Sunrise (1927)

Quick trivia question: what was the first Academy Award winner for Best Picture? The official answer is 1927's Wings, directed by William A. Wellman. But in fact, there were two winners that year: Wings won for "Best Production" but F.W. Murnau's Sunrise won for "Unique and Artistic Production." Over time, the dichotomy between those two films has grown even sharper: Wings, a romantic, expensive World War I spectacle, has all but receded from memory - or to be more accurate, is more remembered in name than for its artistic merits. Sunrise, on the other hand, was largely ignored by audiences upon its initial release, but has since become a film school staple and is widely regarded as one of the greatest films ever made. Indeed, the greatness of Sunrise lies not only in its importance to film history - for combining the sensibilities of German and American filmmaking, and for its array of innovative visual and aural effects - but also in its sheer beauty. This is not a stuffy old silent film, but one of the most ravishing and lyrical films I know.

To summarize Sunrise is to trivialize it. The film involves three main characters: The Man (George O'Brien), The Wife (Janet Gaynor), and The Woman from the City (Margaret Livingston). The Man is a farmer who begins an affair with The Woman, who then convinces him to drown his wife. The Man brings his wife out on a boat to do the deed, but cannot go through with it. The rest of the film concerns The Man's attempt to repair and renew his relationship with The Wife.

Right down to the lack of character names, Sunrise has the potential for a simplistic, treacly allegory. That it is something more is above all a tribute to F.W. Murnau. Murnau was one of the most significant pioneers of German Expressionism - a bold, exaggerated style that utilized high contrast cinematography, oblique angles, and shadows to great effect. It was a style most famously used in horror (Nosferatu, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari) and sci-fi (Metropolis); it also provided part of the inspiration for American film noir. Sunrise does not sound like it would need this kind of treatment. But Murnau uses it to explore the dark side of its protagonist's heart.

Murnau's visual style in the opening and closing scenes - looming shadows, canted angles, and dimly lit shots - reflect The Man's estrangement from his wife, and his tortured sense of guilt. At the beginning of the movie, this estrangement is out of choice; The Man chooses to abandon his wife to elope with another woman. By the end of the movie, the two have reconciled, but after a fateful storm, The Man believes he has lost his wife forever. In shots like the one below, Murnau seems to suggest that without his wife, The Man is quite literally a shadow of his former self.Murnau's visual mastery also extends to his use of superimpositions. Several times throughout the film, Murnau uses these layered images to explore the characters' dreams, hopes, feelings, fears, and nightmares. This kind of effect could be cooked up easily today, but in Murnau's time, it was a painstaking process. Whatever the limitations of the technology, though, the superimpositions still hold up today as evocative, sensuous, telling images.
I've barely scratched the surface of Murnau's innovations. I could also point to his roving camera, in an era when cameras were bulky and usually kept stationary. I could mention his use of Movietone, an early soundtrack system, to include not only a classical film score but also numerous sound effects. But the real genius of Murnau's film is how seamlessly these techniques are woven into the fabric of the story. His direction is never intrusive or distracting, and he knows when to simply pull back and observe. During the long reconciliation scene, Murnau leaves most of the heavy lifting to his wonderful, expressive actors.

I'm reluctant to call any film perfect, but Sunrise comes as close as any film I've seen. The movie was initially overshadowed by movies like Wings as well as The Jazz Singer, the first talkie, released the same year. Within a few years, silent films would be all but obsolete in Hollywood. Yet Sunrise reveals all the possibilities of that medium, and achieves a level of purity and simplicity that few films can claim. With silent films as great as this, who needs sound anyway?

Coming soon to the blog: a trio of Nicholas Ray films!

The Birth of a Nation (1915)

By all accounts, silent film director D.W. Griffith invented the modern feature-length film. His movies introduced ambitious storylines, editing techniques and camera tricks that had never before been seen. Yet that does not make his films any easier to watch for the modern viewer. The Birth of a Nation, Griffith's 1915 Civil War epic, is on one hand one of the most influential and important films ever made. On the other hand, it is often dry and unengaging. And of course the film is notoriously racist, playing up the worst racial stereotypes and glorifying the Ku Klux Klan as the savior of the South. 

The story is split into two halves, with the first covering the Civil War and the second covering the Reconstruction period. These events are seen through the eyes of two families - the Northern Stonemans and the Southern Camerons. The families are close friends, and their relationship provides the film with its structure, as the family members witness famous events such as Lincoln's assassination and the rise of the KKK. 

So just how racist is The Birth of a Nation? Well, the film certainly anticipates its criticism, with a disclaimer at the beginning saying that the story is not supposed to reflect any race of today. And given all that I had read, I was expecting worse during the film's first half. The racism is certainly there - all of the slaves are portrayed as being perfectly happy, and black soldiers are portrayed as mindless followers - but the first half of the film does not actively condemn blacks, preferring to tell its war story. 

