Hearing the Holocaust: Music, Film, Aesthetics

HEARING THE HOLOCAUST Music, Film, Aesthetics by KATHRYN AGNES HUETHER B.A. Music, Montana State University, 2013 B.A. Religious Studies, Montana State University, 2013 A thesis submitted to the Faculty of the Graduate School of the University of Colorado in partial fulfillment of the requirement for the degree of Master of Arts Department of Religious Studies 2016 This thesis entitled: HEARING THE HOLOCAUST Music, Film, Aesthetics written by Kathryn Agnes Huether has been approved for the Department of Religious Studies Dr. Elias Sacks, Chair Dr. Deborah Whitehead, Committee Member Dr. Martin Kavka, Committee Member Date The final copy of this thesis has been examined by the signatories, and we find that both the content and the form meet acceptable presentation standards of scholarly work in the above mentioned discipline. ABSTRACT The presentation of Holocaust memory is a deeply contested topic that regularly appears in contemporary scholarly debates. Film has become particularly important in these discussions due to factors ranging from its use of diverse aesthetic mediums to its immense popularity in American culture. However, while Holocaust film has been the subject of a substantial body of literature, music, a key element of film, has gone virtually unnoticed. Unlike previous inquiries, my thesis addresses this lacuna, focusing specifically on the role of music in Holocaust film. In this thesis, I argue that music plays a crucial role in Holocaust films through its interaction with other aesthetic mediums. More specifically, focusing on the genre of Holocaust documentary film, I explore how music can elicit diverse affective responses, resulting in the creation of two distinctive types of aesthetic presentations that I describe as monolithic and polylithic. As I will discuss, I understand these terms in the following manner: Monolithic aesthetic presentation: an aesthetic presentation that employs mediums in such a way that a cohesive set of affective responses is produced. Polylithic aesthetic presentation: an aesthetic presentation that employs mediums in such a way that a set of clashing and conflicting affective responses is produced. As I demonstrate throughout my thesis, music’s role in the creation of these two types of aesthetic presentations proves to be a powerful element in the production of meaning, allowing Holocaust documentary films to make particular claims about how the Holocaust has been and can be experienced. CONTENTS INTRODUCTION 1 CHAPTER ONE—HISTORICAL AND ANALYTICAL OVERVIEW 13 CHAPTER TWO—CASE STUDY: AUSCHWITZ DEATH CAMP 31 CHAPTER THREE—CASE STUDY: NIGHT AND FOG 50 CONCLUSION 79 BIBLIOGRAPHY 81 FIGURES Figure 1—Kinothek "Dramatic Expression" 4 Figure 2—Musical Terms and Meanings 24 Figure 3—“Emotive Clusterings" 25 IMAGES Image 1—Auschwitz Death Camp Winfrey at the Train Tracks 37 Image 2—Auschwitz Death Camp Mass Graves 43 Image 3—Auschwitz Death Camp Prisoner Disposal 38 Image 4—Auschwitz Death Camp Adolf Hitler 39 Image 5—Auschwitz Death Camp Crematoria Remains 42 Image 6—Auschwitz Death Camp Prisoner Arrival 44 Image 7—Auschwitz Death Camp Young Jewish Girl 50 Image 8—Auschwitz Death Camp Lines to the Gas Chambers 45 Image 9—Auschwitz Death Camp Auschwitz's Gates 46 Image 10—Auschwitz Death Camp Viewing Auschwitz's Gate 46 Image 11—Auschwitz Death Camp Block 11 47 Image 12—Auschwitz Death Camp Block 11 Memorial 48 Image 13—Night and Fog Barbed Wire Gates 58 Image 14—Night and Fog "The Machine" 61 Image 15—Night and Fog Birkenau's Barracks 71 IMAGE 16—NIGHT AND FOG AN ATTEMPTED ESCAPE…………………...…………….71 Image 17—Night and Fog Roll Call 66 Image 18—Night and Fog S.S. Officers 72 Image 19—Night and Fog Auschwitz's Gallows 72 Image 20—Night and Fog Block 11…………………………. 67 Image 21—Night and Fog Holy (?) Book 69 Image 22—Night and Fog Crematoria ARCHITECTURAL SKETCH 72 Image 23—Night and Fog A Crematorium in Present Day 73 Image 24—NIGHT AND FOG Prisoner Disposal 76  Introduction ______________________________________________________________________________ The presentation of Holocaust memory is a deeply contested topic that regularly appears in contemporary scholarly debates. Film has become particularly important in these discussions due to factors ranging from its use of diverse aesthetic mediums to its immense popularity in American culture. However, while Holocaust film has been the subject of a substantial body of literature, music, a key element of film, has gone virtually unnoticed. Unlike previous inquiries, my thesis addresses this lacuna, focusing specifically on the role of music in Holocaust film. In this thesis, I argue that music plays a crucial role in Holocaust films through its interaction with other aesthetic mediums. More specifically, focusing on the genre of Holocaust documentary film, I explore how music can elicit diverse affective responses, resulting in the creation of two distinctive types of aesthetic presentations that I describe as monolithic and polylithic. As I will discuss, I understand these terms in the following manner: Monolithic aesthetic presentation: an aesthetic presentation that employs mediums in such a way that a cohesive set of affective responses is produced. Polylithic aesthetic presentation: an aesthetic presentation that employs mediums in such a way that a set of clashing and conflicting affective responses is produced. As I demonstrate throughout my thesis, music’s role in the creation of these two types of aesthetic presentations proves to be a powerful element in the production of meaning, allowing Holocaust documentary films to make particular claims about how the Holocaust has been and can be experienced. As I use music as a distinctive lens for analyzing Holocaust film documentaries, I assess a wide range of musical techniques. Additionally, I consult studies regarding psychology and music that associate particular affective responses with the distinctive musical phenomena. I apply this analysis to two case studies, Auschwitz Death Camp (2006) and Night and Fog (1955/56), chosen for the nature of their aesthetic presentations. Auschwitz Death Camp is a special episode of The Oprah Winfrey Show, directed by Oprah Winfrey and Elie Wiesel and produced by Harpo Productions Inc. Auschwitz Death Camp, directed by Oprah Winfrey and Elie Wiesel (Chicago, IL: Harpo Inc., 2006), DVD. The film follows Winfrey and Wiesel at the Auschwitz concentration camp as Winfrey interviews Wiesel about his personal experiences at the camp, interspersed with additional documentary footage. Directed by French film director Alain Resnais, Night and Fog is one of the first Holocaust documentary films produced. Night and Fog, directed by Alain Resnais (Paris, France: Argos Films, 1955/56), DVD. Its musical score was composed by German-Jewish composer Hanns Eisler. Although there is very little written about Auschwitz Death Camp, Night and Fog and Resnais’s directorial approach have been, and continue to be, the focus of a vast amount of literature. More extensive background on both case studies will be provided in Chapter One. Historical Overview: Music and Film ______________________________________________________________________________ As stated above, music has long been regarded as a crucial element in film’s presentation. This section provides a general historical overview that serves to illuminate music’s significance. The relationship between music and film dates back to film’s emergence in the 1880s, beginning with Emile Reynaud’s Pantomimes lumineuses (Luminous Mime Shows). Pantomimes lumineuses, directed by Emile Reynaud (Paris, France: 1880 and 1883). Reynaud’s film was the first documented public display of a picture film. See André Gaudreault, “La théorie du cinéma, enfin en crise,” Cinémas 17, no. 2 (2007): 155-232; Andrè Gaudreault, “Cinéma et généalogie des médias,” Médiamorphoses 16 (2006): 24-30; Donald J. Grout, A History of Western Music, 8th edition (New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company), 780-781. Although Reynaud’s display was “silent” in the sense that it lacked any form of auditory narration or dialogue, a musical accompaniment was present with a live orchestra, generating an artistic presentation similar to that of ballet. Reynaud’s Pantomimes lumineuses was accompanied by an original musical score composed by Gaston Paulin. See James Wierzbicki, Film Music: A History (New York, NY: Routledge, 2009), 11-28; Kathryn Kalinak, Film Music: A Very Short Introduction (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2011), 34-35. Traditionally, ballet completely lacks any form of narration or dialogue. For instance, Igor Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring and Peter Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker were originally composed for ballet, but have since been performed quite often as free-standing musical compositions. See Igor Stravinsky, Rite of Spring (Moscow, Russia: Muzyka, 1913); Peter Tchaikovsky, The Nutcracker, Op. 71, 1st edition (Moscow, Russia: P. Jurgenson 1892). The use of such accompaniment contributed to silent film’s presentation in two prominent ways. First, the music covered any extraneous sound or noise that occurred as a result of how a film was shown (such as the sound of the projector). Second, music served film in a way that enhanced and provided further explanation for actions depicted on screen. See Tony Thomas, Film Score: The Art and Craft of Movie Music (Burbank, CA: Riverwood Press, 1991), 30-40. As picture shows became a more common form of artistic presentation, eventually transitioning into silent films, the live musical accompaniment remained. However, the use of a full orchestra became less common, being replaced by a live pianist who would often perform without a set score, either improvising or playing classical music excerpts of his or her choosing. Soon, particular musical techniques came to be understood as being capable of eliciting distinctive affective responses. For instance, musicologist Donald Jay Grout notes that early films borrowed musical techniques from pre-existing artistic forms such as opera and ballet and employed these techniques in similar ways, utilizing—for example—“loud, rapid passages for moments of excitement, tremolos to suggest tension or high drama, and soft, romantic themes for love scenes.” Grout, A History of Western Music, 781. As the use of particular musical techniques to generate specific affective responses gradually became more standardized, publishers and composers began to document these musical film techniques. Giuseppe Becce’s 1919 Kinothek was one of the first and most successful handbooks of musical film techniques. Becce compiled musical techniques and associated each with a particular mood or affect, linking broad categories to types of events that would occur in a film, breaking down each category into more specific ones based upon the accompanying music. This is represented in the example below of Becce’s “dramatic expression”: Taken from Giuseppe Becce, Kinothek (Berlin, Germany: Schlesinger, 1919); Roy M. Prendergast, Film Music: A Neglected Art (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1992). Prendergast notes that in addition to Becce’s categories, he also incorporated musical score examples that he believed evoked the specific mood or affect he was describing. MAIN CONCEPT: DRAMATIC EXPRESSION 1. Climax, Agitato: Highly dramatic Catastrophe, subdivisions 2. Tension, Misterioso: Night (with a sinister mood) Night (with a threatening mood) 3. Tension, Agitato Pursuit, flight, hurry Heroic Combat Figure SEQ Figure \* ARABIC 1—Kinothek "Dramatic Expression" The table above presents the overall character and affective mood of a scene with an associated musical attribute in the first column, following with details about types of scenes that might involve that character and musical feature. For instance, agitated tension might be achieved by agitato music, effectively accompanying a scene that portrays a flight from danger or heroic combat. Misterioso and Agitato are common musical terms used by composers to provide instructions as to how they would like the music to sound. See the definitions in Figure 2 in Chapter One. With the 1927 release of The Jazz Singer and the first presentation of an actor’s voice in a film, the role of music was briefly called into question. See The Jazz Singer, directed by Alan Crosland (Burbank, CA: Warner Bros. Pictures, 1927). With the new capability to include narration and dialogue, music no longer seemed necessary. As Kathryn Kalinak notes, “when the possibility of synchronized speech and sound effects released sound film from its reliance upon continuous musical accompaniment, it initially rejected music entirely.” Kathryn Kalinak, Settling the Score (Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin, 1992), 45. However, Kalinak continues, “the life span of pictures with only talking was brief, the need that music filled quickly reasserting itself.” ibid, 46. Directors found that without music, it was more difficult to elicit the particular audience reactions and emotions they wanted to achieve. Thus, music quickly returned to film. Literature Review ______________________________________________________________________________ A considerable amount of work exists on film music in a broad sense. Theodor Adorno’s and Eisler’s Composing for the Films serves as a useful theoretical and analytical resource. See Theodor Adorno and Hanns Eisler, Composing for the Films (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2007). This text highlights commonly employed cinematic compositional methods similar to those incorporated in Becce’s Kinothek. Kalinak’s Film Music: A Very Short Introduction; Tony Thomas’s Film Score: The Art and Craft of Movie Music; Benjamin Nagari’s Music as Image: Analytical Psychology of Music and Film; Roy Prendergast’s Film Music: A Neglected Art; and selected essays from The Oxford Handbook of Film Studies, edited by David Neumeyer, are also key resources that provide insight into music’s relationship to film. See Kathryn Kalinak, Film Music: A Very Short Introduction; Benjamin Nagari, Music as Image: Analytical Psychology and Music in Film (New York, NY: Routledge, 2016); Roy M. Prendergast, Film Music: A Neglected Art; David Neumeyer, ed., The Oxford Handbook of Film Studies (Oxford, England: Oxford University Press, 2014); Tony Thomas, Film Score: The Art & Craft of Movie Music. Surprisingly, the vast literature on aesthetics and Holocaust film is starkly lacking in consideration of music’s role, largely focusing, instead, on the imagery that films employ and the the messages that these productions transmit. For example, Holocaust film scholar Brad Prager’s recent publication After the Fact: The Holocaust in Twenty-First Century Documentary Film addresses early films where directors claimed that Holocaust images could “speak for themselves.” Brad Prager, After the Fact: The Holocaust in Twenty-First Century Documentary Film (New York, NY: Bloomsbury Academic, 2015), 6. Prager challenges this idea, stating that “documentary’s images, of course could not speak for themselves. Like all films or photographs, their reception was determined by how they were framed and in what context they appeared.” Prager goes on to state that “the film’s images of deportations and gas chambers awaken strong reactions, yet they are only photographs and film stills, and on their own they cannot convey the truth.” ibid. However, while Prager examines some of the aesthetic elements that contribute to images’ framing and context, he devotes only minimal attention to music. Prager invokes music once, in passing and in reference to Night and Fog, stating that “the film’s use of music, its poetic narration, and its alternation between color and black and white are all designed to unsettle, but viewers are also meant to pay close attention to the images.” ibid, 6. Prager, along with film scholars David Bathrick and Michael D. Richardson, has also contributed to a volume entitled Visualizing the Holocaust: Documents, Aesthetics, Memory. Brad Prager, David Bathrick, and Michael D. Richardson, Visualizing the Holocaust: Documents, Aesthetics, Memory (Suffolk, England: Boydell and Brewer, 2012). Visualizing the Holocaust addresses visual forms of Holocaust memory and representation (not confined to film). Bathrick states that the collection of essays “seeks to explore the dos and don’ts, the limits and the transgressions, and aesthetic quandaries and their attempted solutions that have marked some of the creative and discursive controversies within the area of Holocaust visualization.” ibid, 1. However, while this work examines films such as Night and Fog and Claude Lanzmann’s Shoah (1985) in great detail, there is still, strikingly, little attentiveness to the role that music and sound play in these films. Shoah, directed by Claude Lanzmann (Manhattan, NY: New Yorker Films, 1985). Visualizing the Holocaust addresses elements such as the influence of imagery’s angle and context, along with the use of color, narration, and language, while leaving aside consideration of soundtracks and other sonic mediums. Another example of this lack of focus on music is found in film scholar Annette Insdorf’s Indelible Shadows: Film and the Holocaust, which assesses the contextualization and presentation of Holocaust imagery by focusing on topics such as the ways in which images are adapted (or “distorted”), the controversial use of humor in Holocaust film, questions surrounding language, and films’ treatment of survivors. See Annette Insdorf, Indelible Shadows: Film and the Holocaust, 3rd edition (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 2003). Insdorf’s work mentions music, but again, only to a minimal degree, commenting that “the Holocaust experience can be expressed or approached through disorienting camera angles and movement, heightened lighting, distorting visual texture or color, stylized acting, contrapuntal soundtrack or music, and unconventional narrative structure.” ibid, 43. Insdorf also references music in passing in connection with two early Holocaust films, The Diary of Anne Frank (1955) and The Judgment at Nuremberg (1961), stating that “the fact that both films are in black and white gives them a stark quality—which is, however, undercut by their lush scores,” ibid, 6. While Insdorf acknowledges that the musical score does something, she does not explain the way in which the films were undercut by the musical score. See The Diary of Anne Frank, directed by George Stevens (Hollywood, CA: 20th Century Fox); The Judgment at Nuremberg, directed by Stanley Kramer (Universal City, CA: Universal Studios, 1961). However, while she acknowledges that a film’s score can contribute to an experience conveyed by Holocaust filmography, she does not go into detail about how or in what way. There are many additional sources that fall into a similar framework, considering various aesthetic mediums and their contributions to Holocaust filmography’s presentation with little to no reference to music. Such works include Daniel H. Magilow’s and Lisa Silverman’s Holocaust Representations in History: An Introduction; Lawrence Baron’s Projecting the Holocaust into the Present; Dominick LaCapra’s History and Memory After Auschwitz; Wulf Kansteiner’s In Pursuit of German Memory: History, Television, and Politics After Auschwitz; Philip Rosen’s Bearing Witness: A Resource Guide to Literature, Poetry, Art, Music, and Videos by Holocaust Victims and Survivors; Barbie Zelizer’s Visual Culture and the Holocaust and Remembering to Forget; and Clint Spargo’s and Robert Ehrenreich’s After Representation?: The Holocaust in Literature and Culture. Daniel H. Magilow and Lisa Silverman, Holocaust Representations in History: An Introduction (London, England: Bloomsbury Academic, 2015); Lawrence Baron, Projecting the Holocaust into the Present: The Changing Focus of Contemporary Holocaust Cinema (New York, NY: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2005); Dominick LaCapra, History and Memory After Auschwitz (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1998); Wulf Kansteiner, In Pursuit of German Memory: History, Television, and Politics After Auschwitz (Athens, OH: Ohio University Press, 2006); Philip Rosen, Bearing Witness: A Resource Guide to Literature, Poetry, Art, Music, and Videos by Holocaust Victims and Survivors (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2002); Barbie Zelizer, Visual Culture and the Holocaust (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2000) and Remembering to Forget (Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press, 1998); Clint Spargo and Robert Ehrenreich, After Representation? The Holocaust in Literature and Culture (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2012). The aforementioned works illustrate the vast body of literature that exists on both Holocaust filmography and other artistic forms of Holocaust representation, but lack any substantial focus on the role of music and sound. There are a few notable works that focus on musical compositions relating to the Holocaust. However, these works generally do not address film music. Some explore free-standing musical representations associated with the Holocaust in the classical music tradition, such as Arnold Schoenberg’s A Survivor from Warsaw (1947) and Steve Reich’s Different Trains (1988). Musicologist Alexander Ringer describes Arnold Schoenberg’s A Survivor in Warsaw as the product of a composer who “poured all his sorrow and the full measure of his Jewish pride into a unique mini-drama, a relentless crescendo from beginning to end of unmitigated horror defeated by unyielding faith, that paean to Jewish suffering A Survivor from Warsaw...