by Daniel White
Who knows why somnambulism fell out of fashion? It certainly is a compelling subject matter (Bellini composed a whole opera around the condition). In the visually arresting German film, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920), sleep walking takes center stage, but content is secondary to construct in this haunting dream world. A land where even the nightmares are beautiful, Caligari is a testament to the power of cinema. Directed by Robert Wiene (Fritz Lang was approached to handle the flick but was unavailable ), it is an astonishing film to behold. Set designers Hermann Warm, Walter Reimann and Walter Rohrig have created a masterpiece using nothing but paint, plywood, canvas, and, oh yes, genius. While many will argue over the deeper meaning of Caligari, I choose to revel in its style and how it represents a glorious example of German Expressionism. For a kid who cut his cinematic teeth on Universal horror movies from the thirties and early forties, it is beyond exciting to get an opportunity to look at one of the sources of those classic, beloved gems.
Dr. Caligari (an unnerving Werner Krauss) is a traveling showman/magician with a startling exhibit: the seemingly catatonic Cesare. Displaying his not so comatose alter ego to a fascinated public, it isn't long before both the doctor and his hideous henchman are implicated in a series of murders.
Conrad Veidt plays Cesare and he is intriguing. One of Germany's most popular silent screen performers, he would flee his homeland with his Jewish wife in 1933. Veidt's final role would be as Major Strasser in 1942's Casablanca. From Caligari to Casablanca, Conrad Veidt is a screen immortal.
Striking. Hallucinatory. Fantastic. Mesmerizing. These are just some of the adjectives one could use to describe perhaps the world's first fright flick. Written by Hans Janowitz and Carl Mayer, there is some debate as to who is responsible for this riveting film. It doesn't matter. What does matter is that a talented group of artists came together to collaborate on a groundbreaking work of monumental importance. Any person who calls themself a film buff is mandated to watch it. If they do not, they forfeit their right to be addressed as a cinephile. They are just another phony poseur spouting off motion picture pablum.
Producer Rudolf Meinert comes as close as anyone to being anointed the spiritual father of the film. Unfortunately, he would end up in a Nazi death camp, perishing on March 6, 1943. Released by Decla-Bioscop, with cinematography by Willy Hameister, and featuring one of the queens of early German cinema, Lil Dagover, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is available on YouTube.
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