Kino 1927 - Cinema's Most Revolutionary Year

Our absence from the comforting light of the silver screen is a pain felt by many cinephiles in the last two years of pandemic lockdown blues. This has been a rather dramatic change for many of us; instead of the comfy leather chairs and dark atmosphere of the theatre, we are relegated to the sofa watching the latest content from franchises that have come to dominate the entertainment industry - all complete with their moral lecturing, of course. From all indicators it would appear that movies, and the broader culture of cinema, is on its deathbed: the lack of theatre attendance, the flops being put out by Hollywood, the toxic culture of the industry itself, etc.

I know for me at least, the cinema has always been a place that provided a brief sense of escape from the exhaustion of modern society or my own problems - getting lost in these stories and visual narratives, whether fiction or nonfiction, was a staple part of my childhood and development. To see it “go” is disheartening to say the least, and a sign of the continued atomization of our society at worst.

While we may not be allowed to gather in the theatres, out of some arbitrary fear-tactics by the government and media, we are forced to make the most of what we have.

This past week I had the pleasure of watching two of the greatest films ever made. Not only in terms of scale and achievement, but rather the message they both hold and their cultural significance. Both of these films, I later learned, were released the same year; 1927. While almost a century’s gap is in between our time and the time of Fritz Lang and Abel Gance, only this year do I truly believe these films can be appreciated to their fullest extent. The year 1927 was a revolutionary year for cinema and storytelling - giving us a window into the glories of the past, and a terrible vision of the future.

Abel Gance’s Napoleon (1927)

I was browsing my recommended videos earlier this year and something in particular caught my attention. It was a trailer for the Blu-Ray release of Napoleon, a restored version of the 1927 film about the man himself. The preview was titillating, and it intrigued me. Never before had I had any desire to watch silent films - but something about the style and the music paired together forced me to indulge my curiosity. About £50 later, and another hundred on a multi-region player after my first viewing was rendered useless by region locks, I was on my way.

From the get-go, you appreciate the passion that has been poured into the film; not only by the director, but the team of restorationists, artists and experts who have helped resurrect this project. This is a film that has only been able to see the light of day because of decades of hard work by men like Kevin Brownlow and the British Film Institute.

Napoleon, is the story of the meteoric rise of history’s most favorite General-turned-Emperor, with the main focus on his childhood, early military career, and Italian Campaign.

Despite a mixed critical reception at the time, lack of profit from its initial release, and eventual canning of the planned sequels, Napoleon proves to be a timeless classic of cinema, and perhaps the sort of film that we in 2021 should look back on and take notes.

The story behind the making of this movie is incredible. Originally envisioned as a six-part epic on the Emperor’s life, Gance wanted to fully capture the essence of France’s most famous figure. To do this Gance had to push the boundaries of what was possible at his time.

This he certainly succeeded in doing.

Napoleon employed some of the most revolutionary filming techniques of its era, like camera mounts for horses, ropes and pulleys, as well as harnesses for actors' chests. Gance wanted to bring the audience into the fray, to make them experience history, to live alongside the Revolution. The scale of the final film was an eight-hour epic, before Gance had the sense to trim it ever so slightly to four.

The various scenes that take place at the Convention Hall throughout the marathon of a runtime are the most compelling examples of the vision Gance wanted to create. The cinematography, the editing of each sequence helped establish the further chaos created by the Revolution’s architects, the likes of Robespierre and Marat. Scenes like these paired with Carl Davis’ emotionally riveting score make Napoleon a film that will have you cheering ‘Les Marseilles’ by the credit sequence.

While the picture may have severe cases of historical inaccuracy - Bonaparte’s revering of the Jacobins and the Revolution being the largest and most glaring - Napoleon serves a higher purpose than just telling the story of an incredible and infamous figure. It serves as the creation of a contemporary French, and larger European identity.

The sweeping aside of historical nuance is not done without purpose or disrespect for the source material - Gance himself is said to have read a mountain of literature on Bonaparte. It is done to inspire those in the audience, who are not only watching a film, they are witnessing and experiencing a metaphysical connection to their past - to the glories of great men, so that they themselves may realize their fullest potential.

