A Cold Cruel Teacher: Masochistic Submission to the Films of Michael Haneke

A Masters Thesis
Presented to
The Graduate Administration Committee of
McGill University

by
Matthew Mackenzie
April 2013

Thesis Advisor:
Dr. Ara Osterweil

Abstract
This thesis offers analyses of two of Michael Haneke's most provocative films, Funny
Games US, and The Piano Teacher. Contrary to the popular critical conclusion that Haneke is a
cinematic sadist, this thesis argues that the aesthetics and thematic concerns of his films are best
understood through the dynamics of masochism, not sadism. Using a variety of theories of
masochism, including the conflicting theories of Sigmund Freud and Gilles Deleuze, this project
seeks to build upon the work of Gaylyn Studlar and argue for the subversive power inherent in
masochistic submission in the cinema.

Cette thse propose des analyses de deux des films les plus provocateurs de Michael
Haneke, Funny Games US, et La Pianiste. Contrairement la conclusion critique populaire qui
Haneke est un sadique cinmatographique, cette thse soutient que l'esthtique et les
proccupations thmatiques de son films sont mieux compris par la dynamique du masochisme,
sadisme pas. En utilisant une varit de thories de masochisme, y compris les thories
contradictoires de Sigmund Freud et Gilles Deleuze, ce projet vise s'appuyer sur les travaux de
Gaylyn Studlar et plaider pour le pouvoir subversif inhrent la soumission masochiste dans le
cinma.

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Table of Contents
Page
Title Page.........................................................................................................................................1
Introduction......................................................................................................................................4
Chapters
I. Hanekes Kinky Invitation in Funny Games..............................................................................14
II. Story of Erika: Masochistic Submission in The Piano Teacher................................................49
Conclusion.....................................................................................................................................75
Bibliography...................................................................................................................................78

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Acknowledgements
This project would have never been accomplished without the help of my friends, family,
and mentors. I want to thank my parents, Elaine and Peter, for their profound love and
encouragement through the years. I especially want to thank Dr. Ara Osterweil for her tireless
support, insight, and enthusiasm throughout this project and my academic career. Ara gives me
the confidence to pursue my passions, and in addition to being a dear friend, she continues to be
a role model for me in academia and in life. Finally, I want to sincerely thank all of my friends,
especially Jessica Bahar, Diane Belzil, and Lauren Clinton, for providing me with the motivation
and relief needed to complete this project.

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Introduction
She held out her trembling hand to K. and had him sit down beside her, she spoke with
great difficulty, it was difficult to understand her, but what she said --- Franz Kafkas The
Castle thus ends in mid-sentence, on the verge of what we hope will be some final explanation
for the enigmatic story of K., who spends the entire narrative trying to gain access to the illusive
bureaucrats who reside in a nearby castle. Michael Hanekes brilliantly faithful film adaptation,
The Castle (1997), also ends mid-sentence and mid-scene as K. tramps through the snow in
search of a place to rest his weary head and the narrator reads this final incomplete line before
the film cuts to black. Haneke never once shows the castle that K. spends the entire film trying
to gain access to, even though it is supposedly immediately adjacent to the village. We get the
sense that it is always just offscreen. The tracking shot of K. walking through the village is
repeated multiple times throughout the film, and though he is always depicted moving in the
same direction down the street, from the right of the frame to left, he never arrives at the illusive
castle. This dark film is at turns erotic, politically incisive, and frustratingly surreal. Most
importantly, it is emblematic of Hanekes career-long interest in structures of power, repetition,
and the perpetually incomplete.
These themes appear time after time in Michael Hanekes provocative films. The icy
stare he fixes on unpleasant subject matter routinely sparks guttural reactions amongst viewers.
His films are at once in dialogue with contemporary narrative cinema, both Hollywood and art
house, and yet totally unique. His austere aesthetics and politically challenging films earn him
many critical accolades. He won the Palme dOr twice in three years with The White Ribbon
(2009) and Amour (2012), an honor held by only seven other directors in history. Haneke was

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born in Munich in 1942 to parents who were both part of the world of cinema. His father was
Fritz Haneke, a German actor and director. His mother was the Austrian actress, Beatrix von
Degenschild. He studied philosophy, psychology, and drama at the University of Vienna. After
graduating, he worked as a film critic, and later as an editor, dramaturg, and eventually director
for the German television station, Sdwestrundfunk. The influence of his time in television is
evident throughout his theatrical films, which frequently cite television, specifically news outlets,
as culprits in spreading desensitizing images of violence around the globe. He made several
made-for-television movies from 1974 until 1989, when he left television and made his theatrical
film debut with The Seventh Continent. Inspired by a true story, the film depicts a middle-class
family who destroys all of their possessions and commits suicide while watching television. By
the time Haneke released Bennys Video in 1992, about a young boy who murders a girl with a
butchers gun and films it for no apparent reason (also inspired by a true story), he had
established his name as a provocative filmmaker with a preoccupation for critiquing violence in
the media, alienation in contemporary society, and the consequent effects on todays youth.
Hanekes use of intense violent outbursts, the tendency for his narratives to focus on
pathological characters, and his apparent lack of concern for the audiences pleasure in almost
every film he has made leads many critics to describe him as a killjoy whose miserable films are
solely about punishing the audience. The word most often used to describe his aesthetic is
sadistic. New York Times critic A. O. Scott describes Hanekes style in Funny Games U.S. as
an especially pure and perverse kind of cinematic sadism, the kind that seeks to stop us from
taking pleasure in our own masochism (Scott). Scotts description of the effect of watching
Hanekes film is reminiscent of the climax of Leopold von Sacher-Masochs Venus in Furs, in

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which the sadist, known as the Greek, whips the masochistic Severin so severely that Severin
fools himself into believing he is cured of his masochistic desires through this cathartic
experience of violence. However, the glacial pacing and productive ambiguity of many of
Hanekes films suggest that his ideological goals may be other than simply whipping viewers
to the point that they no longer take pleasure in images of violence. For all of his sadistic
brutality, Hanekes depiction of violence onscreen is remarkably restrained. Like Kafkas castle,
violence is often hidden altogether. Hanekes measured aesthetics, such as his strategy of
withholding visual and narrative pleasure from the viewer, as well as his evident desire to create
active, critical cinematic spectators do not suggest the domineering style of a sadist. Rather,
Hanekes formal techniques, his ideological concerns, and the viewing experience he enables are
best characterized by the dynamics of masochism, not sadism. In psychoanalysis, masochism
has long been theorized as the passive counterpart to sadism. This has in turn influenced film
theory that seeks to explain the pleasures of spectatorship through the dynamics of either
paraphilia. By illuminating Hanekes masochistic aesthetic, I argue that genuine masochism is
never a passive surrender. As I shall demonstrate through a reading of two of Hanekes films,
masochism, and masochistic spectatorship are active and conscious acts of submission to ones
selected torturer. In order to explore Hanekes masochistic motifs and mode of address in Funny
Games U.S. (2007) and The Piano Teacher (2001), this thesis will rely upon theories of
masochism from a variety of sources, including the conflicting accounts of Sigmund Freud and
Gilles Deleuze.
Sigmund Freud was one of the most prolific and influential theorists of sadism and
masochism. While sadism and its presence in human sexuality is easily explained in his

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accounts of natural human aggression, Freud consistently describes masochism as mysterious

and incomprehensible because of its apparent deviation from the pleasure-principle (The
Economic Problem in Masochism 190, 192). In Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality (1905),
Freud writes: the desire to cause pain to the sexual object and its opposite, the most frequent
and most significant of all perversions, was designated in its two forms by v. Krafft-Ebing as
sadism or the active form, and masochism or the passive form (31).1 Freuds thoughts on
masochism evolved and grew more nuanced throughout his career, but he always maintained that
sadism and masochism are complementary opposites. Hence, the popular conflation of the
terms: sadomasochism. Freud initially posited that every masochist is originally a sadist:
masochism is nothing but a continuation of the sadism turning against ones own person in
which the latter at first takes the place of the sexual object (Three Essays 32). The sadistic
death instinct manifests itself as an instinct of destruction directed against the external
world (The Ego and the Id 381). Sadism is thus an active, and, according to Freud, masculine
impulse that seeks to shape (or destroy) the world. When this destructive instinct turns inwards,
the sadist becomes a masochist. Masochism is figured as passive and feminine because it is an
impulse to accept the changes inflicted by the external world. Therefore, a sadist is
simultaneously a masochist, though either the active or the passive side of the perversion may be
more strongly developed (Three Essays 33).
While this initial theory established sadism as the primary impulse, Freud began to
question this assumption in Beyond the Pleasure Principle (1920). Looking for evidence of the

Richard von Krafft-Ebing is typically credited with coining the terms sadism and masochism in his seminal work,
Psychopathia Sexualis: eine Klinisch-Forensische Studie (1886). However, it is more accurate to say that he simply
popularized the terms by introducing them to widespread psychiatric consideration, since it is now known that he
took the terms from underground advertisements used by practitioners (Cutler 100).

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death drive, Freud conceded that there might be such a thing as primary masochism - a
possibility which I had contested (Beyond 328). Contrary to what many of Freuds critics
claim, he does not assert that the sadist and the masochist would make a perfect couple in reality.
Based on case studies, Freud states that the fantasies of sadists are often far beyond what the
masochist may desire: masochistic tortures seldom convey an impression of such seriousness as
the brutalities---phantasied or actual---of sadists (Economic Problem 193). While Freuds
theory that sadism and masochism are complementary opposites is elegant, his gendering of both
impulses, as well as his figuration of masochism as a purely passive surrender to pain or changes
inflicted by external factors is deeply problematic.
Gilles Deleuze critiques many of the core assumptions of Freuds theories in Masochism:
Coldness and Cruelty. Unlike Freud, whose primary focus was on clinical case studies,
Deleuzes analysis is far more interested in the aesthetics of masochism. Fundamentally,
masochism is neither material nor moral, but essentially formal (Deleuze 74). Accordingly, his
analysis is largely based on close readings of Leopold von Sacher-Masochs work in contrast to
that of the Marquis de Sades. Deleuze argues that while sadism and masochism share similar
characteristics (the pain-pleasure complex), they are ultimately distinct paraphilia that cannot
exist within the same person (he is vehemently against the term sadomasochism), and are not at
all complementary. Arguing against the spurious sadomasochistic unity theory of Freud,
Deleuze asserts: a genuine sadist could never tolerate a masochistic victim ... Neither would the
masochist tolerate a truly sadistic torturer (40). While Freud tentatively conceded the
possibility of a primary masochism that did not originate from sadism, Deleuze insists upon
masochism as a distinct, original impulse. He demonstrates how the masochists fantasy is

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incompatible with the sadists, because the masochist is never truly passive. Their surrender is
highly artificial, and their torturer is carefully selected and educated to act out very specific
violent fantasies, which are often dictated in a signed contract. Deleuze argues that the
masochists torturer, far from being a sadist, is actually the mirror-image of the masochist: the
torturer disavows and escapes their own masochistic desires by taking on the active role in the
partnership (42). Because both partners are potentially masochists, the roles of torturer and
masochist are quite flexible within this dynamic, and there are not specific genders associated
with either role. Deleuzes emphasis on the aesthetics of masochism has proved highly
influential in film theory, and has led to many excellent analyses of filmic masochism. Gaylyn
Studlars influential theory of masochistic spectatorship is perhaps the most significant, and it is
framed as a response to Laura Mulveys theory of sadistic spectatorship.
Just as it is all but impossible to speak about masochism without simultaneously
addressing sadism, any contemporary analysis of the pleasures of filmic spectatorship is in
inevitable dialogue with Laura Mulveys seminal theory of the sadistic visual pleasures offered
by Hollywood narrative cinema. In Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema, Mulvey asserts that
the narratives and aesthetics of Hollywood films are implicitly based on Oedipal, patriarchal
desires. Women are treated as objects to be looked at and fetishized. As a result, they are forced
into a passive surrender to the active sadistic male gaze. According to Mulvey, this structure of
viewing pervades popular cinema, and reinforces patriarchal structures throughout society.
There have been countless responses, revisions, and critiques of Mulveys landmark essay since
its publication in 1975 (including by Mulvey herself).

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Gaylyn Studlar offers one of the most intriguing of these critiques in her book, In the
Realm of Pleasure: Von Sternberg, Dietrich, and the Masochistic Aesthetic (1988). While
Mulveys psychoanalytic basis was predominantly Freudian, Studlar uses Deleuzes alternate
theory of masochism to offer a fresh perspective on the pleasures of cinematic spectatorship.
Unconvinced by Mulveys cynical conclusions about the sadistic male gaze occluding any space
for guilt-free female spectatorship, Studlar argues that narrative cinema actually operates on a
bisexual masochistic model. Her theory rests on the affinity between cinematic spectatorship
and the psychoanalytic dream-screen in which the subjects ego boundaries are lost. Studlar
writes:
the cinematic spectator passively surrenders to the filmic object of desire
in much the same way that the masochist surrenders to his/her object of
desire; but like the masochist, the spectators passive position masks
activity. The spectator and the masochist share the need to distance
themselves from the anxiety of total surrender. Within the regressive
structures of the cinemas perverse pleasures, ego dependence cannot be
complete or disavowal would be broken. Multiple, mobile spectatorial
positions alternating identification and distanciation guarantee against
complete object cathexis and ego investment in the screen (192).
Studlars theory does an excellent job of demonstrating why gender on the screen and in the
theater is not a determining factor for spectator identification, as Mulvey claimed. Rather,
Studlar argues that the masochistic aesthetic, defined by fantasy, disavowal, fetishism, and
suspense, successfully reintegrate[s] psychic bisexuality for the viewer (18, 192). While

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Studlars focus on masochisms formal elements in film and its own unique aesthetics is
fundamental to my own analysis, I will critique her characterization of masochism as a passive
surrender. Studlar notes that there is hidden activity behind this surrender in the form of mobile
spectator identification, but she places this activity firmly in the subconscious mind of the
viewer. As a result, there is no true choice made before the viewer is dominated by the film.
Rather, Studlar figures this as an almost automatic surrender.
Within the Bondage and Discipline, Dominance and Submission, Sadism and Masochism
(BDSM) community, a masochistic relationship is a consensual and conscious act of submission.
Through my analysis of Hanekes films, I will establish that despite the many claims about
Hanekes sadism, masochism is the primary narrative and aesthetic concern in his films. Most
importantly, this analysis will demonstrate that genuine masochistic spectatorship is always such
an active decision to submit to a chosen torturer. Hanekes mode of masochism constructs and
depends upon self-aware viewers who do not passively surrender, but who consciously choose to
submit (or not), and this submission carries its own subversive form of power over the ostensibly
dominant partner.
The first chapter of this thesis will be oriented around an analysis of the masochistic
aesthetics in Hanekes Funny Games (1997), with a particular emphasis on Hanekes own
American remake of the film, Funny Games U.S. (2007). In these twin films, two undeniably
sadistic libertines torture an innocent bourgeois family to death. Not surprisingly, the film is
often viewed by critics as a pointless exercise in torture porn, and the epitome of Hanekes
cinematic sadism. The film certainly foregrounds sadistic content, but this chapter will argue
that Haneke deploys distinctly masochistic filmic techniques in order to undermine this sadism.

