The New York Times International - 07.08.2019

(Romina) #1

2 | WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 7, 2019 THE NEW YORK TIMES INTERNATIONAL EDITION


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Works like Mr. Wagenbrett’s “Auf-
bruch” are a reminder that what was
largely perceived as a momentous, eu-
phoric event in the West was, in East
Germany, an era of great danger, anxi-
ety and upheaval. The two young people
in the earth are not experiencing a glori-
ous rebirth; it is both perilous and
painful.
After 1989, many East German state
enterprises were sold to Western com-
panies and taken over (or closed down);
many museums and arts institutions
also got new leaders from the West. A
simmering resentment at these per-
ceived indignities persists among older
East Germans — a sense that the people
of a country that vanished from the map
were sidelined in the process of German
reunification.
Paul Kaiser, one of the curators of
“Point of No Return,” said that “30 years
after the fall of the wall, the process of
categorizing East German art within
the Pan-German context is still conflict-
ridden and incomplete.” The exhibition
was “a further step in synthesizing the
history of East German art into German
art history,” he added, and in countering
its “politicization and devaluation.”
After 1989, the art of East Germany
was often dismissed in the West as the
product of a totalitarian regime under
which artistic freedom was severely
limited. In 1990, in a debate that became
known as the “bilderstreit,” or “battle
over pictures,” the painter Georg Ba-
selitz said in a magazine interview that
there were “no artists in the G.D.R.”
Anyone who could paint had left, he said
— as both he and Gerhard Richter, now
the two top-selling German artists, had
done before the Berlin Wall was erected.
Mr. Kaiser prompted a rancorous re-
vival of the debate in 2017, when he
wrote a newspaper opinion piece ex-

pressing dismay that the main show-
case of modern art in Dresden, a city in
the former East Germany, had con-
signed art produced under the dictator-
ship to the depot. The museum’s direc-
tor, Hilke Wagner, who refuted Mr. Kai-
ser’s claim, was inundated with hate
mail.
The debate became a proxy battle-
field for a host of festering East German
grievances. The Dresden museum, the
Albertinum, responded by staging a
show of East German art in 2018, accom-
panied by a program of talks and events
aimed at bringing the public into the mu-
seum for open discussions.
Other institutions in the former East
Germany, including the Museum of Fine
Arts in Leipzig and the Moritzburg Art
Museum in Halle, have picked up the ba-

ton, unearthing stores of East German
art from their depots and retooling their
permanent displays to raise the profile
of the works.
But gaps in museum collections re-
main — particularly in the case of artists
who were either dissidents or working
under the official radar. More than 70
percent of works on show in “Point of No
Return” are loans, many from the artists
themselves.
That allows for plenty of discoveries.
One room in the show is dominated by a
series of melancholy large-format paint-
ings called “Passages” by Doris Ziegler,
a Leipzig artist whose work has rarely
been exhibited.
“In 1988, we all thought the G.D.R.
would stay as it was till we die,” Ms.
Ziegler said in a recent interview. “The

situation was ridiculous but also threat-
ening. The climate was gray, it was mor-
ibund. Best friends and colleagues had
left, and I was constantly asking myself
whether I should leave, too.”
The “point of no return” referred to in
the exhibition’s title is Nov. 9, 1989, the
night when crowds of East Germans
breached the Berlin Wall. The crowds
streaming across the border are cap-
tured in a 1989 painting by Trak
Wendisch as a river of light against a lu-
gubrious violet and black cityscape.
But the show also examines what Mr.
Kaiser called “the cracks in the wall”
that began developing in the 1980s.
From the early 1980s, pockets of rela-
tively free artistic expression began to
develop in ramshackle apartment
blocks in dilapidated districts of big East
German cities.
Many of the artworks of this era ad-
dress a feeling of desperation to escape.
A 1984 work by Stefan Plenkers, “Boat
Cemetery,” depicts a beach strewn with
fragments of boats and the heads of two
people with their backs turned to the
viewer, as though staring out to sea
longingly, but stranded because the ves-
sels are all broken.
Yet freedom, when it came, was not
unequivocally welcomed. Perhaps one
of the most unnerving works in the show
is by Willi Sitte, a committed socialist
and the long-serving president of East
Germany’s official artists’ association.
For some, he was the epitome of a
“state artist,” but in the 1960s, he fought
for greater artistic independence and
was put under surveillance by the Stasi,
East Germany’s secret police. His 1990
work “Erdgeister” (“Earth Spirits”)
shows the artist upside down, his head
buried in the mud. All around him are
East German workers in the same posi-
tion. For Mr. Sitte, the world had been
turned on its head.

