ISFF 2018: Robert Wiene's The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari
Various readings have been made about Robert Wiene's "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" (1920, Germany), the quintessential representative of the German Expressionist film movement during the silent era in the early 20th century (whose other films, sadly, appear to have been lost already for good). One such reading is that the silent film served as the precursor of the birth of National Socialism and Adolf Hitler's rise to power during World War II. Film critics and scholars saw that the silent film's despotic exercise of authority (as embodied by the madman Dr. Caligari) and mindless acquiescence to his evil biddings (as shown by the somnambulist Cesare) are no different from the primary nature of Hitler's Nazism. Further supporting the matter is the fact that the screenplay by Hans Janowitz and Carl Mayer was colored by their military experiences during World War I which led them to become distrustful of authority.
Whichever way one looks at "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari," the fact that it's a highly-essential and -valuable cultural artifact makes it a truly pleasurable cinematic experience. Thus, it was a real blessing that this year's edition of International Silent Film Festival (Aug. 30-Sept. 2 at SM Megamall Cinema) included the German silent in its lineup, with live musical accompaniment by Kontra-GaPi using native instruments. Previous editions of the festival had us seeing the works of such silent cinema auteurs as Fritz Lang, FW Murnau, Ernst Lubitsch and GW Pabst. It was a thrill no less to have a seminal work of German Expressionism join such a distinctive roster. A film like "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" begs to be appreciated on the big screen.
The film's inimitable world of its own - the deliberately askew sets, the twisted reality, the hyper-stylized acting, the mystical atmosphere - jumps off from the screen and takes you into its fold inside the dark theater. It's been nearly a hundred years since "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" was introduced to audiences and defined a new language of cinema, but seeing it today feels like it's something that has been done in recent times. That's how modern and radical the film is: It still feels fresh with each new viewing. We've heard of films that never get old even with the passage of time. Well, this is certainly one of those films.
The puzzling beauty of "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" is that its distorted environment doesn't exist for its own sake, as a mere appearance. Rather, it's a representation of a character's distorted perception of reality. It's a certain reality on its own, the kind brought about by a person's madness. The film, right from the start, is pure subjectivity: It's all the workings of an insane mind. A mind for whom the distinction between reality and fantasy is non-existent. It's a slyness on the film's part that it gets us to believe for most of its 74-minute running time that what we are seeing is real.
Unless, of course, that we are already able to pick up some clues in the prologue in which two men are sitting together in what appears to be a garden and then the younger one begins telling something about his past to the older one, right after a seemingly lost-in-thought woman (whom the former claims to be his fiancee) passes by them. But this scene is handled without any hint of the absurd or the macabre that we don't really suspect that something is amiss. And thus from there, when all the "memories" of Francis (the young man) are starting to be fleshed out onscreen we simply accept them as part of his experiences, regardless of the twisted imagery that surrounds them. And then the major revelation, which pulls the rug from under our feet before we even realize it. Before such modern thrillers as "The Usual Suspects" and "The Sixth Sense," the so-called "twist ending" was already in the works at the dawn of cinema. But the "twist" of "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" isn't mere narrative gimmickry. It raises a philosophical question that has occupied the field of psychology for so long: Can the thought-processes of an insane mind stand as its own reality, considering the fact that an insane person, on his/her own, has no inkling of his/her deviancy, behaving in such a way he/she thinks how a "normal" person behaves?
Such a query can actually fuse with the Hitler/Nazism reading of the film. No one could probably argue against the fact that the historical anomaly that was the National Socialism and the Holocaust were all but the products of a deranged, megalomaniacal ego, tragically brought to reality through sheer power and charisma. His people inexplicably turned a blind eye to all the atrocities that were happening, just because they unquestionably put their faith in him. Whether it was because out of fear or they sincerely believed in his principles is probably out of the question now, because what was exacted as a terrible price were millions of human lives. Much like the mad Dr. Caligari (Werner Krauss), by way of hypnotic power, is able to have the sleepwalking Cesare (Conrad Veidt) bend to his will and command him to commit murderous acts against his own volition. In essence, because of a mind under the "influence" of a sinister authority Cesare turns a "blind eye" to such evil deeds.
