The Latest at Goethe

He’s played just about everyone, from bandits to the pope, even Mussolini. Mario Adorf is one of the most successful German actors – and has been for almost 60 years. We spoke with him about rhinoceroses, Marx and the question of whether one can turn down Francis Ford Coppola and get away with it.

Mr. Adorf, at the film festival Berlin & Beyond in San Francisco you are going to be honoured for your life’s work. It’s not the first time.

Adorf: That’s true; I’m familiar with that already. I’ve received a number of awards for my life’s work. But, of course I’m still very happy about them. Otherwise I wouldn’t bother to go to San Francisco. California isn’t exactly around the corner.

Have you often had anything to do with the Goethe-Institut?

Interestingly enough, never. So, I am all the more happy for such a nice occasion. Do you know what I always think of when I think of the Goethe-Institut? Of my first nights spent in Rome. Back then – many decades ago – I stayed in a youth hostel on Via Savoia 15 – where the Goethe-Institut is housed today. That was one of those traditional youth hostels where the doors were locked at ten o’clock at night and the lights went out at eleven. So, my first nights in Rome were not very long ones.

In San Francisco they will be showing four of your films in a mini-retrospective: “Ship of the Dead,” “The Tin Drum,” “Lola” and “The Rhino and the Dragonfly” Are you satisfied with the selection?

Very satisfied. Alfred Matzerath in The Tin Drum, of course, that was one of my most important roles. And Lola by Fassbinder is also very nice. And the other two round it all off well: Ship of the Dead was one of my first films, while Lonely U is a brand new film – a small, brash, but also very lovely two-person play with me and Fritzi Haberlandt.

   

  So, let’s talk about your life’s work, too! When you look back at your career, what feeling outweighs the others? Gratitude?

Gratitude? No, who should I feel grateful to? It was always give and take. It’s more a feeling of relative contentment. I’m happy that everything went so well. There are no big dreams that were left unfulfilled. On the contrary, I’m lucky at my age to still be able and allowed to play such nice roles.

On looking back, are there also things that you miss? Where you have the feeling you missed out on something?

Perhaps a role here or there I would have liked to have played. Many people write about how I would like to play Karl Marx. But, I won’t kill myself if that doesn’t happen. And of course there are always things one wished one had done. But, my ambition was limited. Should I have tried to make a big career in America? I don’t think so. That happens in the rarest of cases. It worked for Dietrich. And now for Christoph Waltz. I myself don’t miss this American success. That’s why I am content.

You studied the classical theatre craft at the renowned Otto Falckenberg School in Munich, but your great love was films. Why is that?

There were two good things about films: there was more money. Still, small amounts, but far more than in the theatre. And the travel. We went to Malaga for two months for Ship of the Dead. A year later, I went to Japan. And then to Mexico, and so forth. For me, that was the life; that fulfilled me. In the theatre that was limited. After school I spent another six years at the theatre and I always went back to the theatre, to learn more. It was my school.

What makes a good actor?

He knows his lines. No, seriously, I don’t know myself. I think a lot of it is craft. But that last little difference that separates a very good actor from a good actor, maybe there is something like talent involved. But, I never analyzed myself as an actor. I don’t want to know how I work and then use that in a targeted and conscious way. It’s always been more important to me to approach a role with a great deal of gut instinct.

As an actor, how much is a person a role? Does the character you play have to have something in common with you, or is the art in playing someone entirely different?

At first you have nothing at all in common with many roles. Then you search for aspects in the character that do have something in common with you. But, you also always have to learn something new. It doesn’t matter if I’m playing a pope, a sailor or a building tycoon, through my interest in this character every time, I gain something new, too. There are actors who make every role, whatever they are, their own. I, by contrast, try to approach what is different in it. You yourself always stay enough you yourself. And that’s what interests me as an actor: that I get the feeling of experiencing what other people are like, how they tick, what moves them.



Do you consider acting more an art or a craft?

I do consider it a craft. It’s a skill. You can do certain things on demand. Art is, at best, a by-product. A beautiful and valuable by-product, when it’s done well, but I as an actor cannot say: I am creating art now. I never had the feeling I was producing a work of art.

When a person has as much experience as you do, can you still accept a director as the boss without reservations?

Yes, I always respect the work of the director. He’s the one, ultimately, who has the whole movie in his head. The actor only concentrates on his role. He can’t always know what’s important for the story. That’s why a director can also tell me how I should play something. Of course, I sometimes also contribute my own ideas that then support the role – or in rare cases even the film. But, my pretensions usually never go that far.

Francis Ford Coppola also wanted to work with you once – in “The Godfather.” Why did that not happen?

Yes, Coppola gave me the book to read and asked me whether I had found a role in it that would interest me. And I said truthfully, yes, Sonny Corleone. When Coppola told me that James Caan was playing that, I, of course, said, James Caan, that’s no son of Marlon Brando! Look at me! I’m the son of Marlon Brando; I can play that. Coppola asked whether I found any other role. And I said no.



And so you lost the chance to be in “The Godfather,” an absolute classic of film history.

Yes, that may not have been very wise. But, what should I have said? There was no other role that interested me. Should I have named one just so today I could say I was in The Godfather, that third killer, the one with the noose? No, I don’t really regret my honesty.

It certainly didn’t harm your career. You’ve actually always been busy. There was never a time when anyone could say, we haven’t seen Adorf in a while.

That’s true. For me, as well, I never had the feeling I was in a crisis, stuck in a rut.

How do you explain that?

I don’t know. Probably because I never had a midlife crisis. I’ve never understood what that is. I have always looked forward to the next phase of life I had ahead of me, I was always curious about it. And since I also emanated that, it seems to have helped in my success.

You have actively been a part of a large part of German film history. How would you describe the situation of German film today?

German film is doing well. I just don’t like it when there’s too much euphoria. In the Rossini days, I wrote an article called “Rossini im Kopf,” so “Rosinen im Kopf” (head full of raisins). I warned against overestimating the upsurge of young German film. You can’t look at German film using American measures for success. We cannot be internationally successful. If people speak of a German film internationally and say that’s a good film, that’s already a lot. We are a small country with a small language; we can’t keep pace with Hollywood. We can just make nice, little, German films. And I can only say it is nice that there are always new young directors in Germany who make very interesting films. And I’m happy to still be a part of it; that someone like Lola Randl gives me a major role.

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