Du musst Caligari werden: The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and the Beginnings of Horror

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. Dir. Robert Wiene. Perf. Werner Krauss, Conrad Veidt, Frederich        Feher. Decla -Bioskop, 1920.

Film is a progressive medium. Each moment of enlightenment, such as the advent of  sound technology with 1927's The Jazz Singer, advances the next generation of movies, steadily expanding the boundaries of filmmaking and making possible revolutions that have lead us to the exciting possibilities of the modern motion picture industry.

Robert Wiene's The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is one such moment of enlightenment. It has been acknowledged as both the beginning of the German Expressionist movement and one of the first true horror films, and has allowed for the development of the modern horror genre as well as being extremely influential in the advent of film-noir. 

Caligari recounts the tale of Francis, a young protagonist who encounters a sinister man called Dr. Caligari operating a sideshow exhibit at the Holstenwall fair. The exhibit is a somnambulist, Cesare, who has allegedly been asleep since birth, awakening periodically to operate as a soothsayer.  The arrival of Caligari coincides with a series of brutal murders, including that of Francis's friend Alan, an event which was predicted by Cesare. Dr. Caligari and Cesare soon fall under suspicion. After some investigation, Francis learns that Caligari is in fact a madman who induces Cesare to commit the murders by proxy, and the man is admitted into an insane asylum, where he will presumably remain for eternity.

Dr. Caligari (Werner Krauss) 

Of course, as a modern, film-going audience, we are almost trained to suspect a "twist ending." Here, in Caligari, the twist was completely innovative, and was actually imposed by producers who desired a less horrific experience. In the last ten minutes of Caligari, we are informed that the entire narrative was actually Francis's delusion. There is no Caligari. All of the players are actually residents in the mental institution where Francis is also a patient, and the man whom Francis believes to be Caligari is actually Francis's psychiatric doctor. 

Cesare (Conrad Veidt), the sonambulist, and Jane (Lil Dagover)

Considering that the film actually inhabits the headspace of a psychotic, the set design proves itself absolutely appropriate, and is vital to the film's success. As created by designer Hermann Warm, Walter Reimann, and Walter Rohrig, the sets exist at slanted right-angles; everything is distorted, as if the viewer is gazing into a funhouse mirror. Shadows are painted directly onto the sets, emphasizing the horrible two-demionsionality. The psychological result in the viewer is emotional unrest and psychological dread, paralleling and perhaps even compounding the mental state of the protagonist, Francis.

 The atmosphere of Caligari is created not as a direct and faithful representation of reality, but as an assertion of emotion, a window into the interior mind and soul that would otherwise be unreachable. As Caligari employed this technique, it became the first and most prominent example of movement of German Expressionism, and served as an example for later expressionist films such as M, Nosferatu, and The Golem.

Shadows and angles in Nosferatu

It has been suggested by scholars and academics that this development was a reaction to the state of Germany during and immediately preceding the first World War, as film noir was connected to the horrific impact of World War II. Film noir has obvious roots in the German Expressionist movement, as exaggerated lighting was used to create high-contrast, angular shadows that reflected the internal turmoil of angst-ridden detectives as well as the overall vileness of human nature. Directors such as Fritz Lang, Billy Wilder, Alfred Hitchcock, Michael Curtiz, and Carol Reed, using their experience in the German film industry, injected elements of  German Expressionism into their work, creating a genre that is indebted to films like The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari.

Off-kilter set pieces in Carol Reed's The Third Man

Indeed, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari allowed the use of lighting and set as an expression of psychological and emotional state, which contributed greatly to the cinematic element of "mood." This specific influence is traceable through to today's films- without Caligari, the dark, thickly melancholic atmosphere of David Fincher's films, Se7en, Zodiac, and  Gone Girl in particular, would not be possible.

This film is innovative in its technique and its form, and its influence can be traced through almost a hundred years of film history.As the father of horror and a primary example German Expressionism, the guiding hand of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is visible from the modern films of Fincher and Tim Burton to the noirs of the forties and fifties to the monster movies of the thirties and its close German Expressionist cousins.

Love and Hate: Robert Mitchum in The Night of the Hunter

The late actor Robert Mitchum was born 97 years ago today. It is especially fitting, then, to discuss what was arguably his best performance: the cunning Reverend Harry Powell in Charles Laughton's The Night of the Hunter.


The film itself is notable for many reasons, and especially unique in the canon of film noir. It features impeccable cinematography that borrows heavily from the German Expressionists. It eschews the classic noir urban settings like Los Angeles and New York City for the gothic South. It has influenced today's most prominent directors, David Lynch. Jim Jarmusch, and the Coens among them. Still, its most impressive element just might be its villain and the powerhouse performance delivered by Mitchum.


