Oh what a tangled web the world of the Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is. It may all be sane in the focus of a madman, or it may just all take place in a crazy world. We see this story in the context of a guy telling a story to his friend or someone on a bench- following the sight of a 'spirit', perhaps, drifting by, a woman in a white dress who is in a complete daze. The story is that of what we would assume is Dr. Caligari, who in a town that could easily be called a geometrical nightmare (all those shapes and curves!), goes to a fair with his own exhibit: a Somnambulist, a person who has been asleep for quite a long time and is just about to be awoken. The question he's asked is right to the point, and the response is too: "When will I die" "Tomorrow at dawn." This is not just a cryptic message, we see, as people start to be killed by a mysterious murderer, brought on (or just directly because of) the doctor and his Somnambulust.
This is basically the story, and it's a very good one, even a great one in its dimensions of a mad scientist and his quarry. And of course when we suddenly get that great big twist (or is it a twist?) at the end, it gives the rest of the film a whole other perspective to read into. But what you go to see the Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is not for the story, per-say, but for its unique perspective as a work of cinema. Despite the imitations, and despite (or in spite) or those who would dare to be inspired by the work (Tim Burton springs to mind without a flinch), it stands tall as a mammoth work - surprising since it's only 70 minutes long - by creating its own view of humanity and the world, of the way a civilization and houses and roads and places can or should or would ever look, and giving its own characters a mood of dread and the Gothic. If you ever need to drag someone to show them how to get "fantastical" with a set, this is it.
Robert Wiene, along with being a competent storyteller, is just a superb director of his actors in these sets. While it would be a little much for me to go on and on about how glorious the staging is within these seemingly un-navigable roads, and how the walls sometimes seem to be closing in or giving an extra edge that you only get in a nightmare, its important to note how well the actors come off here. It's because of them, as much as Wiene and his crew (Willy Hameister especially), that one will remember Dr. Caligari long after it ends. One such example is just seeing Conrad Veidt, as the somnambulist, awaken the first time in front of the audience - it's so chilling and gradual that it draws one in completely, and looking in Cesare's eyes becomes all the more frightening. In fact, it's hard to tell which actor gives off the more horrifying aura: the scientist (Krauss, with a great crazy head of hair and catalog of evil facial expressions) or Veidt's cool demeanor.
Another scene I should mention, which is simply one of the greatest scenes ever filmed and should be seen by anyone with a pulse: it's when Cesare, after seeing Jane Olsen come into the doctor's place to try to find her father and the two make bizarre eye contact, drifts into her bedroom at night. There's the contrast of dark and light, white and black, for one thing to note, how staggering everything is lit and staged in this setting, and with the walls and windows off-kilter and deranged. Then there's the body language of Veidt as he comes up to the window and into the bedroom towards Dagover - it's seemingly supernatural, out of this world, but still in it, which gives it a whole other dimension. And then the shock of when she awakens, which gives the scene full-blown suspense and danger. I would watch this scene over and over, though it's not the only one that would continually fascinate.
Cabinet of Dr. Caligari doesn't carry the same weight of its director's name as Murnau or Lang in German cinema (sadly, Wiene made only a handful of other films seen outside of his native country), but with one film and its standing in the expressionist movement (or, I would also add, surrealist to the degree of its importance in dream/nightmare cinema) it's just as important, and potent today. Watch it in the dark, and hopefully not alone.
This is basically the story, and it's a very good one, even a great one in its dimensions of a mad scientist and his quarry. And of course when we suddenly get that great big twist (or is it a twist?) at the end, it gives the rest of the film a whole other perspective to read into. But what you go to see the Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is not for the story, per-say, but for its unique perspective as a work of cinema. Despite the imitations, and despite (or in spite) or those who would dare to be inspired by the work (Tim Burton springs to mind without a flinch), it stands tall as a mammoth work - surprising since it's only 70 minutes long - by creating its own view of humanity and the world, of the way a civilization and houses and roads and places can or should or would ever look, and giving its own characters a mood of dread and the Gothic. If you ever need to drag someone to show them how to get "fantastical" with a set, this is it.
Robert Wiene, along with being a competent storyteller, is just a superb director of his actors in these sets. While it would be a little much for me to go on and on about how glorious the staging is within these seemingly un-navigable roads, and how the walls sometimes seem to be closing in or giving an extra edge that you only get in a nightmare, its important to note how well the actors come off here. It's because of them, as much as Wiene and his crew (Willy Hameister especially), that one will remember Dr. Caligari long after it ends. One such example is just seeing Conrad Veidt, as the somnambulist, awaken the first time in front of the audience - it's so chilling and gradual that it draws one in completely, and looking in Cesare's eyes becomes all the more frightening. In fact, it's hard to tell which actor gives off the more horrifying aura: the scientist (Krauss, with a great crazy head of hair and catalog of evil facial expressions) or Veidt's cool demeanor.
Another scene I should mention, which is simply one of the greatest scenes ever filmed and should be seen by anyone with a pulse: it's when Cesare, after seeing Jane Olsen come into the doctor's place to try to find her father and the two make bizarre eye contact, drifts into her bedroom at night. There's the contrast of dark and light, white and black, for one thing to note, how staggering everything is lit and staged in this setting, and with the walls and windows off-kilter and deranged. Then there's the body language of Veidt as he comes up to the window and into the bedroom towards Dagover - it's seemingly supernatural, out of this world, but still in it, which gives it a whole other dimension. And then the shock of when she awakens, which gives the scene full-blown suspense and danger. I would watch this scene over and over, though it's not the only one that would continually fascinate.
Cabinet of Dr. Caligari doesn't carry the same weight of its director's name as Murnau or Lang in German cinema (sadly, Wiene made only a handful of other films seen outside of his native country), but with one film and its standing in the expressionist movement (or, I would also add, surrealist to the degree of its importance in dream/nightmare cinema) it's just as important, and potent today. Watch it in the dark, and hopefully not alone.