“Aufbruch” (“Awakening”), a 1990 work by Norbert Wagenbrett, is a reminder that many viewed East Germany’s demise with anxiety. Right, “Der Agitator (Rufer)” by Hans Ticha.

ARTISTS RIGHTS SOCIETY (ARS), NEW YORK/VG BILD-KUNST, BONN ARTISTS RIGHTS SOCIETY (ARS), NEW YORK/VG BILD-KUNST, BONN

East German art gets its due


G ERMANY, FROM PAGE 1

“Die reizende Mauer,” or “The Delightful Wall,” by Wasja Götze, was painted in 1988.

WASJA GÖTZE

In the opening sequence of the televi-
sion series “Miss Kobayashi’s Dragon
Maid,” a hungover computer program-
mer sets off to her dreaded office job,
only to encounter a five-story-tall drag-
on waiting outside her door. Before Miss
Kobayashi can figure out if she’s dream-
ing, the dragon has transformed into a
young woman in a maid’s costume.
Fans of the anime director Yasuhiro
Takemoto say the series was typical
Takemoto: fantastical yet relatable; vis-
ually beautiful and narratively strange.
Last year a major anime website gave it
awards for best TV comedy and best TV
ending. News in February that the show
would have a second season was widely
celebrated.
But before a release date emerged,
Mr. Takemoto was killed, alongside
more than 30 of his friends and col-
leagues, in one of the deadliest massa-
cres in Japanese history. On July 18, an
arsonist set fire to Kyoto Animation, the
studio that helped turn Mr. Takemoto
into a household name in the world of
anime.
After weeks of confusion about
whether Mr. Takemoto was among the
victims, the Kyoto police confirmed his
death on Friday.
Most of the fire victims have not been
publicly identified. Of those who have,
many had remarkable biographies. But
few creators anywhere had been with
the company, known affectionately as
KyoAni, longer than Mr. Takemoto, said
Christopher Macdonald, the chief exec-
utive of the Anime News Network.
Mr. Takemoto, 47, joined the studio in
his 20s, holding every job in the book:
junior animator, key animator, story-
board artist, writer, assistant director,
episode director, series director, trainer
of young talent. In the credits of the stu-
dio’s most beloved TV shows and films,
his name is usually there — whether up
front or at the end with a “special
thanks.”
“It’s hard to imagine KyoAni without
Takemoto and Takemoto without
KyoAni,” Mr. Macdonald said.
Cayla Coats, the editorial manager at
Crunchyroll, an anime distributor and
news site, said “Miss Kobayashi’s Drag-
on Maid” encapsulated what was so spe-
cial about Mr. Takemoto’s directorial
style. “His sensitive and empathetic di-
recting style managed to take a some-
what absurd story about a live-in dragon
maid and bring out the deeply human
themes of adopted families and bridging
emotional distances,” she said.
Peter Tatara, the event director for
Anime NYC, made a similar observa-
tion. “It didn’t matter how outlandish”
Mr. Takemoto’s stories were, he said.

“Whether they were about dragons or
aliens, there was a certain humanity and
intimacy that grounded them and made
them very real.”
Mr. Takemoto decided he wanted to
study animation after watching the 1986
movie “Castle in the Sky,” according to a
magazine interview cited by The Japan
News.
Directed by the famed filmmaker and
animator Hayao Miyazaki, the movie
centers on an orphan’s attempt to keep
her magical amulet from space pirates
with the help of a new friend.
After studying anime in Osaka, Mr.
Takemoto joined Kyoto Animation in
1996, according to The Hollywood Re-
porter and The Japan News. Over the
years, he steadily attracted fans, and
many credited the 2007 television series
“Lucky Star” with introducing him to a
wider audience. Based on a manga
comic strip by the same name, it focuses
on the day-to-day lives of four high
school girls.
Though the characters are fictional,
the town and a Shinto shrine that plays a
crucial role were modeled after real lo-
cations.

