Sandra Hüller Takes Off in “Toni Erdmann”

There was German actress Sandra Hüller at the Oscars last weekend, looking sleek and pretty as she beamed for the cameras. But we also saw her on-screen in film clips: as an accused murderer cruelly deriding her late husband; as a Nazi wife purring gleefully as she tried on someone else’s fur coat and lipstick. So what are we to make of this woman, formerly unknown to most American audiences? Out of curiosity, I decided to watch the 2016 German film that first put Hüller on the world cinema map. Toni Erdmann, written and directed by Maren Ade, won awards all over Europe, and was an Oscar nominee for foreign language feature. I knew nothing about it, but sensed it was off-beat. An English-language poster full of review quotes contained language like this: “Wildly imaginative!” and “It’s absolutely nuts!”

 It's also long (162 minutes), and for much of the early going I debated about switching off the video. The story begins with a white-haired German man, Winfried Conradi, opening the door to a delivery guy and implying that the package that’s arriving contains bomb-making materials. Winfried, who’s a divorced music teacher, likes to play bizarre practical jokes, sometimes donning a mop of a wig and a snaggly set of fake teeth to shock those around him. Hüller enters later as his grown daughter Ines, a successful businesswoman visiting from her high-power job in Bucharest, Romania. She’s in town to visit relatives, but can’t be torn away from her ever-present mobile phone.

 The scene shifts to Bucharest, where we see more of Ines’ work life. Under constant stress from a need to please her bosses, she shoves herself daily into a business-like dark suit and very high heels, then coils her blonde hair into a tight French twist before setting out to make presentations to clients. She has a social life of sorts, but it’s always being interrupted by her strong sense of obligation to bosses who don’t always seem to have her best interests in mind. It’s only in a scene with her co-worker/lover—she’s uncharacteristically wearing a short, tight dress that doesn’t flatter—that we start to discover she’s incapable of truly feeling pleasure.

 Into this tense atmosphere comes Winfried in his wig and fake teeth, introducing himself to Ines and her colleagues as an unlikely “life coach” named Toni Erdmann. The more that Ines tries to send him back to Germany, the more he pops up in her life, mingling with those in her circle and even claiming to be the German ambassador: they try to be polite but are clearly confused.  It’s at this juncture that Ines seems to reach her breaking point. She’s been asked by the higher-ups to turn her birthday celebration into a team-building exercise via a party at her comfortable flat. She’s put out a spread of fancy foods and is struggling to pull herself into a colorful frock . . . but then something in her seems to give way. I won’t spoil all the surprises, but will merely say that after that wild and crazy sequence the audience starts looking at Ines in an entirely different way.

 By the end, we’re back in Winfried’s German home town, for the staging of an elderly relative’s funeral. Once again father and daughter come together, for an interchange that’s surprisingly poignant. Both, I think, have changed—but Ines has clearly learned some key truths about herself, and we expect her future will be somehow much different from what has gone before. Brava to Sandra Hüller, who has shown us that she contains many possibilities.  

 

Going for the Gold: The 2024 Oscar Ceremony

        

For years, ever since I can remember, I’ve watched the Oscar telecast. At first it was a chance to participate in my parents’ world by discovering the movies that excited them. I vividly recall how thrilled they were when the modestly-budgeted Marty beat out some schmaltzy epics like Love is a Many Splendored Thing. And decades later, during my father’s final illness, I remember him cheering for Schindler’s List at a time when he was much too frail to actually watch such an intense drama. In 1968, for perhaps the first time, I’d seen all the  Best Picture nominees, and felt that most of them (The Graduate, Bonnie and Clyde, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, In the Heat of the Night) significantly touched on the issues that were rocking my own world. My fascination with the 1968 ceremony—which gave golden statuettes to In the Heat of the Night and director Mike Nichols for The Graduate—led me in a highly roundabout way to the writing of my most recent book, Seduced by Mrs. Robinson.

 All and all, I’ve loved the pomp and circumstance surrounding the Oscars. Which doesn’t mean I’ve always agreed with the prize-winners. And certain ceremonies, like that weird mid-pandemic celebration held at L.A.’s Union Station (it was all set up to give its ultimate honor to the late Chadwick Boseman, but Anthony Hopkins spoiled the party) have left me with a bad taste in my mouth. But I agree with those pundits proclaiming this year’s event as one of the best in recent memory. First of all, the nominees were an exciting mix of supersized blockbusters, intimate dramas, and comedies that had something to say. I also appreciated the internationalism of the nominee roster, including the fact that the five powerful films on the feature-length documentary list were all from countries outside the U.S. One of the evening’s most powerful moments came when the Ukrainian director of 20 Days in Mariupol proclaimed that he wished his film hadn’t needed to be made, but that in documenting the Russian invasion of one of Ukraine’s largest cities he was obeying the precept that “cinema forms memories and memories form history.”  I appreciated, too, the carefully crafted words of Jonathan Glazer, Oscar-winner for a uniquely staged Holocaust drama, The Zone of Interest, who decried both the October 7 massacre in Israel and the deaths now dominating the news from Gaza.