That's most likely one of the reasons that make "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" so fascinating and timeless through the years, whether as a cultural artifact or as a simple arthouse curiosity: It reminds us that cinema can be a harbinger of things to happen that become part of history. In this way, cinema becomes both a prophecy and a critique.
Whichever way one looks at "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari," the fact that it's a highly-essential and -valuable cultural artifact makes it a truly pleasurable cinematic experience. Thus, it was a real blessing that this year's edition of International Silent Film Festival (Aug. 30-Sept. 2 at SM Megamall Cinema) included the German silent in its lineup, with live musical accompaniment by Kontra-GaPi using native instruments. Previous editions of the festival had us seeing the works of such silent cinema auteurs as Fritz Lang, FW Murnau, Ernst Lubitsch and GW Pabst. It was a thrill no less to have a seminal work of German Expressionism join such a distinctive roster. A film like "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" begs to be appreciated on the big screen.
The film's inimitable world of its own - the deliberately askew sets, the twisted reality, the hyper-stylized acting, the mystical atmosphere - jumps off from the screen and takes you into its fold inside the dark theater. It's been nearly a hundred years since "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" was introduced to audiences and defined a new language of cinema, but seeing it today feels like it's something that has been done in recent times. That's how modern and radical the film is: It still feels fresh with each new viewing. We've heard of films that never get old even with the passage of time. Well, this is certainly one of those films.
The puzzling beauty of "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" is that its distorted environment doesn't exist for its own sake, as a mere appearance. Rather, it's a representation of a character's distorted perception of reality. It's a certain reality on its own, the kind brought about by a person's madness. The film, right from the start, is pure subjectivity: It's all the workings of an insane mind. A mind for whom the distinction between reality and fantasy is non-existent. It's a slyness on the film's part that it gets us to believe for most of its 74-minute running time that what we are seeing is real.
Unless, of course, that we are already able to pick up some clues in the prologue in which two men are sitting together in what appears to be a garden and then the younger one begins telling something about his past to the older one, right after a seemingly lost-in-thought woman (whom the former claims to be his fiancee) passes by them. But this scene is handled without any hint of the absurd or the macabre that we don't really suspect that something is amiss. And thus from there, when all the "memories" of Francis (the young man) are starting to be fleshed out onscreen we simply accept them as part of his experiences, regardless of the twisted imagery that surrounds them. And then the major revelation, which pulls the rug from under our feet before we even realize it. Before such modern thrillers as "The Usual Suspects" and "The Sixth Sense," the so-called "twist ending" was already in the works at the dawn of cinema. But the "twist" of "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" isn't mere narrative gimmickry. It raises a philosophical question that has occupied the field of psychology for so long: Can the thought-processes of an insane mind stand as its own reality, considering the fact that an insane person, on his/her own, has no inkling of his/her deviancy, behaving in such a way he/she thinks how a "normal" person behaves?
Such a query can actually fuse with the Hitler/Nazism reading of the film. No one could probably argue against the fact that the historical anomaly that was the National Socialism and the Holocaust were all but the products of a deranged, megalomaniacal ego, tragically brought to reality through sheer power and charisma. His people inexplicably turned a blind eye to all the atrocities that were happening, just because they unquestionably put their faith in him. Whether it was because out of fear or they sincerely believed in his principles is probably out of the question now, because what was exacted as a terrible price were millions of human lives. Much like the mad Dr. Caligari (Werner Krauss), by way of hypnotic power, is able to have the sleepwalking Cesare (Conrad Veidt) bend to his will and command him to commit murderous acts against his own volition. In essence, because of a mind under the "influence" of a sinister authority Cesare turns a "blind eye" to such evil deeds.
That's most likely one of the reasons that make "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" so fascinating and timeless through the years, whether as a cultural artifact or as a simple arthouse curiosity: It reminds us that cinema can be a harbinger of things to happen that become part of history. In this way, cinema becomes both a prophecy and a critique.
(The servant submits to his master's will in Robert Wiene's "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari")
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