As the show grew in popularity, hun-
dreds of thousands of fans from across
Japan — and eventually beyond —
made pilgrimages to the Washinomiya
Shrine, about an hour from Tokyo.
Because fans were respectful and lo-
cals appreciated the visitors, it became a
new model for anime tourism, according
to Takayoshi Yamamura, a professor in
the Center for Advanced Tourism Stud-
ies at Hokkaido University, who wrote a
paper on the topic.
In 2010, Mr. Takemoto was a director
of what The Hollywood Reporter called
“one of the longest anime ever made.”
Nearly three hours long, the movie,
“The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzu-
miya,” won best film at the Animation
Kobe Awards and became one of Mr.
Takemoto’s most commercially success-
ful films, grossing $8 million in Japan,
according to the Internet Movie Data-
base.
In the aftermath of the blaze at Kyoto
Animation, there was a great deal of
confusion about whether Takemoto had
been in the office or traveling that day.
Early reports suggested that he had
died, only to be contradicted by widely
shared tweets stating that he was fine.
Finally, on Friday, the Kyoto police con-
firmed that he was among the dead.

Famed anime director


died in Japan arson attack


The Washinomiya Shrine, north of Tokyo, was featured in the 2007 TV series “Lucky
Star,” with animation by Yasuhiro Takemoto. It is a pilgrimage site for his fans.

EUGENE HOSHIKO/ASSOCIATED PRESS

BY HEATHER MURPHY

After weeks of confusion about
whether Yasuhiro Takemoto was
among the victims, the Kyoto
police confirmed his death.

D.A. Pennebaker, the groundbreaking
documentary filmmaker best known for
capturing pivotal moments in the his-
tory of rock music and politics, including
Bob Dylan’s 1965 tour of England and
Bill Clinton’s first presidential cam-
paign, died on Thursday at his home in
Sag Harbor, N.Y. He was 94.
His death was confirmed by his son
Frazer.
Mr. Pennebaker was part of a close-
knit group of pioneering filmmakers in
the 1960s who helped bring cinéma
vérité to the United States. Michael
Moore, presenting Mr. Pennebaker with
an Oscar for lifetime achievement in
2012, said Mr. Pennebaker, along with
Robert Drew, Albert Maysles and Rich-
ard Leacock, had “invented nothing less
than the modern documentary.”
The key development in that inven-
tion was the advent of synchronous-
sound cameras, which allowed the film-
makers to move more freely with and
among their subjects, and to do away
with the postproduction voice-over
model of narrative.
“You wanted to drive the stories by
what people said to each other,” Mr. Pen-
nebaker once said, “not by what you
thought up on a yellow pad.”
In 1965, Mr. Dylan’s manager, Albert
Grossman, approached Mr. Pennebaker
about following Mr. Dylan on a British
tour.

“I didn’t really know much about Dyl-
an,” Mr. Pennebaker told The A.V. Club,
a pop culture website, in a 2011 inter-
view. “I had heard one of his songs on
the radio.”
“Dont Look Back,” the ensuing movie,
is regularly cited as one of the best docu-
mentaries ever made. Between brief
performance clips, Mr. Pennebaker’s
camera follows Mr. Dylan as he antago-
nizes the press (“I don’t need Time mag-
azine,” he tells a Time reporter), outruns
mobs of fans and loudly types over the
voice of Joan Baez while she gently
sings in a hotel room.
The movie, in black and white, begins
with an oft-imitated scene in which Mr.
Dylan flips through a series of card-
board placards that display the lyrics of
his song “Subterranean Homesick
Blues.” That opening was Mr. Dylan’s
idea.
The critic Pauline Kael pointed out in
The New Yorker in 1968 that the entire
movie was more complicated (and com-
promised) than some viewers might ap-
preciate.
“Sequences that in a Hollywood mov-
ie would have been greeted with snick-
ers — like Bob Dylan in the throes of
composition — got by because of the
rough look,” she wrote. “Audiences
seemed to accept the new cinéma vérité
convention that the camera was an in-
truder in the idol’s life, though it must
have been obvious that Dylan had ar-
ranged to star in this film.”
Mr. Pennebaker had absorbed these
techniques in 1960 while working on the
crew of “Primary,” directed by Mr. Drew,
which followed Hubert H. Humphrey