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Hanekes masochistic aesthetics include a heavy use of repetition in order to delay or deny
climax, fetishistic framing, and complex games of character and viewer identification, all of
which serve to curtail the sadistic desires that the film ostensibly offers. Far from feeding the
audiences sadistic thirst for blood in yet another slasher film, Haneke offers the Funny Games
films to the audience as a means of masochistic self-torture in the hopes that the viewer may use
it as a mode of escaping the sadistic control of Hollywoods proliferation of easily consumable
filmic violence. Even critics who applauded the original film find the American remake rather
pointless. However, the masochistic themes of repetition and mirroring found in the original
film, as well as the critique of Hollywood horror film conventions, are magnified even further in
Hanekes (almost) shot-for-shot remake. Therefore, this chapter will predominantly focus on
Funny Games U.S. in order to rescue it from its current critical disregard.
The second chapter will examine Hanekes most overtly masochistic film, The Piano
Teacher (2001). The film revolves around Erika Kohut, an accomplished pianist who teaches in
Vienna, and her tumultuous relationship with her charming young student, Walter Klemmer. It is
gradually revealed that Erikas sexual kinks include voyeurism, exhibitionism, and extreme
masochism. When she tries to enlist Walter to act out her masochistic fantasies, he rejects her
violently and assaults her in her apartment. The film ends ambiguously when Erika waits to see
Walter arrive at her concert before stabbing herself in the shoulder and walking out. Many of the
films critics mimic Walters disgust with Erikas sexual masochism and assert that the film is
meant to highlight the problems with contemporary sexuality. These critics interpret Walter
raping Erika at the end as an allegory for the impossibility of female sexual desire in a
patriarchal society. However, the films deliberate ambiguity eschews easy conclusions about

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even the most basic encounters in Erikas life. This chapter will demonstrate how Haneke uses a
formal withholding strategy throughout the film by denying visual and aural pleasure, all the
while encouraging mobile, critical forms of spectatorship. The films masochistic aesthetic
subtly legitimizes Erikas sexual desires, and allows for a radical alternate reading of the
climactic assault as a masochistic success, rather than yet another story of passive surrender to
misogyny and sadism.
While Freud, Deleuze, and others will all be central to my analyses of these films, it is
important to remember that Michael Haneke is a filmmaker, not a clinician. As such, he shows
little interest in arguing for the primacy of one theory of masochism over another. Rather than
pathologizing his characters through a Freudian or a Deleuzian lens, Haneke presents the viewer
with the contradictions found throughout both of these broad approaches. The result is a more
nuanced understanding of masochism and its dynamics. Through the analyses of these films and
Hanekes active masochism, this thesis aims to problematize and revise the notion of masochistic
passivity found in Studlars theory of the painful pleasures of spectatorship. I will demonstrate
that cinematic submission is a cognizant decision, and that it enables an active, empowering
position for the viewer.

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Chapter I
Hanekes Kinky Invitation in Funny Games
I am the wound and the blade,
both the torturer and he who is flayed -- Charles Baudelaire, Fleurs du mal2
The original Funny Games (1997) and the (almost) shot-for-shot American remake,
Funny Games U.S. (2007), are perhaps the most critically hated films in Michael Hanekes
filmography. Both versions depict two polite, well-dressed young men torturing and murdering a
family for no apparent reason. The film opens with Ann, George, and their young son, Georgie,
driving to their the picturesque country home on Long Island (in the U.S. version). They are
quickly taken hostage in their own home by a mysterious duo, Paul and Peter, who proceed to
mock, humiliate, and kill each family member. Though the film introduces several opportunities
for the family to strike back at their captors, they always fail. This sense of inevitable failure
gestures towards the films engagement with the tropes and cliches of the Hollywood horror
genre, all of which are ultimately subverted. The ostensible innocence of the family has served
as provocative fodder for critics, who have most often dismissed both versions as pointless
exercises in sadistic torture porn. German film director Wim Wenders famously walked out of
the world premiere screening at the Cannes Film Festival in 1997, and though there have been
several academic advocates for its value in recent years, most critics have had negative reactions
to the film. This is particularly pronounced in the reviews of Funny Games U.S., which often
read like testimonies from a traumatized survivors support group meeting as each critic recalls
their experience of watching the original film before confirming that the remake is just as

Quoted in Matsumoto.

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aimless and sadistic.3 David Edelstein begins his review of Funny Games U.S. by proudly
reporting that immediately after watching the original film he popped the DVD out and snapped
it in half (Edelstein). While Edelstein acknowledges that Haneke is obviously trying to make a
statement, he concludes: it's difficult to grapple with serious themes when what comes through
most vividly is the director's sadism (Edelstein).
What is rarely acknowledged by such critics is that, compared to most contemporary
horror films, Funny Games is quite tacit in terms of the violence and nudity that actually appears
onscreen, calling to mind Gilles Deleuzes praise for Leopold von Sacher-Masochs work being
commendable for its unusual decency, compared to the Marquis de Sades explicit descriptions
(Deleuze 25). Funny Games undoubtedly foregrounds sadistic content, but that is only one
aspect of this surprisingly nuanced film. What is truly intriguing is that Hanekes use of
masochistic aesthetics serve as a competing (not complementary) force to the sadism. In a film
that focuses on two undeniably sadistic libertines and invokes a plethora of generic Hollywood
horror movie clichs, Haneke deploys specifically masochistic aesthetics as a challenge to
conventional depictions of violence. For example, the film revels in repetition and mirroring,
both in terms of the narrative and the characters, all of which serves to delay or outright prevent
visual pleasure and narrative climaxes. Hanekes use of fetishistic framing further serves to
occlude the sadistic voyeuristic desire to see nude bodies or bodies in pain. All of these
techniques contribute to the complex games of character and viewer identification that the film
plays in order to offer the audience an escape from the sadistic control of Hollywood conventions
and the proliferation of easily consumable violent entertainment.

See the reviews of the film by Armond White, David Edelstein, A.O. Scott, and Rex Reed for examples (cited in
bibliography).

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Almost every review of Funny Games U.S. begins by stating that it is a shot-for-shot
remake of the original. On the one hand, this is a generally accurate statement and many of the
critical observations (though not all) about one film hold true for the other. However, this
description also inevitably serves as a dismissal of the remake from the outset. Consequently,
very little attention is given to what is unique about Funny Games U.S. or how its status as a
remake not only mocks the Hollywood tradition to pump out nearly identical sequels of horror
films year after year, but actually amplifies the masochistic themes and structures of the original.
For these reasons and others, this chapter will primarily focus on Funny Games U.S., while
making explicit note of where it diverges from the original film. While film theorists such as
Gaylyn Studlar and Carol Clover also argue for considering cinematic spectatorship a primarily
masochistic experience, both of their arguments rely on the notion of passive surrender to the
screen. This chapter will demonstrate that Haneke encourages a masochistic engagement with
his twin films, and, furthermore, that his mode of viewing is not a dull, trance-like surrender to
the action onscreen, but an active form of submission that creates an empowered, critical
audience.
In Masochism: Coldness and Cruelty, Deleuze repeats the popular joke about what
happens when a masochist meets a sadist: the masochist says: Hurt me. The sadist replies:
No. (40). Deleuze then goes on to explain why this is a stupid joke because it suggests a
simplicity and level of compatibility between the two paraphilia that does not exist; his argument
is that the sadist and the masochist are fundamentally incompatible partners. He writes: a
genuine sadist could never tolerate a masochistic victim ... Neither would the masochist tolerate
a truly sadistic torturer (40-41). Deleuze explains how the sadist and masochist would

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undermine each others pleasure, because the sadist wants an unwilling victim, and the masochist
wants a torturer who is guided by strict rules set out by the masochist. The sadist is an
instructor; he directs and commands his victim, using them like a puppet (19). The masochist
is an educator; he teaches and molds a selected individual into his ideal torturer before
choosing to submit to them (19). Deleuzes hardline separation of masochism from sadism may
be too strict, since it cannot adequately explain why it is seemingly impossible to talk about one
without talking about the other. Nonetheless, his easily delineated premise is productive for
beginning to think about the sadistic and masochistic elements of the Funny Games films. In his
analysis, Deleuze never returns to his opening joke to consider what would happen if a masochist
meets a sadist. Even if there is no pleasure to be found in such an encounter, it is a meeting
worth contemplating.
Sadistic fantasies rely on the presence of victims. Sades libertine cannot simply
entertain himself in solitude. He needs bodies to torture, and typically, quite a lot of them. The
masochist, on the other hand, may prefer to have someone else torture him, but he nonetheless
has the ability to satisfy his desires without a torturer present through self-inflicted pain. If a
masochist were to meet a sadist, the masochist would be at a disadvantage, because it is the
masochist who relies on clearly demarcated rules and limits with his appointed torturer, whereas
the sadist has no limits. So the question of how to escape from a sadistic master becomes
important. In An Ethical Plea for Lies and Masochism, Slavoj iek considers the possibility
of self-inflicted torture in front of ones sadistic master, and, calling on Deleuze, he argues that
far from bringing any satisfaction to the sadist witness, the masochists self-torture frustrates the
sadist, depriving him of his power over the masochist (iek 183). If the victim of a sadist

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decides to engage in masochism, and furthermore, to play both roles, torturer and victim, their
masochistic self-torture reveals that the sadistic master is superfluous, and can thus be seen as
a radical path towards freedom from sadistic control (iek 183, original emphasis). This is the
opportunity Haneke offers the audiences of the Funny Games films: an escape from the sadism
of Hollywood via self-inflicted masochism.
Haneke has said of Funny Games: If you dont need this film, you leave. If someone
stays until the end, he needed to be tortured during that time to understand (cited in Brunette
59). By presenting sadistic content through a masochistic aesthetic, audience members who
choose to sit in the theater and suffer will hopefully come to realize the dangers of contemporary
depictions of violence onscreen, even when that violence is fictional. One of the chief ways this
message is relayed is through audience identification, or the lack thereof, with the bodies
onscreen. The dilemma of viewer identification is a common one in narrative cinema, but it is
particularly foregrounded and problematized in the Funny Games films. Judging by the sheer
number of negative reviews of Funny Games U.S., it seems safe to assume that most critics
identify with the victims in the film. New York Times critic A. O. Scott tellingly entitled his
review of Funny Games U.S.: A Vicious Attack on Innocent People, on the Screen and in the
Theater. In his article, How Much Haneke Do We Deserve?: Against Sadistic-Philosophical
Tendencies in Filmmaking, Charles Martig writes In Hanekes films, a certain strategy is
predominant: he establishes an implicit spectator who sees the film from the point of view of the
victims. In doing so, Haneke enforces a fundamental role change: he forces spectators to switch
their position from an active (sacrificing) subject to a suffering (sacrificed) object (Martig 34).

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Martig notes both versions of Funny Games as particularly strong examples of Hanekes
ostensible strategy of trapping the viewer into the role of the victim.
Even if Martigs claim were true, this would not be a strategy unique to Haneke. Carol
Clover writes extensively about the tendency to masochistically identify with the tortured bodies
onscreen in horror films in her book, Men, Women, and Chain Saws: Gender in the Modern
Horror Film. Clover acknowledges the sadistic side of the Hollywood horror genre, but overall,
she asserts that it is masochistic reactive gazing that defines horror spectatorship. Clover
contends that the viewer is merely reacting to the violent images, rather than assaulting the
onscreen bodies with a voyeuristic gaze. Clover writes that people who make movies sense the
iterative my-turn-is-coming-soon quality of victimization fantasies; that they consciously
exploit the proved willingness of the viewer (proved because he keeps paying for it) to imagine
himself as a next victim; and that the screen functions as a kind of anticipatory mirror intended
not so much to instruct as to heighten the effect (Clover 221). As her survey demonstrates,
most modern horror films play on the audiences inclination for imagining themselves as part of
the victim fantasy onscreen. Clichd techniques like tense close-ups on the victims walking
through dark corridors so that the frame hides the killer as he inches closer and closer compel the
viewer to identify with the victim. This is not how the Funny Games films operate though.
While Haneke references such cinematic strategies in the films, he does not rely on their tricks.
So many of the critics of Funny Games U.S. speak about how cruel the film is because
we are forced to identify with the family members who are then tortured to death. This
conclusion belies the complexity of what Haneke is doing with identification in the film.
Contrary to how it has been theorized, Funny Games occludes the possibility of conventional

Mackenzie 20

identification, with the victims or the killers, through Hanekes use of classic Brechtian
alienation effects. In Brechts essay, A Short Organum for the Theatre, he explains the
importance of alienating the audience in order to break them from their passivity. Before
detailing different alienation techniques (such as direct audience address), Brecht describes the
kind of passive audience that he wishes to undermine:
The theatre as we know it shows the structure of society (represented on
the stage) as incapable of being influenced by society (in the auditorium).
Oedipus, who offended against certain principles underlying the society of
his time, is executed: the gods see to that; they are beyond criticism.
Shakespeares great solitary figures, bearing on their breast the star of
their fate, carry through with irresistible force their futile and deadly
outbursts; they prepare their own downfall; life, not death, becomes
obscene as they collapse; the catastrophe is beyond criticism (7).
This is precisely the kind of passive, uncritical audience that Clover writes about in her survey of
the typical audience for horror films, and it can be said of many conventional Hollywood films
whose primary purpose is entertainment. The audience, which Brecht deems a representation of
society, surrenders to the point of entering a trance. This kind of audience watches the
bodies onscreen (or on the stage) get ripped apart, and they do nothing because they are under
the impression that nothing can be done. The diegesis cannot be pierced. The typically passive
spectatorship of sadistic violence in films encourages an attitude of disinterestedness in all
spectacles of violence. Such an attitude becomes problematic when it extends beyond the movie
theater, making the violence around the world relayed by news outlets less troubling and more

Mackenzie 21

easily consumable. The viewer assumes that nothing can be done: the catastrophe is beyond
criticism. Haneke challenges such problematic passive spectatorship by periodically breaking
the fourth wall in Funny Games.
At five points in the film, Paul (Michael Pitt, in the remake) turns to the camera and
addresses the audience, smirking at us, taunting us, or asking us questions. This is one of many
ways that Haneke ruptures Hollywood conventions; these moments effectively alienate the
viewer by piercing the diegesis and making the viewer aware of their role and their choices for
identification. Many conventional Hollywood films work to draw the viewer into their fantasy
realm and absolve them of critical thinking. All the choices of identification with the characters
are already made for them. By acknowledging the presence of its audience, Funny Games
alienates and empowers them to come to their own conclusions (or to leave the theater entirely).
The resultant empowered audience hopefully comes to realize that by watching films like this,
they are complicit in the sadistic violence they passively consume in the theater and beyond.
Like Georges (the fathers) seemingly inexplicable decision to remain unhidden in the house
after the killers murder his son and depart, the empowered viewer may choose to remain in the
theater and be tortured. This conscious decision to remain is quite different from Clovers
concept of masochistic spectatorship, which, like Studlars, presumably occurs automatically.
However, it must be noted that because Funny Games empowers the viewer to engage
with the film as they see fit, it is entirely possible to take sadistic pleasure from the same
moments in the film that evoke a masochistic reaction in other viewers. In other words, the
masochistic aesthetics can fail to contain the sadistic content. The empowered spectator can
refuse to masochistically submit, and instead choose to derive sadistic pleasure from watching

