Film and the German Left in the Weimar Republic

1. Among others, see Herman G. Weinberg, The Lubitsch Touch: A Critical Study; Lotte Eisner, The Haunted Screen: Expressionism in German Cinema and the Influence of Max Reinhardt, trans. Roger Greaves; Roger Manvell and Hermann Fraenkel, The German Cinema; and Lee Atwell, G. W. Pabst. The trend continues in the 1980s with a variety of publications, including the illustrated Klassiker des deutschen Stummfilms. 1910–1930, ed. Ilona Brennicke and Joe Hembus.

2. Among others, see Siegfried Kracauer, From Caligari to Hitler: A Psychological History of German Film; George Huaco, The Sociology of Film Art; and Paul Monaco, Cinema and Society.

3. For a recent account of filmmaking in the FRG during the immediate postwar period, see, among others, Claudius Seidl, Der deutsche Film der fünfziger Jahre.

4. Among others, see Peter Jansen and Wolfram Schütte, eds., Film in der DDR, 7–56. The volume includes a good bibliography.

5. In addition to the original English version, a revised German translation was published in 1958. See Von Caligari bis Hitler. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des deutschen Films (Hamburg: Rowohlt, 1958). For an unabridged translation, see Siegfried Kracauer, in Von Caligari zu Hitler Schriften, ed. Karsten Witte, vol. 2. Here, see the introduction: 3–11.

6. V. I. Lenin, Collected Works, trans. Bernard Isaacs and Joe Feinberg, ed. Julius Katzer, 20:24.

7. See, for example, Heinz J. Furian, “Zwischen ‘Caligarismus’ und Realismus,” Deutsche Filmkunst 1–4 (1957) and 1–4 (1958). Here, 1 (1957): 10.

8. Among others, see Karl Tümmler, “Deutsche Arbeiterbewegung und nationaler Film,” Deutsche Filmkunst 10 (1962): 384–385; Gerd Meier, “Materialien zur Geschichte der Prometheus Film-Verleih und Vertriebs-GmbH. 1926–1932,” Deutsche Filmkunst 1–8 (1962): 12–16, 57–60, 97–99, 137–140, 177–180, 221–224, 275–277, 310–312; Film und revolutionäre Arbeiterbewegung in Deutschland. 1918–1932 (FurAbiD), ed. Gertraude Kühn, Karl Tümmler, Walter Wimmer, 2 vols.; and Mutter Krausens Fahrt ins Glück. Filmprotokoll und Materialien, ed. Rudolf Freund and Michael Hanisch.

9. See, for example, Willi Lüdecke, Film in Agitation und Propaganda der revolutionären deutschen Arbeiterbewegung (1919–1933); Toni Stooss, “Erobert den Film! oder ‘Prometheus’ gegen ‘Ufa’ & Co.,” 4–47; Yvonne Leonard, “Die verdoppelte Illusion,” 48–64; Peter Schumann, “‘Aus der Waffenschmiede der SPD.’ Zur sozialdemokratischen Filmarbeit in der Weimarer Republik,” 77–85, in Erobert den Film! ed. Die Neue Gesellschaft für Bildende Künste (NGBK) and the Freunde der deutschen Kinemathek e.V.; and Helmut Körte, ed., Film und Realität in der Weimarer Republik. In addition to these, see Stefan Swoboda, “Zur theoretischen und praktischen Aneignung des Mediums Film durch die revolutionäre deutsche Arbeiterbewegung bis 1933 unter besonderer Berücksichtigung von Mutter Krausens Fahrt ins Glück (1929) und Kuhle Wampe oder Wem gehört die Welt (1932),” Diplomarbeit; and Rudolf Schweigert, “Proletarischer Film und bürgerliche Reaktion, klassenkämpferische Auseinandersetzungen um die Zensur der Filme Panzerkreuzer Potemkin (1926) und Kuhle Wampe (1932),” Magister arbeit. The interest in the relationship between film and politics in the Weimer Republic continues in the 1980s, although the interest is no longer linked as strongly to programmatic political struggle. See, for example, Sybille Engels, “Der Film im Propagandaverständnis deutscher Parteien in der Weimarer Republik,” Magisterarbeit; and Monique Lavallée, “Ideologievermittlung im Film—untersucht am Beispiel des deutschen expressionistischen Films der Weimarer Republik,” Magisterarbeit. See also the special issue of New German Critique 40 (1987), which was devoted to Weimar film theory.

10. The theoretical and sociological categories posited by Peter Bächlin in Der Film als Ware and Dieter Prokop in “Versuch über Massenkultur und Spontaneität,” in Materialien zur Theorie des Films, 1–44, provide guidelines without restricting the analytical orientation.

1. A number of film historians have outlined the birth of cinema in Germany. For a concise account, see Oskar Kaibus, Vom Werden deutscher Filmkunst 2: 5–17; Curt Moreck, Sittengeschichte des Kinos, 8–20; and Emilie Altenloh, Zur Soziologie des Kinos. Die Kino-Unternehmung und die sozialen Schichten ihrer Besucher.

1. Siegfried Kracauer, Caligari, 15. For more specific information about the development of the commercial film industry—production, distribution, and screening—see Bächlin, 19–33; Anton Kaes, Kino-Debatte, 1–36; and Jerzy Toeplitz, Geschichte des Films 1896–1928, trans. Lilli Kaufmann, 1: 36–42.

2. Producers also began to consider ways to minimize production costs while maximizing profit. Borrowing already existing stories from theater, literature, and folklore enabled producers to decrease the cost of script production and increase the potential for commercial success. For more information about the quality of such changes and their effect on the German public sphere, see Altenloh, Zur Soziologie des Kinos. See also Miriam Hansen, “Early Silent Cinema: Whose Public Sphere?” New German Critique 29 (Spring/Summer 1983): 147–184.

3. One of Germany’s first film stars was Henny Porten. She began her film career in 1906 by appearing in her father’s films. In 1910 Oskar Messter “discovered” Henny Porten and offered her an exclusive contract. She ultimately became one of the most popular film personalities of the Weimar era.

4. For more information, see Kracauer, 18, and Gerhard Zaddach, “Der literarische Film. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Lichtspielkunst,” 17, 22–29, 30–38. See also Anton Kaes’s “The Debate about Cinema: Charting a Controversy (1909–1929),” trans. David J. Levin, New German Critique 40 (Winter 1987): 7–33.

5. Unless otherwise noted, translations are my own.

6. Franz Förster commented on the change in “Das Kinoproblem und die Arbeiter” (“The Cinema and the Workers,” Die Neue Zeit, 26 December 1913, 484–487). “One speaks of falsified portrayals of our leaders’ and government’s actions. Of course, an enlightened working-class audience should have no time for that. However, those scenes from films about geography, folklore, and technology, which serve instructional purposes, are recommended” (484).

7. For more general information, see Arthur Rosenberg, Imperial Germany: The Birth of the German Republic 1871–1918, trans. Ian F. D. Morrow, 1–32; Gordon Craig, Germany 1865–1945, 39–60; and Wilhelm L. Guttsman, The German Social Democratic Party, 1875–1933.

8. See Craig, 181–186. The Wilhelminian educational system discouraged working-class children from following the course of study that led to a university education. Those students from families with low incomes, who did attend the Gymnasium, found it difficult to raise the money necessary for a university education. And the conservative makeup of university faculties hindered those who criticized the existing order from surviving in the academic community. For more detailed information about the cultural program of the SPD during the Wilhelminian era, see Vernon Lidtke, The Alternative Culture: Socialist Labor in Imperial Germany.

9. See Georg Fülberth, Proletarische Partei und bürgerliche Literatur. As Fülberth noted: “Even in Die Neue Zeit the majority of contributions on literature is characterized by an attempt to interpret bourgeois ideology from an artistic point of view. The contributors attempted to distinguish clearly between politics and aesthetics without compromising themselves politically” (38). For a concise account of the development of the concept of autonomous art in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, see Peter Bürger, “Institution Literatur und Modernisierungsprozeß,” in Zum Punktionswandel der Literatur, ed. Peter Bürger, 9–32.

10. During the 1890s a small but vociferous minority did challenge the belief in a separation between aesthetics and politics. Some, including Edgar Steiger, Heinz Sperber, and Lu Märten, even contemplated a Marxist aesthetics.

11. See, especially, 16–17. Wagner notes: “Observing the measures of our enemies teaches us clearly that, during these difficult times, it is absolutely necessary to pay attention to the mood of the people. As a result, we must pay attention to cinema, for it is cinema that is able to influence so decisively. The goal of our efforts consists in the use of cinema in the national interest. We must see to it that cinema serves to enlighten and at the same time is capable of influencing the emotions of the populace in an appropriate manner. The Bild-und-Filmamt is responsible for helping to accomplish these tasks.”

12. Quoted in Weimarer Republik, ed. Kunstamt Kreuzberg and the Institut für Theaterwissenschaft der Universität Köln, 433.

1. For more detailed information about the development of factions that led to the formation of a majority SPD (MSPD), see Hans Manfred Bock, Geschichte des ‘linken Radikalismus’ in Deutschland. Ein Versuch, 74–97.

2. For more detailed information, see Bächlin, 34–54.

3. The Deutsches Lichtspiel Syndikat was the most powerful organization within a single branch. It was a distribution company formed by a number of important cinema owners who agreed to show their films under preferential conditions. By 1927 it controlled over five hundred theaters. The most impressive cartel between branches was Ufa. Its activity in all branches was ensured when the government allowed it to subsume Nordisk, Messter, and PAGU at its inception. By 1921 it had also acquired Decla and Bioscop, two companies that had merged just a year earlier.

4. The best sources of information about the Phöbus affair are the detailed trade journal reports of late 1927. See, for example, “Die Phoebus dementiert” (“Phoebus Denies”), L.B.B., 10 August 1927; “Urn die Phoebus” (“About Phoebus”), L.B.B., 12 November 1927; and “Skandalfilm der Reichswehr” (“Film Scandal of the Army”), Die Welt am Abend, 21 October 1927. A little later Otto Nebelthau wrote a novel based on the scandal; see his Kapitän Thiele. Ein geschichtlicher Roman aus unseren Tagen. See also Otto Gessler, “Affäre Lohmann—Ein Kapitel für sich,” in Reichswehrpolitik in der Weimarer Zeit, ed. Kurt Sendtner, 443–457.