[in which] virtually all of Arno Nadel’s criteria for a genuinely Jewish musical intonation combine in a dodecaphonic public exhortation.” Alexander Ringer, The Composer as Jew (Oxford, England: Clarendon Press, 1990), 203. See also Joy H. Calico, Arnold Schoenberg’s A Survivor in Warsaw in Postwar Europe (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2014); Michael Cherlin, Schoenberg’s Musical Imagination (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 2007). Steve Reich’s Different Trains is a string quartet composition that Reich links back to his childhood, stating that “when I was one-year-old, my parents separated…Since they arranged divided custody, I traveled back and forth by train frequently between New York and Los Angeles from 1939 to 1942, accompanied by my governess…I now look back and think that, if I had been in Europe during this period, as a Jew, I would have had to ride on very different trains. With this in mind, I wanted to make a piece that would accurately reflect the whole situation…The piece thus presents both a documentary and musical reality and begins a new musical direction.” See Steve Reich, Writings on Music:1965-2000, ed. Paul Hillier (Oxford, England: Oxford University Press, 2002), 151. See also Wim Merthens, American Minimal Music: LA Monte Young, Terry Riley, Steve Reich, Philip Glass (New York, NY: Pro Am Music Resources, 1989). Others—such as Shirli Gilbert’s Music in the Holocaust, Patrick Hutton’s History as an Art of Memory, Fred Prieberg’s Musik im anderen Deutschland, and David Schiller’s Bloch, Schoenberg, and Bernstein: Assimilating Jewish Music—address topics such as the role of music in concentration camps, in Nazi Germany more generally, and in the lives of Holocaust survivors. See Shirli Gilbert, Music in the Holocaust: Confronting Life in the Nazi Ghettos and Camps (Oxford, England: Clarendon Press, 2005). Gilbert’s text examines the role that music played in the concentration camps, and how it served as a form of memory for survivors after the war. Patrick Hutton addresses artistic representations and their conveyance of memory. See Patrick Hutton, History as an Art of Memory (Burlington, VT: University of Vermont, 1993); Prieberg addresses the role of music in Nazi Germany and examines how musical compositions from that period are treated post-World War II. See Fred Prieberg, Musik im anderen Deutschland (Cologne, Germany: Verlag Wissenschaft und Politik, 1968). Schiller’s analysis addresses particular musical compositions and their presentation of Holocaust memory. See David Schiller, Bloch, Schoenberg, and Bernstein: Assimilating Jewish Music (Oxford, England: Oxford University Press, 2003). An important exception to this pattern is Amy Lynn Wlodarski’s Musical Witness and Holocaust Representations, which uses musical compositions as “models for interpretation of witness.” Amy Lynn Wlodarski, Musical Witness and Holocaust Representation (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press), 1. While Wlodarski does dedicate a chapter to the music of Night and Fog in which she presents a musical analysis of three scenes, she is primarily concerned with comparing Night and Fog’s score to earlier political works by Eisler; by contrast, I analyze how Eisler’s score interacts with Night and Fog’s additional aesthetic elements to elicit a variety of affects. For instance, Eisler is known for creating agitprop music, or music composed specifically to be used as a form of political propaganda. See Albrecht Betz, Hanns Eisler: Political Musician (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 2014). Another exception is Matthew Boswell’s Holocaust Impiety in Literature, Popular Music, and Film, which examines musical references to the Holocaust in punk and post-punk genres as one form of American cultural response to the genocide (with the primary goal of assessing how references to the far left became strongly associated with these musical genres). See Matthew Boswell, Holocaust Impiety in Literature, Popular Music, and Film (Basingstoke, England: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 93-130. Boswell’s text is divided into three sections, with discussions of literature, popular music, and film. Although he focuses on both music and film, the two sections do not overlap, and while he does devote a chapter in his film section to Night and Fog, there is very little analysis of Eisler’s score. See Chapter 7, “Night and Fog,” in ibid, 137-146. As I noted, many of the sources mentioned above reference Night and Fog, which has been the subject of a considerable body of academic literature. This corpus of literature includes works I have already mentioned, such as Visualizing the Holocaust and After the Fact: The Holocaust in Twenty First-Century Documentary Film, as well as Louisa Rice’s “The Voice of Silence: Alain Resnais’s Night and Fog and Collective Memory in Post-Holocaust France, 1944-1974”; Charlotte Delbo’s Auschwitz and After; and Sandy Flitterman-Lewis’s “Documenting the Ineffable: Terror and Memory in Alain Resnais’s Night and Fog.” See Louisa Rice, “The Voice of Silence: Alain Resnais’s Night and Fog and Collective Memory in Post-Holocaust France, 1944-1974,” Film & History: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Film and Television Studies 32, no. 1 (2001): 22-29; Sandy Flitterman-Lewis, “Documenting the Ineffable: Terror and Memory in Alain Resnais’s Night and Fog,” in Documenting the Documentary: Close Readings of Documentary Film and Video, ed. Barry Keith Grant and Jeannette Sloniowski (Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1998), 204-222; Charlotte Delbo, Auschwitz and After, translated by Rosette C. Lamont (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2014). Other texts appear later in my thesis, especially in Chapter Three. However, few of these works provide a consideration of Eisler’s score. Books dedicated specifically to an examination of Night and Fog that do reference Eisler’s score include Richard Raskin’s Concentrationary Cinema: Aesthetics as Political Resistance in Alain Resnais’s Night and Fog, Ewout van der Knaap’s Uncovering the Holocaust: The International Reception of Night and Fog, and most recently Sylvie Lindeperg’s Night and Fog: A Film in History. See Richard Raskin, Concentrationary Cinema: Aesthetics as Political Resistance in Alain Resnais’s Night and Fog (New York, NY: Berghahn, 2014); Ewout van der Knaap, Uncovering the Holocaust; The International Reception of Night and Fog (London, England and New York, NY: Wallflower, 2006); Sylvie Lindeperg, Night and Fog: A Film in History (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 2015). Knapp, Lindeperg, and Raskin discuss Eisler’s score, and Lindeperg even provides an entire chapter, “Eisler’s Neverending Chant,” in which she presents relevant background information on Eisler, along with an account of the conditions in which he worked while composing his score. See Lindeperg, Night and Fog: A Film in History, 128-138. Lindeperg provides the most expansive analysis of Night and Fog’s score, addressing some of the elements that I assess. However, she does not apply the musicological approach that I employ or focus on many of the issues that I discuss. For instance, Lindeperg provides an assessment of Night and Fog’s Scene II, which I discuss in Chapter Three of this thesis. ibid, 133-137. Lindeperg’s work is taken into consideration through my analysis of selected scenes in Chapter Three. Other sources addressing Night and Fog either mention Eisler’s music in passing or include no reference whatsoever. Auschwitz Death Camp is briefly mentioned in Janet Walker’s recent essay “Documentaries of Return: ‘Unhomed Geographies’ and the Moving Image” in Just Images: Ethics and the Cinematic. Walker’s article examines the portrayal of Holocaust survivors’ returns to the concentration camps. Janet Walker, “Documentaries of Return: “Unhomed Geographies” and the Moving Image,” in Just Images: Ethics and the Cinematic, ed. Boaz Hagin, Sandra Meiri, Raz Yosef, and Anat Zanger (Newcastle, England: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2011). Walker’s brief discussion of Winfrey’s documentary notes that Winfrey followed the practice of many previous visitors to Auschwitz by leaving flowers at the camp’s memorial. Walker also describes the conversation between Winfrey and Wiesel as an “affecting interview [that] constitutes an historically meaningful moving testimony of return.” ibid, 115. Besides Walker’s brief reference, there is no literature that specifically focuses on Auschwitz Death Camp. Chapter Overview ______________________________________________________________________________ By conducting a musical analysis of Auschwitz Death Camp and Night and Fog, I contribute to the broader field of Holocaust music and film scholarship and address the existing gap in literature. In so doing, I demonstrate that music plays a crucial role in shaping particular messages and meanings conveyed in Holocaust film documentaries. This thesis operates with the following structure: Introduction Chapter One — Historical and Analytical Overview Chapter Two — Case Study: Auschwitz Death Camp Chapter Three — Case Study: Night and Fog Conclusion In Chapter One, I provide relevant background information on my two chosen case studies, Auschwitz Death Camp and Night and Fog; outline my understanding of the distinction between monolithic and polylithic aesthetic presentations; and offer an overview and explanation of the key analytical tools I utilize in Chapters Two and Three. Chapters Two and Three are dedicated to my musical analysis of selected scenes from Auschwitz Death Camp and Night and Fog. In Chapter Two, I suggest that Auschwitz Death Camp’s monolithic aesthetic presentation draws attention to a particular experience of the Holocaust, casting it as a Jewish tragedy and a crime against the Jewish people. In Chapter Three, I highlight Night and Fog’s polylithic aesthetic presentation, arguing that Eisler’s score, in association with the film’s imagery and narration, serves to convey the notion that the Holocaust can be experienced in multiple and very different ways. Following my musical analysis of both case studies, I conclude my argument by reviewing my claim and drawing attention to some broader questions that arise from my study.  Chapter One — Historical and Analytical Overview ______________________________________________________________________________ In exploring the role that music plays in eliciting affective responses and creating meaning in Holocaust documentaries, I draw on a variety of analytical resources. In so doing, I argue that music is employed in Holocaust documentaries in a way that creates two distinctive and contrasting aesthetic presentations, or what I will refer to as monolithic and polylithic aesthetic presentations. This chapter is dedicated to supplying relevant background information on my two case studies, Auschwitz Death Camp and Night and Fog, as well as to illuminating the distinction between these types of aesthetic presentations and to providing an introduction to the key analytical concepts that I employ. Introduction to Case Studies ______________________________________________________________________________ Auschwitz Death Camp Oprah Winfrey’s film Auschwitz Death Camp, is part of a long-standing engagement between Winfrey and Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel. The film is a documentary interview with Wiesel, originally aired on May 24, 2006. Winfrey’s relationship with Wiesel dates back to his first appearance on The Oprah Winfrey Show in 1993, where Winfrey described him as an example “defining what a human being can endure, and then become.” The Oprah Winfrey Show, “20th Anniversary Collection: The Interviews,” YouTube, 1:09:02, published on September 1, 2014, accessed on April 20, 2016, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xDOwgFDdYT8. This description of Wiesel, and his continual presence as a subject for Winfrey more generally, is tied to what we can call Winfrey’s mission, which has been described in the following manner: To transform, to bring happiness, to create a “sense” of fulfillment: these are callings of a higher order. “I am talking about each individual having her or his own inner revolution,” Winfrey explained. “I am talking about each individual coming to the awareness that, ‘I am Creation’s son. I am Creation’s daughter. I am more than my physical self…I am more than the external definitions I have given myself...Those roles are all extensions of who I define myself to be, but ultimately I am Spirit come from the greatest Spirit. I am Spirit.’” Quoted by Latonya Taylor, “The Church of O,” in Christianity Today 46, no. 4 (2002): 38-40; Kathryn Lofton, Oprah: The Gospel of an Icon (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2011). Winfrey’s mission is presented as an attempt “to create a ‘sense’ of fulfillment.” Discussing this mission, religious studies scholar Kathryn Lofton has highlighted Winfrey’s regularly repeated statement that “intention rules the world.” Quoted by Kathryn Lofton, Oprah: The Gospel of an Icon, 15. For Winfrey, a sense of fulfillment is tied to overcoming, in an intentional or self-aware manner, an experience of suffering or trauma, such as Wiesel’s in the Holocaust. Since releasing the first edition of his personal witness account Night, which describes his experience during the Holocaust, Wiesel has authored 57 books and become known for his humanitarian contributions. See Elie Wiesel, Night, translated by Marion Wiesel (New York, NY: Hill and Wang, 2006). Wiesel was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1986, being described by the Committee as “one of the most important spiritual leaders and guides in an age when violence, repression and racism continue to characterize the world.” “The Nobel Peace Prize for 1986,” Nobelprize.org, published on October 14, 1986, accessed on May 9, 2016, http://www.nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/peace/laureates/1986/press.html. It is his dedication to humanitarian pursuits and concern for others in the wake of his own suffering that constitutes his tie to Winfrey’s mission. Winfrey has positioned Wiesel’s story as an example of the highest level of fulfillment, the fulfillment of an individual who has experienced tragedy but has overcome the suffering. While Wiesel’s story of overcoming human suffering is grounded in his Holocaust experience, other individuals have had their personal stories marketed in the same manner. Actor Robin Williams appeared on Winfrey’s show 14 times and on August 24, 2014, Winfrey aired a special segment of her show, “A Tribute to Robin Williams.” Winfrey describes the laughter that Williams spread, but with an emphasis on his personal struggle with depression. See “A Tribute to Robin Williams,” The Oprah Winfrey Show, published on August 24, 2014, accessed on May 12, 2016, http://www.wherearetheynow.buzz/a-tribute-to-robin-williams/. Winfrey thus incorporates Wiesel into her broader focus on human suffering and humanity’s ability to triumph, pursuing her project of seeking “to transform, to bring happiness, to create a ‘sense’ of fulfillment.” Kathryn Lofton, Oprah: The Gospel of an Icon, 4. In addition see “Oprah Talks to Barack Obama,” O, The Oprah Magazine 5, no. 11 (2004):30-38. For additional examples of subjects of Winfrey’s mission, see Janice Peck, The Age of Oprah: Cultural Icon for the Neoliberal Era (Abingdon, England: Routledge, 2008); Kate Maver, “Oprah Winfrey and Her Self-Help Saviors: Making the New Age Normal,” Christian Research Journal 23:4 (2001): 1-7. Wiesel, we might say, functions as a figure who exemplifies Winfrey’s mission because of what he has overcome. Auschwitz Death Camp reflects this broader mission, highlighting the theme of tragedy through the documentary’s employment of aesthetic mediums, particularly—as we will see in Chapter Two—its score. This score was composed by Anna Florence and Craig J. Williams, who have written music for over 500 episodes of The Oprah Winfrey Show, further tying this documentary into Winfrey’s broader project. Night and Fog Alain Resnais’s Night and Fog (Nuit et brouillard) is a French documentary film released in 1955/56 depicting the Nazi atrocities of World War II, commissioned by the Comité d’Histoire de la Deuxiéme Guerre Mondiale (CHDGM). Although most sources cite the CHDGM as being the primary source behind the commissioning of Night and Fog, Lindeperg notes that the CHDGM was not the only source affiliated with initiating the film project, and that the project was supported in part by the production house Argos Film and the Réseau du Souvenir. Lindeperg states that “reintroducing this discreet backer [Réseau du Souvenir] into the story is indispensable for the complete comprehension of the project.” For more, see Lindeperg, “Night and Fog”: A Film in History, 27-30. Directing one of the first documentary films dealing with the camps and their atrocities, Resnais was faced with a difficult task. He reflects on the nature of his subject and his struggle in an interview from 1961, stating that “there was [the] problem of the form of the film: how to treat such a subject?...Since I am a formalist, perhaps I must ignore my qualms and attempt in the film, despite its subject, a formal experiment.” See Andre S. Labarthe and Jacques Rivette, “Entretien avec Resnais et Robbe-Grillef,” Cahiers du Cinéma 21, no. 123 (1961): 1-21. Resnais wanted to create a film product that would not romanticize the subject of the Holocaust, one that would alert the film’s viewers to the atrocities of the camp as well as the potential that such crimes could happen again. In order to accomplish this task, Resnais asked Holocaust survivor Jean Cayrol to write the script and German-Jewish composer Hanns Eisler to compose the film’s score. Resnais requested that Eisler compose the film’s music out of a belief that the composer’s work and background would, in the words of musicologist Albrecht Dümling, “add to the film’s moral integrity.” See Lindeperg “Night and Fog: A Film in History,”129; Albrecht Dümling, “Musikalischer Kontrapunkt zur filmischen Darstellung des Schreckens. Hanns Eisler Musik zu ‘Nuit et Brouillard’ von Alain Resnais,” in Kunst und Literatur nach Auschwitz, ed. Manuel Köppen (Berlin, Germany: Erich Schmidt, 1993), 113-23. Eisler’s musical career had been been strongly defined by his political and social involvement and his insistence that music can act as a statement regarding political and social affairs. Eisler began his musical education at the Vienna Conservatory of Music in 1918, and in 1919 pursued studies with renowned Viennese Jewish composer Arnold Schoenberg. Although Schoenberg viewed Eisler as his prized pupil, their close relationship ended in the mid-1920s in the wake of Eisler’s criticism of Schoenberg’s way of life. Albrecht Betz quotes a conversation with Max Deutsch, in which Deutsch states that “very soon Eisler began to criticize Schoenberg (not musically, for heaven’s sake!); but his way of life, his adherence to middle-class precepts, his relationship to his wife and children, and above all his philosophy of life…” See Albrecht Betz, Hanns Eisler: Political Musician (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 7 and 248. Eisler believed that Schoenberg’s revolutionary 12 tone method was an elitist and exclusionist musical development (in Schoenberg’s application), and therefore that “Schoenberg was taking modern music away from the common man.” Michael Haas, “The Kaleidoscopic Contradictions of Hanns Eisler: 1898-1962,” Forbidden Music, published on July 27, 2014, accessed on March 20, 2016, http://forbiddenmusic.org/2014/07/27/the-kaleidoscopic-contradictions-of-hanns-eisler-1898-1962/. While Eisler continued to uphold Schoenberg’s musical legacy, their personal relationship never recovered, with Eisler speaking of Schoenberg later in life as a “political…petty bourgeois of a quite horrendous kind.” Hans Bunge, Fragen Sie mehr über Brecht, Hanns Eisler im Gespräch (Munich, Germany: Rogner & Bernhard, 1971), 168. What divided these composers was Schoenberg’s belief that music should be confined to the realm of high art, a view starkly different from Eisler’s. For instance, Schoenberg wrote in 1949, in mockery of the fading boundaries of high and low art: “Why not play a boogie-woogie when Wotan walks across a rainbow to Valhalla?” Schoenberg was referring to Richard Wagner’s Ring Cycle, and making a statement about the blending of high and low art. Schoenberg believed that music in the western musical tradition should uphold its classification as “high art.” See Daniel Albright, Modernism and Music: An Anthology of Sources (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2003), 367. For understandings on high and low art, see Adorno, “On Popular Music: The Musical Material,” Studies in Philosophy and Social Science IX (1941):17-48; and Die Kultur Industrie, reprint edition (Frankfurt, Germany: Suhrkamp, 1991). Eisler insisted that music should not be limited in such a manner, and that music was the voice of the people, capable of reflecting class distinctions and experiences. Betz understands Eisler’s contrasting view as a challenge to the Schoenberg school, a school described by Betz as “an out of date, esoteric phenomenon.” See Betz, Hanns Eisler: Political Musician, 33. For instance, he said of the proletarian class that “it must be clear about the new function of their music, which is to activate their members for struggle and encourage political education.” Hanns Eisler, Selected Writings (London, England: Kahn & Averill, 1978), 59. He described bourgeois music as “using the term ‘mood,’ for it signifies that bourgeois music wants to ‘entertain’ the listener”; the task of the proletariat’s music, by contrast, was to “remove the sentimentality and pompousness from music, since these sensations divert us from the class struggle.” ibid, 60-61. Eisler thus viewed music as being able to serve at least three functions. First, music could reflect the experiences of diverse classes; second, music could be used as a tool for political activism; and third, music has the ability to convey a wide range of human experiences. This particular perspective on music’s capabilities is apparent in Eisler’s vast corpus of musical compositions. He understood music as a tool that could illuminate social and political contradictions (such as the class distinctions outlined above), which has led him to be viewed as a composer who not only produced contradictions in his music, but who did so intentionally and found them to be meaningful. See Michael Haas, Forbidden Music: The Jewish Composers Banned by the Nazis, (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2014), 134. As we will see, Eisler applied this compositional approach to Night and Fog, resulting in musical style that struck Resnais as quite unusual. Resnais describes his experience working with Eisler in the following statement: I learned a great deal from Eisler about my own profession and about music in film, particularly on how to work on a scene with a musician. Above all, he showed me how to avoid redundant music. Even though it is something you are fundamentally aware of, he nevertheless taught me how to apply it to the music in order to create something like a “second level of perception,” something additional with an opposite meaning. For instance, you can completely simplify the music during a very dramatic scene and, vice versa, greatly elaborate it when the eyes are no longer completely engaged. This way you can create a harmony by which the viewer can find a balance between seeing and hearing. I believe my preference for this comes from Eisler. He pushed me in the right direction, so to speak, and elucidated all these concepts. Alain Resnais, “Entretient,” L’avant-Scéne du Cinéma 61/62, no. 50 (1966): 54. Resnais takes Eisler to be responsible for pushing him to produce films that “create something like a ‘second level of perception,’ something additional with an opposite meaning,” an artistic approach that will emerge more clearly when we turn to Night and Fog. ibid. What Resnais suggests here, and what we will see in my musical analysis in Chapter Three, is that Eisler is deeply interested in how different aesthetic mediums might function in a way that produces “opposite,” or contradictory, results. Clarifying the Distinction: Monolithic and Polylithic Aesthetic Presentations ______________________________________________________________________________ As I explored Auschwitz Death Camp and Night and Fog, it became apparent that music functions in drastically different ways in these two films. In Auschwitz Death Camp, the music works with other aesthetic mediums in such a way that a cohesive set of affective responses is generated. By contrast, Night and Fog’s musical score operates differently, producing a set of clashing and conflicting affective responses. Since there is no existing terminology in the fields of film studies, religious studies, or musicology that effectively describes this concept, I have generated my own language. The term “monolithic” has been used by Holocaust film scholars in reference to compositions in which diverse elements work together in a cohesive fashion. For instance, Holocaust film scholar Miriam Hansen has used “monolithic” to describe Schindler’s List as “a presentation that reduces a film to a unilateral reading…onto a Procrustean frame of a monolithic aesthetic.” Hansen states further that “Schindler’s List…does not seek to negate the representational, iconic, power of filmic images, but rather banks on this power. Nor does it develop a unique filmic idiom to capture the unprecedented and unassimilable fact of mass extermination; rather, it relies on familiar tropes and common techniques to narrate the extraordinary rescue of a large group of individuals.” Miriam Bratu Hansen, “Schindler’s List Is Not Shoah: Second Commandment, Popular Modernism, and Popular Memory,” Critical Inquiry 22 (Winter 1996): 294. She understands Schindler’s List as a film that is monolithic in nature not only because it presents one experience of the Holocaust (that of Oskar Schindler), but also because it employs aesthetic resources in a cohesive manner, producing a “Procrustean framework”—an aesthetic framework designed to yield conformity. See Nassim Nicholas Taleb, The Bed of Procrustes: Philosophical and Practical Aphorisms (New York, NY: Random House, 2010). Schindler’s List employs aesthetic mediums in such a way that reflect conformity, using music and imagery to complement and portray Oskar Schindler as a hero, as well as particular musical motifs (such as the violin soundmark emitting a klezmer line that will be discussed in greater detail in Chapter Two) to reflect the identity of the Jews he saved. See Schindler’s List, directed by Steven Spielberg (United States: Universal Pictures, 1993). I will employ the term “monolithic” in a similar fashion, using it to highlight ways in which music functions with other aesthetic mediums to produce a set of cohesive responses. I have chosen to use the term “polylithic” to highlight cases in which music functions differently, in turn, precisely because it serves as an effective contrast to “monolithic.” To illuminate this distinction between monolithic and polylithic aesthetic presentations, I turn to two examples from well-known popular films: The Wrath of Khan and Apocalypse Now. Monolithic Aesthetic Presentation Example: The Wrath of Khan The Wrath of Khan (1982) is the second film in the movie series Star Trek, directed by Nicholas Meyer. Star Trek II—The Wrath of Khan, directed by Nicholas Meyer (United States: Paramount Pictures, 1982). The film’s final sequence portrays the triumphant defeat of the film’s villain followed by the funeral of one of the heroes, Spock, who has sacrificed himself to bring about this defeat and save his crewmates. This sequence produces a monolithic aesthetic presentation that elicits feelings of triumph and pride in response to this sacrifice. The sequence begins by portraying Spock in the final moments of his life. Raising his hands, he states “the needs of the many…outweigh the needs of the few” and offers a final salute. As Spock makes this last salute, music begins, emitting the Star Trek series’s triumphant theme song, rather than a melody of mourning that we might expect to accompany death. The music, dialogue, and imagery thus cast Spock’s death as a noble sacrifice, fostering feelings of triumph and pride in the viewer. This emphasis continues as the scene shifts to portray Spock’s funeral. As final respects are paid, the traditional Amazing Grace begins, performed on bagpipes. By incorporating Amazing Grace, a piece often played at funerals, the scene reminds the viewer of the somber nature of Spock’s death. However, while the music begins in the bagpipes, a full orchestra soon takes over, creating a lush, full sound that again produces a sense of honor and triumph. Indeed, although Amazing Grace is often associated with death, it is also linked to themes of hope and healing, as is reflected in its lyrics: Amazing grace, how sweet the sound. That saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now am found. Was blind but now I see. As stated, Amazing Grace is often associated with notions of hope and healing. For instance, Steve Turner describes his experience with the song as “a powerful, evocative piece of writing, one that hit the heart like a dose of sunshine, a wave of elation. When I sang Amazing Grace, my heart soared. My soul seemed to heal, and all the power and strength…brought me comfort.” See Steve Turner, Amazing Grace: The Story of America’s Most Beloved Song (New York, NY: Harper Collins, 2003), ix. In turn, Eric Metaxas provides a detailed historical account of the song, associating the piece’s composition with its historical context during England’s abolitionist movement. See Eric Metaxas, Amazing Grace: William Wilberforce and the Heroic Campaign to End Slavery (New York, NY: Harper One, 2007); Heather Cateau, “Amazing Grace?: Revisiting the Issue of the Abolitionists,” Journal of Caribbean History 42, no. 1 (2008): 111-130. Once again, then, the scene conveys feelings of triumph and pride. The Wrath of Khan’s final scene thus employs music, visual imagery, and dialogue in a complementary fashion, eliciting a cohesive set of affective responses, and thereby generating what I am describing in this thesis as a monolithic aesthetic presentation. Polylithic Aesthetic Presentation Example: Apocalypse Now Apocalypse Now (1979) is a film about the Vietnam War, directed by Francis Ford Coppola. One of its most famous scenes portrays an American helicopter raid on a Vietnamese village. Apocalypse Now, directed by Francis Ford Coppola (United States: United Artists, 1979). The scene begins by depicting the American troops as they load onto helicopters, accompanied by a bugler playing the traditional Calvary charge. At first, the scene might seem monolithic, as it conveys a sense of excitement, anticipation, and even patriotic pride. However, as the scene transitions to depict the helicopters in the air, accompanied by the overbearing sound of these vehicles and the shouting American soldiers, the character of the scene drastically changes. The raid’s beginning is marked by a soldier turning on a stereo, with the piece of music emitted—Richard Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries—commandeering the scene. Richard Wagner’s ties to Nazism and the National Socialist party continue to be highly controversial. It was well known during Wagner’s time that he upheld anti-Semitic views, outlined in his Judaism in Music (Das Judenthum in der Musik). Wagner’s text testifies to his distaste for not only what he describes as “Jewish music,” but for what he understands as society’s Jewish problem. For instance, Wagner writes that “we [society] are deliberately distorting our own nature if we feel ashamed to proclaim the natural revulsion aroused in us by Jewishness.” See Richard Wagner, Judaism in Music, translated by William Ashton Ellis (Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 2014), 11-12; Additionally, Danielle Spera states that “Wagner managed to influence the character of modern nationalism, particularly within German-speaking Europe. He popularized the idea of “race,” and the illusion of an exclusive, essential, distinctive, and pervasive national character…Wagner’s success in defining what was uniquely German and in lending German cultural chauvinism plausibility was in turn dependent on a precisely articulated and insistent anti-Semitism.” See Danielle Spera, Euphorie und Unbehagen: Das Jüdische Wien und Richard Wagner (Vienna, Austria: Jüdisches Museum Wien, 2014), 18. David Huckvale notes that “Hitler…himself pointed out that no one could understand National Socialism without first understanding Wagner.” See David Huckvale, Visconti and the German Dream: Romanticism, Wagner, and the Nazi Catastrophe in Film (New York, NY: McFarland and Company Inc., 2012), 28; For more, see Peter Viereck, Metapolitics: From Wagner and the German Romantics to Hitler (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers, 2004). On the one hand, the music continues to convey a sense of excitement and thrill, similar to Wagner’s initial usage of the theme as a musical accompaniment to a war cry in his opera The Ring. Wagner’s The Ring (Der Ring des Nibelungen) is an opera cycle composed between 1848 and 1874 based on characters from Norse mythology. The Oxford Dictionary of Music describes the opera cycle’s plot as “based on versions of the Scandinavian saga of the Nibelungs involving gods and mortals.” See “Ring des Nibelungen, Der,” The Oxford Diciontary of Music, 709; Stewart Spencer, Wagner’s Ring of the Nibelung: A Companion, revised edition (New York, NY: Thames & Hudson, 2010) On the other hand, due to Wagner’s long-standing association with Nazism, the music also begins to produce very different responses. While the theme of Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries sounds quite exciting upon first listen, the composer’s association with anti-Semitism and Nazism cannot help but be present in the minds of many listeners, possibly suggesting that what the American troops are about to do in some sense resembles the activities of the Nazis. Any feelings of excitement (as well as any lingering sense of patriotic pride) are thus challenged by feelings of disgust, fear, and loathing. Indeed, the scene’s visuals also produce contradictory affective responses, for while the war scene seems exciting, it is also met with disgust and repulsion, as imagery depicting brutal killing soon comes to dominate the screen. This sequence from Apocalypse Now is thus representative of what I am describing as a polylithic aesthetic presentation, for it involves aesthetic mediums interacting to generate a set of contrasting and conflicting affective responses. Analytical Resources ______________________________________________________________________________ Musical Terms This thesis will draw on many concepts that are widely employed in the field of musicology and music more generally. In the chart below, I define terms that are central to the musical analysis I conduct in Chapters Two and Three. Following this section, I explore recent findings regarding the psychology of music. I then provide a detailed explanation of the more complex musical concepts I employ: soundscapes, leitmotifs, and theosonics. Key Musical Terms Figure 2 defines only the musical terms that I employ in this thesis. See Tim Rutherford Johnson, Michael Kennedy, and Joyce Bourne Kennedy, The Oxford Dictionary of Music, 6th edition (Oxford, England: Oxford University Press, 2016). Agitato: “Agitato,” ibid, 950. To be played in an agitated manner. Arco: “Arco,” ibid, 29. A musical instruction for string players to play the bow normally on the string, coll’arco, usually occurring after a passage marked pizzicato, plucked. Andante: “Andante,” ibid, 950. Italian: ‘at a walking pace’, moving along, flowing (slowish, but not slow), fluid, and easy going. Chromaticism: “Chromaticism,” ibid, 167. Referring to half step intervals. Chromatic Scale: “Chromatic Scale,” ibid, 167. The chromatic scale is one of three classifications of the Greek scales. In modern music it refers to notes not belonging to the diatonic scale. Crescendo: “Crescendo,” ibid, 125. Italian: indicating the music to grow or become louder, gerund of crescere, to grow. Decrescendo: “Decrescendo,” ibid, 195. Italian: (opposite of crescendo), indicating the music to decrease, gradually getting softer. Dynamics: “Dynamics,” ibid, 252. The graduations of volume in music, e.g. forte, piano, crescendo, etc. Forte: “Forte,” ibid, 951. Musical dynamic referring to strong, loud. Fortissimo: “Fortissimo,” ibid, 951. Musical dynamic referring to very loud. March: “March,” ibid, 530. Form of music to accompany the orderly progression of a large group of people, especially soldiers; one of the earliest forms of music. Misterioso: “Misterioso,” ibid, 945. Mysteriously, in a mysterious manner. Pastoral: “Pastoral,” ibid, 638. A literary, dramatic, or musical genre or style that depicts the characters and scenes of rural life or is expressive of its atmosphere. Piano: “Piano,” ibid, 952. Musical dynamic referring to soft, quiet. Pizzicato: “Pizzicato,” ibid, 657. Instructing string players to pluck the strings, not bow. Pl. pizzicati. Scherzo: “Scherzo,” ibid, 748. Jest, joke. A term applied to numerous musical compositions since the early 17th century. The Italian word scherzo and its derivatives came from the German Scherz and scherzo (‘to joke’) in the late Middle Ages. Since Beethoven’s time it has been applied generically to any movement that takes the place of a minuet in a sonata cycle (whether or not specifically labelled ‘scherzo’) , and it has also been used to indicate a comic or ironically comic composition, usually fast-moving and often one movement within a larger work. Solfege: “Solfege,” ibid, 796. A system assigning names of syllables to notes of music. For instance, the major scale’s I-ii-iii-IV-V-vi-vii° would be sung in solfege as do-re-mi-fa-sol-la-ti-do. Subito: “Subito,” ibid, 953. A term to referring to a sudden change in tempo, “suddenly, quickly, immediately.” For instance, if the current dynamic marking was forte and it subito piano was next, the musical line would suddenly change from forte to piano. Tempo: “Tempo,” ibid, 848. Time(s). The speed at which a piece of music is performed. For example, andante is a tempo marking. Timbre: “Timbre,” ibid, 856. Tone color, that which distinguishes the quality of tone of one instrument or singer from another. From the German word Klangfarbe. Tonality: “Tonality,” ibid, 859. The music’s key, meaning particularly the observance of a single tonic key as a basis of composition or scale. For instance, a scale’s tonality is its associated key, such as a C major scale. Trill: “Trill,” ibid, 865. An ornament comprising of rapid alternations of a main note and the note above, normally slurred. Tri-tone: “Tri-tone,” ibid, 866. The tri-tone has a long, complicated history associated with it in regards to its disharmonious nature. Its augmented fourth and dissonant nature was considered unpleasant and ugly, leading it to be known as diabolos in musica, or the devil in music in the Medieval Ages, which prohibited it to be sung. There was a saying, “Mi contra fa diabolos set in musica (Mi against fa is the devil in music.)” Figure SEQ Figure \* ARABIC 2—Musical Terms and Meanings The Psychology of Music Music’s ability to evoke emotional responses is widely accepted. Recent studies in the fields of psychology, musicology, music and cognition, and psychoacoustics have contributed greatly to our understanding of how this occurs. Psychoacoustics is “the psychological or behavioral study of hearing—behavioral in that the participant is required to make a response to the sounds that are presented. As the name suggests, the aim of psychoacoustic research is to determine the relation between the physical stimuli (sounds) and the sensations produced in the listener…In a typical experiment, a listener may be asked to make some judgment about sounds that are played (e.g., by pressing a button corresponding to which sound is chosen). See Christopher J. Plack, The Sense of Hearing, 2nd edition (New York, NY: Psychology Press, 2013), 27. For instance, a recent study conducted by psychologists Gregory Webster and Catherine Weird demonstrates that “major keys, non-harmonized melodies, and faster tempos were associated with happier responses, whereas their respective opposites [minor keys, harmonized melodies, and slower tempos] were associated with sadder responses.” See Gregory Webster and Catherine Weird, “Emotional Responses to Music: Interactive Effects of Mode, Texture, and Tempo,” Motivation and Emotion 29, no. 1 (March 2015): 19. Highlighting a widely accepted distinction that I will revisit on a variety of occasions throughout my analysis, Webster and Weird continue by stating that “almost without exception, music in major modes has been associated with happy emotional responses, whereas music in minor modes has been associated with sad emotional responses.” See ibid, 19, 20. In addition see Patrick N. Juslin and John A. Sloboda, ed., The Handbook of Music and Emotion: Theory, Research, and Applications (Oxford, England: Oxford University Press, 2014) and Music and Emotion (Oxford, England: Oxford University Press, 2001). In concurrence with these studies, psychologists Christine Storm and Tom Storm have introduced a categorization of emotive responses elicited by music, organizing these responses into distinctive sets as seen in the following table: Set 1 Set 2 Set 3 Set 4 Set 5 Set 6 Set 7 Jealousy Irritation Anger Rage Disgust Hatred Revulsion  Anguish Despair Depression Melancholy Remorse Grief Sadness Attraction Desire Amusement Cheerfulness Gaiety Happiness Pleasure Apathy Shame Bewilderment Confusion Frustration Agitation Anxiety Helplessness Hopelessness Pain Dread  Fear Panic Terror Interest Admiration Reverence Admiration Adoration Affection Love Confidence Pride Triumph Amazement Surprise Awe Wonder Figure SEQ Figure \* ARABIC 3—“Emotive Clusterings" The Handbook of Music and Emotion: Theory, Research, and Applications has produced a similar categorization. Juslin and Sloboda, ed., The Handbook of Music and Emotion: Theory, Research, and Applications, 215. I will employ this influential approach to an emotive categorization in my analysis, using these sets to explore the types of of affective responses that Auschwitz Death Camp and Night and Fog produce. Soundscapes Two prominent understandings of the term “soundscape” exist in the field of music. On the one hand, it is defined in The Oxford Dictionary of Music as “the full range of noises that are heard in a particular place or area,” such as a geographic region or a musical performance. On the other hand, it has been used by ethnomusicologist Kay Kaufman Shelemay—in her influential Soundscapes: Exploring Music in a Changing World—to refer less to the full range of sounds heard in a performance or geographic region, and more to musical practices associated with particular cultures. “Soundscape,” The Oxford Dictionary of Music, 801; Kay Kaufman Shelemay, Soundscapes: Exploring Music in a Changing World (New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company, 2015). Kaufman examines the contexts of musicmaking and performance settings around the world, tracking “music’s movement over time and through various geographical spaces.” Shelemay, Soundscapes: Exploring Music in a Changing World, xxv. In the field of religious studies, the term has been applied in a way that blends the approaches employed by Shelemay and The Oxford Dictionary of Music, referring to the full range of sounds present in a particular location or musical composition, while also highlighting the specific cultural or religious associations of this music. For example, we might refer to a specific piece of music as involving a Jewish soundscape in order to indicate that the range of sounds incorporated into that piece reflects sonic elements associated with Jewish culture or religious practices. I will be operating with this religious studies approach, while also drawing on the work of R. Murray Schafer, who (having coined the term “soundscape”) writes that a “soundscape is any acoustic field of study” and “consists of events heard not objects seen.” R. Murray Schafer, The Soundscape: Our Sonic Environment and the Tuning of the World (Merrimac, MA: Destiny Books, 1993), 18. These soundscapes can be identified through their soundmarks, or their defining acoustic characteristics. Schafer defines a soundmark as “a community sound which is unique or possesses qualities which make it specially noticed by the people in that community,” and he writes that “the term is derived from landmark to refer to a community sound which is unique or possesses qualities which make it specially regarded or noticed by the people in that community.” Schafer states further that “what the soundscape analyst must do first is to discover the significant features of the soundscape, those sounds which are important either because of their individuality, their numerousness, or their domination.” See ibid., 9, 274. For examples specifically related to the field of religious studies, my analysis exhibits points of contact with Isaac Weiner’s Religion Out Loud, which focuses on sonic elements representative of American culture, society, religion, and history. See Isaac Weiner, Religion Out Loud (New York, NY: New York University Press, 2014). My analysis will also exhibit similarities with Charles Hirschkind’s The Ethical Soundscape: Cassette Sermons and Islamic Counterpublics. Hirschkind’s soundscape consists of the sonic elements of cassette tapes, as well as the sounds associated with broader geographical and cultural areas. For Hirschkind, such soundscapes can be manufactured in order to relay a particular affect in relation to a specific field, in his case, contemporary Islamic ethics. See Charles Hirschkind, The Ethical Soundscape: Cassette Sermons and Islamic Counterpublics (New York, NY: Columbia University Press, 2008). This understanding of soundscapes and soundmarks will be used in my thesis to further contextualize distinctive sonic occurrences throughout both case studies. Leitmotif The term leitmotif was first coined by music critic A. W. Ambros to describe a musical technique employed by German composer Richard Wagner in the nineteenth century in his four-part opera cycle The Ring. Put most simply, the leitmotif is understood as a recurring musical motif, as a “musical motto or theme which recurs in a piece of music (usually in opera) to represent a character, object, emotion, or idea.” According to The Oxford Dictionary of Music, a leitmotif is “a term first used c. 1865 by A.W. Ambros in an article about Wagner’s operas and [Franz] Liszt’s symphonic poems. ‘Representative theme’ is a good alternative.” A leitmotif is used to describe a musical motto or theme which recurs in a piece of music (usually an opera) to represent a character, object, emotion, or idea. It is particularly associated with the later operas of Wagner though he did not use the term himself, preferring to call the themes Hauptmotiv (principal motif), thematisches Motiv (thematic motif), Grundthema, (basic theme), and so on. See subject entry “Leitmotif,” The Oxford Dictionary of Music, 487. However, Wagner’s use of the musical