Mackenzie 22

Paul and Peter torture this family. In the case of the alienation effects and breaking the fourth
wall, the sadistic viewer may take cruel delight in Pauls self-reflexive moments, viewing them
as a sort of invitation to cackle alongside the killers. Pauls acknowledgement of the viewers
involvement in the violence onscreen can be taken as a moment of exhibitionism for the sadistic
viewer. Critics like Edelstein fault Haneke for making these two films by claiming that despite
his ostensible aim of critiquing sadistic depictions of violence, Funny Games inevitably ends up
feeding the very bloodthirsty desires it critiques. There is, after all, a lot of brutal violence in this
film, even if it is predominantly offscreen. Taking sadistic pleasure in this film is not proof of
the directors sadism though, as Martig claims, but a consequence of Hanekes empowered
viewer making the decision to engage sadistically rather than masochistically.
This dilemma is laid bare in yet another moment of audience address. When Peter and
Paul are sitting on the couch and making the bet with the family (they will all be kaput in
twelve hours), Paul turns to the screen and nonchalantly asks, I mean, what do you think? You
think they stand a chance? Youre on their side, arent you? Who are you betting on, hmm?
Just as his comments make it unclear who to bet on, the direction Paul turns to address the screen
physically positions us away from either the victims or the killers. These moments of audience
address thus foreclose the possibility of identifying too closely with the killers or the victims
onscreen, because we are reminded of our bodies just as they are effectively positioned apart
from either the killers or the family. Haneke said in an interview on Funny Games: My goal
was a kind of counter-program to Oliver Stones Natural Born Killers (1994) ... NBK makes the
violent image alluring while allowing no space for the viewer (cited in Brunette 58-59). By
putting us in that space between the torturer and victim, Haneke empowers the viewer to make

Mackenzie 23

this choice: to empathize with the killers and revel in sadism, or to empathize with the victims,
choose to stay in the theater and suffer alongside them, and escape the sadistic masters through
self-inflicted masochism. Either way, this strategy demonstrates that Haneke is not acting as a
sadistic instructor, beating the audience toward a fixed conclusion (that is how most conventional
Hollywood movies work, though the beating is subtle and seductive). Instead, Haneke acts as an
educator. He never forces one mode of engagement or another onto the viewer. Therefore, it is
worth exploring the darker alternative of sadism before looking for Hanekes masochistic escape
route.
The two torturers in the film that the viewer may identify with, Paul and Peter, are pure
sadists. Like the Marquis de Sades libertines in The 120 Days of Sodom, they are excessively
polite, well-spoken, and entirely apathetic about the violence they inflict. Most importantly, their
characters point toward a central concern of the film -- identity -- and how sadism and
masochism treat this element differently. In sadistic fantasies, the identities of the libertines
(their personalities, characteristics, biographical details) and especially those of the victims are
entirely irrelevant. In The 120 Days of Sodom, the four main characters are the Duc de Blangis,
the Bishop, the Prsident de Curval, and Durcet. Sades libertines are almost always identified
solely by their institutional titles (occasionally by a single name, like Durcet), and we are only
given the bare minimum of information about their characters. 4
Haneke offers even less information about Peter and Paul, and he emphasizes their lack
of identity in a variety of ways throughout the film. Paul and Peter constantly play an unsettling
name game with each other by also referring to each other as Tom and Jerry, and Beavis and

Typically their age, body type, wealth, and the size of their genitals.

Mackenzie 24

Butt-head, respectively (Peter/Jerry/Butt-head also answers to Tubby), often switching names

from one sentence to the next. When Peter comes to borrow the eggs from Ann (his first closeup in the film), a screen door almost entirely obscures his features, leaving us staring at his
silhouette. The first time Peter and Paul are seen onscreen is in an extreme long shot from Anns
perspective outside the gate of her neighbors house. The shot-reverse-shot shows Ann in closeup, while continuing to show the villains in extreme long shot, demonstrating how unknowable
and ultimately unimportant the identities of the two torturers are. Peter and Paul remain silent
throughout the brief scene as Ann shouts to her neighbors, not knowing that they are already
victims. The metal bars of the gate that they are seen through hint at the neighbors status as
prisoners in their own home, and the fact that the neighbors are seen in extreme long shot
demonstrates how sadism depersonalizes its victims as well. One of the metal bars largely
obscures Peter in the beginning of this shot, and he cannot be seen clearly until he moves
towards the couple, at which point Paul and Peter are framed on either side of a bar in the gate,
appearing like mirror images of each other. Their mirror-image resemblance is particularly
emphasized in Funny Games U.S., due to Hanekes decision to cast two actors (Michael Pitt and
Brady Corbet) who almost look like twins: both are young, white, cherub-faced men with dirty
blonde hair, and their matching haircuts are parted in opposite directions. Their mirrored
appearances reinforce their status as more faceless iterations from the realm of sadism,
introduced in order to serve a required narrative function, rather than as developed characters.
The potential for identifying with Peter and Paul and engaging with the film sadistically
is introduced from the outset through music and dark humor. In the opening shot of the film,
Ann and George play a bourgeois guessing game that involves one of them playing a piece of

Mackenzie 25

opera and having the other identify it. Suddenly, there is an explosion of extra-diegetic music
that accompanies the bold red title and opening credits. The song is Hellraiser and
Bonehead (actually a mash-up of two different songs) by John Zorns experimental avant-garde
band, Naked City. Peter Brunette describes this ostensibly traumatic moment in the original film:
it is as though this innocent bourgeois family--and we innocents in the audience--have suddenly
been taken over, dominated, and even raped by a violence that lurks just outside, or just below,
the comfortable world we think we inhabit (Brunette 52). Brunettes observation fits in with his
overall argument (shared by many critics) that this film is a largely pointless exercise in sadistic
torture inflicted on we innocents in the audience. However, no one seems ready to admit the
possibility of bursting out laughing at the moment when the peaceful opera is abruptly replaced
by this screaming parody of death metal. And it is undoubtedly a parody of the death metal
genre (it is not at all a genuine example of punk rock, as Brunette labels it), just as the film
itself is a parody of the horror genre, and specifically the home-invasion sub-genre of horror
films. Acknowledging the dark (pitch black) humor of Funny Games is something that is sorely
missing in basically every analysis of the film. The tendency to laugh at this moment is even
greater in Funny Games U.S., since Ann smiles and glances over at George shortly after the
metal music invades, and they both start laughing at the moment when Zorns absurd screaming
begins in the song. Whereas in Funny Games (1997), the family has no reaction to the music, the
humorous reactions of Ann and George in the U.S. version neatly blur the line between diegetic
and extra-diegetic by making it unclear whether they can hear the music or not.
This invitation to laugh is essential to the construction of the film and the game of
identification (in many different senses) that is repeated throughout. Brunettes analysis of

Mackenzie 26

Funny Games reflects the critical consensus that we are meant to identify with this innocent
family, while Hanekes hired killers torture us to death. However, the film is actually filled with
invitations to cheer for the killers and join in their fun via dark humor. When Paul breaks the
fourth wall and turns to the camera to smirk at us while Ann searches for the dead dog, many
viewers may find it easier to laugh sadistically than to masochistically empathize with the horror
Ann must be feeling. Brunette is certainly correct in pointing out the unsettling effect of the
music and the foreboding sense it gives once silence returns at the end of the credits. As he
notes, this song comes to be directly associated with Peter and Paul later in the film. The Zorn
song in the introduction is multifaceted, because it simultaneously allows us the possibility to
identify with the family (let us be afraid for them) as Brunette does, or to laugh with the killers
(we know this is a horror film -- we are in on the joke that everything is about to go horribly
wrong). The film constantly oscillates between inviting us to identify with the tortured family
(we want Ann to triumph) and with the charming torturers, because, like them, we know this is a
movie. Meanwhile, the periodic moments of audience address remind us of our own bodies and
thus preclude fully identifying with either. Like almost all horror movie characters, Ann and
George behave as if they live in a world without horror movies and their utterly predictable
outcomes. Like the killers, however, the audience is media savvy. We know the killers are not
going to let them go. We know the killers are coming back in the end. We know there will be a
body count. Indeed, we are counting on it. One way to enjoy watching Funny Games is to cheer
for the killers and join them in their appreciation of this predictable farce, which the film offers
as a viable option. We can choose to laugh along with the murderous boys and take their
complete lack of characterization as an invitation to put ourselves into their empty white shoes.

Mackenzie 27

The lack of import accorded to the identities of Peter and Paul also carries over to their
many victims, further aligning the film with classic sadistic fantasies. Even more so than
presenting us with faceless killers, Sades lack of any real characterization is especially
pronounced in describing the victims of the libertines. For example, here is one excerpt from an
extensive list of family activities in The 120 Days of Sodom:
33. This libertine requires a dozen women, six young, six old and, if tis
possible, six of them should be mothers and the other six their daughters.
He pumps out their cunts, asses and mouths; when applying his lips to the
cunt, he wants copious urine; when at the mouth, much saliva; when at
the ass, abundant farts (120 Days 577).
All of the libertines victims in 120 Days are typically just such faceless numbers; often the most
information that is given is their familial relations to each other, and this is generally just to
demonstrate the delight the libertines take in violating the taboo against incest. The victims in
the Funny Games films (Anna/Ann, Georg/George, and their son, Georgie) are rather weakly
characterized as well. They appear much like the faceless mothers, fathers and children of 120
Days of Sodom, little more than the generic horror movie family, put into play only to be
tortured. Finally, like almost all of Hanekes cinematic bourgeois couples, they are named Ann
and George, further removing any specificity from their identities. Naming the primary couple
some variation of Ann and George is a trope throughout Hanekes films. The original version of
Funny Games, as well as The Seventh Continent, feature Anna and George, while Code
Unknown, Cach, and Amour all feature Anne and Georges. While this demonstrates Hanekes
long held interest in repetition, it is important to note that just because these characters share

Mackenzie 28

names and generally socioeconomic status (upper middle-class), they are not simply copies of
one another. In most of Hanekes films, Ann and George are richly characterized and feel quite
distinct from their namesakes in other films. This only emphasizes how little we ever learn about
the Anna/Ann and Georg/George of the Funny Games films. They are deliberately empty
characters, in keeping with the conventions of most Hollywood horror films that Haneke is
toying with. Both the killers and the family are blank slates, making both equally viable options
for the viewer to identify with. If a main character had to be chosen, it would undoubtedly be the
mother, Ann, and not merely because she is the last to die. Amongst hundreds of faceless
victims, the mother is always a figure of particular interest in sadistic fantasies. In her overview
of Sades main tenets, Lindsay Anne Hallam observes that more than any other family figure,
the figure of the mother is repeatedly reviled and violated in his stories. Many of the mothers in
Sades works are hence represented as obstacles to pleasure, voices that preach the virtues of
chastity and piety (Hallam 14). The libertine, always a vehement atheist, thus takes particular
pleasure in destroying this symbolic obstacle.
Accordingly, in Funny Games U.S., the one member of the family that Peter and Paul
seem most intrigued by, and the person they torture the most, is Ann.5 However, Ann does not fit
the model of a classic Sadean mother figure. To Pauls bemusement, she is not religious. When
Paul tells Ann that she can choose who will die next and with which weapon if she can only
recite a prayer, she admits that she does not know any. Paul is surprised and Peter must teach
Ann a childish prayer so that she can complete the trial. One way to read this interaction is that
5

This is a point of deviation from the original Funny Games. As Leland Monk observes, in the original film, Anna
and George are more clearly presented as a couple who suffer together, whereas the remake almost entirely shifts the
emphasis to Ann, and George is depicted as excessively passive to the point where he is easy to forget. I think this is
yet another subtle improvement in the remake. Because the Funny Games films are parodies of conventional horror
movie fare, it makes sense to put the emphasis almost entirely on the Final Girl, and her struggle against the
killers (See Clovers Men, Women, and Chain Saws for more on this phenomenon).

Mackenzie 29

Peter and Paul, as classic libertines, want Ann to fit the model of a pious Sadean mother, so when
they discover that she does not align with their fantasy, they force her to fit that role. The
religious monikers of Peter and Paul further fit the Sadean fantasy, which delights in subversive
characters that are atheistic members of the clergy, like the Bishop in 120 Days of Sodom. In
Davide Zordans analysis of this scene in both versions of Funny Games, he notes that it is, of
course, impossible to tell whether or not Anna/Anns forced prayer becomes a genuine one for
her in this moment of peril (Zordan 137). However, Zordan notes the differing tones between the
scene in each film. He points out that in the original Funny Games, Annas prayer certainly feels
more sincere and (relatively) less forced, and when it concludes, Paul seems genuinely pleased
with himself for having taught this woman a prayer. Whereas in Funny Games U.S., the forced
nature of the prayer is emphasized by Paul holding Anns hands up high by a rope to make her
look as if she if praying to the heavens (the rope quickly drops out of the frame in the original)
and after it concludes he mocks her performance, exclaiming Bravo! (132). In a film that
relies so heavily on generic predictability, this is one of the rare moments when Paul seems
genuinely surprised by Ann. Therefore, I think the more subversive incarnation of the scene is
the one in which Anns prayer does not feel sincere, since a genuine prayer more easily figures
Anna (from the original) as yet another religious mother to be destroyed. Anns failure to fit the
Sadean mother model can be seen as one of many signals that Haneke is not simply depicting a
classic sadistic fantasy as one could find in a Hollywood horror flick, but rather toying with
many of its stereotypical elements.
On the subject of sadism, Krafft-Ebing wrote: In certain cases the personal element is
almost entirely absent. The subject gets sexual enjoyment from beating boys and girls, but the

Mackenzie 30

purely impersonal element of his perversion is much more in evidence ... While in most
individuals of this type the feelings of power are experienced in relation to specific persons, we
are dealing here with a pronounced form of sadism operating to a great extent in geographical
and mathematical patterns (quoted in Deleuze 20). The impersonality of both libertine and
victim in the sadistic scenario points to the terrifying lack of any logical motivation for the
brutality. Violence is an autotelic act for the sadist. This simple fact is introduced in Funny
Games when Paul mockingly offers George a slew of reasons for why they are torturing them
(economics, drug addicts, abused as children, gay, etc.), all of them clearly false. One of the
most truthful explanations for the prolonged torture is: you shouldnt forget the importance of
entertainment. This statement points to the films explicit engagement with the generic
conventions of the Hollywood horror film. Peter and Pauls motivations are truly irrelevant,
because the kind of movie they are in dictates that the violence must continue.
Whether they loved it or loathed it, most critics of Funny Games note that the film clearly
engages with the generic conventions of Hollywood horror movies, and specifically, those of the
home-invasion sub-genre. Even in the original Austrian setting, the fact that Haneke takes on the
guise of a Hollywood film director and challenges the notion of violence as entertainment from
within clearly addresses specifically American tastes and values. This is another reason why the
remake feels particularly well-suited for its mission. Funny Games U.S. was even produced by
Warner Bros. Independent, making its connection to Hollywood literal rather than merely
figurative. While North American and European critics received both versions poorly, the
American remake is often seen as especially pointless. New York Times critic A. O. Scott sees
Funny Games U.S. as one among countless other films like Eli Roths Hostel that revel in the