5. See his “Bedeutung des Films” (“The Meaning of Film”), Moderne Kinematographie, 1920, 26–32. Cited in Kracauer, 47.

6. For information about expressionism in German film, see Rudolf Kurtz, Expressionismus und Film; Eisner, The Haunted Screen; Huaco, 27–84; and Marc Silberman, “Industry, Text and Ideology in Expressionist Film,” in Passion and Rebellion: The Expressionist Heritage, ed. Eric Bromer and Douglas Kellner, 374–383. From the perspective of audiences who experienced daily the contested transition from authoritarian monarchy to parliamentary democracy, the suggested readings of the cited films seem very plausible. Of course, other readings also are possible. For information about psychoanalytic approaches, see, among others, Thomas Elsaesser, “Cinema—the Irresponsible Signifier, or ‘the Gamble with History’: Film Theory or Cinema Theory?” New German Critique 40 (1987): 65–89; and Patrice Petro, “Modernity and Mass Culture in Weimar: Contours of a Discourse on Sexuality in Early Theories of Perception and Representation,” New German Critique 40 (1987): 115–146.

7. In September 1919, when The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari had its premiere at the Marmorhaus in Berlin, moviegoers demonstrated against it, demanding refunds. After two showings the theater dropped the film from its program, and no other theater would show it. In response Pommer decided to launch a sophisticated publicity campaign, covering Berlin with posters depicting Conrad Veidt and captions such as “You must see Caligari!” “Have you seen Caligari?” etc. After six months of publicity, the same theater took the film again, and it played for three months. See Huaco, 34.

8. Moreck, 122–144. Here Moreck discusses a number of films in which the rules of conventional morality are broken. The transgressor suffers, and a father or some other representative of the patriarchal order plays the role of the savior. I would suggest that the perceived recipient for most of these films was the petty-bourgeois male. Some of the films certainly were pitched to the perceived interests of female audiences; however, I would argue that in those cases the female spectator was perceived first as petty-bourgeois and secondly as female. For a detailed consideration of this issue and the possibility for discerning patterns of female spectatorship within this framework, see Patrice Petro, Joyless Streets: Women and Melodramatic Representation in Weimar Germany.

9. The censorship board’s close scrutiny of the German left’s film activity gained notoriety when Münzenberg submitted Battleship Potemkin at the beginning of 1926. The scrutiny intensified after 1929. While rejecting Prometheus films, such as Falschmünzer (Counterfeiters, 1928), SPD films, such as Ins Dritte Reich (Into the Third Reich, 1931), and even the commercial Im Westen Nichts Neues (All Quiet on the Western Front, 1930), the board accepted Der alte Fritz (Old Fritz, 1927), Die letzte Kompagnie (The Last Company, 1930), and Berge in Flammen (Mountains in Flames, 1931). For more information on censorship laws and practice, see Peter A. Hagemann, Reichsfilmgesetze von 1895–1945, and Wolfgang Petzet, Verbotene Filme. Eine Streitschrift.

1. For more detailed information, see “Die Veredelung des Films” (“The Refinement of Film”), Vorwärts, 7 February 1920; Kracauer, 46; and Moreck, 37–39. The National Assembly rejected the proposals and, instead, passed the Motion Picture Law. When viewed from this perspective, censorship was the lesser of two evils for individuals who held positions of leadership in the industry. Censorship boards could influence their decision-making process, but that was certainly preferable to losing control of the process completely.

2. The articles were A. Knoll, “Die Theater- und Filmgewerkschaft der Zukunft” (“The Theater and Film Union of the Future”), an article supporting the trade union movement; Joseph Frank, “Der Film von heute” (“The Film of Today”), which bemoans low artistic and moral quality of popular entertainment films, advocates censorship, and promotes educational films; and Hedwig Wachenheim, “Filmkunst- und -leid” (“Film Art and Suffering”), a short history of cinema that criticizes commercial film, remains skeptical about nationalization, and encourages the party to become more active in cinema.

1. For a detailed account of the revolutionary left’s development during the period, see Ossip K. Fletchheim, Die KPD in der Weimarer Republik, 118–190; Hans Manfred Bock, 74–132; and Ben Fowkes, Communism in Germany under the Weimar Republic, 19–109.

2. For a more detailed account of the revolutionary left’s approach to cultural activity during the crisis years, see Literatur de batten in der Weimarer Republik, ed. Manfred Nössig et al., 9–222; and Walter Fähnders and Martin Rector, Literatur im Klassenkampf. Zur proletarisch-revolutionären Literaturtheorie 1919–1923.

3. Bock, 89–92; Flechtheim, 126–128; and Fowkes, 19–23, offer more detailed accounts.

4. See Bock, 76–89; Flechtheim, 77–117; and Fowkes, 19–23.

5. For a more detailed discussion of this, see Bock, 105–115; Flechtheim, 133–137; and Fowkes, 24–73.

6. For example, after the Spartacists and the leftist radicals split at the Second Party Congress, the Comintern exerted pressure on the KPD to reconcile with those who had founded the Kommunistische Arbeiterpartei Deutschlands (KAPD). As a result, Paul Levi, Clara Zetkin, Ernst Däumig, Adolf Hoffman, and Otto Brass relinquished their Central Committee positions in the KPD. That paved the way for the left-leaning Soviet faction under the leadership of Heinrich Brandler and August Thalheimer to initiate the unsuccessful March uprisings of 1921. When the uprisings failed, the Comintern refused to recall Levi, who had criticized Soviet influence, but easily convinced Brandler that the revolutionary phase had ended.

7. There has been no comprehensive study of the Proletkulfs reception in Germany. For a Soviet perspective on the Proletkult, see, among others, Wladimir Gorbunow, Lenin und der Proletkult, trans. Ullrich Kuhirt and Ruth Czichon. Gorbunow’s work includes an introductory chapter in which he evaluates Soviet research on the Proletkult. For the contemporary East German perspective, see Literaturdebatten, 197–222. For the West German perspective, see Walter Fahnders and Martin Rector, Linksradikalismus und Literatur, 2 vols., 1: 129–145. See also Proletarische Kulturrevolution Sowjetrußland. 1917–1924, ed. Richard Lorenz; Friedrich Wolfgang Knelleson, Agitation auf der Bühne, 256–270; and Peter Gorson and Eberhard Knödler-Bunte, Proletkult. See also Garland Eugene Crouch, The Theory and Practice of A. A. Bogdanov’s Proletcult, and John H. Zammito, The Great Debate: ‘Bolshevism’ and the Literary Left in Germany, 1917–1930, 57–80.

8. For a more detailed account of this, see Fähnders and Rector, Literatur im Klassenkampf, 22–26.

9. For more information, see Fähnders and Rector, Literatur im Klassenkampf, 26–29.

10. The psychoanalytical work of Otto Gross and the vitalism and anarchism of Erich Mühsam’s Gruppe Tat had influenced Jung as he developed concepts of collective rhythm, pleasure, and work. For more general information about Franz Jung, see his autobiography, Der Weg nach unten. Fahnders and Rector discuss Jung’s Proletkult experiments in Literatur im Klassenkampf, 29–31, and in Linksradikalismus und Literatur 1: 160–219. See also Literaturdebatten, 214–220.

11. Quoted in Fahnders and Rector, Linksradikalismus und Literatur 1: 180.

12. In Literaturdebatten, Nössig et al. explain this in greater detail; see 139–144.

13. See, for example, Clara Zetkin’s comments in “Gegen das Kinowesen” (“In Opposition to Cinema”).

14. For more information on Balázs, see Joseph Zsuffa, Béla Balázs: The Man and the Artist. See also Béla Balázs, Essay, Kritik 1922–1932, ed. Gertraude Kühn et al.

15. For more detailed information, see Lüdecke, 30–31, and Yvonne Leonard, “Die verdoppelte Illusion” (“The Doubled Illusion”), in Erobert den Film! 51.

16. Alexander Gorbunow provides the most detailed account, 98–189.

17. Gorbunow, 191–192. The conflict with the Proletkult occurred during a period in which Lenin and other Bolshevist leaders strove to develop Soviet society on the principles of democratic centralism. The Bolsheviks generally favored the centralist element in their approach to political and cultural organization. The threat of counterrevolution and the radically differing political and cultural viewpoints within the Soviet Union motivated Bolshevik leaders to emphasize an approach to culture that would allow them to promote the concepts that helped them to gain political power and to control the spread of dissenting opinions. They perceived film, theater, literature, and other art forms as educational tools to be used by the party’s vanguard to illustrate what they perceived as the laws of natural and social development.

18. Kerschenzev’s proposal resembled those of Dr. Wagner and others who had sought to use film to manipulate public opinion and win support for Germany’s efforts in World War I.

19. Toni Stooss outlines this in more detail. See his “Erobert den Film!” (“Conquer Film!”), in Erobert den Film! 18–19. For more detailed information on the birth and early development of the IAH, see Rolf Surmann’s Die Münzenberg-Legende. Zur Publizistik der revolutionären deutschen Arbeiterbewegung 1921–1933.

1. For an introduction to the political, economic, and social history of the period, see, among others, Arthur Rosenberg, Geschichte der Weimarer Republik, ed. Kurt Kersten, 125–155; Helmut Heiber, Die Republik von Weimar, 115–151; A.J. Ryder, Twentieth-Century Germany: From Bismarck to Brandt, 245–282; and Craig, 469–533. I have based my introduction to Part Two to a large extent on information derived from these sources.

2. For more detailed information on the role of Hugo Stinnes and other speculators in Germany’s economy during the crisis years, see Curt Geyer, Drei Verderber Deutschlands, especially the chapter on Stinnes, 27–55.

3. Most Weimar histories focus almost exclusively on the German public’s antibolshevism and fascination with the United States. Yet, as the following chapter will demonstrate, both right- and left-wing political leaders, newspaper journalists, and to some extent the German people also criticized the constantly growing economic and cultural presence of the United States in Germany, while expressing a fair amount of fascination with the new Soviet society and its cultural products.

