In the wonderful Norwegian-Canadian animated film *The Danish Poet*, which won an Oscar in 2007, the narrator’s voice – that of Liv Ullmann – attempts to convince us that the entire story we are hearing and watching unfold before us is merely a series of improbable coincidences. For example, we see a cow repeatedly trying to climb a ramp sloping upwards at an angle, slipping back down time and again, eventually losing her footing, falling – and thereby killing the farmer, her owner. It is a triumph of animated slapstick, not least because the accident happens entirely by chance. And for the farmer’s deeply unhappily married wife, it is a completely unexpected stroke of luck. Coincidences of this and other kinds lead to the birth, at the end of the film, of the narrator whose voice we have heard from the very beginning. In other words: all the coincidences we have witnessed were necessary to bring her – the voice – into being. Incidentally, Torill Kove is the writer, director and illustrator of this film.
So was it all really just coincidence? Or was there a hidden necessity in every coincidence? It is always both, says the film – a logical paradox which it resolves elegantly, as if by a magic trick. It is the magic trick of storytelling that we never tire of, and thus also one of cinema, as long as it remains storytelling.
Apparently, we must reassure ourselves time and again that our being here is not entirely arbitrary.
A Germanist revealed the trick decades ago. It is based, he explained, on ‘motivation from behind’. From the back, from the end, everything that seemed coincidental suddenly becomes necessary, meaningful, significant. Everything led precisely to this end. That is why, as Walter Benjamin once remarked, one can only recount a life once it is complete.
Fortunately, none of us here have reached that point yet. And I, too, shall be careful not to delve any further into speculations about life and storytelling. In my view, the Germanist and his trite explanation have quite rightly been forgotten – at least outside the field of German studies. After all, the explanation does nothing to alter the desire that time and again sets the narrative in motion.
You have, of course, already realised where I am heading. Something is coming to an end these days, and we have reason to look back. Something is becoming history and demands to be told. This year, Michael Kötz is heading the Mannheim-Heidelberg International Film Festival for the last time as its director. He took over from Fee Vaillant in 1992, so he has been at the helm for 27 years. Twenty-seven years out of the festival’s 67-year history – that is a long and highly impressive period. He has recounted the festival’s history himself in a volume published in time for this year’s festival.
I shall be careful, dear Michael, not to try to compete with a good storyteller. I lack many things to do so, including the time. I shall therefore confine myself, if you’ll allow me, to a few comments.
Your involvement with the festival began a year before you took over as director, in 1991. One might say you handed out your calling card. That would, of course, be a completely inadequate metaphor. Rather, you drew attention to yourself with a bang, with the ‘SchauPlatz: Hunger for Meaning’ and with guests such as Peter Sloterdijk, Krzysztof Kieslowski, Karsten Witte and Daniel Cohn-Bendit. I am one of those who were thrilled by this coup, because it placed film and cinema at the heart of the intellectual and political debates of the time. Where they have always belonged, both then and now. As I listened to Peter Sloterdijk speak on the topic of ‘Cinema and Breath’, I stood amidst an impressively large crowd – a clear sign of widespread interest. Unfortunately, I must say, this ‘SchauPlatz’ event took place only two more times.
One cannot pass over the year 1993 in the festival chronicle without comment. Out of the blue, the city wanted to abolish its festival. In your festival history, one can read the details of the drama. Ultimately, it was a battle with a happy ending, won thanks to a strategic stroke of genius: involving the neighbouring city of Heidelberg and turning the festival into the Mannheim-Heidelberg International Film Festival. It has now been running for 25 years. This is also, and above all, because you did not give up.
I’d like to mention one final detail, a brief chapter in the festival’s history: the Mannheim-Heidelberg Film Culture Prize, which was awarded from 2008 to 2011. In 2009, it was awarded to the critic Wolfram Schütte, editor of the *Frankfurter Rundschau* and responsible for film and literature – a great writer to whom we both owe our professional beginnings, as freelancers and film critics in a arts section that, back in the 1980s, was highly regarded throughout Germany. Film is not just film: this shared credo dates back to that time.
The festival’s profile, consistently upheld, is encapsulated in the slogan: ‘The Festival of Newcomers’. I would like to add: it is a festival of world cinema. Through the films of young directors, it has brought us into contact with the diversity of human culture, which exists only in its plurality and in its differences – for which the festival has created a shared space for communication. This is an achievement that cannot be praised or admired highly enough.
We, the church-based film organisations, SIGNIS and INTERFILM, have always held it in high regard, and we thank you and the festival for the generous hospitality that has enabled us to take part in this experience time and again. A few years ago, we awarded you a special ecumenical prize in recognition of this. Unfortunately, this cannot be repeated, and we must therefore go our separate ways today. As agreed with SIGNIS, I am expressing our thanks to you on behalf of both organisations. INTERFILM itself would like to pay you a tribute that reflects our long-standing connection. I do not know if you still remember, but you were once a member of an INTERFILM jury – at the 1986 Berlinale. This should not remain a mere coincidence. On behalf of the INTERFILM Executive Committee, I am pleased to confer upon you honorary membership today, in gratitude and recognition.