The Illogic of Kassel

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The more avant-garde an author is, the less he can allow himself to be labeled as such. But who cares about that? In fact, my opening sentence is just a McGuffin having little to do with what I intend to relate, though it could be that in the long run all I can tell about my invitation to Kassel and my later trip to that city will eventually have everything to do with that sentence.

As some people know, the best way to explain what a McGuffin is has to do with a train scene: “Could you tell me what’s in that package on the luggage rack above your head?” asks one passenger. And the other responds: “Oh, that’s a McGuffin.” The former wants to know what a McGuffin is, and the other explains: “A McGuffin is an apparatus for trapping lions in Germany.” “But there are no lions in Germany,” says the first. “Well, then, that’s no McGuffin,” replies the other.

The most perfect McGuffin is in The Maltese Falcon, the most misleading film in the history of cinema. John Huston’s movie tells of the search for a small statue, which was the tribute the Knights of Malta paid to a Spanish king for an island. Much is said about it — they never stop talking in the film — but in the end the coveted falcon, for which some have even been murdered, turns out to be merely the element of suspense that has allowed the story to advance.

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