1. Kracauer, Caligari, 131. For more detailed information about the petty-bourgeois mentality in Germany during the period, see Siegfried Kracauer, Die Angestellten, in Schriften, ed. Karsten Witte, 1: 205–281. For information about the similarities and differences between working-class and petty-bourgeois attitudes, see Erich Fromm, The Working Class in Weimar Germany, trans. Barbara Weinberger, ed. Wolfgang Bonss.

2. Lion Feuchtwanger succinctly described the proportional relationship between monarchists and republicans in Erfolg. In “Einige historische Daten” (“Some Historical Facts”), Book II, Chapter 14, 228, he notes: “In democratic Germany the advocates of feudal authority, the parties of the right, were slightly superior in numbers to the advocates of a more socially oriented government, the parties of the left. The materially less endowed belonged for the most part to the parties of the left, and the intellectually less endowed to the parties of the right.” For an English translation, see Lion Feuchtwanger, Success, trans. Willa and Edwin Muir. I have used my own translation.

3. As a result of their efforts, Ufa received a loan of seventeen million marks, and its Hollywood partners agreed to distribute ten Ufa films of their choice yearly in their U.S. theaters. In return, Ufa was obliged to distribute ten Universal films and to join Paramount and MGM in organizing the Parufamet distribution company. Parufamet would distribute twenty films from each participating company. Paramount and MGM could choose their films for Parufamet distribution without consulting Ufa, and they stipulated that Ufa fill 75 percent of the screening time capacity in its theaters with Parufamet films. The Lichtbild-Bühne (L.B.B.) described the agreement succinctly in “Amerikanisierung der Ufa?” (“Americanization of Ufa?”), 9 January 1926.

4. According to a summary of government import control, which accompanied the published explanation of the 1930 law, as of 13 January 1925 a specific number of foreign films to be imported was no longer set. Instead, the government permitted distributors to import one foreign film for each German film they distributed. See Fritz Olimsky’s dissertation, “Tendenzen der Filmwirtschaft und deren Auswirkung auf die Filmpresse,” 55. Olimsky has thoroughly explained the contingency system and its abuse by commercial companies.

5. For a full account, see “Die Terra-Generalversammlung” (“The Terra Plenary Session”), L.B.B., 15 September 1927.

6. For example, the L.B.B. reported on 4 June 1926, in an article entitled “Ludovicus Rex und seine Hintermänner” (“Ludovicus Rex and His Cohorts”), that a group of wealthy Bavarians had organized to finance films with a reactionary ideological orientation. Hilde Kramer, in “Die neue Film-Saison” (“The New Film Season”), Die Rote Fahne, 29 June 1926, claimed that the group included representatives of the German aristocracy, major industrial concerns, and the landed gentry. They financed films that were produced by the Deutscher Film GmbH in Munich.

7. See Ludwig Bernhard, Der Hugenberg-Konzern, 91–93; and “Scherl soll die Ufa finanzieren!” (“Scherl to Finance Ufa!”), L.B.B., 21 February 1927.

8. “Aus dem Ufa-Konzern” (“From the Ufa Concern”), Die Rote Fahne, 28 December 1926.

9. “Die Filmzentrale des Filmkapitals” (“The Film Center of Film Capital”), Die Rote Fahne, 23 April 1927.

10. “Die Ufa Auslieferung an Hugenberg perfekt” (“Ufa’s Delivery to Hugenberg Complete”), Die Rote Fahne, 1 April 1927.

11. John A. Leopold has outlined in great detail the emergence and development of the association. See Alfred Hugenberg: The Radical National Campaign against the Weimar Republic.

12. For a detailed description of Hugenberg’s political program, see Leopold, 27–54.

13. Jahrbuch der Filmindustrie (Berlin, 1928), 181, quoted in Weimarer Republik, 464.

14. See, among others, Kracauer, Caligari, 134.

15. For a list of board members, see “Die Filmzentrale des Filmkapitals” (“The Film Center of Film Capital”), Die Rote Fahne, 23 April 1927. For a list of directors in 1928, see “Der neue Ufa-Vorstand” (“The New Ufa Executives”), L.B.B., 24 January 1928. All subsequent references to Ufa executive committee meetings derive from the Ufa Vorstandsprotokolle located in the Bundesarchiv Koblenz. Numbers refer to package numbers.

16. See, for example, “Filmgeschäft mit Rußland” (“Film Deal with Russia”), L.B.B., 1 May 1926.

1. The L.B.B. filed a succinct report in “Der neue Kurs der Ufa” (“Ufa’s New Course”), 15 September 1927.

2. The law was established in 1921, and Fridericus Rex was the first film to enjoy the tax advantage. See the review of Fridericus Rex in Kinematograph, 23 April 1922.

3. For a description of the Lustbarkeitssteuer, see Olimsky, 54–58; or Monaco, 46–47.

4. See FurAbiD 1: 266. The only films associated with the political left to receive the Lampe Committee’s approval were the 1929 Soviet documentary Pamir (see the review of Pamir in Film-Kurier, 7 June 1929) and Pudovkin’s Sturm über Asien (see Monaco, 58).

5. Information derived from personal interviews with Carl Junghans (August 1978), Erne Beier (Meseke) (November 1981), and Ilse Trautschold (May 1982).

6. As Lary May asserts in his book, Screening out the Past: The Birth of Mass Culture and the Motion Picture Industry, 233: “Rarely was the star portrayed as born into… status or wealth. Rather, he was an average, unknown… who used his talent for expressing charisma, charm, and sex appeal. Rising from anonymity, he acquired fame, which rested not on the domination of others, but on the ability to entertain and make people happy. This could indeed bring a kind of nobility.… Yet at all times, the stars were ordinary folks whose lavish life styles could be democratized.” Although May refers here to male Hollywood stars of the 1920s, many of the same stars dominated the German screen too. And the German star system was similar to Hollywood’s in many regards.

7. See Olimsky, 49. Ufa’s activity provides a good example of what Jürgen Habermas describes as public relations (öffentliche Arbeit) in his Strukturwandel der Öffentlichkeit, 228–233.

8. The commercial film industry was even prepared to respond to the success of Soviet films with its own films about the Russian revolution. Pabst’s film is a good example, demonstrating the industry’s ability to adopt the theme but diffuse and even reverse the ideological thrust. For a discussion of The Love of Jeanne Ney, see Kracauer, Caligari, 172–178, or Toeplitz, 1: 434. Both describe well how the film neutralized the revolutionary quality of Ehrenburg’s novel.

1. See Gerhard Schoenberner, “Das Preußenbild im deutschen Film. Geschichte und Ideologie” (“The Image of Prussia in German Film: History and Ideology”), in Preussen im Film, ed. Axel Marquardt and Heinz Rathsack, 12. Preussen im Film is an excellent collection of essays that provides both a wealth of information about and thought-provoking analyses of the Hohenzollern monarchy in commercial film. Despite the in-depth studies of ideological orientation in contributions such as Jan-Christopher Horak’s “Liebe, Pflicht und die Erotik des Todes” (“Love, Duty, and the Eroticism of Death”), 205–218; and Gertrud Koch’s “Der höhere Befehl der Frau ist ihr niederer Instinkt. Frauenhaß und Männer-Mythos in Filmen über Preussen” (“The Higher Order of Woman is Her Lovelier Instinct: Hatred of Woman and Male-Myth in Films about Prussia”), 219–233, there is a relative lack of attention paid to the use of filmic language and its influence on reception.

2. Helmut Regel, “Die Fridericus-Filme der Weimarer Republik” (“The Fridericus Films in the Weimar Republic”), in Preussen im Film, 124.

3. Eberhard Mertens, Die großen Preussenfilme. I: Produktion 1921–1932, vol. 5, Filmprogramme, x. According to Mertens, the films offered German audiences an opportunity to escape from everyday problems.

4. At the height of his popularity a joke even made its way through Berlin claiming that the star was in the process of completing his memoirs under the title: “Wie ich den Siebenjährigen Krieg gewann” (“How I Won the Seven Years’ War”). See Hans Feld, “Potsdam gegen Weimar oder Wie Otto Gebühr den Siebenjährigen Krieg gewann” (“Potsdam versus Weimar or How Otto Gebühr Won the Seven Years’ War”), in Preussen im Film, 72.

5. Regel, in Preussen im Film, 126. Regel asserts: “With long, epic breath Lamprecht lines up episode after episode in a sparse and-then-and-then manner. The result is that they often turn into mere genre images of a lovingly portrayed cultural history.”

6. I use the terms authentic and authenticity consistently to refer to what I perceive as an effort to suggest that cinematic fiction corresponds to fact or reality, that it conforms to an original so as to reproduce essential features.

7. Hans Wollenberg (see “Der Alte Fritz”—“Old Fritz,” L.B.B., 23 January 1928) and Helmut Regel (in Preussen im Film, 127) suggest that Lamprecht included enough negative information about Friedrich II to inhibit the spectator’s temptation to perceive him as a mythical hero. Wollenberg emphasizes Lamprecht’s inclusion of the monarch’s greises Despotentum (senile despotism), and Regel refers to the portrayal of his Menschenverachtung (misanthropy). What these writers perceived as Lamprecht’s attempt to create a differentiated, real character may have increased viewer sympathy for the aging king, who struggled to serve his people, met with unwarranted opposition, and expressed his dissatisfaction. Lamprecht motivated the king’s senile despotism sufficiently so that the viewer could perceive him as a hero and support his asceticism.

8. Commercial filmmakers produced very few major films that overtly criticized the Prussian heritage. Der letzte Mann [The Last Laugh, 192.4), Der Hauptmann von Köpenick (The Captain of Köpenick, 1926), and Die Hose (The Trousers, 1927) thematized the Prussian obsession with authority, more specifically the fetishism of the uniform. Only two were unequivocally critical of the obsession. The Last Laugh allowed the audience to decide whether the hotel porter’s tragedy rested more in his absolute identity with his uniform or in a cruel urban society that robbed him of his identity when it pragmatically decided that he was no longer productive. It seems likely that all three films did more to diffuse potential criticism of pro-Prussian films, i.e., they legitimized their ideological orientation more than they challenged it.

