Review - The Burning Soil

August 6, 2020

The Burning Soil – Germany, 1922

There are many ways to categorize films from the silent period; perhaps one of the most interesting of which has to do with the use of the camera. For much of film’s first two decades, the camera was stationary, sitting atop a tripod, its gaze fixed on a rectangular section of a room or outdoor area. This had to be incredibly limiting to early directors, and I suspect that it was part of the reason that directing received so little respect from early studio heads; after all, the thought likely went, anyone can set a camera in position and yell action. Hollywood legend has it that D.W. Griffith was offered his first directing opportunity simply because he it was felt that he wasn’t photogenic enough to be in front of the camera; he understood the implication and is said to have interpreted the offer as an affront.

F.W. Murnau is often credited with releasing the camera from its sedentary position. While this is not entirely accurate, there is denying the impact of his 1924 film The Last Laugh – after it, there was simply no going back. He followed it up with a series of films that were both visually and narratively fascinating: Tartuffe, Faust, Sunrise, 4 Devils, City Girl, and Tabu: A Story of the South Seas. Along with his earlier masterpiece, Nosferatu,, these are the films that Murnau is primarily known for today.

In 1922, he made four films, an output unheard of today. The most famous of these remains Nosferatu. One, Marizza, called the Smuggler Madonna is mostly lost, and Phantom didn’t work for me all that well. That brings me to The Burning Soil, Murnau’s tale of unrestrained ambition and the destruction that can be left in its wake.

The film begins with the following short description, the disaster of an ambitious man in six acts, and for some time, we are unsure which man is being referred to. We meet Mr. Josef Emmanuel (Eduard von Winterstein), who is seemingly obsessed with a piece of land that he owns called Devil’s Field, a moniker it received due to the superstition that land that cannot bear fruit is cursed; rumor has it that a treasure is buried there. We also meet a young man named Johannes Rog (Vladimir Gajdarov), who, as the picture opens, is frantically trying to get back to his childhood home before his father passes away. Then there’s Peter (played impressively by Eugen Klopfer), Johannes’s down-to-earth brother, as well as Ludwig von Lellewel (Alfred Abel), Johannes’s best friend and the suitor of Emmanuel’s feisty young daughter, Gerda (Lya De Putti). For a while, each of these men has a reason to put his ambition above all else, and had the film not specified a gender, Gerda herself would be a candidate as well.

Johannes arrives too late to bid farewell to his father, but with his last words, he expresses hope that Johannes will return to the farm and marry a young woman named Marie. It doesn’t happen. Instead, Johannes, loathe to do farm work, finds employment as Mr. Emmanuel’s secretary. One day he happens to hear him say that Devil’s Field may have vast oil reserves, and as you know, such news is music to an overly ambitious man’s ears. There are a few directions the story can take at this point, some fairly predictable, but Murnau has the good sense to take the road less traveled, and the latter half of the film ismuch stronger as a result.

Still, had Murnau made The Burning Soil post The Last Laugh, it would likely be a much more involving film. In a few scenes, Murnau films characters descending into a hole in the ground. A later film would likely cut to a shot of what the man is doing in the hole, but here the camera stays where it is, while nothing happens on screen. The man re-emerges about thirty seconds later, panting and exhausted. What he was doing remains a mystery for some time, and when the revelation comes, it stretches credibility that it wouldn’t have taken much longer. In another scene, we watch as a fire rages out of control. However, the camera remains in place far from the threat, minimizing both the mayhem and the tension the scene is intended to convey.

The film has plenty to recommend it for, though. I quite enjoyed the dynamics of Johannes’s relationship with Peter, for even though they don’t have a lot of screen time together, their differences ring loud and clear. I also felt the film created three well thought out female characters, each with a distinct personality despite having the same misguided faith in the same man. And Murnau does an excellent job of building tension. We can see a train wreck coming, and I, for one, cared enough for the characters to wish I could prevent it. Sure, the ending is far too contrived and there are a few holes in logic that are never patched up, but Murnau and his talented cast make up for that with their solid and moving performances. I just wish the film were in better condition. Of Murnau’s twenty-one films, only twelve exist today, so while I understand the financial considerations that went into deciding not to restore the film, I hope someone reconsiders that decision. Murnau was a global treasure, and we should take better care of those. (on DVD)

3 stars

Review - Phantom (1922)

July 13, 2019

Phantom – Germany, 1922

Picture a man getting knocked over by an out-of-control carriage. At first, he appears to be unconscious – possibly even worse. A moment later, he comes to, and, in his rattled and likely concussed state, he stares at the beautiful young driver of the coach as she repeatedly inquires as to his well-being. Now, picture this man, his gaze frozen on the young woman who appears to be encircled in angelic white light, a contrast with the darker colors of the clothes and city surrounding him. The man rises, slightly stumbles forward, a look of confusion in his eyes. The young lady, seeing that he appears to be physically unharmed, gets back in her coach and rides off. Abruptly, the man takes off after the coach, his demeanor akin to that of a man possessed. Now, what would be your assessment of the man’s condition?