and John F. Kennedy campaigning in
Wisconsin for the Democratic presiden-
tial nomination. Decades later, while
preparing to make “The War Room,”
about Bill Clinton’s 1992 presidential
campaign, Mr. Pennebaker found that
politicians had become decidedly less
accessible and more wary.
“I could see right away that you could-
n’t actually occupy space with a person
who intended to become president in a
very interesting way,” he told The A.V.
Club. “They were constrained to act; as
soon as the camera appeared, they had

to pretend to be something else.”
Mr. Pennebaker focused instead on
George Stephanopoulos, James Carville
and other then-little-known (and less
camera-shy) operatives. The result,
Janet Maslin wrote in The New York
Times, was “a revealing film and an in-
valuable document.”
His political films are now part of the
canon, but the scenes from Mr. Pen-
nebaker’s catalog that still circulate
most widely are of pop culture figures in
action: Jimi Hendrix lighting his guitar
on fire in “Monterey Pop”; Elaine

Stritch in “Original Cast Album: Com-
pany,” exhausted and straining to record
“The Ladies Who Lunch” while Stephen
Sondheim and others look on in despair;
Mr. Dylan showing up the softer-edged
singer Donovan in a hotel room crowded
with their hangers-on in “Dont Look
Back”; and the actor Rip Torn (who died
last month) attacking Norman Mailer
with a hammer at the end of “Maid-
stone” (1970), one of three eccentric
movies directed by Mr. Mailer for which
Mr. Pennebaker served as a camera-
man.
Mr. Mailer’s films from that era are
mostly notable as oddball vanity
projects. The Times’s Vincent Canby
called “Maidstone” “a very mixed bag”
that “doesn’t make a great deal of
sense”), but Mr. Pennebaker’s relation-
ship with the author would pay divi-
dends down the line. In 1971, he accepted
Mr. Mailer’s suggestion that he film a
panel discussion that Mr. Mailer was
holding at The Town Hall in Manhattan.
The topic was the state of feminism.
Mr. Mailer was his pugnacious self as
he battled with, among others, the au-
thor Germaine Greer and the journalist
Jill Johnston before a raucous audience.
At one point, two women from the audi-
ence took the stage and kissed and
groped Ms. Johnston, an activist for les-
bian rights, before all three tumbled to
the floor.
The footage of the night remained on a
shelf for nearly a decade, but when it
was released as “Town Bloody Hall” in
1979, it was called a remarkable time
capsule of a colorful moment in New
York’s intellectual and cultural history.

The filmmaker Chris Hegedus, Mr. Pen-
nebaker’s third wife (they married in
1982) and creative partner, edited the
footage, which she called “incredibly
rough.”
Donn Alan Pennebaker, known as
Penny to friends and colleagues, was
born on July 15, 1925, in Evanston, Ill., to
John Paul Pennebaker, a commercial
photographer, and Lucille (Levick) Pen-
nebaker.
He served in the Navy and studied en-
gineering at the Massachusetts Insti-
tute of Technology and Yale. After work-
ing as an engineer for about a year, he
was shown “N.Y., N.Y.,” a short, impres-
sionistic color film by his friend Francis
Thompson chronicling “a day in New
York,” as the subtitle says.
“In about 15 minutes, I saw right away
that filmmaking was what I was going to
do for the rest of my life,” Mr. Pen-
nebaker said in a 2006 interview.
His many other films include close-up
looks at David Bowie (“Ziggy Stardust
and the Spiders From Mars,” from 1973),
John Lennon (“John Lennon & the Plas-
tic Ono Band — Live in Toronto ’69”) and
Jane Fonda (“Jane,” from 1962, when
she was 25 and enduring a starring role
in a flop on Broadway).
In addition to his son Frazer (a
producer of many Pennebaker docu-
mentaries), Mr. Pennebaker is survived
by his wife, Ms. Hegedus; seven other
children, Stacy, Linley, Jojo, Chelsea,
Zoe, Kit and Jane, all with the surname
Pennebaker; 13 grandchildren; and two
great-grandchildren.

Pioneer of cinéma vérité captured ’60s music and politics


D.A. PENNEBAKER
1925-

BY JOHN WILLIAMS

The filmmaker D. A. Pennebaker in 2016. One of his best-known projects, “Dont Look
Back,” documented Bob Dylan’s 1965 tour of England.

CHANG W. LEE/THE NEW YORK TIMES

Neil Vigdor contributed reporting.

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