Originally posted to Facebook on 10/28/2018
Michael was a return to 1924 for us, our sixth film from that year. It stars Walter Slezak, Nora Gregor, and Benjamin Christensen, and is directed by Carl Theodor Dreyer, who also directed 1928's The Passion of Joan of Arc. Interestingly it was co-written by Thea von Harbou, who is most famous for co-writing numerous films with her then-husband Fritz Lang, many of which we've seen earlier in this project.
This movie's plot concerns a love triangle between the three leads -- Christensen playing a much-older famous artist, who treats Slezak as his muse -- with Slezak eventually moving on to a Countess played by Gregor. This film is notable for being a very early example of a film centered on a gay relationship, though it is ambiguous on that point until well into the film. Slezak looks quite different than he did as a character actor in Hollywood decades later, and is well cast as the handsome but callow center of the love triangle. The triangle plays out rather straight-forwardly, with Christensen fully emotionally invested in Slezak, and Slezak doing as he pleases. There is another love triangle as well -- in a subplot that is extraneous to the main plot, but thematically linked. The film is a bit slow-moving, and Dreyer is clearly trying to capture a certain kind of intensity of emotion -- though in a less extreme manner than in Joan of Arc.
The movie is most closely aligned with Christensen, with Slezak receiving a much less in-depth characterization, and Gregor's part even more cursory. Christensen's forbearance is martyr-like to an almost comical Giving-Tree-like extreme. In the end I think the movie finds Christensen's behavior admirable, casting it as some kind of high-minded true love, which is in keeping with the romanticism for which the film is so evidently aiming. Still, I think there might have been room for a slightly larger tinge of cynicism even within that approach.
Next week we continue our revisiting of a few earlier films before moving on to 1929, watching 1925's Maciste in Hell, which stars one of the secondary characters from 1914's Cabiria. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Showing posts with label Thea von Harbou. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Thea von Harbou. Show all posts
Sunday, June 23, 2019
Wednesday, February 20, 2019
Metropolis (1927)
Originally posted to Facebook on 12/12/2017
We skipped ahead with this film, seeing 1927's Metropolis a week after seeing our first film from 1925, because it happened to be showing on the big screen at the Alamo. Unlike the only previous silent film we'd seen in a theater (1928's Speedy), there was no live band, only a pre-recorded score.
Like last week's Battleship Potemkin, this film had been on my radar to see for half-a-lifetime -- and in this case it appears that it was actually a lucky thing that I held off, because, due to successive discoveries of old prints, only in the last decade has it been available in anything near its originally released length of two and a half hours.
I should say at the outset that it is immediately obvious why this is considered a classic. All four of the previous Lang / Harbou films we've seen have been innovative and imaginative in some fashion, but this one most strongly combines ambition and focus.
The plot pits those who dwell above ground against a working class living below ground. It seems as though some aspects of this might have been inspired by Wells' Time Machine, though the analogy is not exact. The protagonist, played by Gustav Fröhlich, is the city leader's son, and during the movie he gradually comes to understand the foundation of his and his father's position. Without giving away too much, he encounters a saintly spiritual leader of the underground workers, played by Brigitte Helm, an insane scientist played by Rudolf Klein-Rogge, and an evil robot that Klein-Rogge creates, which is given Helm's appearance.
I think I've used the phrase feverish to describe a number of silent films -- and I think that is indeed one of the few advantages the best silent films have over their sound counterparts -- the focused emotional intensity that can sometimes be invoked by music and images uninterrupted by dialog. In Metropolis that is played out in a literal fever dream that Fröhlich has midway through the film, which mixes a montage of actual plot events with fantastical images, including statues of the seven deadly sins coming to life. After this sequence, I whispered to Alli, "Now the crazy part begins." She laughed (or pretended to), but it is a testament to the film that there were indeed impressive and iconic set pieces yet to come.
One could nitpick individual scenes and choices, but there are only two things that I think are worth singling out. First, the tentative and muddled politics. The main thematic driver of the film is the separation between the working and managerial classes, which would, one would think, tilt it towards a Marxist viewpoint. But, if so, it lacks the courage of its convictions, and is as unlikely to please Marxists as capitalists, because, while it singles out class struggle as the city's key flaw, it suggests no need for any great structural changes -- but instead that there be -- somehow -- a bond of affection between the two classes. I would have preferred either less overt politics or politics I oppose rather than this kind of weak tea. The second flaw, is, I think, in the male lead. Fröhlich is not actively bad, but is a little muted and not quite charismatic enough to carry the film, and suffers by comparison to Helm and Klein-Rogge. We have of course seen Klein-Rogge's charisma in several films now, and Helm -- while she occasionally overplays the counterpoint between her dual roles -- is at least always interesting.
