Fritz Lang’s majestic fable of ambition, betrayal, and vengeance stands as a monumental achievement of silent filmmaking in Die Nibelungen, lifting mythical kings and battles out of Germanic legend, and giving them operatic, larger-than-life form on the cinema screen.
In Destiny’s eternal struggle between love and death, a young woman bargains to win her fiancé back from the afterlife itself, navigating a series of tragically romantic tales through Fritz Lang’s extraordinary Gothic anthology.
It is a cruel reversal of fortune which sees a proud hotel doorman demoted to washroom attendant in The Last Laugh, and F.W. Murnau’s liberated camerawork evocatively traces his tragic descent into deep humiliation, dwelling in the shame and indignity that comes with an earth-shattering challenge to one’s entire identity.
Through the violent hurricanes which ravage the Texan wastelands in The Wind, Victor Sjöström delivers a haunting metaphor for life’s mercurial turbulence, plunging one helpless ingénue into a howling, elemental chaos which harshly erodes our sanity.
Rarely has history been instilled with as much lively effervescence as it is in October: Ten Days That Shook the World, as Sergei Eisenstein immortalises that jolt of radical exhilaration once felt in the Russian Revolution through the eloquent arrangement of visual symbols, using statues, weapons, and religious icons to recount this tale of Bolshevik victory.
The radicalisation of a long-suffering family matriarch in Mother channels her fierce devotion towards the people of Russia, casting her as a revolutionary icon whose anguish and resilience is felt deeply in Vsevolod Pudovkin’s eloquent, invigorating montages.
Fervent expressions of agony, apprehension, and patriotic joy are made visceral in Battleship Potemkin’s recount of a historic naval mutiny, resulting from Sergei Eisenstein’s passionate experimentations in cinematic montage, and reaching a peak of visual, kinetic innovation that has never been surpassed.
Much like factory workers uniting in organised rebellion against their exploitative managers, Sergei Eisenstein lets revolutionary formal purpose drive every editing choice in Strike, building symphonic set pieces out of montages that possess a brisk, mathematical precision.
If there is anything that will save Buster Keaton’s stone-faced romantic from the violent family feud in Our Hospitality, then it is the amusing code of honour that ironically grants him sanctuary in the home of those who wish to kill him most, setting up a series of hilarious misadventures that erupt into bold, death-defying stunts.
In the delicate hands of G.W. Pabst, this fable of female scapegoating develops beguiling nuances in its thoughtful characterisations, unequivocally rejecting clear-cut labels of vamps and virgins baked into the history of mythological storytelling, yet never failing to draw us deeper into Louise Brooks’ dazzling feminine thrall.
