Blogical Conclusion

THE JOKE’S ON HIM

APR 19, 2008 – FLORIAN HENCKEL VON DONNERSMARCK’S THE LIVES OF OTHERS isn’t a funny movie. It’s, in fact, the opposite extreme of everything that’s funny, dealing as it does with the travails of unfortunate playwright Georg Dreyman (Sebastian Koch), who comes under the malevolent, Big Brotherly eye of the East German Government, circa 1984. But it’s impossible not to be amused by the blackness of the humour in a scene that occurs at the lunchroom of the National Security Agency, where Lt. Colonel Grubitz (Ulrich Tukur) and Captain Wiesler (Ulrich Mühe) sit down with their sad trays of whatever was dreamt up in the kitchens of the Stasi, along with a glass of juice to wash it all down. The dreary, cold-grey office environment is by itself depressing enough, but now especially so considering that the previous scene has depicted a birthday celebration in Dreyman’s house, filled with the warm colours of happiness and humanity and hope.

That scene begins with Christa-Maria (Martina Gedeck) – Dreyman’s actress-muse-girlfriend – hanging up party decorations. She gifts him an expensive tie that he doesn’t know how to, well, tie, and he has to accomplish this task with the help of a neighbour (and without Christa-Maria’s knowledge). Then the guests arrive – writers, radicals, free-thinkers all. They argue passionately about freedom of speech and about art and about the artist. And they leave behind presents for Dreyman, whose birthday it is: a salad fork, a pen, and lots and lots of books, even though he’d specifically requested that he didn’t want more books. Then, the light from a small candle doing its bit for the cause, Dreyman walks over to Christa-Maria, who’s sprawled on a couch. He caresses her cheek, runs a hand over a thigh, unzips her dress – and we cut to Wiesler, who’s eavesdropping on them from a floor above, typing out this observation: “We speculated that they had sex.”

This life of these others – that’s what men like Wiesler monitor, with men like Grubitz telling them how to do their job, all in the name of patriotism. But Grubitz isn’t content with yanking Wiesler’s strings, he also wants to exert his authority on the man – we’ll call him joker – who has brought to the table nearby his lunch tray and what he thinks is a hearty joke about Erich, the General Secretary. With all the signs of a born entertainer – eyes twinkling, arms gesticulating, the tone escalating just so in anticipation of the crescendo – the joker begins. And he stops almost at once, his friends having alerted him to the presence of Grubitz.

But there’s not much Grubitz can do with an incomplete attempt at character assassination, however meant in jest, so forcing on himself an air of cheer, he goads the joker, “It’s all right, comrade. It’s okay to tell jokes about leaders of our country.” Unsure, but unwilling to disobey a command this direct, the joker carries on. When he finishes, everyone collapses in loud laughter – everyone except Wiesler, who throws in the joker’s direction a you-poor-bastard stare – and when they’ve collected themselves, Grubitz asks the joker, who’s just picked up a spoon and a salt shaker to tuck into lunch, “Your name?” The joker freezes. “Stiller,” he offers, and he thinks he’s doomed as the questions continue. “ID number? Department?” Stiller looks downward, as if willing the earth to open up and swallow him whole – but then something strange happens. Grubitz begins to laugh again. “Good story,” he chortles, “but it needs work.” All appears to be well in the fatherland again – until we reach the end of the film and discover that Stiller is serving time in Stasi purgatory, otherwise called the Department of Steaming Open Letters for Inspection by Higher-ups. Grubitz did, after all, have the last laugh.

Copyright ©2008 The New Indian Express. This article may not be reproduced in its entirety without permission. A link to this URL, instead, would be appreciated.