Next week we return to 1925, our second film from that year being The Big Parade, the WWI drama starring John Gilbert. The link, as always is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
We skipped ahead with this film, seeing 1927's Metropolis a week after seeing our first film from 1925, because it happened to be showing on the big screen at the Alamo. Unlike the only previous silent film we'd seen in a theater (1928's Speedy), there was no live band, only a pre-recorded score.
Like last week's Battleship Potemkin, this film had been on my radar to see for half-a-lifetime -- and in this case it appears that it was actually a lucky thing that I held off, because, due to successive discoveries of old prints, only in the last decade has it been available in anything near its originally released length of two and a half hours.
I should say at the outset that it is immediately obvious why this is considered a classic. All four of the previous Lang / Harbou films we've seen have been innovative and imaginative in some fashion, but this one most strongly combines ambition and focus.
The plot pits those who dwell above ground against a working class living below ground. It seems as though some aspects of this might have been inspired by Wells' Time Machine, though the analogy is not exact. The protagonist, played by Gustav Fröhlich, is the city leader's son, and during the movie he gradually comes to understand the foundation of his and his father's position. Without giving away too much, he encounters a saintly spiritual leader of the underground workers, played by Brigitte Helm, an insane scientist played by Rudolf Klein-Rogge, and an evil robot that Klein-Rogge creates, which is given Helm's appearance.
I think I've used the phrase feverish to describe a number of silent films -- and I think that is indeed one of the few advantages the best silent films have over their sound counterparts -- the focused emotional intensity that can sometimes be invoked by music and images uninterrupted by dialog. In Metropolis that is played out in a literal fever dream that Fröhlich has midway through the film, which mixes a montage of actual plot events with fantastical images, including statues of the seven deadly sins coming to life. After this sequence, I whispered to Alli, "Now the crazy part begins." She laughed (or pretended to), but it is a testament to the film that there were indeed impressive and iconic set pieces yet to come.
One could nitpick individual scenes and choices, but there are only two things that I think are worth singling out. First, the tentative and muddled politics. The main thematic driver of the film is the separation between the working and managerial classes, which would, one would think, tilt it towards a Marxist viewpoint. But, if so, it lacks the courage of its convictions, and is as unlikely to please Marxists as capitalists, because, while it singles out class struggle as the city's key flaw, it suggests no need for any great structural changes -- but instead that there be -- somehow -- a bond of affection between the two classes. I would have preferred either less overt politics or politics I oppose rather than this kind of weak tea. The second flaw, is, I think, in the male lead. Fröhlich is not actively bad, but is a little muted and not quite charismatic enough to carry the film, and suffers by comparison to Helm and Klein-Rogge. We have of course seen Klein-Rogge's charisma in several films now, and Helm -- while she occasionally overplays the counterpoint between her dual roles -- is at least always interesting.
Next week we return to 1925, our second film from that year being The Big Parade, the WWI drama starring John Gilbert. The link, as always is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Monday, February 18, 2019
Die Nibelungen: Kriemhild's Revenge (1924)
Originally posted to Facebook on 10/5/2017
Our fourth film from 1924 was Die Nibelungen: Kriemhild's Revenge, the follow-up to Siegfried, again directed by Fritz Lang and written by Thea von Harbou. It takes place shortly after the previous movie, and stars Margarete Schön as Kriemhild. Most of the other cast also carries over from the previous movie, including Theodor Loos as her brother King Gunther, and Hans Adalbert Schlettow as his advisor Hagen Tronje. One addition to the cast is Attila the Hun, played by Rudolf Klein-Rogge, who also played the title character in Dr. Mabuse. Early in the film Kriemhild agrees to marry Attila, with the intent of using him to seek her revenge. Once in his kingdom, she conspires to invite her brother and his retinue to visit. The conflict escalates once they arrive, and Gunther and Hagen Tronje are eventually besieged, surrounded in a dining hall by Attila's army. This film is much more focused and intense than the previous film -- there are no dragons or subterranean treasure hordes -- and, I think, it is better for that single-mindedness. Schön does not give a particularly varied performance, but she is a strong and forceful presence, unlike the previous film where she largely played a more supporting role to Siegried. It must be said too, that, unlike the previous film, in which Siegfried was represented as more or less heroic, in this film Kriemhild is depicted as obsessed and borderline unbalanced; she is clearly the protagonist, but she is not shown entirely sympathetically.
