THE CABINET OF DR CALIGARI BY ROBERT WIENER   The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is a German film from 1920, directed by Robert Wiener and written by Hans Janowitz and Carl Mayer, both of whom emerged from World War I strongly embittered against the wartime government.  The two writers used the powerful new medium of film to create an expressionist masterpiece, which became highly successful and is generally regarded as one of the first horror films. This peculiar masterpiece recounts the story of a mad fair performer and the sleepwalker who he sends to commit murders in the night. Everything in the background is off center and slanted, as if it could slide right out of the frame.  The scene in which Cesare looms over the sleeping form of Jane excellently portrays this.  Cesare must first climb through a trapezoidal window into a house whose walls are diagonal.  These walls only serve to match the equally slanted furniture, and all of these effects serve to enhance the distorted reality seen throughout the film.  In itself, this is not a startling plot. The film's design transforms it into something very weird, especially as Cesare is seen carrying the unconscious Jane and is pursued by a mob. The chase carries them through streets of stark lights and shadows and up a zigzagging mountain trail. This is perhaps the most striking example of Cesare's restraint and eventual release; sequence showing his abduction of Jane and subsequent fall from the rooftops of Holstenwall. This scene, most pungent and captivating opens in on Jane as she sleeps, clothed in white flowing garments and surrounded by a soft light coming from the direction of the window. Although she, too, is motionless, her posture (her hands and arms form circles around her head and chest) and the fluidity of her apparel give the scene a sense of constant gentle movement. The viewer's attention is also drawn toward the light coming from the window, centered in the background, surrounded by pillars bearing semicircular designs. Next we are presented with the most well-choreographed shot in the film: jumping from the two sleeping figures of Jane and the supposed Cesare, we see at first merely a blank wall, with a strong light from the right casting numerous shadows and shapes. A protrusion near the source of the light seems to resemble a side-lit face, staring fixedly at the shadows on the wall. Once again, a motionless scene, but the stillness is suddenly penetrated by a vague movement in the darkness of the shadows. Slowly the figure of Cesare, in his black leotard, becomes visible. Sneaking along the wall, arms outstretched and reaching up, walking on tip-toe and pressed to the side, Cesare becomes, in fact, himself a shadow as he moves. This scene immediately recalls the shots of Francis sneaking around the deserted fairgrounds, as indeed both men attempt to avoid being seen. Francis was, however, clumsy in his movements, at times on all fours, at other times standing half-bent, and scampering around, mouse-like, as if he was not sure exactly where to go next. Cesare's actions are entirely the opposite: it is clear that he knows precisely where he needs to go, and is adept at such nighttime escapades, as indeed, he blends so perfectly into the shadows. In addition, although time is pressing for him, he moves slowly, carefully, and rhythmically, very much like a cat stalking its prey. After a moment, the camera again opens in on Jane, asleep in her white billowy bed; this is essentially the same shot as seen earlier. But this time, the viewer's attention is immediately drawn to the window in the background, as there is a slight motion visible through the window. The camera then cuts much closer to the window, centering it in the frame, almost presenting a point-of-view shot from Jane's bed, although she still lies sleeping. Whereas the view of Jane had opened through a round iris, we now see a diamond-shaped mask framing Cesare, which remains on him all the time he is outside the window. Rising slowly up from the base of the window, almost as if he were floating in mid-air, Cesare stares for a moment into the room. Then Cesare slowly reaches for the bars which guard the window, a reminder of those Francis had peered through at Caligari's hut. He takes one in his hands, then effortlessly breaks it off and casts it to the ground, all the while keeping his stare fixed on Jane in the room. It is then that the long dagger in Cesare's hand becomes visible.   