<< Back 10/9/02 Picture Show By Gary Carden The Merchant of Four Seasons Director: Rainer Werner Fassbinder Cast: Irm Hermann, Hanna Schygulla, Hans Hirschmuller When the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA) sponsored a Fassbinder Festival in 1997, the event became the most remarkable tribute ever paid to a European filmmaker, complete with lectures, screenings and eulogies. Perhaps the most provocative aspect of the celebration was the fact that the honored film maker was German. In addition, he was better known in America than in his native land, despite the fact that he had produced more than 40 award- winning films. How can a man achieve this honor and yet be relatively unknown? Well, the answer is simple. Fassbinder, who died at the age of 36 in 1982, was an independent filmmaker, a genre more concerned with artistic — rather than commercial — success. It is almost impossible to select a single film that is most representative, or the work most likely to endure. This difficulty is largely due to the extensive scope of Fassbinder’s interests. Although critics always stress sexuality and controversy as Fassbinder subjects, the filmmaker has said repeatedly that his works were less about sexual behavior than “the power relations among people sexually involved with one another, including elements such as social class ...” “The Merchant of Four Seasons (1971)” is a poignant example of how sexuality can be used to manipulate, suppress and destroy. Perhaps the most arresting image in this film captures Hans Epps Hans Hirschmuller, a fruit peddler standing in a quiet street, hawking his wares. Hans, a small, compact man, looks up at the windows of tenements chanting: “Plums! Juicy, ripe plums! Plums for sale!” Long experience has given his voice a lilting, musical tone, and his face has a yearning quality, like a lover calling to his mistress. Heads appear in the windows, looking down at Hans. As the film progresses, we become aware of simple metaphor: Hans “looks up” to people (his family, wife, lover, customers) and everyone “looks down” on Hans. Ah, poor Hans. As his life unfolds through a series of vignettes, it is painfully obvious that this brooding peddler has more than his share of handicaps: a manipulative, jealous (and very sexy) wife (Irm Hermann); a middle-class family that is dominated by a socially conscious mother who is ashamed of Hans — and brutally outspoken about it; a former lover who abandoned him because of his poor prospects; and a host of neighbors who find his short stature comical. In a drunken scene in a tavern, Hans broods over his short-lived employment as a policeman — a job that he lost due to his dalliance with a prostitute. Now, he drinks and bewails his unhappiness. Scenes which depict Hans at home manage to capture the stifling (and loveless) boredom of his domestic existence (the maddening ticking of a clock on the soundtrack seems to stress his bleak existence). Finally, he rebels and batters his shrew of a wife; she flees to his family and announces plans to divorce Hans, a decision that is heartily endorsed by the family. Unfortunately, despite his misery, Hans loves his wife and becomes so emotionally distraught he suffers a heart attack. At this point, “The Merchant of Four Seasons” undergoes a subtle shift. Hans and his wife attempt a reconciliation and a doctor informs the convalescing peddler that his health is precarious. He can no longer push his cart through the streets; further, he is told that another drunken spree will prove fatal. In an attempt to retain his business, Hans decides to hire an assistant, initiate better business practices and become “a good husband.” His fortune seems to improve and initially, he prospers. However, as his social status improves, Hans declines. Suddenly, his wife and his bourgeois mother adore him and the man who was once a contemptible outcast is praised. There are some disconcerting scenes in which the family discusses Hans as though he were not present. Ironically, he finally has their approval but his presence is irrelevant. Hans becomes increasingly listless and remote. Finally, at a celebration in his honor, he announces his plans to commit suicide by drinking himself to death. Lining up an impressive number of whiskey-filled shot glasses, Hans toasts his “friends.” Surveying the guests he says, “This one is for my loving wife.” (drinks) “This one is for my mother.” (drinks) “This one is for my best friend and business partner, who is a swine.” (drinks), and so he progresses ... until he drops dead at the table. The critical response to “The Merchant of Four Seasons” has been mixed. Many reviewers expressed their puzzlement at Hans’ decision to die. Why does he seem to fade before the viewers’ eyes even as his financial stability increases? But is it so mysterious? With the singular exception of his young daughter, Hans Epps is at the mercy of a host of relatives and friends who withhold love, respect and approval until Hans conforms to their wishes. This film is about attrition — the gradual draining away of “the will to live.” Hans knows what is going on around him. He knows that his wife is deceitful, greedy and unfaithful. He knows that his best friend — an old war buddy from Hans’ stint with the French Foreign Legion — is also gradually replacing Epps in his business and in his role as father. Even his devotion to a former lover is blighted by the knowledge that she was once ashamed of his lack of social position. There is also a troubling memory of an incident in the French Foreign Legion — a memory of Hans’ capture and torture by a sadistic Arab. Although Hans is saved by the intervention of his best friend, the incident is troubling since there is a strong indication that the rescue was intentionally delayed. The message of “The Merchant of Four Seasons” may be a daunting one — that Hans chooses not to live in a world in which the people whom he loves are committed to secretly (or unintentionally) abusing him. In the beginning, Hans dreams, aspires and yearns for acceptance. Throughout his early married life, he had retained a worn 45 rpm record which is a sentimental ballad about how happiness and fulfillment are near and all we have to do is keep striving. For a while, Hans plays the old record and continues to dream. However, gradually, his family, his wife and his friends make it clear that the record is a lie. His friends will never be honest and Hans will always be “too short.” It was only with the second viewing of this film that I was able to identify the climax — in the privacy of his bedroom where Hans retreats to play the romantic song that assures him that happiness and love are realities, he lifts the worn record from the player and breaks it into a dozen pieces. When Hans toasts his “best friend,” calling him a swine, the friend replies, “We are all swine, Hans.” And so they are. In the final scene following Hans’ funeral, as the widow and the “best friend” are leaving the cemetery, the widow notes that life must go on, and, after all, the “best friend” is an excellent salesman. He is already living in Hans’ apartment and it is logical to the new widow that he should continue to do so. Besides, Hans’ daughter needs a stable home life and the child seems to like the best friend. Hans has been erased. Early in the film, Hans’ daughter becomes deeply distressed by her father’s health. After visiting him in the hospital, she asks an aunt (possibly the only compassionate character in this film besides the daughter) if her father will live or die. The aunt assures her that Hans will live, but then she adds, “but only if he wants to.” This may be the most significant pronouncement in the film. Is it possible that Hans is a kind of Everyman, and that many of us reach a point — perhaps without being consciously aware of it — where we conclude that life is not turning out as we had hoped, that we had been deceived by foolish, romantic dreams. All of the vibrant, eager optimism is fading. What happened? What converted the eager striving into apathy? Perhaps this is the “real” message and indictment in “The Merchant of Four Seasons.” At what price do we become “socially acceptable?” This film is marred by only two minor flaws. First, there is the 70’s décor — ugly furniture and embarrassing clothes and the flamboyant hair styles of the period. Second, there is a strange melodramatic “posing,” or artificiality in some of the performances, especially noticeable when Hanna Schygulla (Hans’ sympathetic sister) is present. Much given to “stagy” postures, Hanna strikes a kind of languishing swoon when she sits or lies down. Certainly, Schygulla (Fassbinder’s favorite actress) is beautiful, but her posturing borders on the ludicrous. Certainly, in the context of the total film, these are minor defects in the work of a filmmaker who frequently completed a work in less than three weeks! (Gary Carden lives in Sylva and can be reached at gcarden498@aol.com)