There was something about Rainer Werner Fassbinder that made him so exceptionally special. Perhaps it was his career of directing nearly four dozen films in a span of just over a decade, making him one of the most prolific auteurs of his generation, distinctive not only for his vast body of work but also the quality of the stories he told. Perhaps it was his ability to make profoundly human films, ones that look at our species in all of its glory and deformation, often simultaneously. Perhaps it was his radical lifestyle consisting of drugs and alcohol that made him an almost folkloric figure of the European arthouse, representing the rebellious, fast-living lifestyle of the young cinematic elite, which ultimately resulted in his untimely, tragic death with only served to make him even more of an iconoclast, leaving behind a career of extensive, fascinating works. Regardless of what it is that makes Fassbinder such an elusive, mysterious cinematic figure, to deny his talents, or at least his unrestrained, limitless audacity, would be foolish. Fassbinder was one of the great artists of his generation, and even if his personal life was plagued with problems, he made films that were often unsettling and disturbing, often even horrifyingly hideous, but they were honest representations of humanity, with Fassbinder seeming to hold up a mirror to society and pointing out our inherent flaws, and still finding some beauty within it. However, this rambling lamentation of Fassbinder’s career is not leading to anything particularly significant, so let’s look at one of my recent encounters with a certain film from the filmmaker, which I found to be as transcendent an experience as most of his other works that I so greedily consumed.

I have previously reviewed several of Fassbinder’s films, and have grown quite enamoured with the German filmmaker’s unique and subversive storytelling capabilities, with films such as Ali: Fear Eats the Soul and Fox and His Friends being exceptional, complex German New Wave masterpieces, the resonant effects of which I still feel to this day. Exploring his filmography is an exhilarating experience because each film appears to be another piece of the enigmatic puzzle of Fassbinder’s mind and life, and considering his prolific output, the modern Fassbinder devotee is consistently spoiled for choice. Therefore, abandoning some of his more popular films, I opted for one slightly lesser-known and obscure, Chinese Roulette (German: Chinesisches Roulette). By no means an inferior work, this film just seems to lack the attention some of the director’s more notable works seem to get. In short, Chinese Roulette is one of Fassbinder’s most fascinating films, a departure from the gritty realism of his previous films, as well as an abandonment of the sardonic bitterness that governed his more scathing films. However, one can still easily observe the acidic disdain Fassbinder feels for society in this film, with the director only packaging his misanthropy into a film more aloof than his other works, one that does not endeavour to be particularly straightforward, refusing to state its intentions entirely right until the viewer is forced to interpret the events in their own way. Does this sound somewhat confusing and a tad bewildering? Good, that seems to be the purpose of Chinese Roulette.

The film starts out relatively simply – Gerhard Christ (Alexander Allerson) and his wife Ariane (Margit Carstensen) are representatives of Munich’s bourgeoisie elite, and at the outset, they are both off on separate trips abroad – business for him, leisure for her. They leave their disabled daughter, Angela (Andrea Schober) behind, under the care of her mute caretaker (Macha Méril). However, unbeknownst to each other, both husband and wife are having extramarital affairs, and both independently plan to take their lovers to the country mansion, where they hope to spend their joyful summer days engaging in sordid infidelity, believing the other to be in another country entirely. However, when both couples encounter each other at the home in an almost comic occurrence, they try to shrug it off as a humorous coincidence and do their best to create the illusion that it is entirely normal. Yet, the arrival of Angela, who has shown herself to be far more malicious and cunning than her young years would suggest, as well as the presence of the sinister Kast (Brigitte Mira), the sadistic housekeeper, creates tension and pushes the already-uncomfortable encounter to deliriously new heights, with each character plotting and growing more paranoid as time elapses. The only remedy is a dastardly game of wits, with Angela doing her best to inflict emotional harm on her uncaring parents and their lovers, all of which unintentionally conspired to place the young girl in the shadows, where her true potential was obscured by their ignorance and apathy. Not any longer – the game has sinister overtures and the real likelihood of devolving into something quite deadly.

There is something entirely unique about Chinese Roulette that I can’t quite grasp – it is both a quintessential Fassbinder film, but also one that sees him foregoing many of the same conventions and experimenting with form – both narrative and physical – that seems starkly different from what we’ve seen him produce previously. Perhaps to see where Chinese Roulette fits in with the rest of his career, its helpful to look at the one aspect that reminds us of his previous work: the cast. Fassbinder had a tendency to utilize a recurring company of collaborators, drawing from his motley crew of regular performers to form the ensemble for his films. Chinese Roulette is certainly not any different, with performances from Volker Spengler, Margit Carstensen, Ulli Lommel and Brigitte Mira forming the core of the film much in the same way that they appeared in previous Fassbinder films. Everyone is excellent, and it is a film that relies on the strength of the ensemble rather than individual performances. However, I just want to draw attention to one performance in general, that of Brigitte Mira, who gave one of the great performances of the 1970s in Fassbinder’s masterpiece, Ali: Fear Eats the Soul, as well as being a recurring player in Fassbinder’s films, occupying a range of different characters. Her performance in Chinese Roulette was distinctive because it was so different from what we’ve seen before – there was a complete lack of warmth in this character, with Mira playing an effective villain, a cold-hearted, malicious and sinister hag who relishes in unsettling the fragile happiness of her employers, perhaps due to her own social shortcomings, or because she is a sadist at her. In addition to Mira, Andrea Schober gives an impressive performance as the cunning daughter who is shown to be far more bold than her years give her credit for. Anna Karina, the iconic star of the French New Wave, seems to be misplaced in this film initially, but soon adapts swimmingly to Fassbinder’s unconventional vision, fitting in perfectly with his terrifying social misfits that command this film. Chinese Roulette is a film driven entirely by its ensemble, and the small and intimate cast play off each other well, especially in the final act, which relies on the strength of the performances, and everyone certainly does deliver astoundingly committed performances.