As Cesare steps through the window, the camera moves back to show more of the room. Cesare begins his approach towards the bed, climbing delicately over the window sill, pointing his toes and legs as he stalks through the background. The restraint in his movements is again clear: his steps are small, delicate, even effeminate, and his arms are held tightly at his sides, fists pointing straight down. At one point he is then framed by the two chairs in the room, which, significantly, are facing apart. These two chairs could indeed be taken as a symbol for Jane and her fiancé Francis; it is thus Cesare himself who comes between the two, making a division between the two that really never mends. As Cesare's gliding walk continues, one can almost sense the rhythmic nature of his movements: one foot follows the other, in a perfect pattern of restraint and hypnosis. There is not a single twitch here that is out of place, and Caligari's control over Cesare's movements is complete. In essence Cesare has become Caligari's puppet, moving by force of Caligari's will through the room. This restraint imposed by Caligari contrasts sharply with the doctor's own movements, which we have seen to be wide, expressive, and at times uncontrolled. His hypnotism of Cesare, though, forces upon the sleepwalker a rhythmic, unnatural calm totally different from that of his human master. When he reaches the side of Jane's bed, Cesare gracefully raises his hand bearing the dagger, and points it directly down at Jane. We now see a short glimpse of Cesare's face, eyes wide, clearly hypnotized, not only by Caligari's commands, but by Jane's sleeping beauty as well. It is noteworthy that for the extent of Cesare's approach through the room, the lighting comes exclusively from the sides and back; we are thus unable to see Cesare's face until the moment he bends down to admire the sleeping Jane. As the dagger begins its descent, the camera moves out to a wider view, where Jane and Cesare are centered in the image. Cesare then falters, hesitates, and begins to lower the knife, at which point the camera focuses in again on Cesare's face, to show his staring eyes. The change here from the previous scene is impressive: not only have Cesare's eyes suddenly lost their glazed-over appearance, but he seems to have acquired a sudden humanity in his facial expressions. His eyes soften, even move, and, perhaps most importantly, his lips move, of their own accord. It is unclear what words he mouths here, but they obviously bear on his inability to complete the task which Caligari has assigned to him. He then reaches down, without the knife, to stroke Jane's hair. Free of the demented control of his master, at least for the moment, Cesare is seen to be a tender, emotional being, quite incapable of harming a creature so beautiful as Jane. He has been set free, both by his love for Jane and by her own innocent beauty.  Cesare's actions here go beyond a simple expression of tenderness; indeed, they become almost motherly or sisterly in their soft, gentle manner. The tender, motherly expressiveness of Cesare's outreached arm is abruptly destroyed, however, when his hand touches Jane's hair: she awakens, jumps up, screams, and tries to flee. Cesare then reaches down to embrace or capture her, and the camera cuts to a wonderful shot of the two of them, entwined, with both their mouths wide open, both screaming. By sharing this scream, the two figures merge into one, although their differences, brought out by the black and white clothing, are certainly retained. Their entwinement continues throughout the next few shots, as they struggle, Cesare holding back Jane's arms as if to prevent any harm coming to her or to himself. At one point they then fall onto the bed, but Cesare immediately picks Jane up under his arm and heads toward the window. The cut to the two household servants lying in their angular beds, awakened by Jane's screaming, only emphasizes the contrast between Cesare's lithe movements and the world of Jane's household: graceless, confined to their bourgeois world of normalcy and clumsiness. As the figures scamper out of bed, Cesare is seen making his escape out the window, Jane hanging motionless over his arms. The subsequent shots of the figures in white serve to underline this disgrace: running around, frantic, searching different corners of the room, and obviously unsure of what should be done, the parental figures are distraught by the prospect of shame brought upon their daughter. Indeed, the father then falls upon Jane's disheveled bed, sobbing and totally incapable of controlling his emotions. Only when several figures at the window catch a glimpse of the retreating Cesare does the father get up and begin to organize the servants, pushing them away as he too looks out of the window. It is here that the camera cuts to a point-of-view