\Raise the bar,"" Schultze (Horst Krause) shouts at the train station attendant. As a dumpy, old man squatting on his bicycle, Schultze's complaint seems misplaced in the first five minutes of ""Schultze Gets the Blues,"" a film now showing at the Orpheum Theatre, 216 State St.
The movie, a German import, is complete with English subtitles and enough scenes with beer to seem like a brewery tour. Nominally, it is a comedy, but one on par with ""About Schmidt."" With a melancholic examination of retirement and a solitary journey to an unfamiliar destination, ""Schultze Gets the Blues"" is an enjoyable, if slightly down-tempo, offering.
Schultze and his friends work in a salt mine and are forced into early retirement. They shrug their way into their obsolescence and do not seem to mind. Schultze cleans his garden gnomes, plays his accordion and visits his inattentive mother in a nursing home. When he joins his friends, they argue over chess games (mainly the you-touched-it-you-moved-it rule) and make traditional German music.
One day Schultze tries to take one of his many naps and, unable to do so, turns on the radio. At first there is only news about mineworkers getting cancer that comes in with a bit of static. Schultze adjusts the dial and zydeco music floats through his cramped house. He turns it off and turns away, disgusted by its swift tempo. But he is curious and picks up his accordion to see what he can emulate.
The scene that follows is perhaps the finest time for an accordion on the big screen. Schultze smiles broadly, which is easy for his teddy-bear persona and oversized cheeks. His second chin follows the smile, and the third perks up too. With his hands now dancing across the keys of the accordion instead of strolling over them, Schultze is ready to forego polka for zydeco.
His traditional music club sends him to Texas for a music festival, which Schultze soon leaves to wander about Louisiana. He takes up a boat, floats around the bayou and gets on the dance floor with Cajun ladies. Schultze has undergone a quiet, musical transformation while his friends think he has abandoned them.
""Schultze Gets the Blues"" meanders, taking its time to go from Germany to Louisiana and occasionally getting lost along the way. If it weren't for its endearing protagonist, it might easily be a boring couple of hours. However, Krause pulls himself together with enough awkward moments and belly laughs to keep the plot rolling.
The film also has a way of fusing disparate ideas. Though an old German seems like a misfit in a Louisiana swamp, Schultze's status as an oddity never stops working. Even polka and zydeco, with their link of the accordion, come off as distant brothers instead of complete strangers.
Given the strengths that director Michael Schorr had at his disposal-Krause's kind face, polka meeting zydeco and the easy humor of old men arguing-""Schultze Gets the Blues"" could have been a quiet masterpiece. Instead, Schorr should have listened to Schultze in the first minute, ""Raise the bar."" By Ben Schultz
The Daily Cardinal
""Raise the bar,"" Schultze (Horst Krause) shouts at the train station attendant. As a dumpy, old man squatting on his bicycle, Schultze's complaint seems misplaced in the first five minutes of ""Schultze Gets the Blues,"" a film now showing at the Orpheum Theatre, 216 State St.
The movie, a German import, is complete with English subtitles and enough scenes with beer to seem like a brewery tour. Nominally, it is a comedy, but one on par with ""About Schmidt."" With a melancholic examination of retirement and a solitary journey to an unfamiliar destination, ""Schultze Gets the Blues"" is an enjoyable, if slightly down-tempo, offering.
Schultze and his friends work in a salt mine and are forced into early retirement. They shrug their way into their obsolescence and do not seem to mind. Schultze cleans his garden gnomes, plays his accordion and visits his inattentive mother in a nursing home. When he joins his friends, they argue over chess games (mainly the you-touched-it-you-moved-it rule) and make traditional German music.
One day Schultze tries to take one of his many naps and, unable to do so, turns on the radio. At first there is only news about mineworkers getting cancer that comes in with a bit of static. Schultze adjusts the dial and zydeco music floats through his cramped house. He turns it off and turns away, disgusted by its swift tempo. But he is curious and picks up his accordion to see what he can emulate.
The scene that follows is perhaps the finest time for an accordion on the big screen. Schultze smiles broadly, which is easy for his teddy-bear persona and oversized cheeks. His second chin follows the smile, and the third perks up too. With his hands now dancing across the keys of the accordion instead of strolling over them, Schultze is ready to forego polka for zydeco.
His traditional music club sends him to Texas for a music festival, which Schultze soon leaves to wander about Louisiana. He takes up a boat, floats around the bayou and gets on the dance floor with Cajun ladies. Schultze has undergone a quiet, musical transformation while his friends think he has abandoned them.
""Schultze Gets the Blues"" meanders, taking its time to go from Germany to Louisiana and occasionally getting lost along the way. If it weren't for its endearing protagonist, it might easily be a boring couple of hours. However, Krause pulls himself together with enough awkward moments and belly laughs to keep the plot rolling.
The film also has a way of fusing disparate ideas. Though an old German seems like a misfit in a Louisiana swamp, Schultze's status as an oddity never stops working. Even polka and zydeco, with their link of the accordion, come off as distant brothers instead of complete strangers.
Given the strengths that director Michael Schorr had at his disposal-Krause's kind face, polka meeting zydeco and the easy humor of old men arguing-""Schultze Gets the Blues"" could have been a quiet masterpiece. Instead, Schorr should have listened to Schultze in the first minute, ""Raise the bar.""
