F.W. Murnau, along with compatriot Fritz Lang, was and remains one of the most influential German directors of all time, his surviving work including 'Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens (1922),' 'Faust (1926)' and 'Sunrise (1927)' {the latter of which I have regrettably not seen yet} continuing to inspire new generations of film-goers and filmmakers more than eighty years later. In 1924, Murnau released what it often held as one of his masterpieces, 'The Last Laugh' {though the director's original title was 'The Last Man'}. However, in no small part due to the interference of Universum Film (UFA) Studio, I must admit that I found this effort to be slightly underwhelming, an unfortunate result for a motion picture that I had felt sure I'd adore. Frequent collaborator Emil Jannings is undoubtedly the star of the film, occupying almost the entire screen time, and playing the character about whom the story revolves. Performing with a passion that transcends the technical boundaries of the silent film, Jannings gives a truly heart-breaking performance that is worth the price of admission alone.
'The Last Laugh' was the newest addition to a short-lived movement of film-making known as Kammerspiel, or "chamber-drama," which often concerned itself with the lives of the working-class, and rarely used intertitles to create spoken dialogue or narration. I found myself likening the style to that of the Italin neo-realism movement, if only for showing an average, not-particularly-important man overwhelmed by the cruelty of upper-class society. However, several scenes diverge from this mould, most specifically a dizzying, wondrous dream sequence, and a tacked-on optimistic ending imposed by the commercially-insecure studio. Though it was not the first film to exploit a moving camera, I've rarely seen a silent film making better use of the technique. The camera, with no small thanks to cinematographer Karl Freund {who went on to work on such American films 'All Quiet on the Western Front (1930)' and 'Key Largo (1947)'}, swoops gracefully through Murnau's specially-constructed sets, an effect that is both invigorating and captivating. In one ingenious sequence, the camera even passes through a glass window to achieve a close-up of our protagonist.
Hints of German Expressionism {in which Murnau had dabbled in previous years} are also easily noticeable, most notably in the entrancing dream sequence, in which a feverish hand-held camera captures Emil Jannings fancifully holding a hefty trunk high above his head, hurling it an impossible distance into the air and then catching it again with an outstretched arm. Also worth mentioning is a brief scene in which the downcast hotel porter, ashamed at having lost his prestigious job, imagines the tall building collapsing on top of him, representative of the enormous pressure that he feels has been thrust upon his life and respectability. The sneering collection of low-life gossipers, each sporting ridiculous sly grins of mischievous satisfaction, have a tendency to get annoying after a while, and I'd much rather be spending that time with Jannings' warm, kind and quietly proud hotel porter, even if his happy ending {introduced with an openly sardonic intertitle side-note from the director} is more of a crushing disappointment than anything else.
'The Last Laugh' was the newest addition to a short-lived movement of film-making known as Kammerspiel, or "chamber-drama," which often concerned itself with the lives of the working-class, and rarely used intertitles to create spoken dialogue or narration. I found myself likening the style to that of the Italin neo-realism movement, if only for showing an average, not-particularly-important man overwhelmed by the cruelty of upper-class society. However, several scenes diverge from this mould, most specifically a dizzying, wondrous dream sequence, and a tacked-on optimistic ending imposed by the commercially-insecure studio. Though it was not the first film to exploit a moving camera, I've rarely seen a silent film making better use of the technique. The camera, with no small thanks to cinematographer Karl Freund {who went on to work on such American films 'All Quiet on the Western Front (1930)' and 'Key Largo (1947)'}, swoops gracefully through Murnau's specially-constructed sets, an effect that is both invigorating and captivating. In one ingenious sequence, the camera even passes through a glass window to achieve a close-up of our protagonist.
Hints of German Expressionism {in which Murnau had dabbled in previous years} are also easily noticeable, most notably in the entrancing dream sequence, in which a feverish hand-held camera captures Emil Jannings fancifully holding a hefty trunk high above his head, hurling it an impossible distance into the air and then catching it again with an outstretched arm. Also worth mentioning is a brief scene in which the downcast hotel porter, ashamed at having lost his prestigious job, imagines the tall building collapsing on top of him, representative of the enormous pressure that he feels has been thrust upon his life and respectability. The sneering collection of low-life gossipers, each sporting ridiculous sly grins of mischievous satisfaction, have a tendency to get annoying after a while, and I'd much rather be spending that time with Jannings' warm, kind and quietly proud hotel porter, even if his happy ending {introduced with an openly sardonic intertitle side-note from the director} is more of a crushing disappointment than anything else.