shot, portraying what the father sees as Cesare makes his escape with Jane over the pointed rooftops of Holstenwall. Like the father's narrow vision, only able to see his daughter being abducted. The strong white light coming from the upper part of the screen suggests a bright moonlit night, while in the lower half of the screen the dark rooftops, Cesare's dark suit, and the shadows make Jane's flowing white robes all the more striking. The next crosscut, a marked change from the open sky and free air of the town's skyline, shows Caligari, still sitting motionless, pensively, looking again out through the bars on the window of his small cottage. The black-clad figure of Cesare is still in the box, and at this point the viewer is forced to realize (if he had failed to do so earlier) that Francis has been deceived. And indeed, the next shot completes the deception, for Francis, still peeking through the window, is clearly mesmerized by the motionless pair. As the camera returns to take up the escape of Cesare again, the familiar wall of shadows returns, and Cesare is seen fleeing along the the same path he had followed before. This time, he does not make the pretense of trying not to be seen, for he knows the men are certain to chase him. Nevertheless, as if it is ingrained in his being, he clings near to the wall, and still presents the appearance of a (now somewhat deformed) shadowing passing over the wall. A moment later follow two of the servants sent out to chase Cesare. After this the camera presents a view of the long white path leading away from town, with a large white stain precisely in the center of the frame. Cesare comes running down the path, graceful as ever, but clearly strained under the load of carrying Jane with him. Indeed, he is panting and at one point stumbles. He then stops, tries to catch his breath, and, when he notices his pursuers closing in on him, he drops Jane precisely on the white stain, and continues, obviously exhausted, down the path. Jane, having been abandoned by Cesare, is quickly surrounded again by the elements of her world, the servants dressed all in white. They huddle around her, concerned, then begin to carry her back up the trail. The rest of the figures hurry on past, chasing after the fleeing Cesare. Although they are never seen to catch up with him, the next shot is most likely a point-of-view shot, showing what the servants see as they watch Cesare reach the end of his flight. Arms outstretched, fingers taut, Cesare seems to blend in perfectly with the spindly trees behind him, as he freezes, a pained and longing expression on his face, then falls, like a leaf from the tree, off the protective wall surrounding the city. Full of imagery, this shot shows clearly the expulsion of Cesare, the "other" who does not fit into conventional societal roles, from the bourgeois environment of the city. A short shot then ends the escape sequence, showing Francis, still peering through Caligari's window, taking a final look at the motionless figure in the box, then lowering his head, considering, and slowly sneaking off away from the fairgrounds. Francis, unlike Cesare, cannot remove the bars on the window, and thus fails to achieve his goal in searching out the Doctor. Cesare, though, has in a sense succeeded in reaching his aim, since he has broken the reins of his master's control, and found once again his humanity and free will. Nonetheless, even in escaping the doctor's control, he has failed to be reincorporated into society, and has therefore been expelled from the city. Cesare's expressive movements thus contribute significantly to an understanding of at least the inner frame of the storyline in Dr. Caligari. His sleek, androgynous form and lithe walk bring up the issue not only of his sexuality and thus his relationship with Jane, but indeed call into question his very role within or outside of the bourgeois society. In addition, feline and mouse-like images throughout the escape sequence emphasize the predatory nature of Cesare's sinister deeds, and point out the general ineffectuality of the bourgeois world in dealing with a creature so extraordinary as the sleepwalker. Finally, the control and restrained power evident in so many of Cesare's sleepwalking motions indicate that Caligari's reign over the sleeper is truly complete, dominating both mind and body. Only by breaking this control can Cesare hope to rediscover his lost humanity, but his attempt fails to effect a change in his social isolation. The early German cinema shows in this film one of its most expressive and expressionistic moments, leaving the viewer pondering the complexity of possible interpretive strategies.

