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Die einzelnen Episoden wirken zu krampfhaft, sie versuchen einen ernsten Ton zu verdeutlichen, was leider die wenigen lustigen Dialoge völlig den Wind aus den Segeln nimmt.

Lediglich die damalige Kino-Aufführung war komplett ungeschnitten aufgeführt worden. Ob es sich um deutlichere Erotik -Szenen handelt ist nicht bekannt.

Zum Inhalt springen. Gefällt mir: Gefällt mir Wird geladen Ähnliche Beiträge. Vorheriger Beitrag Unternehmen Feuergürtel Nächster Beitrag Zeit der Geier Josephine Mutzenbacher has been included in several university courses and symposium.

The Viennese a cappella quartet called 4she [52] regularly performs a cabaret musical theatre production based on Josephine Mutzenbacher called "The 7 Songs of Josefine Mutzenbacher" "Die 7 Lieder der Josefine Mutzenbacher".

The show is a raunchy, humorous parody of the novel, set in a brothel, that runs approximately 75 minutes.

Both the original Josephine Mutzenbacher and the two "sequels" are available as spoken word audio CDs read by Austrian actress Ulrike Beimpold:.

Austrian State Parliament Delegate Elisabeth Vitouch appeared for the opening of the exhibit at Jewish Museum Vienna and declared: "Everyone knows Bambi and Josefine Mutzenbacher even today, but the author Felix Salten is today to a large extent forgotten".

There are several English translations of Josefine Mutzenbacher , some of which, however, are pirated editions of each other. When checked against the German text, the translations differ, and the original chapter and paragraph division is usually not followed, except for the edition.

The original novel is divided only in two long chapters, but most translated editions disrupt the text, each in their own way, into 20—30 chapters, sometimes with added chapter titles.

The edition, Oh! Josephine , claims to be "uncensored and uncut", but actually it is incomplete and censored, e. The first anonymous English translation from is abridged and leaves part of the sentences untranslated; the translation by Rudolf Schleifer, however, contains large inauthentic expansions, as shown in the following comparison:.

My father was a very poor man who worked as a saddler in Josef City. We lived in a tenement house away out in Ottakring, at that time a new house, which was filled from top to bottom with the poorer class of tenants.

All of the tenants had many children, who were forced to play in the back yards, which were much too small for so many. I had two older brothers.

My father and my mother and we three children lived in two rooms We also had a roomer. The other tenants, probably fifty in all, came and went, sometimes in a friendly way, more often in anger.

Most of them disappeared and we never heard from them again. I distinctly remember two of our roomers. One was a locksmith-apprentice. He had dark eyes and was a sad-looking lad; his black eyes and lark face always were covered with grime and soot.

We children were very much afraid of him. He was a very silent man, never saying a word. I remember one afternoon, when I was alone in the house, he came home.

I was then only five years old. My mother and my two brothers had gone to Furstenfeld and my father had not yet returned from work.

The locksmith took me up from the floor, where I was playing, and held me on his lap. I wanted to cry, but he quietly told me: "Be quiet, I won't hurt you".

My father was a very poor journeyman saddler who worked from morning till evening in a shop in the Josefstadt, as the eighth district of Vienna is called.

Rich people did live in the outer districts to the north and northwest, but the western and southern suburbs constituted what we called the "workers' ghetto".

There, in gloomy tenement houses about five stories high, lived all the Viennese who were not white-collar workers.

Our tenement building, filled from top to bottom with poor folk, was in the seventeenth district, called Ottakring.

Nobody who never visited those tenement houses can imagine the unsanitary, primitive living conditions under which we spent our childhood and adolescence, and—in most cases—the rest of our poor lives.

My parents, and my two brothers and I lived in a so-called apartment that consisted of one room and a kitchen. That was the size of all the apartments in our building and in most of the other buildings of the district.

Most tenants had a lot of children who swarmed all over the buildings and crowded the small courtyards in the summer.

Since I and my two older brothers made up only a "small" family, compared with the families around us having at least half a dozen brats, my parents could afford to make a little money by accepting roomers.

Such roomers, who had to share our one room and a kitchen with the whole family, were called "sleepers", because the tiny rent one could charge them was for a small, iron folding bed that was placed in the kitchen at night.

I remember several dozens of such sleepers who stayed with us for a while, one after another. Some left because they found work out of town, some, because they quarreled too much with my father, and others simply did not show up one evening, thus creating a vacancy for the next one.

Among all those sleepers there were two who clearly stand out in my memory. We children were a little afraid of him, perhaps because of his blackened face and also because he hardly said anything.

One afternoon I was alone in our place playing with what was supposed to be a doll on the floor. My mother had taken my two brothers to a nearby empty lot that was covered with wild grass and shrubbery where the boys could play, and my father was not yet home from work.

The young sleeper came home quite unexpectedly and, as usual, did not say a word. When he saw me playing on the floor, he picked me up, sat down and put me on his knees.

When he noticed that I was about to cry, he whispered fiercely, "Shut your mouth! My father was the anaemic apprentice of a saddler and worked in Josefstadt, a suburb of Vienna.