Mackenzie 31

pornography of blood and pain (Scott). David Edelsteins critique takes a slightly different
tactic, as he seems to primarily take issue with the films deviation from conventional torture
porn: audiences flock to nightmarish home invasion thrillers because of an implicit pact with
the filmmaker that the invaders will be vanquished and the family unit saved (Edelstein). He
despises the Funny Games films so much because they are supposedly torture porn without the
redeeming cathartic ending assured by the genre (Edelstein).
Likewise, Charles Martig angrily concludes that Hanekes strategy in Funny Games
make[s] it impossible for the spectator to develop any expectations as to the ending of the film.
Funny Games is not a common thriller but an irritating and alienating spin-off (Martig 35).
Much like Edelstein, Martigs blunt point of contention with Funny Games is that it is not
predictable enough, which again demonstrates just how entrenched some viewers are in the
comforting ideology of Hollywood genre conventions. Much like the slasher film, with its
ubiquitous Final Girl phenomenon that Carol Clover analyzes at length (35), the conventions
for a typical home-invasion film dictate a fairly typical trajectory: killer invades the home, killer
dispatches most of the men and women, killer tortures one woman in particular, the woman takes
her justified revenge against the killer, credits roll. Thus, the domestic space is saved from the
perverse killer and social order is restored through justified violence. Singling out Funny Games
U.S. as somehow particularly sadistic, above and beyond standard horror movie fare, points to

Mackenzie 32

the comforts of routine, even if the routine is utterly brutal, misogynistic, or homophobic. 6
Andrew Brittons recollection of watching Hell Night (1981) with teenage horror-movie buffs
demonstrates the reassurance derived from predictability:
It became obvious at a very early stage that every spectator knew exactly
what the film was going to do at every point, even down to the order in
which it would dispose of its various characters, and the screening was
accompanied by something in the nature of a running commentary in
which each dramatic move was excitedly broadcast some minutes before
it was actually made. The films total predictability did not create boredom
or disappointment. On the contrary, the predictability was clearly the main
source of pleasure, and the only occasion for disappointment would have
been a modulation of the formula, not a repetition of it (quoted in Maltby
79).
This predictability points toward the horror genres interest in sadistic control over the viewer.
Like Sades libertines describing the details of every planned action before performing it, the
horror movie telegraphs its moves long before enacting them. The turn at the end of horror films
6

The conventions of the Hollywood horror genre carry a deeply troubling conservative ideology, and their
widespread acceptance is made evident in many of the responses to Funny Games U.S. One curious claim about the
Funny Games films is that the killers are obviously gay. An interviewer commented to Haneke that in Funny
Games U.S. the killers this time seem to be much more clearly gay than in the first one ... Have you had that
reaction from other people? Haneke replies: We heard it before, but Im very surprised actually. First of all, the
actors arent gay, but that would be beside the point. I dont know why people think thatbecause they are
handsome, or have white clothes on, I dont know (Rich). The baseless assumption that Peter and Paul are gay
speaks to some longstanding conventions in Hollywood horror films. The killers of slasher films are generally
impotent or sexually perverse in some way. Clover writes: slasher killers are by generic definition sexually
inadequate -- men who kill precisely because they cannot fuck (186). Furthermore, some of the most influential
horror films feature queer killers of some sort (such as Norman Bates in Psycho). Apparently, being outside of
heteronormativity is enough to fulfill the generic requirement for a kinky killer. It is telling of the strength of this
convention that viewers of Funny Games still believe the killers are gay despite the fact that Paul mocks this very
convention in the film when he sarcastically tells the family that Peter is gay (and having sex with his mother), and
that is why they are torturing people. No matter how ridiculous or troubling, these genre conventions are undeniably
comforting for the majority of viewers, and deviating from them is unacceptable.

Mackenzie 33

that Edelstein refers to -- when the hero (typically female) vanquishes the killer and saves the
family unit -- acts as a bloody climax in those films, providing relief after hours of pleasurable
tension.
Though the sadistic killer dies in the end of the conventional horror film, control over the
viewers perception is never relinquished. This is because, beyond the spectacle of violence, the
films sadistic control over the audience is rooted in the very structure of its narrative. And, like
Brechts description of the standard theater audience, the average conventional horror film
viewer looking for simple bloody thrills is so entranced that they assume they are powerless as
soon as they enter the movie theater. There is no agency here, only passivity. While Clover
characterizes this type of spectatorship as masochistic, it is worth considering the differences
between a victim and a masochist to problematize this conclusion. Deleuzes distinction between
the forced surrender of the sadists victim and the willing submission of the masochist is key
here. The sadists victim is convinced that he never had power to begin with. The masochist
knows he has agency and control, but he elects to submit to his chosen torturer, because he is
searching for the pleasurable payoff. In the case of Funny Games, the masochists quest is
challenged by a truly sadistic master, and so the masochist engages in self-inflicted torture in
order to escape sadistic (genre) control. With the Funny Games films, Haneke seems to take up
Brechts call to arms for a new kind of theater: Human sacrifices all round! Barbaric delights!
We know that the barbarians have their art. Let us create another (Brecht 7).
Haneke delights in mocking horror movie conventions and sadistic signposts of
predictability. When George and Georgie are both dead and things are looking particularly dire
for Ann, viewers can recall the close-up shot of a knife from earlier in the film that is still hidden

Mackenzie 34

in the boat where the killers place her in the final scene. However, the hackneyed foreshadowing
is only a trick, and the killers triumph anyway, easily tossing away the knife when she reaches
for it. Genre conventions that allow the viewer to predict the outcome of a violent film are one
way of removing any potential traumatic effects from witnessing gruesome scenes of violence,
thus making the violence easily consumable and meaningless. The Funny Games films subvert
generic expectations, which many critics take as proof of their cruel sadism, but in fact, this is
one of the many ways that the films avoid the sadistic model that typically govern horror films.
The infamous rewind scene that occurs late in the film is perhaps the best example of
avoiding the sadistic model and subverting the audiences implicitly bloodthirsty desires. In the
first version of the scene, Ann suddenly breaks from her passivity, grabs the shotgun on the
table, and shoots Peter in the chest -- his shocking death is shown onscreen in all its gore and
viscera, though only in a quick, one second flash. This represents the classic and utterly
predictable turn in most horror movies, in which the protagonist violently rebels against their
tormenters in a burst of cathartic violence. Accordingly, it is shot in a clichd way; like a typical
Hollywood movie, there is only a flash of violence that is then buried by a quick cut. The
audience at the Cannes premiere actually started cheering in the theater at this moment (Brunette
67). Paul even cracks a smile and laughs a bit when staring at the fresh corpse of his sadistic
twin, suggesting that even though the audience in that moment (the only time in the film when
the viewer actually witnesses violence and blood onscreen) probably thinks they are most
identified with the triumphant Ann, in truth they are simply taking joy in a gory death, just like
Paul likes to do. Needless to say, the audience at Cannes was silenced by what happened next.
Paul frantically searches for the diegetic remote control, finds it in the couch cushions, and in a

Mackenzie 35

supreme moment of self-reflexivity, rewinds the film to before Peter was killed. Paul thwarts
Anns attempt the second time around, ensuring that Peter lives, and George dies instead. The
climactic bloody relief from tension offered by many Hollywood horror films is thus given and
then yanked away, so that the audience is made fully aware of how easily most horror films
manipulate their emotions.
Haneke repeatedly denies all moments of relief in these films by using distinctly
masochistic aesthetics, such as repetition designed to delay or deny climax. The literal repetition
of time in the rewind scene clearly denies the relief that would have been offered by a bloody
death. Part of Clovers argument that the Hollywood horror genre offers primarily masochistic
thrills to the audience is her contention that the films are highly repetitive, and that
psychoanalysis identifies the unpleasure of the repetition compulsion as masochistic (Clover
213). However, repetition and consequent narrative predictability are aspects of both sadistic
and masochistic scenarios. The repetition compulsions of Hollywood horror films does not
prove that they are primarily masochistic (rather than sadistic) in nature. The repetition found in
sadistic fantasies generally takes the guise of mathematical permutations on a starting scenario;
there is repetition of a sort, but always with slight differences that build upon one another in
order to multiply the perversity as much as possible in a linear trajectory. New victims are
continuously introduced, all the while providing several points of orgasmic relief for the
libertines in their search for supreme pleasure. This is what conventional horror films offer: a
slew of repetitive bloody climaxes and easily predictable outcomes. Masochistic scenarios fall
much closer to true circular repetition, somehow outside of time, in which acts are repeated
nearly verbatim for the sole purpose of delaying the relief of a climax for as long as possible, or

Mackenzie 36

even denying it altogether. The world of Funny Games seems to be stuck in a perpetual loop
(this is perhaps the reason for the broken clock glimpsed in the kitchen scenes throughout the
film that is always frozen on the same time). In a similar fashion to Hitchcocks Vertigo, the
narrative of Funny Games is essentially told twice. In broad strokes, Peter and Paul arrive,
torture the family, shoot Georgie (the son) with the shotgun, and then immediately leave the
house. A long period without Peter and Paul serves as a kind of intermission, during which Ann
and George are remarkably unhurried to leave their torture chamber (masochism at its finest).
Then events begin to repeat themselves. Paul and Peter arrive a second time, torture the
remaining family members, shoot George (the father) with the shotgun, calling him Georgie as
they do so, and then immediately leave the house. Beyond this repetition, the film begins and
ends by showing that Peter and Paul are torturing other nearly identical nuclear families in the
neighborhood in the same fashion. Because the film resolutely denies any moments of relief
(rewinding and recording over Anns final attempt to save the film and deliver the conventional
sadistic Hollywood ending) this repetition is intensely masochistic. Relief is endlessly deferred,
so that tension continues to build throughout the film and, despite all of the clichs introduced,
the conventional genre ending never arrives. Clover is certainly correct in noting that
conventional horror films revel in prolonged tension, but this is not enough to qualify them as
aesthetically masochistic. Sadists enjoy prolonged torture as well, and any reader of 120 Days
can testify to the excessive repetition in their fantasies. Hanekes film truly uses a masochistic
aesthetic because the repetition is circular, rather than linear, and there are no moments of relief
or visual pleasure (from a bloody death or a nude body) offered in that never-ending cycle.

Mackenzie 37

The interest in exact repetition is made that much more obvious in Hanekes remake of
the film. Unlike a Hollywood remake of a horror film that changes just enough details to keep
viewers in a state of suspense (sadistic permutation), Haneke does everything exactly the same,
right down to the angles for each shot. In an interview by Katey Rich about the experience of
remaking Funny Games (featuring shamelessly leading questions), Rich begins by asking
Haneke, Did you have a more sadistic experience this time around shooting the film? Haneke
replies, If anything, masochistic ... In order to decide to do a shot-by-shot remake, you have to
be masochistic to some point, because it is a much greater challenge. If you do an original film,
and you dont like a scene, you just cut it out. But if you do a shot-by-shot remake you dont
have that option; you have to be sure it succeeds (Rich). The masochist ideally sets out clear
rules for their chosen torturer to follow, so that their fantasy can come to life exactly as they
envisioned it. In this instance, Haneke plays both roles (in retrospect). Like the willing
masochist, Haneke created the precise rules to follow to create this violent fantasy when he made
the original film. The remake allows Haneke to act as the masochists chosen torturer, following
the dictates and recreating the fantasy as best as possible. Funny Games offers viewers an escape
from typical sadistic Hollywood depictions of violence and their conventions through selfinflicted masochism. By remaking the film, this dynamic came to be reflected on the side of
production as Haneke endured self-inflicted torture to recreate a scenario exactly as it was laid
out before.
One of the key ways Haneke achieves a masochistic aesthetic in the Funny Games films
despite the sadistic content is through his fetishistic framing. His framing is fetishistic in the
sense that it most often avoids direct gazes at the traumatic site of violence, and instead chooses

Mackenzie 38

something else in the vicinity on which to focus. While most Hollywood horror films are
routinely accused of fetishizing violence through explicit detail, there is little consideration of the
actual process that the term denotes. Deleuze contends fetishism, as defined by the process of
disavowal and suspension of belief belongs essentially to masochism (Deleuze 32). In
Fetishism (1927), Freud writes that at the moment when the fetish comes to life, so to speak,
some process has been suddenly interrupted ... interest has been held up at a certain point -- what
is possibly the last impression before the uncanny traumatic one is preserved as a
fetish (Fetishism 201). Freud defines fetishism chiefly in terms of castration anxiety (a
definition with which Deleuze concurs), stating that no male human being is spared the
terrifying shock of threatened castration at the sight of the female genitals (201). For Freud, the
prime example is when the boy, confronted with womans lack of a penis and thus the threat of
his own castration, focuses on the last impression before the uncanny traumatic one, thereby
turning some other body part or object into a fetish, such as her feet or stockings. Hanekes
fetishistic framing means that violence in the Funny Games films exists entirely in our
imagination (except for Ann shooting Peter). Our vision is diverted from the wound to focus on
something else, thus creating a fetishized visual perspective in each instance of violence. When
Peter suddenly strikes Georges knee with a golf club, the camera is in close-up on Georges
face; the briefest glimpse of the club swinging downwards through the frame can be glimpsed.
We hear the impact, but never see it. The next shot is of George falling to the ground.
Eventually, several scenes later, a dark stain (more black than red) will appear over his pants leg
where he was struck, but truthfully, the wound is never seen. Whereas most Hollywood horror
(or action) films show a flash of violence before cutting away to something else (as in the rewind

