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Once upon a time, movies were silent...but that didn't mean they couldn't be scary. Indeed, two of the great scary films of all time featured "silent screams." So turn off the volume, sit back, and learn about two classic...
(For many horror fans, the beginning of horror and monster cinema began with the classic Universal monster shows—Dracula and Frankenstein—both in 1931. However, the relatively recent discovery and unveiling of a surviving print of the Thomas Edison company’s silent photoplay of Frankenstein, lensed in 1910, demonstrates that horror subjects were present even in the dawn of motion pictures. Indeed, two all-time horror classics were produced in the silent movie era: Nosteratu: A Symphony Of Horror (1922) and The Cabinet Of Dr. Caligari (1919). The first was an unofficial filmic rendition of Bram Stoker’s seminal vampire epic Dracula, a rendition that led to a lawsuit initiated by Mrs. Stoker in the 1920’s, and Caligari is the ultimate tapestry of dark German expressionism on celluloid. For both those who haven’t experienced these silent-but-still-scary horror gems—and for those who have—we present reviews by Bill Chambers and Ted Prigge, two new contributors to HORROR-WOOD. Bill Chambers is a recent graduate from York University's film and video program, currently preparing to put his head on the show-business chopping block as he finishes screenplays he wants to sell. He has been writing reviews for his hometown (Oshawa) newspaper since May of 1996, and posting those reviews onto his website, "Film Freak Central", since May of 1997. Ted Prigge prefers to let his work speak for himself—visit his Webpage. Enjoy!) NOSTERATU: A SYMPHONY OF HORROR A review by Bill Chambers Starring Max Schreck, Gustav von Wangenheim, Greta Schroder, John Gottowt, written by Henrik Galeen, directed by F.W. Murnau. Available in an all new video edition from Arrow Entertainment ($29.95), with an introduction by David Carradine, written and produced by Wayne J. Keeley. F. W. Murnau's career ended sadly and prematurely. The German director of such classics as Sunrise and The Last Laugh died in a car accident shortly after signing a deal to make American pictures at Paramount. Murnau was reportedly a giant man, well over six feet, a towering figure probably incapable of anything but a grand entrance. Which brings us to Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror: surely he felt a kinship with his title character, the looming vampire embodied by intimidating Max Schreck; in one of the most indelible images in film history, silent or otherwise, Schreck rises from his grave, gnarled hands outstretched, and he's so big that part of his head is cropped by the top of the frame.
Arrow Video's digitally remastered version of the classic is something of a mixed-coffin. The cover art features a red-tinted, hairy, goateed vampire staring straight at you, his fanged mouth agape, while the bodies of two sexy, writhing women entice you below. Trouble is, Murnau's monster is pale-faced, bald, pointy-eared, and non-goateed, and there isn't a single sexy, writhing woman to be found in his movie. This sort of misleading packaging makes little sense when one recalls the countless number of ghoulish scenes in the film from which cool cover art could have been extracted. Additionally, notifying the viewer that this is in fact Murnau's film seems like afterthought since his name and the genuine title are written in small print below our goateed vampire. That said, a good mastering job has been performed on the film itself. The original elements are not in the best condition--non-studio silents were unlucky in their preservation—so we're still dealing with a slightly washed out, scratched, jittering image. But at least the day and night scenes are tinted sepia and blue, respectively, especially helpful to an audience who may question Nosferatu's waltzing around during what seems like sunlight (it took a lot of light to expose stock in the twenties). The title cards have been redone, and they are legible, accurate, and digitally altered to flicker--a very nice touch. (Even the opening copyright warning flickers!) The score has been replaced by music from "Type O Negative," a hard-rock group, arguably gothic, and their songs underscore the film nicely--certainly the coolest video a band can ask for. When our hero, Hutter, first steps onto the doomed carriage to Count Orlock's castle, we hear a well-timed "Now you're dead!" from lead singer Peter Steele. David Carradine makes an appropriately vampiric host; he fiddles with a blade and cane while introducing the film. After the feature, which runs about 63 minutes, is included a new music video from "Type O Negative," the black-and-white fang-fest "Black No. 1". Of course, Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror is the main attraction, and while my latest viewing raised questions (Why is the woman called Emily in the title cards but "Mina"--as Bram Stoker called her--in Hutter's letters, for instance), it made me realize how much this movie has inspired and been stolen from. Coppola's 1992 "Bram Stoker's Dracula" owes a great stylistic debt to Murnau's masterpiece, but the one thing it couldn't thieve was the original's abstract charms. This latest incarnation from Arrow will probably- -like the rescored "Metropolis" a few years back--turn a silent film into more palpable entertainment for the latest generation of film freaks. THE CABINET OF DR. CALIGARI A Review By Ted Prigge Director: Robert Wiene, Writers: Han Jonowitz and Carl