The Avenging Conscience: or 'Thou Shalt Not Kill'

Though not all are equal, by and large it's gratifying just to watch a surviving silent film, for there are far too many that have been lost over the years. Some have weathered time better than others, whether in terms of expression of values that are no longer acceptable or just with regards to the physical condition of prints preceding preservation and restoration. While filmmaker D. W. Griffith is equally legendary for his most lauded contributions to cinema and notorious for his most vilified contributions, thankfully 'The avenging conscience' is a title that holds up pretty well all around. I wouldn't call it perfect; even for devotees of the silent era I think there are aspects to the construction here that leave something to be desired, and it's not likely to change the minds of those modern viewers who have a hard time engaging with older movies. It remains deserving on its own merits, however, and is worth revisiting - and in fact, truthfully, it's even better than I had supposed it would be when I first sat down to watch.

The picture makes no bones about taking inspiration from Edgar Allan Poe, and even within the length itself it makes note of just that. As such one will have certain expectations about the course of the story, and as if the name weren't indication enough, there is definitely an element of the macabre herein. One might well observe, though, that this comes around only in the second half of the runtime, and the first half is a straightforward melodrama that could have easily been teased out into a conventional romantic drama of the period. Here is where lies a couple faults of the feature, for the pacing in all such scenes is surely a little sluggish: progressing piecemeal from beat to beat, pausing to tread water, and heavily drawing out and emphasizing each. Moreover, in the early stretch the sequencing seems a tad disjointed as we're introduced to all the characters who will play a part in the tableau in time, but this exposition jumps around so much that the approach is a tad off-putting.

Be that as it may the tale is compelling, and written well in and of itself with no small amount of genuine imagination to round it out. There are touches here of deviousness and atmosphere that lend gratifying flavor to the proceedings; where Griffith's narrative discretely illustrates Poe's influence, the flourishes of the "master of the macabre" are felt quite effectively with strong scene writing. Between some wonderful details in the writing, admirable and wholehearted acting from the cast, modest yet superb effects, and Griffith's firm oversight as director to make it all count, there is a palpable air of horror that manifests as the plot advances. It may be a long walk to get to that anticipated value, but the journey really is worth it. All the while, we're treated to the excellence one hopes of a filmmaker so generally esteemed: the sets and filming locations are outstanding, flush with swell minutiae; the costume design, hair, and makeup are fetching. The more robust moments come off well - and are surprisingly dark, not least at the climax - and G. W. Bitzer's cinematography remains crisp and vivid even over 100 years later. And one must certainly give credit to the stars, above all Henry B. Walthall and Spottiswoode Aitken, for even within the stereotypical silent slant of exaggerated body language and facial expressions their acting is an integral component of the weight that 'The avenging conscience' does ultimately carry.

I think the most "high and mighty" affectations of the storytelling are a little gauche, unmistakably hearkening to the culture of the 1910s and less abjectly meaningful in the twenty-first century - but so it goes. There's also one other point worth discussion, however, for to my chagrin the film employs a trope of fiction that I utterly despise. One way or another the device so often feels like a cop-out wherever it arises, a tacit admission of either having run out of ideas, or unwillingness to take a more extreme step further. Rarely is it used well, and though there was a chance it could have been utilized in this case to make the whole even more striking (and morose), that's not what we get. With all that said, however: while I think that presence here is unfortunate, I can't bring myself to get mad about it in this instance. The narrative that Griffith penned is sufficiently solid that a slow first act melts away into a second act that's unexpectedly commanding, with spicier genre garnishes than I would have assumed for an American filmmaker in 1914. The plot could have turned still more grim, yet for where we do end up, the resolution almost feels like a spot of relief after the unforeseen vibrancy of what preceded it. Not least with some creative embellishments to the end sequence, I'm inclined to think that this is an all too uncommon example of a storytelling trope, that I hate, being used and nevertheless coming off well. I never thought I'd be typing those words, but here we are.

Honestly, I'm very pleased with just how good this is. It doesn't make the best first impression, least of all given its reputation as early horror cinema, but good things come to those who wait. I had my reservations, too, having been aware ahead of time of how the title ends, but when all is said and done even those concerns were met, answered, and resolved. This won't appeal to everyone, least of all genre purists and modern viewers for whom the silent era just doesn't go down easily. All I can say is that I had mixed expectations, and even as I see other directions the last minutes could have been taken, those expectations have been handily exceeded. That reputation of 'The avenging conscience' is well deserved after all, and if you have the opportunity to watch, these seventy-eight minutes are well worth checking out!

If DW Griffith is fondly remembered at all these days, it is usually for his exhilarating rides-to-the-rescue or the breathtaking pageantry of his epics. Those who have studied his work in any depth will of course know of his fine and subtle handling of drama and romance. However far fewer have commented on his masterful evocation of atmosphere. This, his only entry into the horror genre, a genre that is nine-tenths atmosphere, is appropriately steeped in it.