1. The trend toward “New Objectivity” provided a context for the change. Many artists who had gained notoriety as expressionists became disappointed by what they perceived as less than adequate social innovations during the early years of the Weimar Republic. Some resigned themselves to the existing reality. Others renewed their search for artistic and political models with greater sobriety. Among other things, the cultures of the Soviet Union and the United States influenced those artists who continued to search. In both nations rational approaches to social planning and an artistic celebration of technology contributed significantly to the cultural image. German artists, including filmmakers, observed these apparently progressive cultures and borrowed from them in developing new, more objective modes of artistic expression. For more detailed accounts of New Objectivity, see, among others, John Willett, Art and Politics in the Weimar Period.

2. See Der staatlich geförderte Propaganda und Lehrfilm im Auslande. Aufgaben unserer Regierung (State-Supported Propaganda and Educational Films Abroad: Tasks for Our Government).

3. See Kracauer, Caligari, 157–160. Kracauer was among the first to distinguish Weimar film genres, such as the street films and Zilie films. Whereas he described the evolution of genres as manifestations of the collective mind, the following discussion will demonstrate that they both reflected and generated ideological viewpoints in a process far more dialectical than Kracauer indicated.

4. For a more detailed account of the street film portrayal of the urban milieu, see Thomas Plummer et al., “Conservative and Revolutionary Trends in Weimar Film,” in Germany in the Twenties: The Artist as Social Critic, ed. Frank D. Hirschbach et al., 77. In her Joyless Streets: Women and Melodramatic Representation in Weimar Germany, Patrice Petro argues that Weimar’s street films provide the opportunity for female audiences to read them in ways that deviate from the dominant discourse of “male crisis.” It is true that street film narratives frequently included central female figures, but such figures often appeared foremost as petty-bourgeois figures with corresponding aspirations. I would suggest that such figures appeared firstly as petty-bourgeois and secondly as women. The crisis portrayed in films such as The Joyless Street and Tragedy of a Prostitute appears more as the crisis of a social class than that of one or the other gender. Of course, it remains possible that female audiences would perceive the portrayed crisis as uniquely female. This seems most likely for those female spectators who already possessed a feminist perspective.

5. Although the middle-class engineer, Robert Kramer, is the only one to succeed in The Notorious, two working-class children find their way into healthy middle- to upper-class families in The Illegitimate, and the virtuous, hardworking wife of an alcoholic streetcar conductor begins a new life with a compassionate poet after her husband dies in The Fallen.

6. See, for example, Kracauer, Caligari, 165–189; Toeplitz, 1: 420–445; and Helmut Körte, ed., Film und Realität in der Weimarer Republik, 43–50.

7. Kracauer alludes to this with his reference to a “pictorial narrative of complete fluidity” (105).

8. A few filmmakers risked the public’s criticism by abandoning standard narration and experimenting with less clearly organized forms of cinematic presentation. Walter Ruttman’s Berlin, Symfonie einer Großstadt (Berlin, Symphony of a Metropolis, 1927) exemplified the tendency. However, projects like Ruttman’s remained exceptions to the rule and normally failed to attract the financial backing of major producers. Ruttman’s film, for example, was produced by Fox Europe as a contingency film.

1. For an introduction to the role of the SPD during the years of relative stability, see Richard Breitman, German Socialism and Weimar Democracy, 114–143; and Michael Stürmer, Koalition und Opposition in der Weimarer Republik 1914–1928.

2. See Breitman, 114–130. In this section Breitman succinctly describes the SPD’s continuing transition from a revolutionary to a reformist political party, using Rudolf Hilferding’s development as an example. See also Wolfgang Abendroth, Aufstieg und Krise der deutschen Sozialdemokratie. Das Problem der Zweckentfremdung einer politischen Partei durch die Anpassungstendenz von Institutionen an vorgegebene Machtverhältnisse, 59–66; and Dietmar Klenke, Die SPD-Linke in der Weimarer Republik 1: 72–84.

3. For a more detailed discussion, see Johanna Rosenberg, “Kunst und Kulturauffassungen in Umkreis der SPD—Karl Kautsky, Alfred Kleinberg, Anna Siemsen” (“Art and Concepts of Art in the SPD—Karl Kautsky, Alfred Kleinberg, Anna Siemsen”), in Literatur de batten, 279–286.

4. For Anna Siemsen’s perception of art, see her Politische Kunst und Kunstpolitik (Political Art and Art Politics). For her perception of party politics, see her Parteidisziplin und sozialistische Überzeugung (Party Discipline and Socialist Conviction). For an account of Anna Siemsen’s life and work, see August Siemsen, Anna Siemsen.

5. Erwin Piscator’s struggle with the Volksbühne provides a good example of the parameters for SPD cultural activity during the period. Piscator, as the Volksbühne director from 1924 to 192.7, continually strove to institute elements of a Proletkult theater. In 1927 he finally resigned in the wake of a controversy over his production of Ehm Welk’s Gewitter über Gottland (Storm over Gottland). For more detailed accounts, see Heinrich Goetz, Erwin Piscator in Selbstzeugnissen und Bilddokumenten, 34–54; and Heinrich Braulich, Die Volksbühne, 108–129.

6. See Wilhelm L. Guttsman, The German Social Democratic Party, i8yj-1933, especially Chapter 5, “The elective fatherland: Socialist subculture from ghetto to republic,” 167–218. Here, 189.

7. There were, of course, isolated exceptions to the general trend. See Guttsman, 189–191, for information about attempts by the Neue Richtung (a group that sympathized with the SPD) to deconstruct authoritarian relationships in education, albeit prior to 1924, and the organization of political courses for the rank and file in Munich in 1924. One possible reason for the limited success of these programs might have been that the SPD for such a long time had encouraged its members to assimilate bourgeois standards of education and art. Social Democratic workers were perhaps more inclined to integrate themselves into the existing social structure than to actively participate in changing it.

8. Guttsman, 196. As he indicates, “artistic events” attracted the largest audiences in 1927–1928.

9. Guttsman, 195. Here Guttsman explains the perceived tasks of the SPD’s Kulturkartelle and their limited influence.

10. Such articles as “Der Film in Naturfarben” (“Film in Natural Colors”), 13 February 1924, and “Film und Volkserziehung” (“Film and People’s Education”), 16 July 1924, again emphasized both a fascination with the film medium’s mimetic capacity and its suitability for educational purposes.

11. One of the films, a Phöbus production, Im Namen des Kaisers (In the Kaiser’s Name), used elements of the Wilhelminian myth to bolster the image of the kaiser as a benevolent patriarch.

12. Journalists, such as Herman Lücke, prescribed the same self-criticism for the national organization of theater owners. In his report of a theater owners’ national convention, “Kriegsfilme” (“War Films”), 21 January 1927, Lücke admonished them for criticizing French, English, and American films about World War I. Using a degree of sarcasm, he accused them of their own special brand of nationalism.

13. Only one article, “Die Technik des Glücks” (“The Technology of Happiness”), 5 September 1928, in which a Vorwärts reporter described a typical day of production in the Berlin-Staaken studios, had any encouragement for a grassroots movement by workers to develop their own alternative to mainstream cinema.

14. Peter Schumann discusses the cooperative effort in “‘Aus der Waffenschmiede der SPD.’ Zur sozialdemokratischen Filmarbeit in der Weimarer Republik,” in Erobert den Film! 80–81. See also FurAbiD 2: 443.

15. Film-Oberprüfstelle No. 201 (Berlin, 18 March 1926), quoted in FurAbiD 2: 439–442.

16. See “Bericht von der Tonfilm-Propaganda-Autofahrt in den Bezirken Brandenburg, Halle, Pommern und Mecklenburg” (“Report from the Sound Film Propaganda Automobile Trip in the Districts of Brandenburg, Halle, Pommerania, and Mecklenburg”), Monatliche Mitteilungen, October/December 1930, 10, quoted in Schumann, 84.

17. For an evaluation of this scene, see the Vorwärts review (11 December 1928), quoted in Schumann, 81.

1. Ossip K. Flechtheim provides an excellent description of KPD policy and programs in Die KPD in der Weimarer Republik; see especially 191–247. See also Hermann Weber, Die Wandlung des deutschen Kommunismus. Die Stalinisierung der KPD in der Weimarer Republik, vol. 1; Günter Hortzschansky et al., Ernst Thälmann. Eine Biographie, 255–426; and Fowkes, 110–144. In 1928 the KPD shifted to the left again. I will discuss that shift in Chapter 15.

2. See Fähnders and Rector, Linksradikalismus und Literatur, vol. 2; Zammito, 81–112; and Johanna Rosenberg, “Die Linke und das Ende der revolutionären Nachkriegskrise,” in Literaturdebatten, 234–235.

3. The Verlag für Literatur und Politik in Berlin published Frida Rubiner’s translation of Trotsky’s essays and distributed it in Germany later in 1924. It soon became the topic of many articles and public discussions.

4. See Leon Trotsky, Literature and Revolution, trans. Rose Strunsky, 197.

5. See Trotsky, 185. Here Trotsky contradicts himself. His definition of culture as a phenomenon that “embraces and penetrates all fields of human work” (202) implies that the proletariat’s military, political, and economic work, etc., should be considered elements of its culture. Trotsky admits this at one point by asserting: “our proletariat has a political culture, within limits sufficient to secure its dictatorship, but it has no artistic culture” (203). His claim evokes the suspicion that when Trotsky refers to cultural construction, in contrast to securing power and accumulating a surplus, he actually means artistic culture. At least during the stage of proletarian transition, Trotsky seemed content to uphold the separation of art and everyday life, despite his claim that a primary goal of the proletarian revolution should be to overcome the separation (see 11).

