A deliberate break with the light, come­dic tone of his widely celebrated Maskerade, Willi Forst’s follow-up explored much darker paths – and proved to be another resound­ing success. In fact, Mazurka was one of the few German films of the Nazi era that also connected with international audiences. Paul May directed an almost shot-for-shot Hollywood remake titled Confession in 1937, starring Kay Francis.
The original actress was arguably an even bigger star: Mazurka was the first German film of silent-era legend Pola Negri in 15 years. She plays Vera, a sing­er aggressively pursued – and ultimately raped – by composer Grigorij Michailow (Albrecht Schoenhals). Years later, Vera’s estranged daughter Lisa also meets Gri­gorij. History is about to repeat itself.
Combining a narrative driven by chance, intricate stylisation and the use of music as a plot device, Mazurka evokes masterpieces by directors such as Douglas Sirk, and even Hitchcock. The melodra­matic tale, culminating in an emotion­ally high-pitched murder trial, unfolds in intricate flashbacks. Experimenting with subjective camera angles and expressionistic decor, Forst widens the stylistic scope of his cinema, incorporating layered temporal­ities and silent-movie techniques. First of all, though, Mazurka is one of his strongest statements about the deeply ambivalent power of music, a force that can elevate, but also destroy people. When Grigorij tells Vera that it is the “deepest desire of every melody to pursue unity”, this is both a perfect description of Forst’s symphonic ap­proach to filmmaking, and a sexual threat.

Lukas Foerster