The movie does, though, have some of the same questionable markers of German nationalism as the previous film. The Huns, for instance, are portrayed as essentially subhuman, which is probably the film's deepest flaw. Klein-Rogge, in fact, wears so much make-up for his depiction of Attila that I did not recognize him until I looked the movie up later on IMDB.
For our next film we return to 1922, for our sixth and final film from that year: When Knighthood was in Flower, our first film starring Marion Davies. We watched this one out of order because it was recently restored using a kickstarter campaign, and did not arrive until we had finished all of the other 1922 films (and the 1923 films as well.) The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT.
Our fourth film from 1924 was Die Nibelungen: Kriemhild's Revenge, the follow-up to Siegfried, again directed by Fritz Lang and written by Thea von Harbou. It takes place shortly after the previous movie, and stars Margarete Schön as Kriemhild. Most of the other cast also carries over from the previous movie, including Theodor Loos as her brother King Gunther, and Hans Adalbert Schlettow as his advisor Hagen Tronje. One addition to the cast is Attila the Hun, played by Rudolf Klein-Rogge, who also played the title character in Dr. Mabuse. Early in the film Kriemhild agrees to marry Attila, with the intent of using him to seek her revenge. Once in his kingdom, she conspires to invite her brother and his retinue to visit. The conflict escalates once they arrive, and Gunther and Hagen Tronje are eventually besieged, surrounded in a dining hall by Attila's army. This film is much more focused and intense than the previous film -- there are no dragons or subterranean treasure hordes -- and, I think, it is better for that single-mindedness. Schön does not give a particularly varied performance, but she is a strong and forceful presence, unlike the previous film where she largely played a more supporting role to Siegried. It must be said too, that, unlike the previous film, in which Siegfried was represented as more or less heroic, in this film Kriemhild is depicted as obsessed and borderline unbalanced; she is clearly the protagonist, but she is not shown entirely sympathetically.
The movie does, though, have some of the same questionable markers of German nationalism as the previous film. The Huns, for instance, are portrayed as essentially subhuman, which is probably the film's deepest flaw. Klein-Rogge, in fact, wears so much make-up for his depiction of Attila that I did not recognize him until I looked the movie up later on IMDB.
For our next film we return to 1922, for our sixth and final film from that year: When Knighthood was in Flower, our first film starring Marion Davies. We watched this one out of order because it was recently restored using a kickstarter campaign, and did not arrive until we had finished all of the other 1922 films (and the 1923 films as well.) The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT.
Die Nibelungen: Siegfried (1924)
Originally posted to Facebook on 9/26/2017
Die Nibelungen: Siegfried was our third film from 1924, and also our third directed by Fritz Lang, written, like his previous films, by his wife Thea von Harbou. We've watched a fair number of German films from the 1920s over the last year, and I think it is not simply a post-hoc observation that their intense and often fantastical tenor reflects to some extent the turmoil in post-war Germany. Still, it is hard to know what to make of the fact that this particular film was a favorite of Hitler's, especially since there are elements of the film where one can understand why that might be the case. Its hero, for instance, physically resembles the Nazi ideal, and the film has a strong strain of German nationalism, and even opens with a title card reading "Dedicated to the German People."
But whatever baggage this film carries, it is the first time in this project that we've seen this kind of high fantasy. It could not be more different than the previous film we saw directed by Lang, 1922's Dr. Mabuse. That film was "modern" and cynical; Siegfried is mythological and largely sincere. Siegfried himself, the protagonist, is played by Paul Richter, who also had a prominent part in Dr. Mabuse. Within the first thirty minutes he slays a dragon, and discovers a strange dwarf-like race who possess a magical treasure hoard. The dragon is especially noteworthy; it is essentially a large puppet -- Henson-ish, but less whimsical. It of course pales beside modern digital effects, but is unlike anything we've seen previously. It noticeably does not move much from its initial location, but otherwise stretches its neck and tail, and bends down to drink. Siegfried attacks it with surprisingly little provocation -- though perhaps dragons were universally recognized as a public health risk. After killing the dragon, and having a few other adventures, Siegfried eventually ends up at the court of King Gunther, where he petitions the king for the hand of his sister, Kriemhild, played by Margarete Schön. Gunther agrees, but only -- in true fantasy RPG fashion -- if Siegfried will help Gunther with another task.
