The film Jerichow (2008), directed by Christian Petzold, can be seen as a microcosm for a larger social and cultural conflict that exists in contemporary Europe—specifically, in Germany. The three main characters of the film live in the economically depressed town of Jerichow in East Germany. Ali, as the Turkish-German entrepreneur, represents the capitalist foreigner in a land that still treats capitalism—and non-Germans—begrudgingly. The film shies away from focusing on large political issues, such as racism, yet it is clear that Ali, despite his wealth and success, feels like an outsider in Germany because he is Turkish. Thomas, the dishonorably discharged German soldier, needs money and cannot refuse when Ali offers him a job. Ali’s wife, Laura, is trapped in a marriage and a life that she cannot escape from, though she tolerates it with haughty boredom and some illegal dealings with one of Ali’s employees. Ali pushes Thomas and Laura together, ultimately facilitating their torrid affair. Ali, the most complicated character in the film, seems to be very aware of his difference from the two of them; he is older, and he is Turkish. He recognizes that, on an ideological level, the two of them make a much more ideal pair, so he encourages them to be together, even though it inflames his jealousy and sense of alienation. Though none of the characters is specifically meant to draw attention to a high moral or ethical issue, this love-triangle is nonetheless symbolic of a much larger culture clash that exists, to this day, in Germany.
Ali is one of many Turkish immigrants living in Germany. In the 1960s, a plan was set in place to fuel Germany’s industry and workforce by hiring guest workers from developing countries. A vast majority of the guest workers were Turkish. The initial result was a country divided by racism and prejudice. To keep their culture alive in Germany, the Turkish continued to practice their religion and play their music. They established restaurants, clubs, and churches. Today, the Turkish population in Germany is substantial. Ali is German and Turkish, speaks both languages, and carries traits of both cultures. In the scene on the beach, he plays Turkish music and dances, drunk and nostalgic, by the shore. In his home, he dominates, often violently, his wife. His traditional Turkish side does not recognize Laura as his equal. Yet he also owns a chain of snack bars, a successful entrepreneur in the Western sense of the word. Whether consciously or unconsciously, he struggles with his identity and dual nationality. This goes beyond the more apparent issue of racism that is easier to identify and address; it is a complicated internal struggle. At one point toward the end of the film, he tells Thomas, “I’m stuck in a country that doesn’t want me, with a woman I bought.” This is the only time he clearly states how he feels about his situation, and his words ring with brutal honesty.
The issue of money and wealth plays a central role in the film. Both Laura and Thomas become indebted to Ali because of their financial debts. In Laura’s case, Ali agrees to take on her debts if she marries him, which she does. For Thomas, Ali offers him a job as his driver at a time when Thomas is in desperate need of money. Ali uses his wealth to assert control and domination, but at the same time he is paranoid, suspicious, and insecure. It remains a mystery why he sets up Laura with Thomas. Many of his actions are contradictory. For example, he insists that Thomas and Laura dance together on the beach, literally pushes them close together, then wanders off and leaves them alone, essentially laying the groundwork for their affair. Later in the film, he goes to Turkey, leaving the two of them alone for several days. Either he trusts them both, or he knows something is going on but feels helpless to stop it because he feels subconsciously that they make a more ideal couple. Yet, when he suspects Laura of having an affair with one of his employees, he goes into a jealous rage, attacks him, and hits her. Violence is the only way he can retain control over her, because he knows on some level that she does not truly love him. Because Ali feels isolated and insecure, both in his home and in Germany, he uses wealth and violence to stay in control. For him, money represents manhood and gives him a false sense of belonging.
The film is written and directed by Christian Petzold, and is considered to be a remake of the American film noir thriller, The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946). In both films, a love triangle ensues and the lovers plot to kill the woman’s husband. In Jerichow, Laura and Thomas come up with a plan to kill Ali, thinking optimistically and with a certain degree of naiveté that once he is gone they can be happy together. But when Ali returns from Turkey, he informs Laura that he has only one or two months left to live because of a heart condition. Though we aren’t told exactly what medical condition Ali has, his predicament is reminiscent of Fassbinder’s Ali: Fear Eats The Soul (1974), in which a Moroccan guest worker, also named Ali, suffers from a burst stomach ulcer brought on by the stress of being a foreigner in Germany and dealing with racism, discrimination, and prejudice. In many ways, moments in Jerichow echo the social and cultural tensions that Fassbinder depicted in his films.