Moreover, we can extend a discussion of Fassbinder’s style being carried over into this film by looking at the underlying social message conveyed by Chinese Roulette. Fassbinder was a great humanist filmmaker, but he often demonstrated great disdain for mankind, usually showing his characters as flawed, sinful individuals that could range from being tragically misunderstood to vile and malicious. Chinese Roulette is one of his most scathing films to date, showing a set of characters that are not pure or good in any way – rather, they are entitled, duplicitous and oftentimes, utterly disgraceful. Unlike many of his films, Chinese Roulette does not look at working-class individuals and their daily travails – rather, it is focused on the upper-class bourgeoisie, who relish in their entitlement, playing selfish games to pass the time. There is nothing redeeming about these characters, particularly those of the parents and their lovers, who seem to love their twisted games of manipulation to the point where they are beyond reasonable decency. Even the daughter, Angela, who is positioned initially as the embodiment of childish naivety, is privy to Fassbinder’s sour view of the upper-echelons of society. She is shown to be just as scheming as her parents, showing devious cunning is inherent within this family. Perhaps the only purely good characters are the lower-class workers, the employees who have to entertain the calculating malice of their patrons. Even Kast, who is shown to be despicable, manages to redeem herself by showing some iota of human decency, such as at the conclusion of the film, where she and her son rush to assist the wounded Traunitz, calling an ambulance to assist her, all the while all her employer can think to do is to call the lawyer to request advice – whereas the working class has morals built on ethical, humane treatment of others, the bourgeoisie prioritizes themselves, with their own well-being and reputations being of paramount importance.

Chinese Roulette feels like a departure from what Fassbinder normally made, and when we look at the final act, it becomes clear exactly what Fassbinder was emulating. Chinese Roulette appears to be the bastardized offspring of Luis Buñuel and Ingmar Bergman. The former in regards to the sardonic approach to representing the excessive life of the bourgeoise and their perverted games of wealthy manipulation, and the latter due to the tense, bleak atmosphere of the film, particularly the climactic scenes of the story. Chinese Roulette is a magnificently complex film, tense and filled with deceit and manipulation. There is a pulsating anger that manifests in the twisted encounters between characters, as well as the foreboding sense of secrecy and deception that forms the core of the film. The film ends with the playing of the titular game, with takes the form of a deadly truth-telling activity, and as the questions become more incendiary, so do the tensions between the characters. The atmosphere is palpable, and there is an unsettling sense of social horror, with the possibility that any of these volatile characters will reach their breaking point and lash out, which inevitably does happen. Fassbinder uses anxiety and panic exceptionally well, utilizing them as well-honed tools for telling this story, before eventually devolving the film into an elaborate game of wits, which can describe the film as a while. Fassbinder makes his cinematic influences know, and the paranoid playfulness governing this film shows overt shades of Hitchcock, as well as several other influences, such as those mentioned previously.

Chinese Roulette is an intricate and mysterious, often extremely theatrical, social drama, and Fassbinder’s mature approach to this story, as well as his innumerable influences, make it quite a brilliant film, and amongst the top tier of his work. On a personal note, Chinese Roulette came out in 1976, which was the same year Fassbinder made Satan’s Brew, which is quite possibly the worst film I have ever seen, so to see him make something coherent and logical, as well as interesting and complex in the same year as that travesty is remarkable. With anyone as prolific as Fassbinder, there is bound to be some failures, but luckily, Chinese Roulette is far from it. It may not reach the tragically-resonant, emotional crescendos of Ali: Fear Eats the Soul or Fox and His Friends, but it is a devious, twisted delight, a bourgeoisie thriller that places a cast of ruthlessly unlikable individuals together and lets them relish in their shared despicability. A masterful exercise in restrained character development, Fassbinder crafted something quite special here, a gloriously depraved film about moral degenerates and their abhorrent perversions that indicate underlying tensions. An elegant but enthralling thriller, Fassbinder’s work here is amongst his very best, subverting expectations and delivering a dynamic, exhilarating and unforgettable experience with great performances, a simple but effective story, a minimalistic execution and fascinating psychological complexity, making Chinese Roulette an extraordinarily rewarding experience.