6. The series included three parts, “Ueber proletarische Kultur” (“On Proletarian Culture”), 31 May 1925, “Proletarische Kampfkultur” (“Proletarian Cultural Struggle”), 7 June 1925, and “Im Kampf mit welchen Elementen entwickelt sich eine proletarische Kultur?” (“In Conflict with Which Forces Does Proletarian Culture Develop?”), 21 June 1925. As outlined in Chapter 4, when Heinrich Lauffenberg, Karl Schröder, etc., founded the KAPD early in 1922, many radical intellectuals who supported and experimented with Proletkult concepts turned their attention away from the KPD and aligned themselves with the new party. Although the number of Proletkult proponents diminished after 1922, a few individuals, including Wittfogel and Karl Korsch, persisted with efforts to establish a theoretical foundation for a radically democratic proletarian culture.

7. While Wittfogel attacked Trotsky in Die Rote Fahne, a similar debate developed in the KAPD journal Proletarier. See Fahnders and Rector, Linksradikalismus und Literatur 2: 54–62; and Johanna Rosenberg, in Literaturdebatten, 267–271.

8. For a more detailed account, see Johanna Rosenberg, in Literaturdebatten, 362–378.

9. Willi Münzenberg in Thesen und Resolutionen des XI. Parteitages der KPD in Essen, quoted in Surmann, Die Münzenberg-Legende, 87.

10. Surmann has produced the most detailed account of the IAH and its media activity in Die Münzenberg-Legende. See also Helmut Gruber, “Willi Münzenberg’s German Communist Propaganda Empire 1921 –1933,” Journal of Modern History 38.3 (1966): 278–297.

11. Cited by Johanna Rosenberg in Literaturdebatten, 393.

12. See Blätter für Alle 12 (1927), quoted in Surmann, 99.

13. Die Rote Fahne also accepted advertisements for a variety of films with no apparent restrictions. In addition to announcements about the success of The Forge (31 October 1924) and Liberated People (26 November 1925), an advertisement for Cecil B. De Mille’s The Volga Boatman, distributed by Ufa, appeared on 25 September 1926.

14. See Alfred Durus, “Ein ‘pazifistischer’ Film des französischen Imperialismus. Verdun” (“A ‘Pacifist’ Film of French Imperialism: Verdun”), Die Rote Fahne, 7 July 1929.

15. Die Welt am Abend, which appeared for the first time in Berlin in 1926, grew to become one of the most widely distributed evening newspapers in Germany, with a circulation of almost 175,000 in 1928. It was so successful that the IAH experimented temporarily with a regional edition in the Ruhrgebeit and started a corresponding morning edition, Berlin am Morgen, in 1929.

16. See Heinz Willmann, Geschichte der Arbeiter-Illustrierte-Zeitung 1921– 1938, 34. The coverage of film in the AIZ was by no means as consistent or extensive as in Die Rote Fahne, Die Welt am Abend, and Berlin am Morgen. The occasional articles were usually one page in length, advertising a new Soviet or Prometheus film, and included more space for illustrations than for text. Only a handful of articles criticized the commercial film industry, and none of them did so in more detail than contributions to the other newspapers of the Communist press. See, for example, the excellent cartoon parody of commercial film genres in AIZ 9 (1929).

17. IAH newspapers also uncritically praised IAH films, but apparently with no reservations.

18. Sarcasm and blunt criticism were far more prevalent in Die Rote Fahne. Its critics apparently perceived their readers as committed opponents of the existing social order and likely to accept and even draw encouragement from biting critiques. The IAH newspapers displayed greater caution. However, they, too, paid little attention to the filmic techniques for influencing audience reception when criticizing mainstream historical films.

19. For a brief introduction to Eisenstein, Pudovkin, and their aesthetic differences, see Toeplitz, 1: 299–3 41.

20. For a thought-provoking philosophical and historical explanation of the KPD’s strategy during the years of relative stability and its position in the development of Comintern policy between 1918 and 1934, see Russel Jacoby, The Dialectic of Defeat. Jacoby argues that orthodox Marxists in the Weimar Republic uncritically embraced enlightenment concepts of science and progress. As a result, he asserts, they developed a cult of success, exaggerating their victories, drawing attention away from mistakes, and, in the process, inhibiting the development of a radically democratic Marxism which would have nurtured critical skills.

21. For an excellent example, see “Sturm über Asien” (“Storm over Asia”), Die Rote Fahne, 8 January 1929.

22. Reprinted in Lüdecke, 75–105. Here, 105.

23. See “Rundschreiben von Herbst 1928…” (“Flyer from Fall 1928…”), cited in FurAbiD 2: 227–228.

24. For a detailed history of Prometheus, see Meier, “Materialien zur Geschichte der Prometheus Film-Verleih und Vertriebs-GmbH. 1926–1932” (“Information on the History of the Prometheus Film-Verleih und Vertriebs-GmbH: 1926–1932”), Deutsche Filmkunst.

25. See Reichskommissar für Überwachung der öffentlichen Ordnung, 3543/ 26A, Berlin, 28 April 1926 (DZA Potsdam, Reichsministerium des Innern, No. 13511).

26. For more detailed information on the initial reception of the film in the Soviet Union, see Yon Barna, Eisenstein, 102–104.

27. According to a report in Der Film (23 May 1926, 16), 210 theaters—in Berlin alone—had booked the film!

28. According to Kurt Grimm, who represented Ufa in Leipzig and joined Prometheus in October 1926, Pfeiffer and Unfried had made costly mistakes in distributing Battleship Potemkin. He determined that their inadequate organization had enabled theater owners to cheat Prometheus out of tens of thousands of marks. See Kurt Grimm, “Zur Geschichte der Prometheus Film-Verleih und Vertriebs-GmbH” (“On the History of the Prometheus Film-Verleih und Vertriebs-GmbH”).

29. Because Prometheus owned none of its own equipment and facilities, it depended completely on the willingness of commercial producers to rent it what was needed to produce films. In the case of Superfluous People it seems likely that the Phönix film company granted Prometheus access to its studios in exchange for the right to distribute the film. This is corroborated by Axel Eggebrecht in “Deutsch-russische Filmgemeinschaft” (“German-Russian Film Cooperative”), AIL 21: 1926.

30. See letter from Prometheus (Emil Unfried) to Eisenstein dated I June 1926. Letter available in the holdings of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek in West Berlin.

31. See Axel Eggebrecht, “German-Russian Film Cooperative.” Eggebrecht asserted that difficulties with the censorship of Battleship Potemkin had motivated Prometheus to choose less provocative material. A letter from Prometheus to Sowkino dated 16 April 1926 indicates that Eggebrecht was correct. After describing the censorship difficulties, the letter states: “Above all it is necessary for us to acquire an equally good artistic film without a blatant political tendency.”

32. For more detailed production information, see Grimm.

33. See letter from Edmund Meisel to Sergei Eisenstein date 5 July 1928. Letter available in holdings of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek in West Berlin.

34. See, for example, Béla Balázs, “Der revolutionäre Film” (“The Revolutionary Film”), Die Rote Fahne, 10 October 1922; “Nur Stars!” (“Only Stars!”), Filmtechnik (Halle/Saale) 7, 1926; “Die Film-Krisis” (“The Film Crisis”), Das Tagebuch 18, 1928; and “Zur Kulturphilosophie des Films” (“On the Cultural Philosophy of Film”), Das Wort (Moscow) 3, 1938. All have been reprinted in Béla Balázs, Essay, Kritik 1922–1932, 71–74, 83–86,105–109, and 148–177.

35. See Rudolf Schwarzkopf’s account in “Abenteuer um Abenteuer” (“Adventure after Adventure”), Film und Volk, April 1928, 11.

36. See Meier, 2: 57, for an expression of this argument.

37. The review of Eins + Eins = Drei in Der Film, 10 December 1927, also suggests that the film is a parody.

38. At this point the Prometheus assimilation of commercial marketing techniques also included advertisements that incorporated excerpts from reviews and distributors’ telegrams to interest theater owners and spectators.

39. See Der Film, 1 August 1927, for a descriptive review of The Red Front Marches.

40. Gerd Meier has outlined the history of Derussa in an unpublished article, “Notizen zur Geschichte der ‘Derussa,’ Deutsch-Russische Film-Allianz A.G. 1927–1929” (“Notes on the History of ‘Derussa,’ Deutsch-Russische Film-Alliance A.G. 1927–1929”). In addition to the Derussa agreement, the Soviet Trade Bureau negotiated an agreement between National Film und Wufku in 1928. See Film-Kurier, 2 February 1928.

41. For information about the historical figure and the developing legend, see Schinderhannes, ed. Manfred Franke.

42. See, for example, Clara Viebig, Unter dem Freiheitsbaum (1922) and Curt Elwenspoek, Schinderhannes—ein rheinischer Rebell (1925).

43. See reviews in L.B.B., 2 February 1928, and in Film-Kurier, 2 February 1928.

44. For detailed information on reorganization and consequences for Prometheus, see “Prometheus-Meschrabpom-Rus,” L.B.B., 12 May 1928; and “Prometheus-Meschrapbom Kino?” Film-Kurier, 23 May 1928.

45. See Filmblätter of the Staatliches Filmarchiv der DDR, 23, quoted in Film im Klassenkampf, 13.

46. See Meier, “Notes on the History of ‘Derussa,’” 5; and “Das Derussa Programm” (“The Derussa Program”), L.B.B., 7 July 1928.

47. Prometheus also announced plans to produce an adaptation of Emile Zola’s Germinal, but the film never appeared. See Film-Kurier, 2 August 1928; and the L.B.B., 3 August 1928.

48. I will discuss the tendency in further detail in Chapter 15. Once again it seems appropriate to refer to Russel Jacoby and his focus on orthodox Marxism’s preoccupation with science.

1. For more detailed information about the VFV, see Karl Tümmler, “Film und Volk,” Diplomarbeit im Fernstudium Geschichte (1961), and “Zur Geschichte des Volksfilmverbandes,” Filmwissenschaftliche Mitteilungen 5 (1964): 1224; and Richard Weber’s introductions in Film und Wölk, 5 — 2.7, and Arbeiterbühne und Film, 5–23.

2. See “Rudolf Schwarzkopf…,” in FurAbiD 2: 244–248.

3. There was another possible reason for the VFV’s interest in soliciting the involvement of artists and intellectuals: it wanted to maintain a nonpartisan image. Whatever the reason or reasons, the effect was the same.

