Berlinale. "Pink"

By David Hudson on 02/17/2009

As the final credits rolled, Andrew Grant murmured, "What a strange little film." Agreed. Days later, though, and heaven knows, many more films later, we were still talking about it. We agreed that we both probably liked it, but at the same time, each of us conceded that we also didn't really know what to make of "Pink." The director himself, Rudolf Thome, likens it to "a film from another planet. Anyone who can't engage with the way the story unfolds or with the holes in the story and the humor that lies hidden within it, has no hope of understanding or loving this film."

Now, Thome, though he's relatively unknown in the US, has been on the German film scene for some time, starting out as a film critic-turned-filmmaker in the early 60s. He's hung with some hefty figures, his films have won awards - and that, I must admit, was more or less the extent of my awareness of him when I walked into "Pink." You can read a short bio here, but I recommend the "Sort of Autobiographie" I've only just now caught up with; it takes us from 1962 to 1980.

But back to the brisk 82 minutes of "Pink." The film's title is also the persona of a young poet with a real name so bland it's got to come with a wink: Suzi Bauer, played by a rising star with an apter name, Hannah Herzsprung ("Four Minutes," "The Baader Meinhof Complex"). She's a "punk" poet, of all things, suggesting that, while the film is set in a generic present, this present is skewed more than a bit. On her seemingly endless book tour, Pink performs before unreservedly dedicated fans in a jet-black wig, shades, a tight skirt - an outfit that comes off as a revival of that moment all those years ago when punk gave way to New Wave and MTV, when the filth and the fury had been made safe for consumption. Pink has angry things to say about life and love and all the rest and her audiences applaud and buy her books and she signs them and she's off to meet her three lovers, all at once, standing there in a row with their bouquets, none of them showing the slightest sign of irritation with the other two.

The light-footed pace suggests French comedy, but Thome plays nothing for laughs - even when Pink announces to her three suitors that she's been chatting with God (though she does leave a door open; it might not have been God after all) and that she'll be marrying one of them once she decides which'll make the best fit (this entails a night spent literally adding up the positive points each has to offer on a calculator). It may seem she's dropping that "punk" persona, but not at all; as the story has plays out, it becomes clear that her whiplash decisions throughout three marriages and an affair have not been whimsical or impulsive but quick - each intended to move her sooner rather than later towards her ultimate goal, which is nothing more and nothing less than to be happy.

It's a goal as plain - and as popular - as her poetry. You'd think that happiness would spoil the appeal of a gun-toting punk poet, that her fans would turn on her, but Thome is full of gentle surprises. Is this an anti-urban story? A plea to settle for small pleasures? Does the fact that an idyllic passage was shot on Thome's own patch of land in the country suggest that "Pink" is a "Sort of Autobiographie"? Maybe, maybe.

As for the roundup, I haven't seen many reviews. Variety's Alissa Simon seems anxious to dismiss "Pink" and move on, but Ekkehard Knörer, writing in Perlentaucher (and in German), is quite taken with the film. Scroll way down.

Tags: Berlinale 2009, Hannah Herzsprung, Rudolf Thome