Twardowski, Hans Von

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (Restored Authorized Edition)

A milestone of the silent film era and one of the first "art films" to gain international acclaim, this eerie German classic from 1919 remains the most prominent example of German expressionism in the emerging art of the cinema. Stylistically, the look of the film's painted sets--distorted perspectives, sharp angles, twisted architecture--was designed to reflect (or express) the splintered psychology of its title character, a sinister figure who uses a lanky somnambulist (Conrad Veidt) as a circus attraction. But when Caligari and his sleepwalker are suspected of murder, their novelty act is surrounded by more supernatural implications. With its mad-doctor scenario, striking visuals, and a haunting, zombie-like character at its center, Caligari was one of the first horror films to reach an international audience, sending shock waves through artistic circles and serving as a strong influence on the classic horror films of the 1920s, '30s, and beyond. It's a museum piece today, of interest more for its historical importance, but Caligari still casts a considerable spell. --Jeff Shannon

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (Special Collector's Edition)

A milestone of the silent film era and one of the first "art films" to gain international acclaim, this eerie German classic from 1919 remains the most prominent example of German expressionism in the emerging art of the cinema. Stylistically, the look of the film's painted sets--distorted perspectives, sharp angles, twisted architecture--was designed to reflect (or express) the splintered psychology of its title character, a sinister figure who uses a lanky somnambulist (Conrad Veidt) as a circus attraction. But when Caligari and his sleepwalker are suspected of murder, their novelty act is surrounded by more supernatural implications. With its mad-doctor scenario, striking visuals, and a haunting, zombie-like character at its center, Caligari was one of the first horror films to reach an international audience, sending shock waves through artistic circles and serving as a strong influence on the classic horror films of the 1920s, '30s, and beyond. It's a museum piece today, of interest more for its historical importance, but Caligari still casts a considerable spell. --Jeff Shannon

This milestone film, known for its expressionistic sets and techniques, tells the strange tale of a sleepwalker under the spell of the mysterious and evil Dr. Caligari.

The Scarlet Empress - Criterion Collection

The radiant Princess Sophia Frederica (Marlene Dietrich) gets taken to Russia, renamed Catherine, and married off to the Grand Duke Peter. Peter is "a royal half-wit" with all the physical (and intellectual) appeal of a halibut. Luckily, even before the wedding Sophia-Catherine-Marlene has already fallen in lust with the handsome, womanizing emissary Count Alexei, the first of many uniformed conquests. Melodrama doesn't come any more melo than this, and Dietrich doesn't really do much, except swivel those enormous searchlight eyes from one man to another, but this is one of her sexiest and most memorable roles. It culminates with her escaping from the Palace--and stealing the throne of Russia from the halibut (who by now is Peter III)--all dressed in Cossack uniform. The Empress, Peter's aunt, is played--somehow appropriately--with the accent and social grace of a New Jersey chambermaid. Great music, great lighting, and great camera work, all directed with an odd mixture of campy humor and glaring bombast by Josef von Sternberg. Scarlet Empress has (to quote the titles) "a supporting cast of 1,000 players"; at least 950 of them look exactly like Rasputin. They don't make movies like this anymore; what a pity. --Richard Farr

Filmmaker-svengali Josef von Sternberg escalates his obsession with screen legend Marlene Dietrich in this lavish depiction of sex and deceit in the 18th-century Russian court. A self-proclaimed "relentless excursion into style," the pair's sixth collaboration follows the exploits of Princess Sophia (Dietrich) as she evolves from trembling innocent to cunning sexual libertine Catherine the Great. With operatic melodrama, flamboyant visuals, and a cast of thousands, this ornate spectacle represents the apex of cinematic pageantry by Hollywood's master of artifice.

Hangmen Also Die

Because it's been little seen, and because people tend to shrug off contemporaneous World War II films as "propaganda," Hangmen Also Die has never received its due. It's a brilliant, riveting movie, made in response to the atrocities committed against the Czech people following the assassination of Reichsprotektor Heydrich, Hitler's personal "hangman." Under Fritz Lang's ferociously stylized direction, the duel of wits between the Nazi occupiers and the Prague underground--"a ghost army sworn to haunt them till their blood runs cold"--becomes the stuff of legend: virtually another installment of Die Nibelungen, and a dynamic variation on the urban phantasmagoria of the Mabuse films and Spione and M.