The director of Jerichow, Christian Petzold, was born in West Germany in 1960. He is a prominent member of a group of German directors called “Berlin School.” Petzold’s films often explore how capitalism functions in post-wall East Germany. In Jerichow, the town appears bleak and empty, with wide-open spaces and very few people. Ali is successful as the owner of a chain of snack bars, but he is constantly haunted by the suspicion that he is somehow being cheated. (And he is.) Did Petzold intend this suspicion to be the result of the newly capitalist society? When it comes to the conflict between capitalism and communism, Jerichow almost seems like a no-man’s land, where neither flourishes, and much like Thomas and Laura’s romance, there is no hope for true unity. There is also the sense that the characters are free—now that there is no wall dividing their country, they can move all over if they want to, but at the same time they are emotionally, physically, and psychologically trapped: Laura, by her overbearing, controlling husband and debts; Thomas, by his own poverty and sense of duty to his dead mother’s home; and Ali, by his Turkish ethnicity. Petzold himself says “I am interested in the mobile immobilities, the so-called transit zones, these no-places: that’s where something modern is happening” (Cineaste). The town of Jerichow is an example of a “no-place,” and in many ways its transitory, fluid nature is reflective of the relationship between the three main characters.
Many German films, especially those made by directors of the Berlin School, explore cultural diversity and the diasporic nature of Europe. Film is beginning to reflect this new transnational Europe. In Jerichow, Petzold tells a story that is set in Germany, with German characters. Ali is Turkish, and he speaks both German and Turkish in the film. Yet he is also the “bad guy” in the film, the abusive husband and greedy boss. Petzold could easily have left Ali as the one-dimensional Turkish villain, the “outsider” who does not belong in the country and is a barrier between the two lovers. But this is not how Ali is portrayed in Jerichow. “Even though Ali is, in some ways, a purely functional figure in the narrative — both the heavy and the patsy, the target of betrayal and vengeance, the obstacle to the romantic fulfillment of the adulterous couple — he also turns out to be the most interesting and complicated character. A sharp, sometimes brutal businessman, he shows an odd mixture of guile and helplessness, his need for control weakened by sexual jealousy, a fondness for vodka and a disarming tendency toward self-pity” (NY Times). He is a complex and three-dimensional character, and his position not only challenges stereotypical characterization of foreigners, especially Turks, but also the role of the husband who stands in the way of true love. None of the characters is completely good, but none of them is evil either. At the end of the film, Thomas and Laura have gotten what they wanted: Ali is dead, and they can be together. But that is not what will truly fulfill them. A romance that can only be if another person is killed is a romance that will not last very long. The audience knows it, and on some level, Thomas and Laura know it too. Right before the screen cuts to black, Laura whispers, “Ali.” This single, fragile word foreshadows a bleak and guilt-ridden future for her and Thomas, in which Ali, even in death, will continue to be a barrier between them.
Though the film skirts around tackling issues of racism, there are some telling moments in which characters of authority display acts of prejudice. For example, police officers lie in wait for Ali to drive by so they can arrest him and take his license. It’s never clear whether they single him out because he has a record of drunk driving or because he is Turkish, or both. The film is characterized by hints and mysteries that are never explained.
More and more, cinema can no longer be considered specific to a certain country, because of the vastly diverse populations that make up those countries. Though these issues do not play a central role in Jerichow, they come up often as Ali struggles to assert his manhood and dominance “in a country that does not want him” (Jerichow, 2008). Thomas and Laura represent the ideal German couple, young and beautiful, and Ali, whether intentionally or not, brings them together. He is too suspicious and too trusting; he recognizes that he has “bought” his wife, but he also seems to have convinced himself that she loves him and is happy. The contradictions of the film are what make it so fascinating as a microcosm of the political and social landscape of Germany.
Tags: Christian Petzold, Germany, Jerichow