Dir. Robert Wiene
Austria-Germany
Film #14, of Sunday 14th October, for Halloween 31 For 31
The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920) still stands up as one of the
best horror films ever made, 90 or so years later after its conception, above
many others, dwarfing them under its shadow. I first encountered Caligari in my Film Studies classes in
college, part of a brief overview of German Expressionist cinema alongside Nosferatu (1922), and was transfixed by
it. Distorted and abstract sets, less the architecture and setting of its tale
but the cracked worldview of someone’s mind, and human beings portrayed as
unstable forms with stiff, choreographed moments. Years since I first saw Caligari, I have not seen any other of
director Robert Wiene’s films. None of the others to my knowledge are on
British DVD, but with the exception of one whose only full print survives in a single
copy preserved by a Munich film archive, Wiene managed to amass a grand
filmography despite only making films between 1915 and the mid 1930s. This
review starts a slow crawl through them.
The Hands of Orlac, reuniting Wiene with Caligari star Conrad Veidt, Cesare the gaunt and spectre-like somnambulist,
is an adaptation from medical-horror novalist Maurice Renard, whose work I
would gladly investigate after this film. When his hands are removed in a train
accident, concert pianist Orlac (Veidt) has them replaced with surgically
donated ones, only to discover they are those of an executed murderer, causing
him to feel his entire body and mind slowly coil in on itself from revulsion of
the evil within them. More of a psychological thriller than the stereotype of
visceral horror, it nonetheless soaks itself in an uneasy and implied
gruesomeness as the first part plays out like a twisted domestic drama, Orlac
unable to play the piano, even give affection to his wife, as his horror of his
hands’ origin paralyzes him from the outside world. Then his mental coil
tightens when he feels the hands drag him further to commit crime, and the
former owner returns from the grave.
Unlike The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, the sets are more real world settings,
but the use of lighting confirms it as a German Expressionist film. A great
influence on Film Noir of the 1940s onward, Expressionism almost revelled in
darkness to suit its dark subject matters, The
Hands of Orlac almost always set at night or with scenes drowned in
shadows. The other aspect of the subgenre, which remained interlocked with it,
is that moments of extreme emotion are conveyed and acted through unnatural, choreographed
gestures and movements more befitting an avant garde dance piece, completely unrealistic
but amplifying the sense of unknown horror the characters feel or exude. German
Expressionism was a product of `1920s Weimer Germany, a time of great creative
artistic freedom but beset by economic poverty, political strife, and the rise
of the Nazi Party in the 1930s which would destroy the artistry in favour of
anti-Semitic, atrociously kitsch, nationalist art. In such a worldview, the
briefly exiting German Expressionist movement, not just in cinema, attempted to
mirror the reality around them with works as unreal and shadow clogged as it
was, as much as its potential American grandchild Film Noir was a product of
strife and uncertainty after World War II for the Americans.
Veidt, if you take into account
the style of acting in silent cinema and the intentionally artificial movements
of German Expressionism, is brilliant, still as gaunt as in Caligari but allowed to express and twitch
like a man who looks disgusted and horrified at his predicament just from his
eyes. The lack of dialogue except for that shown in title cards does not stop
his fully expressive face from conveying all the emotional weight needed to
show a man growing slowly insane every minute. One scene where he is trapped
and almost on the edge of screaming reminded me of how Edgar Allen Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart would play out
cinematically; Poe would have probably taken a lot from these German
Expressionist films and admired them. Veidt and the cast are helped further by
the art direction and Wiene, the artificial sets of Caligari replaced by claustrophobic or light swallowed areas
onscreen. Even if the use of the camera is usually static, flourishes in the
look of the film help the sense of dread to the scenes, particularly the use of
pushed-back shots of the rooms, further back than the conventional mid-or-stage-set
distance scenes that are usually are in silent cinema, subtle touches adding to
the vivid content.
The only real issue is that its
final act feels forced against the rest of the film. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari has an ending so repeated, even in television
infamously, that the mere suggestion of it instantly destroys the final product
a little or completely for viewers. In most cases, this is a just opinion, as
this type of ending usually is an utter failure on the part of the film, but as
one of the first (if not the first) films to do it, and within the context of its
unstable world, it worked perfectly and actually adds to its power. The Hands of Orlac’s ending sadly feels
a little abrupt and too clean for its own good, not well set up when it would
have worked fine on paper. It does not detract from the rest of the film
however, as it is still rife with a tone and mood that is palpable and
stunning. Its lack of a British DVD release is sad; the kind of film Eureka’s Masters of Cinema label would
be perfect for. Kino Video in the US
of A however, who are specialists in silent cinema even above Criterion in terms of the size of its
back catalogue, did release it on DVD and everyone should look into that
release.
[Additional Note – The version I saw had a score composed by Paul
Mercer. As someone who is not a fan of the conventional piano score synonymous
with silent cinema - generic and not approaching the moods of films at all
unless I was to hear a great musician or view the film in the right context - his
work on the version of the film I saw was wonderful, appropriately sinister
when needed and with a depth suiting the visuals. If silent film scores on DVD
are like this constantly, I will be happy.]
Now its time for some tragic absurdity. When the elevator's full before you get to it, the road is jammed with traffic, and your dinner party trick not only fails but will be something you completely regret afterwards. I'm still waiting for Andersson's next film A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence (2014?), the film to close off the absurdist trilogy that started in 2000, but rewatching You, The Living showed how rewarding it was itself.
