close up - Monoskop

THE CONTRIBUTION OF H.D. 145
could visualise in that lifeless and dough-like visage a trace of the glamour, the chiselled
purity, the dazzling, almost unearthly beauty that one recognised so acutely in the
very-young figure of the half-starved aristocratic official's daughter in Joyless Street.
Greta Garbo, in a little house dress, an apron and low slippers, sweeping the passage
of the improvident home in Joyless Street, remained an aristocrat. Greta Garbo, as the
wife of a Russian Court official and the mistress of a man of the world, diademed and
in sweeping robes in the Palace of Karenin, was a house-maid at a carnival.
Perhaps the example of Greta Garbo is an exaggerated instance, and, I repeat, the
young actress herself may have had little say in the hands of those who make her the
devil in films where Gilbert is the flesh.
Take Brigitte Helm, who is always an artist. I have not seen all her films, but without
question her performance of the blind girl in Jeanne Ney is one of her most strikinga
feat that really lifted her above the realm of legitimate artists. She is almost an
'illegitimate' magician. 'Brigitte Helm did not look blind,' I heard repeated of her in
Berlin, 'she was blind.'
Isn't that it? G. W. Pabst is almost a magician, his people are 'created, not made'? There
is, indeed 'another side' to every one of his women, whether it be the impoverished little
daughter of post-war Vienna or one of the extras in an orgy scene, each and every one is
shown as a 'being', a creature of consummate life and power and vitality. G. W. Pabst
brings out the vital and vivid forces in women as the sun in flowers. Brigitte Helm lifts
a head like a proud Madonna lily. Her eyes \njeanne Ney are the wide staring eyes of the
blind, but in her blindness she is alive, aware, acute, clairvoyantly attuned to every sound,
every movement, every shade of light and every shift of sun and shadow. Brigitte Helm
did not look blind, she was blind. I was enthralled, to find in talking to Mr Pabst on my
first meeting with him last summer, that I had myself gleaned the essence of her acting.
I said 'I don't feel that Brigitte Helm is acting. I feel that she is in a trance. That she has
the power to throw herself into a trance and to move and speak and live a life quite
outside her own personal experience.' I thought my remark might meet with his
disapproval or in some way seem over-drawn to him. But not at all. He was delighted. 'Ah,'
he said, 'you see. You have it. Do you know in that scene when she walks with Jeanne Ney
in the streets of Paris, she was almost killed.' ... 'Almost killed?' ... 'The actor driving
the taxi was not a driver really, and had had to learn. He was not very sure of his steering.
Brigitte Helm walked right in front of him. I had to run before the camera to save her.
Do you know why? She was blind. She simply did not see it.' The force of vision of this
acute director and the strength of spirit of Brigitte Helm had actually so transformed her.
This miracle of acting had been achieved. She did not look blind, she was blind.
So, in a lesser degree, but in no less vivid manner, each and every creation of G. W.
Pabst does not 'look' good or bad, happy or unhappy, wise or foolish, she 'is' for the time
being what she typifies. G. W. Pabst, their creator, cannot realise how a thing 'created,
not made', must forever take precedence to the most technically perfected image. I
know that the image of the Maid or Orleans in the Dreyer conception is technically
flawless. But to me (and not a few others) \hzjeanne D'Arc is (I repeat it) made, the
Image is carved and constructed.
Imagine Brigitte Helm in this role and directed by Pabst... we scarcely dare imagine
such a thing. It were out of place to speak seriously of mediums and mediumistic