The Hands of Orlac (1924)

This is, surprisingly given my somewhat limited experience of silent cinema, the third time I've blogged a film by Robert Wiene. Although, strictly speaking, an Austrian film, with  Wiene and a starring performance from Conrad Veidt this is a somewhat well-known example of German Expressionist cinema, and would go on to inspire a dizzying number of remakes.

The Expressionist sets are less overt than in The Cabinet of Dr Caligari, but the film is drenched throughout in deep emotional passion- much of which is erotic- which is subtly inferred by sets, lighting and cinematograpy and not-so-subtly conveyed through the far from naturalistic style of acting.

The film is over-long and drags in places, but it is difficult to pass judgement on this; the version we see today, in the reverse of the usual situation with silent cinema, is an extended version. Certainly, though, the central decision to replace concert pianist's hands, following his train accident, with those of a supposed murderer feels rushed to the point of elision. Why those hands in particular? Furthermore, even in an age before a basic heath service, surely Paul Orlac could claim some sort of insurance or similar to avoid penury? Either way, this part of the plot feels unconvincing. But on the other, er, hand we have a very clever ending and a touching (and sexualised) relationship between the protagonist couple. It's also refreshing, and effective, that the obvious option of having the hands make Orlac become a murderer is avoided, despite some misdirection, and the film is essentially psychological- and all the better for it.

There's a lot to like about this film and it's main fault, that it is over-long, is a result of modern re-editing. Alas, Wiene died in 1938, so a Director's Cut will not be forthcoming, but the film is nevertheless in the public domain and easy to find online.

Genuine (1920)

I blogged The Cabinet of Dr Caligari a scary number of years ago. It's a film that has lingered in the memory, both because of its extraordinary Expressionist visual style and the creepy effectiveness of the story. Is this, Robert Wiene's much less famous follow-up from later in the same year, and now a hundred years old, in the same league?

Well... no. That's not to say there isn't much that's visually impressive. Not all the sets are in the Expressionist style here- there seems to have been a compromise arrangement with realism- but there's lots to admire, not to mention a great deal of nightmare fuel. The facial expressions of both Lord Melo and the creepily moustachioed barber are enough by themselves to cause sleepless nights, but the central feature of Melo's house is a rather noticeable skeleton with a clock in its face, reminding us that this is the age of Surrealism. There's also a very strikingly dishevelled block pyramid, like a kind of uneasy proto-Pompidou Centre.

But aside from the visuals, and the strikingly modern, or more likely universal, sexuality of Genuine herself, this isn't much of a story. Essentially, the priestess of some vaguely non-European is bought in a slave market and ends up as the plaything of a modern aristocrat in a generic European country. And she uses her deadly feminine wiles as a vamp, or succubus, or what ou will, to control young and impressionable men. Murder, love triangles and tragedy unfold with a certain inevitability. It's all a bit ho-hum, not to mention the gender and post-colonial questions it raises-mthis is 1920, the height of colonialism although Germany lost its colonies in last year's Treaty of Versailles, and the only Black actor, in a vaguely stereotypical role, is from German Kamerun.

Despite this, though, the visuals are fascinating and it's worth a look. After years of the film being incredinbly hard to see in full, it's now available on YouTube in all its 88 minutes.

Das Cabinet Des Dr. Caligari (1920)

“…”

Well, that was interesting. It’s not the first time I’ve seen this, and not the only silent film I’ve ever seen. But I haven’t seen all that many, and it’s many years since I last saw this. I found it very, er, visual (duh!) and hard to follow the plot at times; all these young grey besuited men look the same!

Still, I love the overall look. The tint is very noticeable, and so is the over-the-top acting style, much as this seems effective and even necessary, given the lack of dialogue and the practical restrictions on how many captions you can have. And aren’t the captions on screen for just aaages? Some of us can read perfectly well, you know.

It’s fascinating to think this was made in 1919 and 1920, in the early days of the Weimar Republic and just after Germany (and indeed all of Europe and much of the world) had experienced a rather traumatic four years. It’s tempting, but possibly unwise, to read all sorts of things into the style and themes of the film because of this. I shall tread carefully, as I’ve deliberately not researched much about the film’s background so as to come to it fresh.

We start with a framing sequence as our narrator, Francis (why not Franz?) relates the bulk of the film to us. I know I’m always banging on about unrealistic narrators, but the expressionist style of the film is in hindsight a bit of a clue that all may not be as it seems. I like the spotlight technique that often opens and closes scenes, drawing our eye to things that the director wishes to highlight. And the expressionist style is fantastic. All of the buildings in the film are grotesquely distorted, and remind me very much of the sort of paintings Picasso was doing at the time. This is nicely alienating, and gives us what turns out to be a highly appropriate dreamlike quality. There are lots of nice stylistic touches; it’s noticeable that the town clerk, the police, and officialdom generally, are seated on massive tables that completely dwarf the mere mortals who are our protagonists.

More interestingly, though, this is a total rejection of realism. I know this is another thing I keep banging on about, but in the best possible way everything looks more like a theatre set than reality, and the effect of this is heightened by the fact that the camera never, ever pans; the effect really is that of looking at a dressed theatre stage. And, interestingly, to compensate for the lack of any movement by the camera, we get a great sense of depth on screen, with corridors, roads and crowds stretching in front of us.

The whole set-up with Caligari and Cesare is an historical curiosity these days- this sort of travelling freak show is very much a thing of the past, and it’s strange to imagine people queuing up for something as random as a somnambulist! Unfortunately, the plot is agonisingly slow, slower than I remember from other silent films I’ve seen- is this because it’s an early film? Does the storytelling get pacier throughout the ‘20s? It’ll be interesting to find out.

I was particularly struck by the scene where Cesare fails to stab Jane; he looks so Goth it’s unbelievable. It’s like a member of the Misfits nearly sixty years early. In fact, is it just me who’s reminded of a particular chap in the background to the video for Marilyn Manson’s version of Tainted Love? Jane is unbelievably sexy, by the way. Then again, all women in silent films are unbelievably desirable.

The bit where Caligari is “revealed” to be the director of the madhouse is agonisingly slow; exposition scenes are not pleasant to sit through when it means reading a series of captions which are on screen for what seems like minutes! I love the twist ending, though; it rather cleverly puts the dreamlike quality of the film in quite a different light.