4. See “Protokoll…,” in FurAbiD 2: 249–256.

5. A production team consisting of personnel from Sowkino and Prometheus filmed the second documentary, Das Dokument von Shanghai (The Document from Shanghai) during an expedition to China in 1927. Coincidentally, the team was in Shanghai at the time of the revolutionary uprisings in March 1927. In addition to documenting the terrible living conditions in that city, the members also had an opportunity to film the uprising. The film premiered in the Tauentzienpalast on 30 October 1928 and was significant also as the first film associated directly with the Volksfilmverband.

1. For an introduction to the political, economic, and social history of the period, see, among others, Arthur Rosenberg, Geschichte der Weimarer Republik, 183–211; Heiber, 196–276; Ryder, 252–282; and Craig, 524–568.

1. The SPD attempted to adjust to decreasing tax revenue and the loss of loan assistance from the United States. Its efforts focused on reallocating money from defense spending to social programs, renegotiating the terms of the Versailles Treaty, and increasing taxes. For a detailed account, see Breitman, 148–153.

2. For detailed descriptions of the relationship between the powerful interest groups of the right and the rise of National Socialism, see, among others, Karl Dietrich Bracher, Die Auflösung der Weimarer Republik, esp. 198–228 and 407–442; and David Abraham, The Collapse of the Weimar Republic: Political Economy and Crisis. Abraham’s book has stimulated a heated controversy. See, for example, American Historical Review 88 (1983): 1143–1149. Despite the controversy, his perspective warrants serious consideration. In addition to criticizing the capitalist elite for its contribution to the unstable economy, many Germans, including members of the old agrarian sector, the artisan class, the small merchant class, as well as members of these groups who had become pettybourgeois bureaucrats or blue-collar workers, harbored at least a latent skepticism about capitalism, industrialization, urbanization. For a detailed account of Weimar Germany’s dissatisfaction with “modern” society, see George L. Mosse, The Crisis of German Ideology, 237–317.

3. As Henry Turner has asserted, while most heavy industrialists and other members of the capitalist elite turned their backs on parliamentary democracy between 1928 and 1930, only some of them aligned themselves directly with the NSDAP and contributed financially. And many of those who did support the NSDAP directly, including Alfred Hugenberg, did so in the hope that they could use the National Socialists to defeat their republican and Marxist opponents. They hoped that the NSDAP would eventually falter and that they would be able to assume power. See Henry Turner, “Big Business and the Rise of Hitler,” in Nazism and the Third Reich, 89–108.

4. For information about the KPD’s political development between 1928 and 1933, see, among others, Flechtheim, 52–61 and 248–288; Hermann Weber, 1: 186–247; Hortzschansky et al., 427–644; and Fowkes, 145–171.

5. See, for example, the KPD’s cooperation with the National Opposition in organizing a plebiscite to depose the Social Democratic coalition in Prussia in 1931, as outlined in Flechtheim, 277–278.

6. The National Socialists were able to attract large numbers of constituents from all social classes except from the ranks of the blue-collar workers. As George Mosse has noted: “Except for those who joined the Nazis at an early date (and these came largely from among the unemployed), the industrial workers were not attracted to the Völkisch movement, for it had little to offer them that was not at variance with a smooth functioning industrial society. A reversion to the idyllic estate system had little appeal for them” (The Crisis of German Ideology, 262–263).

7. Flechtheim notes that as the KPD under the leadership of Ernst Thälmann, Hermann Remmele, and Heinz Neumann intensified its allegiance to Stalin and the Comintern, it intensified the campaign to defend the Soviet Union and to present Soviet society as a model for development. See Flechtheim, 262–263.

8. For a more detailed account of this phenomenon, see Mosse, Crisis, 280–293.

9. George Mosse, Masses and Man: Nationalist and Fascist Perceptions of Reality, 2. Here Mosse describes a more general nationalism that influenced social development significantly throughout Europe beginning at the turn of the century. His comments apply extremely well also to the specific type of nationalism promoted by the NSDAP during the final years of the Weimar Republic.

10. This does not imply that Germany would abandon industrialization, urbanization, modernization. As Mosse asserts: “Nationalization did not seek to destroy the process of industrialization; on the contrary, it deliberately furthered it in order to increase the country’s might and prosperity. But industrialization was kept subordinate to an anti-industrial ideology, treated as a technological advance rather than as leading to a new perception of the world” (Masses and Man, 3). For more on this, see also Jeffrey Herf, Reactionary Modernism: Technology, Culture, and Politics in Weimar and the Third Reich.

11. Mosse discusses the fear of the “other,” concentrating on anti-Semitism in The Crisis of German Ideology, 88–107 and 294–311. For a psychoanalytical discussion that traces the fear of the other to a specifically Wilhelminian variation of a pre-Oedipal complex, see Klaus Theweleit, Männerphantasien, esp. 1: 253–286 and 521–547.

1. Many film historians have outlined the development of sound film in Germany. Among others, see Olimsky, 162–168; Bächlin, 54–82; and Kalbus, 2: 8–16.

2. See, for example, Bundesarchiv Koblenz document R109, 1026a, 12 April 1927; and R109, 1026a, 2 September 1927.

3. For Ludwig Klitzsch’s account of the process, see “Deutschland, das kommende Produktionszentrum Europas” (“Germany, the Future Production Center of Europe”), L.B.B., 29 July 1930. Between 1926 and 1929 Warner Brothers had purchased rights from Western Electric to produce sound films, marketed a number of commercially successful films, including Don Juan (1926) and The Jazz Singer (1927), and recovered from near bankruptcy to become one of the leading film producers in the United States. By 1929 there was no market for silent films in the United States.

4. In 1930 the Dutch Küchenmeister concern controlled approximately 68 percent of Tobis, and a German bank consortium under the leadership of the Commerz- und Privatbank controlled about 30 percent. See Bächlin, 61.

5. Bächlin, 64–65. The Küchenmeister-Tobis-Klangfilm group attained control of the sound film markets in Germany, Holland, Austria, Hungary, Switzerland, Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Finland, Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, Rumania, and Dutch India.

6. See Olimsky, 65; and Bächlin, 62–63.

7. Olimsky outlines the process in greater detail.

8. Bächlin estimates an increase of 25–33 percent. According to Bächlin (63), although the demand for silent films decreased rapidly after 1929, sound films accounted for only 32 percent of German film production as late as 1931, and the major German companies produced most of these. In contrast, 75 percent of all imported films (primarily from the United States) were sound films by 1931. The figures indicate that although a number of German companies continued to produce films, most of them concentrated on less expensive silent films. As the market changed, silent films generated a diminishing return and forced ever-increasing numbers of German producers into dormancy or out of business. Olimsky suggests a similar development for the period of relative stability (12).

9. See Toeplitz, 2: 193.

10. See “Deutschland, das kommende Produktionszentrum Europas,” L.B.B., 29 July 1930.

11. See “Neue geistige Inhalte” (“New Spiritual Contents”), L.B.B., 20 July 1932.

12. For a more detailed discussion of the effect the transition to sound and the economic crisis had on commercial film production in general, and specifically in Germany, see Bächlin, 54–82. A good example of a company’s autocratic control over production during the period is the frequently cited case of Der blaue Engel (The Blue Angel, 1930). See Werner Sudendorf, Marlene Dietrich, 1: 69.

13. See Olimsky, 74–80, for a discussion of the struggle for journalistic independence between 1929 and 1931.

14. Conference report of the Spitzenorganisation der Deutschen Filmindustrie from 23 October 1930, quoted in Olimsky, 75.

15. “Auf dem Wege zum Ufa-Monopol” (“On the Way to an Ufa Monopoly”), L.B.B., 14 September 1929. The Arbeiterbühne und Film outlined Emelka’s development from an independent company to a part of the Hugenberg Concern in “Neuer Filmskandal in Deutschland” (“New Film Scandal in Germany”), 11 (1930): 21–23.

16. Articles, such as “Politisierung des Kinos” (“Politicizing Cinema”), L.B.B., 26 October 1931; and “Das Kino: Ein Asyl Jenseits der Politik!” (“Cinema: A Refuge beyond Politics!”), L.B.B., 25 April 1932, indicate that many critics persisted in their reliance on a modified concept of autonomous art. They favored entertainment and rejected any serious focus on current issues.

17. See the following representative articles for information about the film industry’s requests for government assistance: “Steuersenkung um 50 percent gefordert” (“50 Percent Tax Decrease Demanded”), L.B.B., 23 March 1931; “Film im Währungs-Chaos” (“Film in Currency Chaos”), L.B.B., 10 October 1931; and “Deutsche Filmpolitik nach deutschen Interessen” (“German Film Policy According to German Interests”), L.B.B., 9 May 1932. The German government responded to the request for production assistance, but not until 1933 when the National Socialist dictatorship had emerged and moved to control all forms of mass media. See Bächlin, 80.

18. For information about the censorship of the mentioned films, see “Der Fall Seeger” (“The Seeger Case”), L.B.B., 23 March 1931, on All Quiet on the Western Front and Into the Third Reich; “Warum Kuhle Wampe verboten wurde” (“Why Kuhle Wampe Was Forbidden”), L.B.B., 11 April 1932; and “Warum Enthusiasmus nicht-mehr zugelassen wird” (“Why Enthusiasm Is No Longer Permitted”), L.B.B., 9 October 1931.

19. See Kracauer, Caligari, 216.

20. See Kalbus, 2: 25–32 and 79–84; and Kracauer, Caligari, 203–272. Additional genres included military farces, mountain films, and films about mysterious, often upper-class or even aristocratic criminals. They receive no special attention here because they have been treated adequately by film historians such as Kracauer and Toeplitz and promoted many of the same values present in the genres treated here.

21. The Rowohlt Filmlexikon, ed. Liz-Anne Bawden, 2: 449–450, provides information about the birth and development of Nero-Film. To the best of my knowledge, no one has published a study of Nero’s unique contribution to Weimar cinema.

22. Kracauer, Caligari, 203–272, and Toeplitz, 2: 192–223, have outlined the ideological orientation of representative films from each of the most popular genres. The following discussion functions, therefore, only as the introduction which is necessary to provide a context for an analysis of the German left’s responses to commercial film production during the period.