motif that Ambros described as a leitmotif was intended to reflect much more than a musical motto, functioning in a complex way: [Leitmotifs] consist of figures, or short passages of melody of marked character which illustrate, or as it were label, certain personages, situations, or abstract ideas which occur prominently in the course of a story or drama of which the music is the counterpart; and when these situations recur, or the personages come forward in the course of the action, or even when the personage or idea is implied or referred to, the figure which constitutes the leitmotif is heard. Parry, Sir C. and Hubert H, “Leit-Motif,” in Grove’s Dictionary of Music and Musicians, volume II, ed. J.A. Fuller Maitland (London, England: Macmillan & Co., 2011), 115-18. For Wagner, a leitmotif could be successful only in a type of artistic production where music was a dominant and defining element, such as opera. In opera, the story cannot be presented without its musical counterpart. However, leitmotifs continue to be employed in alternate artistic presentations, such as film, but often in a much simpler manner as music is no longer necessarily the central aesthetic element. See Alan Blyth, Wagner’s Ring: An Introduction (London, England: Hutchinson, 1990) and Adorno and Eisler, Composing for the Film’s, 5. Musicologist Matthew Bribitzer-Stull points out that leitmotifs have both a symbolic and affective quality that can reflect a feeling or emotion along with an idea or concept. For instance, recall my example of a monolithic aesthetic presentation in Star Trek II—The Wrath of Khan, especially the Star Trek series theme, scored by James Horner. Stull categorizes Horner’s theme as what he understands as a “prototypic major-mode title theme.” Such themes can function as leitmotifs and are characterized by their major modes, usually generating a heroic or triumphant feeling, or—in the case of Star Trek—by what Stull describes as a brass fanfare that evokes “heroism and battle.” Matthe Bribitzer-Stull, Understanding the Leitmotif: From Wagner to Hollywood Film Music (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 123. Stull highlights how the Star Trek theme leitmotif is continually employed with the same musical structure, but often with an altered tonality that is dependent upon its associated scene. ibid, 280-281. Stull uses the example of the heroes discovering an enemy ship hidden in a lake. This scene is accompanied by the theme, but in a minor mode, eliciting a sinister and mysterious feeling. ibid, 154. My understanding of leitmotif is grounded in Stull’s, operating under the notion that such motifs can reference ideas as well as affective qualities. Theosonics The concept of theosonics was first coined by philosopher Edith Wyschogrod in her analysis of Arnold Schoenberg’s opera Moses und Aron. The Oxford Dictionary of Music presents Schoenberg’s Moses und Aron in the following manner: “From every point of view, whether musical, religious or philosophical, the opera is Schoenberg’s most comprehensive masterpiece. The ideas that gave rise to it occupied him for many years before its composition, and their dramatic expression called forth music of immense power and diversity.” See subject entry “Moses und Aron,” The Oxford Dictionary of Music, 540. Focusing on what she describes as the gap between theophany and inscription, Wyschogrod states that this opera is “a masterpiece that, moving between music and text, purports to explore the relation of the Absolute as idea to the image that is alleged to manifest it.” Edith Wyschogrod, “Eating the Text, Defiling the Hands: Specters in Arnold Schoenberg’s Moses and Aron,” in God, The Gift, and Postmodernism, ed. John D. Caputo and Michael Scanlon (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1999), 245-246. Wyschogrod states further that Schoenberg’s effort revolved around the “complex set of tensions between ideas and image” that result in manifesting the Absolute “through an innovative combination of speech, vocal, and instrumental music,” serving as an attempt to “create a transcendent object in phonic and musical sound.” ibid. Put most simply, Wyschogrod’s concept of “theosonics” can be understood as referring to a musical and sonic manifestation of the Absolute, or something otherworldly. For instance, Wyschogrod understands Schoenberg’s Moses und Aron as involving a form of theosonics, a musical manifestation of the Absolute. It is not just an operatic story retelling the biblical story, but a sonic production that in some sense attempts to actually manifest God. Schoenberg’s re-presentation of the Word is not merely a retelling of events, but an act that actually manifests. For instance, a prominent example emerges in Moses und Aron when Schoenberg presents the biblical story found in Exodus 3:1-11, where Moses talks to God in a burning bush. God cannot present himself directly because of notions of aniconism often associated with the Jewish tradition. Moses thus hears God but does not see him, receiving instructions regarding how to lead the Israelites. There is something abstract about this event, in the nature of God. Moses understands that the burning bush reflects God, but that the bush is not really God himself. When turning to this segment in Moses und Aron, Schoenberg scores the scene for Moses and God to hold their conversation in sprechstimme, an operatic technique that moves between speaking and singing. Sprechstimme or Sprechgesang is “spoken song, speech-song. A type of vocal part performed between speech and song.” See “Sprechgesang, Sprechstimme,” The Oxford Dictionary of Music, 805. Sprechstimme is abstract, in a sense, due to its refusal to be either spoken or sung, placing itself uneasily between these two musical forms. In this way, Schoenberg attempts to recreate or make present the original abstract nature of God’s manifestation through the burning bush. As God’s original interaction with Moses through the burning bush involved a degree of abstractness, this is recreated through the abstract nature of the sprechstimme Schoenberg employs. Less important for us than the details of this particular scene is the broader point that theosonics involve a sonic manifestation of God or the Absolute. I understand theosonics in a similar manner, as a sonic manifestation of something otherworldly, something heard, but not seen. God was not seen in the burning bush, but was heard. Additionally, there has been a growing acknowledgement of the importance of music in the field of religious studies. For instance, Nóirín Ni Riain proposes the concept of theosony, which refers to “any number of factors that are implicated in an aural relationship with God: for instance, listening, hearing, speaking, sonic language, memorization, reading aloud and silence…Theosony is only the application to a classification of human listening of the traditional principle of grace building on nature.” Nóirín Ní Riain, Theosony: Towards a Theology of Listening (New York, NY: Veritas, 2011), 12. Theosony differs from theosonics in that theosony refers to the elements of sound and musical practices that are involved in a relationship with God. Theosonics, by contrast, describes sonic elements that in some sense make the divine, or the otherworldly, present. Currently, the concept of theosonics is not employed in the fields of musicology and ethnomusicology. However, by extending Wyschogrod’s usage of the term to the musical analysis of my two case studies, I suggest that particular musical elements might be understood as forms of what I describe as ethnotheosonics and atheosonics, terms which I explain in Chapters Two and Three. With these terms in mind, I will now turn to my case studies, beginning with Auschwitz Death Camp.  Chapter Two—Case Study: Auschwitz Death Camp ________________________________________________________________________ As stated previously, I use the phrase monolithic aesthetic presentation to refer to an aesthetic presentation that employs various mediums in such a way that a cohesive set of affective responses is produced. In this chapter, I demonstrate how Auschwitz Death Camp’s score functions in tandem with additional aesthetic mediums to generate a monolithic aesthetic presentation throughout the film as a whole. The result, as I will show, is the production of a cohesive set of affective responses that involves sets 2 and 5 outlined in Chapter One: anguish, despair, remorse, grief, and sadness, as well as dread, fear, panic, and terror. Although the film conveys these two different sets of emotions, both fall under the overarching categorization of negative emotive terms. In turn, I argue that Auschwitz Death Camp’s monolithic aesthetic presentation draws attention to a particular experience of the Holocaust, casting it as a Jewish tragedy and a crime against the Jewish people. Although there are a multiplicity of sonic mediums and musical motifs that could be analyzed within Auschwitz Death Camp, the examination of all would lie beyond the scope of this thesis. Therefore, my analysis primarily examines the film’s use of a solo violin, with consideration of additional musical instances when relevant. Based on the violin’s long association with Jewish culture and music, I suggest that Auschwitz Death Camp’s use of this instrument—especially as a source of klezmer lines—contributes to the production of a Jewish soundscape. By creating this soundscape, the violin adds to the film’s attempt to emphasize the experience of the Holocaust as a Jewish tragedy and crime against the Jewish people. In addition, I suggest that the film’s use of the violin and klezmer themes produce what may be described as a form of ethnotheosonics—a sonic manifestation of the Jewish lives that were lost. This chapter begins by exploring the violin’s significance in relation to both Jewish culture and Holocaust filmography, grounded in an examination of klezmer music and its history. Second, I present my musical analysis of select Auschwitz Death Camp scenes, examining particular musical techniques and their interactions with concurrent aesthetic mediums. With each scene, I demonstrate how the music contributes to the production of a cohesive set of affective responses, resulting in a particular presentation of the Holocaust. I conclude my argument with a chapter overview, reviewing the reasoning behind my classification of Auschwitz Death Camp as a monolithic aesthetic presentation. Klezmer: History and Significance ______________________________________________________________________________ One of the most influential definitions of klezmer in the field of musicology is by Mark Slobin. Slobin understands klezmer as “a generic term for secular instrumental entertainment music of the Jewish-Americans (from the Yiddish word klezmorim, professional folk instrumental musicians).” Mark Slobin, “Klezmer Music: An American Ethnic Genre,” Yearbook for Traditional Music 16 (1984): 34. Slobin’s characterization of klezmer as a Jewish-American phenomenon highlights the importance of the klezmer renewal movement after World War II, a development that primarily involved Jewish immigrants to the United States. The klezmer renewal movement was concerned, in part, with re-creating Jewish identity in a post-World War II era, with this music serving to foster a sense of authenticity, identity, and tradition. ibid. Slobin goes on to stress that the immigrant music understood as klezmer in America is actually quite different from Jewish cultural music that existed in pre-World War II eastern Europe, or, as he refers to it, the “Old World.” ibid. Slobin’s distinction between the pre- and post-World War II forms of klezmer music is grounded in the only known ethnomusicological study of the pre-existing musical form, dating to the late 1930s by Moshe Beregovski. Slobin attributes two prime factors in explaining the distinction between klezmer music in American post-World War II and its multicultural musical antecedent pre-World War II, “First, it involved extensive interethnic sharing (Jews playing at non-Jewish events and vice-versa), and second, the corollary fact of a high degree of eclecticism in the repertoire itself. These patterns link klezmer music to a variety of styles, describing a more general pattern in eastern European Jewish music culture.” See Moshe Beregovski, “Yidishe instrumentale folkmuzik,” translated as “Jewish Instrumental Folk Music,” in Mark Slobin, ed., Old Jewish Folk Music: The Collections and Writings of Moshe Beregovski (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1982), 34-35. Slobin’s work highlights a crucial debate in the contemporary presentation and reception of klezmer music that addresses the nature of what exactly klezmer music is. For instance, Slobin acknowledges that klezmer’s musical antecedent in pre-World Ward II Europe was a result of extensive interethnic sharing. Expanding upon this point, Slobin is referring to the vast musical community of eastern Europe and the overlapping and sharing of musical styles between them. However, the acknowledgment of the music’s distinctive interethnic sharing became conflated post-World War II with klezmer music’s rise in America. To be sure, there are reasons to be concerned with some of the details associated with Slobin’s definition of klezmer as “a generic term for secular instrumental music of the Jewish-Americans.” Slobin, “Klezmer Music: An American Ethnic Genre,” 34. First, we might be worried about his use of the term “secular.” It seems as though his notion of the secular is grounded in a relatively uncritical understanding that distinguishes sharply between the sacred (that which is religious in nature) and the secular (referring to the opposite of sacred and anything that is used in the everyday course of life). From a religious studies perspective, the distinction between sacred and secular is understood to be quite a bit more complex and such a concrete either/or distinction does not allow for the full elucidation of this complexity. See Jonathan Z. Smith, Imagining Religion: From Babylon to Jonestown (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1982); Jonathan Z. Smith, “Religion, Religions, Religious,” in Critical Terms for Religious Studies, ed. Mark C. Taylor (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1998). Second, we might have concerns about Slobin’s focus on categories such as “Jewish” and “American.” By defining klezmer music as Jewish, such a definition runs the risk of condensing all of the cultural musics that resembled and influenced klezmer music prior to World War II (including the music associated with groups such as Gypsies, Turks, and Poles). Indeed, as Slobin himself notes, the form of music that is now understood as klezmer is actually a musical amalgamation arising from the extensive interethnic cultural sharing that existed before World War II. See op. cit., 35-37. Further, Slobin’s definition runs the risk of implying that klezmer is in some sense essentially American. While the klezmer revival music may have initially emerged in America, this does not mean that it is essentially American in nature. Nevertheless, what is important about Slobin’s work is his overarching claim that klezmer music is associated with Jewish identity. Such music is often marked by a variety of features. For instance, klezmer music often involves a form of tonality that varies from traditional western classical music tonal structures. Further, klezmer ensembles typically consist of a particular instrumentation, including a violin, clarinet, accordion, drum, and sometimes a string bass or cimbalom. A contemporary klezmer ensemble’s instrumentation has ties to the Jewish ensembles of klezmorim that existed prior to the nineteenth century. These ensembles predominantly included a clarinet and violin, with both functioning as an ensemble’s instrumental leader. However, these ensembles did not have the set instrumentation that is associated with contemporary klezmer ensembles and in many cases consisted of any instruments that were available. The clarinet, violin, and flute were common because of their easily transportable nature. See Christina L. Baade, “Jewzak and Heavy Shtetl: Constructing Ethnic Identity and Asserting Authenticity in the New-Klezmer Movement,” Monatshefte 90, no. 2 (Summer 1998): 211. When both the tonality and instrumentation are combined, the music that is produced is easily identified as klezmer and associated with a Jewish identity. Just as klezmer is associated with Jewishness in contemporary culture, a similar link might also be said to exist with respect to the violin. In his article “The Jewish Violin” (Die Jüdische Violine), Detlev Kauschke argues that no instrument is more closely associated with Jewish culture—at least in contemporary culture—than the violin. A possible explanation for this could be the history of the Jews as diasporic, geographically dispersed people, making the violin’s mobility particularly attractive. Additional instruments that shared this mobility, such as the flute or clarinet, are also traditionally associated with klezmer and other forms of Jewish cultural music. I would like to note that unless otherwise stated, all translations were done by me. “Kein anderes Instrument ist so eng mit dem Judentum verbunden. Eine Erklärung dafür lautet, dass sich für Juden, die über Jahrhunderte auf der ganzen Welt unterwegs waren, ein mobiles Musikgerät besonders eignete—wie die Geige, Flöte oder Klarinette, allesamt traditionelle Instrumente der Klesmermusik.” See Detlef David Kauschke, “Die jüdische Violine,” Deutschlandradio Kultur, accessed April 4, 2016, http://www.deutschlandradiokultur.de/die-juedische-violine.1079.de.html?dram:article_id=176340. Kauschke goes on to state that the violin’s association with Jewish culture has been further reified by contemporary Jewish artists such as the classical violinist Itzhak Perlman, whose album A Jewish Violin: The Best of Klezmer & Traditional Jewish Music is a powerful example of this widely accepted association between the violin and Jewishness. Itzhak Perlman, A Jewish Violin: The Best of Klezmer and Traditional Jewish Music, with John Williams and The Andy Statman Klezmer Orchestra © 2007, by EMI Classics, ASIN B001JA3Z16, Compact Disc. Violinist Daniel Hope has even gone so far as to state that “the violin can express feelings, its sound goes to the heart…The Jewish expression…is unique.” Die Geige kann Gefühle ausdrücken, ihr Klang geht zu Herzen, sagt der bekannte südafrikanische-britische Violinist Daniel Hope: “Es ist ein Instrument, das so viele Seelen kaptivieren kann. Der jüdische Ausdruck in der Musik ist einmalig. Und es gibt einfach diese großartige Art und Weise, die Musik zu zeigen und die Gefühle zu zeigen, über die jüdische Identität,” Kauschke, “Die jüdische Violine.” While Hope’s statement is to be taken through the lens of a personal bias, many individuals share his perspective regarding the violin’s affective ability and its uniquely Jewish expression. This same notion also resonates with the work of musicologist Christina Baade, who has argued that “authenticity functions among klezmer players and critics as a flag for points of emotional and ideological investment.” Baade, “Jewzak and Heavy Shtetl,” 208. The factors outlined above may explain the prominent presence of a solo violin, frequently emitting a klezmer theme, in Holocaust filmography. Indeed, we can go so far as to suggest that a violin playing a klezmer theme—often in a minor mode, but not always—has become an expected, even standardized, element of the soundscape of Holocaust films. Perhaps the most well know occurrence is the iconic theme to Schindler’s List (1993) composed by John Williams and performed by Perlman. See Schindler’s List, directed by Steven Spielberg (United States: Universal Pictures, 1993). Although Schindler’s List’s violin theme may have become the most recognizable instance of the solo violin in Holocaust filmography, it has also been employed in numerous Holocaust film scores composed before and after Schindler’s List, such as And the Violins Stopped Playing (1988), The Devil’s Arithmetic (1999), Fugitive Pieces (2007), Adam Resurrected (2008), We Want The Light (2009), The Masterpiece Classics: Diary of Anne Frank (2009), Remembrance (2011), A Journey Into The Holocaust (2015)—and, as we will see, in the case study explored in this chapter, Auschwitz Death Camp. The violin’s standardized role in the soundscape of Holocaust filmography could be understood as a defining acoustic characteristic, or a soundmark. See And the Violins Stopped Playing, directed by Alexander Ramati (United States, Poland: Roberts/Davids Films,1988); The Devil’s Arithmetic, directed by Donna Deitch (United States: Showtime, 1999); Fugitive Pieces, directed by Jeremy Podeswa (United States: Samuel Goldwyn Films, 2007); Adam Resurrected, directed by Paul Schrader (United States: Image Entertainment, 2008); We Want the Light, directed by Christopher Nupen (Germany: Kultur Video, 2009); The Masterpiece Classics: Diary of Anne Frank, directed by Jon James (United States: Well Go USA, 2009); Remembrance, directed by Anna Justice (Germany: Corinth Films, 2011); A Journey into the Holocaust, directed by Paul Bachow (United States: Kinonation, 2015). Auschwitz Death Camp: Musical Analysis _____________________________________________________________________________ Introduction [0:00-0:53] Auschwitz Death Camp begins with a focus on the film’s title in bolded white letters against a black background, accompanied by a lone violin. The opening credits supply little detail, allowing for focus to be directed to the violin line. The violin emits a repeated minor sixth interval, eliciting an eerie quality. The film’s initial eeriness stems from the unsettling use of the minor sixth, an interval that is generally heard as dissatisfying to the human ear because of our expectation that the interval will resolve a half step higher to a major sixth. While the violin’s first appearance in Auschwitz Death Camp is not one that reflects a distinctive klezmer line, the prominence of this instrument in the soundscape of Holocaust filmography already begins to situate Auschwitz Death Camp within that larger corpus of Holocaust film, calling attention to the theme of Jewish identity from the very beginning. The violin repeats the minor sixth with a variation of pitches as the imagery shifts from the opening credits to the film’s introductory scene, transitioning to focus on Winfrey standing alone in the middle of the tracks at Auschwitz. She begins to speak as follows: Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 1—Auschwitz Death Camp Winfrey at the Train Tracks [0:13] Winfrey: I’m here in Poland at the Auschwitz Death Camp, where it is estimated that 1.1 to 1.5 million people perished here in the Holocaust, most of them eastern European Jews. It is here, right here, on this track, railroad track, that a young teenage boy arrived in a cattle car with his family, friends, and neighbors in 1944. That young boy, Elie Wiesel, lived to bear witness… All movie quotations were transcribed by me and taken from Auschwitz Death