There were a few things that marred the film for me. One of the more prominent was that Siegfried himself is not particularly sympathetic -- he mocks his followers, and threatens people's lives for trivial reasons. Near the end he becomes sympathetic by default as several characters conspire to betray him, at which point Kriemhild, now his wife, endangers his life on at least two occasions by making implausibly stupid mistakes. Given that the second film in the series is entitled Die Nibelungen: Kriemhild's Revenge, it is probably not a spoiler to reveal that things do not go well for Siegfried as a result.
Next week we will see that second film, marking our fourth film from 1924. This list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Die Nibelungen: Siegfried was our third film from 1924, and also our third directed by Fritz Lang, written, like his previous films, by his wife Thea von Harbou. We've watched a fair number of German films from the 1920s over the last year, and I think it is not simply a post-hoc observation that their intense and often fantastical tenor reflects to some extent the turmoil in post-war Germany. Still, it is hard to know what to make of the fact that this particular film was a favorite of Hitler's, especially since there are elements of the film where one can understand why that might be the case. Its hero, for instance, physically resembles the Nazi ideal, and the film has a strong strain of German nationalism, and even opens with a title card reading "Dedicated to the German People."
But whatever baggage this film carries, it is the first time in this project that we've seen this kind of high fantasy. It could not be more different than the previous film we saw directed by Lang, 1922's Dr. Mabuse. That film was "modern" and cynical; Siegfried is mythological and largely sincere. Siegfried himself, the protagonist, is played by Paul Richter, who also had a prominent part in Dr. Mabuse. Within the first thirty minutes he slays a dragon, and discovers a strange dwarf-like race who possess a magical treasure hoard. The dragon is especially noteworthy; it is essentially a large puppet -- Henson-ish, but less whimsical. It of course pales beside modern digital effects, but is unlike anything we've seen previously. It noticeably does not move much from its initial location, but otherwise stretches its neck and tail, and bends down to drink. Siegfried attacks it with surprisingly little provocation -- though perhaps dragons were universally recognized as a public health risk. After killing the dragon, and having a few other adventures, Siegfried eventually ends up at the court of King Gunther, where he petitions the king for the hand of his sister, Kriemhild, played by Margarete Schön. Gunther agrees, but only -- in true fantasy RPG fashion -- if Siegfried will help Gunther with another task.
There were a few things that marred the film for me. One of the more prominent was that Siegfried himself is not particularly sympathetic -- he mocks his followers, and threatens people's lives for trivial reasons. Near the end he becomes sympathetic by default as several characters conspire to betray him, at which point Kriemhild, now his wife, endangers his life on at least two occasions by making implausibly stupid mistakes. Given that the second film in the series is entitled Die Nibelungen: Kriemhild's Revenge, it is probably not a spoiler to reveal that things do not go well for Siegfried as a result.
Next week we will see that second film, marking our fourth film from 1924. This list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Sunday, February 17, 2019
Dr. Mabuse: The Gambler (1922)
Originally posted to Facebook on 7/1/2017
Dr. Mabuse: The Gambler is our fourth film from 1922, and the second we’ve seen directed by Fritz Lang, after 1921’s Destiny. Like that earlier film it was co-written with Lang by his wife, Thea von Harbou, based on a novel by Norbert Jacques. It was very reminiscent (perhaps consciously) of Louis Feuillade’s French serials that we saw last year: Fantomas (1913) and Judex (1916). All three feature a criminal mastermind -- a vigilante in the case of Judex -- with extraordinary abilities. All are extremely long; Dr. Mabuse is not a serial like the other films, but it is is constructed so that it can viewed in two sittings, and is, in total, approximately four hours. However, there is a much darker edge to this film than the earlier two. The first intertitle reads: “You’re hopped up on cocaine again, Spoerri! You know that I won’t stand for it. If I see you in such a state once more, I’ll kick you out like a dog,” followed by Spoerri saying, “If you kick me out, I may as well put a bullet through my head!” So, issues of whether this is appropriate viewing for a nine-year-old aside, one immediately knows that this is not going to be a light hearted fantasy. Dr. Mabuse (played by Rudolf Klein-Rogge, Harbou's husband prior to Lang) has his fingers in a variety of criminal enterprises, and in addition has the ability to somehow hypnotize people into doing his bidding. I don’t know if the phrase “will to power” is ever used explicitly, but that concept is openly talked about by some of the characters, and the entire film is framed as a battle of wills between Mabuse and a police detective, played by Bernhard Goetzke (who also played Death in Destiny.) Goetzke is an equally intense, brooding presence, though the kids and I did begin to observe midway through that he didn’t seem to be very good at his job; Dr Mabuse maintains the upper hand throughout most of the film.
