Cinema Film Screening The Naked Man on the Sportsfield

A little-known gem in Konrad Wolf’s oeuvre, this seemingly modest and subtly humorous portrait of a sculptor going about his daily routine in the early 1970s GDR gradually reveals itself as a multilayered reflection on the social function and reception of art.
At nearly forty, the sculptor Kemmel reflects on what he has accomplished, what art in general can accomplish, and how it can engage with Germany’s past. Meanwhile, he goes about his daily routine. Before we even see his face, we see his hands shaping a small clay sculpture. He hauls sacks of material and discovers a special stone in a cemetery. He meets with a group of workers, hoping to portray one of them. The man he chooses is hesitant at first but eventually agrees, and we witness a portrait session. Kemmel writes a note for his son to take to school after he has received a poor grade for a drawing. A young soldier and his girlfriend visit the studio. He takes a trip to his hometown, where he comes up with the idea of creating a sculpture for the local football team. He is given the commission, but the reception of the finished work is not what he has hoped for.
The Naked Man on the Sportsfield could hardly be more different from Konrad Wolf’s previous film and his other portrait of an artist — Goya. Set in the contemporary GDR, Wolf’s masterpiece in disguise moves quietly from episode to episode, encounter to encounter, assembling a subtle, multilayered reflection on the purposes, expectations, and reception of art — and how artists navigate this terrain. Scriptwriter Wolfgang Kohlhaase, collaborating with Wolf for the second time after I Was 19, remarked in an interview that he could not have written the film without meeting the sculptor Werner Stötzer, an artist who was preoccupied with the same questions about art and history that preoccupied himself and Wolf.

While the film was in development, Stötzer was working on a sculpture referencing Auschwitz; a few years earlier, he had created a relief commemorating the Babi Yar massacre. In the film, a photo of Buchenwald concentration camp — located in Thuringia, Stötzer’s birthplace — hangs on Kemmel’s wall, a quiet reminder of similar concerns without becoming the focus.
Kohlhaase also knew Stötzer as a gifted communicator — someone who could connect with people effortlessly and tell a good story afterwards. The spirit of these stories, Kohlhaase’s own knack for natural dialogue and understated humour, as well as a series of very pointed camera shots make this an unexpectedly — if quietly — funny film. Kemmel moves through it unexcitedly, taking each situation as it comes, despite doubts and setbacks: a gentle, not a tormented creative soul. Yet it seems Kurt Böwe, who plays Kemmel and particularly felt unsure about portraying the physical aspects of the role, experienced some torment as he wrestled with Wolf’s characteristic reticence to give direction. A scene would be shot; Wolf would remain silent for a while, then simply say, “You know, Kurt, we’ll do it once more.”
GDR, 1973, colour, 102 min, German with English subtitles
Directed by Konrad Wolf, script: Konrad Wolf and Wolfgang Kohlhaase, dramaturgy: Gerhard Wolf, editor: Evelyn Carow, camera: Werner Bergmann, set design: Alfred Hirschmeier, costume design: Rita Bieler, music (score): Karl-Ernst Sasse.
Cast: Kurt Böwe, Elsa Grube-Deister, Wolfgang Heinz, Ursula Karusseit, Marga Legal, Ute Lubosch, Vera Oelschlegel, Erika Pelikowsky, Jaecki Schwarz, Katharina Thalbach, Martin Trettau, Ursula Werner.

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Host or Publisher Goethe-Institut London