DOI: 10.11647/obp.0510.01 ISSN:

1. From the Monkey Mountains to Pickup: The Secrets of the Haas Brothers

Michael Beckerman

This chapter traces a hidden dialogue between two brothers — the actor-director Hugo Haas and the composer Pavel Haas, murdered at Auschwitz in 1944 — across three decades and two vastly different bodies of work. It opens with Pavel's String Quartet No. 2 ("From the Monkey Mountains"), whose finale is interrupted by a quoted love song commemorating a real affair, establishing a recurring pattern in his output: buried self-quotations, coded texts, and musical allusions (to Janáček, to Czech patriotic hymns, to his own earlier works) that intensify after his 1941 deportation to Terezín, culminating in a cryptic reference within his last performed work, the Study for Strings , filmed for Nazi propaganda months before his murder. The chapter then turns to Hugo, who fled to America and built a low-budget Hollywood career making twelve B-movies, arguing — through close reading of recurring devices across films including Pickup, The Girl on the Bridge, Strange Fascination, The Other Woman, and Born to Be Loved — that Hugo repeatedly and deliberately embedded photographs, music, and biographical fragments of Pavel into his films: a portrait with a mourning ribbon glimpsed at a film's most dramatic turn, a composition titled Fata Morgana echoing his brother's actual song cycle of the same name, a jukebox waltz that triggers his character's inexplicable panic.Reading these embedded references as private memorials legible to essentially one person — Hugo himself — the chapter uses the Haas brothers' parallel practices of concealment as the foundational case for the book's broader "Doctrine of One": the claim that an artwork's most important meaning may exist for an audience of exactly one, and that recognizing this possibility should reshape how seriously we take the intensely personal, uncertifiable readings every viewer or listener brings to art. The chapter closes by asking whether the brothers' shared instinct to hide the essential "in plain sight" reflects circumstance, temperament, or something inherent to how meaning and secrecy coexist in artistic creation.

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