The Man Who Laughs (1928)

Originally posted to Facebook on 8/19/2018

Our eighth film from 1928 was The Man Who Laughs, an American film with a German director and leading man in Paul Leni and Conrad Veidt, respectively. This is the first film we've seen directed by Leni, and the second time we've seen Veidt, after 1920's The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. This is also the first time we've seen Mary Philbin, Veidt's costar.

Veidt plays Gwynplaine, the son of a nobleman who is murdered for political reasons at the beginning of the film. Gwynplaine, then a child, is mutilated so that his face is formed into a permanent grin. He ends up joining a traveling theatrical troupe, and when we see him as an adult, he is in a romantic relationship with a blind girl name Dea -- played by Philbin -- whom he had discovered as a baby.

Veidt's appearance famously inspired the look of the Joker, but the two characters are not similar at all from a dramatic perspective. Gwynplaine is actually remarkably well-adjusted, given the circumstances -- though he is anxious and ambivalent about his relationship with Philbin, feeling that she only loves him because she is unable to see his disfigured appearance. Dea is written and played as a saint, resulting in a rather static performance. Though Philbin was an established star, it's hard to imagine what she could have done to make this role more dynamic. Much more interesting is the role played by Olga Baclanova, the Duchess who has inherited Veidt's father's land, and who is in jeopardy of losing it once Gwynplaine's existence comes to light. She plays the role as hedonistic, threatened, and eventually desperate.

This was another Movietone release, meaning that we heard the actual score that was released at the time. Like Sunrise, there were actual wisps of human speech on the soundtrack -- crowd noises and such -- and in one scene, unprecedented so far in this project, Gwynplaine's name is actually heard being called, though it isn't synchronized or tied to any particular person.

Though this is often categorized under the rubric of German expressionism transplanted to America -- much like Sunrise -- it actually seems closer to the gothic over-the-top films of Lon Chaney -- because of its lurid nature, and its focus on disfigurement and the inner lives of those afflicted. So it was not surprising to me that Lon Chaney had been offered this role, but for scheduling reasons hadn't been able to accept. And it is very easy to imagine him in this film; though Veidt does a good job, you could easily see Chaney's intensity and charisma dramatically elevating the role -- but perhaps at the expense of its relatability.

Next week we watch Lonesome, our ninth film from 1928, which will be the first time in this project that we've heard synchronized sound in a commercial feature film. The list, as always is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920)

Originally posted to Facebook on 1/13/2017

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari was our second film from 1920, and, I think, our first German feature. It was also the first feature in this project that I had actually seen before in its entirety. It is, of course, famously bizarre and unsettling, with strange sets, slanted doors and windows, odd furniture, and ostentatiously unrealistic painted backgrounds. The only feature we’ve seen that is even close to this film’s artificiality is 1918’s The Blue Bird.

The plot concerns the hero, played by Friedrich Feher, who tries to prevent a sleepwalker named Cesare (played by Conrad Veidt) from terrorizing the city, at the direction of Dr. Caligari (Werner Krauss), especially after his friend (Hans Heinrich von Twardowski) and girlfriend (Lil Dagover) become targets.

So much has been said and written about this film that I’m not sure I have much to add. I think it largely lives up to its reputation; the acting is sometimes overwrought, and not every eccentricity pays off, but cumulatively it does capture a strange dreamlike state. The ending still feels like a mistake to me, but Ben did not anticipate it and I could hear him puzzling it out as he started asking questions while the film wound down. He brought it up a few times subsequently too -- so I guess it still has a certain power to fresh eyes. (Though on the flip side, the kids also noticed that Dr. Caligari was wearing white gloves, and for a while were reading the title cards in a Mickey Mouse voice, until I suggested that perhaps the joke had worn out its welcome.)

Next week we’ll watch our third film from 1920: The Penalty, with Lon Chaney. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT