Original Title: Der unsterbliche Lump. Folk play 1930; 98 min.; Director: Gustav Ucicky; Cast: Liane Haid, Gustav Fröhlich, Hans Adalbert Schlettow, Karl Gerhart, Karl Götz, Fritz Greiner, Paul Henckels, Karl Platen, Paul Hörbiger, Weiß Ferdl; Ufa-Klangfilm.
The village schoolmaster rises to wealth when his opera is accepted, and then loses his fiancée to a wealthy cattle farmer. Resigned, he sinks into vagrancy. On the day of the unveiling of a statue erected in his honor, presumed dead, he returns to his home village, only to be arrested as a vagrant. Later, he finds his now-widowed beloved.
Summary
Set in a village in Styria, a young and talented music teacher lives with the dream of seeing his grand opera, Alpenglühen, performed at the Vienna State Opera. He hopes that the opera will be accepted, as this would bring him favor in the eyes of the postmaster, with whom his beloved daughter is deeply in love.
The village postmaster likely has no objections to the teacher as his son-in-law, except for the wealthy farmer in the village, Lechner, who continually harasses him to demand his daughter to marry Lechner.
Upon hearing news that his opera has been accepted for a trial run, Hans Ritter decides to travel to Vienna to speak with the Intendant himself.
Annerl, worn down by her father’s constant torment and Lechner’s passionate pursuit, cannot bear to let him go. She feels as if she is seeing her beloved for the last time. At the foot of the majestic Dachstein, a symbol of Styria, while the outside world flourishes with greenery and flowers, the lovers part.
The telegram meant to bring joy to the beloved is withheld by the father. Subsequent telegrams and letters follow the same route. Finally, the girl in the village, whom the beloved had left faithlessly, gives her consent to marry the Lechner. On the day of the wedding, celebrated with the pomp of a wealthy Styrian peasant, one final telegram arrives announcing the teacher’s arrival that same evening. But coldly smiling, the postman-father-in-law reads the telegram as a congratulations. He then meets the teacher at the train station, who is horrified to see his beloved dancing with Lechner. He flees back to Vienna in anguish.
Hans Ritter arrives at the theater in a state of semi-consciousness due to pain, the day before the premiere of his opera. As he hears his song, “Reach for your little hand, let me see into your eyes, and let us take the last little bit of the journey together,” he desperately tries to rush the stage and prevent the performance from going on. He is forcibly restrained. As his debut work is celebrated with incredible triumph outside on the stage, he collapses, defeated and broken. Late at night by the Danube, a thief steals his money and documents, and a few days later, Hans Ritter, a destitute vagabond, presents himself at the Charité in Vienna and informs the police officer that the tramp lying before him, fished out of the Danube, is the personally known Hans Ritter, whose name is also on the documents inside the drowned man’s coat. He wanders the world as an immortal vagabond.
Hans Ritter has passed away, leaving behind the success of his opera Alpenglühen in the form of sizeable royalties that have gone to the dead man’s village. Three years later, the Lechner-Bauer tragically falls to his death while hunting on the Dachstein. His widow, who remained childless, devotes her life to the memory of her unfaithful lover. Inspired by Ritter’s successor, the village schoolteacher, the village decides to erect a monument in his honor. Ritter, now a coal miner working in the harbor, learns of this from the newspaper and is determined to savor this triumph. He returns to his hometown, expecting celebration. But instead of the jubilation he anticipates, the beloved recognizes his aged, bearded face in the unveiling of the monument, a face she has seen in her waking and dreaming moments.
He implores her to “stay with me, it can still be alright.” But she refuses, having become a scoundrel and wanting to remain one, an immortal because of him, but she wants to go back out into the world. Anna can’t keep him, only follow him to the outskirts of the village, just like when they said goodbye before. But when they stand there, at the place they believed to be the start of their happiness, the choir of schoolchildren rings out from the monument where the hut had fallen, singing softly and delicately the composer’s song, their song: “Put Your Little Hand in Mine.” This breaks Ritter’s defiance and bitterness. He does not want to stay in the village, but he wants to go out into the world with his beloved wife and continue to write and sing about the beloved Styrian land. As the two disappear between the blooming fields, the children’s choir accompanies them with the old Styrian home song: “High from the Dachstein, where the eagle still lives.”
Hans Feld’s review in Film Kurier No. 47 (February 22, 1930)
Joe May, a veteran of the film scene for many years, has released his latest work: The Immortal Vagabond, a classic tale of two young hearts finding, parting, avoiding, and finding each other again. The transition from silent films to sound films was seamless and not noticeable. What’s more, Joe May has taken advantage of this new era and provided an opportunity for young talent to prove themselves under his guidance. Together, they have achieved a success that is significant, regardless of the special effect of this film. Last night, the first German sound film for the masses premiered at the Ufa-Palast am Zoo. The addition of sound to this genre of film art has enriched it with an extra nuance of color.
