Review: There is a very good reason why
there is no quotation from the film above: there is absolutely
no dialogue whatsoever. Director F.W. Murnau (best known for
Nosferatu)
made this silent film completely without dialogue, and with
only a few intertitles (which will be discussed below.) That
this pantomime performance succeeds is a credit to the talents
of star Emil Jannings and cinematographer Karl Freund.
The story is quite straightforward. Jannings is the
unnamed doorman at the Atlantic Hotel. Fat and pleased with
himself, he primps his vast moustache in between assisting
patrons. When he sits down to rest after hauling a heavy
trunk, the manager spots him doing so. The next day (which
happens to be the wedding day of the doorman's daughter), he
is demoted to washroom attendant and stripped of his fine coat
with the large brass buttons. He suffers a terrible breakdown
(possibly a stroke), and becomes an object of ridicule and
mockery to his neighbors. Even his daughter and son-in-law
reject him when they learn of his descent.
At this
point, the intertitle appears and makes it clear that in life,
death would be the only thing that the porter would have to
look forward to. However, the author appends, "quite an
improbable epilogue," in which the doorman indeed gets the
last laugh of the title. Whereas this ending would otherwise
make the film silly and mawkish, the single intertitle makes
it clear that it is a mere canard thrown out to satisfy small
minds that demand a happy ending, and underlines the inherent
cynicism and despondence of the narrative.
Jannings is
nothing short of spectacular in the role of the doorman. In
the space of twenty minutes he goes from a pleasant, self-satisfed high to utter degradation and hopelessness, all
conveyed in his face and his body language. His desire to
work, even as the washroom attendant, makes him try to harness
his pride, but with little success. His breakdown is quite
believable and moving in the extreme. The supporting cast also
does a fine job, with Mary Delschaft as the daughter
reluctantly obeying her husband in turning away her own
father. Emile Kurz, as the doorman's aunt, whose gossip
informs the neighborhood about the demotion, is also
excellent, making for a splendid harpy who lives only to pass
the time with vile rumors.
Freund's camera work is
highly active. There are tracking shots all over, and in one
memorable moment the camera goes through a window in
anticipation of the opening of Citizen Kane (though not
as seamlessly as in the later film). When the doorman's aunt
spots him working in the washroom, the camera rushes
vertiginously into her eyes, compounding the horror of her
expression. The breakdown is signified by multiple exposures
and distortions which are highly unsettling. The photography
is first-rate all the way. Especially notable is the drunken
fantasy of the doorman, where he not only fantasizes resuming
his job, but becoming a veritable superman who carries trunks
with a single finger. The camera here weaves and wanders in
and out of focus in a nice duplication of a drunken stupor.
Timothy Brock's music score is the final piece that
makes this classic live. Centered on a mournful solo cello,
the score beautifully underlines the action without being
obtrusive or Mickey-Mousing.
From DIGITALLYOBSESSED
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