We lived even further out, in a tenement building which, in those days, was relatively new. Even so it was crowded from top to bottom with poor families which had so many children that, in summer, the courtyard was too small to contain us all.

I had two brothers, both of whom were some years older than myself, and the five of us, my mother, father and us three kids, lived in one room and a kitchen.

In addition there was always a lodger. Altogether, we must have had fifty of these lodgers. They came and went, one after another.

Sometimes they fitted in well enough, but sometimes they were a nuisance. Most of them disappeared without a trace and were never heard of again.

One of these lodgers, whom I remember particularly well, was an apprentice locksmith, a dark, sad-featured young chap who had tiny black eyes and a face that was always covered with soot.

His appearance, and the fact that he hardly ever spoke a word, made us children really scared of him. I still remember one afternoon when he came home early.

I was about five at the time and was alone in the flat, playing quietly on the floor. My mother had taken the boys on to the common and my father had not yet returned from work.

The young locksmith picked me up from the floor and sat me on his knee. I began to whimper, but he whispered nastily: 'Shut up. Our tenement building, at that time a new one, filled from top to bottom with poor folk, was far in Ottakring.

All of these people had so many children that they over-crowded the small courtyards in the summer.

I myself had two older brothers, both of whom were a couple of years older than I. My father, my mother, and we three children lived in a kitchen and a room, and had also one lodger.

Several dozens of such lodgers stayed with us for a while, one after another; they appeared and vanished, some friendly, some quarrelsome, and most of them disappeared without a trace, and we never heard from them.

Among all those lodgers there were two who clearly stand out in my memory. We children were afraid of him. He was quiet, too, and rarely spoke much.

I remember how one afternoon he came home when I was alone in our place. I was at that time five years old and was playing on the floor of the room.

My mother was with the two boys in Fürstenfeld, my father not yet home from work. The apprentice picked me up, sat down and hold me on his knees.

I was about to cry, but he whispered fiercely, "Lay still, I do you nothin'! From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Redirected from Josefine Mutzenbacher.

Josefine Mutzenbacher Title page from Felix Salten: Man of Many Faces. Riverside Ca. Tohill, Cathal; Tombs, Pete New York: St. Martin's Griffin.

Retrieved on 28 November Jüdisches Museum Wien Press release in German. Archived from the original on 21 April Hitler's Vienna: a dictator's apprenticeship.

Oxford [Oxfordshire]: Oxford University Press. Jewish Museum Vienna. November Archived from the original on 23 October Petersburg, Zurich.

New York: Columbia University Press. Gilman, Sander L. Difference and pathology: stereotypes of sexuality, race, and madness. Ithaca, N. Y: Cornell University Press.

Schnitzler, Arthur Round Dance and Other Plays. Translated by J. Davies, with and introduction and notes by Ritchie Robertson.

Lendvai, Paul Segel, Harold B. The Vienna Coffeehouse Wits, — Felix Salten: Schriftsteller — Journalist — Exilant.

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Lediglich die damalige Kino-Aufführung war komplett ungeschnitten aufgeführt worden. Ob es sich um deutlichere Erotik -Szenen handelt ist nicht bekannt.

Zum Inhalt springen. Gefällt mir: Gefällt mir Wird geladen Ähnliche Beiträge. Vorheriger Beitrag Unternehmen Feuergürtel Nächster Beitrag Zeit der Geier Nonnenfilme der Retro-Ära — von zart bis hart — Nunsploitation.

I distinctly remember two of our roomers. One was a locksmith-apprentice. He had dark eyes and was a sad-looking lad; his black eyes and lark face always were covered with grime and soot.

We children were very much afraid of him. He was a very silent man, never saying a word. I remember one afternoon, when I was alone in the house, he came home.

I was then only five years old. My mother and my two brothers had gone to Furstenfeld and my father had not yet returned from work. The locksmith took me up from the floor, where I was playing, and held me on his lap.

I wanted to cry, but he quietly told me: "Be quiet, I won't hurt you". My father was a very poor journeyman saddler who worked from morning till evening in a shop in the Josefstadt, as the eighth district of Vienna is called.

Rich people did live in the outer districts to the north and northwest, but the western and southern suburbs constituted what we called the "workers' ghetto".

There, in gloomy tenement houses about five stories high, lived all the Viennese who were not white-collar workers. Our tenement building, filled from top to bottom with poor folk, was in the seventeenth district, called Ottakring.

Nobody who never visited those tenement houses can imagine the unsanitary, primitive living conditions under which we spent our childhood and adolescence, and—in most cases—the rest of our poor lives.

My parents, and my two brothers and I lived in a so-called apartment that consisted of one room and a kitchen. That was the size of all the apartments in our building and in most of the other buildings of the district.

Most tenants had a lot of children who swarmed all over the buildings and crowded the small courtyards in the summer.

Since I and my two older brothers made up only a "small" family, compared with the families around us having at least half a dozen brats, my parents could afford to make a little money by accepting roomers.

Such roomers, who had to share our one room and a kitchen with the whole family, were called "sleepers", because the tiny rent one could charge them was for a small, iron folding bed that was placed in the kitchen at night.

