La chatte des montagne

What a remarkable film! Within minutes one immediately gets the impression that if 'The wildcat' were made in the modern era, it would be a bombastic, proverbial Technicolor nightmare of a farce. Though there's no color or sound here, Ernst Lubitsch's feature is no less of a spectacle of frivolity. The consideration given to hair, makeup - and even more so imaginative costume design, and stupendous set design and decoration - is only of the utmost playful grandiosity, fetching sights by all accounts and nigh fantastical. This rather goes as well for the framing of each scene, as most of the footage presents to us through cut-outs of wildly varying shape and size. And so it is down the line, including sharp editing: from start to finish, this movie is filled a jovial air of comedy on par with the most robust nonsense of silent stars like Buster Keaton, Harold Lloyd, or Charlie Chaplin. And it's so much fun!

In his direction, and in his screenplay co-written with Hanns Kräly, Lubitsch has a mind for lighthearted silliness that makes the picture a true joy to behold. This is reflected in the (reconstructed) intertitles, the characters, the writing and orchestration of each scene, the overall narrative, and in the guidance of the cast. There are some familiar themes at the core of the story, yet every element is marked with such a sense of caricature and exaggeration as to ensure that no one steps away from 'The wildcat' without having a good time. The assembled actors lean wholeheartedly into that slant, each giving performances of strong physicality and personality - with body language and facial expression heightened well beyond even what is characteristic of the silent era. The nearest approximation that readily comes to mind is in the most enthusiastically madcap moments of 2001 musical 'Moulin Rouge!' - but even that comparison fails to wholly account for the charming gaiety on hand. I'm loathe to single out only one or two figures, but it must be said that Pola Negri is fabulous, a marvel as untamed Rischka - stealing the spotlight with her every appearance on the screen. Only just shy of Negri's terrific display, Paul Heidemann's performance as Lieutenant Alexis is a slick show of flippant impertinence that's gratifying to witness.

Among other things, the movie is built on physical comedy, sight gags, satirical foolishness, and turnabout and upended expectations. Through it all we're treated to a veritable feast of visual bedazzlement, not just in the arrangement of scenes and the fastidious work of the crew but also in the very filming locations. This is nothing if not a labor of the greatest passion and care, and love for film-making; all due commendations as well to composer Marco Dalpane and the Ensemble Playground, whose contemporary score is a wonderful match for the feature. In all sincerity, I find it hard to believe that 'The wild cat' isn't more well known in the years since, alongside those select few silent titles that are most memorably acclaimed: I think this easily stands shoulder to shoulder with the very best of early cinema, as a comedy but also on its own merits broadly. It's clear how much hard work went into the production, and the result speaks for itself as an outstanding, highly enjoyable romp that easily holds up and entertains even 100 years later. So heartily carefree and mirthful is this feature that I'd have no qualms recommending it even to viewers who generally have difficulty abiding titles of the era. Hats off to Lubitsch and all involved: Wherever you can watch it, 'The wildcat' lives up to its name as a rowdy ride of rollicking wit and good cheer - and gets my highest recommendation!

One thing that strikes you as you watch the early Lubitsch comedies recently released on DVD in the US by Kino is-- how did Lubitsch come to have such an extravagant visual style, only to give it up a few years later? The later Lubitsch movies are certainly handsome, coming as they mostly do from Paramount and MGM, the chicest of the Hollywood studios. But for all the exotic places depicted in his films, it never occurs to him in later years to depict them with wild curlicues of plaster, fortresses that look like birthday cakes, staircases that descend a quarter-mile amid running water, as he does the European fantasy-land in The Wildcat.

The Wildcat is a sort of burlesque on a genre of military romances buried so deeply in the mists of memory that they still seem familiar even when it's hard to think of an actual example of what's being parodied (The Desert Song?). There's a fortress on the edge of mountainous wilds, and there's a handsome young officer who's been exiled there because of his love life. And then there's a tribe of wild mountain people including a tempestuous daughter, played by Pola Negri, with whom the officer will fall in love.

As with the mistaken identity plot in The Oyster Princess, you can imagine the 30s comedy this would be the setup for, but it's nothing like this-- which mainly consists of running around and clowning broadly. Only a few bits here and there-- a hilariously exaggerated depiction of the results of the officer's Casanova-like behavior, a delightful bit of comedy on the quarter-mile staircase that plays out with the purity and visual grace of Buster Keaton's single-take descent down six flights of stairs in The Cameraman-- are actually especially funny. (There's also a quite racy "Lubitsch Touch" moment involving his photo, a pair of pants, and where she happens to kiss.)

You wish in vain for Negri and her inamorato to sit down and actually share a scene, heat up the chemistry set, show us some real one-on-one Lubitsch Touch worthy of Billy Wilder's line that "Lubitsch could do more with a closed door than most directors could do with an open fly." But at least in Negri you have a recognizable comic human being, full of life and randiness-- and the ending, though still half-cartoon, has an emotional effect well beyond anything in The Oyster Princess just three years earlier.

Viewing "The Wildcat," is like watching a live action Max Fleischer cartoon. Like those early animated wonders, this comedy is full of goofy characters and creative direction. The cast, especially Pola Negri and Paul Heidemann show no fear in bringing Lubitsch's wild vision to life, which include some truly laugh out loud moments. While the Fleischer cartoons are only around seven minutes long, "The Wildcat," struggles at times to maintain its energy for a feature length film. The pros of this movie far out weigh the cons, though, and if you're looking for a non-traditional silent film that will put a smile upon your face, then you need to search no further.