If I were a betting man, I say that most people would assume that he had some sort of brain trauma – a severe concussion, perhaps. After all, to ignore your physical well-being and chase after a woman you’ve only seen once is hardly the action of a man with all of his faculties functioning as they should. This impression would be strengthened by what comes next – a frantic, obsessive pursuit of a stranger that involves pleading with her extremely discomforted mother not to engage her to another man until he’s had a chance to pursue her. The woman wisely whispers for a servant to get her husband at once.

The character in question is Lorenz Lubota, a poor government desk clerk whose love of reading often takes precedence over his empty stomach. An interest as strong as this one usually indicates a romantic quality, yet it’s hard to see Lorenz ever being confused as a Romeo-type. His eyes avert contact, he doesn’t seem to apply himself to anything – certainly not to his job – and he seems utterly unaware that one of his neighbors has fallen head over heel for him. It’s entirely possible he’s never had a girlfriend or even been out on a date. As the film progresses, we witness Lorenz’s moral decline, as he begins to acquire both an inflated sense of self and an awareness of the importance of money if he is going to have the successful ending to his own skewed version of Romeo and Juliet.

Lorenz is played by Alfred Abel, and like many actors from the silent period he started out on the stage. By all accounts, he was rather successful there. His Wikipedia entry references his involvement in Berlin’s Deutschen Theate in 1904, nine years before he would make his first appearance on the silver screen. He would go on to play the leader of the underground city in Fritz Lang’s seminal film Metropolis. He even survived the transition to sound and appeared in 140 films during his twenty-five year film career. You don’t have that kind of longevity by chance.

Having said that, I must admit that he is wrong for the role of Lorenz Lubota. Born in 1879, Abel was over forty when he took on the part, and he looked it. In his face, we do not see the youthful naivety of a man whose emotions have suddenly overwhelmed him. Instead, there’s desperation, the look of someone who seems to be under the impression that he has only one chance at true love. His physical movements are manic, and when he isn’t making entirely inappropriate requests of complete strangers, he’s allowing delusions of grandeur to overwhelm him and cause him to entertain the notion that a perfect stranger would fall in love with him if only given the opportunity. All of this would be fine were the film to acknowledge that Lorenz’s actions have a medical explanation, yet as the film went on, it became clear that one was not coming. Where’s the doctor from The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari when you need him?

The uneven nature of the lead character almost overshadows the positives in the film, and there are many worth mentioning. I particularly enjoyed the depictions of Lorenz’s mother and his well-off aunt, and their strained relationship shines a light on the suffering that is allowed to go on because of disdain that some have for those who just can’t seem to pull themselves out of poverty. I also admired the way the film depicted the contrasting values of the young in the 1920s. In the film, Lorenz’s younger brother is an art student, and he dutifully takes care of his mother. Their sister could not be more dissimilar. She spends her evenings at a freewheeling tavern where alcohol flows liberally and men gather to enjoy the flirtations of much younger women, many of whom are openly looking to hook up with someone able to provide them with a life of fun and financial security.

I also admired many of Murnau’s directorial choices, particularly his use of light and darkness. In one scene, Murnau has Lorenz run through a city than seems to bending over and which is filled with shadowy figures who seem to know about Lorenz’s moral breakdown. Murnau also gets great performances from several of the cast. Frida Richard is a wonder as Lorenz’s mother, and Aud Egede-Nissen hits all the right notes as his morally lost sister. Anton Edthofer is impressive in the role of Lorenz’s corrupter, Mr. Wigottschinski, and Grete Berger is excellent in the very challenging role of Lorenz’s aunt, Pfandleiherin Schwabe, who is both the victim of a crime and an entirely classist individual. In fact, I’d venture to say that when Lorenz is not on screen or not the character driving the drama, the film is quite impressive.

Yet Lorenz is there, and Phantom is ultimately his story. Perhaps in another decade, the character would have been a World War I veteran dealing with PTSD or a doctor would diagnose his erratic behavior as being the result of the carriage accident. And characters would talk about this and declare their concern for his mental stability. This would make his character much more sympathetic, and we would see his decline as not moral failure but a tragic symptom of a much larger problem. We would also get a hint of the means by which he recovers his senses. Sadly, that is not this film. Still, I can’t say I disliked the film entirely, yet when a character begins a movie by declaring that what we’re going to see is both a confession and a release, his explanation should satisfy the viewer and make us empathize with the storyteller. This doesn’t happen in Phantom, and the fault is a performance that is at cross purposes with a narrative. (on DVD from Flicker Alley)

2 and a half stars

*Phantom is a silent film.      

