A tranquil nocturne compared to the scherzo standards of German expressionism, Joe May’s little-noir-that-couldn’t Asphalt keeps its bobbed-head firmly to the ground where its most famous contemporaries scale isosceles-triangular angles. The film has no Herculean aspirations, but it exchanges pomp for a much more muted example of zee human condition. Namely, the sexual reaction that drizzling eyeliner tends to set off in the form of bulging calves in knee-high leather police boots.
Metropolis star Gustav Fröhlich plays a traffic cop (do they come any more straight-laced?) who lives with his doting mother and stoically proud papa. His seriousness toward defending the law is put through the sultry gauntlet, though, when he steps into an altercation between a jeweler and a sticky-fingered (or, rather, sticky-umbrella-ed) flappette accused of stealing one of his diamonds. The quintessentially Aryan Fröhlich is so deeply committed to his stature that, once the girl’s guilt is confirmed, he insists on prosecuting even when the jeweler, bedazzled by the girl’s guilty luminescence, refuses to press charges.
Before long, Fröhlich’s cop finds himself acquiescing to more and more of the girl’s groveling requests: “Loan me your handkerchief, mine is all boogered up,” “Please don’t take me to jail until I can gather my papers, which are in my boudoir vanity table,” “Please let me wrap my toes around your boot,” and so on. As predictable as the setup is, Asphalt’s surprising charm is in how much it refutes the general myth that German expressionism is only one Transatlantic cruise removed from the dark, misogynistic heart of film noir.
Betty Amann’s glamorous pickpocket doesn’t provide the impetus for Fröhlich’s downfall so much as meet him halfway. It’s as shocking that she appears to develop real feelings for her would-be easy mark as it is that the forces of “good”—represented by Fröhlich’s “the law is the law” father—turn out to be crassly devoid of empathy. While the beauty of Asphalt is the sort that could’ve launched a million silk-screen ringers if reconstruction-era Germany had a line of Hot Topics, May makes “only skin deep” seem rather a relief. I mean, aside from the fact that the last shot will undoubtedly find its way at some point into a Lars von Trier film.
Image/Sound
Kino has transferred a 2015 2K restoration for this Blu-ray. A fair amount of scratches and other light signs of damage remain and some of the wider shots appear a bit soft. But the image quality is mostly sharp and detailed, with strong black levels, a complete lack of flickering, and an even grain distribution. The sparkle of the cinematography is vividly present, especially in Betty Amann’s huge, sensual eyes and in the light frequently reflecting off of her elaborate dresses and jewelry. On the audio front, the lush orchestral score sounds incredible in 5.1, with the expertly balanced mix lending a nice separation between the multitude of instruments.
Extras
Film scholar Anthony Slide provides a lively and meticulously researched audio commentary that approaches the film from multiple angles. He dutifully fills in the historical backgrounds of the filmmakers and stars of Asphalt and analyzes the characters’ psychologies along with the various aesthetic strategies employed by director Joe May and his cinematographer, Günther Rittau, particularly the use of lighting, changing perspectives, and subjective shots. Most interesting, though, is his in-depth discussion of UFA’s production methods, in which he touches on production design and set decoration in the late 1920s.
Overall
Overshadowed by Fritz Lang and G.W. Pabst’s last 1920s masterpieces, Joe May’s Asphalt finally gets its due with a handsome transfer and an erudite commentary that positions it as one of the last great German silent films.
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