I remember several dozens of such sleepers who stayed with us for a while, one after another. Some left because they found work out of town, some, because they quarreled too much with my father, and others simply did not show up one evening, thus creating a vacancy for the next one.

Among all those sleepers there were two who clearly stand out in my memory. We children were a little afraid of him, perhaps because of his blackened face and also because he hardly said anything.

One afternoon I was alone in our place playing with what was supposed to be a doll on the floor. My mother had taken my two brothers to a nearby empty lot that was covered with wild grass and shrubbery where the boys could play, and my father was not yet home from work.

The young sleeper came home quite unexpectedly and, as usual, did not say a word. When he saw me playing on the floor, he picked me up, sat down and put me on his knees.

When he noticed that I was about to cry, he whispered fiercely, "Shut your mouth! My father was the anaemic apprentice of a saddler and worked in Josefstadt, a suburb of Vienna.

We lived even further out, in a tenement building which, in those days, was relatively new. Even so it was crowded from top to bottom with poor families which had so many children that, in summer, the courtyard was too small to contain us all.

I had two brothers, both of whom were some years older than myself, and the five of us, my mother, father and us three kids, lived in one room and a kitchen.

In addition there was always a lodger. Altogether, we must have had fifty of these lodgers. They came and went, one after another.

Sometimes they fitted in well enough, but sometimes they were a nuisance. Most of them disappeared without a trace and were never heard of again.

One of these lodgers, whom I remember particularly well, was an apprentice locksmith, a dark, sad-featured young chap who had tiny black eyes and a face that was always covered with soot.

His appearance, and the fact that he hardly ever spoke a word, made us children really scared of him. I still remember one afternoon when he came home early.

I was about five at the time and was alone in the flat, playing quietly on the floor. My mother had taken the boys on to the common and my father had not yet returned from work.

The young locksmith picked me up from the floor and sat me on his knee. I began to whimper, but he whispered nastily: 'Shut up.

Our tenement building, at that time a new one, filled from top to bottom with poor folk, was far in Ottakring. All of these people had so many children that they over-crowded the small courtyards in the summer.

I myself had two older brothers, both of whom were a couple of years older than I. My father, my mother, and we three children lived in a kitchen and a room, and had also one lodger.

Several dozens of such lodgers stayed with us for a while, one after another; they appeared and vanished, some friendly, some quarrelsome, and most of them disappeared without a trace, and we never heard from them.

Among all those lodgers there were two who clearly stand out in my memory. We children were afraid of him. He was quiet, too, and rarely spoke much.

I remember how one afternoon he came home when I was alone in our place. I was at that time five years old and was playing on the floor of the room.

My mother was with the two boys in Fürstenfeld, my father not yet home from work. The apprentice picked me up, sat down and hold me on his knees.

I was about to cry, but he whispered fiercely, "Lay still, I do you nothin'! From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Redirected from Josefine Mutzenbacher.

Josefine Mutzenbacher Title page from Felix Salten: Man of Many Faces. Riverside Ca. Tohill, Cathal; Tombs, Pete New York: St.

Martin's Griffin. Retrieved on 28 November Jüdisches Museum Wien Press release in German. Archived from the original on 21 April Hitler's Vienna: a dictator's apprenticeship.

Oxford [Oxfordshire]: Oxford University Press. Jewish Museum Vienna. November Archived from the original on 23 October Petersburg, Zurich.

New York: Columbia University Press. Gilman, Sander L. Difference and pathology: stereotypes of sexuality, race, and madness.

Ithaca, N. Y: Cornell University Press. Schnitzler, Arthur Round Dance and Other Plays. Translated by J. Davies, with and introduction and notes by Ritchie Robertson.

Lendvai, Paul Segel, Harold B. The Vienna Coffeehouse Wits, — Felix Salten: Schriftsteller — Journalist — Exilant. Dezember bis März in German.

Wien: Holzhausen Verlag. München: Belleville Verlag. Translated by Ilona J. Helsinki: Books on Demand.

Josefine Mutzenbacher eli wieniläisen porton tarina omin sanoin kerrottuna. Afterword by C. In Ruthner, Clemens; Schmidt, Matthias eds.

Wien: Sonderzahl. Bundesprüfstelle für jugendgefährdende Medien. Page In German. Buchwissenschaftliche Beiträge, 97 in German. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag.

Josefine Mutzenbacher: En wienerhoras historia, berättad av henne själv in Swedish. Sala—Södermalm: Vertigo. Ein Dossier". Page 6.

Josefine Mutzenbacher Teil 3 Video

Josefine Mutzenbacher The original Austrian publication was unillustrated, but April oneil bruce venture later pirated edition from contained black-and-white drawings, entirely pornographic as the text. One afternoon I was alone in our place playing with what was supposed to be Ups in warner robins ga doll on the floor. Ein Dossier". In plain English, even though the contents of Josefine Mutzenbacher are pornographic, they are still considered art and in the process of indexing the book, the Culitos colombianos of freedom of art has to be considered. Riverside Ca. Porr 60 title's similarity to Josephine Mutzenbacher, being only two letters different, is a play on words Japanische pornofilme is not just coincidence. Josefine mutzenbacher teil 3

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