During my first year of film school, my teacher would assign a great task to all her students during a post-production and sound course. The assignment was a unique redubbing exercise, stripping the audio and initial sound mix from pre-existing film scenes. The goal of the activity was to practice the art of foley and sound-mix. We were given a choice to complete a brand new audio master of a select one-minute scene from either Agnès Varda’s “Clèo from 5 to 7,” Andrei Tarkovsky’s “Stalker,” and Guillermo del Toro’s “Pan’s Labyrinth.” The exercise would later help open doors for the class to discover the extensivity and boundless freedom of the sound mix; how the absolute personification and given context of a visual piece of footage can be altered entirely on the whim. Sound mixers are both gods and sadists in many retrospects — artists who craft and toil to their heart’s own beating imagination and freewheeling pulse.
It seems that Academy-Award nominee Steven Soderbergh also configured the same aforementioned ideology with his latest feature, “Mr. Kneff.” An extensive redux of his 1991 sophomore feature “Kafka,” “Mr. Kneff” completely recontextualizes the visual language and soundscape of the pre-existing thirty-year-old film to breathtaking effect. In essence, the latest Soderbergh redux is a demented silent film — or better put by the man himself: “a silent film with sound.” It’s an entirely radical departure for the director; in both tone, execution, and picture-lock. Although, none of us should be surprised about the final product. Over the past few years, in particular, Soderbergh seems to be continuously attempting to cover all possible genres within his given budgetary reach.
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And what better manner to delve into the realm of German Expressionism by completing butchering, reassembling, and recreating brand-new scenes for a film that initially flopped in its heyday? Back when Soderbergh garnered the Palme d’Or for his indie-sensation “Sex, Lies, and Videotape,” a certain pressure and moral obligation were dawned upon the young auteur. Written by Lem Dobbs (“The Limey“), and starring Jeremy Iron, Theresa Russell, Ian Holm, Armin Mueller-Stahl, and Alec Guinness, “Kafka” would later become an underwhelming performer, both economically and critically. A film emulating the nonsense, absurdism, and hysteria of a great Kafka novel, Soderbergh’s confounding drama set up all the wrong expectations for those expecting a great erotic successor to his debut feature. “Kafka” is undeniably original with its gonzo mystery but frequently falters due to a plethora of confounding narrative inconsistencies and bizarre dialect/accent alterations.
So, what does one do with a flawed sophomore feature that was virtually forgotten by nearly every cinephile from around the globe? Why the only reasonable path is to embrace those inconsistencies and cherish the flaws! Shot in the glorious city of Prague, it would only make sense for Soderbergh to embrace the visual aspect and atmosphere of his electric location through the power of the moving image. Czechoslovakia and the appearances of cobblestone castles and ghastly graveyards enhance the eerie quality of Soderbergh’s silent film cut. Since everything is virtually subtitled and color-coded depending on the character speaking onscreen, the advantage of providing a more robust visual environment is now effectively a character in & of itself. In a film now reduced to simple archetypal roles, Soderbergh’s intent with his new recut is to merely create a profound homage bordering on campy emulation and genuine emotional stakes. The cut is even changed to a Kafka-inspired title, where the name “Mr. Kneff” is phonetically reminiscent and shared with the aesthetic likings of a Kafka protagonist.
Ridding itself of self-wallowed narration and adding sepia-coloring and newly shot scenes with expired film stock, Soderbergh ultimately embraces the rules of his own nutty universe. Don’t expect anything profound or nuanced from this new recut — but rather a film embracing its plethora of questionable narrative hijinks. It’s pure cinematic anarchy, alienating its audience in the most head-scratching and admirable manner possible. Cultural connotation clashes with dry wit, the perfect mesh of F. W. Murnau’s abstract pastiche, and the performance physicality of Buster Keaton.
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Instead of the more traditional symphonic score, Soderbergh replaces some of Clint Mansell’s original compositions with a dose of funk and the occasional eyebrow-raising needle drop. An instrumental cover of a famous Metallica song? Sure, why not! Anything can happen in this universe, where the condensed 80 minute runtime (from the original 95-minute version) ultimately enhances the absurdity of the original text through the power of the moving image. The audio is but a humorous supplement that once again recontextualizes the tone, atmosphere, and intent of Soderbergh’s artistic vision.
The end product is a film consumed with boastful maximalism, all included with more vigorous sight gags and clever throwbacks to the beloved silent era. Admittedly, the color-coded subtitling does become grading when Soderbergh attempts to implement ham-fisted lines of snappy dialogue within a narrative that is already ridiculously off-kilter in the first place. Yet, it’s the pure artistic audacity of the project that more than capitalizes his own respect and admiration for the craft. Call it pretentious or even needless, but “Mr. Kneff” is one of the few films in recent memory that actually serves a rather inspiring purpose.
No film is genuinely a failure unless you abandon the project entirely. Just like people, films deserve a second chance—a second life to once again redux itself in a brand new limelight. In the most opportune and chaotic fashion, Soderbergh was able to premiere his latest work in the glorious center stage of the Princess of Wales Theatre in Toronto, surrounded by avid cinephiles expecting a mysterious project with bare expectations. By name, by reputation, and by his admiration for the craft, “Mr. Kneff” proves that Soderbergh can literally create anything he pleases and still manage to get away with a resounding amount of satisfaction from a packed Torontonian crowd. His name is synonymous in our film culture — and for better and worse, he’s one of the few American auteurs still creating challenging work to this day. [B+]
Follow along with our full coverage from the 2021 Toronto International Film Festival here.