The Reverend Harry Powell is a serial killer who travels the country preying upon women, marrying and subsequently killing them in the name of God. "These are the things that you do hate, Lord," he says, praying to himself. "Perfume smellin' things, lacy things, things with curly hair." In the pursuit of these "godly" obligations, he hears the rumour of a widow whose husband had robbed a bank and hidden the money. Sure that the widow must know where it is (she doesn't), Powell rushes to court her and her two children.

Of course, Mitchum's portrayal of Powell is impeccable. He allows the audience to see the impossible, psychotic evil that lies beneath the charming exterior. Mitchum showcases Powell's dichotomy perfectly; we perceive his malevolence while at the same time experiencing the believe-ability of Powell as the ultimate con man.

This dichotomy is echoed liberally throughout the film. Powell has the words "LOVE" and "HATE" tattooed across his knuckles, and he explains to the children why: 

              "Ah, little lad, you're staring at my fingers. Would you like me to tell you the little story of right-hand/left-hand? The story of good and evil? H-A-T-E! It was with this left hand that old brother Cain struck the blow that laid his brother low. L-O-V-E! You see these fingers, dear hearts? These fingers has veins that run straight to the soul of man. The right hand, friends, the hand of love. Now watch, and I'll show you the story of life. Those fingers, dear hearts, is always a-warring and a-tugging, one agin t'other. Now watch 'em! Old brother left hand, left hand he's a fighting, and it looks like love's a goner. But wait a minute! Hot dog, love's a winning! Yessirree! It's love that's won, and old left hand hate is down for the count!"

The dicotomy between love and innocence and hate and evil is also emphasized with the juxatopsition between Powell and JJohn and Pearl Harper. There's something especially terrifying about watching Mitchum share the screen with the widow's children. They are innocent and good, and when Powell sweet talks them, touches them, or even looks at them, it seems as though he might be actively corrupting their sweet souls.

Mitchum's ability to radiate the absolute power of evil is tremendous. The result is a villain which the cinematic world will never forget, a villain who will be referenced again and again, a villain who will haunt the minds of every viewer.

Alain Resnais, master of modern lyricism in film, dead at 91

French filmmaker Alain Resnais died yesterday in Paris at the age of 91.

Resnais's films exist as outliers in the oeuvre of the French New Wave, more closely allied with Left Bank intellectuals like writers Marguerite Duras and Alain Robbes-Grillet. He managed to inject his extremely personal films with the grace and intellectual lyricism usually found only in the masterworks of literature.

The highlights of his career include Night and Fog, a documentary about the devastation of the Holocaust, and Hiroshima mon Amour, a revolutionary fictional meditation on the bombing of Hiroshima, and more generally, the moral depravity of war. Other works include Last Year at Marienbad, The War is Over, and Je t'aime, Je t'aime.

2014 Oscar Predictions

These are my official predictions for the victors of the 2014 Oscars. Then again, how would I have any idea what's going to win? I'm a female in her early twenties. 

PICTURE

Gravity (Dear God, I hope not)

DIRECTOR

Steve McQueen, 12 Years a Slave

ACTOR

Matthew McConaughey, Dallas Buyer's Club

ACTRESS

Amy Adams, American Hustle

SUPPORTING ACTOR

Jared Leto, Dallas Buyer's Club

SUPPORTING ACTRESS

Luptia N'yongo, 12 Years a Slave

ANIMATED FILM

Frozen

CINEMATOGRAPHY

Emmanuel Lubezki, Gravity

COSTUME DESIGN

Michael Wilkinson, American Hustle

 DOCUMENTARY

The Act of Killing, Joshua Oppenheimer and Signe Byrge Sorenson

 EDITING

Alfonso Cuaron and Mark Sanger, Gravity

BEST FOREIGN LANGUAGE FILM

The Broken Circle Breakdown, Belgium

MAKEUP AND HAIRSTYLING

Adruitha Lee and Robin Matthews, Dallas Buyer's Club

MUSIC

Her, William Butler and Owen Palett

ORIGINAL SONG

"Let it Go" from Frozen

PRODUCTION DESIGN

Judy Becker and Heather Loeffler, American Hustle

VFX

Gravity, Tim Webber, Chris Lawrence, David Shirk, Neal Corbould

ADAPTED SCREENPLAY

12 Years a Slave, John Ridley

ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY

Her, Spike Jonze

If You're a 62-year-old White Male, You'll Love the Oscars

As a person who is both perpetually behind schedule and wont to neglect my duties, I have neglected to write a single review of any of the Oscar nominated films of 2013. This sad reality has led to this: an informal consideration less than a day before the ceremony. To be candid, I lost what little interest I had when my personal favorite film of the year (which I will withhold, for now) failed to receive a nomination in any of the major categories, save Cinematography (definitely deserved, although it will not win. Gravity will surely take the prize this year). This was an affront to my cinematic sensibilities. I'm sure the Coens could really care less. Still, it is a shameful snub, though not entirely surprising. The Oscars have a history of ignoring the right films and praising the wrong ones (see Argo's Best Picture win last year); this can probably be accounted for in its demographics. 77% of the Academy is male, 94% is white, and the median age is a whopping 62. 

