This fucking movie-- Magdalena Montezuma stalks around her dark mansion rubbing black paint on her face and watering rose-bushes while her son explores an erotic interlude with the beautiful young man he has tied up in the barn. Not to mention the soundtrack and the climactic penis-grab.
"If two children kiss without saying anything, one of them must die". Schroeter in his usual image-addiction art making — everything is built to overflow both mind and eyes: forget linearity — just accept this one-ticket journey to wonderment. I trully feel every scene to be staged poetry: a kind of cinema only a few are allowed to be in. PS: Magdalena's last film is a very hard goodbye - she's a muse and a goddess.
Schroeter's amazing translation of Opera renders mise-en-scene, montage, performance, plot and time/space slave to emotion and emotion-thought. The symbolic imagery of the rose, water and blackness become pre-verbal evocations of complex mythic-emotions, allowing them to operate as universally as the musical references (no matter linguistic origins). Thoughtful juxtapositions allow for genius symbolic reversals!