As you watch the film, you often find yourself asking whether you are watching a production, or whether Gance had merely set up a camera as history took place around him. This feeling is reassured when you realize that this sensation is exactly what Gance intended. The blurring of the lines between past and present, the opportunity of a future that is waiting to be written (even if we know how the Emperor’s life actually ended) and the synthesis of all aspects of the man - his wants, his fears, his desires, his visions, his triumphs - while it may not be accurate, I’d argue that a film as complex as this is one the best showcase to understanding a man as complicated as Napoleon Bonaparte.

Napoleon inspires something greater, as does the second film I’ll review.

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Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (1927)

When I first sat down to watch Metropolis I was immediately stunned by how much I could see the parallels between Lang’s setting and our own contemporary world. Metropolis, the city of the future that is built on the continued function of ‘The Machine’ deep within it - it is a city that is populated by two classes; the workers, and the technocrats.

The technocrats live a life of excessive luxury - pleasure gardens filled with seductive young women, gambling and dancing at the Yoshiwara (a reference to the infamous Red Light District of Edo), and endless enjoyment for those lucky enough to enjoy and sustain it. The workers toil in the underbelly of Metropolis, slaving away performing arbitrary but repetitive tasks to keep the machine running. If ‘The Machine’ stops for whatever reason - disaster is guaranteed to ensue. Metropolis cannot exist without The Machine - yet it is this very system that keeps everyone enslaved.

This “perfect” system is ruled over by its architect, Joh Fredersen - a cold and calculating man whose desire for order above all else blinds him from the horror that he has created. It is not until Joh’s son, Fred, finds himself exploring the depths of the machine rooms that he learns of the terrible truth of Metropolis. It is built on lies and exploitation of those who are removed from “greater” society. One may get images of the silicon mines in the Congo, reflecting on our very own Metropolis we’ve created in the Western World and Asia.

I could go further about the setting of Metropolis, but that wouldn’t allow me to explore the most important themes that are present in Fritz Lang’s magnum opus.

Metropolis, above all, is a film dedicated to warning us of the future we now find ourselves in. A world where efficiency for efficiency's sake is the credo, where cold logic dominates the decision making of those in power, where the individual is assigned a path in life - not as people, but as mere cogs in a greater machine. Or, they are wasting their lives pursuing pleasure at the palaces instead of building a better world. How unlike anything we have ever experienced in recent times, eh?

Paralleling themes with the Biblical story of the Tower of Babel, Metropolis is a deeply spiritual film, despite first impressions from the aesthetics. The workers seek refuge and solace in thousand year old catacombs, digesting ancient wisdom from the film's other protagonist, Maria. On the opposite end, this worker’s enlightenment is being countered and manipulated by Rotwang, a mad scientist whose sole aim is to seek vengeance on Joh Frederson, and destroy Metropolis - his legacy. The course of events in the film ends with the rise of the workers, and the destruction of ‘The Machine’ that runs Metropolis, at the cost of order and sanity. Contrasts of good and evil, the angelic and the demonic, the virtues against the vices, are all found in this epic work of science fiction.

When you turn on the news these days, and you see images of rioters in the streets, paired with the continued appearance of perpetually out-of-touch or simply apathetic elites, Metropolis is a movie for the 2020’s released about one hundred years too early, and the reception at its initial release is evident of that. Had those initial reviewers and movie-goers had the same experience, technology and society that we have today, they likely would have appreciated its message more.

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I’m not certain we’ll ever be able to enjoy films the way we used to - my fingers are crossed that whatever comes next after this pandemic, movie theatres will experience a surge in ticket sales unlike ever before. But this revival cannot just be about getting arses into seats, which has been the culture of the movie industry for far too long. What I learned from watching these two silent epics from 1927 is that we’ve sacrificed so much to commercialism. Filmmakers aren’t looking to tell grand narratives like they used to, they’re looking for a paycheck from Disney or China.

This sacrifice of soul for profits, of craft for consumer goods, is the major takeaway from the latter of the two films - and a lesson that isn’t taught enough in modern society.

When we do eventually find ourselves sitting in front of that silver screen once again, let us make sure it is for something which is worthy enough to be called a film, and not another advertisement from media executives.

“The mediator between the head and the hands must be the heart.”

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(Originally published in Issue #2 of The Mallard)