The Man I Killed. 1932. Directed by Ernst Lubitsch.

(6/8/00-6/13/00)

Alida Walsh used to rave about this movie. She called it one of the greatest anti-war pictures ever made. Finally seeing it after all these years I have to agree that it is undeniably a classic. In fact, my immediate feeling is that it makes the rest of Lubitsch's work look trivial, though I suspect that is merely the enthusiasm of the moment.

It is a film about the effect of war on the people who endure it. A young man has killed another man in the trenches. He can't get over his guilt and a visit to a priest doesn't help much. By chance he has learned the name and address of the man he killed and decides to go and ask his family for forgiveness. Through a fluke (that he was seen putting flowers on the dead man's grave) he is mistaken for a friend of the dead man and the mother, the father and the man's fiancee take him to their hearts and he can't bring himself to tell them the truth. The fiancee comes to love him and he decides that the only thing he can do is leave. He admits the horrible truth to the fiancee who persuades him to remain for the sake of the parents of the man he killed, but to never reveal the truth to them.

This is a truly painful movie to watch. It is brightened with touches of humor, but it is played out in a series of wonderful moments. It is definitely the work of a master.

The film begins with a powerful condemnation of war. (I first saw this included in a compilation of "great editing sequences.") It is a year after the signing of the armistice that ended World War I. They are celebrating the event in Paris with a lot of festivity. And suddenly we are watching a parade from behind a man with one leg. A cannon goes off in celebration and we cut to a hospital where a man sits up in bed and screams at the sound of the cannon.

And then we are in church. And we see old men decked out in regalia. It is the old who are celebrating.

The mass ends and we meet the young man Paul. He approaches a priest to confess murder. But as it turns out the "murder" was killing a German soldier in the trenches--an event which haunts him terribly. The priest is uncomfortable and has very little solace to offer him. He tells the young man that there is no need to feel guilty--he was only doing his duty.

The priest is well-intentioned, but there is really no answer that he can give Paul. Organized religion is part of the establishment and basically must support the idea that killing in battle is all right, is actually one's "duty." The problem that Paul is grappling with is a purely personal one and the answer is not going to be found in any institution. It is something that he can only work out for himself.

The visit to the priest is not a total waste, however, as Paul does find a possible solution. Through a fluke he has come to know the identity of the man he killed--Walter Holderlin--and his family's address. And so he decides to go to them to ask forgiveness. (This same situation is replayed in Oliver Stone's Platoon. Times change but the problems humans face remain consistent.)

In Germany, Walter's father, Dr. Holderlin, is a kindly old man except that he carries this hatred for the French. There is a wonderfully poignant scene in the cemetery where Walter's mother visits her son's grave and gets into a conversation with another bereaved mother. She mentions how the other woman's son used to come to the Holderlins's house when the mother was baking and that he loved her cinnamon cakes. The other woman asks her for the recipe and when she hears that it took two cups of sugar she remarks that she only used one. That was why he preferred Frau Holderlin's cinnamon cakes. But next time . . . She breaks off, remembering that there will not be a next time. It is a very moving scene, full of loss.

Paul eventually shows up at the house. Dr. Holderlin mistakes him for a patient and starts taking down the basic facts about him. Upon learning he is French, he orders him out of his house. He shows Paul the picture of his dead son, remarking that to him all Frenchmen are the murderers of his son.

Just at that moment Elsa appears. Elsa is the housekeeper and was engaged to Walter. She has seen Paul putting flowers on Walter's grave and, believing that he was Walter's friend, goes to get the mother. Paul doesn't have the heart to correct this impression and Dr. Holderlin begins to melt, moved by the thought that a Frenchman would be putting flowers on his son's grave.

Paul hangs around. And his presence has a healing effect. The Holderlins start to come out of their deep state of grief. And Elsa starts to fall in love with him. There is an amusing scene of neighbors eavesdropping on Elsa and Paul. It is just the right touch of comic relief.