There is propaganda--but when the blood-curdling rhetoric comes from Bertolt Brecht, no less, in his only movie script for an American producer, who's to complain? Lang was Brecht's full collaborator, however, and the narrative is a steel trap closing on everyone. Every act of charity may potentially doom an entire family, and the resistance fighters--especially Brian Donlevy's doctor-assassin--agonize over their culpability in jeopardizing hundreds of innocents taken hostage in reprisal for Heydrich's shooting. The moral-ethical duality extends to the casting, and our response to it. Apart from Walter Brennan, astonishingly "Brechtian" as a Czech professor of history, the "good guys" are ho-hum Central Casting types while the Nazis--evil incarnate--are juicily portrayed by a passel of German-Jewish émigrés (Alexander Granach, Reinhold Schünzel, Ludwig Donath, et al.), all savoring the opportunity to skewer their own oppressors and to act up a German Expressionist storm in their Hollywood exile. Superbly photographed by James Wong Howe. --Richard T. Jameson

Phantom

Flicker Alley, in partnership with the Friedrich-Wilhelm-Murnau-Foundation is proud to present, Phantom, which marked a major turning point in the influential career and the groundbreaking style of cinema poet F.W. Murnau. In this beautifully reconstructed and restored edition from an amazingly detailed, original 1922 negative, Alfred Abel (Metropolis, Dr. Mabuse) plays Lorenz Lubota, a man obsessed with his own desires to achieve fame and wealth, who must confront the barriers of class keeping him from a woman (Lya de Putti)with whom he has had a fateful encounter.

Featuring a magnificent new orchestral score by Robert Israel, this powerfully expressive and surprisingly insightful film is a triumph of German Weimar cinema and a wonderful collaboration of many of its most skilled artisans and recognizable performers. Through dazzling visuals and memorable characters, Phantom paints a portrait of the corrupting influence of money, the conformity of societal norms, and the redemptive power of family.

Spies

Fritz Lang Epic Collection (Metropolis/Die Nibelungen/Woman in the Moon/Spies)

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari

A milestone of the silent film era and one of the first "art films" to gain international acclaim, this eerie German classic from 1919 remains the most prominent example of German expressionism in the emerging art of the cinema. Stylistically, the look of the film's painted sets--distorted perspectives, sharp angles, twisted architecture--was designed to reflect (or express) the splintered psychology of its title character, a sinister figure who uses a lanky somnambulist (Conrad Veidt) as a circus attraction. But when Caligari and his sleepwalker are suspected of murder, their novelty act is surrounded by more supernatural implications. With its mad-doctor scenario, striking visuals, and a haunting, zombie-like character at its center, Caligari was one of the first horror films to reach an international audience, sending shock waves through artistic circles and serving as a strong influence on the classic horror films of the 1920s, '30s, and beyond. It's a museum piece today, of interest more for its historical importance, but Caligari still casts a considerable spell. --Jeff Shannon

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari

A milestone of the silent film era and one of the first "art films" to gain international acclaim, this eerie German classic from 1919 remains the most prominent example of German expressionism in the emerging art of the cinema. Stylistically, the look of the film's painted sets--distorted perspectives, sharp angles, twisted architecture--was designed to reflect (or express) the splintered psychology of its title character, a sinister figure who uses a lanky somnambulist (Conrad Veidt) as a circus attraction. But when Caligari and his sleepwalker are suspected of murder, their novelty act is surrounded by more supernatural implications. With its mad-doctor scenario, striking visuals, and a haunting, zombie-like character at its center, Caligari was one of the first horror films to reach an international audience, sending shock waves through artistic circles and serving as a strong influence on the classic horror films of the 1920s, '30s, and beyond. It's a museum piece today, of interest more for its historical importance, but Caligari still casts a considerable spell. --Jeff Shannon

Masterworks Of The German Horror Cinema (Nosferatu / The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari / The Golem)

Three seminal works in one package make this an ideal choice for film buffs and horror fans. The Masterworks of the German Horror Cinema contains three influential masterpieces from the early 1920s: The Golem, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, and Nosferatu. All three films are excellent, and their influence on later works, most notably Frankenstein, is clear. Nosferatu, directly plagiarized from Bram Stoker's Dracula, is by far the scariest of the three. Max Schreck's bizarre, creepy performance as the vampire is still surprisingly effective. The Golem is a retelling of the Jewish legend of a rabbi who dabbles in the black arts to protect the inhabitants of the ghetto. He makes a man of clay and brings him to life, with dire results. Though all three have gorgeous images, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, the tale of a mysterious mesmerist, is the most interesting as a prime example of German expressionism. The swooping, distorted sets are brilliantly nightmarish. The three silent films are best enjoyed with the volume turned all the way down. While The Golem is presented in silence, by far the most satisfying option, the music soundtrack tacked onto Caligari is unnecessary at best, and the score Nosferatu has been saddled with is absolutely dunderheaded. Bonus material includes stills and poster art from all three films and a clip from the lost film Genuine: A Tale of a Vampire. --Ali Davis