Mayer. Starring: Werner Krauß, Conrad Veidt, Friedrich Feher, Lil Dagover, Hans Heinrich von Twardowski, Rudolf Klein-Rogge, Rudolf Lettinger. It's amazing how older films like Metropolis hold up today: even when we can do pretty much anything with special effects, films like this still astound us, not just because it's incredible that the filmmakers were able to do such wild things, but also because they just look amazing. What would otherwise be interpreted as "inefficient" by today's standards is labeled as "moody" and "incredible." The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is a simple, subversive film made all the more interesting because of its style, some of which is due to exactly how old it is. For instance, the sets are incredible as they are, but are given an extra eerie tone precisely because of the lack of technology available at the time of its creation. Any film which would use lighting this bright in some cases would be deemed awful and its crew incompetent. But here, it creates a great sense of atmosphere which is unavailable today. Dr. Caligari is also a pretty amazing film, not just be a technological standpoint, but also because the story is so fascinating and creepy. The story deals with a crotchety white-haired old man, Dr. Caligari (Werner Krauß), who gets a booth at a traveling fair to show of a zombie-like somnambulist named Cesare (Conrad Veidt), who has the ability to tell the future to any paying customer. But at night, Caligari sends Cesare out to kill innocent people. One of the victims is a friend of a student named
Francis (Friedrich Feher), Apart from being visually stunning and ultimately engrossing, the film is a protest against the government's attempts to control the population like zombies. Cesare is the representation of society in the film, blindly following the mad Caligari, who's thoughts and orders are totally devoid of contemplation or reasoning. It's a film that is so angry that it's difficult to believe that it was ever given the get-go in the beginning. But, as the story goes, the government interfered with Robert Wiene, the director, who was then forced to tack on a beginning and ending to his film where the entire message was supposed to be reversed. In it, the entire story, which works as angry, perfect satire against the government, is revealed to be a lunatic story by a member of the asylum. But looking back at it today, especially with that final shot, it actually makes the film creepier and scarier. We wonder if the story did or did not happen, and this the fact that we never really find out is even scarier. One of the things I like most in films are when they combine a great stylistic atmosphere and an intriguing story, which holds our attention, and may even carry a strong political message. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is a perfect example of this kind of film. Here's a film which was made when film was still in the pioneer stages, and it takes advantage of everything it has, turning any kind of fault it may have into an advantage. Afterwards, we're left with not only an idea of how many people felt of themselves being a society as well as their government, but we also see some of the best example of style ever put on celluloid. Images like that of Dr. Caligari looking up at Francis midway through the film, and the streets of the city are what remain with us forever. A scene like that where Cesare tries to kill Francis' sleeping fiancée and the following chase are what we'll always remember. And The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is a film which is not only one of the best films of the silent era (or the German Expressionist era), but also one of the best films ever made. Thanks Bill and Ted for your "excellent" retrospectives! Let Renfield add his words of encouragement--these two films are well worth "digging up" and viewing. Remember, though--any screams you hear while viewing them will probably be your own! Cheers! Reviews are copyright property of the authors. |
The plot of Nosferatu is lifted--unauthorized--from Bram
Stoker's Dracula. The British Hutter is an eager real estate man assigned to visit
and discuss future living arrangements with Count Orlock of Transylvania. He leaves behind
girlfriend Emily, only to discover Orlock's secret--he's a bloodsucker--and struggle to
return to England before the nosferatu reaches his lady love. In addition to Schreck's
performance, the cinematography and effects are outstanding.
who becomes obsessed with tracking down the friend's
murderer. When his fiancée (Lil Dagover) is almost killed by Cesare also, the evidence
leads him to Caligari, who, as it turns out, is the director of the local insane asylum.
From here, there's the fantastic finale, and big twist which concludes this film (which is
only about an hour long). This film, along with such films as Georges Melies' Trip to
the Moon, Fritz Lang's Metropolis, and King Vidor's The Crowd, is
heralded as one of the best examples of the silent era, and perhaps the best example of
German Expressionism at its most expressionistic. The sets are some of the best ever put
in a film: every building is designed so it looks crooked, and everything is grand and
wild. The lighting, which would be off today, puts every shadow in the correct place,
giving the film an intense atmosphere. The costumes and make-up, particularly that of
Cesare's, are out of a nightmare, sticking in the mind long afterwards. Some images are
just incredible, such as the look of Dr. Caligari, who is one of the scariest characters
ever put on celluloid.