Young Törless (1966) Frank and Andrea Van der Snatch survey a small hallway, somewhere near the back of her tiny villa. The walls are decorated with framed media and glamour shots of them as teenagers, newspaper clippings from Hollywood Exposé and the occasional lobby card. Many of the old shots feature Frank and Andrea beaming, at some long forgotten cameraman. These shots make Frank shiver. He fishes the cherry out of his manhattan and frowns at the promotional poster for Monkey Trouble, their first feature together at Uni-Globe studios. Meanwhile, Andrea coos at a hand-toned 8x10 of them cheek-to-cheek. “Look at us back then! To think, that I used to go with Graveyard Frank Trautman!” The coldness that photo hid! Dead eyes in stiff eveningwear! Frank tosses his drink down:“Yes,” he reminisces, “You miss me a lot now that I’m a hot commodity!” What a fool he had been those years ago! But he had forgiven himself long ago. Kids are dumb. At least that was what years of European film had taught Frank. Thanks to the Criterion Collection, Frank could watch years of film school classics in crystal-clear fashion, free of the pops, hisses and scratches rife in your basic art-house videocassette. But if you’ve already shelled out criterion-size prices for the 400 Blows (Truffaut, 1959) and Amarcord (Fellini, 1974) and still want to see some of the “bad boys” of classic cinema, you’ll probably want to check out the new release of Volker Schlöndorff’s haunting masterpiece, Young Törless (1966). Törless is your typical confused, but well to do euro-trash kid, sent off to boarding school at the turn of the century, where he’s more apt to get off on the white flesh of a butchered hog, than the local gals soaping their laundry. But more dammning is his laissez-faire ponderance over the wacky hi-jinx of his classmates, namely the torture and abuse of a Jewish classmate, Basini (who looks and acts much like a pint sized Peter Lorre in M (Fritz Lang, 1931---also on Criterion, but widely available in more affordable formats). It's all philosophical, of course. While Törless crunches candies and debates imaginary numbers with the math prof, the latently homosexual torture-kinder announce that “to rise above the world one must kill off everything that enslaves you to it. Feeling for example…” Törless remains the paralyzed scientific observer, rising only to kill a symbolically tortured mouse and run-off in a pure Antoine Doinel-esque move (400 Blows). What makes Young Törless stand out, however, is its sound design and lighting. Along with a relentless violin score, endless, hollow sfx spotlight poor Törless’ alien boredom with the school around him, from the ticking of the clocking, whining of the trains, ringing of bells---it’s not surprising that a dark excitement in watching the besieged Basini, surpasses any desire to see the punishment stopped. In addition, dramatic lighting further twists the audience’s feelings towards Törless and crew: as Törless debates joining a prostitute, changes in key lighting switches her from slinky voluptuous to hag-like as shadows cross her face and piercing eyes. The crying of a baby completes the scene. Overall, the film is what it portends to be, the forerunner of new German cinema of then 1960s, and one could nitpick the allusions to the Jewish holocaust (namely Basini’s ostracism and its relative acceptance about the school). Schlöndorff, of course, is more famous for his other adaptation, The Tin Drum (1979), also another distressing film, rife with midgets and raw fish. What is a shame is Criterion’s need to place its snobbish price on important films. The Criterion label makes a DVD and easy $30, while Frank’s discount-bin editions of The 39 Steps (Hitchcock, 1935), Straw Dogs (Peckinpah, 1971) and Carnival of Souls (Herk Harvey, 1962) are all quite serviceable without the extra features. Törless, though, is tough to find elsewhere. Still, for a similar Törless-cum-Donnie Darko (Kelly, 1991) feel, check out the Icelandic Nói Albínói (Dagur Kári, 2003), available in most rental stores. In any case, Frank and Andrea’s films are all out of print now. When not playing for the cameras, Andrea used to berate Frank mercilessly. To her lead, he always played the milquetoast friend never geting the girl; she bounced in and out of the trailer of every handsome co-star. But that’s all in the past.Frank soon left Uni-Globe for a three-picture deal as El Huracán, the Latin crime fighter née masked wrestler. He went on to develop a distinguished career, playing kings and heroes on million-dollar budgets. But a pretty face and vapid smile could not sustain Andrea’s fame. Fortune gone, Andrea found a second career in hair and make-up, living vicariously through the gossip of her infamous clientele, and of course, the little shrine to her teenage stardom that kept in the back. “Perhaps,” Frank sneers, “You should have spent some more time appreciating how good I was, dragging you along all the way. And less time fornicating with every other guy on the set.”