Griffith was of course a visual storyteller, but he learnt techniques of narrative and exposition from the world of literature. In the Avenging Conscience, he not only bases his story on the work of Edgar Allen Poe, but he juxtaposes the horrific with the beautiful and tender, as did Poe, Bram Stoker and many other Victorian horror writers. This uncomfortable contrast is established from the very first scene. As the opening shot fades in, we are clearly looking at a funeral scene, but then cut immediately to a baby in his cot – innocent life in the midst death. Throughout the picture Griffith shows an unusually high number of inserts which do not directly tell part of the story, but which add layers of terror or revulsion – such as a howling wolf or an owl hooting in the trees. A dreamlike tone is maintained throughout, with few title cards, but some snippets of Poe's poetry that relate to the story only in an abstract manner.

The Avenging Conscience also contains some wonderful examples of Griffith's handling of dramatic depth. He keeps his camera at a respectful distance during the romantic scenes, refraining from facial close-ups until the latter moments, and then only using them sparingly to give them maximum impact. Some might pick at the fact that the camera is always static, and there is little editing within the scene, but in fact this just goes to demonstrate just how much a director can do with movement within the frame. To take one example from this picture – in the earlier scenes at the uncle's house, there is a birdcage with a few canaries hopping around inside it. In later scenes it is covered up, twisting forlornly on its hook. It's a great touch to establish mood, but Griffith doesn't draw our attention to it with a clumsy close-up or lumbering pan; our eyes will be drawn to it because it is moving while other things in the frame are still. Audience members will notice it without feeling like they have been forced to notice it.

Sadly, the few limitations of Griffith's technique do stick out in this one. In particular, his tendency to keep all characters involved in a scene on screen at the same time makes shots (such as the uncle hiding in a bush to spy on the courting couple) look ridiculous. Also, without point-of-view shots, some moments can be a bit confusing, as it is impossible to tell who is looking at what. But these are small worries, and the Avenging Conscience is far more coherent and realistic than the many other pictures of its day.

If Judith of Bethulia was a dress-rehearsal for the massive action spectacles of Griffith's longer features, the Avenging Conscience was perhaps a dry-run for the subtle romantic drama which brought balance to those pictures. But it's also one of the most unique and remarkable shots in his canon, creeping us out with horror imagery five years before Caligari, creating tension out of guilt thirty years before Double Indemnity, with a climax that will startle those who think they know Griffith's cinema.

D. W. Griffith's The Avenging Conscience is based on Edgar Allan Poe's 1843 short story The Telltale Heart, with elements of his 1849 poem Annabel Lee mixed in. The film opens with the death of a woman, her infant son subsequently cared for by his uncle (Spottiswoode Aitken). When the boy becomes an adult (played by Henry B. Walthall), his mind turns from studying to the charms of his chubby sweetheart Annabel (Blanche Sweet), but his uncle disapproves, warning him to stay away from the woman. Desperate to be with his beloved, and inspired by the cruelty of nature, the young man murders his uncle, walling up the old man's body behind the fireplace, but as the days go by, his conscience begins to plague him...

As old silent movies go, The Avenging Conscience is reasonably watchable if you don't mind the expected exaggerated expressions and wild gesticulations of pre-sound cinema, but it does suffer from an uneven pace: parts of the film are incredibly drawn out, while other moments feel very choppy, as though entire scenes are missing (which might well be the case). I imagine that the whole thing would have worked better with a shorter runtime (the version I watched clocked in at 84 minutes). I also feel like Griffith didn't have the strength of his convictions, ruining this early attempt at horror with a weak ending, an early example of the lame 'it was all a dream' trope (followed by an utterly bizarre scene in which Pan lures children and woodland animals out of hiding with his pipe-playing).

5/10.

This D. W. Griffith film is an early effort by the director and shows his developing skill on the lead up to epics such as Intolerance. It's about a young man who falls in love with a girl. This love drives a wedge between him and his uncle who has set a path for him that does not allow for such frivolous distractions. This situation drives the man to murder his overbearing uncle. This event leads to madness and psychological breakdown.

The story is based on Edgar Allan Poe's 'The Tell-Tale Heart' with elements of 'Annabel Lee' and 'The Black Cat' thrown in for good measure. It's a rare horror outing for Griffiths. Indeed it is one of the very first fully form horror films at all. As such it is of interest. It contains several eerie and macabre details like the ghostly spectre of the uncle back from the dead and thoughts of murder represented by a spider on web and ants attacking a larger insect en mass. It's very primitive stuff overall but that is to be expected considering its age. Worth a look if you are interested in the genesis of the horror film though.

Poe's psychological story "The Tell-Tale Heart" uneasily receives Griffith's trademark Victorian approach – turning the madman anti-hero of the original into a frustrated love-struck milquetoast! The broad gestures typical of Silent-film acting render the proceedings unintentionally comical now, especially where the ghostly apparition of the murdered relative is concerned – who, by the way, is fitted with an eye-patch throughout and, yet, no reference whatsoever is made to his all-important "vulture eye"!!

Still, the various hallucinations at the climax – crude though they may be – are reasonably effective. Incidentally, the stilted presentation and moralistic overtones evident here also marked the other Griffith horror effort that I've watched – THE SORROWS OF Satan (1926); all I can say is that, in spite of the solid reputation THE AVENGING CONSCIENCE enjoys within the director's canon, personally I was underwhelmed by the film on a preliminary viewing.

Other cinematic adaptations of the classic tale I've checked out – all of them relatively recently – are the interesting 1928 short (viewed on the very same day as the Griffith title), the so-so 1936 British feature-length version and a pretty good animated rendition of it from 1953.