Die Bergkatze brings us poignantly yet triumphantly to the end of an era, being the last of Ernst Lubitsch's German comedies. The director, best known for his "sophisticated" bedroom farces from the 1930s, carved out these little gems in his youth, and while rather different in tone and pace from his Hollywood work, they provide a unique and hilarious experience that should not go overlooked.

As if in anticipation of his forthcoming change in style, Die Bergkatze was Lubitsch's most riotous and stylised to date. Whereas he often based gags around a large group of people doing something (such as falling over or running away) simultaneously, he now takes the trick to the level of hyperbole, playing around with the largest horde of extras to be seen outside of an epic. Lubitsch has also turned his sense of the absurd up to eleven, and the picture is flavoured with dozens of wonderfully silly touches, such as the fort commander's exaggerated uniform having an extra pair of shoulder pads for the elbows.

Of course, Lubitsch was still to make a couple of straight dramas before receiving his invite to Hollywood. I'm sure he didn't know this was to be his comedic last hurrah in Berlin. So why is Die Bergkatze such a ridiculously extrovert production? The answer is almost certainly the director's confidence. Lubitsch was by now the most prestigious filmmaker in his home country, and his bizarre comic genius had gone down a treat with the public. Having more or less Carte Blanche from the studio, it seems that with Die Bergkatze he was seeing just how much he could get away with. He was also getting bigger budgets than ever before (prior to this he had helmed Anna Boleyn, Germany's most expensive production to date), it should come as no surprise to those familiar with the earlier comedies directed by Lubitsch and with sets designed by Kurt Richter (perhaps the most important collaborator during this part of Lubitsch's career), that if you unite these two with a large sum of money, you are bound to get something as gloriously demented as a fort that looks like a giant wedding cake covered in cannons.

Even in post-production, Lubitsch is playing around more than ever before, giving us those crazy frame shapes which look almost like a deliberate attempt to poke fun at the masking technique pioneered by DW Griffith five years earlier. Lubitsch was always a real aesthete when it came to shot composition, often delicately framing his actors with the luxurious curtains, window panes and assorted ornamentation that tended to make up the exquisite sets, both here and in Hollywood. In Die Bergkatze he has just literalised the process, treating the image as a work of art that could be either landscape or portrait, and once in a while mucking about and turning the screen into a squiggle or a pair of jaws.

And does Lubitsch get away with what he is doing? Yes, by the skin of his teeth! Why? Because Die Bergkatze is all of a piece. Considered individually, each of its exaggerations would be daft and distracting, but because Lubitsch has created a seamless world in which every idea is stretched to breaking point, it works. Every shot has some kind of oddity in it, not necessarily thrust in your face, but simply keeping the surreal tone going. No character is immune. In silent comedy in the US, women (at least the young women) tended to be treated with tender respect, and were often the only completely straight characters. But in Die Bergkatze we have a straggle-haired Pola Negri up to her neck in undignified antics alongside the boys, and doing a fine job of it, although I have to say I find myself missing the divine Ossi Oswalda, star of many earlier Lubitsch pictures.

Lubitsch's comedies after this were contrastingly sedate in pace and comparatively sensible in tone. This was not a regression, but neither was it an advance on these earlier chaotic creations. It was simply a case of a genius taking his talent in a different direction. And despite the neglect and underrating of pictures like Die Bergkatze, Sumurun, Die Puppe and Die Austernprinzessin, they are nevertheless inspired masterpieces, and every bit as worthy of our attention as The Marriage Circle, The Smiling Lieutenant and Trouble in Paradise.

In the snowy Bavarian Alps, the arrival of preening soldier Paul Heidemann (as Alexis) causes pandemonium in a military town. Thousands of women surround him, foreshadowing the attention given Rudolph Valentino and The Beatles. Not participating in the initial adulation is spirited mountain girl Pola Negri (as Rischka). A regular wildcat, Ms. Negri is introduced in a scene which shows her driving men crazy by whipping their buttocks. The men rub their rumps and complain, but return for more attention. After some kissing, Negri sees Mr. Heidemann's coach and throws a snowball at him. When he gets out and she sees his plump heinie, they get romantic...

Released when Negri and director Ernst Lubitsch were international favorites, "Die Bergkatze" was not a favorite with audiences. It's a farcical comedy inhibited by Mr. Lubitsch's relentless parody of an old film staple known as the "iris shot". This is when the screen, usually to close a scene, will turn black for a diminishing circle. In the theater, the look was achieved with lightning. Filmmakers were experimenting with the visual and Lubitsch employs it all over this film, and in a variety of shapes...

A decade earlier, there was a debate about whether motion pictures should use the "close-up shot" because some felt the audience would feel like they were denied a full look at the performer (as on the stage). With a "close-up" you still get the full look; with the "iris shot", you do not. In this film, the visual is excessive and distracting. We're denied full-screen looks at the film's chief strength, its beautiful set decoration. Another feature, the "double exposure", nicely introduces Act IV "Rischka's Dream". Usually cast as a seductress, Negri is most engaging as a comedienne. The available print looks great and is accompanied by a new, oppressive soundtrack.

***** Die Bergkatze (4/14/21) Ernst Lubitsch ~ Pola Negri, Paul Heidemann, Victor Janson, Wilhelm Diegelmann