The Mephisto Waltz

In a retelling of the proverbial Faustian deal with the devil, The Mephisto Waltz (1971) plays out with the deal paying off, as Duncan Ely is able to live on in the body of Myles Clarkson. It doesn’t hurt that Ely is a master pianist and Clarkson has long, spry fingers (and that he has a beautiful wife, Paula). Even so, both Paula and the Clarkson’s daughter stand in the way of Duncan being able to get back to his own wife, and the film ends with Paula making her own deal with the devil so she can live on even though Duncan (and his wife) have already set about her demise. Because Duncan’s “after-life” transition is successful and even Paula, who has been opposing Duncan’s possession of Myles, ends up turning to the devil, the lesson of the film, Faust (1926) is effectively debunked. Besides The Mephisto Waltz, that God does not smite every case of injustice in the world—the genocide being perpetrated by Israel in the 2020s being a vivid and blatant example—may even further instigate interest in Faustian deals with the devil, even though that entity is known to be deceiver and thus not to be trusted. The allure of selfish gain can be worthwhile nonetheless for some people. For Duncan Ely, being able to go on living and gain even more fame as a performing pianist is worth the gamble, and it pays off. The medium of film is an excellent means of presenting the religious level, which is distinct yet interacts with the ordinary world that anchors the film.

The full essay is at "The Mephisto Waltz."

Silent Night

The medium of film has an amazing ability to trigger emotions, even very strong ones, through dialogue, narrative, cinematography and sound. The suspension of disbelief, if achieved, renders the impact all the more complete. Dread, for example, can be conjured up even with another yet different emotion, such as joy, even in the same song. The medium is also capable of stimulating thought not only as viewers attempt to figure out unnecessarily convoluted plots, but also thinking more abstractly in philosophical or theological terms. Such abstractions, besides being implicitly or explicitly treated in the narrative, extend beyond the confines of a narrative and its story-world. “Life and death” is such a theme, as is whether the human soul is immortal. Less tantalizing, though arguably just as important for typically being overlooked, philosophy of mind (and philosophy of psychology), for which a strange, incomprehensible plotline is by no means requisite or even constructive, stands as a rich reservoir for filmmakers. Even though the question of life and death is central to the film, Silent Night (2021), which interestingly was made during the global coronavirus pandemic—there is even a “Covid Supervisor” listed in the credits!—a seldom-recognized vulnerability innate to the human mind may deserve top billing in that film. The group-think evinced by the group of friends at the house on Christmas Eve and perhaps a wider mass-hysteria only touches the surface of the problem in terms of the human mind. I contend that the star-attraction in the Christmas film rightly goes to the human mind’s vulnerability to presumption to the assumption of infallibility (and susceptibility to group-think cognitively and as in terms of power).  In the context of a group’s suicide pact, critical thinking in the sense of critiquing whatever assumptions are being held is so very important, yet it is only evinced by Art, a young boy, who is under unrelenting pressure especially from his parents to take a fatal pill before a “cloud” of toxic, climate-changed gases hits. 

The full essay is at "Silent Night."