As a result of this, most real cinephiles (and most people involved in the film industry) recognize that this particular awards show, and all awards shows, really, doesn't mean all that much in terms of artistic achievement. That sentiment, however, doesn't erase the historic and cultural significance of an Academy Award, as well as the potential for increased publicity and expanded opportunities. 

In conclusion: The Academy Awards are stodgy and frustrating (unless you're a 62 year old white man), but still manage to retain their prestige. 

Let's talk movies. I'm not going to discuss Philomena at all, because I have absolutely no interest in seeing sentimentalized Hollywood drivel, although I really do adore Steve Coogan. Also not on the list is Her, simply because I haven't yet seen it. 

If you need to be reminded of the various nominees, please go here for the official list. 

First things first: I was monumentally disappointed in Martin Scorsese's The Wolf of Wall Street, which took everything that I hated about Goodfellas and amplified it to 11. Scorsese's trademark ebullience was ineffective precisely because of the film's inability to create any kind of complexity. The film took an entire three hours to hit (scream) a single note (DEBAUCHERY! OVERINDULGENCE! DISHONESTY!) over and over again, without variation. As a satire, it seemed entirely unconscious of itself, making it boring to watch despite all of the activity on screen. Leonardo DiCaprio and Jonah Hill are adequate, each making an entertaining spectacle of their characters without injecting any nuance into their performance. All-in-all, I don't think this film earned any of its nominations. 

Although American Hustle is not without its flaws (read: sloppy plot line and slick self-awareness), it does manage to succeed where Wolf of Wall Street fails, offering its audience comedy as well as complexity (!). I think this film is very much held afloat by Amy Adams, who delivers marvelously. With all her charisma, Jennifer Lawrence manages to hook her red talons/nails, although her performance is a little exaggerated. Christian Bale is good but not great, and Bradley Cooper just doesn't cut it. The mania that suited him perfectly in Silver Linings Playbook is too much here. I don't think American Hustle should win for Best Picture or Director due to its overwhelming structural flaws, but Adams should be recognized for Best Actress, and the film definitely deserves a nod for its elaborate costumes. 

Gravity does not live up to its hype; the only thing it has going is its absolutely stunning visuals. The screenplay is very clumsy and heavy-handed, the characters are not fleshed out, and the film is poorly paced. Nonetheless, this may win for Best Picture, as it is such an innocuous, visually spectacular crowd pleaser in the vein of a James Cameron "epic."

12 Years a Slave is an achievement, to say the least. Steve McQueen couldn't have managed a more debilitating examination of the American tragedy that was the institution of slavery. He keeps sentimentality out of the film entirely, brutally forcing his audience to confront one of the worst offenses in human history. The acting in this film is first class all-around (except for a certain producer and movie-star extraordinaire, but that's really beside the point),  and the cinematography is breathtakingly beautiful, a graceful contrast to the ruthlessness of McQueen's images. Ejiofor, N'yongo, and Fassbender all deserve to win in their respective categories, as does McQueen for direction, and the film for best picture. It's difficult to predict if the Academy will embrace the film as a whole, over safer choices like Gravity.

Dallas Buyer's Club is everything a great film should be: well-structured, emotional, and impeccably acted. Matthew McConaughey and Jared Leto both shine in this film, and both underwent incredible physical transformations in order to play their respective roles (which the Academy notoriously adores. The showier the performance, the better). I wouldn't be upset if eithier of these actors were recognized tomorrow night, and I also would not be shocked or enraged if the film was recognized as best picture. 

Honestly, Captain Phillips does not belong here any more than Philomena does. It was a perfectly adequate action film, with an interesting subtext that examines the failure of the American dream, which we have seen in both The Wolf of Wall Street and American Hustle year. Everything about Captain Phillips is good, but nothing is really great. It pains me greatly to think that this is taking up Inside Llewyn Davis's or Short Term 12's spot. 

Finally, Nebraska. I loved this film very much, but as it is, for the most part, quiet and understated compared to its brethren, it will probably be overlooked. The only criticism I have is for June Squibb's character, who seems like a parody of the 'grandma who spots profanities' that we have seen a million times before. Other than that, the movie is honest and true and sweet, and I am pleased that it received mainstream acknowledgement. I would b ecstatic if Bruce Dern saw a win. I really think DeNiro should consider following in his footsteps. 