The response to Paul's presence around the neighborhood is not altogether favorable--and understandably so. I was reminded of how low Germany sunk at the end of World War I. And so it was just natural that Paul should be resented as well as the Holderlin family which welcomes him.

And the tension climaxes in one great moment. Dr. Holderlin goes to have a beer with his friends. He offers to buy a round for everybody and one by one his friends decline--some with just their silence. And Holderlin makes a speech about what he has learned. He feels responsibility for his own son's death because he hated the French and supported the war. And he feels sorrow for the French families which have also suffered losses. He says something like, "When there was a battle and we killed their sons we celebrated and drank beer. And when they were victorious and killed our sons they celebrated and drank wine." It really is a beautiful, profound moment and Lionel Barrymore had the authority to truly give it meaning. Holderlin has learned the stupidity of the hatreds that give rise to war. And this is all due to Paul's presence. Paul has helped this man see the light.

Paul decides that he has to go. And it is a problem for him because he can't go without hurting those who have opened their hearts to him. And he can't reveal to them the real reason for his presence there. He tries to say goodbye to Elsa, but she is very insistent that he explain why he is leaving. And she takes out Walter-s last letter and reads it to him--having no idea that he had read it before, that he had even completed the signature on it. When she becomes so choked he completes the reading of the letter from memory. And finally reveals his terrible secret.

He leaves her and goes out to say goodbye to the Holderlins. Elsa follows and stops him. She tells Frau Holderlin that Paul had really come to tell them that the war is over and that he has decided to stay. Frau Holderlin is so happy and goes to get her husband. Elsa tells Paul that he has brought these people the first relief, the first happiness they have known since their son was killed. He must stay for them, but they must never know that he is the man that killed their son. Dr. Holderlin comes in and tenderly embraces the Frenchman. And then he gets him Walter's violin to play and the Holderlins settle back to happily listen to Paul playing it. It is an ending both painful and beautiful.

Elsa is very right that they must never know the truth. There is no way that the Holderlins could have dealt with that knowledge. And this is the opportunity for Paul to atone for his deed, to clear his conscience. What he really is being called upon to do is put others' needs before his own.

The Holderlins' love of Paul is not misplaced. He really is the good man that they think he is. He came to ask forgiveness, but he brought blessings into their lives. He is a man who assumes full responsibility for his actions and does not try to rationalize them.

But there is another way of looking at this acceptance of responsibility. Neither Paul nor Dr. Holderlin ever seem to wake up to the fact that they have been duped into accepting World War I. Paul isn't entirely to blame for Walter's death in a moral sense. He was a pawn--as was Dr. Holderlin--as were so many others. And that is something that needs to be recognized if wars are to end.

The Man I Killed isn't just an anti-war film. It is also a film about letting go of things and it is a film about thinking for oneself. Both Paul and Dr. Holderlin come to conclusions different from those accepted by their peers. They awaken, their consciousness is raised--and that separates them from those around them.

Elsa is a wonderful character in the final moments. Nancy Carroll's speech didn't have the ring of Lionel Barrymore's big speech, but it was an effective moment. She, too, experiences growth and has something to teach as well. It's horrible what's revealed to her, but she is still able to accept Paul's remorse, see the benefits that he has brought--and go on. I really liked the fact thatalthough Paul has to keep his secret he has someone to share it with. That makes such a difference. Elsa implicitly agrees to help shoulder his burden, to help carry his cross.
What the film doesn't tell us is whether Elsa and Paul will be able to get together romantically. The ending is ambiguous in that respect, although I have no doubt that many moviegoers took it for granted that they got together. But it is one thing to forgive the man who killed your fiance; it is quite another to love him. Yet, Elsa does exhibit a willingness to let go of the past. But I still wonder.

It is sad to look at this film from the perspective of later years and know what was going to happen to Germany over the next several decades. I feel sad when I think of what the next twenty years was going to be like for Paul and Elsa. And I hope that Paul's atonement eventually released him from the guilt that tortured him. He was a good man and he deserved a happy life.