L'homme que j'ai tué

This early-sound film appeared fourteen years after the end of the "Great War." Lionel Barrymore, as Dr. Holderlin, the father of Walter, a German soldier killed in that war, provides a stirring metaphorical introspection into the militaristic bravado that inspired so many young Germans to march, and caused so many to die. Dr. Holderlin's comments at his "Stammtisch" (a cafe table reserved for town notables) are, for the time, surprisingly deep and revealing. He confesses he was caught up in the romance and pageantry of flags, trumpets and columns of uniformed young men marching off to meet the enemy. He believes he, together with others who shared those views, was as much responsible for his son's death as the enemy.

But it turns out the enemy, in the form of Paul, the French soldier who killed Barrymore's son, is as remorseful as the good doctor. Paul and Walter knew each other before the War. Paul's guilt that he was the cause of Walter's death drove Paul to Germany in an attempt at closure. There he met Walter's family and Elsa, Walter's sweetheart. Everyone's guilt and grief create in Paul a kind of eerie substitute for Walter. The film ends with Paul playing on the violin a lullaby similar to those Walter had played before the War.

*Broken Lullaby* is an excellent anti-war film, much in the *All Quiet on the Western Front* genre. It is unfortunate that it has not over the years received the critical attention it deserves.

Most Definitely holds up and shows the intellectual capability, both Ideally & artistically. I strongly believe it will be better than some movies in 2032.

Lionel Barrymore had a beautiful/responsible speech that should be a household ideal because it definitely challenged me on my stance to the matter.

'The Man I Killed', or 'Broken Lullaby' to others, appealed to me right away. There are many great war films out there (though admittedly do prefer slightly other types of films) and its message is an admirable one. It is notable for being an atypical effort for the great Ernst Lubitsch, instead of comedy, romantic comedy and musicals, 'The Man I Killed' is perhaps his most serious film. Seeing Lionel Barrymore in one of his more dramatic roles was interesting too.

While there was no doubt in my mind that it would be good at least, 'The Man I Killed' was more than good. It was very, very good and so close to being great. It was great to see a change of pace from Lubitsch, and just as much to see excel so well at it. Not everybody succeeds when they do something different to usual, some have even failed, but Lubitsch does succeed wonderfully. He never directed a more moving or more emotionally powerful film and in its own right there is so much to recommend.

Am going to get the very few not so good things out of the way. It is a little over-sentimental in places, though there is a big emphasis on in places and on a little.

Despite some excellent moments that do bring a lump to the throat, Phillips Holmes at times overacts and it is at odds with the more subtle acting of everybody else.

Lubitsch however directs impeccably, he directs with a darker touch but it didn't to me get too dark or too heavy generally. Of the performances, which are near uniformly good, Barrymore is particularly magnificent. One of his most subtle performances and one of his most poignant and intense too, especially in one of the most powerful speeches of any film seen recently. ZaSu Pitts is also excellent. The production values have both grit and elegance, with some beautifully crafted and clever shots at the start especially.

Some very effective use of sound too, like with agreed the marching feet which was quite unsettling. The script is literate without being talky and the message is delivered with force and sincerity without being laid on too thick. The story is harrowing and poignant, as well as sensitively handled. If the sentiment was a little less, the storytelling would have been perfect.

In conclusion, very, very good and nearly great with almost everything being outstanding. 8/10

What a pleasant surprise! This touching story of the misery visited upon one man by the First World War leads to memorable statement about who is responsible for war. I will definitely share this video with my friends.

In the sense that this film's post-WW I pacifist yearnings are naive and unsupported by philosophic or practical consideration, this film is dated, there's no denying that. In that sense it's tied to its time in a way that many other films of the early thirties are not. But still, it's a wonderful film! A simple story: A Frenchman is overcome with guilt for killing a single German in battle in WW I. The church gives him no solace, so he decides to seek the forgiveness of the German soldier's family. The family jumps to the conclusion that he was a friend of their son, and he hasn't the courage to tell them the truth.

The performances are straightforward, and Lionel Barrymore is superb, as he nearly always was in his early years. When appropriate, Lubitsch uses all the showy techniques of his personal style. The opening scenes are a bravura series of brilliant visual bits, particularly the tracking shot down the church aisle at an armistice service, showing a belted sword extended from each pew. At other points, too, his special touch is evident, especially with the use of sound. When the German girl strolls with the Frenchman, the scandalous news travels from shop to shop to shop, and their walk is punctuated by the sound of the tingling bells on the shop doors. And the ticking of the clock, which the old man faithfully winds in his dead son's room, is adroitly used in the final scenes. One of the most telling uses of sound is when Barrymore hears the sound of marching feet. He looks toward an archway and the militaristic sound grows louder, but the sequence ends before the soldiers appear in the arch. It's a chilling moment that reminds the audience that Hitler is just off-screen, that perhaps the film's ideas are already out-of-date.

But Lubitsch also shows his greatness by the ABSENCE of obvious Lubitsch technique throughout much of the film. He's aware that his characters are the essence of the film, and for long stretches he lets his players act their story in plain, unbroken two-shots, without cinematic embellishment. It's a film by a master, and it's shameful that the failure of this film prevented Lubitsch from ever undertaking another drama.