La chatte des montagne

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.

While there are not many personal favourites from Ernst Lubitsch early German silent films, done before he had found his signature style, there were certainly gems. 'The Doll' and 'The Oyster Princess' being two examples. The late 1910s-early 20s was a very interesting and worthwhile period in Lubitsch's career, especially to see how he fared early on in his career before properly finding his style with 'The Love Parade' and got even stronger from there.

'The Wild Cat' is another film from the German silent film period and lives up to its wild name all right. Is it one of Lubitsch's very best? No, nowhere close and it is a long way from being a classic. But it is one of the better and more entertaining films of his from his German silent film period in my view, and if asked whether it is recommended my answer would be yes as long as you know what to expect. Which is an entertaining and inoffensive ride but not yet the witty and sophisticated Lubitsch that he became very well known justifiably for.

Admittedly, 'The Wild Cat's' story is very thin, and it is also one that doesn't have a lot of substance and can be a little too controlled in spots.

Maybe it could have done with a little more variety in places.

However, 'The Wild Cat' is well made visually. Really loved the mountain scenery and exteriors and the photography is not claustrophobic or gimmicky, some of it came over as quite elegant to me. Lubitsch's direction is not refined yet, but he clearly seemed to know what he was doing and didn't seem uncomfortable with it. The music is unobtrusive and is not large in scoring or over-complicated rhythmically, allowing the comedy to speak.

Something that does very much happen here. The humour is plenty and it is never less than amusing and actually even very funny at its best (if one disagrees that's fine). It is of the broad kind, not the sophisticated and witty kind that Lubitsch later would be famous for, but not in a way that gets overly silly or vulgar. The situations do suspend a bit of disbelief but have a wild energy about them and don't resort heavily in repetition, while the energy is always there and the characters didn't come over as dull or annoying here. The cast do very well, with Pola Negri handling her very physical comedy with ease and her comic timing is far from flabby.

All in all, very enjoyable if not a Lubitsch essential. 8/10

"The Wildcat" is an amusing romantic comedy made by Ernst Lubitsch, although more farcical than his later American work, but which was common of his German comedies. It wouldn't be long before the director emigrated to the US, and his increased stature in the business by this time is evidenced by the expensiveness of the sets and the more polished filmmaking in this film compared to his earlier comedies. The castle fortress set and its art deco décor look very nice, as does the outdoor scenery of the Bavarian mountains. The long staircase featured during an impromptu chase scene is especially impressive. One criticism of the film, however, could be that the settings sometimes dwarf the actions of the characters and narrative. Additionally, as Kristen Thompson ("Herr Lubitsch Goes to Hollywood") could point out, the standard, flat V-pattern lighting of German film-making back then doesn't do well to distinguish, or spotlight, the characters from the settings. Reportedly, this was one of Lubitsch's least successful films, which probably encouraged him to discontinue this brand of comedy that he had heretofore found so fruitful.

There are very many masked framings of shots (circular, rectangular, ovals, irises, masks shaping the image inside of what look like fangs and snowballs, etc.). Another reviewer suggested Lubitsch was poking fun at D.W. Griffith and his cinematographer Billy Bitzer, who, indeed, employed iris shots and various masking effects frequently, but, otherwise, I don't see much function for their use in "The Wildcat". The masks for point-of-view looks through keyholes and binoculars, of course, have an obvious function, and the rest, I suppose, works to establish the spectator's point-of-view, but, overall, the framings here seem too distracting and gimmicky.

Nevertheless, the picture features plenty of pleasant nonsense amusement, with some funny moments scattered about, even if the humor is often broad. Scenes such as the crowd of women gushing over the departing Casanova-like Lieutenant, including goodbyes from his many children, or the stream of tears gag are especially comical. What little there is of a story and plot take a back seat. And, I think Pola Negri is more appealing here as an uninhibited mountain bandit than she is in some of her more melodramatic roles.

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.