HOW CAN THIS ENTRALLING SCENE BE RELATED TO CLASS DISCUSSION?

 

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is often hailed as a masterpiece of German expressionism.  Kasimir Edschmid defines expressionism as “a reaction against the atom-splitting of Impressionism, which reflects the iridescent ambiguities, disquieting diversity, and ephemeral hues of nature." To the expressionist, it would be absurd to reproduce the world as purely and simply as it is (Eisner 10); instead, the artist focuses on feelings and perceptions, which reflect expressionism’s relationship to modernism.

Expressionist artists commit themselves to impulses, which results in the desire to express emotion through extreme visuals.  Often, aesthetic value is exchanged for emotional power, and though expressionist artwork may not be the most pleasing to the eye, it nonetheless elicits an emotional response from its viewer.  This is achieved in Caligari through its unique set design.

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari has become synonymous with cinematic expressionism.  The visuals in the film pay homage to the expressionism in painting as practiced in the 1900s and 1910s (Reimer 71).  Reality is reproduced as if it were reflected in a fun house mirror.  The distortions, however, do not obscure the objects but instead render them in distorted shapes.  Elongated shadows are painted onto set walls, and the streets wind crookedly past houses that are equally crooked.

 The world, created to be both familiar and strange, speaks to the physical and psychological horrors Germans experienced after the end of the war (Reimer 72).  According to Kracauer in his From Caligari to Hitler, “to a revolutionized people, expressionism seemed to combine the denial of bourgeois tradition with faith in man’s power feely to shape society and nature.  On account of such virtues it may have cast a spell over many Germans upset by the breakdown of their universe."  Kracauer's discussion of Caligari in his book is one of the most well-known and lasting interpretations of the film.

The frame, however, would appear to negate this revolutionary story.  The revelation that Francis is insane and a patient in the asylum himself casts doubt on the veracity of the story which he recounts, absolving Caligari of his crimes and diminishing the social critique of the story.  Kracauer, however, offers an explanation for this frame.  He claims that the original screenplay written by Janowitz and Mayer did not include the frame at all; the production company and the director Wiener forced the frame, “a change against which the two authors violently protested. But no one heeded them” (Kracauer 66).  Thus a revolutionary film is transformed into a conformist one.

Kracauer believes this frame to reflect a general trend in public thought at the time.  During the postwar years, Germans tended to withdraw from the outside world into the intangible realm of the soul.  “By putting the original into a box, this version faithfully mirrored the general retreat into a shell” (Kracauer 67) and so the original story was not mutilated but framed in symbolism.

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is praised worldwide for its anti-authoritarian message and expressionistic style.  Though this style may have been used only as a way to sell itself, it nonetheless offers a stunning depiction of post-war Germany.  The film is cited as one of the first horror films and influenced the development of film noir.  Caligari remains to this day an important part of the history of German cinema.

 

In one of the best-known books ever written about film, From Caligari to Hitler, the art historian Siegfried Kracauer argued that the rise of Nazism was foretold by the preceding years of German films, which reflected a world at wrong angles and lost values. In this reading, Caligari was Hitler and the German people were sleepwalkers under his spell.

I don't believe the films caused Nazism in Germany, and whether they predicted it depends a great deal on hindsight. What is certain is that the Expressionist horror films created the most ”durable and bulletproof of genres. No other genre has box-office appeal all by itself, although film noir, also deeply influenced by Expressionism, comes close.” All a horror film need promise is horror -- the unspeakable, the terrifying, the merciless, the lurching monstrous figure of destruction. It needs no stars, only basic production values, just the ability to promise horror.

The 1920s were the decade that saw the rise of the Dada and Surrealist movements. The first rejected all pretense, all standards, all sincerity. It was a profound expression of hopelessness and alienation. It led to the rise of the related art movement Surrealism, which cut loose from order and propriety, rejected common values, scorned tradition and sought to overthrow society with anarchy. It's said such movements were a reaction to the horror of World War I, which upset decades of relative tranquility and order, threw the European nations into unstable new relationships and presented the inhuman spectacle of modern mechanized battle. After the brutality of trench warfare, it would be difficult to return to landscapes and still life.

the most fantastic silent films I have ever seen. The amazing jagged scenery, t

This was one of the most fantastic silent films I have ever seen. The amazing jagged scenery, the shocking role reversals, and the convoluted, freakish storyline kept me engrossed for the entirety of the film, simultaneously a revealing look at a society at a particular moment in history, expressing the disillusionment, distrust, and isolation experienced by many people living in Germany at the time.

 

 

REFRENCES

 

1.  Lotte H. Eisner, The Haunted Screen (Berkeley: University of California, 1969), 10.

 

2.  Robert Reimer, Historical Dictionary of German Cinema (New York: The Scarecrow, Inc., 2008), 71.

 

3.       Siegfried Kracauer, From Caligari to Hitler (New York: North Rivers, 1947), 68.