One surprising aspect of the film was that it explicitly discussed expressionism -- which means that this was a label that was actively being used at the time, and not something that has been applied retroactively. Dr. Mabuse is asked at a party what he thinks of expressionism, and he replies, “Expressionism is just an idle game. But then again, why not? Everything today is an idle game.” That statement, while underlining a certain cynical worldview consistent with the tone of the film, also seems to suggest a certain ambivalence about expressionism, though the film itself is rather firmly in the expressionist camp. The house at which that party occurs is filled with expressionist artwork, and there are a variety of other moments throughout the film which amplify that. One of the more bizarre comes early on when Cara Carozza (a member of Mabuse’s mob, played by Aud Egede-Nissen) is doing an odd dance at a nightclub, during which, midway through, two giant heads with long phallic noses slide out onto the stage and chase her around. I’m not sure why a nightclub would think this would be an appropriate climax to a dance number, but postwar Germany definitely appears to have been a strange place.
Like the earlier serials, this film did start to sag a bit as it wore on, and I expect a shorter version would have been just as effective. I suspect, too, that the length has something to do with why this film isn’t more well known. It has as many memorable scenes and performances as several of the more famous silents we’ve seen, but also has perhaps just a little too much filler.
Next week we see our fifth film from 1922, and our fourth starring Douglas Fairbanks: Robin Hood. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Dr. Mabuse: The Gambler is our fourth film from 1922, and the second we’ve seen directed by Fritz Lang, after 1921’s Destiny. Like that earlier film it was co-written with Lang by his wife, Thea von Harbou, based on a novel by Norbert Jacques. It was very reminiscent (perhaps consciously) of Louis Feuillade’s French serials that we saw last year: Fantomas (1913) and Judex (1916). All three feature a criminal mastermind -- a vigilante in the case of Judex -- with extraordinary abilities. All are extremely long; Dr. Mabuse is not a serial like the other films, but it is is constructed so that it can viewed in two sittings, and is, in total, approximately four hours. However, there is a much darker edge to this film than the earlier two. The first intertitle reads: “You’re hopped up on cocaine again, Spoerri! You know that I won’t stand for it. If I see you in such a state once more, I’ll kick you out like a dog,” followed by Spoerri saying, “If you kick me out, I may as well put a bullet through my head!” So, issues of whether this is appropriate viewing for a nine-year-old aside, one immediately knows that this is not going to be a light hearted fantasy. Dr. Mabuse (played by Rudolf Klein-Rogge, Harbou's husband prior to Lang) has his fingers in a variety of criminal enterprises, and in addition has the ability to somehow hypnotize people into doing his bidding. I don’t know if the phrase “will to power” is ever used explicitly, but that concept is openly talked about by some of the characters, and the entire film is framed as a battle of wills between Mabuse and a police detective, played by Bernhard Goetzke (who also played Death in Destiny.) Goetzke is an equally intense, brooding presence, though the kids and I did begin to observe midway through that he didn’t seem to be very good at his job; Dr Mabuse maintains the upper hand throughout most of the film.
One surprising aspect of the film was that it explicitly discussed expressionism -- which means that this was a label that was actively being used at the time, and not something that has been applied retroactively. Dr. Mabuse is asked at a party what he thinks of expressionism, and he replies, “Expressionism is just an idle game. But then again, why not? Everything today is an idle game.” That statement, while underlining a certain cynical worldview consistent with the tone of the film, also seems to suggest a certain ambivalence about expressionism, though the film itself is rather firmly in the expressionist camp. The house at which that party occurs is filled with expressionist artwork, and there are a variety of other moments throughout the film which amplify that. One of the more bizarre comes early on when Cara Carozza (a member of Mabuse’s mob, played by Aud Egede-Nissen) is doing an odd dance at a nightclub, during which, midway through, two giant heads with long phallic noses slide out onto the stage and chase her around. I’m not sure why a nightclub would think this would be an appropriate climax to a dance number, but postwar Germany definitely appears to have been a strange place.
