Even after reading an intellectual synopsis online, my mind boggled at the storyline and the metaphorical theories attached to each character (is Cesare a representation of Francis's desire for Jane; and is Alan meant to symbolise anything that prevents Francis from winning Jane's affection?) but then I realised that I would never really want to – as much as I like dissecting metaphorical theories within films and assessing the relationships between the characters, this time I preferred watching and enjoying the production design and each scene as itself. The art deco images individually captured my attention, as well as my imagination to a huge extent.
What first struck me was that I was immediately distanced from the emotional potential of the film. This happened through the use of the colours and the cartoon like presentation of the plaques (the words looked handwritten, and the backgrounds resembled a comic strip.) The lurid colours made me think of looking at things from the viewpoint of a bug, or an alien – or as I later thought as a madman, the slides with writing reminded me of Brechtian plays in which the audience were actively distanced from the emotional potential because they were being told what was happening in a written form, and before the event happened – and not simply in dialogue. Which brings me to mention the effect the silence of the film had on me. For me there is something particularly romantic and fascinating about seeing people speaking and not being able to hear them, indeed when are you are so used to be able to in modern cinema. The actors' expressions are so vivid and strong (verging on melodramatic) that their faces were enough for me to look at, never mind the story. I'm always left thinking what they're really thinking, and why they are saying that, when they're clearly thinking something different…or how sometimes how hard or easy it is read people. Accordingly, as is often the case with silent films, watching The Cabinet of Dr Caligari was like being a spectator of a moving picture storybook. (This is also emphasised by the fact the reality of time is constantly broken by the use of the written slides.) Again, I'm given the sense, when this happens, that I'm seeing a world, a history, a life that I can't quite touch because I can't hear them and therefore they're not real..
Another thing I was very aware of (but something articulate exactly) is that I was watching something, not from, but IN the past. Did anyone else feel this?
I enjoyed it very much, and though the subject matter of madness always makes me extremely uncomfortable as it forces me to assess where the lines of sanity and insanity cross over (strangely, I always get this feeling a little when watching Willy Wonka and seeing fairs and rides always creep me out slightly..In fact, so did Hunger – in a very big way – I don't like madness.) Anyway, I liked watching the visual artistry of the film and the soundtrack was beautiful (it echoed the romanticism, and the emotions felt by the characters perfectly.)
ching and enjoying the production design and each scene as itself. The art deco images individually captured my attention, as well as my imagination to a huge extent.
What first struck me was that I was immediately distanced from the emotional potential of the film. This happened through the use of the colours and the cartoon like presentation of the plaques (the words looked handwritten, and the backgrounds resembled a comic strip.) The lurid colours made me think of looking at things from the viewpoint of a bug, or an alien – or as I later thought as a madman, the slides with writing reminded me of Brechtian plays in which the audience were actively distanced from the emotional potential because they were being told what was happening in a written form, and before the event happened – and not simply in dialogue. Which brings me to mention the effect the silence of the film had on me. For me there is something particularly romantic and fascinating about seeing people speaking and not being able to hear them, indeed when are you are so used to be able to in modern cinema. The actors' expressions are so vivid and strong (verging on melodramatic) that their faces were enough for me to look at, never mind the story. Accordingly, as is often the case with silent films, watching The Cabinet of Dr Caligari was like being a spectator of a moving picture storybook. (This is also emphasised by the fact the reality of time is constantly broken by the use of the written slides.)
Another thing I was very aware of (but something I can't articulate exactly) is that I was watching something, not from, but IN the past. Did anyone else feel this?
I enjoyed it very much, and though the subject matter of madness always makes me extremely uncomfortable as it forces me to assess where the lines of sanity and insanity cross over (strangely, I always get this feeling a little when watching Willy Wonka and seeing fairs and rides always creep me out slightly..In fact, so did Hunger – in a very big way – ok, I don't like madness.) Anyway, I liked watching the visual artistry of the film and the soundtrack was beautiful (it echoed the romanticism, and the emotions felt by the characters perfectly.)
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