However, all of that completely changes in the second half. Part two opens with a quote from Woodrow Wilson that glorifies the Ku Klux Klan, calling it "a veritable empire of the South" that arose "to protect the Southern country." Black characters (most of whom are played by white actors in blackface) are seen as villains who overtook the South and trampled on its great legacy. In one scene at the State House of Representatives, there is an overwhelming majority of blacks, and they are all portrayed as uncivilized and incompetent. A caption card laments the "helpless white minority." In the next scene, Ben Cameron is inspired to create the Ku Klux Klan, who are seen as the film's heroes. In yet another scene, a black character named Gus attempts to rape young Flora Cameron. He is later executed by the KKK. These are just a few examples of the racism in the film. 

So yes, The Birth of a Nation is morally despicable. But is it watchable? For the most part, I found the film to be tedious and overlong. Unlike The Passion of Joan of Arc, another silent film that I reviewed, it does not stand well on its own merits. If one puts aside the racism and the cinematic importance, The Birth of a Nation is simply not very engaging. There are a few notable exceptions, though. The assassination of Lincoln is very suspenseful, and a few battle scenes are exciting. 

Still, how can I possibly hold that against the film? The Birth of a Nation is in many ways the birth of cinema, and it is unfair to criticize its narrative for not being fully developed. It would be like looking back and criticizing Edison's lightbulb for not being bright enough. With that in mind, I begin to see the folly of assigning any sort of rating to this film. Can I possibly judge The Birth of a Nation the same way I would judge, say, Quantum of Solace? Of course not. It may be that I am simply not knowledgeable enough about silent film to fully appreciate the movie. Suffice to say that The Birth of a Nation is not an easy film to watch, due to both its nature as a 3-hour silent film and its outspoken racism. But it is undeniable that it is a film of lasting historical importance, and should be viewed as such. 

The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928)

The Passion of Joan of Arc is one of those films that I have been meaning to watch for years. My dad bought the DVD for my mom several years ago, and it has remained on a bookshelf in her study all these years. But somehow I never got around to watching it. I had heard that Maria Falconetti's performance was tremendous, that the film was highly influential, and that many critics upheld it as one of the greatest films ever made. Yet I always resisted, thinking that it would be too long, or too confusing, or too dated, or, frankly, too boring. But seeing as I was home from school today, I thought I should at least give it a chance.

What was I waiting for? The Passion of Joan of Arc is honestly one of the greatest films I have ever seen. I try to avoid statements like that, but I really cannot resist in this case. All of my fears about it being too complex or long were completely unfounded. The film is under 90 minutes long, and the story it tells is very simple. It's not at all a traditional "biopic;" it is only focused on the last days of Joan's life, when she was interrogated and executed by ministers of the Church.

Maria Falconetti, who never again starred in a movie, plays Joan of Arc. She is without a doubt the most extraordinary thing about the movie; I can't imagine what it would be like without her. The film is shot almost entirely in close-ups, and thus relies quite a bit on Falconetti's facial expressions to convey the character. The huge range of emotions that she can express is incredible. Joan's character is established immediately from her entrance. The film's Joan is bewilderedn and frightened, totally overwhelmed by the circumstances she finds herself in. Falconetti never loses touch of the human side of Joan. In other films Joan might be seen as a fearless leader, uafraid to the death. But Falconetti's character clearly struggles with the questions the judges ask her about her relationship with God. She has a huge internal battle about whether to give in and survive or maintain her position. One of the most telling scenes comes when Joan is first taken out to be executed. A priest gives her one last chance to recant, insisting she sign a document that would let her live. Joan hesitates, but then sees a man digging her grave. As he shovels dirt out of the ground, his shovel tosses up a skull. After seeing this, she reluctantly signs the document. Of course, she will later deny this confession and be burned at the stake. Falconetti's performance in this scene, and throughout the film, really needs to be seen to be believed.

But there are other strengths in the film besides the main performance. The director, Carl Theodor Dreyer, uses one editing technique (a quick-cut montage) that I didn't even know was around in the 20's. It is used in the scene where Joan is taken to the torture chamber. The ministers threaten her with torture if she does not sign the document. As a man cranks a spiked wheel, Joan stares on in horror. The scene cuts back and forth between Joan's terrified face, the wheel, and occasionally the ministers. The shots get quicker and quicker until Joan finally faints. This scene is particularly effective, but there are others. Dreyer's use of close-ups and cuts between the various ministers in the interrogation scene are just as effective; they show how overwhelmed Joan is at all of these anonymous faces cursing and condemning her.

The script has no elaborate touches; it is very simple and is based on historical accounts of Joan's trial. However, there are some subtle nuances that occur throughout. For example, there is a great moment when Joan is sick in bed after she has fainted. The bishop tells Joan that the Church is merciful, and always welcomes back a "lost lamb." Joan reaches out her hand to the bishop, seeking comfort. He pushes it away, disgusted at the very idea that she would touch him. There are also some very noticeable Christ parallels throughout the film. I noticed these particularly in the interrogation scene, and also when several soldiers mock Joan and place a sort of makeshift crown on her head - a crown that she later wears when she is burned at the stake.

The Passion of Joan of Arc really is a flawless movie. Maria Falconetti's performance is rightfully hailed as one of the greatest screen performances ever. In addition, the film is fascinating to watch for its innovative camera and editing techniques. Regardless of your religious affiliation or your opinion about Joan, The Passion of Joan of Arc is a groundbreaking film that will deeply touch anyone who is not made of stone.

Verdict: A+