23. Kracauer has noted the emphasis (Caligari, 263), but he does not position the Prussian history films within the context of an ongoing ideological struggle between opposing economic and political interest groups. Instead of characterizing the films as products of interest groups associated with the most wealthy and influential members of the National Front—men who consciously used film to influence public opinion—Kracauer persists with his claim that commercial film only reflected the psychological dispositions of the collective mind.

24. For more detail, see Kracauer, Caligari, 2.69–270. The concept of the Frontsoldat as a model for the Volksgemeinschaft and its role in prefascistic culture have been investigated more in relationship to literature. See, for example, Karl Prümm, “Das Erbe der Front. Der antidemokratische Kriegsroman der Weimarer Republik und seine nationalsozialistische Fortsetzung,” in Die deutsche Literatur im Dritten Reich, 138–164. A comprehensive study of World War I in the films of the Weimar Republic would be very valuable.

25. For more detailed analysis of this film, see, among others, B. Ruby Rich, “Mädchen in Uniform: From Repressive Tolerance to Erotic Liberation,” Jump Cut 24/25 (March 1981): 44–50.

26. See Kracauer, Caligari, 227. Maidens in Uniform, as a critique of Prussian pedagogical techniques, suggests an interesting counterbalance to The Blue Angel. A comparison of the films and an investigation of the possible cause-and-effect relationship between them might be fruitful.

27. For plot summaries and interpretations, see Kracauer, Caligari, 232–235 and 239–242.

28. See Anthony Munson, “Niemandsland,” in Film and Politics in the Weimar Republic, ed. Thomas Plummer et al., 75.

29. For a more detailed account, see Toeplitz, 2: 62–64.

30. Kracauer does not differentiate further. In reality the street films and Zilie films of the stable period upheld the myth only for those who had not yet become entrapped in the lumpen-proletarian quagmire of the street. Prodigal sons of middle-class families might be rescued, and philanthropic matrons might save unblemished children, but there was no hope for the majority of people who inhabited the dangerous street.

31. Wolfgang Gersch has provided the most detailed account of the film’s production history. See Film bei Brecht, 48–97, esp. 58–71.

32. Jan Knopf succinctly describes Brecht’s critique of traditional dramatic aesthetics and his concept of epic theater as an alternative in Brecht Handbuch, 378–424. Gersch discusses the adaptation of the epic theater concept to Brecht’s work on the Threepenny Opera filmscript.

33. The company accused Brecht of failing to submit a segment of the script punctually and of intensifying the socially critical quality of the stage version. Brecht had been working on the script through the spring and summer of 1930, and he had made a number of changes that, among other things, more clearly identified Macheath’s gangsters as members of the dominant classes in the twentieth-century capitalist societies and more directly suggested the need for social revolution. He had also integrated new songs, captions, and camera techniques to disrupt the film’s illusion of reality and stimulate critical reception.

34. For an excellent and extremely detailed account of the experimentation with sound and the theoretical discussion about sound’s effect on the film medium between 1929 and 1933, see Toeplitz, 2: 27–100. Toeplitz discusses the introduction of sound generally, but he also provides useful information about the specific development in Germany. Kalbus’s discussion, although it concentrates specifically on German film, is by comparison somewhat superficial. See Kalbus, 2: 10–16.

35. A good example was Richard Oswald’s adaptation of Zola’s Dreyfus (1930), which had been successful as a drama in Berlin.

36. For a general discussion of the development toward what Toeplitz refers to as the audiovisual unit, see Toeplitz, 2: 83 – 100.

37. Wilhelm Thiele began to challenge the principles of authenticity in The Three from the Gas Station (1930), in which he integrated music into everyday situations without requiring an accompanying orchestra. See Toeplitz, 2: 61–62.

38. Toeplitz, 2: 98. Pabst’s attitude demonstrates the continued influence of New Objectivity on German art. For a discussion of the role New Objectivity played in the artistic production of Weimar’s final period, see John Willett, Art and Politics in the Weimar Period, 177–200, esp. 193–200.

39. For general information about Comradeship, see Toeplitz, 2: 211–213; and Kracauer, Caligari, 239–242.

40. Fritz Lang, M. Cinemathek-Ausgewählte Filmtexte, 18, quoted in Toeplitz, 2: 215.

1. For general information about the SPD’s developing film program, see Peter B. Schumann, “Aus der Waffenschmiede der SPD. Zur sozialdemokratischen Filmarbeit in der Weimarer Republik,” in Erobert den Film! 81–85; and Hans-Michael Bock, “‘Brüder zum Licht!’ Kino, Film und Arbeiterbewegung,” in Arbeiterkultur in Hamburg: 1929–1933, 298–316.

2. Heinrich Schulz, the president of the Sozialistischer Kulturbund, expressed the SPD’s dedication to enlightenment progress and to the use of film for that purpose in an address to the national convention of the Sozialistischer Kulturbund in 1929. In the address “Film und Funk und ihre Bedeutung für die Arbeiterschaft” (“The Significance of Film and Radio for the Workers”), Film und Funk. Sozialistischer Kulturtag in Frankfurt a.M. 28–29. Sept. 1929, 9–14, Schulz explained: “Is it necessary to explain… the significance of film for the working class, now and in the future? The workers’ movement wishes to conquer… the world. Not for the sake of order, rather to free itself from economic and intellectual subservience” (11).

3. See, for example, “Ein Volksroman wird Film” (“A People’s Novel Becomes a Film”), Vorwärts, 9 October 1932. The review of Gilgi, eine von uns, an adaptation of Irmgard Keuner’s novel about a stenographer, proclaims, “In the book as in the film, a remarkable document about the working girl of today— just as humane as it is realistic.”

4. The Vorwärts reaction to Fridericus films such as Das Flötenkonzert von Sanssouci is a good example. In their attempt to discredit the films, Vorwärts editors published a number of articles, including “Das wahre Bild Friedrichs H” (“The True Image of Friedrich II”), 29 December 1930, in which renowned historians called into question the authenticity of the cinematic portrayal. Such critiques challenged the authority of the Fridericus films to supply a correct account of Prussian history, but they reinforced the belief in historical objectivity and the authority of experts to write history, i.e., to ascribe ideological meaning to the past for the masses.

5. See also “Hurra, das Wanderkino! Ein Bild von der Wahlpropaganda unserer Partei” (“Hurrah, the Traveling Movie Theater! A Depiction of Our Party’s Election Propaganda”), Vorwärts, 26 July 1930.

6. See Hans Manfred Bock, 140. In October 1931 Anna Siemsen, August Siemsen, and other left-wing Social Democrats abandoned their efforts to challenge the party leadership and founded their own Sozialistische Arbeiterpartei Deutschlands. See also Hanno Drechsler, Die Sozialistische Arbeiterpartei Deutschlands (SAPD). Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der deutschen Arbeiterbewegung am Ende der Weimarer Republik, 21–119.

7. The SPD published a report on the convention. See Film und Funk.

8. See Leo Kestenberg, “Tonfilm” (“Sound Film”), Film und Funk, 30–33; and Klaus Pringheim, “Filmmusik” (“Film Music”), Film und Funk, 34–38. Kestenberg described the development of sound reproduction very generally and indicated that it was too early to determine what effect sound would have on cinema. The guiding principle for an evaluation of the effect, he argued, should be the intellectual and sensual refinement of the German people. Kestenberg’s orientation revealed his allegiance to an older generation of Social Democrats who promoted artistic autonomy and viewed interaction with art as an aesthetic activity. Klaus Pringheim criticized the film industry’s inadequate attention to music. Without explaining precisely how film music should function, Pringheim demanded high standards of performance and implied that music could enhance the artistic quality of the medium.

9. In the final presentation, “Das neue Lichtspielgesetz” (“The New Film Censorship Law”), 39–45, Klara Bohm-Schuch outlined in detail the development of film censorship in the Weimar Republic and argued that ideologically conservative tendencies had grown even more prevalent in recent years. Bohm-Schuch supported Nestriepke’s position, arguing that the SPD should participate more actively in shaping censorship policy to ensure that it could defend republican interests. Heinrich Schulz reinforced her proposal in the ensuing discussion.

10. The only other cultural activist in the SPD who approached Nestriepke’s level of sophistication in the understanding of the existing cinematic codes was Alexander Gidoni. See “Wege zum proletarischen Film” (“Ways to Proletarian Film”), Die Gesellschaft 7 (1930): 54–68. Gidoni’s essay was the only contribution on film to the SPD’s theoretical journal during the final years of the Weimar Republic. Gidoni, like Nestriepke, described film’s uniquely optical language and affirmed its use by filmmakers to influence audience reception. Gidoni looked to Soviet film for examples of proletarian film art and implied that similar developments in German film art would occur after a social revolution.

11. Schumann derives much of his information about the SPD’s film program from the Monatliche Mitteilungen and suggests that the journal stimulated local activity. While Schumann’s assertion seems correct, it only partially explains the journal’s orientation and its methods.

12. As Schumann has noted (Erobert den Film! 84), only 15 percent of the almost 220 films distributed by the FuL in 1931 were SPD films.

13. Other animated campaign films included Ins dritte Reich (Into the Third Reich) and Ritter von Kiekebusch kämpft um Preussen (Knight Kiekebusch Fights for Prussia). Schumann suggests that the FuL produced animated films to criticize the SPD’s political opponents without naming or portraying specific individuals and thus minimized the likelihood of censorship. The censors did prohibit Into the Third Reich. See “Zensur gegen Trickfilm” (“Censorship against Animated Film”), Monatliche Mitteilungen, April/May 1931. Their decision suggests either that the intended abstraction was inadequate or perhaps that the SPD had succeeded in exposing the connections between National Socialism and heavy industry. In 1931 the governing parties attempted to conceal such connections.

14. See Schumann, in Erobert den Film! 85. Schumann uses the relatively neutral verb erleichtern, implying that the films made the SPD’s analysis easier to understand for average German voters.