Camp, directed by Oprah Winfrey and Elie Wiesel (Chicago, IL: Harpo Productions Inc., 2006), DVD. Winfrey’s haunting words and the violin’s complementary, minor sixth line, produce a cohesive set of affective responses, such as sadness, worry, and remorse. The narration and musical line function together, establishing a unified emotive tone and associating that tone with the history of “eastern European Jews.” Auschwitz Death Camp’s initial employment of aesthetic mediums thus already begins to emphasize one particular experience of the Holocaust. The sense of sadness, remorse, and suffering, produced by musical elements associated with Jewishness, all contribute to perceiving the Holocaust as a tragedy of, and crime against, the Jewish people. Winfrey’s narration, with aid from the music and imagery, continues to contribute to this particular overarching experience, with the music abruptly changing as she introduces Wiesel with the words “that young boy, Elie Wiesel, lived to bear witness.” The score abandons the lone violin and introduces a full string section, while also continuing to emit the same minor sixth line from before. The fuller string section intensifies the lone violin’s initial eerie nature. In addition to the fuller string section, a low timpani joins with a continuous, eighth note beat. The timpani’s sound has been described as “dull, thunderous, deep, heavy, powerful, mellow, velvety, substantial, resonant, round, rumbling, dead, dry, and hollow.” The use of the timpani in Auschwitz Death Camp’s introductory scene reflects its nature as thunderous and deep. See “Sound Characteristics,” Vienna Symphonic Library (2016), https://vsl.co.at/en/Timpani/Sound_Characteristics. The timpani’s presence contributes a foreboding or urgent nature to the scene, a nature that is further strengthened with a change in Winfrey’s vocal inflection. The changes in music and in Winfrey’s vocal tone emphasize the content of the narration, where she transitions to providing a historical background, prompted by what she refers to as “the evil of man:” [0:54] Winfrey: …to the evil of man. That evil, has a name. The Holocaust. A systematic mass murder meticulously planned and executed by Nazi Germany that brutally wiped millions of people off the face of the earth. More than six million of those human beings were Jewish. Accompanying Winfrey’s narration discussing the mass murder of millions of people is imagery that depicts this genocide, still with the string’s musical line and ominous, underlying timpani beat. Amidst the string line the solo violin returns, this time playing an easily identifiable minor, klezmer melody, conveying emotions such as sadness, anguish, and despair. Concurrent to the solo violin’s entrance are images that depict the murdered victims lined up in graves, as well as the gruesome disposal of corpses, and the emaciated bodies of survivors: Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 2—Auschwitz Death Camp Mass Graves Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 3—Auschwitz Death Camp Prisoner Disposal Interestingly, this imagery is identical to imagery presented in the case study explored in Chapter Three, Night and Fog. However, Auschwitz Death Camp’s presentation is drastically different from that of Night and Fog. In Auschwitz Death Camp, the musical line, narration, and imagery function in a complementary manner that conveys a cohesive set of affective responses. As we will see, Night and Fog will adopt a very different approach. For now, however, we can remain with Auschwitz Death Camp. As Winfrey’s narration moves to describe Nazi Germany, the musical line is joined by sonic mediums that create a war soundscape accompanying the documentary footage and historical photographs which appear on the screen: Winfrey: It was 1939 and the Great Depression had left Germany desperate. Adolf Hitler seized the moment, promising riches to those he dubbed the master race, Aryans, of pure German blood. On September 1st, 1939, Germany invaded Poland—World War II was underway. In order, the imagery depicts photos of Nazi Germany, war scenes, and the concentration camps. Winfrey’s evil is given a face, with this series of images being introduced by a shot of Adolf Hitler: Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 4—Auschwitz Death Camp Adolf Hitler Accompanying the image of Hitler, the music once again transitions. The strings begin a minor, agitato musical line. See “Agitato” in Figure 2: Musical Terms and Meanings found in Chapter One. The agitato nature and minor mode function together to produce affective responses that add a sense of agitation and tenseness to the foreboding and sad tone that has already been produced (similar to the agitated technique discussed in the Introduction). Documentary footage depicting a speech by Hitler and a crowd shouting “Sieg Heil! (hail victory)” further contributes to the war soundscape, in keeping with the agitato music. As the imagery continues to present war scene photographs, Winfrey’s narration describes the historical events portrayed in the images: Winfrey: On the order of Nazi command, Jewish families across Europe were ordered from their homes and sent to concentration camps. Thousands of these camps had sprung up through Eastern Europe. They were run by Hitler’s private army, known as the S.S. The ominous music continues until the end of the scene, when Winfrey’s narration moves to once again focus on Wiesel, her tone softening: [2:43] Winfrey: Prisoner A7713 from Beget, Hungary, Elie Wiesel, was just 15 years old when he was sent to Auschwitz. Years later he would write his firsthand account, in what has become one of the single most important books of our time, Night. The full string section gradually fades out, leaving only the lone violin to once again accompany the scene with its minor, klezmer melody. The introductory scene transitions from its historical presentation of documentary film footage and image stills to a focus on Winfrey and Wiesel at the camp grounds of Auschwitz in the cold of winter. Winfrey’s narration describes her and Wiesel’s experience at the grounds: [3:04] Winfrey: Now a Nobel Peace Prize winner, prolific author, professor, world renowned Humanitarian and Holocaust survivor, Elie Wiesel returns to Auschwitz to meet me and walk these hallowed grounds. When here, you will notice, the professor speaks very softly, allowing the silence to have its space, and as we walk, the memories seem to come in waves, as he recalls the first night in 1944, at Auschwitz. Although Winfrey states that she and Wiesel are allowing “silence to have its space,” silence is not what is heard in the musical accompaniment. The violin solo is still present, its dynamic level greater than Winfrey’s voice. The violin’s minor melody is, in fact, the most prominent aesthetic medium in the scene. The violin thus seems to function as a powerful presence or force that is not directly perceptible to the participants in the scene, but that nevertheless feels profoundly real to the audience. Rather than allowing this scene to revolve around silence or absence, then, the music ensures that the scene is dominated by a powerful element that seems to come from beyond. The film’s narration does not fully specify the significance or nature of this element. Winfrey’s use of the term “hallowed,” however, suggests that this element from beyond possesses some sort of holy nature—that there is perhaps something otherworldly or transcendent being rendered present at Auschwitz. Winfrey’s narration, in other words, suggests that what we have here is a form of theosonics. Recall Wyschogrod’s understanding of theosonics, introduced in Chapter One as involving a “complex set of tensions between ideas and image” that result in manifesting the Absolute “through an innovative combination of speech, vocal, and instrumental music,” serving as an attempt to “create a transcendent object in phonic and musical sound”—as the musical manifestation of something otherworldly. Wyschogrod, “Eating the Text, Defiling the Hands: Specters in Arnold Schoenberg’s Opera Moses und Aron,” 245. Although Winfrey’s narration implies silence, a violin is heard, creating a form of tension between what is stated in the narration and what is heard in the musical line. Further, as the narration references the hallowed nature of the Auschwitz grounds, it implies that there is something otherworldly, or transcendent, that is felt. This narrative and musical amalgamation could be understood as resembling what Wyschogrod understood as theosonics. What, precisely, is being made sonically manifest will emerge only from the following scene. In particular, we will see that this instance of theosonics will reinforce the distinctive experience of the Holocaust that Auschwitz Death Camp conveys. Already, however, we can see that this film involves sound, imagery, and narration working together to produce a cohesive set of affective responses, emphasizing the Jewish dimensions of the Holocaust and pointing to something otherworldly. Scene II, Viewing of the Cemetery [3:41-6:07] As the scene transitions, the camera focuses on Winfrey and Wiesel as they begin to walk the grounds of Auschwitz. The camera pans back and forth between focusing on their expressions and displaying the surrounding grounds: Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 5—Auschwitz Death Camp Crematoria Remains The solo violin discretely fades out, the focus shifting from the klezmer musical line to Winfrey, Wiesel, and their conversation: [3:41] Winfrey: What is it even, coming back now? Difficult? Wiesel: Each time I come…I try not to speak for a day or two, or three, and just go back and find the silence that was in me then. And I say to myself how many of us did not live, and simply vanished? Look at this place, the immensity of it, it’s a universe. And when you think of the numbers…just think country, a million and half inhabitants that simply vanish…and so I think of that. I come here and try to see the invisible and try to hear the inaudible. And I always see what I had seen last time I was here. Winfrey: Do you think that the ground speaks, it carries its own energy here, that it has the voices of the dead? Wiesel: Absolutely, I am convinced of that. That they—some voices are still here. I think the sounds are here, that they listen, they cry, they warn. Look, this is the largest cemetery in recorded history and what do you see? Nothing. With the absence of musical accompaniment at the beginning of Winfrey and Wiesel’s conversation, this dialogue becomes the most prominent aesthetic element of the scene, allowing the viewer to focus directly on the exchange. Wiesel again refers to a form of silence, but this time to a silence that existed for him during his time imprisoned at Auschwitz. As Winfrey and Wiesel continue their conversation, Wiesel states that the ground in some sense speaks, evoking the voices of the dead. However, the voices are not literally heard. Wiesel’s statement thus not only acknowledges the silence of the grounds at Auschwitz, but also points to the silencing of the individuals who perished there. As stated, the conversation between Winfrey and Wiesel initially lacks a musical accompaniment. However, as Wiesel refers to the voices of the dead, the klezmer, solo violin in a minor mode returns, emitting a line identical to its presentation in the introduction. The violin’s solo line conveys the same set of cohesive affective responses outlined above—sadness, anguish, and despair. Because of its recurring nature—one that will continue to be present throughout the entirety of the film—the solo violin emitting its minor, klezmer motif could be understood as a leitmotif of Auschwitz Death Camp. Yet, while the violin is repeating the same line that we encountered in the introductory scene, a new element is also being introduced. Unlike the introductory scene, the narrative line of this new scene very clearly references the dead. This suggests that the otherworldly element represented by the violin—the otherworldly object being made sonically and musically manifest—is the dead, the souls of those who perished. Moreover, insofar as the music making these souls manifest is the klezmer, minor leitmotif, the music seems to be casting these souls in specifically Jewish terms, suggesting that what is being made manifest here are Jewish souls that perished at Auschwitz. Therefore, what I tentatively described as a form of theosonics in the previous section might be better understood as a form of what I choose to call ethnotheosonics, or a sonic manifestation of some transcendent or otherworldly element with a specific ethnic association. Auschwitz Death Camp’s ethnotheosonics is a sonic manifestation not of the Absolute, but of a constellation of ethnically framed otherworldly entities, the perished Jews of the Holocaust. This instance of ethnotheosonics again contributes to the cohesive set of affective responses discussed above. The film’s ethnotheosonic approach involves a somber, minor klezmer violin theme that complements the words spoken by Winfrey and Wiesel and their experience of viewing Auschwitz’s grounds in the present, along with its history and presentation through Wiesel’s past memories. This instance of ethnotheosonics produces a sense of sadness in response to the perished souls of Jewish victims, continuing the film’s emphasis on the particular experience of the Holocaust as a Jewish tragedy. Scene XII, The God of Death [15:45-17:09] Scene XII begins with the camera panning across the grounds of Auschwitz where the gas chambers once stood, ending with a focus on Winfrey’s and Wiesel’s faces and their responses to the site that are represented in their expressions. No musical line accompanies their conversation, allowing the viewer to once again focus on their words and the documentary imagery. The images that are presented on the screen—images of prisoners lined up outside the gas chambers—are further described in Winfrey and Wiesel’s narrative: Winfrey: And so now, we enter the gates of the crematorium…And the people who entered these gates entered them calmly, you were saying. Wiesel: It was arranged like that, they would say, “don’t worry, you’re going to take a shower…And then they dropped the gas. Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 6—Auschwitz Death Camp Prisoner Arrival The musical line remains absent as the conversation continues: Wiesel:…and what did they [the Germans] achieve? Death. And more death. Winfrey: When you say death camp, it was the manufacturing of death on a daily basis. Wiesel: Here you can go farther. Here the God of Auschwitz is the God of death. Amidst Wiesel’s last sentence, in concurrence to referencing the God of Auschwitz as the God of death, the musical line returns with the film’s violin leitmotif. The leitmotif’s presence is right on cue and maintains its consistent nature, accompanying the narration’s reference to death. The leitmotif solidifies the cohesive, somber nature of the scene. This lone violin continues throughout the remainder of the scene, accompanying Winfrey’s narration that describes those who died in the gas chambers, the content of the imagery paralleling Winfrey’s statement: Winfrey: As we stand outside the remains of gas chamber number three…you can imagine the mothers holding their babies, the grandmothers, grandfathers, the sick, the children, the thousands who stood in this very spot, exhausted. After an unthinkable journey, waiting in line, to take a simple shower. Their final moments on earth. Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 7—Auschwitz Death Camp Young Jewish Girl Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 8—Auschwitz Death Camp Lines to the Gas Chambers As Winfrey’s narration ends, the leitmotif’s accompaniment concludes in a manner that is different from any other previous presentation. The violin raises its dynamics, shifting from the minor, klezmer line to producing forceful, discordant chords—chords that are so harsh that they unsettle and even frighten, casting the viewer into a state of discomfort and unrest. This new musical presentation again produces a cohesive set of affective responses, but a set that is different from previous ones. The violin’s discordant nature conveys dread, fear, panic, and terror, affective responses that I referred to in the introduction of this chapter. While this set is different from previous sets that conveyed a sense of sadness, despair, and anguish, the violin’s discordant affect still contributes to emphasizing the particular experience of the Holocaust to which I have been referring, one that frames the Holocaust as a crime and tragedy against the Jewish people. This sense of dread, fear, panic, and terror may be an attempt to capture emotions that could have been felt by Jewish victims as they themselves experienced the Holocaust. In this way, Scene XII conveys an alternate, but still supporting, set of affective responses designed to cast the Holocaust in specifically Jewish terms. Scene XVIII, Viewing of the Gate [25:20-26:17] Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 9—Auschwitz Death Camp Auschwitz's Gates Scene XVIII begins with a black and white documentary image of Auschwitz’s gate, which is concurrently described by Winfrey’s commentary: Winfrey: Arbeit macht frei. Wiesel: Yes, work makes you free. And that is the first ironic statement that was made here. The camera transitions to portray Winfrey and Wiesel as they walk the camp grounds, headed towards the gate, with no musical accompaniment present. Immediately following Wiesel’s translation of the German, a calm piano line and ethereal overlying string accompaniment enter. The ethereal quality is a result of the strings’ minor key in upper octaves, with long, sustained notes. The ethereal accompaniment is present for the remainder of conversation between Winfrey and Wiesel, where Winfrey describes her experience of viewing the gate and what she feels as she passes through it: Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 10—Auschwitz Death Camp Viewing Auschwitz's Gate Winfrey: This iron gate is one of the most infamous symbols of evil still standing. Yet, as you pass through it, there is a feeling of sacredness, haunting memory, something achingly sad, and holy. Wiesel: There is so much suffering in this place. So much agony. How grateful I should be that I am here, and look, that you and I are here walking, remembering, helping, thinking about what to do with our lives, with our memories. It’s kind of enriching. The ethereal nature of the musical accompaniment complements Winfrey’s statement, reinforcing the “feeling of sacredness, haunting memory, something achingly sad, and holy.” The scene’s combination of imagery, narration, musical accompaniment once again conveys a cohesive set of affective responses. The minor music and the narration convey a sense of sadness, anguish, and despair, complementing Winfrey’s statement of “achingly sad,” while also injecting a sense of hope and gratefulness still reflecting the particular experience of the Holocaust to which I have been referring, but one of the Jews who suffered, but yet survived, as Wiesel describes. Scene XXI, Block 11-The Execution Grounds [29:56-31:00] Scene XXI begins with Winfrey’s narration, providing historical context regarding Block 11, and with accompanying documentary images that depict the torture of prisoners. The scene shifts from its historical overview back to color portraying Winfrey and Wiesel as they walk towards the execution wall at Block 11. The musical line remains silent, allowing for focus on Winfrey and Wiesel’s conversation: Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 11—Auschwitz Death Camp Block 11 Winfrey: This is Block 11, where the secret German police, the Gestapo, tortured and killed. Thousands were shot and killed at this spot. Wiesel: Block 11, it was the prison inside the prison… Winfrey: So many people were executed right there. Wiesel: Yes, yes, but you know. At least they had individual deaths. Winfrey: Ah, yes, isn’t that something. That even that becomes a privilege. Immediately following Winfrey’s last sentence, a lone, alto voice enters, singing a minor, wordless melody. The camera shifts to portray Winfrey and Wiesel as they stand in front of the wall, Winfrey places flowers at its base, next to others that have been left in remembrance. Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 12—Auschwitz Death Camp Block 11 Memorial The wordless, minor nature of the alto voice reflects the experience described by Winfrey and Wiesel, one that Winfrey presents as deeply tragic yet beyond expression: Winfrey: I can’t imagine the terror; I can’t imagine the terror. Wiesel: But here, actually, death was a release. Because it followed torture. Block 11 was torture. Following Wiesel’s statement, the film’s leitmotif returns, first as a duet with the solo alto voice, then on its own. The leitmotif raises its dynamic, becoming the dominant aesthetic of the scene. Its return once again conveys a sense of sadness, anguish, despair, reflecting the particular experience of the Holocaust the Auschwitz Death Camp consistently emphasizes throughout the film with its distinctive employment of aesthetic mediums. Chapter Overview ______________________________________________________________________________ With each of my scene analyses, I have demonstrated how Auschwitz Death Camp’s score functions as part of a broader aesthetic framework that results in conveying a cohesive set of affective responses, or a monolithic aesthetic presentation. This particular monolithic aesthetic presentation produces responses revolving around a sense of sadness, anguish, despair, and grief (set 2), as well as terror, dread, fear and panic (set 5), all of which aid in Auschwitz Death Camp’s emphasis on a particular way of experiencing the Holocaust—namely, as a Jewish tragedy and crime against the Jewish people. By elucidating the violin’s significance in relation to both Jewish culture and Holocaust filmography, I demonstrated how the film’s recurring violin leitmotif serves both as a musical signpost conveying the affective tone of the film, and as a soundmark that aided in the creation of a Jewish soundscape. In turn, I highlighted a particular aesthetic occurrence that might best be understood as an attempt at manifesting the absent souls of perished Jewish victims, which I described as a form of ethnotheosonics. This aesthetic element, I argued, also contributes to the film’s broader portrayal of the Holocaust. With its ethnic dimension—referencing Jewish souls through the narration and klezmer line—an identity is affiliated with the tragedy that the film is portraying. In turn, the affective nature of the klezmer line—created by its minor mode—conveys affective responses such as sadness, anguish, despair and grief. By examining these diverse musical elements, I have demonstrated how Auschwitz Death Camp’s score functions in a complementary manner with additional aesthetic mediums, generating a monolithic aesthetic presentation and highlighting a particular way of experiencing the Holocaust.  