Sodom und Gomorrha

Austria, part of the Axis powers defeated in World War One, was experiencing the economic trauma all the other European countries aligned with Germany were suffering. High unemployment and stagflation were making materials cheap to come by in Austria. Film producer Alexander Kolowrat-Krakowsky saw an opportunity to make a long-held dream a reality to create an epic motion picture with literally a cast of thousands. His October 1922 film, "Sodom and Gomorrah,' directed by Michael Curtiz (his Austrian name at the time was Mihaly Kertész), became Austria's largest and most expensive movie ever produced.

Kolowrat's film is a modern story with dreamy episodes of historic flashbacks, including the ancient Biblical story of the destruction of Sodom described in Genesis. These historical sequences are included within the framework of the movie to teach the film's main character, Mary, played by Curtiz's wife, actress Lucy Doraine, the lessons pertaining to her wayward, confused romantic life. The morality tale of a daughter who is persuaded by her poverty-ridden family to marry an older rich banker was a common theme in silent films. These plots invariably entail young women in love with a financially-strapped handsome young men, but are grudgingly steered towards unhappy marriages to older, pudgy rich millionaires who have a yen for young females. Although she agrees, Mary's lascivious personality sends her on a seductive frenzy aimed at her future fiancé's son and even at his guiding priest.

"Sodom and Gomorrah's" primary expense went into the construction-and destruction-of the reproduction of the Biblical city and temples of Sodom. Thousands of laborers working on the cheap, mainly because there were so few jobs to be found in Austria, spent close to three years constructing enormous sets in a muddy stretch of empty land. An estimated 10,000 to 14,000 extras, all clothed in ancient attire, were filmed worshipping their gods and scattering helter skelter when God decided to teach them a lesson. Thousands of skilled craftsmen, from sculptors to decorators, carpenters, painters, all collaborated to what one witness described the entire production scene as "prop madness." The original budget was blown up five times its estimate.

The final print, which premiered in Berlin, Germany, was three hours long. Because of censorship cuts and theater owners demanding brevity, the more common version seen today is a mere 98 minutes. But the movie proved to be an international success For Curtiz, a native Austrian-Hungarian helming films since 1912, "Sodom and Gomorrah" shed more light on his rising star. His expertise in filmmaking had made him by 1918 as one of Hungary's top directors with 45 films under his belt. Facing a nationalization of the Hungarian film industry after the Great War, he returned to Austria to secure more freedom of choice in his movie selection. He jumped at the chance to make "Sodom and Gomorrah," which added to Curtiz' already impressive resume.

It's a very strange, interesting and, at times, genial film. I've seen it in the 125-minutes-long restored version, which seems to be the one circulating nowadays (I don't know who restored it...). It could be viewed as a lenghty and partially boring epic movie, which it is, in a certain sense, but it's redeemed by a couple of very subtle tricks. The opening 45 minutes (about one-third of the film), along with a few final minutes, are set in contemporary times. That is, contemporary a hundred years ago (the film is from 1922). The remaining part is a dream, and dreams within a dream. The oniric atmosphere, which the audience hardly notices - being announced by a very ephemeral titlecard - is broken only at the end. And it's only in the last seconds of the movie that the full meaning of the plot is clarified. If you have a couple of hours left, go for it!

By the by, the film is not "biblical", as I read in some reviews: the history of Lot takes about ¼ of the movie. It can be indicized as a dramatic film, that's all.

A good Austrian contribution to biblical melodramas, directed by Michael Curtiz, who would repeat the strategy six years later in the bad "Noah's Arc", after relocating to the United States. This film, though less well known than the American production, is more attractive than the story of friends who unite and separate during the war, topped with images of the flood. There's more passion in this story of Mary Conway, a young woman living the "vida loca" during the "jazz age" in London, who plays with the affections of four men. Even the link to the biblical book of Lot is established from the beginning, when we are introduced to the sculptor who has used Mary as a model for sculpting "Sodom", a marble representation of Lot's wife when turned into a statue of salt. An adopted daughter of a woman who uses her to pay the expenses of both, Mary rejects the love of sculptor Harry Lighton, flirts with old tycoon Jackson Harber, seduces her son Eduard who is studying in Cambridge and tries to do the same with his tutor, a fiery Catholic priest. Almost all the action takes place in old Harber's sumptuous mansion during an orgiastic celebration, when student and tutor unexpectedly arrive. In the large rooms, in various pavilions, crowds drink, dance and make love. But when events take a dramatic turn, the script introduces the biblical story, thousands of extras and enormous sets, in the middle of which the conflict focuses on the confrontation between Lot's wife (the same Mary) and the Angel sent by God (the same priest). Of course , true to the precepts of melodrama, Sodom falls and the film finds when it is adjusted to the values of bourgeois society .

