L'inhumaine

I'm a fairly avid film guy -- especially when it comes to the avant garde and silent tributaries of cinema. (I mean, come on, I took film classes from Stan Brakhage for cryin' out loud.)

Maybe I'm the stupidest kid on my block, but I'd never even HEARD of L'Humaine until it played at the San Francisco Silent Film Festival's "Day of Silents" last week at the Castro Theatre.

It is absolutely stunning.

You could get all snooty and long-winded about this film, but in my mind it all boils down to this: Metropolis meets Frankenstein in geometry class.

I'd even go so far as to say this movie is better than Metropolis ... But I'm the first to admit that my thinking may have more to do with the fact that I've seen that film a couple dozen times (ie. I know what to expect when I see it) and I'd never seen this movie at all.

When I first started this review, I gave it a 9 thinking nothing's perfect. But honestly, I can't think of something "wrong" with it. Viewing L'inhumaine for the first time was one of the most moving and significant viewings of film in my life. Right up there with 2001 in a Cinerama theater in 1968.

Georgette Leblanc stands out well above an otherwise truly great cast showing a remarkable amount of breadth in her role. What starts out looking like a 2D character becomes someone much much bigger (with a surprising amount of subtlety considering the acting standards of both the French as well as silent film of the time).

When I saw it, the movie was accompanied by the incredible Alloy Orchestra playing live (which kind of adds a very appropriate Devo overtone to it all). It's worth taking a look at their Website to see if/when they're playing with the film. If you've read this far in my review, it'd definitely be worth making a trip to see the whole spectacle. (I have very little doubt that they'll probably eventually release a version of the film with their soundtrack affixed. Get it if they do.)

Thanks for reading.

Leave it to Flicker Alley to come up with a silent movie that I wasn't aware of. I may have come across Marcel L'Herbier's 1924 L'INHUMAINE (The Inhuman Woman) in some silent film reference book but I don't recall it. I knew of the director's later movie L'ARGENT (1928) but not this one. Having just watched the film, this is rather surprising as it is quite remarkable on a number of levels. Some of the futuristic design especially in the laboratory scenes recall a Soviet sci-fi film called AELITA, QUEEN OF MARS which was released 6 months earlier while Fritz Lang's METROPOLIS (1927) may have borrowed a thing or two from them later on. L'Herbier envisioned the film as being a "miscellany of modern art" and there is indeed something for everyone in an artistic sense. From an entertainment sense, it's a different matter as its appeal outside of artistic circles would be very limited (just like art films today).

The melodramatic plot tells the story of a callous opera singer (real life opera singer Georgette Leblanc who co-produced) who throws lavish parties and toys with men's affections. When one of them suddenly commits suicide, her fans and detractors clash at one of her concerts recalling THE RITE OF SPRING premiere in 1913. A jealous suitor poisons her with a deadly snake and then it's up to a former lover to bring her back to life in his state-of-the-art laboratory. That's just the basic outline. L'Herbier uses every cinematic trick he can think of from rapid montage editing to a saturation of color tints to enhance his story. The real star here is the decor, a riot of art nouveau as conceived by several leading artists of the day. The sets (especially the laboratory) and the fashions must be seen to be believed. As the plot would indicate, this is not meant to be realistic in any sense of the word which makes it ideal for the medium of silent movies.

The restoration by Flicker Alley and Lobster Films may be the finest that they have ever done regarding the overall look of a film. An original nitrate print in good condition (courtesy of the director's daughter) was the source material and the original color tints as specified by L'Herbier were utilized in the transfer to a digital medium. The two set pieces, the tumultuous concert and the lab resurrection, remain astonishing even to this day. If you carefully look at the 57 minute mark, you'll see composers Erik Satie (ill with less than a year to live) and Les Six member Darius Milhaud (who wrote the original score which is now lost) in the audience at the concert. This Blu-Ray offering comes with two brand new scores, one by percussionist Aidje Tafial, the other by the Alloy Orchestra. Both are effective but I prefer the former. If ever a silent movie was made for Blu-Ray release, it's this one and Flicker Alley & Co have done it up proud. Thank You!... For more reviews visit The Capsule Critic.

Parisians in 1924 took their cinema seriously. As an example, when November 1924's "L'Inhumaine" was being screened at a Paris theater, it was reported audience members shouted insults at one another inside while the movie was being shown. Those viewers who hated the movie voiced their displeasure against those who passionately loved it, and vice versa. Female patrons especially were in the majority who disliked "L'Inhumaine" and demanded their money back. The men, if they weren't engage in fisticuffs inside the movie houses, would carry on with the fighting outside.

The amazing aspect of "L'inhumaine" was the conflicts were over its visual and technical innovations the movie introduced to cinema, which was a focus more on the art than an actual plot-driven film. The so-called elites loved its presentation, with architect Adolf Loos commenting, "As you emerge from seeing it, you have the impression of having lived through the moment of birth of a new art."

