Sigmund Freud was an avid fan of Sherlock Holmes long before criminal psychologists were created to bridge the gap between their two vocations. Detectives and therapists both dig beneath surface impressions to mine deeply buried nuggets of truth though in the world of entertainment the dark ‘glamour’ of murderous psychopathology usually boosts the TV ratings more than the slower-burning mishaps of insecure attachments.
Both professions team up in Vienna Blood. This BBC series pairs a young Jewish psychoanalyst Max Liebermann (played by Matthew Beard) with Detective Inspector Oskar Rheinhardt (Jürgen Maurer) who investigate a series of grisly murders in the grand and genteel capital of the Austro-Hungarian empire in the early 1900s. It showcases the old world of Europe at its complacent peak shortly before the rumbling tectonic forces beneath are unleashed in the destructive madness of world war.
Liebermann’s psychological insights echo the evolving work of his mentor, Freud, which he employs to unmask the real culprits behind the usual suspects. But his phlegmatic response to the pathological instincts of others seems to reflect a resigned acceptance of our weaknesses as a species. His recognition of our animal passions inevitably puts him at loggerheads with a Judeo-Christian world still reeling from Darwin’s religious heresy.
Liebermann’s stubborn, singular character rejects taking the paths expected of him. He’s an existentialist who refuses to play his role in bad faith. He breaks off his engagement with the beautiful Clara with whom he makes a perfect match in the eyes of his doting parents – a scandal he amplifies by instead pursuing a former patient. But he’s no romantic fool. His detached analytical mind seems resistant to the temporary raging of hormones. In the complex and elusive Amelia, he recognises a kindred spirit whom he doggedly pursues despite the obstacles placed between them by society. If everyone else thinks he’s mad, or at least maddening, he acts as if he has no choice.
When he investigates the other-worldly demise of a medium – he unflinchingly pursues a rational explanation while his peers are infected by superstitious doubt. As a doctor, he harms his prospects by specialising in the maligned new science of psychoanalysis, but for Liebermann the authentic life cannot be denied. And by rarely ingratiating himself with others, he has few friends beyond his odd-couple bromance with Rheinhardt. His diffidence perhaps reflects his dispassionate understanding of human nature and a disdain for the soothing blandishments of his peers. But if his manner betrays little passion for his fellow humans, his aesthetic sense finds a contemplative joy in their greatest works. Along with the mysteries of the mind, he loses himself in the solace and beauty of fine music and art.
His empathy towards less privileged minorities is deepened perhaps by the latest convulsions of anti-Semitism with which he and the Jewish community are increasingly confronted. While his family is notionally accepted by society, their cultural difference marks them out as honorary members whose position is conditional on them supporting the status quo. Perhaps this experience helps Liebermann challenge the convenient labelling of a class of ‘mad, bad’ Others from whom we separate our ‘normal’ selves and to whom we deny compassion. For the alleged villains of these pieces are plucked from the ranks of the traumatised, uneducated, impoverished and unloved – scapegoats for the dark and powerful forces which society chooses not to see as the true enemies within.
Liebermann’s wistful demeanour often seems out of sync with the more mercurial emotions of those around him. Perhaps it betrays the curse of knowing too much.