I saw this at the London Film Festival in 1995 or 1996. The print had been lovingly restored from sections scattered around the world, including some from archives in Moscow. Somebody near me said "I'm really looking forward to this", which was understandable, since the director, as Michael Curtiz, later made some jolly swashbucklers and Casablanca, and the LFF had previously come up with several almost unknown silent masterpieces, including Jacques Feyder's Visage d'enfants.

Well, the pianist was superb and the voice-over translator (no time to translate the German titles) produced some splendid characterization. But about ten minutes in, people realised that the film was incredibly bad, and they didn't even know when it would be over as it hadn't been projected complete before. Watching it felt like existentialist hell. Which was fair enough as it's meant to be a study of sin and remorse. A young man is tempted by sex, drugs and stuff, but he falls asleep and dreams of the biblical story of the destruction of the cities of the plain, which are a bit like Vienna and populated by his low-life pals. When he wakes up, he repents. I think the sin stuff is meant to be alluring and you're meant to think that the director has been clever framing it in a moral tale. Instead, you get the idea that sin is a lot less interesting than, maybe, a novel by Jane Austen.

It's really a very substandard knockoff of Intolerance, possibly of interest to design specialists.

In the late 1910s and early 1920s, the Hollywood biblical epic was going through a genre-non-gratis phase, and would not really make a comeback until Cecil B. DeMille's The Ten Commandments in 1923. However, over in Europe they were still reeling from the mighty splendour of Intolerance (1916), and a small yet prestigious Austrian company called Sascha-Film was planning a big, moral picture of its own.

Like Intolerance, Sodom and Gomorrah has a modern-day framing story, which may seem quite improbable for such a resolutely Old Testament-style fable. And yet, in a self-confident bid to give it relevance a line has been drawn between jazz age excess and the unmentionable sins of the Sodomites. Of course, a little pragmatism may have been at work here too – after all, it's not easy to translate about half a page of bible text into several hours of screen time, especially when the sensitivities of the day mean you can't paint too vivid a picture of those aforementioned sins. Still, the writers appear to have taken a few liberties with scripture too, with Lot's wife cast as some kind of Bronze Age vamp, in what is an incredibly misogynistic take on the tale.

The look of this picture owes more to the Expressionist movement of neighbouring Germany than it does to the epics of Hollywood. Designers Julius von Borsody and Emil Stepanek have created a world of bizarre, angular architecture with mazes of furniture and other props. Cinematographer Franz Planer (later of some standing in the US) does sterling work with contrast, framing close-ups "Rembrandt" style (bright faces, dark backgrounds) while shooting mid-shots so that as actors approach the foreground they become silhouettes. The director here is a young Hungarian named Mihály Kertész. Kertész endeavours to create a look of confinement, with the numerous props hemming the characters in at every angle making them, to paraphrase Henry Higgins, prisoners of the clutter. This creates a palpable feeling of fatefulness, but Kertész goes all out to cover ever base, shooting many scenes through peephole lenses or from a stark, objective distance. Kertész's use of depth is rather neat however, enclosing the frame at the sides but often having a doorway open at the back of the set to give an eerie tunnel effect. Generally however the tone is one of Expressionist overkill.

Amidst all the business of the set, the actors themselves become little more than mobile props. The acting is not that good anyway, with most of the cast limiting themselves to one facial expression only, even a young Walter Slezak who is incredibly bland here compared to his masterful turns in his portly Hollywood heyday. An also-youthful Victor Varconi isn't much better, but with his devilish good looks he doesn't really need to act here, and with his commanding presence he makes a great angel of the Lord. Slezak and Varconi would both go on to become strong supporting players in Hollywood. Kertész too would find work in the states, under the name of Michael Curtiz.

This distinctly European take on the moral epic is an odd thing for the Sascha-Film to have spent such a fortune upon. Compared to its nearest stylistic relatives, the work of epics and horrors of Ufa studios in Weimar Republic, it lacks the austere Germanic mythical quality of such highlights Caligari or Nibelungen. Compared to its nearest thematic relatives, the films of Cecil B. DeMille, well… The paradox of DeMille's pictures is he always made sin look like good fun even as he condemned it. He always revelled in the grandeur of ancient monuments whilst railing against idolatry and materialism. For the Austrians to portray the world of sinners as dark and grim, and view those magnificent Sodom sets as if through keyholes is in fact perhaps the more logical interpretation from a strictly moralist perspective. However, as anyone who has enjoyed the debauched delights of DeMille at his most hypocritical will know, that would be missing the point.