother, Cordelia Egermann (Lola Müthel), is a retired actress; she gives a kind of "performance" for the police, describing happier days from Peter's childhood, including his fascination with a "puppet theater" that he enjoyed with his sister, perhaps foreshadowing the introduction to Bergman's subsequent Fanny and Alexander. Katarina's colleague and confidant is a homosexual named Tim (Walter Schmidinger), who delivers a monologue into his mirror about the terror of aging that recalls Hamlet's famous soliloquy. There is also the sense that Peter and Katarina are always performing for one another's benefit, even when they may not be aware that the other is watching. After Mogens believes that Peter has left his office and invites Katarina over, Katarina refuses his advances--though she considers it for a while--on the basis that she is deeply in love with her husband, despite that she has slept with other men, just as Peter has slept with other women. Does Katarina know that Peter is lurking in the shadows of Mogens's office, spying on her? Regardless, Peter is forced to concede a victory to his wife in the pervading battle of the sexes that has become the preeminent pastime in their relationship. Both Peter and Katarina are successful professionals, and have money to burn as a pair of "DINKs". But their wealth gives them no genuine satisfaction--it is all but a trap that makes them slaves to a social structure completely lacking in depth and meaning. They bicker over multitudinous dinner dates, and trade verbal barbs with one another after a sleepless night following a drunken bacchanal, while imbibing even more alcohol in the wee hours of the morn. Yet even in this scene--and others like it--Peter and Katarina explore feelings of doubt and the malaise that grips them. Peter comments about his weariness, and the paradox of becoming even more weary when asked to describe what it is that makes him feel thus. Peter's job is a soul-crushing, bureaucratic office routine, where he dictates a memo to his secretary (Gaby Dohm) about "amortization" in an intentionally boring scene. Conversely, Katarina enjoys a more creative career as a fashion designer, yet drowns her anxieties in alcohol to cope with the trials and tribulations of upscale living, like a dinner party with Peter's mother. The foreknowledge that Peter will ultimately kill Ka is meant to instill frustration in the audience, because no one else seems to care enough to do anything about his increasingly morbid behavior. His aborted suicide attempt has a servant named Anton (Erwin Faber) actually abandoning him on the high-rise rooftop to go get him a coat because he claims he is cold. This is followed by Peter returning to the apartment, where he and Katarina reopen a wound from the prior evening and air their dirty laundry in front of Anton. She humiliates him by opening mocking his impotence and uses coarse language to describe their sexual activity; Peter glares before leaping on top of Katarina as if to strike her before he retreats into their bedroom. The absurdity of the encounter is underscored when Anton reminds Peter that he has a social engagement in an hour, giving him only a short time to recuperate from nearly killing himself before returning once more to his upscale lifestyle. There is an escalating desperation to find some purpose or profound understanding of life and its meaning in From the Life of the Marionettes, one that constantly eludes the characters--or worse, it destroys them and others in their pursuit of it, draining all of the color out of life, and no amount of opulence or gratification can replace it.
Recommended for: Fans of a poignant yet cynical portrayal of the bitter breakdown of a man's psyche when confronted with the meaninglessness of a hollow lifestyle. Fans of Bergman's films may find the periodic interjections of erotic nudity and violence jarring, but they are a proverbial bucket of ice water thrown on the audience, pulling us from complacency and highlighting the high cost of losing control of the darkness that lurks within us all.
Like with other films by Bergman, the theater is an important trope in From the Life of the Marionettes; even the title insinuates that the characters are little more than puppets playing out a perverse scenario of psychological and physical harm and self-harm. Following Peter's brutal murder of Ka, the police question his friends and family to ascertain why Peter--heretofore an upstanding (if morose) member of society--would engage in such a terrible crime. Peter's mother, Cordelia Egermann (Lola Müthel), is a retired actress; she gives a kind of "performance" for the police, describing happier days from Peter's childhood, including his fascination with a "puppet theater" that he enjoyed with his sister, perhaps foreshadowing the introduction to Bergman's subsequent Fanny and Alexander. Katarina's colleague and confidant is a homosexual named Tim (Walter Schmidinger), who delivers a monologue into his mirror about the terror of aging that recalls Hamlet's famous soliloquy. There is also the sense that Peter and Katarina are always performing for one another's benefit, even when they may not be aware that the other is watching. After Mogens believes that Peter has left his office and invites Katarina over, Katarina refuses his advances--though she considers it for a while--on the basis that she is deeply in love with her husband, despite that she has slept with other men, just as Peter has slept with other women. Does Katarina know that Peter is lurking in the shadows of Mogens's office, spying on her? Regardless, Peter is forced to concede a victory to his wife in the pervading battle of the sexes that has become the preeminent pastime in their relationship. Both Peter and Katarina are successful professionals, and have money to burn as a pair of "DINKs". But their wealth gives them no genuine satisfaction--it is all but a trap that makes them slaves to a social structure completely lacking in depth and meaning. They bicker over multitudinous dinner dates, and trade verbal barbs with one another after a sleepless night following a drunken bacchanal, while imbibing even more alcohol in the wee hours of the morn. Yet even in this scene--and others like it--Peter and Katarina explore feelings of doubt and the malaise that grips them. Peter comments about his weariness, and the paradox of becoming even more weary when asked to describe what it is that makes him feel thus. Peter's job is a soul-crushing, bureaucratic office routine, where he dictates a memo to his secretary (Gaby Dohm) about "amortization" in an intentionally boring scene. Conversely, Katarina enjoys a more creative career as a fashion designer, yet drowns her anxieties in alcohol to cope with the trials and tribulations of upscale living, like a dinner party with Peter's mother. The foreknowledge that Peter will ultimately kill Ka is meant to instill frustration in the audience, because no one else seems to care enough to do anything about his increasingly morbid behavior. His aborted suicide attempt has a servant named Anton (Erwin Faber) actually abandoning him on the high-rise rooftop to go get him a coat because he claims he is cold. This is followed by Peter returning to the apartment, where he and Katarina reopen a wound from the prior evening and air their dirty laundry in front of Anton. She humiliates him by opening mocking his impotence and uses coarse language to describe their sexual activity; Peter glares before leaping on top of Katarina as if to strike her before he retreats into their bedroom. The absurdity of the encounter is underscored when Anton reminds Peter that he has a social engagement in an hour, giving him only a short time to recuperate from nearly killing himself before returning once more to his upscale lifestyle. There is an escalating desperation to find some purpose or profound understanding of life and its meaning in From the Life of the Marionettes, one that constantly eludes the characters--or worse, it destroys them and others in their pursuit of it, draining all of the color out of life, and no amount of opulence or gratification can replace it.
Recommended for: Fans of a poignant yet cynical portrayal of the bitter breakdown of a man's psyche when confronted with the meaninglessness of a hollow lifestyle. Fans of Bergman's films may find the periodic interjections of erotic nudity and violence jarring, but they are a proverbial bucket of ice water thrown on the audience, pulling us from complacency and highlighting the high cost of losing control of the darkness that lurks within us all.