Mackenzie 39

scene), Haneke shows the build up and result of violence, rarely the act itself. He repeatedly
uses the process of fetishization to look away and avoid the moment of trauma. When young
Georgie is murdered in the living room, the camera lazily follows Paul around the kitchen while
he makes a sandwich; he does not react at all when the gunshot is heard from the next room. In
this way, the only concession to a sadistic viewers desire to see the bloodletting is when Peter,
one of the characters the sadist is invited to identify with, is killed. This means that the only
instance when the sadist sees the bloody detail he so desires requires him to masochistically take
joy in the image of his own destruction.
This strategy is especially noticeable in the forced prayer scene, wherein the camera gives
shot/reverse-shot close-ups on Ann and Paul, while Peter tortures George entirely offscreen.
George actually disappears into this offscreen space several minutes before he dies at the
conclusion of this scene, so it is quite unclear what specifically is happening to him while Paul
forces Ann to pray. We hear his screams, and we see Ann looking in horror at him suffering, but
the violence is never shown. Anns face acts as the fetish object here, as it does in several other
scenes; most notably, the forced strip scene.
The strip scene could easily be read in terms of Laura Mulveys classic argument about
fetishistic scopophilia in narrative cinema. Mulvey argues that in classic Hollywood films,
women are placed in an exhibitionist role: women are simultaneously looked at and displayed,
with their appearance coded for strong visual and erotic impact so that they can be said to
connote to-be-looked-at-ness (Mulvey 40). Thus, the assaultive male gaze contains and
controls the female figure, turning the represented figure itself into a fetish so that it becomes
reassuring rather than dangerous (42). Peter and Paul are powerful males who sadistically gaze

Mackenzie 40

at Ann, force her to strip in order to assuage their castration anxiety, and reassert their patriarchal
dominance. The theatrical trailer for Funny Games U.S. shamelessly teases at the possibility of
seeing Ann (Naomi Watts) nude when it montages a string of alliterative adjectives alongside
scenes from the film (Daring, Dangerous; Wicked, Wild), eventually showing a flash of
Ann pulling her dress over her head, bookended with Sensual and Savage.7 The film is all
tease though, as the actual strip scene is relatively chaste. Throughout the scene, the camera
never dips below Anns collar bone, instead remaining fixed on a close-up of her tearful face.
These shots are matched by close-up shots of her audiences faces: Peter, Paul, George, and
Georgies bagged head. Naomi Watts is evidently not opposed to appearing nude on camera, as
she famously does so in David Lynchs Mulholland Drive (2001), which is only significant
because it underlines Hanekes decision to not show her body in a scene that is explicitly devoted
to examining her body for flaws (Peter and Paul are having a mock argument over whether Ann
has jelly rolls).8
Instead of being offered a view of Naomi Wattss nude form, the camera keeps us fixated
on her face alone. Deleuze writes: the fetish is therefore not a symbol at all, but as it were a
frozen, arrested, two-dimensional image, a photograph to which one returns repeatedly to
exorcise the dangerous consequences of movement, the harmful discoveries that result from
exploration; it represents the last point at which it was still possible to believe (Deleuze 31).
Haneke uses close-ups on the faces of those experiencing or watching violence as fetish objects
in place of showing the violence itself, thereby denying us sadistic voyeuristic pleasure and
7
8

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ec-70W_K77U

When approached about doing a remake of Funny Games, Haneke insisted he would only do so if Naomi Watts
starred in it, and he cited Mulholland Drive and 21 Grams as the two films he had seen that convinced him of this
(Rich).

Mackenzie 41

keeping us reliant on masochistic fetishism. Accordingly, the close-ups of Anns face during her
forced strip are like a static photograph. The shot is in shallow focus, removing any depth, and
the frame does not move, except for a brief pan down and back up to keep Anns face in the
center of the frame when she bends down to take off her panties. This strategy of presenting us
with a frozen frame in shallow focus of a characters face watching violence or nudity offscreen
is used throughout the film in order to continuously disavow the site of trauma in favor of its
surroundings.
One of the most discussed changes in the remake is the supposedly heightened
sexualization of Ann while she is being tortured, which is frequently met with dignified cries of
disgust from critics. Of course, eroticized violence against women is hardly a new feature of the
horror genre. Most of the claims about the American remakes amplified sexuality (it is always
interpreted as a concession to American desires) exclusively revolve around Naomi Watts
wearing only her bra and panties for a lengthy segment of the film after the strip scene. In the
original film, actress Susanne Lothar wears a flimsy slip. Leland Monk devotes an entire essay
to analyzing the failure of the remake, and ends with a particular focus on Anns character, and
the way Naomi Wattss image was marketed: the iconic publicity image for Funny Games U.S.
is a portrait of Naomi Watts looking beautiful and abused, one side of her face blotched with
tears, making it crystal clear that the remake (unlike the original) is about stripping naked -emotionally, psychologically, physically -- the female star. Monk declares that this image of
Naomi Watts is taken from a moment in the film
not when she or her family are being physically tortured but just before
she is forced to take her clothes off for the eager young men holding them

Mackenzie 42

captive ... She looks both vulnerable and rather voluptuous, with tousled
hair and teeth about to bite those full lips. Female viewers who identify
with the tears of the movie star at this moment would likely feel with her
that those male spectators (and directors) making such a spectacle of this
woman want to see her naked in her suffering and suffering in her nakedness
(Monk 431).
Monks assertion that the publicity still of Watts is definitely taken from the strip scene in
particular is without any real basis. In a film filled with close-ups of Naomi Watts tearful face
and disheveled hair, there is no indication at all that the publicity still comes from the strip scene.
Monks adventurous imagination about female viewers response to this scene making such a
spectacle also does not account for the critical fact that we do not see Naomi Watts/Ann naked.
Once again, Haneke uses fetishistic framing to occlude the potentially sadistic gaze, this time (in
a classic Freudian move) away from the nude female body. The film obviously acknowledges
the sadistic voyeuristic desire to see her naked in her suffering and suffering in her nakedness,
but it largely denies this desire. I will return to the issue of fetishizing Anns face while she is
tortured, but first it is important to note that the violence in the original film was already highly
eroticized; this was not a new feature for the American remake. Both films, especially the strip
scenes, demonstrate the many affinities between horror films and BDSM pornography.
The strip and escape sequence in Funny Games can easily be read as a catalogue of
various BDSM kinks and scenarios, which is proof that the violence in the original Funny Games
was already eroticized and that this was not an addition for American audiences (this also
underlines the alternative to sadistically enjoy several moments of the film). To start, the forced

Mackenzie 43

strip is part of any classic sadistic sexual fantasy. After she is forced to strip for her captors,
Anna/Ann, wearing very few clothes, is gagged and placed in bondage. Georgie is submitted to
breath-play when the bag is put over his head (Paul even politely confirms that he is able to
breath before continuing). Urolagnia (or water-sports, to use the less terrifying moniker) is also
on show here as Georgie pees himself after his mother strips. The cuckold scenario of violating
a wife in front of her husband is another popular fantasy in BDSM scenarios. Indeed, the entire
home-invasion nightmare can easily be recast as a rape fantasy for those so inclined. The threat
of rape haunts this scene, and seems like it could occur at any moment, but it never does, and that
tension gets no release. Just like the escape sequence that follows it and concludes with a gun
that does not fire, this strip scene has no nudity and no orgasmic climax.
Hanekes repeated extreme close-ups on key narrative objects (the knife, the golf club,
the shotgun, the ineffective cellphone) are clearly playing on generic conventions by establishing
foreshadowing (which is often subverted, as previously discussed). Yet these shots also indicate
the more general importance of props in the horror genre. After all, it is rare that the killer in any
horror film uses his bare hands; he always has his signature weapon, and knives are particularly
popular (Psycho, The Shining, Halloween, Friday the 13th). The heroine of such films is
frequently tied up with ropes or chains at some point, just as a barely clothed Anna/Ann is tied
up with tape when Georgie tries to escape following her forced strip. The horror genres heavy
reliance on props is quite similar to BDSM pornography, which is also never complete without a
range of tools, such as ropes, whips, paddles, gags, handcuffs, nipple clamps, or shock prods, to
be used on the victim.

Mackenzie 44

The climax (violent death or orgasm) is another common trait in horror films and
pornography noted by other film critics.9 Most horror films function like typical pornos in that
there are multiple climaxes (multiple deaths) throughout the film, and they are all shown in
gruesome detail. Funny Games is unique in de-emphasizing the climax. With one key
exception, deaths are never shown onscreen. This is akin to BDSM porn, where the orgasm
matters little, and is sometimes not even shown. Writing about BDSM porn, film scholar Linda
Williams observes: the emphasis throughout is on the suffering and emotion of the victims ...
close-ups of their faces reveal mixtures of excitement and pain. There is no visible climax, in
either the dramatic or the sexual sense of the word, only a suspenseful spectacle of prolonged
suffering (Hard Core 197). If orgasm can be linked to death, then it seems fair to entertain the
notion of a similarity between torture and foreplay, especially since the two are really the same
thing in BDSM porn. Freud writes of the fetishistic impulse to linger at the preparatory acts and
to form them into new sexual aims which may take the place of the normal (Three Essays 30).
Without a doubt, torture is given far more importance than murder in this film. All of the family
members deaths occur offscreen, and Peter and Paul do not take obvious climactic pleasure in the
killings. In the conclusion, Peter is even annoyed at Paul for killing Ann when they still had an
hour left to play with her. This entire film is an endless building of eroticized violent tension that
is never released, and that is true of both the original and the remake. Of course, none of the
potentially kinky elements in the scenes discussed above are particularly unique to Funny
Games, and can be found throughout the sadistic Hollywood horror genre. However, this film is
9

Carol Clover identified horror and pornography as body genres, that rely primarily on physical, emotional
responses based on the behavior of the bodies onscreen. Linda Williams builds on this concept in her essay, Film
Bodies: Gender, Genre and Excess, in which she analyzes the similarities between three body genres:
melodrama, pornography, and horror. Williams asserts that in these genres, the body of the spectator is caught up
in an almost involuntary mimicry of the emotion or sensation of the body on the screen along with the fact that the
body displayed is female (Film Bodies 270).

Mackenzie 45

unique in its economy of withholding pleasure and withholding climaxes. The sadistic content is
thus subsumed by the masochistic aesthetics.
Now that the subtext of pornography within the film has been established, it is worth
returning to the frequent close-ups on Anns face while she is tortured and forced to strip. This
chapter may give the impression that masochism merely denies pleasurable things that sadism
offers freely and in abundance, which is not quite true. Rather, masochism relocates the sites of
pleasure as part of its strategy of prolonging the experience and engaging the imagination. While
Hanekes fetishistic framing may deny the sadistic voyeuristic impulse to see Anns nude body,
the close-up on her face can still easily be read as pornographic. The visual work that shots of
Anns bare body would have accomplished is relocated to the non-genital site of her tearful face.
This mirrors Williamss observation that the emphasis in BDSM porn is on close-ups of faces in
the throes of pain or ecstasy, which are often indistinguishable. Film theorist Bla Balzs
attributed great importance to close-ups of the face because he believed they offer access to the
psychological interiority of the subject (Balzs 56). In her analysis of the use of the close-up in
Andy Warhols Blow Job, Ara Osterweil critiques Balzss claim that the close-up can offer such
psychological truth. Osterweil notes that Balzss evident desire to discover and document the
involuntary movements of the body in search of truth is quite similar to the concerns of
pornographic films and their impulse to document the body in convulsions of pleasure.
Osterweil states like pornography, the close-up is animated by a drive for knowledge about the
subject (446). The primary difference then is the cameras focus, on the genitals or the face,
when searching for that corporeal knowledge. The forced strip scene demonstrates that for all of
their radical differences, sadism and masochism do share a common interest in the same location:

Mackenzie 46

the body in pain and its involuntary movements or excretions. In this instance, the sadistic
viewer wants to satisfy their voyeurism and see every inch of Anns suffering body in clinical
detail. The masochist, always more interested in individual identity and emotion, focuses on the
face in hopes of finding some proof of pain or pleasure or both. Instead of gazing at the tremors
of her body, the camera focuses on the excretion of Anns tears and mucus, documenting this
bodily response to fear. Masochism is definitely less explicit than sadism in its eroticism and
that is reflected in the framing of this scene, but that does not mean that masochism is some
demure alternative. Masochism is just as deeply interested in the pain/pleasure complex as
sadism, and Anns suffering is still very much the spectacle here. When Paul tells her she can get
dressed again, she turns away from the camera (and the only light source) so that her face falls
into shadow as she puts her clothes back on, suggesting that even Ann recognizes the
pornographic potential of her face. As useful as Deleuzes separation of masochism and sadism
is for analytic purposes, the absolute disconnect he argues for is never quite convincing.
Masochism and sadism do overlap because they share the body as a contested territory. That
said, these instances where the two impulses meet, as in the forced strip scene and the film as a
whole, demonstrate that they function in a competitive (not complementary) fashion.
The pure sadism of the scenario and the content of the Funny Games films is undeniable.
Hanekes use of twin sadistic libertines and their faceless victims demonstrates his deliberate
engagement with the conventions of the Hollywood horror genre. While I agree with Clover that
even the most conventional horror film contains elements of masochistic pleasure for the
spectator, those films are still primarily characterized by sadism due to their forced domination
of the viewers experience. As I have argued, their repetitiveness is of an altogether different

Mackenzie 47

nature from that found in Funny Games, because the conventional horror films repetition is
always punctuated by moments of bloody climax and relief, which have no place in the
masochistic fantasy. Most importantly, the narrative structure of those films is designed to
subdue the audience, to draw them into the kind of dull, uncritical trance that Brecht decries.
In the Funny Games films, Haneke deploys these conventions that exemplify
Hollywoods sadistic mastery so that he can offer viewers a radical form of escape via a form of
self-inflicted torture that demonstrates that the sadistic master is superfluous (iek 183). The
alienation effects deployed throughout the film that break the fourth wall make the viewer fully
aware of their role, their responsibilities, and their choices of identification with the bodies
onscreen. Those viewers who attempt to engage with the film sadistically may take pleasure
from much of the film, but in the end, their pleasure is thwarted by the lack of any climaxes or
moments of visual pleasure. The fetishistic framing teases the viewer with the sadistic thrills
they expect from this sort of film, but those thrills are always denied. Thus, the masochistic
aesthetics consistently undermine the sadistic content. The viewer who chooses to stay in the
theater makes a conscious decision to endure the fundamental unpleasure of Funny Games as a
way of refusing to surrender to the sadistic control exerted over them by most horror films. I
disagree that the kind of horror spectatorship that Clover identifies is truly masochistic, because
it is presented as the default; an automatic surrender to the film, which is clearly sadistic. The
empowered viewer of Hanekes twin films exercises their agency and chooses submission. This
voluntary submission is far more akin to genuine masochism. The masochist is not a victim, but
a kinky partner in crime, and they need only accept Hanekes invitation. The empowerment that

Mackenzie 48

comes from choosing masochism will be expanded upon in the next chapter on Hanekes most
overtly masochistic film, The Piano Teacher.