 It was also worth noting that German-born actress Sandra Hüller was introduced to many of us via not one but two best picture nominees, The Zone of Interest and Anatomy of Fall. For her performance in the latter, she was nominated for a Best Actress statuette. Though she didn’t win, she aroused my curiosity to the point where I sat down to watch an earlier Hüller-starring vehicle, Toni Erdmann, in which I saw far more of her than I expected. The Oscars can definitely be considered educational.

 But of course an Oscar ceremony wouldn’t be fun without a large dose of silliness. In that category I’d put the evening’s most extravagant musical number, the pink and perky “I’m Just Ken” from Barbie. I’d also include some pretty hilarious gowns, so extravagantly poufy that woe to anyone sitting next to the wearer of one of them. (Paul Giamatti, though, didn’t seem to mind.) Also in the silly category, the very undraped, very muscle-bound John Cena presenting the statuette for Best Costume Design. And, too, something I only THOUGHT was a gag, a social media post from a certain former U.S. President lambasting Jimmy Kimmel’s hosting gig. Yes, it really happened.

 

For Valentine’s Day and Beyond . . .”The Taste of Things”

Anatomy of a Fall is one of ten films in the running for the Best Picture Oscar.  This twisty courtroom drama, filmed in French, also copped four other nominations, including Best Director (Justine Triet), Best Original Screenplay, and Best Actress (Sandra Hüller, also mesmerizing as the Nazi wife in The Zone of Interest). One nomination that has eluded Anatomy of a Fall is for Best International Feature. According to Academy rules, the candidates for this foreign-language category must be nominated by their nation of origin, and no more than one nominee per country is permitted. The film folks of France, in their wisdom, chose not to so honor the very impressive Anatomy of a Fall. Instead they backed a romantic drama that is just now making the rounds in the U.S. Its English-language title is The Taste of Things.

 If you watch The Taste of Things,  you’ll understand why it won the French seal of approval. It stars, first of all, the luminous Juliette Binoche, sometimes in the altogether. And it focuses on two subjects beloved by the French populace: l’amour and la cuisine. This story of a circle of gourmands wining and dining in the nineteenth-century French countryside is full of witty chat about the joys of food, about how it would be even more exciting to develop a brand-new dish than to discover a brand-new planet. Food, in this narrative, comes before everything, even sex: marriage is wittily described as dinner and then dessert. For these characters, it’s perfectly logical that Adam ate an apple before discovering just what else Eve had to offer.

 Here's the situation: Dodin, a clearly well-heeled landowner so passionate about food that (to his embarrassment) he’s known in some circles as the Napoleon of gastronomy, has a complicated relationship with his live-in cook, Eugénie. Together, in a kitchen entirely lacking today’s electrical appliances, they craft fabulous meals that delight his circle of male friends.  Eugénie knows she’s welcome to join these gatherings, but she seems radiantly content to keep to her place in the kitchen, enjoying the labors of food preparation and the hearty satisfaction of their guests. At times she also welcomes Dodin as a bedmate, but continues to make it clear that she will not marry him, that she requires the right to her own solitude, when she so chooses.

 Nonetheless, these two are bound together so tightly, thanks to their mutual passion for food and food preparation, that it seems impossible to imagine them ever completely apart. A curious sidenote: lead actors Binoche and Benoît Magimel were romantically involved for five years early in this century. They welcomed a daughter together, but later moved on. In the film, though the relationship faces a moment of parting, love survives in a mysterious but truly appropriate way. 

  I have no idea what kind of cook Binoche might be in real life. But the camera captures her (and Magimel) deftly crafting the most simple but elegant of dishes. She smiles beatifically while crimping a crust, decorating a cake, surveying her garden produce, or watching the delight of a smart child who appreciates the subtle ingredients of her broth. There’s something earthy about her that suits this role, and I recall a similar pairing of Binoche and delicious flavors in Chcocolat. In that lovely English-language film, directed in 2000 by Lasse Hallstrōm, she played a rather magical maker of confectionary delights that transform the malcontents of a small French town into happy hedonists. If you’ve ever wondered about the link between Binoche’s beauty and a just-ripe pear, this is the film for you.