French artist Marcel L'Herbler, a former auxiliaryman during the Great War, saw the potentiality of silent movies when viewing Cecil B. DeMille's 1915 'The Cheat.' After writing a few screenplays, L'Herbler directed several films before forming his own production company, Cinegraphic, in 1923. His background in canvass painting, almost bordering on the avant-garde, steered him towards the direction of creating a novel filmmaking process geared more towards its artistic merits than the standard run-of-the-mill productions. An old friend, opera singer Georgette Leblanc, proposed she could obtain at least half of the financing and United States distribution costs for a film she would star in. L'Herbler saw this as an opportunity to synthesis all the known arts into a motion picture, securing the services of Paris' greatest talents in painting, set design, clothing fashion, and dancing, along with an original live accompanying musical score, all in a "fairy story of modern decorative art."

Leblanc plays a famous cold-hearted singer who's wooed by almost every man meeting her, especially a young scientist. She later discovers the admiring scientist killed himself over her, but feels no pangs for his loss during a concert she gives that was greeted by a boisterous audience upset by her apathy. She later dies from a snakebite administered by a jealous boyfriend, only to be resurrected by the alive-again scientist that was previously thought to have killed himself.

The barebones plot gave L'Herbler the opportunity to film one of the liveliest theater crowd scenes captured on celluloid. Renting out Paris' Theatre des Champs-Elysees, he invited society's elites, including Pablo Picasso, Man Ray, James Joyce, Ezra Pound, the Prince of Monaco among others to act displeased, appreciative, aggressive and even belligerent to each other during the filming. Other scenes incorporated surrealistic cubist-designed art deco settings that shook the sensibilities of viewers, while the actors floated in and out of the unique backdrops comfortably.

One sequence especially prescience about future communications is the young scientist demonstrates his television linkage to several parts of the globe while Leblanc sings into a studio microphone. Television was at the very early experimental stage in the mid-1920's and was more of a theoretical possibility than a practical device.

L'Herbler threw every cinematic device known to filmmakers up to that time in the concluding sequences. When the scientist and his assistants throw the switch to begin the resuscitation mechinism to revive the dead singer, the director showcases a orange-tinted kaleidoscope of effects bouncing around in every direction. The whirlwind action created a unique otherworldly view of a soul being reinjected into the body.

Movie goers worldwide weren't as aggressive as the Parisians were when "L'Inhumaine" was distributed. Today's critics have appreciated L'Herbler's innovative work, with one blogger writing it's "the sort of film that commands a little more respect - and attention. Without films like this, cinema would be lost."

It is hard for film buffs today to see silent cinema as a modern art. What strikes us nowadays is the immense debt that DW Griffith owes to Victorian fiction, that FW Murnau owes to Romantic painting, that Fritz Lang (and this is true even in Metropolis) owes to ancient German myth. How strange and wonderful then, to see a silent film that owes no debt to anything or anybody, that sums up the notion of 'modernity' in a way no work of art had done before - and precious few have done ever since. Eighty years on from its catastrophic release, Marcel L'Herbier's 1924 masterpiece L'Inhumaine remains the first, perhaps the only, totally modern film.

Most famous, of course, are the sets. A Cubist and Art Deco fantasy world designed by the artist Fernand Leger. Whether it's the salon of seductive chanteuse Claire Lescot (Georgette Leblanc) - a dining table afloat on an indoor pool, servants hidden by perpetually smiling masks -or the laboratory of visionary inventor Einar Norsen (Jacque Catelain) -vast and potentially lethal electronic gadgets, assistants in black leather fetish gear - we have entered a world where the past might never have existed, where the future can only be a continuation of now.

Just as striking, though, is L'Inhumaine's 'emotional modernism'. While so much silent film acting makes us laugh at its melodramatic excess, Claire and her circle of admirers underplay their emotions as coolly as the high-fashion zombies in Last Year at Marienbad by Alain Resnais. (A fervent admirer of L'Herbier, Resnais has acknowledged the influence of L'Inhumaine on his own work, though he insists that "its ambition is more impressive than its achievement.") Leblanc and Catelain make a gorgeously impassive pair of lovers. Hieratic icons for an age whose one true god is the Image.

David Melville

Goerge Antheil, in his autobiography "Bad Boy of Music," claims that the concert riot scene is actual footage of his own October 4, 1923 concert at the Théâtre Champs Elysées. This event helped seal his reputation as one of the leading modernists of the day. If this is true, then actual artistic history was made because of a reaction at least partially staged for the making of this movie. Among the luminaries present -- and possibly visible -- are Eric Satie (looking like a "beneficent elderly goat") and Darius Milhaud. A few days later, Antheil announced that he was looking for a motion-picture accompaniment to his Ballet Mécanique, a call answered by Fernand Leger.