15. For more detailed information about the production and reception of Brothers, see Hans-Michael Bock, 308–309.

16. See Hans-Michael Bock, 308, for background information on Werner Hochbaum and his film production.

17. See Schumann, Erobert den Film! 83. The Rote Gewerkschafts-Opposition (RGO) emerged in November 1929 in opposition to what many KPD union members felt was a counterproductive and conciliatory approach to labor problems in the Allgemeiner Deutscher Gewerkschaftsbund (ADGB). Although Brothers appeared months before the RGO was founded, Schumann’s account is very plausible. Long before they organized, the KPD opposition began to voice its discontent with the ADGB leadership.

18. It seems likely that Hochbaum used natural settings and nonprofessional actors to minimize production costs as well. The orientation of advertising and the narrative perspective suggest that his primary concern was to establish the authenticity of the filmic portrayal.

19. Plummer makes this point in his analysis of Brothers. See Plummer et al., Film and Politics in the Weimar Republic, 83.

1. For a detailed description of the BPRS and its activities, see Helga Gallas, Marxistische Literaturtheorie.

2. See Literaturdebatten, Nössig et al., 587.

3. Rolf Surmann has outlined very precisely the continued activities of the IAH between 1929 and 1933 (128–223). See also Gruber.

4. See, for an example, Thalheimer’s preface to the Universum Bücherei edition of Franz Mehring’s works from 1929. Thalheimer praised Mehring’s materialist revision of the idealist components in Kant’s aesthetics, foregrounded Mehring’s concept of dialectical interdependence between aesthetic and socio-historical development, and asserted that the working class could produce no great works of art as long as a dominant imperialistic class exploited it. K. A. Wittfogel responded to such claims by renewing his campaign to demonstrate that workers not only could, but already had begun to, develop their own culture in the process of class struggle.

5. For a comprehensive discussion of the debate within the KPD about a Marxist aesthetics during the final years of the Weimar Republic, see Manfred Nössig, “Das Ringen um Proletarisch-Revolutionäre Kunstkonzeptionen,” in Literaturdebatten, 469–709. Nössig perpetuates the traditional images of Karl Korsch and K. A. Wittfogel as Renegaten, but he also criticizes the early fanaticism of Johannes R. Becher, favors Brecht’s position in his debate with Lukács, and generally portrays socialist-realist and radically democratic tendencies in the development of Marxist aesthetics at the end of the Weimar era as equally useful (706). See also Fähnders and Rector, Linksradikalismus und Literatur 2: 207–223; and Zammito, 113–168.

6. See Nössig in Literaturdebatten, 518. In the preceding chapter Johanna Rosenberg outlines Becher’s development to the beginning of Weimar’s final phase; see 414–424.

7. See, for example, Becher’s critique of Alfred Döblin’s Berlin Alexanderplatz, “Einen Schritt weiter,” printed in Johannes R. Becher, Publizistik I. 1912–1938, 224.

8. Nössig describes the orientation succinctly by outlining Lukács’s position on literary forms of expression. See Literaturdebatten, 647–648.

9. For a more detailed analysis of Brecht’s aesthetic models during the final years of the Weimar Republic, see Heinz Brüggemann, Literarische Technik und soziale Revolution; Reiner Steinweg, Das Lehrstück; and Jan Knopf, Brecht Handbuch.

10. It is interesting to note that instead of advocating stricter censorship of the films that they opposed, the Communist film journalists more often demanded the abolition of censorship.

11. See FurAbiD 2: 347–389 for a collection of Weltfilm memos and film lists. The documents provide an informative overview of the organization’s approach to film distribution and its model for film events.

12. Dudow came to Berlin in 1922 and studied dramaturgy and filmmaking. In Berlin he aligned himself with the KPD and then spent a year studying in Moscow. Upon his return, he began directing documentary films before collaborating with Brecht on the Kuhle Wampe project in 1931–32. For more information about Dudow, see Hermann Herlinghaus, Slatan Dudow.

13. Gerd Meier, “Notizen zur Geschichte der ‘Derussa,’ Deutsch-Russische Film-Allianz A. G. 1927–1929.”

14. See the report on Giltmann in Der Film, 9 November 1929.

15. For more detail on the difference between the stage and film versions, see Herbert Ihering’s review in Der Börsen-Courier, 16 February 1929.

16. See the Münchener Kommentar zum Bürgerlichen Gesetzbuch, ed. Kurt Rebmann, 5: 604–606. I would like to thank Richter Hermann Noack of West Berlin for drawing my attention to this source.

17. Michael Hanisch has provided a foundation for my treatment of Jenseits der Strasse. See Filmblätter.

18. In her recent study of melodrama in Weimar cinema, Joyless Streets, Patrice Petro suggests that bourgeois men are not the sole focus of films such as Tragedy of the Prostitute. While it is true that an aging prostitute, Auguste, figures very prominently in that film, one might argue that her prominence is associated with her desire to become at least a lower-middle-class woman. I would argue that in many Weimar melodramas class difference and allegiance distinguish female figures at least as clearly as does gender.

19. As Thomas Plummer has noted, the montage sequence again recalls Eisenstein’s narrative style in Battleship Potemkin. See Plummer et al., Film and Politics in the Weimar Republic, 65.

20. Willi Döll describes Tuscherer’s management in a letter to Mr. Gero Gandert of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek. I would like to thank Mr. Gandert for granting me access to the correspondence.

21. For more detailed information about the plot, see Margot Michaelis, “Mutter Krausens Fahrt ins Glück. Eine exemplarische Analyse,” in Helmut Körte, ed., Film und Realität in der Weimarer Republik, 103–168; and Mutter Krausens Fahrt ins Glück. Filmprotokoll und Materialien, ed. Freund and Hanisch. See also Jan Christopher Horak, “Mother Krause’s Trip to Happiness, Kino Culture in Weimar Germany, Part 2, ’tenements Kill Like an Ax.’” Jump Cut 27 (July 1982): 55–56.

22. As Patrice Petro has noted (Joyless Streets, 150–152) the narrative makes a further distinction between the empowered Max and the relatively helpless Erna. The film valorizes patriarchal positions by associating social progress with Max’s ability to assist Erna and her family.

23. For descriptions of the films, see Meier, “Materialien zur Geschichte der Prometheus Film-Verleih und Vertriebs-GmbH 1926–1932,” Deutsche Filmkunst 5 (1962): 179–180 and 6 (1962): 221–222.

24. Meier discusses the reception of the films in Deutsche Filmkunst 7 (1962): 276–277 and 8 (1962): 310–311.

25. Erna (Meseke) Beier discussed her employment with Prometheus in a private interview with me in November 1981.

26. See the following L.B.B, reports: “Gerichtlicher Vergleich bei Prometheus” (“Bankruptcy Proceeding for Prometheus”), 17 December 1931; “Stürmischer Prometheus Versammlung” (“Stormy Prometheus Meeting”), 20 January 1932; and “Prometheus beantragt Konkurs” (“Prometheus Files for Bankruptcy”), 8 February 1932.

27. Taken from the interview with Erna (Meseke) Beier. She reported that, during one of their conversations, Dudow asked her to explain her activity with the Communist-led Fichte Sport Club.

28. For a concise discussion of Brecht’s Lehrstücktheorie, see Knopf, 422–424.

29. For a more detailed outline of the production history of Kuhle Wampe, see Bertolt Brecht, Kuhle Wampe. Protokoll des Films und Materialien, ed. Wolfgang Gersch and Werner Hecht, 171–179; and Gersch, 101–139. See also Reinhold Happel’s analysis of the film in Film und Realität in der Weimarer Republik, 169–212.

30. “We grew increasingly certain that the process of organizing the production was an essential component of the aesthetic work. That was only possible because the process in its totality was political” (Bertolt Brecht, Schriften zum Theater, 243).

31. See, for example, Brecht’s description of the relationship to Tobis-Melofilm in Brecht, Kuhle Wampe, 89–91.

32. Hanns Eisler, “Funktion und Dramaturgie (der Filmkunst),” in Brecht, Kuhle Wampe, 97–99.

1. Leo Lania, “Hunger im Kohlenrevier” (“Hunger in the Coaling Region”), Film und Volk, April 1929, 2. His references to the film as the unifying of documentary and feature indicated a desire to convince audiences that the portrayal was authentic and more trustworthy than those of the commercial films. Although he solicited the active participation of workers, Lania’s primary intention was to increase the film’s authenticity.

2. See, for example, L.B.B., 3 May 1929.

3. For two differing accounts of the transition, see Film und Volk, 16–18; and Tümmler, “Film und Volk,” Diplomarbeit, 81–114.

4. For a substantial collection of documents explaining the goals of IfA’s film department, see FurAbiD 2: 390–407.

5. It is interesting to note how a patriarchal perspective is valorized here by a female critic. Sand suggests that the relationship between the husband and wife is similar to that between the parent and child. The juxtapositions also suggest that the male perspective, in contrast to those of the wife and child, is that from which sensory experience can be organized intellectually. For more information about the degree to which Weimar culture generally valorized intellectual activity and associated it with the male perspective, see Petro.

6. For information about the agitprop movement, see, among others, Friedrich Wolfgang Knellesen, Agitation auf der Bühne, 271–292.

1. Max Horkheimer and Theodor Adorno, “The Culture Industry: Enlightenment as Mass Deception,” in Dialectic of Enlightenment, trans. John Cumming, 120–167.

2. Their emphasis on capitalism’s influence on the quality of cinema is evident from the outset: “Yet city housing projects designed to perpetuate the individual as a supposedly independent unit in a small hygienic dwelling make him ail the more subservient to his adversary—the absolute power of capitalism” (120).

3. Horkheimer and Adorno, 124–136. It is interesting that Horkheimer and Adorno introduced their concept of standardization at approximately the same time Bächlin employed the concept in his description of cinema’s quality as a commodity. There are many similarities between Horkheimer and Adorno’s assessment and Bächlin’s.

4. See, for example, their assessment of consumer needs: “The stronger the positions of the culture industry become, the more summarily it can deal with consumers’ needs, producing them, controlling them, disciplining them, and even withdrawing amusement” (144). Horkheimer and Adorno did posit the concept of autonomous art as a progressive alternative to the culture industry’s activity, and Adorno, especially, vacillated between skepticism and moderate optimism about the possibilities for subversive cultural activity, but their positions remained for the most part pessimistic.