Mackenzie 49

Chapter II
Story of Erika: Masochistic Submission in The Piano Teacher
Everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power. -- Oscar Wilde
Michael Hanekes The Piano Teacher (2001), an adaptation of Elfriede Jelineks novel,
Die Klavierspielerin (1983), offers one of the best investigations of masochistic desire in
contemporary cinema; it is also one of the directors most successful films, critically and
commercially.10 The film depicts a violent love triangle between an accomplished pianist
teaching at the Vienna Conservatory, Erika Kohut, her charming young pupil, Walter Klemmer,
and her overbearing mother. It is gradually revealed that when she is not teaching Schuberts
scherzos to students, Erika engages in a variety of taboo forms of sexual release, including
exhibitionism, voyeurism, and masochism. Erikas attempts to draw Walter into her kinky world
and mold him into her ideal torturer culminates in Walter assaulting Erika in her apartment with
her mother in the adjoining room. In the ambiguous final scene of the film, Erika brings a knife
to her concert performance and waits for Walter to arrive. After seeing him walk by and pretend
like nothing happened, she stabs herself in the shoulder and walks out of the conservatory and
offscreen.
Many critics have understood the film primarily as a portrayal of a pathological and
repressed woman who eventually comes to understand the irreducible gap between her extreme
fantasies and stark reality when Walter rapes her. In The Perverts Guide to Cinema, Slavoj
iek describes the film as an impossible love affair between a deeply traumatized woman and
her young student, which culminates in what is arguably the most depressive sexual act in the

10 At

its premiere in the Cannes Film Festival, it won the Grand Prix, as well as the awards for Best Actress (Isabelle
Huppert) and Best Actor (Benoit Magimel).

Mackenzie 50

entire history of cinema (when Walter assaults Erika). Discussing that penultimate scene, iek
concludes, as if to punish her for disclosing the fantasy in her letter to him, he literally enacts
her fantasy in the way he makes love to her, which of course means that fantasy is lost for her.
Overtly Lacanian readings of the film are popular, such as John Champagnes Undoing
Oedipus: Feminism and Michael Hanekes The Piano Teacher, that contends Erikas story is
evidence of the impossibility of female sexual desire in contemporary society (Champagne).
Following these readings, the narrative can be read as a feminist allegory about how patriarchal
society fosters both sexual repression (guilt feelings) and commercialized sexual excess
(pornography), the clash of which results in Erikas unfortunate desire for alienated sex devoid
of affection and tenderness, coupled with knowledge that all sex is wicked, disgusting and
therefore must be punished (Wheatley 125). The film is thus seen as an indictment of the
audience for their role in the creation of a world where Erikas story and desires are possible.
Such readings are remarkably conservative. They lead to considering Erika, and by
extension, all women, as hopeless victims of their own impossible fantasies. Meanwhile, the
audience is only empowered to pass moral judgement on Erika and themselves. These readings
foster the continued stigmatization of BDSM desires and the understanding of masochism as
little else but a passive and shameful surrender to misogyny. Most importantly, it ignores the
inherent ambiguity of Hanekes film that eschews easy answers. The world Haneke depicts in
The Piano Teacher is sadistic towards women at every echelon and they do not seem to fit in
anywhere. The halls of the music conservatory are filled with young women crying because of
the cruelty of their instructors. The seedy porn shops are filled with men gazing sadistically at
row after row of magazines filled with images of anonymous women being penetrated, and they

Mackenzie 51

stare suspiciously at Erika as she waits to enter a private booth. The men in the film, particularly
Walter, are evidently disgusted by Erikas desires. This is a view shared by many of the films
critics too. Yet the films withholding aesthetic that denies visual and aural pleasure, while
encouraging mobile spectatorship, subtly legitimizes Erikas sexual masochism and its power to
undermine sadistic impulses. Much like Funny Games, Hanekes framing here often hides that
which we desire to see most, just as the camera perspectives occlude the possibility of
identifying fully with any one character. This chapter will demonstrate that rather than making a
spectacle of a pathologically repressed and sick woman in need of saving, this film portrays
Erikas masochism as an active form of engagement with her sadistic world, which allows for a
radically different reading of Walters assault on Erika as a masochistic success for her.
Even more so than Funny Games, The Piano Teacher foregrounds its engagement with
masochism and sadism, and posits how the sadist and the masochist might interact. Iuliana
Corina Vaidas article, Two Meanings of Masochism in the Language of the Art Critic,
compares Hanekes film with its source material, Jelineks Die Klavierspielerin, through the lens
of the differing Freudian and Deleuzian concepts of sadism and masochism. Vaida argues that
Hanekes film adopts the Freudian understanding that sadism and masochism are complementary
and that the sadist and the masochist would make an ideal couple. (As noted in the introduction,
Freuds theory was actually more nuanced than this, but Vaida presents it as such.) In his famous
Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality, Freud argues it can often be recognized that the
masochism is nothing but a continuation of the sadism turning against ones own person, and,
therefore, a sadist is simultaneously a masochist, though either the active or the passive side of
the perversion may be more strongly developed (Three Essays 32-33). Vaida sees the films

Mackenzie 52

Walter and Erika as an embodiment of Freuds theory, arguing that they are both primary sadists,
and that their masochistic desires only emerge from a turning inwards of their sadistic
tendencies. Vaida notes the subplot about Erikas relationship with her other young student,
Anna Schober, as proof of her primary sadism. Erika is consistently cruel to Anna in their
lessons, and at one point, Erika places broken shards of glass into Annas coat pocket, which
mangles her hand and prevents her from playing anymore for the rest of the film. In Vaidas
reading of the film, all of Erikas masochistic desires stem from such acts of sadism.
Vaida writes: For Michael Haneke, who works within the bounds of modernist/classical
art forms, Freuds beautifully simple theory serves the need to condense the material of the
novel, bring clarity to and unify the plot (218). However, she concludes that this elegant
simplicity undermines Jelineks radical feminist message about the fundamental incompatibility
of men and women in patriarchal society. Vaida asserts Jelineks real topic is not the
sadomasochistic couple, but the relationship between man and woman in general, and that the
theme of the impossibility of the sadomasochistic couple is a metaphor for the impossibility of a
satisfying relationship between man and woman in a patriarchal society (215). Vaida concludes
that Deleuzes argument against sadomasochistic unity is the more subversive and that Hanekes
Freudian bent makes his film a rather conservative affirmation of traditional ways of thinking, a
bow in the direction of patriarchal values and old-school psychoanalysis (218). Vaidas
argument has an elegant simplicity, but Hanekes film is not so definitively Freudian as she
contends. Also, her feminist reading of Deleuzes theory ironically leads to a conservative
reaffirmation of traditional gender roles that his argument attempts to dismantle. Erika, the
metaphor for all women, is a masochist and destined to be a victim. Walter, symbol of all that is

Mackenzie 53

male, is a sadist and all of his behavior is normalized. Furthermore, Vaidas reading does not
take into account the essential point Deleuze makes about masochistic role-switching.
In Masochism: Coldness and Cruelty, Deleuze draws a distinction between a sadist and
the masochists selected torturer, just as he draws a distinction between the sadists victim and
the masochist. Deleuze argues that the masochists torturer, far from being a sadist, is actually
the mirror-image of the masochist: the torturer disavows and escapes their own masochistic
desires by taking on the active role in the partnership (Deleuze 42). Because both partners are
potentially masochists, the roles of torturer and masochist are quite flexible within this dynamic.
Due to this inherent flexibility, Deleuzes theory of masochism does not attach specific genders
to either role. With this in mind, the films depiction of Erika and Walters relationship, in which
there are shifts in dominance, can be read as entirely masochistic. In the first half of the film,
Walters masochism responds to Erikas outwardly dominant personality as a professor.
However, glimpses of her private rituals reveal that this public persona is simply a disavowal of
her inner masochism. In public, Erika hides her masochism by taking on the active role of the
torturer. In private, she yearns for Walter to take on the active role. This theme of masochistic
role-switching is repeated in various ways throughout the film, especially in the kind of mobile
spectator identification that Hanekes cinematography encourages.
In Felix W. Twerasers essay, Images of Confinement and Transcendence: Michael
Hanekes Reception of Romanticism in The Piano Teacher, he asserts that the composition of
several early shots establishes viewer identification with Erikas point of view (Tweraser 197).
While the film certainly works to generate sympathy for Erika, the viewers options for
identification are not so simple as Tweraser claims. The films most iconic image is a close-up,

Mackenzie 54

overhead shot of a pianists hands dancing across the keys. The camera is perfectly
perpendicular to the ground. This is representative of the films entire strategy vis--vis viewer
identification. The shot is almost a point-of-view shot, but not quite. It is too perfectly still, too
perpendicular, to be the pianists perspective. The opening credits of the film alternate between
stark black screens with white lettering and various incarnations of this overhead shot. At one
point, Erikas student, Anna, is playing, when suddenly Erika pushes her off the bench and takes
her place, but the camera remains fixed in its position. We only see the change in hands. This
proves from the outset that the camera is not offering the perspective of any single character.
The film also has a noticeable lack of the conventional shot/reverse-shot format in conversation
scenes, and we are often left staring at the back of Erika or Walters head when they are
speaking. This breach of convention is another way of alienating the viewer by not anchoring
them to any expected perspective. The film draws us close to identifying with Erika, or Walter,
but it always forces us a little to the side, maintaining the viewers presence in each scene and
occluding the possibility of purely identifying with Erika or anyone else. The propensity for
masochistic role-switching is thus mirrored in the viewers shifting perspective throughout the
film.
The impetus to read the film as primarily engaged with a more Deleuzian understanding
of masochism can be seen in its varying depictions of sex and Erikas responses to it. The
differences between the scene when Erika watches a pornographic video in a viewing booth and
her subsequent bathroom encounter with Walter demonstrate this well. Both the porn booth
scene and the bathroom encounter feature a woman giving a blowjob to a man, but the
similarities end there. The porn video is an entirely conventional example of that genre; it

Mackenzie 55

depicts a woman lying on her back on a table giving a blowjob to a man standing next to the
table. It uses relatively quick takes, close-ups on genitals, and it deemphasizes the identities of
the man and woman. First, we see a medium long shot of the couple from the side. Both of their
faces are visible, but at the very edges of the frame and in shadow. The shot only lasts a few
seconds, and then there is a cut to an overhead close-up shot that entirely hides both of their
faces (all we can see of the woman is her chin). There is nothing overtly sadistic about the porn
video (though the womans position certainly does not look comfortable). However, given the
contrast that the film draws between sadism and masochism, the explicit imagery combined with
the anonymity of the man and woman in the video can be seen as broadly emblematic of the
eroticized lack of identity in sadistic scenarios. This can be seen in Pauline Rages Story of O,
when O goes to be trained by the sadists at Roissy: faceless men wearing masks torture nameless
women, and there is an inviolable rule at Roissy that women are not allowed to look at the mens
faces, only at their cocks. After watching several seconds of the porn video, there is a cut to a
long take of Erikas face in close-up; she watches the video with an almost neutral expression.
As we recall from the previous chapter, the forced strip scene in Funny Games gestures toward
the sadistic voyeuristic impulse to see Anns nude body, but instead masochistically focuses on
her face. In much the same way, this scene in The Piano Teacher acknowledges sadistic
voyeuristic desires with these brief snippets of explicit imagery, but then it cuts away to focus on
Erikas face and her masochistic reaction. She does not masturbate to the video, instead just
sniffing a cum-stained tissue. The ostensible purpose of a porn booth is to masturbate to porn, so
Erika masochistically teasing herself is a rebellion against the norm. Erika smelling the tissue
also emphasizes that her mode of spectatorship is not passive and trance-like; she is taking

Mackenzie 56

action, just not the expected one. Thus, she engages in a non-visual mode with pornography, a
genre that is principally defined by its visual thrills. Optical pleasure is typically colonized by
sadism, so Erikas approach to the porn video avoids this pitfall.
The porn booth scene is bookended by classical music, which is used as a metaphor in the
film for the masochists contract. The contract, whether literal or in the mind of the masochist, is
essential to any such partnership. Deleuze writes: in the structure of masochism in general, the
contract represents the ideal form of the love-relationship and its necessary precondition (75).
Masochistic contracts consist of specific instructions and dictates for both masochist and torturer
so that the selected torturer can successfully act out a very specific scenario. We only hear
excerpts from Erikas proposed contract with Walter, but it is clear that she is not simply pointing
out various acts she would enjoy. Rather, she is describing an entire narrative that proceeds from
bondage (if I beg, tighten my bonds, please. Adjust the belt by at least two or three holes.) to
breathplay (then, gag me with some stockings I will have ready) to specific acts of beating
(sit down on my face and punch me in the stomach to force me to thrust my tongue in your
behind). One instruction leads to the next, and it is Walters task to follow this path. In the
context of this masochistic story, a piece of classical music can be understood as a contract
between composer and performer. In the most basic formulation, the composer/masochist
dictates the rules by setting down the notes and creating a musical narrative. Then the performer/
torturer accepts and follows these rules and acts out the musical fantasy. The classical music
metaphor further demonstrates Erikas role-switching disavowal of her inner masochism when
she is in public. At the conservatory, Erika plays the role of the performer/torturer when she
plays the music (accepts the contracts) of her favorite composers. However, it is clear that Erika

Mackenzie 57

does not enjoy her job whatsoever, and when at home, she never plays (or even listens to) music
because she prefers to be the composer of fantasies that she is later subjected to. Of course, the
film constantly switches Erika between one role and another, just as it shifts the viewers
identification from one character to the next, so the simplicity of this basic role-switching
forumla is confused and the binary is further undermined. As a result, performing is often
figured as masochistic, just as composing complex fantasies (musical or otherwise) seems like an
act of torture. As Erika walks into the porn booth, diegetic classical music from her practice
session in the previous scene provides a sound bridge. The sound of her dropping coins into the
machine interrupts the music; this abrupt audio transition cements porn as a capitalist product.11
At the end of the scene, another diegetic classical music sound bridge transitions out of the booth
and into the next rehearsal scene, thus containing the sadistic voyeuristic interlude within an
aesthetically masochistic construct.
In The Perverts Guide to Cinema, iek claims that Erika watches the porn video like a
pupil in school. iek assumes that Erika is woefully sexually inexperienced, and that she is
watching the video not to get excited, but to get the coordinates of desire, to learn how to do it,
how to get excited. Robin Wood similarly concludes that Erika derives a large part of her
understanding of sexuality from such hardcore pornography (Wood 58). However, considering
Erikas behavior in the porn booth and the way that the porn video is shot alongside her later
bathroom encounter with Walter and the aesthetics of that scene, it becomes clear that iek and
Woods assumptions about the impact of porn on Erika is unfounded. Erikas quiet confidence to

11

On the subject of pornography, Haneke said it isnt the sexual aspect but the commercial aspect of porno that
makes it repulsive ... Pornography, it seems to me, is no different from war films or propaganda films in that it tries
to make the visceral, horrific, or transgressive elements of life consumable. Propaganda is far more pornographic
than a home video of two people fucking (quoted in Brunette 90).