Review - The Finances of the Grand Duke

November 29, 2018

The Finances of the Grand Duke – Germany, 1924

A curious thing occurs towards the end of F.W. Murnau’s The Finances of the Grand Duke: A woman looks at the film’s main character and asks, “Is that the Grand Duke?” Now, out of context, such a remark would raise no eyebrows whatsoever. However, the character who utters it is a Russian princess named Olga who has already indicated that she is willing both to marry him and to pay off the massive debt that he has accrued after years apparently spent living lavishly and foolhardily. This is, of course, not a new situation to silent films – Keaton and Chaplin practically made a career out of marrying someone in the last scene, and often, it was to someone they had just met 15 minutes earlier. However, in Murnau’s film, it is an odd choice, and not even Olga’s impassioned exclamation that she was moved by the way his island came to the aid of a sinking Russian ship – presumably during the First World War – completely erases the awkwardness of the situation. In my view, the Grand Duke’s assistance would be cause for an award or banquet in his honor, not the hand and instant affections of a princess.

But I digress slightly. The Finances of the Grand Duke is part comedy, part espionage thriller, with not enough of either to qualify as laugh-out-loud funny or thoroughly intriguing. This does not make it a terrible film by any stretch of the imagination, yet it does knock it down a few notches. The film begins, oddly enough, as a comedy. In its opening scene, we watch as the Grand Duke (Harry Liedtke) sits on the stone wall of his island palace and tosses money in the general direction of some young boys in the water below him. I initially assumed the scene was establishing the Grand Duke as a disrespectful spoiled brat, the kind that treats his subjects as if they were circus performers anxiously waiting for their next mouthful of peanuts. This interpretation is justified in the next scene, in which the Grand Duke is informed that the island’s benefactor has arrived wanting his money back. The Grand Duke’s posture quickly resembles that of a child who been told to go to bed before he’s ready, his arms folded, his feet pacing in that frustrated way that only an adult with the mentality of a five-year-old employs.

Upon seeing that, I settled in for an uproarious look at an immature ruling class and the hilarity that ensues when the Grand Duke finds himself unable to pay back the money he borrowed. How surprised I was then when the film suddenly adopted a much more serious tone, taking on issues such as the exploitation of both workers and the environment and detailing the perilous position that powerful people can find themselves in if they don’t recognize the tell-tale signs of danger. In the film, a mysterious stranger dangles millions of dollars in front of the Duke, his only request that the island’s sulfur deposits be placed under his control. The Grand Duke, imagining the waste that extraction would cause to both the environment and the island’s citizens on account of their laboring for so long in unhealthy conditions, turns the man down. The man, somewhat predictably, elects not to take no for an answer, and away we go.

The Duke comes across as a genuinely nice guy, yet it should be noted that the film never shows him being a dictator or provides examples of his supposed benevolence. He smiles quite a lot and seems to put an awful lot of faith in fate. In fact, his comments about what is needed to save his island have an uncanny knack for occurring shortly after he voices them. He is the heart of the film, yet not its most interesting character. That distinction falls to Professor Philipp Collins, well-played by Alfred Abel. Collins is one of those well-to-do professors we so often find in movies of this time, meaning he appears wealthier than any professor any of us have likely ever met. Collins, however, also has other distinguishing characteristics. For one, he has the skills of a petty thief, yet the conscious of Robin Hood. In one scene, we see him sneak into the office of a professional blackmailer and remove several embarrassing documents. Collin is also a gentleman with a grand understanding of irony and timing, and his scenes with Olga (Mady Christians) are some of the best in the film. However, the character never quite felt realistic.

The film is split into acts, and each scroll uses wit to introduce the characters that appear soon after. It is a tone that is not always matched by what follows. I found myself mildly amused by what transpired in the film, yet never completely engaged emotionally. Towards the end of the film, the pace quickens a bit, yet even here it fails to present us with a logical scenario. We’re asked to believe that an island nation run by a dictator has no defenses or army and that its government could be toppled by just four individuals. We’re also asked to imagine the island’s residents and to accept their adoration for the Duke, for Murnau has elected not to include a single crowd shot of the island’s inhabitants. In fact, if memory serves, we only really see three of them throughout the entire film.

The Finances of the Grand Duke is a break from the dark films that Murnau was most known for. It is a simple story told with simple techniques. While lacking the emotional punch of his other work, the film indeed gives viewers a good sense of his range as a director. As for the film itself, it is a minor work, one that will provide viewers a few chuckles and then be forgotten a few minutes later. (on DVD from Kino)

2 and a half stars

*The Finances of the Grand Duke is a silent film.