Like the earlier serials, this film did start to sag a bit as it wore on, and I expect a shorter version would have been just as effective. I suspect, too, that the length has something to do with why this film isn’t more well known. It has as many memorable scenes and performances as several of the more famous silents we’ve seen, but also has perhaps just a little too much filler.
Next week we see our fifth film from 1922, and our fourth starring Douglas Fairbanks: Robin Hood. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Destiny (1921)
Originally posted to Facebook on 4/11/2017
Destiny was our fourth and final film from 1921, and the first we’ve seen directed by Fritz Lang. As with many of his films, it was co-written with his soon-to-be wife Thea von Harbou. Its plot is episodic; the framing story involves a woman (played by Lil Dagover, the female lead from 1920’s The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari) trying to reclaim her fiance, played by Walter Janssen, from a personified Death. In response, Death, played by Bernhard Goetzke, challenges her to save the lives of any of three men who are all fated to die -- which sets up the episodic middle portion of the film. These sequences take place in an unspecified Muslim country, in Italy, and lastly in China -- and the leads in each sequence are played by Dagover and Janssen, in local dress and sometimes make-up, most egregiously in the Chinese segment. Needless to say, these segments mar the film significantly, particularly the Chinese segment, which is intended to be comedic, but is instead cringe-inducing. This is all the worse since the framing story is actually quite strong and atmospheric -- with a weary stoic Death, surrounded by burning candles representing the length of people’s lives. Those sequences, along with some of the darker or more philosophical moments have the makings of a strong, intense film, perhaps somewhere in the same neighborhood as The Phantom Carriage. However the three interludes (or “Stories of the Lights” as they’re identified by the title cards) are not only racist (to varying degrees) but they are also lighter in tone, which saps some of the intensity. Fritz Lang, of course, was famous both for his silent and sound films, and was one of the key links between German Expressionism and noir. I believe we’ll be seeing more of his films along the way, and I hope that I’ll like them more than I liked this one.
Next week we begin 1922 with Sherlock Holmes, which is based on the same play as the 1916 version we saw starring the play’s author, William Gillette. This 1922 version stars John Barrymore, and has some other prominent actors as well. Additionally, I’ve added films from 1923 to our viewing plan, which should take us out through the end of May. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Destiny was our fourth and final film from 1921, and the first we’ve seen directed by Fritz Lang. As with many of his films, it was co-written with his soon-to-be wife Thea von Harbou. Its plot is episodic; the framing story involves a woman (played by Lil Dagover, the female lead from 1920’s The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari) trying to reclaim her fiance, played by Walter Janssen, from a personified Death. In response, Death, played by Bernhard Goetzke, challenges her to save the lives of any of three men who are all fated to die -- which sets up the episodic middle portion of the film. These sequences take place in an unspecified Muslim country, in Italy, and lastly in China -- and the leads in each sequence are played by Dagover and Janssen, in local dress and sometimes make-up, most egregiously in the Chinese segment. Needless to say, these segments mar the film significantly, particularly the Chinese segment, which is intended to be comedic, but is instead cringe-inducing. This is all the worse since the framing story is actually quite strong and atmospheric -- with a weary stoic Death, surrounded by burning candles representing the length of people’s lives. Those sequences, along with some of the darker or more philosophical moments have the makings of a strong, intense film, perhaps somewhere in the same neighborhood as The Phantom Carriage. However the three interludes (or “Stories of the Lights” as they’re identified by the title cards) are not only racist (to varying degrees) but they are also lighter in tone, which saps some of the intensity. Fritz Lang, of course, was famous both for his silent and sound films, and was one of the key links between German Expressionism and noir. I believe we’ll be seeing more of his films along the way, and I hope that I’ll like them more than I liked this one.
Next week we begin 1922 with Sherlock Holmes, which is based on the same play as the 1916 version we saw starring the play’s author, William Gillette. This 1922 version stars John Barrymore, and has some other prominent actors as well. Additionally, I’ve added films from 1923 to our viewing plan, which should take us out through the end of May. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)