Mackenzie 58

pursue precisely the kind of masochistic sex she desires in all encounters belies their paternalistic
construction of her as sexually naive and uncertain.
Whereas the porn video used quick cuts, explicit images, and emphasized anonymity, the
bathroom encounter between Erika and Walter offers an erotic demonstration of masochistic sex,
with its long duration and its ultimate deferral of pleasure, both for the participants and the
viewer. The scene lasts for over ten minutes with minimal editing. Erika does not allow Walter
to touch her, speak, or move in any way as she masturbates him and gives him a blowjob, thus
imposing a kind of verbal bondage on him. In the end, she refuses to let him orgasm, and though
he complains about her cruelty, he follows all of her instructions. Walter plays the role of the
masochist in this scene, but while Erika is constantly telling him not to do things (talk, move,
ejaculate), he is certainly not passive. When Erika opens the bathroom door and amps up the
exhibitionist thrills of their public sex, Walter chooses to remain exposed, just as he chooses to
follow her instructions throughout. Masochism is about submission, but it is not a passive,
default surrender to another person (or an apparatus). Agency is still very much involved. While
Erika does share the porn videos interest in oral sex, her approach suggests that she is reveling
in the unproductive nature of this sex to the point that the encounter does not even produce an
orgasm. The lack of orgasmic release at the end of this scene is what makes this encounter so
subversive and perversely unproductive an act, in the context of heteronormative, reproductive
sex. This in sharp contrast to the porn video, because even though it also features unproductive
oral sex, its capitalist focus on productivity and that genres ubiquitous emphasis on the male
orgasm are underlined by the sound of Erika paying the machine and sniffing the used tissue.

Mackenzie 59

Judging by her behavior with Walter, hardcore pornography clearly does not influence Erikas
approach to sex, or teach her how to do it, as Wood and iek claim.
Throughout the scene, the blocking of the actors and the framing obscure any view of
nudity or penetration. Erika says to Walter: Look at me, not your penis, showing that their
identities are the essential quality of this sex scene. This is in keeping with masochistic
scenarios, in which the identities of the masochist and their chosen torturer are paramount.
Because educating ones partner is such a central component of masochism, the choice of partner
cannot be at random, as in sadistic fantasies; partners must be carefully selected. In reference to
this scene, Robin Wood writes: I assume that Haneke, in La Pianiste, would have liked to show
us everything, since one of the films central projects is clearly the demystification of sex ... We
need to see Isabelle Huppert actually sucking Benoit Magimels cock, not because it would give
us our latest thrill but because it is an intrinsic part of the scene, and to conceal it is to continue
the repression that is the mere obverse of our liberation (Wood 56). The realism of
unsimulated sex is not at all an intrinsic part of this scene, and showing us anything would
destroy the erotic tension of this scene and the film as a whole. If we really saw the actors
having sex, even for an instant, it would not matter if Erika still denied Walter orgasmic relief,
because the visual pleasure of the scene would have already reached its climax in the explicit
imagery. Fantasy is a basic characteristic of masochism because it suspends reality and its
productive concerns. Part of the pleasure of this scene comes from imagining, from fantasizing
corporeal encounters that remain stubbornly invisible. As Erika says to Walter when he tries to
finish himself, Dont be stupid. Youre spoiling it. Most importantly, Hanekes strategy of
withholding visual pleasure in this scene legitimizes Erikas masochistic desires, which are

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otherwise met with confusion or vehement disgust by Walter when they are made clear to him
later in the film.
Repetition and the denial of completion or climax is a central motif in this film. The song
that Erika is teaching to her student, Anna, in all of their scenes together is Schuberts
Winterreise, and it is played periodically throughout the film. Importantly though, the song is
never heard in full. Indeed, none of the musical pieces in the film are ever heard from beginning
to end. In addition to the interruption of the music when entering the porn booth, Winterreise
provides the sound bridge out of the booth and into yet another rehearsal scene with Anna, but
this time Walter knocks and interrupts the song. At the recital early in the film, there is a cut to
Erika and another pianist in the middle of a performance, so we only hear the end of the song.
Shortly after, we hear the beginning of Walters performance, but there is a cut before he
finishes. During Walters audition to study under Erika, he plays three pieces, but as the camera
settles on Erika, each musical piece is interrupted by a cut as the camera moves from a long shot,
to a medium shot, to a close-up. Even the ending of the film feels as though the addition of just
one more scene could explain everything, but Haneke denies us any sense of closure.
In her analysis, Vaida cited the subplot about Erikas young student, Anna Schober, as
evidence of Erikas primary sadism, and she is certainly not alone in this reading. On the
surface, it does appear that Erika is acting sadistically. In addition to perpetual verbal abuse,
Erika places broken shards of glass into Annas jacket pocket, seriously injuring her and
preventing her from playing piano for an indefinite period of recovery. Since this incident occurs
immediately after Erika watches Walter soothe Anna, who is petrified in the moments before she
is to perform, it would be quite easy to see Erikas action as sabotage motivated by jealousy.

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Peter Brunette describes the moment as Erikas overtly sadistic act against her perceived rival
for Walters attention (96-97). New York Times critic Stephen Holden writes: In an unsettling
subplot of The Piano Teacher, Erika sadistically torments a female student (Holden). The film
enables this reading by editing together a classical Hollywood narrative logic of cause and effect:
Erika watches Walter pay attention to a much younger woman, so Erika sabotages that woman to
reclaim Walters interest. However, it is a phallocentric assumption typical of a Hollywood
melodrama to conclude that Erikas action here is really all about Walter. Despite appearances, a
deeper consideration of the ostensibly sadistic Anna subplot reveals Hanekes use of a subtle
masochistic aesthetic that demonstrates Erika is not necessarily acting sadistically or out of
jealousy.
Anna, who does not appear in the novel, could easily be written off as a largely
forgettable minor character. Yet it is worth noting that Anna is Hanekes prized moniker for the
lead female characters in most of his films, which suggests that this seemingly minor character
has a greater significance than meets the eye. There are multiple parallels drawn between Erika
and Anna, as well as between their mothers, Mrs. Kohut and Mrs. Schober (Susanne Lothar, who
played Anna in the original Funny Games). Both daughters are talented pianists who have a
particular affinity for Schubert, and both suffer under the hawkish supervision of their
domineering mothers. Anna and Erika both speak rarely, dress conservatively, and are routinely
criticized by their mothers for their looks. When Erika beats her mother in their scuffle in the
opening scene, Mrs. Kohut says that Erika should have her hands chopped off for this offense.
Later, when Mrs. Schober is speaking with Erika about Annas damaged hand, Mrs. Schober says
that the criminal should have his hands chopped off (the perpetrator is assumed to be male).

Mackenzie 62

Erika speaks sparingly throughout this conversation, but when Mrs. Schober makes the
comment, we sacrificed everything, Erika interjects that it was not we, but Anna who
sacrificed everything. Erikas correction easily feels like it could be directed at her own mother,
who similarly speaks of our sacrifices, rather than Erikas sacrifices. Based on these strong
parallels, there exists the possibility that Erika hurts Anna not out of sadism, but in an ironic and
radical act of benevolence. Since Erika empathizes with Anna, it is possible that sabotaging her
is an attempt to free young Anna from a life in concert pianism, and therefore from the toxic
pressures of a domineering mother. On a similar note, Erikas refusal to settle down and
reproduce (another manifestation of her interest in unproductive masochistic sex) may be taken
as an attempt to stop the perpetuation of sadistic mother/daughter dynamics. However, the final
scene of the film shows Anna back at the conservatory despite all of the abuse she has endured,
still being shepherded by her mother, still dreaming of being a pianist. Therefore, it might be
more useful to suspend the assumption that Hanekes film operates according to the principles of
realism. In his comparison of Jelineks novel and Hanekes film, Willy Riemer notes that all of
the novels flashbacks to Erikas abusive childhood are absent from the film. Riemer suggests
that in the film, Kohuts childhood experiences are not remembered, but demonstrated with
Anna (Reimer 274). Despite the appearance of linear time then, the world of The Piano
Teacher is steeped in masochistic repetition that keeps temporality folded in on itself in a
perpetual cycle. In other words, Anna is like Erikas doppelgnger, albeit from the past. Rather
than proof of her sadism, Erikas assault of Anna is a masochistic act of self-destruction, for they
are essentially mirror images of one another.

Mackenzie 63

The mirroring of Erika and Anna suggests that temporality in the film may not be as
stable as it appears. Though the narrative apparently follows a linear progression, time is
noticeably unanchored in this film, as it is unclear how much time passes in between various
scenes. It is equally plausible that the film took place over a matter of days or several months,
just as it is evident that we are given incomplete views of the interactions between Erika and
Walter. At their first meeting, Walter and Erika discuss how appreciating classical music and
holding recitals is an anachronism, which implies that them standing in a classical music recital
hosted by Walters family places them in the past. Erika comments about Walters aunt and
uncle that families like this are no more, but of course this statement is nonsensical because the
family does exist. When Erika returns home late after her voyeuristic excursion at the drive-in,
Mrs. Kohut greets her with a slap in the face, telling her your father died this afternoon. Erika
previously told Walter that her father died in an asylum, so Mrs. Kohut is likely speaking about
the anniversary of his death, but the instance indicates how the past coexists with the present in
this film.
In contrast to Vaidas claims about the film, Erikas masochism (rather than sadism) is
primary. Hanekes use of masochistic aesthetics and themes, such as denying visual and aural
pleasure and the Erika/Anna mirroring, implicitly support Erikas sexual desires while her critics
disapprove. The stigmatization of her desires extends beyond the film to the critical responses.
The vast majority of reviews for The Piano Teacher are remarkably positive, but a consistent
theme in every critique, positive or negative, is registering disgust for Erikas unhealthy
desires. Richard Roeper (Roger Eberts longtime collaborator on At the Movies) calls her a sick
and evil woman (Roeper). Another critic concludes that Erika possesses a psyche as damaged

Mackenzie 64

as any serial killers (Moore). Indeed, the spectacle of Erikas perversity is apparently central to
the marketing of the film. Obscene, scandalous, perverse, reads the German DVD release.
The Kino International DVD release proudly repeats David Denbys declaration (writing for The
New Yorker) that the film has what may be the strangest sex scene in the history of
movies (referring to Erika and Walters bathroom encounter) (Denby). Even though Denby
probably intended this as a compliment (he loved the film), the widespread critical emphasis on
just how bizarre Erikas sex life is begins to feel excessive. This is not to say that she is a
paragon of sexual normalcy, considering her latently incestuous relationship with her mother
and her desire for her student, but the film does not necessitate such a heavily pathologized
understanding of her either.
There is no better example of this prudish and pathologizing attitude toward Erikas
desires than Robin Woods frequently cited analysis of the film, Do I disgust you?: Or, tirez
pas sur La Pianiste. Wood begins by critiquing contemporary society for not truly being
sexually liberated, and claiming to desire a world where sex is as natural as eating and
drinking and where unsimulated sex becomes commonplace in mainstream films (56). Wood
states from the outset: I identify with Erika totally. True, I have never done the things she does
or wanted those that she (for the films first three-quarters) believes she wants, but I perfectly
understand and empathize with her predicament (55). Nevertheless, Wood then enters a lengthy
digression on the dangers of Erikas masochistic desires:
Its all about power and domination, the very structures of capitalist
culture, pervading and corrupting all relationships within it, from the family
to the workplace, from parents/children to employer/employees, and then

Mackenzie 65

outwards to global politics, President Bushs evident desire that America

(and himself) should dominate the entire world. Why would we invent, and
presumably enjoy, games in which we hurt (or pretend to hurt) other
people, or in which we enjoy being hurt, being the slave to a master?
Even exchanging roles midway (as I am told practitioners often do)
scarcely alters the fundamental unpleasantness of such games. And
surely the fact that people perform s/m because it turns them on casts
doubt on its status as just play? If you cant get it up unless you feel you
are in a position of power over someone who is (if even momentarily)
disempowered, is not something seriously wrong? (57)
Woods rant continues for many more pages, during which he concludes that all practitioners of
sadomasochism are sick (61); he even places s/m practices on the same continuum as child
abuse (57-58). I think it is fair to say that Woods claim of perfectly understanding Erika is
somewhat undermined by his complete disavowal and utter repugnance for her most fundamental
desires. His argument is that through the juxtaposition of Erikas highly repressed mother and
Erikas sickening perversity, the film brilliantly encapsulates the history of human sexuality
over the past hundred years by showing a woman totally governed by the extremes and their
brutal clash, knowing nothing in between (58). Woods conclusion that Erika merely believes
she wants masochistic experiences for three-quarters of the film, and that she apparently learns
her lesson in the end when Walter rapes her, is typical of the implicitly conservative responses to
the film that relegate Erika to the status of victim. Erika is a victim of Walter, a victim of her
mother, a victim of society, a victim of Hanekes. These readings, which focus on male sadism,

Mackenzie 66

aim at a useful social critique of patriarchy and violence against women. However, in making
this argument, the purely impersonal element of sadism that Krafft-Ebing described
overwhelms the film and its interpretation. Erika is taken as a symbol for all women, just as
Walter is a symbol for all men. In the process, both of them are stripped of their individuality
and rich characterization. These problematic responses also implicitly insist that the (male) critic
knows the female masochists desire better than she does. These readings pathologize Erika (and
BDSM in general), by assigning societal or familial sources for her sick desires, which may
partially be attributed to the looming shadow of the films literary source material in so many
critical readings of the film.
Jelineks novel, Die Klavierspielerin, is an incisive critique of patriarchal structures in
contemporary Austrian culture, and Western culture in general. The narrative is basically
identical to the films, but the novel generates no sympathy for the characters; Erika, and
especially Walter, are intensely unlikeable from the outset. On the subject of adapting Jelineks
work, Haneke said: I would say that my version of looking at the story is pretty distanced and
cool, while the novel itself is almost angry and very emotional. The novel is much more
subjective and the film is much more objective (quoted in Brunette 92). Hanekes distinction
here is apt, because the film eschews the subjective thoughts and psychological motivations that
provide the bulk of the novel, which has sparse dialogue and consists almost entirely of the
characters lengthy private thoughts in each scene. Comparing the narrative structure or thematic
concerns of the film and the novel can be useful in illuminating different aspects of both, as
Vaida and Riemer accomplish in their analyses. However, the frequency with which critics of
the film turn to Jelineks novel in search of hidden truths behind Erikas oftentimes inscrutable

Mackenzie 67

actions and expressions onscreen is detrimental to the deliberate, productive ambiguities of

Hanekes film. Important questions raised in the films narrative, such as what Erikas motives
and desires are when she places shards of glass in Annas pocket, or how Erika and Walter
experience that violent sex in the conclusion, are nullified by using the novel as a companion
piece to fill in the gaps of the film.12 The ambiguities of the characters motivations and thoughts
are what make The Piano Teacher a truly provocative film; one that challenges typically passive
viewers to take an active role in filling in those gaps.
In spite of their diverse strategies of engagement, Hanekes films are always concerned
with foregrounding spectatorship and its attendant though often overlooked responsibilities. As
Haneke attests in an interview: I try to make anti-psychological films with characters who are
less characters than projection surfaces for the sensibilities of the viewer; blank spaces force the
spectator to bring his own thoughts and feelings to the film (quoted in Vaida 218). Though this
film features superb characters, Haneke refuses to provide clear psychological motivations for
them, and deliberately leaves large gaps in the narrative. Many critics see these blank spaces
as a weakness of the film, and so turn to the novel for answers. In describing the climax when
Walter bursts into Erikas apartment, Peter Brunette writes: Unfortunately, this is another
example of a moment in which the movie, by following the book, demonstrates its courage and
power but also comes off, especially in terms of character motivation, as inexplicable and
illogical, because we arent privy to Jelineks complicated (and often contradictory) verbal
descriptions of the characters mental processes (100). Rather than consider them a weakness,
these inexplicable and illogical moments are the source of the films power because they refuse
12 As

previously mentioned, Anna is not in the novel (she appears to be a combination of multiple female students in
the novel), but the novels version of Erika does dump shards of glass into a young female students pocket. In the
novel, it is made explicit that this is done out of jealousy because Walter was flirting with the girl (see Vaida 212).

Mackenzie 68

to give easy answers (particularly about Walter assaulting Erika) and thus make the content of
the film easily consumable for the viewer.
The editing of the film creates ambiguity by emphasizing that we are not being shown
important details. For example, when Walter is reading Erikas letter filled with her masochistic
desires aloud, periodic cuts to Mrs. Kohut bumbling around outside the bedroom door prevent us
from hearing anywhere near a full account of the precise scenarios Erika wants Walter to
perform. As Walter humorously points out before he starts reading, it is a very long letter, and
we certainly do get the gist of it, but the gaps underline the ambiguity of the films crucial
penultimate scene when Walter returns to assault Erika. In that scene, Walter quotes lines from
her letter that we never heard him read aloud before, reminding us of how much of the letter we
missed and how little we truly know about the desired parameters of this violent encounter. This
leads us to the most provocative question raised by the films ambiguity: When Walter
sadistically rapes Erika, has he rendered her powerless, or has she successfully manipulated or
recruited him into acting out a violent sexual fantasy of hers, demonstrating the omnipotence of
her masochism? (Ravishment is the preferred term in BDSM culture for rape fantasies, in order
to distinguish between the consensual fantasy and the reality of rape.)
Another frequently cited piece of evidence for Erikas supposed sadism is that she takes
obvious pleasure in humiliating several young students (Brunette 93). While teaching students,
Erika is often blunt or outright cruel in her critiques, but the conclusion that she takes obvious
pleasure from this is questionable, just as it would be difficult to claim that she obviously does
not. In truth, there is nothing self-evident about Erikas pleasure or displeasure throughout the
film: she is resolutely expressionless in almost every scene. She could very well be taking great

Mackenzie 69

pleasure in humiliating students, but Erikas emotions are always difficult to interpret. This is
particularly true in her sexual encounters, in which Erikas face is blank, she is usually
completely silent, and her entire body seems frozen in position. When she goes to the private
porn booth, Erika sits perched on the chair, breathing into a used tissue; the most we see is that
her eyes flutter more than usual, the rest of her body resembles a statue. When Walter is reading
Erikas letter full of her sexual desires, she sits frozen and silent on the bed; even when he starts
to massage her breast, she does not react, though her face suggests deep affect. In the hockey
equipment room where she tries to seduce Walter, she falls to the floor and lies prone, begging
for him to climb on top of her. Given her expressed desires for bondage in her letter to Walter,
Erikas almost complete immobility in all sexual encounters may be a form of self-inflicted
bondage; her silence, a self-inflicted gag.
The ambiguity of Erikas pleasure or displeasure in the film can be seen more broadly as
the continuation of the long history of struggling to portray sexual pleasure onscreen. In her
book, Screening Sex, Linda Williams analyzes the decades-old dilemma of representing female
sexual pleasure and the female orgasm onscreen. Williams cites the mid-century work of
sexologist, Dr. Alfred Kinsey, as an important step towards debunking many of the myths about
female pleasure, one of which was the assumption that sexual pleasure is visually apparent on a
persons face. Kinsey wrote:
Prostitutes who attempt to deceive (jive) their patrons, or unresponsive
wives who similarly attempt to make their husbands believe that they are
enjoying their coitus, fall into an error because they assume that an
erotically aroused person would look happy and pleased and should smile

Mackenzie 70

and become increasingly alert as he or she approaches the culmination of

the act. On the contrary, an individual who is really responding is as
incapable of looking happy as the individual who is being tortured (quoted
in Williams, Screening Sex 162).
Kinseys simile is apt for discussing Erikas painful pleasure, since visually depicting
masochistic pleasure is another steep challenge in screening sex. One of the greatest
misconceptions about masochism is that pleasure in pain should be visibly apparent; the belief
that when a masochist is whipped they smile instead of scream. As Kinsey reported though, even
vanilla (non-BDSM) sex does not lead to visually apparent pleasure, and masochistic sex is no
different. Since critics of the film so frequently turn to literature to support their claims about
Erikas feelings, it is worth noting that in all major masochistic narratives, such Story of O and
Venus in Furs, the masochistic pleasure of the protagonists is almost always revealed through
private thoughts, while outwardly they scream and beg for the maltreatment to stop. This is,
after all, why safe words exist in BDSM culture; pleading and begging for the pain to stop is part
of the fantasy. The critical point is that Erikas complete inertness when Walter ostensibly rapes
her is not, in itself, evidence of her lack of pleasure. The question of Erikas pleasure or
displeasure is another example of the films productive ambiguity, and the onus that it places on
the viewer to consider the various answers and their implications, which leads us back to the
films most ambiguous moment and its most provocative question: is Erika raped or ravished? Is
this scene about patriarchal sadism crushing Erika, or the subversive power of masochistic
pleasure?

Mackenzie 71

Most critics take it as a foregone conclusion that the penultimate scene of the film depicts
Walter raping Erika and destroying her fantasy, but the scene is deliberately filled with
irresolvable questions that problematize this facile conclusion. Even if we concur that Walter
rapes Erika and acts completely outside the dictates and rules of her letter, this lack of consent
does not preclude the possibility of Erika taking masochistic pleasure in her violation. Deleuze
argues that the masochists consent is paramount (the masochistic contract implies ... the
necessity of the victims consent), and that without agreeing to and asking for the torture
beforehand, the masochist will not enjoy being beaten or humiliated (75). However, using one of
the same texts that Deleuze bases his argument on, we can see that the masochists consent is not
an absolute requirement in all cases. In the climax of Venus in Furs, Severin is tied up and
whipped against his will by the sadist, known as the Greek, while his beloved Wanda watches.
In this horrible moment, Severin admits what was most humiliating was that at first I felt a
certain wild, supersensual stimulation under Apollos whip and the cruel laughter of my Venus,
no matter how horrible my position was (150). It is possible that even if Walter sadistically
rapes her, as most critics contend, Erika may still take masochistic pleasure from the attack. She
might thereby undermine his sadistic, patriarchal attempt to violate her.
The even more radical possibility still exists that Walter is not a sadist, but a masochist,
albeit a very conflicted one. When Walter bursts through Erikas door, he tells her he has been
masturbating under her window and that she has perverted him. He angrily asks her, You want
to give everyone your illness, dont you? Not me! Walters subsequent attack can be read as
another of the films instances of masochistic role-switching. Walter vehemently disavows and
escapes his own masochism (Not me!), which was established previously in the bathroom

Mackenzie 72

encounter when he plays the masochist to Erikas torturer. Here, he takes on the role of the
torturer for Erika. Walter quoting Erikas letter to her throughout the encounter, as well as her
lack of any real resistance, allows the possibility that this truly may have been the exact fantasy
she detailed to Walter in that lengthy letter from which we only hear a few brief sentences. In
that letter, Erika specifically explains to Walter that she wants her mother to hear them from the
adjoining room while he tortures her, which is precisely what happens. She tells him to hit her
and to verbally abuse her: Ask me why I dont cry out to mother or why I dont fight back.
Above all, say things like that, so that I realize just how powerless I am. If we read the final
scene when Erika stabs herself after seeing Walter as a sign of her anger or disappointment with
him, it may be that what disappointed her about Walters performance is that when he attacks her,
he chooses vaginal sex and he orgasms inside her, which goes against her evident interest in
unproductive oral sex that never culminates in orgasm. For his part, Walter may be so conflicted
and angry because he also secretly wishes to play the masochist, not the torturer. It is significant
that after this assault, he goes to listen to her performance at the concert, which has already been
established as a metaphor for Erikas public torturer persona that he so clearly enjoys being
subjected to earlier. Erika stabbing herself in the lobby of the concert hall and refusing to
perform may be seen as her finally bringing her private masochism into the public sphere.
Rather than a story about the incompatibility of a sadist and a masochist, the film may in fact be
about the incompatibility of two masochists, both of whom are unhappy playing the role of the
torturer for the other.
The ambiguity of the film, those blank spaces that Haneke refers to, allow for the
radical possibility that the brutal assault is entirely scripted by Erika; that despite appearances, it

Mackenzie 73

is not overwhelming her capacity for pleasurable pain. Surely the final scene, in which she stabs
herself deeply in the shoulder and then briskly exits (not limping or cringing), proves that she
can handle tremendous amounts of pain without even making a sound. In the letter, Erika tells
Walter not to worry about her mothers reaction because she can handle her mother, which is
apparently true. The mother does not call the cops afterwards or report the assault in any way.
When they go to the concert together, the likelihood of Erika having to face her attacker while
the bruises are still fresh on her face does not concern the mother for a moment. There is so
much that is inexplicable about these final two scenes that it is impossible to make definitive
claims about whether this is rape or ravishment; whether Erika is rendered powerless by
patriarchal sadism or her masochism undermines and triumphs over everyone. The viewer fills
in those blanks, so it is troubling that many critics, like Wood, iek, and Vaida, render Erika a
helpless victim by concluding that it is obviously rape that destroys, rather than fulfills, her
deepest fantasies.
What can be concluded is that this film does not necessitate pathologizing Erika, or
viewing her as a deeply traumatized woman (iek, Perverts Guide). Hanekes subtle use of
masochistic aesthetics throughout the film support and legitimize Erikas desires and her mode of
unproductive sex that never really climaxes. Hanekes withholding strategy is found in the
classical music that is always interrupted. The mirroring of Erika and Anna that disrupts the
notion of a purely linear narrative. The framing that gestures towards but ultimately hides
explicit images, all the while occluding the possibility of identifying solely with one character or
another. So many critics assume that masochism, both in the theater and in the bedroom (or
bathroom, as the case may be), is a just passive surrender to another persons power. As a result,

Mackenzie 74

its subversive power is overlooked. The masochist always holds power over their torturer by
virtue of their contract, and the masochists capacity for extreme pain always holds the potential
for subverting sadistic assaults that aim to destroy the victims pleasure. Meanwhile, the
potentially problematic dichotomy of powerful/powerless in a masochistic relationship is
thoroughly undermined by the inconstancy of the roles and attributes of the masochist and the
torturer. At any moment, those roles may reverse, and at any moment, the masochist may be the
most powerful and the torturer powerless. Thus, the act of submission can be an unlikely route
to supreme control. The Piano Teacher unsettles viewers by removing their conventional filmic
anchors, like an easily identifiable protagonist or normative sexuality, but this empowers the
viewer to postulate what the films ambiguous blank spaces contain. The ultimate recognition of
the instability of all the answers and potential positions within the film is precisely why it is such
a powerful and subversive depiction of masochism.

Mackenzie 75

Conclusion
In the final scene of Funny Games U.S., Peter explains the plot of a science fiction film to
Paul. In this fictional film, there are two universes, one real and one fictional. Therefore,
everything is its mirror image. Peter explains, the problem isnt only how to escape the
antimaterial world and go back to the real one, but also how to communicate between the two
worlds. Haneke foregrounds this dilemma of how to effectively communicate between fiction
and reality (communicate with the viewer) in each of his films. In a play on Jean-Luc Godards
famous dictum that cinema is truth twenty-four times per second, Haneke has said that, film
is twenty-four lies per second at the service of truth, or at the service of the attempt to find the
truth. Simply by pointing the camera, a director cannot avoid manipulating the audience to a
certain degree. Hanekes solution to the inescapable lie of cinema is to highlight everything he
does that might manipulate the audience. For example, in Funny Games, Haneke mimics many
of the conventional suspense-building techniques of Hollywood, but then turns the villain
towards the camera, where he points all of these things out to the audience. By alienating the
viewer and revealing the artifice of cinema, Haneke empowers them to be critical viewers who
can draw their own conclusions to the problems he presents. As I have argued in the preceding
two chapters, this relationship to the self-aware viewer is best characterized as a masochistic
invitation.
In Funny Games, accepting this invitation yields a new awareness of the sadism inherent
in the conventions of filmic violence. This sadism is present not merely in the gory imagery
onscreen, but in the very narrative structures and editing that make violence so easily
consumable. Hanekes Funny Games films are certainly not easy to watch, but this is precisely

Mackenzie 76

their point: violence should never be easy to watch. The focus should be on the lasting effects of
violence, not the thrilling spurts of blood. This is why young Georgies death is entirely
offscreen, while his parentss unfathomable heartbreak is recorded in a frozen ten minute long
take. These twin films demonstrate that masochism is a conscious decision by making the
viewer aware of all of their power, including the power to leave the theater, before inviting them
to relinquish that power so that they can learn something about themselves and the violence they
so readily consume elsewhere. These films thus show that masochism can be a radical path to
freedom from sadistic control.
As in Funny Games, The Piano Teacher demonstrates masochisms capacity to
undermine sadistic assaults. The Piano Teacher does more than this though, as it also highlights
the radical instability of roles within the masochistic dynamic. Despite the fantasy of strict
adherence to rules, the relationship between the masochist and their chosen torturer is filled with
uncertainties and ambiguities. This is reflected thematically in the film through the ambiguities
of the narrative. The constant role-switching and the shifts in power and control between those
roles undermine any attempts to definitively decide who is in control. This is why the sadist and
the masochist can never truly be paired together. The sadist is always in control. The masochist
is endlessly oscillating between positions of power and vulnerability. Unlike the certainty of
sadism, masochisms instability makes it impossible to locate it within normative societal
structures as so many critics attempt to do. Masochism cannot accurately be figured as a
surrender to patriarchal society, or the power dynamics of capitalism, or the active/passive
dichotomy of heteronormativity, because masochism is so precarious at all times. The Piano
Teacher demonstrates that masochism simultaneously offers supreme power and utter

Mackenzie 77

submission, all of which is steeped in a cloud of fantasy that makes determining which is which
all but impossible.
Masochism is not a passive fall into the dull, trance-like state that Brecht bemoans in his
theory of theater. It is an active, conscious decision, and it is this active nature of masochism
that further accounts for its clash with sadism. While it may be too simplistic to think of them as
opposites, they are aesthetically competitive impulses, and that competition stems from the
essential active impetus behind both. Hanekes Funny Games films and The Piano Teacher
encourage and legitimize such active masochism on the part of the viewer. The viewer is never
forced into this position. Rather, Haneke extends an invitation to engage critically with the film
and its characters. This is the defining quality of his films, and it demonstrates that despite the
disadvantage the rule-abiding masochist may face against sadistic cruelty, the masochistic
aesthetic can successfully contain and subvert even the most sadistic impulses.

Mackenzie 78

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