Don't let the tongue-in-cheek title, which refers to cinema, deter you! Beware of a Holy Whore (1971) looks even better - and more complex - than when I first saw it theatrically several years ago; and Wellspring's DVD transfer is gorgeous (you can also choose either the original mono or new Dolby Digital 5.1 soundtrack). Fassbinder himself ranked this his best film on the list he made, shortly before his death, of "The Top 10 of My Own Films." Not only is this knowing satire - part screwball comedy, part existential pseudo-documentary - one of his two out-and-out comedies (1976's Satan's Brew is the other), it is also a probing, wickedly funny, yet celebratory film about filmmaking. Although some will heartily disagree, for me it ranks with such classics of this rarefied subgenre as Godard's Contempt and Fellini's 8-1/2 (both 1963), and seems more illuminating, and even entertaining, than Truffaut's wonderful Day for Night (1973).
But there is much more of interest than its behind-the-scenes peek at dysfunctional moviemaking. There are its autobiographical layers (Fassbinder not only appears in a crucial supporting role as the harried production manager Sascha, he parodies himself wickedly through the central character of the tyrannical director, Jeff); a brilliant use of rhythm, both within scenes and in the overall flow of the film (Fassbinder was also the co-editor); some of the most beautiful, subtle and complex visual design - and camera movement - of any of his films up to that point (the great Michael Ballhaus was the cinematographer; he now shoots Scorsese's films); an ecelctic, brilliantly deployed soundtrack ranging from Peer Raben's haunting original score to songs from Leonard Cohen, Ray Charles, and Elvis Presley to a haunting Donizetti aria; a superb ensemble cast (it follows about a dozen major characters - although it focuses on Jeff - and looks ahead to, say, Altman's Nashville); not to mention psychological insight, and some surprising yet on-target character revelations.
Fassbinder delves into extremely dark and tangled emotions in this comedy; and although there are many laughs, they often stem from violence. When a character asks Jeff what type of movie he is directing, he replies, "It's a film about brutality. What else would one make a film about?" Fassbinder was an enormously complex artist, and man, who understood from personal experience the cruel power plays, and blindness, of people in love. He admitted that he was capable of oppressing the people close to him (often his crews and cast were also his friends and lovers), yet he showed enormous compassion - in his life and work - for both victims and victimisers; and he understood that the same person could play both roles. And although this pivotal film - which looks back to his earlier, more abstract works and ahead to his unique melodramas - often has a languid pace, Fassbinder never stops digging beneath the surface, exploring the sources of human need: love, desire for power, longing, dependency, repressed wishes, unfulfilled dreams, and all manner of frustrations. With emotional meltdown possible at any moment, it is no wonder that the title begins with "beware," immediately telling us that that this is a cautionary tale. The title's other two words suggest the struggle, in each of us, between the spiritual and the raw.
Filmmaking proves a fascinating combination of those two distinct yet intertwined qualities, especially as embodied by Jeff. On the one hand, he makes life a living hell for his producer Manfred (Karl Scheydt) - who's in love with him, his production manager Sascha (Fassbinder), his fling Babs (Maragrethe von Trotta) - who happens to be Sascha's girlfriend, his ballistic ex named Irm (Magdalena Montezuma) who has convinced herself that she would "bear his children," and especially his on-again/off-again boyfriend Ricky (Marquard Bohm). Not to mention everybody else. But we also see Jeff's redemptive love for filmmaking, such as the spellbinding scene in which he tells his cinematographer exactly what he wants in a complicated shot and why. There is real fire in Jeff, and a natural poetry in his words, as writer/director Fassbinder turns cinema into language, even as the camera movement he uses counterpoints Jeff's vivid description of what he plans to film. But film is not all "holy," and throughout the camera often suggests voyeurism, both of cinema and of us, the audience. It often seems to be peeking around corners or pillars, as if it were eavesdropping.
Although film production is not part of most people's lives, Fassbinder manages to make it a probing metaphor for universal human experience, in one of his most hilarious, disturbing yet deeply moving pictures.