I also want to briefly mention The Act of Killing. This should, by all accounts, win Best Documentary, as it is one of the most exhausting and challenging films that I have ever seen. I also found three Best Foreign Film nominees to be of note:  The Broken Circle Breakdown (Belgium), The Hunt (Denmark), and The Great Beauty (Italy).

I'll be posting my picks and predictions (in two separate lists, of course) before tomorrow night's ceremony. Please look for my in-depth reviews of the films mentioned above in the coming weeks.

In closing, I would like to suggest that on Monday, after watching at least fours hours of stuffy television, you sit down and enjoy one of the great films the Oscars managed to under appreciate, overlook, or entirely ignore. Inside Llewyn Davis, Short Term 12, Blue Jasmine, Before Midnight, Blackfish, Wadaja, or Blue is the Warmest Color would be a few great places to start.

"I think you should be serious about what you do because this is it. This is all you've got."

Philip Seymour Hoffman died sometime in the morning of February 2, 2014, at 46. A revered actor, Hoffman graced both the stage and screen, each time able to dedicate himself to finding his character's truth, revealing his flaws in the process, and thus bringing a basic human vulnerability to each performance. A consummate actor, his soul was always visible in his work.

His work is quite personal to me. Hoffman grew up only thirty minutes from where I did, and as such, I always there was a connection between us, some kind of small but significant reason to be proud of his talent and his success, despite the fact that I had nothing at all to do with it. His work in film intrigued and impressed me, especially the films he made with Paul Thomas Anderson and Charlie Kaufman's very special film Synecdoche, New York. I also had the distinct pleasure of watching Hoffman as Willy Loman in the 2012 revival of Death of a Salesman. It was the first time I had seen a play on Broadway, and Hoffman was masterful. He was able to imbue his performance with a beautifully haggard dignity that lived subtly beneath the surface of Loman's quiet desperation.

A few months after watching him on stage, I watched him perform exuberantly in The Master, playing what could have, in the hands of another man, become a calculated, coldly cerebral character. Instead, Hoffman gave us a manipulative master whose insecurities and weaknesses he allows us to glimpse as the fuel behind Lancaster Dodd's megalomania. As he twists his sheep-followers with pseudoscience, supreme confidence, and fatherly condescension, we are allowed to see that there is something poisonous within him, something soft and vulnerable that he refuses to allow to be exploited. In The Master, Hoffman clearly understood the inner workings of not only Lancaster Dodd but of all human beings, an understanding which he was able to bring to very much of his work.

My personal favorite performance of his comes in the 2008 film Synecdoche, New York, which is quite honestly the most complex and the most terrifying movie I have ever seen. Here, he gives us a fucking mess of a person with a fucking mess of a life, who, when tasked with  using the money from a MacArthur Fellowship to write a play that he wants to be truth itself, begins to restructure and manipulate his own life as inspiration. It is a daring meditation on life and death, on what means to die, and on what exactly reality is. This movie came to me at a time when I was unsure about a great deal of things, and Hoffman's Caden Cotard allowed me to come to terms with that uncertainty, to cry and to breathe and to think deeply about my own life, what it meant, and what it could mean. That is really the power of Philip Seymour Hoffman at his best. With his acting, he was able to push you so far off the deep end that you weren't even sure that you had fallen. And then, just when you thought you might be drowning. he allowed you to surface, a mess of adrenaline and thought and more clarity than you would have ever conceded on your own.

It is for this, the power of his performances, that we must remember him. It is not our perogative to judge him, to moralize, to condemn, to turn his life and his work into some kind of perverted cautionary tale. Hoffman was a great artist struggling with something, as all artists do; indeed, as all men do. We must remember him the man who created Lancaster Dodd and Scotty J, who embodied Truman Capote, who reinvented Willy Loman, who brought a heartbreakingly heavy sense of human flaw and vulnerability to every role that he played. Let Hoffman live in the memory of ages as a beautiful artist whose talent will transcend his ephemeral life.

Philip Seymour Hoffman did not speak this monologue from Synecdoche, New York, but his character listens to it. I think this speech stands as an appropriate memorial to Hoffman's exceptional genius. Thank you, Mr. Hoffman.

"Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make; you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won't know for twenty years. And you may never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce. And they say there is no fate, but there is: it's what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes or it seems to but it doesn't really. And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along. Something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel whole, something to make you feel loved. And the truth is I feel so angry, and the truth is I feel so fucking sad, and the truth is I've felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long I've been pretending I'm OK, just to get along, just for, I don't know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. Well, fuck everybody. Amen."