artfulwords
In 1968 I was 16 when I saw first this film. I am now 54 and have loved it ever since, having experienced enough personally to understand its poignancy. I very much miss Oskar Werner's presence on screen, and there has never been another actor quite like him. A decade after the film came out, I had the brief and unexpected pleasure of meeting Barbara Ferris in NYC and was able to tell her how the film's sweetness had stayed with me. I have never understood why it's not been more appreciated and rarely is shown on television. Some years ago, I finally obtained a copy through someone who had taped it on cable television (but the tape finally broke from repeated viewing). Prior to that, I only remember finding it on PBS during the 1970s and 1980s. Now, thanks to a wonderful seller on Ebay, I have it on DVD as a transfer. Though timeless in theme, innocent, yet not, it reflects the aura of the 1960s and becomes more bittersweet with age. When one grows up with such a film, it takes on each decade that passes, and always retains that crystal sensation of the first viewing. The soundtrack is as lovely as it was nearly 40 years ago - ever filled with memory, fresh and fleeting. If you search Ebay patiently enough, you will find the film and LP, and the CD through Amazon. "Interlude" is a treasure. * I posted the above in June, 2006. When I sign onto IMDb to read about "Interlude," I always find that regardless of age or where we're from, we're all bound by the magic and longing of (and for) this film. Last year, after emailing Oskar Werner's son, Felix - never dreaming my communication would reach him directly, much to my delight, I received a warm reply. Among his kind words, he indicated that he was, indeed, looking for a way to re-release the film."Interlude" is often with me; it is an old friend. Conversations pop up in my head, direct, loving, rich, tender, humorous, poignant streams of thought: Stefan, upon running into Sally again: "I'm glad you didn't have your hair cut short." Meeting her for the interview, "You've chosen a most dubious trade, Miss Carter." Sally, after they unwrap his gift from the antique shop: "I love the lamp, Stefan, and I love you." His reassurance when they are away together: "Just calling home to see that all is well - Sally, may I invite you to dinner?" A film flowing with adult, relevant moments in marriage, career, affairs: "And when you grow older, you will see that there's still a young man who's able to love, deeply and painful, and that he has the need for love," so comes Stefan's incredible revelation at the dinner party, immediately accented by quiet realization on Antonia's face; later, her devastation, leaving Albert Hall after seeing Stefan with Sally. The terrible estrangement suffered during the walk in the garden, in their words, stance, stilted pose like statues on the bench; children innocently calling out "Daddy" all the while. The vital key to a life with Stefan shouts itself in stoic elegance during that fatal meeting at the restaurant. Antonia asks deftly, "Do you love music?" taking perfect aim at Sally's younger, naive soul, piercing it with precision; diminishing her. The truest sense of loss comes full circle in Sally's apartment at dawn. Wrapped in a blanket to ward off the chill, she wraps herself away from Stefan. They are exhausted on every level: "You don't want to marry me." "I want to you marry you; I just don't want to be your wife." "I won't have it become real and spoiled." "I'm afraid instead of being what you want, I'll be what you've got." "You are a child," he gently admonishes, futility never more apparent. I keep "Interlude" with me often, reread Donne's XVII Elegy "On His Mistress," listen to Robert Lafond's 2005 CD of the reworking of the soundtrack and marvelous title song, (including Delerue's "Rapture"), both scores soar with yearning. Tchaikovsky's First Symphony, "Winter Daydreams," Rachmaninoff's "Second," Albioni's "Adagio;" the Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms and Dvorak pieces from the film allow me to immerse, to feel the musical world of Stefan Zelter; and perhaps of Oskar Werner, himself, who loved music and portrayed Mozart with such devotion in the 1955 Austrian film. When I cannot sleep and "Interlude" has popped into my head during the day, I pull out my second-generation DVD, for which I'm ever grateful, and watch on my laptop, eager to visit them again, to slip into a timeless world of "time, like a dream," made more real with each viewing (probably closing in my on 100th by now). Never growing weary or impatient with them, I still discover some nuance missed -- tonight's was the irony of hearing a salon assistant addressed as "Sally" by Antonia as the woman takes from her, her jacket, moments before Sally Carter catches sight of Stefan's wife in the mirror, who now "has a face" and is not at all what Sally expected. In reading new IMDb comments, I learned that Oskar Werner's mother was named Stefani Zelter. A perfect fulfillment of the film. "It's me ... " is the simplest of announcements, delivered three times: first, with a tinge of guilt, by Stefan to Antonia upon returning home after being with Sally; then, to Sally through the door when he misses her dinner and shows up late, embarrassed and defensive; and finally at the end, by Sally to her husband on the phone after Stefan has gone. She calls from the empty apartment. "It's me" belongs to the triangle of love, sorrow and longing - each of them, onto the other. For this and all other reasons mentioned, "Interlude" remains blessedly timeless.May, 2009
