Sodom und Gomorrha

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.

The print I saw was not the 150 minute film listed, it wasn't the original 3 hour version, and it was not the restored 98 minute version mentioned on the wiki. I watched a 124 minute Spanish translation. My Spanish is very bad so I had to rely on that and google translate to understand the intertitles. Between the language and differing lengths of prints I don't feel like I got a viewing that Curtiz would call appropriate but I think I can attempt to interpret this story of his.

This is only the second film I have seen from Mihály Kertész (the other being Labyrinth des Grauens from the previous year), later known as Michael Curtiz. This one is just a spectacle, and its legacy as the most expensive Austrian silent film is testament to that.

You can tell when watching this that Michael Curtiz understands the concept of visual storytelling, whereas with his previous work he relied very heavily on intertitles. His shot framing, lighting, mise-en-scène, set design, and scale of production are all on display in this one. Especially impressive is the thousands of extras and massive sets on display in the historical sequences, very clearly inspired by the pre-war Italian epics (and probably DW Griffith's Intolerance). I can see with this one why years later Curtiz claimed that Vienna was the most advanced film culture of this era. I don't agree but this definitely makes a strong argument.

The story really isn't too interesting, following the lead of Curtiz's previous outing. It again features flashbacks and dreams, only this time the majority of the film is dream sequences. A woman influenced by immoral vices learns morality through a premonition and a comparison to Biblical stories. I'm not a fan of Biblical morality and that is probably one reason why I found the story boring.

This film has obvious comparisons to the American epics of the time as well as the Italian epics from the previous decades. I don't think the Italian efforts are nearly as interesting cinematically as Curtiz's extravaganza, as the only reason they're relevant is because of their scale and their popularity in Europe at the time. I think this film has a better story and messaging than Intolerance (1916), which is a low bar. It's close between this one and The Ten Commandments (1923) over which is more bearable. Cecil B DeMille's is much more dogmatic in its messaging but his special effects are good and I did enjoy his historical sequence more.

Overall this film is notable as a stepping stone in the memorable career of Michael Curtis and for being a landmark in Austrian cinema. Not sure I'm going to revisit this one again but it wasn't bad considering it is a 2+ hour silent film.

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 .

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.

This film shows in form some influence of the United States, apparently at the instance of producer Sascha Kolowrat-Krakowsky who had visited the US and developed an enthusiasm for the films of Griffith. Kertész, himself, one suspects was more interested in the films of Cecil B. DeMille. In any case, what he does is take the idea of parallel stories from Intolerance, although there is also a clear influence of the equally an influence of the equally but differently complex use of multiple locales from Pastrone's Cabiria, which allows Kertész to introduce scenes of revolution, war and retribution that do not form any part of the biblical story. These "Syrian" scenes are important because they most closely reflect the 1919 experience in Kertész' native Hungary, where a Romanian army (backed by the West) had invaded to suppress the revolution.

He then combines this with the alluring idea of a "fantasy" dream-scenario featuring the same actors as in the "real-life" frame-story (a gimmick that DeMille did not originate but which he used particularly effectively in Male and Female in 1918). Interestingly the idea as adapted by Kertész (parallel stories) was then itself borrowed back by DeMille and Jeannie MacPherson for The Ten Commandments (1923) - originally intended as a kind of sketch film with each episode devoted to a commandment - but without the doubling that Kertész had borrowed from them and it was then reused (parallel stories and doubling) by Kertész himself (now Curtiz) shortly after his arrival in the US for Noah's Ark (1928).

In fairness Thanhouser had done something rather similar in their interesting and much under-rated version of A Man Without a Country in 1917 where a modern story is parallelled with the original Edward Everett Hale story.

Stylistically, on the other hand, as other reviewers have rightly pointed out, with its symbolism, its chiaroscuro and magnificent art nouveau décors, it is much closer to the stylised expressionistic vision to be found in other contemporary German films. This makes it a great deal more powerful as a film (if less grandiose) than either DeMille's The Ten Commandments or Curtiz' own later Noah's Ark.

As satire (both social and political), it is again closer to German models and has far more bite than the later films. Kertész had himself only recently arrived in Austria as a refugee from 'the White Terror" that had followed the defeat of the Communist Revolution there in 1919. Although it is not a certain indication of his own political views (he was more than a shade opportunistic by nature), he had made one short film before leaving Hungary (Jön az öcsém) which was quite explicit propaganda on behalf of the Communist regime. Here the association of the cities of the plain with the excesses of capitalism (as they appeared to many in the twenties) has the air of being genuinely felt.

The sense of a crisis of capitalism was at the heart of both Communist and Fascist movements in Europe. It is a mistake to judge this film entirely by the standards of DeMille and assume that the effect intended is purely one of titillation. The "existential hell" noted by another reviewer is no "mistake". The situation seen from Europe was a more serious one and he darker tone of many films reflected this.