Moviegoing Memories is a series of short interviews with filmmakers about going to the movies. Sebastian Meise's Great Freedom is MUBI GO's Film of the Week in the UK for March 11, 2022.
Sebastian Meise on the set of Great Freedom. Photo by Thomas Reider.
NOTEBOOK: How would you describe your movie in the least amount of words?
SEBASTIAN MEISE: A love story.
NOTEBOOK: Where and what is your favorite movie theater? Why is it your favorite?
MEISE: The Gartenbaukino in Vienna. If there is one place in Austria that has not only brought film history to the screen, but has itself become part of film history, it is this cinema. With its eight hundred or so seats (whose wooden struts in the ancient cushioning make themselves felt extremely painfully in the lumbar region after just a few minutes) and its huge curved screen—which is covered by a magnificent curtain weighing hundreds of kilos—it takes you back to a time when a movie theater was still a space that was able to amaze and enchant people. And you can still feel it today, the presence of all the famous directors and actresses who once stood on stage there for the ceremonial premieres of their films. A touch of that glamor has survived and every time that monstrous curtain squeaks its way up and the lights slowly dim, an excitement rises in me that makes me forget everything around me for a brief moment. This cinema has already been on the edge of ruin several times, countless times on the brink of closure, and each time it was said: “Too elaborate, too expensive, far too few visitors—a nostalgia that can hardly be sustained.” But with each new eviction notice, new idealists were found to revive it and save it through a few more decades. With all the streaming, VOD, entertainment and events, this theater is proof (or at least hope) that cinema will never die.
NOTEBOOK: What is the most memorable movie screening of your life? Why is it memorable?
MEISE: That’s probably Moonstruck, a romantic comedy starring Cher and Nicolas Cage.
When the film was released in Austria, I was about twelve or thirteen. I was madly in love for the first time in my life and after a lot of back and forth I dared to ask the girl I adored out on a date. It was my very first date and I had the romantic hope that under the protection of the darkness of the movie theater it might come to a first kiss. I bought tickets for some movie that was playing in the afternoon—Moonstruck. When the movie started, my heart was pounding, my hands started sweating and I couldn’t think straight. The sound wafted away and the images passed me by meaninglessly. Again and again I squinted at the beautiful girl sitting right next to me, staring spellbound at the screen, laughing now and then and not at all giving the impression of wanting to kiss me. Or did she expect me to make the first move, I wondered. But how to make it? Turn to her confidently and just kiss her? Or maybe approach a little more cautiously? Stretch out and put my arm over the back of her seat quite by accident? Or carefully touch her leg? No, much too intimate! Maybe I’d better put my arm around the back of the seat first. Or just turn to her. Or not… suddenly the lights came back on and I saw that the credits were already rolling. That kiss never happened and I still haven’t seen the movie.
NOTEBOOK: If you could choose one classic film to watch on the big screen, what would it be and why?
MEISE: 2001: A Space Odyssey by Stanley Kubrick. When my father left his family, a few of the tapes from his VHS collection were left behind. One of them was 2001. Since my father was hard to reach for me, I had a special interest in everything that was left behind by him. Also in this film. I was about seven or eight when I saw it. I felt like I was in a mysterious dream. I could not describe the feeling that this film caused in me. It wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t warm either. It wasn’t exciting, but it wasn’t boring either. I wasn’t scared, but I didn’t feel safe either. This movie was just entirely strange. Later, as a teenager, I rediscovered the cassette at the very bottom of a box in the attic, where the old VHS tapes eventually ended up. I remembered again exactly that strange mysterious feeling and I wanted to know, of course, what that feeling was all about. Maybe now—years further along in my development—I could describe or grasp that feeling. I went into the living room, slid the tape into the recorder, and turned on the TV. But all that was on the tape was noise and lyres. I fast-forwarded and rewound and fast-forwarded again. Nothing but fluttering shadows and muffled, distorted sounds. I felt then I would have to wait until I had a chance to see the film on a big screen. That chance has yet to come.