The sound complements the silent images, adding to what already exists rather than creating something new. It provides greater differentiation and facilitates the story’s progression. Transitions, usually summarised in titles, now have a deeper intellectual basis. The sound and image alternate and complement each other, leading one seamlessly into the other. Overlays are used to shorten the scene. The auditory is integrated into the visual, both working together in harmony, never cancelling each other out. Authors Robert Liebmann and Karl Hartl have achieved the perfect balance between these two elements, given the circumstances.
A new generation of film-makers has emerged: the sound engineering family. They complement the technical team, with the architect and cameraman laying the groundwork for a truly impressive work. The concept of soundscape is now clear and no longer naturalistic; instead, it is stylized, and the melody of these sounds serves as the undercurrent of the acoustic environment. Enhanced by this life, the intended overtone stands out. Kammerspielwirkungen, exquisite instrument solos with subtle nuances and differentiation… The warm heart tone of tranquil moments, the hustle and bustle of a large gathering – all come out as intended. H. Fritzsching and the late Uwe Jens Krafft have mastered the tone. New requirements of the room design require an additional inner effort, but the result, the buildings of Herlth and Röhrig, does not bear evidence of this extra effort. So subtly and obediently, her work remains. Moods emanate from the walled square, influencing actors and viewers alike through architectural characterization. Even the masterpiece stage, the audience space and the Vienna Opera’s maze of corridors, keep within the boundaries of collective work without going into individual effects. The same self-evident nature is also found in Carl Hoffmann, the camera’s magician. The eye of his apparatus has not lost any sharpness due to the consideration of sound. Never before during the silent film era has the camera been so unrestrained and liberated. A multitude of visual styles is used in this film. The lyrical beauty of a romantic scene set in a meadow, the fantastical elements of (E.T.A.) Hoffmann in a morgue, glimpses of bridges and nocturnal views of the Danube – how rich and varied are the black and white compositions! Nothing is lost in the flow of this silent film. Sound has been added, creating a sense of community and an ensemble spirit amongst the actors. The contrasts are balanced and there is no stark contrast between good and evil. Drilling down to its human core, this film comes out with a quiet yet powerful intensity. Were it not otherwise known, one would take Liane Haid to be the embodiment of a sweet Austrian farm girl, with her maintained innocence apparent in her posture, gaze, and tone. Gustav Fröhlich, the immortal rascal, compresses the transformation of a young man from his first love, through his great disappointment to male skepticism, into the brief span of a role. Authentic, full of artistry, and simply rendered, in the smallest of movements. The actors, numbering more than a dozen, give convincing and intense performances. Hans Adalbert Schlettow, Carl Gerhardt, Hermann Thimig, Weiß-Ferdl portraying Bavarian affairs, Oskar Sima greeting from the Wiener Pülcher, and Jule Falkenstein delivering a few finely pointed sentences – they all shed their makeup and become real people.
This film has no connection to the mentality of Kurfürstendamm; in fact, it consciously rejects it. No balls, bars, race courses, prostitutes or even the faintest trace of lipstick are featured. We should be glad that such a film exists. We should not restrict the variety and potential of audio-visuals. There are numerous ways to explore the art of filmmaking, if we are willing to take them. By renewing the material, we can make it work. We initially needed to make the machine serve the designer’s purpose, which we have achieved with peak works. Now is the time when technology must penetrate life forces and spiritual building must be based on the functioning production apparatus. The protection period for authors and those responsible for subject selection is about to expire. Script checks without sufficient spiritual coverage will soon no longer be able to be paid for.
The infinite beauty of Styrian land is sure to move the heart. This film captures the authentic experience of attending a peasant wedding, watching oxen shows, and partaking in a monument unveiling, all with the sense of inner joy that one gets from witnessing so much simple folk culture on a summer holiday. The appeal to the mountain spirit of even the city-dweller will not be without effect. New land beckons the masses who are not granted the chance to experience it in person. Farmhand-rhythmic dancing in the open air, accompanied by the buzz, shrill and drone of outdated, old instruments. The young man swings his girl and their skirts flutter as they stomp the ground. The camera zooms in on the swaying couples. Hands work the well-filled content of worn leather shorts. Joy of life radiates from the scene, just like in the paintings of Adriaen Brouwer. Then, the bells of Styria begin to chime and the sound of ore fills the theater. A moment of relaxation and reflection ensues. This is not just a cultural film; it is an impressive work of art filled with culture. Günther Stapenhorst and Dr. Düstmann have managed to balance the scenes of originality against the opera production with remarkable skill. We get to witness a glimpse of a grand premiere, much calmer than the hectic tempo of revue stages, creating a powerful contrast between the costumed singers, workers, stagehands, and directors. Despite its brevity, these snippets bring out the old magic of the theater. Ralph Benatzky provides the musical accompaniment, complete with the romantic pretext, while Schmidt-Gentner is responsible for the dynamic finesse.
The film has finally shifted its focus to its own tasks. The boundary between it and the theater has been firmly established. This is the greatest accomplishment of director Gustav Ucicky. The sophistication of the word can still be seen on the world’s stage. But costumed extras on the largest possible stage will never be able to go beyond the boundaries. The expansion, the inclusion of nature, is exclusive to the film. This is still the case today. What Ucicky and those associated with him have brought, besides their dedication to their work, is a prerequisite: the purity of conviction.
