 |
THE
BOAT GOD OF THE LAKESIDE SPORTS CLUB
konkret, 06/ 2006
Film of the Month – The Boat God of the Lakeside Sports
Club
by Michael Girke
This film is filled with the belief in progress. It articulates
this in the only legitimate manner for art – it assumes that
narratives let themselves be changed; that through their assistance,
humanity interprets its reality.
A facet of Robert Bramkamp's concept of cinema is the positioning
of the historical, the factual and the fictive within a relationship
from which another film form arises, one full of possibilities yet
unseen and untapped. The point of departure of his new film, The
Boat God of the Lakeside Sports Club, is that the antediluvian Mesopotamian
region between the Euphrates and Tigris and the Brandenburg region
around Lakes Glubig and Scharmuetzel have slipped atop one another.
In clarification: The relationship between the prehistoric region
and German reality is greater than one thinks. Can Brandenburg profit
from this constellation? Will it transform itself if an antique
Sumerian God wanders amongst humankind there?
If sought, the historical links of Bramkamp's film, within the history
of cinema, are found in the epic films; "Troy", "The
Passion of Christ", and "Lord of the Rings" are all
current annexations of mythology which utilize all the potentialities
of cinema so as to render the miraculous with an aura of tangibility.
The makers of such films, however, always merely turn on Hollywood's
special effects machinery so as to excessively inflate the film
figures – as if being superhuman were the singular factor
that facilitates in fashioning a tolerable existence.
The Boat God comes across un-heroic, banausic, as if he has just
been kidnapped into a myth from a Neuköln corner bar. His name
is Enki. 5,000 years ago he imparted abilities onto humans, abilities
which enabled them to prevail over the destructive natural cycles
and establish a civilized world. Today, he works as temporary help
at the Lakeside Sports Club. Enki embodies that which is materially
absent, that which must imperatively occur so that the routine existence
in the immediate region of Lake Scharmuetzel – a region pressed
to the societal perimeter by the dominant economic situation –
once again becomes worth living. Undeniably, as is obvious from
appearances, such a God has long failed history.
"Were it feasible, we would have gladly managed without so
much mythology. Now, however, we are convinced that the myth is
a language, a means of expression." This was written by Cesare
Pavese, an Italian writer, communist, and resistance sympathizer
during the time of Mussolini. Pavese employed antique mythology
in order to illustrate how – in societies such as that of
post-fascist Italy – old, presumed-dead forces-of-effect and
conflicts continually asphyxiated any anticipated new start. Bramkamp's
film correspondingly contradicts the notion that a myth is simply
a flight of fancy. In the ancient Greek, mythos means "the
word that sounds facts." Dissimilar to logos, the word of the
philosophers and theoreticians, mythos embraces individuality, feelings,
dreams, emotional lows and contradictions in one; mythos, thus,
is much more inclusive in its comprehension of humanity.
Nowadays the mythology of cinema serves a cult of the broadly disengaged;
it serves the devaluation of everyday reality. The "Boat God"
is a remonstration against this. The manner in which Bramkamp plays
a myth along, in which he amalgamates it with the authentic life
stories and difficulties of the people of the Lakeside Sports Club,
gives the myth its reality back. The portrayal of a myth as a perpetually
valid truth is the epitome of torpidity. Mythology can be relentlessly
broken and altered, and this must indeed occur, otherwise the grand
narratives and current everyday experiences of life have nothing
do with one another. If there is an enlightened treatment of mythology
to be found in the cinema of today, then it is in Robert Bramkamp's
film.
Those who cling to the strict division of genre categories will
have to see double for this film: In "Boat God," the documentary
and fictitious are inextricably fused. Bramkamp documents how he
interleaves his own concepts into reality. Brandenburg is full of
extraordinary composite creatures, mutants. As a hero, Enki fits
splendidly into their world of wickedly cool thrills and sensations.
But he has no desire to play this role, is angry, for the narratives
of the mutants only concern themselves; the social – and the
corresponding active and transformative participation in the social
– has been completely lost from their sight. On occasion,
the horror on the silver screen is an expression of exact knowledge
of the public.
The sports club lending the film its title truly exists. Located
in one of the abundant, steadily disintegrating East German areas
falling into agony as it is increasingly abandoned by the job-seeking
inhabitants, the club represents a truly authentic miracle. It is
one of the last cultural attractions in which everyone can participate.
In the concluding scene at the employment office, Enki requests
an extension of his job-creation program position; according to
law, however, he may not be utilized for the purpose of maintaining
existing structures; aid is only available after the structure's
deterioration, for cleaning up. In the heads of the state, a disaster
film is obviously running. Enki attempts another narrative with
them, that is, to present them another reality. Bramkamp's film
is an element of a project which is being continued on the Internet.
There, everybody can emulate Enki and to bring abilities and knowledge
into play so as to enable the continuance of the lakeside boat club.
With this, the film moves further into the world which one enters
when one leaves the cinema.
John Ford, the director of Westerns, loved to film on location in
the legendary Monument Valley, far from Hollywood. Doing so offered
him the occasional possibility of escaping the routines and intrigues
of the film industry. In "Boat God", it appears as if
Bramkamp has likewise found his Monument Valley. When was the everyday
life of Brandenburg ever presented in such beautifully colored pictures?
When was its noises recorded on tape ever so intensively? The breadth
and openness of the heavenly skies correspond with the way that
the film, with elation and great abandon, confronts publicly repressed
facts.
Copyright © konkret, 2006
|
|