Fear of Fear

Although Fear of Fear brings to mind the plays of Strindberg (Fassbinder had recently staged Miss Julie), and the films of such disparate directors as Douglas Sirk (his great 50s melodramas, like All That Heaven Allows) and Ingmar Bergman (his psychologically complex films like Persona), this is pure Fassbinder. It is one of his dramatically clearest yet most emotionally, even politically, ambiguous pictures. As a "case study" focused on one character, it bears comparison to The Merchant of Four Seasons; while in its dissection of the social pressures which bear on the individual, it is comparable to Effi Briest. Yet in its compassion, it looks back to the film Fassbinder had just finished, Mother Kusters Goes to Heaven. What sets Fear of Fear apart from those other extraordinary works is that he goes even further in internalizing the depiction of his protagonist, to the extent that the design, not to mention all of the subjective shots, reflect Margot's singular point of view.

Part of the film's power comes from the paradox that, while Fassbinder focuses with laserlike intensity on one woman, he simultaneously suggests a wealth of resonances which can be interpreted - by those who are so inclined - as allegorical (Margot as "everywoman"), or even existential (the particularity of one individual in an unknowable universe, vividly dramatized through image and sound). Always political, Fassbinder also makes the film suggest, without any ideological sledgehammering, the complex interplay of the individual, family, and society. Philosophy and politics aside, the film has a gripping immediacy; and I could feel the truth in it, as it brought to mind a friend who has endured experiences akin to Margot's.

This "little" film achieves so much because of Fassbinder's mastery of both drama and visual/aural style. Its momentum comes not only from its sharp focus on Margot, but from Fassbinder's taut and elliptical screenplay, which omits several traditionally expected scenes (although I never found it confusing). Some people may find the characters surrounding Margot to be underdeveloped. But this is a highly subjective film, relentlessly focused on her, and that is how she perceives them. The shallow visual field is so effective because it reflects Margot's perceptions; it helps us feel what she feels about her surroundings. He also makes extensive use of mirrors (as in Effi Briest and Chinese Roulette). Margot's image is duplicated, and reduplicated; but ironically seeing her from so many different angles does not give us - or her - any more insight into her fractured nature. Even more visceral is Fassbinder's motif of fragmented people, showing them literally, and metaphorically, cut off. The narrow hallways and doors block characters from each other and, by implication, themselves. Fassbinder is especially deft at using this device to develop, through purely visual means, the enigmatic - and poignant - character of Bibi, Margot's young, often silent, daughter.

The final section of the film, beginning when Margot enters a mental hospital, feels a bit rushed. But it also introduces the fascinating theme of Margot's connection with other women, for the first time in the film, including a caring psychiatrist and, more ambiguously, another mental patient. Although some people see the final scene as Margot's return to madness, there could also be a tentatively hopeful interpretation. Not only have we seen Margot's progress at the hospital, but the sinister Mr. Bauer (Kurt Raab) who stalks her throughout the film (he functions as her doppelganger) is gone for good. Also, and I know this is a stretch, her surname Staudte is similar to the German Staude, the word for a perennial plant - which dies down in winter but, a few months later, springs back to life. Maybe, just maybe, with her recent developments, Margot can leave fear behind and begin her personal reintegration.