Chapter Three—Case Study: Night and Fog ________________________________________________________________________ As stated previously, I use the phrase polylithic aesthetic presentation to refer to an aesthetic presentation that employs aesthetic mediums in such a way that a set of clashing and conflicting affective responses is produced, ranging across the emotive sets outlined in Chapter One. In this chapter I demonstrate how Eisler’s score functions in this manner throughout Night and Fog, again and again working in tandem with other aesthetic elements to produce a polylithic aesthetic presentation. Wlodarski describes this as “Eisler’s soundtrack enacting a strategic and at times uncomfortable distance from the documentary footage.” See Wlordarski, Musical Witness and Holocaust Representation, 85. In turn, I suggest that this striking, even unorthodox musical approach may be explained as an attempt to convey the sense that the Holocaust can be experienced in multiple ways. Throughout my analysis, I will demonstrate how Eisler’s score illuminates contrasting experiences emerging at different points in history, as well as the experiences of the victims, perpetrators, and survivors. Matthew Boswell raises similar issues in connection with Resnais, suggesting that clashing and conflicting responses to Night and Fog stem from Resnais’s attempt to place the viewer in the victim’s shoes: “Resnais solicits imaginative acts of identification by aligning the camera with a victim’s eye-view…By placing us, imaginatively, in the victim’s shoes, we experience brief and shocking moments of dislocation, not sustained acts of ‘empathetic identification’ that falsely conflate our own personal experiences of loss or entrapment with those of the victims. And indeed, the imaginative work required of the viewers is not simply to position themselves as victims. The viewer-asked-to-imagine is never allowed to assume any single subject position for long, and in a montage sequence that immediately follows the opening scanning shots across the camp we are shockingly asked to assume the position of a perpetrator.” See Boswell, Holocaust Impiety: Literature, Popular Music, and Film, 139. Additionally, see Susan Gubar, Poetry After Auschwitz: Remembering What One Never Knew (Bloomington and Indianapolis, IN: Indiana University Press, 2003), 237. In turn, musicologist Royal Brown asserts that Eisler’s “non-narrativizing, non-mythifying” score liberates the viewer from the “pseudohistory of cultural myth in a way that allows history…to emerge.” See Royal Brown, Overtones and Undertones: Reading Film Music (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1994), 30 and 34. See also Wlodarski, Musical Witness and Holocaust Representation, 59. Film scholar Joshua Hirsch also acknowledges Night and Fog’s ability to create distinctive experiences in its viewers, stating that Resnais’s pioneering film method conveys both the perspective of the shocked liberators upon witnessing the Nazi atrocities as well as the memories experienced by survivors. However, what Hirsch does not acknowledge is the potential to experience Night and Fog at moments through the eyes of the perpetrators, a position that I share with Boswell and others. See Joshua Hirsch, Afterimage: Film, Trauma, and the Holocaust (Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press, 2004). See also Janet Walker, Trauma Cinema: Documenting Incest and the Holocaust (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2005). Eisler’s score accomplishes this through its musical resistance that challenges the film’s concurrent imagery and narration, a move that musicologist Maria Cizmic describes as Eisler “seeking to avoid stock outburst of emotion and provide music contradictory to the images on screen.” Maria Cizmic, Performing Pain: Music and Trauma in Eastern Europe (Oxford, England: Oxford University Press 2012), 160. Cizmic’s description is based on Adorno’s and Eisler’s film methodology as they introduce it in their Composing for the Films. See Theodor Adorno and Hanns Eisler, Composing for the Films (New York, NY: Bloomsbury Academic, 2007). This chapter begins with an analysis of the Winterschlacht Suite, a musical composition that was originally composed by Eisler prior to Night and Fog in 1954 as part of the musical score to Johannes Becher’s play, Winter Battle (Battle at Moscow)—A German Tragedy in Five Acts with a Prologue. Winterschlacht (Schlacht um Moskau)—Eine Deutsche Tragödie in fünf Akten mit einem Vorspiel. Becher’s play was originally entitled Deutsche Tragödie. This first version of the play was penned during Becher’s exile in Russia in 1941.The final version and Eisler’s accompanying score premiered on January 12, 1955. See Lindeperg, “Night and Fog”: A Film in History, 133-138; Giorgio Dimitrov, Journal 1933-1949 (Paris, France: Belin, 2005), 575, 602, 619, 696, and 705-6. I will focus specifically on the final scene of Becher’s play and the accompanying eighth movement of the Winterschlacht Suite: Finale—Melodrama, Andante (Schluß-Melodram, Andante). By assessing Winterschlacht in conjunction with Becher’s play, we can get a sense of Eisler’s unorthodox compositional methodology, allowing us to better understand the particular use of aesthetics we encounter in Night and Fog itself. Second, applying the understanding of Eisler’s compositional methodology that emerges from our examination of Winterschlacht, I present my musical analysis of select Night and Fog scenes, focusing on a variety of musical techniques. In so doing, I draw attention to some of the same issues that emerged in Chapter Two, such as the presence and utilization of soundscapes, leitmotifs, and theosonics. In the case of Eisler’s score, I argue that what we encounter can be understood as a form of atheosonics, or a sonic manifestation of a denial of God. I conclude my argument with a chapter overview, summarizing my reasoning for suggesting that Eisler’s musical score, in concurrence with Resnais’s cinematography and Cayrol’s script, produces a polylithic aesthetic presentation that conveys the sense that the Holocaust can be experienced in a multiplicity of ways. Winterschlacht ______________________________________________________________________________ Johannes Becher’s Winter Battle, or as it was originally titled, Battle for Moscow, first premiered on January 12, 1955, in East Berlin and depicts a series of battles between the German and Russian armies, particularly a tragic German loss that took place in Moscow in 1941. See Becher’s original script: Johannes Becher, Winterschlacht (Schlacht um Moskau), accessed on April 5, 2016, http://www.henschel-schauspiel.de/en/media/media/theater/TI-522_LP.pdf. Becher’s first draft of the play was written the same year of the battle with an unsuccessful performance in 1942 in Mexico. Its final version underwent numerous revisions before its premiere in Berlin in 1955. Overall, Winter Battle is primarily about Germany’s defeat, as is demonstrated with the title given by Becher himself: A German Tragedy (Eine Deutsche Tragödie). Although Winter Battle presents a series of events that eventually culminate in Germany’s defeat, the plot is not so simple. It is complicated through the nature of its main character, a young German soldier. The young soldier had been awarded the Knight’s Cross in 1941 prior to the battle at Moscow for his dedication to the German army. However, when he finds himself in Moscow during the battle central to the play, his dedication to his country and Führer is challenged. He sees faults in Russia , but also in Germany, and in the end chooses to defend neither, instead committing suicide. See Manfred Wekwerth, Daring to Play: A Brecht Companion (Abingdon, England: Routledge University Press, 2011). Throughout the play, Eisler’s music operates in what I am describing as a polylithic manner. However, the eighth movement of the Winterschlacht Suite, which is employed in the final scene, is particularly representative of this approach, to which we will now turn. Eisler described this musical approach as ‘gestic’ music, referring to “music that comments on events on stage by countering them with its own Gestus.” Gestus is a technique developed by Eisler’s friend and partner, Bertolt Brecht. Brecht’s technique of Gestus was an acting gesture in which the actor’s movement or persona evoked a distinctive perspective or attitude. Eisler intended ‘gestic’ music in the same fashion. ibid, 73. The final scene of Winter Battle presents a decimated German army that includes two of the play’s main characters, Gerhard Nohl and Johannes Hörder. Their conversation moves from contemplating how they can find help to a discussion of the weather, as the first snowfall of the season begins: Hörder: How shall we call for help? Nohl! The first snowflake. “wie um Hilfe rufend: Nohl! Gerhard! Die erste Schneeflocke.” See Johannes Becher, Winterschlacht: Schlacht um Moskau, 17. Nohl: So slowly it falls down, quite calming in a sense. I can catch it in my hands…Do you think winter is coming? So soon, so early? “Langsam, so zögernd schwebt sie nieder. Es ist ja ganz windstill. Laß dich mit der Hand auffangen. Du reine, weiße, du erste russische Schneeflocke! Meinst du, kommt der Winter bald?...So frühzeitig?...Ja, jetzt geht es um die Winterquartiere…Um mehr geht es, um ein Großes, um alles geht es, um.” See ibid. The script describes the the scene as quickly darkening, the snow falling faster. Nohl and Hörder continue their conversation: Hörder: …I will be cold, oh how quickly it gets dark, and it is snowing, snowing… “…mir wird kalt…O, wie schnell wird es dunkel, und es schneit, schneit…” See ibid. Nohl: What is your favorite expression, Hörder? “Wie heißt dein Lieblingsspruch, Hörder?.” See ibid. Translations done by me. Hörder: For what was in the past, do not cry. For what will be in the future, do not worry. “Vor dem, was war, werd dir das Aug’ nicht naß! Vor dem, was kommt, werd dir die Wang’ nicht blaß!” Translation by Tommy Flanagan, see ibid. With Hörder’s final statement, Eisler’s Winterschlacht begins, accompanying the final scene as Nohl, Hörder, and the remaining soldiers struggle through the snow and darkness in their retreat. However, although Hörder’s final line reflects a sense of courage and strength, despair is both heard and felt through their vocal inflections as they describe the beginning of the snow. Perhaps Nohl asking to learn Hörder’s favorite expression is an effort to maintain spirits, a final attempt to combat the desperation that is apparent visually in the scene, as well as through their vocal inflections. Although the visual and narrative aesthetics function in a complementary manner that results in conveying the despair that these characters are experiencing, Eisler’s accompanying Winterschlacht Suite elicits a very different—even triumphant—response. The Winterschlacht Suite is scored for a full string orchestra, consisting of first and second violin sections, viola, cello, and string bass, as well as two horns in f and a trumpet. See Hanns Eisler, Winterschlacht Suite (Berlin, Germany: Neue Musik, 1964). The eighth movement is short, lasting less than two minutes, and begins with a forte ascending line in the viola in the key of A major. The first measure consisting of a crescendo to the second measure, where the cello and string bass join, each section playing fortissimo. The crescendo from a forte to fortissimo has a prominent climatic effect, one described by Adorno and Eisler in the following manner: “Musically, there is the greatest difference between a simple forte or fortissimo passage and one that has a effect of a climax.” Adorno and Eisler, Composing for the Films, 67. The crescendo’s climatic effect reflects the triumphant nature of the piece. The A major key creates a sense of happiness because of its major mode, while the andante tempo aids in the triumphant nature of the eighth movement. See my discussion of major and minor keys in Chapter One. There have been numerous works by composers on the nature and character of keys. For instance, in Christian Schubart’s Ideen zu einter Aesthetik der Tonkunst, he suggests that the key of A major reflects “declarations of innocent love, satisfaction with one’s state of affairs; youthful cheerfulness and trust in God.” While Schubart’s interpretation is clearly grounded in personal opinion, A major has typically been described as a key that reflects a sense of satisfaction and cheerfulness, due in part to its major mode. See Christian Shubart, Ideen zu einter Aesthetik der Tonkunst (Charleston, NC: Nabu Press, 2007), 15. In addition, see Murray Campbell and Clive Greated, The Musician’s Guide to Acoustics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998); Walter Lawrence Gulick, George A. Gescheider, and Robert D. Frisina, ed., Hearing Physiological Acoustics, Neural Coding, and Psychoacoustics (Oxford, England: Oxford University Press, 1989). While andante is most broadly defined as “walking tempo” in music, its Italian description defines it as a musical tempo “at walking pace, moving along, slowish, but not slow, fluid and easy going,” See “Andante” in Figure 2: Musical Terms and Meanings found in Chapter One. This definition is important, as it illuminates the sense of ease that is often associated with andante—an aspect that allows the use of this tempo in the eighth movement of Winterschlacht to contribute to the production of a set of affective responses that do not revolve around sadness, but rather involve lightheartedness, joy, and even triumph. The uniform, distinct, and easy-going nature of andante combined with A major and the climatic fortissimo convey the triumphant nature that the Winterschlacht Suite’s eighth movement reflects. What we have here is a polylithic aesthetic presentation. Visual elements—such as the depiction of the German soldiers in rags, the use of guns as crutches, the substitution of newspapers for bandages—generate a set of negative responses; by contrast, Eisler’s music generates a sense of triumph and joy. Eisler’s decision to score the play in this manner was met with confusion by both Becher and musicians involved in the premiere Berlin performance. For a more detailed visual scene analysis, see Johannes F. Evelein, Literary Exiles from Nazi Germany: Exemplarity and the Search for Meaning (Rochester, NY: Camden House, 2014). “Why the triumphant music?” asked Becher, initially confused at Eisler’s accompaniment, wondering why the music was not reflecting a state of mourning for the killed and injured Germans. Eisler responded by stating that “they are fascists who are being destroyed.” Wekwerth, Daring to Play, 74. Eisler’s response suggests that he understands this polylithic aesthetic presentation as an attempt to convey the sense that the events depicted in Becher’s play could be experienced in at least two ways: as a tragedy and defeat on the one hand, and as triumphant victory over fascism on the other. Eisler expressed a similar idea in an exchange with Becher’s musicians: In Becher’s Winterschlacht, the directors of the Berliner Ensemble had imagined a scene of panicked retreat…Eisler came to the rehearsal and shocked everybody by laughing out loud—the scene reminded him of his military service under old Franz-Joseph…During the later rehearsal he showed up holding a piece of paper and demanding a full orchestra…When Eisler later played us the recording, we were astonished. He had deleted all the text of the final scene, the retreat. Instead he wanted “a slight pantomime of retreat, like Napoleon’s withdrawal from Russian,” and he described this movement musically with great affliction. This is precisely what made the whole thing so strange. “Why this affliction?” “They are Germans. It’s sad.” During the second half, the music demonstrated a wild triumph, like Beethoven would have done to show victory. “But this is about defeat,” we objected, feeling oddly uncomfortable. Eisler replied: “Why?” …The music described both affliction and triumph. It turned a scene performed by a handful of actors on stage into an expression of immense and grotesque social contradiction. Quotation taken from Lindeperg, Night and Fog: A Film in History, 134. In addition, see Manfred Wekwerth, Hanns Eisler Heute. Berichte—Probleme—Beobactungen (Berlin/DDR, 1974). Once again, Eisler suggests that the juxtaposition of contradictory visual, narrative, and musical aesthetic elements can serve to convey diverse perspectives simultaneously, reflecting the ways in which one and the same set of events can be experienced in multiple ways. Eisler’s understanding of polylithic aesthetic presentations when composing for Winter Battle, I suggest, can provide us with a framework for understanding his broader compositional methodology: he understands this type of internally contradictory presentation as an attempt to convey contrasting experiences through the challenging and contradictory utilization of aesthetic elements. Night and Fog, I will suggest, can be analyzed in the same way: as an attempt to convey clashing affective responses in order to highlight diverse ways in which the Holocaust can be experienced. Indeed, perhaps it is no accident that Eisler chose to begin and end Night and Fog with the Winterschlacht Suite—the very same piece that was crucial to polylithic aesthetic presentation involved in Becher’s play. Night and Fog: Musical Analysis ______________________________________________________________________________ Scene I—Color [1:38-2:54] Night and Fog’s first scene begins with a transition from the introductory credits to depict a color image of a field, which is then identified as the landscape immediately adjacent to the grounds of the Auschwitz concentration camp. The scene transition is abrupt, in part due to the unexpected ending of the music which accompanied the credits—Winterschlacht—and its replacement by a low, barely audible timpani. The timpani is quickly diminished, with the entrance of a flute/clarinet duet. The flute/clarinet duet is quite calming, emitting smooth, sustained notes in a major mode, pastoral in its presentation. See “Pastoral” in Figure 2: Musical Terms and Meanings found in Chapter One Figure. Further, German musicologist and critic Albrecht Dümling has described Scene I as being accompanied by a tragic melody: “The camera shots of the Polish landscape at the beginning of the film expose the remnants of the concentration camp Auschwitz, which by 1955, was overgrown with grass and flowers. Eisler contrasts these beautiful color shots, which do not reveal the camp’s former purpose, with a tragic melody for string orchestra. He entitled this ‘Á la Funébre’, a reference to the ‘Marcia Funébre’ from Beethoven’s Third Symphony.” See Albrecht Dümling, “Eisler’s Music for ‘Night and Fog.’” Historical Journal of Film, Radio, & Television 18, no. 4 (1998): 579 and Ludwig van Beethoven, Symphony No. 3, Op. 55, 1st edition (London, England: Cianchettini & Sperati, 1809). However, Dümling’s description of Scene I’s musical accompaniment as tragic stands alone among the wide body of analyses of the scene, with other scholars simply describing it as pastoral and pleasant. For instance, see Wlodarski, Musical Witness and Holocaust Representation, 62-63; Annette Insdorf, Indelible Shadows: Film and the Holocaust, 36-38; and Boswell, Holocaust Impiety in Literature, Popular Music, and Film, 139-140. The scene continues with the depiction of color, landscape imagery, working in tandem with music to create a seemingly pleasant experience. The film’s script also contributes to this experience, referring explicitly to peace and leisure: [1:50]—Even a peaceful landscape, Even a meadow in harvest, with crows circling overhead and grass fires… Night and Fog, written by Jean Cayrol, directed by Alain Resnais (France: Argos Films, 1955/56), DVD. As in Chapter Two, I would like to note that all transcriptions of Night and Fog were compiled by me and taken from this source. [2:13]—Even a road where cars and peasants and couples pass. Even a resort village with a steeple and country fair. The reference to a resort and fair imply that the peasants and couples visiting the village are vacationing or at least relaxing, enjoying a pleasant day in the country. Such activities are generally associated with positive feelings, ones similar to the positive set of affective responses conveyed by the color imagery and pastoral line. Even as the imagery, music, and script generate a set of positive responses, however, hints of a different experience begin to emerge. The lines quoted above refer not only to peace and leisure, but also to the foreboding image of “fires.” Moreover, as the scene moves forward, the imagery changes from the surrounding landscape to the camp grounds itself, highlighting an electric barbed wire fences as depicted below: Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 13—Night and Fog Barbed Wire Gates The music then changes as well, with the flute abandoning its pleasant, pastoral melody and shifting to an abrasive, descending chromatic scale. See “chromatic scale” in Figure 2: Musical Terms and Meanings found in Chapter One. The flute’s chromatic line is then reiterated by the clarinet. This use of a chromatic scale in such a manner is surprising given the pastoral music that immediately precedes it. Along with the barbed wire fence, the chromatic scale disrupts the pleasant affect created by the flute/duet’s pastoral line and color landscape imagery. The color imagery creates one, seemingly pleasant affective response, while the abrasive chromatic line creates another, contradictory response of a negative nature. Following the clarinet’s reiteration of the chromatic line, the music changes once again. A duet remains, but now between two clarinets, rather than the flute and clarinet. The music’s transition accompanies the shift in the narration, which finally makes an explicit reference to the concentration camps: [2:16]—Can lead to a concentration camp. The clarinet duet maintains the sustained line, similar to the initial pastoral presentation, but now in a minor mode and lower key. By transforming the initial, major pastoral line into one in a lower octave and minor mode, the affect created by the musical line changes. Studies have shown that higher octaves are generally associated with more pleasant feelings than those of lower octaves. Additionally, the change in timbres also contributes to the auditory reception of the octaves. While each instrument is capable of producing the same pitch, the timbre of that pitch is not identical across all musical instruments. An instrument’s timbre is dependent upon how its sound is produced through vibration and as such is one method of classifying musical instruments. Stringed instruments (violin, guitar, harp, piano) are classified as chordophones because their vibration and sound is produced either through plucking, striking, or bowing a string. Woodwinds (such as the clarinet, flute, oboe) and brass (such as the trumpet, tuba, and the horn in f) are classified as aerophones because their vibration and sound is made through an air column. Additional categories include idiophone (percussive instruments excluding drums), membranophone (human voice and drums), and electrophone (electric instruments, i.e. synthesizer, theremin). It is important to note that although two instruments may be classified in the same group, they still do not produce the same timbre. For example, the clarinet and flute are both aerophones, but their instrument body and material further contributes to their overall timbre. In turn, a concert flute and Bb clarinet are more similar than, say, a piccolo and bass clarinet, as the concert flute and Bb clarinet have similar octave ranges. For more see Christopher J. Plack, The Sense of Hearing. Instead of the cheerful and joyous nature of the first pastoral line, this new presentation—what we might call a transformed re-presentation—conveys a sense of confusion, tension, and unease. This can be explained, in part, as a result of the minor mode and the nature of the second duet’s presentation. Although each duet is scored for wind instruments, they differ both in musical key and the instrument range. The first duet is between a concert flute and Bb clarinet, instruments with virtually identical note ranges. The second duet continues the Bb clarinet, but replaces the flute with a bass clarinet. The move from flute to bass clarinet allows for a lower note range, which is significant because of the psychological responses that are prominently associated with lower octaves. Studies in psychoacoustics have demonstrated that lower octaves are prominently associated with characteristics that are described as being ominous, threatening, and sinister, affective responses found in sets 1 and 2. ibid, 56. Moreover, the change in timbre in the instruments, further contributes to feelings of confusion and unease mentioned above. While Eisler could have employed a lower note range and maintained a similar timbre by employing bass flute, the change in instruments, key, and octave combine to contribute to and convey a sense of disjointedness in the scene. The different timbres contribute to varying affects that contradict what has been stated in the narrative line, further clashing with the pleasant, color imagery. The narration continues, naming several concentration camps: [2:20]— Struthof, Oranienberg, Auschwitz, Neuengamme, Belsen, Ravensbruck, and Dachua. Once again, the film is pointing to different types of experiences. On the one hand, the music is conveying a set of negative affective responses, a sense of fear, of something sinister, reflecting the nature of the concentration camps. On the other, the imagery is still in color and peaceful, presented as posing no threat, reflecting the pleasantries of peasants and couples spending a day at a countryside resort village, conveying a set of pleasant positive affective responses, such as gaiety, cheerfulness, and joy. Further, although the narration is referencing concentration camps, all it has mentioned thus far are names. While the imagery is still color, the narration begins to convey a similar sense as the music, reminding the viewers of the camp’s history: [2:29]— The blood has dried, the tongues have fallen silent, the only visitor to the blocks is the camera. A strange grass covers the paths once trod by inmates. The music, narration, and imagery in this scene each contribute to contradictory responses, at alternating moments. The first sight of the color landscape could result in positive responses, a possibility that would further be supported through the major, pastoral flute/clarinet duet. However, with the transition from the landscape to the barbed wire fence and the change in music, the positive response could also move in a contrasting direction. This is further supported through the key changes—first from major to chromatic, and then from chromatic to minor—in the musical line. The narration also elicits diverse responses, with references to peaceful landscapes, resort villages, and county fairs generating a positive set of emotions, while also sounding a more ominous note through references to blood. The aesthetic mediums thus function together in the presentation of the scene, contributing to the production of contradictory affective responses and thereby highlighting different ways of experiencing the Holocaust. By first presenting the landscape as it is in the post-war era (accompanied by Cayrol’s pleasant narration), Scene I presents a contemporary experience, the life surrounding the Auschwitz camp grounds after the fact. The initial pastoral music complements this, creating a pleasant affect. However, this is challenged with the chromatic line’s disruption, jarring the viewer. The shift in imagery from the landscape to the camp grounds and bared wire fence could be representative of another experience, that of the survivors and their memories. As the scene transitions again to the ominous clarinet duet and the naming of the concentration camps, the viewer is further transported into that history. From the very beginning of the film the viewer is forced to move between a horrific past and what seems to be a very different present. Scene II, The German Machine—Black and White [2:55-3:38] The transition between Scene I and Scene II is even more abrupt than the transition from the opening credits to Scene I. A sharp snap of a snare drum accompanies the transition, occurring simultaneously with a shift in imagery from the color footage of Scene I to a black and white montage of marching Nazi troops in Scene II. The snare drum continues, joined by mechanical sounding pizzicati. See “Pizzicato” in Figure 2: Musical Terms and Meanings found in Chapter One. The repetitious drumming and methodical strings are further complemented by the concurrent narration: [3:01]—The machine goes into action The mechanical nature of the musical line and simultaneous narrative supplement the imagery, which portrays uniformed Nazi soldiers: Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 14—Night and Fog "The Machine" The film stills and documentary footage presented in Scene II all depict Nazi troops, with no individual distinguishable from another—what seems to be a uniform (and uniformed) living machine. The various aesthetics thus work in complementary fashion, forming a cohesive aesthetic presentation that conveys a sense of confidence and determination. Further, Eisler’s continuous use of percussive elements creates a musical metaphor, almost in a manner of a leitmotif. To be sure, unlike the prominent violin leitmotif of Auschwitz Death Camp, Eisler’s percussive metaphor draws on a variety of instruments and involves a variety of modes. What is consistent, though, is the use of percussive elements to produce a mechanical sound, indicating that the Nazis functioned as a type of machine. Lindeperg shares in this reading, understanding the narration and corresponding mechanical pizzicati to suggest a presentation of “Nazi machinery.” See Lindeperg, Night and Fog: A Film in History, 132. While Scene II’s initial utilization of aesthetic mediums seems cohesive, this does not remain the case for the entirety of the scene. The narration continues to describe the uniform nature of the Nazi “machine”: [3:23]—A nation must have no discord [3:33]—No complaints or quarrels [3:36]—The nation gets down to work As the words “a nation must have no discord” appear, the strings take on a new line, remaining in pizzicati. They begin a recurring chromatic sequence of four notes, understood in solfege as do-di-re-ri. The musical sequence produces an unresolved effect, as the chromatic do-di-re-ri sequence naturally wants to resolve with one further note—namely, mi, the III chord, completing the sequence with do-di-re-ri-mi. Wlodarski analyzes this ascending chromatic scale as “tracing a diminished fifth or tri-tone,” which she describes as a highly disharmonious musical interval. See Wlodarski, Musical Witness and Holocaust Representation, 75. For “tri-tone” see Figure 2: Musical Terms and Meanings, found in Chapter One. Lindeperg also acknowledges the violin’s “eerie” nature, however, does not apply the musicological understanding that is necessary to fully illuminate the phenomena. Lindeperg states “that the composer adds the melody line of a somewhat bitter sounding violin with a noticeable vibrato.” While the violin does indeed have a thick vibrato prior to its trill, the vibrato functions almost as preparation for the trill. See Lindeperg, Night and Fog: A Film in History, 132. Moreover, the uniform mechanical nature of the scene and the percussive metaphor are disrupted with the entrance of a solo, arco violin playing various descending minor third patterns. See “Arco” in Figure 2: Musical Terms and Meanings found in Chapter One. The minor third in the arco violin produces an eerie effect, disrupting the previously uniform aesthetic soundscape and thereby challenging the narration’s insistence on the absence of such diversity—on the absence of discord, the absence of quarrels. A nation must have no discord, yet the music is discordant and unresolved. The percussive metaphor creates one response, which is challenged through the eerie strings. At first the music is like the machine described in Cayrol’s script, but this is disrupted when the strings take on a new line. Here Eisler’s musical line conveys contradictory affects, such as a sense of fear, panic, and dread in the eerie strings as well as triumph, pride and confidence in the percussive metaphor. As with the earlier scene, Eisler seems to be conveying multiple ways in which the Holocaust may have been experienced. The percussive metaphor encapsulates the experience of those participating in the Nazi machine, whereas the arco violin—resisting the mechanical, uniform quality of the narration, imagery, and percussive snare and pizzicati lines—perhaps highlights the experiences of those who wished to challenge this machine. The scene continues with several changes in music and accompanying imagery, eventually leading to the emergence of a high pitched trumpet solo that commandeers the scene. The trumpet is piercing, emanating a march-like, major melody concurrent to the following narration: [4:06]—Meanwhile, Berger a German worker; Stern a Jewish student in Amsterdam; Schmuiski, a merchant in Krakow; and Annette, a schoolgirl in Bordeaux, go about their daily lives, not knowing a place is being prepared for them, hundreds of miles away [4:24]—One day their quarters are ready [4:25]—All that’s missing is them. Seized in Warsaw. Deported from Lodz, Prague, Brussels, Athens, [4:39]—From Zagreb, Odessa, or Rome [4:45]—Interned at Pithiviers [4:49]—Captured at the Bel d’hiv [4:52]—Members of the Resistance rounded up at Compiégne. The masses, taken by surprise, by error or by chance, begin their journey to the camps The accompanying imagery depicts the quarters described by the narration, however, the music is almost cheerful sounding, implying nothing out of the ordinary. The narration, by contrast, is more ominous: we encounter references to empty quarters awaiting the arrival of prisoners, to an empty Pithiviers, to camps that await the seized and the deported. This scene allows for the possibility of a multiplicity of potential responses. On the one hand, there is a sense of fear for those who were being captured. At the same time, the trumpet’s march-like melody might create a sense of excitement or even anticipation. Albrecht Dümling suggests another interpretation of this scene, stating that the march could reflect the sense of humiliation felt by prisoners as they were accompanied by camp orchestra’s playing marches as they left for their day’s hard labor. However, as the scene depicts the rounding up of prisoners and has no narrative nor imagery reference of the concentration camps, Dümling’s interpretation seems unlikely. See “Eisler’s Music for Resnais’s ‘Night and Fog,’” 577-578. Marches were traditionally used to arouse excitement, passion, and patriotic commitment prior to going to war. While such pieces have traditionally had a militaristic association, this character has been in a positive light, providing reassurance regarding the nobility of a cause and the necessity of sacrifice. See “March,” in Figure 2: Musical Terms and Meanings found in Chapter One; Helmut Rösing, “The Effects of Music on the Recipient: An Attempt to Define a Position,” Royal Musical Association Research Chronicle 16 (1980): 62-77. While the imagery and narration thus generate negative emotions and highlight the experience of victims, then, the music seems to function differently, conveying a sense of excitement that fits more closely with what we might imagine to be the experiences of some perpetrators. Scene II continues in a music interlude (6:21) with the return of the pastoral flute theme from the introduction, however, this time as a solo without the clarinet. The flute is joined by a piano, still maintaining the elongated, major key. The flute solo ends with a V-vii-I pattern repeated three times and a sudden clamoring piano chord, initiating the return of the narration and a trumpet/clarinet duet: [7:05]—Trains, sealed and bolted, a hundred people crammed into a car. No day, no night. Hunger, thirst, suffocation, madness. A message flutters to the ground. Will it be found? Death makes its first cut [7:23]—The second is made on arrival in night and fog. Numerous scholars have acknowledged that “night and fog” is referencing more than a mere description of context. Jay Cantor states that this title is based on an order issued by Adolf Hitler. See Jay Cantor, “Death and Image” in Charles Warren ed., Beyond Document; Essays on Nonfiction Film (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1996), 28._ While the flute line, as in the introduction, conveys a set of pleasant affective responses—cheerfulness, gaiety, and joy—the piano’s discordant accompaniment challenges this, conveying an alternate set of negative affects by creating a sense of terror and unease. The music’s dual nature continues as the flute is replaced by the trumpet, as before, taking on a march-like line, supported this time by a clarinet. References to death and starvation occur in the narration, yet the music is march-like and in a major mode. Further, the accompanying imagery does not depict the death and starvation that is described in the narration; instead, all we see is the black and white imagery portraying individuals at a railway station. On the one hand, the presence of the march-like theme in association with the narration stating death and starvation could promote an understanding that the death and starvation about to occur in the camps and on the trains were taken in a positive light, perhaps reflecting the view of some perpetrators. However, the presence of opposing, discordant music conveys an alternate, negative response, perhaps that of the victims—an experience of death and starvation not as a project to anticipated, but as a fate to be feared. Scene XI, Referencing God—Black and White [14:56-16:51] Scene XI begins with a brief pause in the musical line. The imagery that appears stands in sharp contrast to the pleasant, color landscape depicted immediately prior: Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 15—Night and Fog Birkenau's Barracks Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 16—Night and Fog An Attempted Escape A solo clarinet joins the imagery, playing a sequence of three descending, major triads. In the clarinet’s second repeat, pizzicati violins join in accompaniment along with the narrative: [15:11]—Everything is but a pretext for taunts and punishment. Roll-call goes on for hours. A poorly made bed means twenty baton blows. Aligned with the roll-call narrative reference are photographic images that portray prisoners lined up for inspection, evoking responses of a negative nature, such as disgust, revulsion, anguish, bewilderment, and sadness: Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 17—Night and Fog Roll Call Concurrent with the narration and imagery, an arco violin enters, accompanying the pizzicati with an eerie, minor melody, similar to the melody of the arco violin in Scene II, when it disrupted the percussive metaphor. The arco violin plays a minor interval, ending with a trill. The arco violin is replaced by a solo flute, whose whole note, sustained, major melody is oddly soothing. I say oddly as the flute emerges concurrently with the roll-call imagery, depicting emaciated, naked prisoners. The sight is not pleasant, yet the flute’s calm solo contradicts the image’s unpleasant nature, creating the potential for both a positive and negative affect to be felt in response. The flute continues as the narration and imagery transition, depicting an image of two uniformed S.S. officers in concurrence with the following statement: [15:20]—Call no attention to yourself, make no sign to the gods. Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 18—Night and Fog S.S. Officers The calming flute solo remains while the imagery and narration present the killing initiated by “the gods.” This reference to “gods” is ambiguous, for it is not at all apparent who the “gods” are. However, at least two plausible interpretations emerge. First, as the reference is made simultaneously with the appearance of two S.S. officers, it could be understood that the scene is implying that the Nazis are gods. Such a reading is further strengthened with the imagery and narration that immediately follow, depicting Auschwitz’s gallows and execution grounds: [15:23]—They have their gallows, their sacrificial ground. Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 19—Night and Fog Auschwitz's Gallows Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 20—Night and Fog Block 11 By stating “call no attention to yourself, make no sign to the gods, they have their gallows, their sacrificial grounds,” the scene might be implying that the Nazis functioned as gods, possessing total control over the lives of prisoners. However, a second reading is also possible. One could take the first reference of “make no sign to the gods” as referring to something other, something more powerful than the Nazi perpetrators. Even within the confines of the concentration camps, the narration would then be stating, ultimate control resided in something more powerful than the perpetrators and victims. This ambiguity may be intentional. The calm musical line and reference to “gods” at first raises the viewers’ hopes, suggesting that there may be divine powers other than the Nazis, that the Nazis are not ultimately in control, a notion that would be received as reassuring. However, by accompanying the narrative reference of “gods” with imagery of the S.S. officers, the scene immediately dashes these hopes, suggesting that perhaps nothing exists beyond the camps, that perhaps the Nazis are the only “gods” we have. This contrast and ambiguity contributes to Night and Fog’s polylithic aesthetic presentation. At first, the reference to the gods could be taken in a sense as reassuring, resulting in conveying a positive set of affective responses. However, by suggesting the Nazis are in fact the gods, a starkly different set of negative affective responses is produced. The imagery, narration, and music work together to create a complex scene in which viewers veer between hope and despair, optimism and pessimism, cautious joy and sheer terror. As the scene continues, the music changes drastically as the narration begins to speak of humanity’s resilience: [15:54]—But man is resilient. Though the body is worn out with fatigue, the mind works on: Hands wrapped in bandages labor on. They manage to write, make notes. Keep their minds sharp and their dreams alive. In concurrence with the above narrative line, Eisler’s score introduces a scherzo, a form of music that is often used to indicate a comic or ironic idea, frequently referred to as a musical joke. See “scherzo” in Figure 2: Musical Terms and Meanings found in Chapter One. Lindeperg acknowledges the musical “jest,” however, does not present it as a scherzo, instead calling it a “farcical waltz” and labels this particular musical occurrence as the “executioners’ theme,” stating “the executioners’ theme is occasionally enriched with ironic accent expressed in the movement of a farcical waltz that underlines the more Kafkaesque aspects of the world of the concentration camp…” See Lindeperg, Night and Fog: A Film in History, 133. In turn, Jean Cayrol described this particular aesthetic combination as Eisler trying to achieve a form of “Opéra-bouffe,” which is defined as a “comic opera, the opposite of opéra seria [serious opera]. It began as use of a comic subject, playing off of characters from everyday life.” See “Opéra-bouffe,” The Oxford Dictionary of Music, 617; Jean Cayrol, Entretiens avec: Jean Cayrol (Paris, France: France Culture, June 19, 1979). I have chosen not to characterize this particular scene as opéra-bouffe because its jesting nature is not characteristic of the entire film: opéra-bouffe’s comic nature generally involves an entire opera or film, while Eisler’s composition in this scene is a free-standing scherzo. The scherzo begins with the violins playing in a seemingly major key. However, what initially sounds harmonious is disrupted by the low brass with dissonant, underlying minor chords. The scherzo’s orchestration remains quite full for the majority of the scene, until an image of a lone book is presented: Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 21—Night and Fog Holy (?) Book This image is accompanied only by the violins, restating the initial theme of the scherzo, and by the following narration: [16:23]—They turn their thoughts to God. This reference to God might imply that the book is some type of holy text, although its identity is not definitively stated. Less important than the identity of the book, however, is the fact that Eisler’s score does not complement this invocation of the divine, but rather challenges it. As a scherzo is understood to be a musical form of mockery, its employment in concurrence with what appears to a holy book and a reference to God suggests that Eisler is mocking this turn to religion. The use of the scherzo can be interpreted as Eisler poking fun at the idea of individuals “turn[ing] their thoughts to God,” implying that such thoughts are absurd—that belief in the divine in the camps, or in the wake of the Holocaust more broadly, deserves only ridicule, mockery, and rejection. What we have here, in other words, might be described as a form of atheosonics. Eisler’s decision to incorporate a musical expression that we may understand as atheosonics could stem, in part, from his personal atheistic beliefs. In addition, Eisler himself acknowledged that a composer had the right to challenge its associated text, stating that “if I identify myself completely with the text, empathize with it, hover behind it, well, that’s dreadful. A composer has to view a text in a way full of contradictions…If I am ever praised for anything, it will be for resisting the text. I resisted the contexts of the poem and perceived it in my way. That is part of musical intelligence. It is a great art to remember…you get a different view of things.” See Adorno and Eisler, Composing for the Films, 78. Just as theosonics is an attempt to make the presence of the Absolute manifest through a music and sonic mediums, I am using the term atheosonics to refer to an attempt to sonically enact or manifest a denial of God. Eisler’s atheosonics accomplishes this denial by creating a tension between the image and text—both seemingly making a religious statement—and his mocking, accompanying scherzo. Eisler’s musical mockery might be further understood through a Nietzschean perspective, particularly in regards to Nietzsche’s famous parable, in The Gay Science, of a madman who declares “God is dead!” As is well known, Nietzsche begins his parable with the madman entering and declaring that he is seeking God. However, the madman soon states, God cannot be found because we, humanity, have killed him: Have you not heard of that madman who lit a lantern in the bright morning hours, ran to the market place, and cried incessantly: “I seek God! I seek God!” —As many of those who did not believe in God were standing around just then, he provoked much laughter. Has he got lost? asked one. Did he lose his way like a child? asked another…The madman jumped into their midst and pierced them with his eyes. “Whither is God?” he cried; “I will tell you. We have killed him—you and I. All of us are his murderers. Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science (New York, NY: Random House, 1974), 181. The madman is received as crazed, both by those in the audience who did not believe in God and by those who did. For Nietzsche, both the theists and atheists who heard the madman’s cries were foolish: the theists for maintaining a belief in God, the atheists for not realizing the full range of implications that a death of God entailed, that with the death of God came the loss of inherited moral systems and the need to create something new. For example, the theists failed to realize the necessity of what Nietzsche described as “unconditional and honest atheism”: a recognition that belief in God has become intellectually dishonest. Nietzsche explains his understanding of intellectual dishonesty by describing Arthur Schopenhauer’s turn to atheism, stating that “……unconditional and honest atheism is simply the presupposition of the way he [Schopenhauer] poses his problem, being a triumph achieved finally and with great difficulty by the European conscience, being the most fateful act of two thousand years of discipline for truth that in the end forbids itself the lie in faith in God.” ibid, 307. Eisler’s scherzo, we might, say functions in manner similar to Nietzsche’s madman, jarring his audience and attempting to lay bare the impossibility of continued belief in God. The music disrupts any sense of complacency that the reference to God and image of a holy book might induce, reminding the audience that, with the Holocaust, belief in the divine is no longer possible. As with the earlier scenes, Scene XI’s references to the divine contribute to a variety of complicated and contradictory affective responses. The first invocation of God creates both a sense of reassurance (through its suggestion that there are gods beyond the camps) and terror (through the suggestion that, perhaps the Nazis are the gods). The second reference to God, situated against the backdrop of a mocking scherzo, transforms what first seems like a statement of hope, “they turn their thoughts to god,” into one of foolish, mockery. Scene XI thus conveys a diverse range of affective responses, each resulting in a multiplicity of experiences, those of the individuals who found solace in the camps by turning their thoughts to God, as well as those who lost their faith in God as a result of their experiences in the camps. Scene XVII, Building the Crematoria—Color and Black and White [20:50-21:32] In this scene, Eisler’s percussive metaphor returns with the sharp hit of a timpani, sounding similar to a gunshot. The timpani continues, joined by a clarinet and muted trumpet. The trumpet serves as part of the percussive metaphor, interjecting the same two notes, repeatedly and with staccato. The trumpet’s mute adds to the percussiveness, disrupting the trumpet’s normal tone and presenting a new timbre. The clarinet sounds ominous, supporting the content of the narration: [20:50] 1942. Himmler pays a visit [21:06] We [the Nazis] must destroy, but productively Leaving production aspects to his technicians Himmler concentrates on destruction They study plans Cayrol’s language describes Himmler’s plans for the building of the crematoria. Yet the narration does not mention specifically that the plans are designs for these structures. The only reference alluding to crematoria is found in the included image Entrourf für das Crematorium: Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 22—Night and Fog Architectural Sketch for Auschwitz's Crematoria The narration continues, accompanied by the clarinet and percussive metaphor. [21:25] Models. They carry them out, the prisoners themselves helping with the work. The clarinet and timpani end, being replaced by a lone flute, still accompanied by the timpani’s beat. The flute aids in the transition from black and white historical photos to a color presentation of Auschwitz crematorium after the war, as seen below. The change in music and imagery provides a new affect with a major tonality and pleasant, color landscape: Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 23—Night and Fog A Crematorium in Present Day The timpani beat continues to accompany the flute’s musical line, which sounds somewhat cheerful. Its pleasant nature is emphasized by the flute’s light trills, further conveying the positive affect with Eisler’s choice to use trills moving between the main note and a note above it and allowing it to sound consonant, rather than dissonant with the use of a semitone. A semitone would have moved the base note up a half step in the trill, making it chromatic and dissonant. The choice of using a tone gives more space between the base note and the trill note, a practice that is generally more pleasing to the human ear, making it consonant, or harmonious._ The flute’s melody contradicts the narration of the scene and associated imagery, eliciting a pleasant response. On the one hand, the film seems to be suggesting, the crematoria are ominous and terrifying. They were built as sites for the quick and mass disposal of human bodies, the murdered victims of the concentration camps. On the other hand, from the perspective of the perpetrators, the crematoria might have been experienced as insightful inventions that heightened the Nazis’ productivity, potentially explaining the positive affect and experienced conveyed through the major line. This emphasis on the diverse ways of experiencing the crematoria runs still deeper. Consider the narration that appears with the color imagery: [21:33]—A crematorium from the outside can look like a picture postcard. Today tourists have their snapshots taken in front of them. The narration’s reference to tourists could be received in at least two, contrasting ways. First, it could be received in a pleasant manner, for tourism and vacationing are generally taken to be enjoyable experiences. However, it could also arouse a feeling of disgust, for (we might ask) what pleasure could there be in a vacation to a concentration camp? Photos of posed, smiling tourists appear, conveying a sense that the horrific history of the camps is belittled, passed by in place of a happy, family vacation. Once again, then, Eisler’s score works with the narrative and imagery to portray contrasting ways of experiencing the Holocaust. Eliciting positive responses, these elements suggest that the crematoria might have been occasions for pride among some perpetrators and may still be sites of happy vacations for tourists. Simultaneously eliciting negative responses, however, the scene reminds viewers that these structures were tools of mass murder and raises questions about visiting tourists who pose, seemingly, without a thought to the horrific past. Scene XXIV, The End of the War—Color and Black and White [27:12-29:30] Scene XXIV presents some of the same imagery discussed in Chapter Two in Auschwitz Death Camp’s introductory scene. However, Night and Fog’s presentation has a drastically different character, in particular due to Eisler’s uncanny use of pizzicati to accompany imagery depicting the inhumane disposal of murdered victims. The musical line in the scene from Night and Fog remains both continuous and consistent throughout the entirety of the scene. In particular, the scene is accompanied by a prominently stated string section, playing with pizzicati. [27:12]—1945. The camps are spreading and they’re full. Cities of 100,000 inhabitants, full to the bursting… The pizzicati continues, but the tone pattern changes. Instead of the moving note line, the strings begin to repetitively pluck a single note. [27:35]—The Nazis may win the war, These new towns a part of their economy. As the narrator states “the Nazis may win the war,” the music becomes even more upbeat and upbeat, with a subito change in dynamics. The narration and accompanying music present a strange aesthetic juxtaposition. Stating that the Nazis may win the war is not something that most viewers would comprehend as cheerful or pleasant, but the use of pizzicati suggests otherwise. Traditionally, pizzicati is used as a form of accompaniment associated with a cheerful, happy nature, not one of death and sadness, but has been used in previous musical compositions in an unorthodox manner to elicit a dramatic affect, similar to Eisler’s employment. The use of pizzicati did not become common until the Classical Era (1730-1820), when it began to appear as a string accompaniment in slow movements of concertos. Its use musically continued to develop as a form of accompaniment. Eisler’s use of pizzicati in Scene XXIV is untraditional both in its commandeering manner and in its upbeat major tonality. Audiences would be taken aback by its presence in this scene not only because it is cheerful sounding, but also because they might have been culturally accustomed to hearing pizzicati as merely a form of accompaniment, not a stand-alone aesthetic that captures their attention. Pizzicato was used in a similar manner during the Romantic Era (1780-1910) for a dramatic effect. See Ludwig van Beethoven, Symphony No. 5, Op. 55, mvts. 4 and 5 (Leipzig, Germany: Breitkopf und Härtel, 1862) and Symphony No. 7, Op. 92, 1st edition (Vienna, Austria: S.A. Steiner & Co, 1816); Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky, Symphony No. 4, Op. 61, 1st edition (Moscow, Russia: P. Jurgenson); Edward Elgar, Violin Concerto, Op. 61 (London, England: Novello & Co., 1910). There have been several developments of pizzicato techniques that are not forms of accompaniment, such as the Bartòk pizz, two-handed pizzicato, and quasi guitar (instructing the violins to be strummed like a guitar). See Béla Bartòk, 44 Duos for 2 Violins, Sz. 98 (Vienna, Austria: Universal Edition, 1933) and Romanian Folk Dances Sz. 56, reprint edition (Boca Raton, FL:1995); “Pizzicato,” Oxford Music Online, accessed on May 17, 2016, http://0-www.oxfordmusiconline.com.libraries.colorado.edu/subscriber/article/grove/music/21883?q=pizzicato&search=quick&pos=1&_start=1#firsthit. The violins continue to pizz the repetitive single note while the cellos return to the moving pizzicati line that was introduced at the beginning of the scene. The narration continues: [28:00]— But they are losing the war. There is no coal for the crematoria. 
 No bread for the inmates. The streets are strewn with corpses. Here a contradiction arises in the narration from the previous statement, acknowledging that the Nazis are losing the war. Nevertheless, the music remains the same cheerful use of pizzicati. It is as if Eisler is calling attention to two different perspectives from which the events of the war can be experienced: the perspective of the Nazis, who celebrate the prospect of their victory; and the perspectives of victims, who look forward not to a German victory, but to a German defeat. The film does not allow us to remain, however, with a sense of joy at the impending Nazi loss. As the narrator states “the streets are strewn with corpses,” the music changes. The cellos play alone, plucking an ascending major scale, and when they reach the top, the violins join again with the repetitive single note pizzicati. Following the entrance of the violins, the narration picks up again: [28:40]— When the allies open the doors, All the doors— Directly following the above narrative line, the screen begins a set of constantly changing images, with every photographic still depicting deceased prisoners, each portraying a new face, another death. The film stills finally end, shifting to a moving image showing dead bodies, corpses piled atop of each other, emaciated prisoners looking on. The imagery is haunting, terrifying, morbid, and profoundly upsetting: [28:49]—The inmates look on without understanding. Are they free? Will life know them again? William Rothman interprets this scene as “the survivors are viewing scenes like those we have just viewed…This sequence casts them as viewers, links them with us, as if our fates were joined.” See William Rothman, Documentary Film Classics (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 66. Image SEQ Image \* ARABIC 24—Night and Fog Prisoner Disposal The atrocities of the Nazis actions are put on display, and yet the music continues to evoke a positive affect, remaining upbeat, with pizzicati in a major key. Once again, then, we have a case in which the imagery elicits a negative set of affective responses (disgust, loathing, revulsion) while the music produces another, contradictory set of affective responses (cheerfulness, happiness). And once again, Eisler seems to be emphasizing the idea that the Holocaust can be experienced in diverse ways. Chapter Overview ______________________________________________________________________________ With each of my scene analyses, I have demonstrated how Eisler’s musical score functions as part of a broader polylithic aesthetic framework within Night and Fog that conveys sets of clashing and conflicting affective responses. Further, I have demonstrated how this unorthodox musical approach may be understood as an attempt to convey the sense that the Holocaust can be experienced in multiple ways, both through highlighting contrasting historical experiences and by eliciting responses that point to the diverse experiences of those involved—victims, perpetrators, and survivors. Eisler’s utilization of a wide range of musical elements—such as soundscapes, musical metaphors that function in a manner similar to leitmotifs, and what I have described as atheosonics—thus play a crucial role in Night and Fog’s aesthetic terrain and production of meaning. I wish to conclude this chapter by revisiting my starting point: Eisler’s Winterschlacht Suite, which (as we saw) figured centrally in the polylithic aesthetic presentation emerging in Becher’s Winter Battle. As I briefly noted at the beginning of this chapter, the eighth movement of the Winterschlacht Suite accompanies Night and Fog’s introductory and concluding scenes. The closing scene returns to display, in rich color, Auschwitz’s landscape in the present day, accompanied by the following narration: [29:55]—As I speak to you now, The icy water of the ponds and ruins fills the hollows of the mass graves… War nods off to sleep, but keeps one eye always open [30:59] Who among us keeps watch from this strange watchtower To warn of the arrival of our new executioner Are their faces really different than our own? By juxtaposing these haunting questions and the musical accompaniment Winterschlacht, Cayrol’s narration and Eisler’s score work together to once again produce a set of contradictory responses. As stated at the beginning of this chapter, the Winterschlacht music can convey a sense of triumph or joy. While Cayrol’s narration acknowledges an element of triumph that is and should be present as a result of the war’s end and the Nazis’ defeat, the narration also provides a warning. Asking whether “their faces [are] really different than our own” and stating that “war nods off to sleep, but keeps one eye always open,” the narration sounds a more foreboding and ominous note, generating a sense of fear as Cayrol warns of the potential for a new executioner to emerge. In closing, Hanns Eisler’s score to Night and Fog interacts with other aesthetic mediums to produce multiple, contrasting, and reciprocally challenging affective responses, forcing the audience to confront the idea that the Holocaust can be experienced in a multiplicity of ways. This compositional approach echoes the comments by Resnais quoted in Chapter One, which described Eisler as demonstrating how one could use music to “create something like a ‘second level of perception,’ something additional with an opposite meaning.” Resnais, “Entretient,” 54. The second level of perception involves the creation of diverse affective responses, resulting in a polylithic aesthetic presentation and in turn, the conveyance of multiple experience.  Conclusion ______________________________________________________________________________ As I have demonstrated, music can play a significant role in the production of meaning in Holocaust films, interacting with additional aesthetic mediums to elicit diverse affective responses. In particular, I have illuminated ways in which music can generate two distinctive types of aesthetic presentations—described as monolithic and polylithic for the purposes of this thesis—that convey messages about how the Holocaust has been and can be experienced. In Auschwitz Death Camp, musical elements such as a solo violin leitmotif, the creation of a Jewish soundscape, and the employment of what I described as a form of ethnotheosonics produce a cohesive set of affective responses revolving around anguish, despair, remorse, grief, and sadness, as well as dread, fear, panic, and terror. In turn, this cohesive group of emotions draws attention to particular experience of the Holocaust, casting it as a Jewish tragedy and crime against the Jewish people. In Night and Fog, we witnessed something very different, as Eisler’s score functions as part of a broader aesthetic framework that elicits a wide range of clashing, contradictory affective responses. In doing so, Eisler’s musical score conveys the sense that the Holocaust can be experienced in multiple ways, confronting viewers with contrasting experiences emerging at different points in history, as well as the experiences of victims, perpetrators, and survivors. From these findings, two questions emerge that merit consideration in future research. Both questions revolve around the advantages and disadvantages of the aesthetic approaches I have reconstructed. Auschwitz Death Camp’s presentation includes several features that other Holocaust films do not, such as musical elements that can be understood as a form of ethnotheosonics. Nevertheless, in many ways, this film does not stand out as unique when viewed against the backdrop of the wider corpus of Holocaust film: for example, as we have seen, this documentary draws on widely used elements such as a solo violin and klezmer motifs to produce a Jewish soundscape representative of Holocaust filmography. How effective is Auschwitz Death Camp’s message when it is one of many films that employ standardized and accepted film practices? More generally, is there something that is lost when directors, writers, and composers turn to standardized Holocaust film practice? As demonstrated, Eisler’s unorthodox compositional approach in Night and Fog contributes to the production of clashing, contradictory affective responses and in turn, conveys the sense that the Holocaust can be experienced in multiple ways. I illuminated this aesthetic approach by drawing on a wide range of material, including additional compositions by Eisler as well as an understanding of the significance of various musical techniques. However, such knowledge is not immediately available to the majority of contemporary viewers. How effective can Night and Fog be without this knowledge? What sort of background do unorthodox compositional approaches presuppose on the part of their audiences? With these questions in mind, my study could be expanded upon to address the role of music and sound in additional forms of Holocaust representation. Possibilities could include museum exhibits that incorporate music and sound, as well as television and radio reports; the use of music and sound in memorial events, sites, and services; and the role of music and sound in Holocaust education. In regards to the field of religious studies my study could be applied to a multiplicity of topics, including the affects produced by music and sound and their use in religious rituals, as well as the role of music in contemporary worship services—particularly those of contemporary Christian “megachurches” and their particular employment of diverse aesthetics. See Christian Smith, “Why Christianity Works: An Emotions-Focused Phenomenological Account,” in Sociology of Religion: A Quarterly Review 68, no. 2 (2007):165-178. Smith “takes a phenomenological approach that focuses particularly on emotions, seeking to explicate the recurrent, characteristic, and subjective experiences of many Christians,” 165. Music, image, text, and narration play a prominent role in contemporary Christian life. In addition, as with Holocaust memory, my study could be used to examine the role of religious television and radio reports and broadcasting. For example, Routinely, National Public Radio (NPR) concludes particular segments with a short clip of music serving as a form of tagline, or what NPR refers to as “music interludes.” These interludes convey a separate message which may or may not contradict that of the news report, such as inclusion of distinctive cultural music or rhythm. NPR’s music interludes affect listener’s reception and understanding of a news report. They are often used in ways that shape the reception of specific political and religious views, and in turn shapes the nature of discourse surrounding that particular subject matter. My paper will examine how NPR’s use of musical interludes forms a particular affect in the listener by looking at recent broadcasts dealing with Islam and any additional news which contains a reference to Muslim culture. See Jacques Attali, Noise: The Political Economy of Music (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota, 1985).  Bibliography ______________________________________________________________________________ Adam Resurrected. Directed by Paul Schrader. United States: Image Entertainment, 2008. Adorno, Theodor W. Aesthetic Theory. Reprint edition. Oxford, England: Berg Publications, 1998. ———-. “On Popular Music: The Musical Material.” Studies in Philosophy and Social Science (Institute of Social Research) IX (1941):17-48. ———-. Die Kultur Industrie. Reprint edition. 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