One hundred years or more later there remains a great magic to silent cinema that the very best of modern fare often simply cannot match. The earnest simplicity of developing techniques and technology, the common differences in acting and otherwise communication of a story without sound, the rush to dazzle with a new art form, and the constant innovations and pushing of boundaries combine into a perfect storm of circumstances that filmmakers in the twenty-first century just can't replicate, even with all the advantages they might claim. Wherever a production specifically aims for epic drama and grandeur that magic is only reinforced, and for whatever comparisons one may deign to draw, I don't think there's much arguing that Ernst Lubitsch's 'Das Weib des Pharao' counts among such company. The man was known primarily for his fantastic comedy in his prolific career, but it's readily evident that he was capable of anything to which he put his mind. Him and haw about particulars and frames of reference as we may, this is a phenomenal, essential film that raptly captures the imagination and remains well worth exploring decades later.
It's deeply unfortunate that portions of the original release remain missing, presumably lost over time, and we can only hope that some day they might be found in some hidden corner of an attic, cellar, or archive and restored in the same manner as the rest. Be that as it may, this certainly isn't the only picture to exist in a somewhat incomplete form, and as with other examples, those who meticulously assembled the extant piece filled in the gaps as necessary with what representative stills could be gathered, and intertitles to provide necessary explanation of plot. With that in mind one must applaud these technicians and institutions for working so mightily to preserve our cultural history - not least as Lubitsch's movie really is a blast, highly deserving on its own merits and handily impressing. Regular Lubitsch collaborator Hanns Kräly and co-writer Norbert Falk penned a strong, intensely compelling story of cruel, haughty kings, the people over whom they wantonly wield their power, and the small folk and affairs of the heart that would defy such imposing figures. Robust scene writing ranges from large battles and violence, to quiet malevolence and manipulation, to love, valor, heroism, and tragedy, and the story is firmly engaging, satisfying, and outright fulfilling all the while.
To the same extent that the director so ably crafted his comedies with wild antics and boisterous energy, every shot and scene in 'Das Weib des Pharao' is shaped with a mind for capturing the momentous weight of the saga, for mesmerizing with spectacular sights, and at no few points, for splendid artistry. From Lubitsch's shrewd vision and shot composition, to the sharp eyes of cinematographers Alfred Hansen and Theodor Sparkuhl, to even the lighting, the fundamental presentation is outstanding. That magnificence is made easier, of course, with fabulous, detailed sets, costume design, hair, and makeup, meeting the highest standards of like-minded contemporary flicks - nevermind innumerable extras, excellent stunts and effects, and not least, an exceptional cast. While Emil Jannings would go on to taint his legacy with his political dealings, there's no disputing that he was a terrific actor who commanded looming presence in addition to fine range and nuance. This is hardly to count out his co-stars, however, for all others involved, from Harry Liedtke to German titan Paul Wegener, from Paul Biensfeldt to Lyda Salmonova, and especially Dagny Servaes, all give superb performances that bring the rich drama to vivid life. It is true, perhaps, that the acting here is broadly characterized by the more exaggerated facial expressions and body language that typified the silent era. So marvelous and absorbing are these 100 minutes, though, that I don't think any but the most hard-nosed of modern viewers could take issue with the style as it presents; furthermore, there are plenty of instances where the acting reaches beyond those bounds to reflect the more natural and sophisticated method modern viewers are familiar with, and in such instances the result is nothing less than brilliant.
It can't be overstated how grand and striking this is from start to finish, and at times downright bewitching; it's obvious Lubitsch aimed to leave a big mark on the world of cinema, and show what he was capable of, and he definitely succeeded. The tale is flush with vibrant, meaningful emotions as conflicts brew and the mood varies; we get villains just as much as champions, enticing tension and suspense as much as heartwarming or heartbreaking tenderness, and major, thrilling action sequences just as much as affective, substantial scenes of just two characters testing each other's will. No matter what a moment calls for the writing, acting, direction, and craftsmanship are all just as stupendous in realizing a story that in my opinion quite deserves to be mentioned alongside more famous epics of both silence and sound. In one manner or another one is reminded of Fred Niblo's 'Ben-Hur' of 1925, or the 1959 adaptation with Charlton Heston; the works of Cecil B. DeMille come to mind in the largest and most complex sequences, whether one wishes to point to 'The ten commandments' or something else; this moreover finds kinship with the artistic eye of Swedish icon Victor Sjöström, who often employed the very sets and filming locations in a spellbinding fashion that made the very environs seem to come alive, not to mention infusion of a keen, intimate psychological approach. All these are certainly huge names to drop in speaking of Ernst Lubitsch and this 1922 title, but for my part I think 'Das Weib des Pharao' has absolutely earned the right to join such esteemed company.
I assumed I would enjoy this simply for the fact that I've loved most everything I've seen from the German legend. Frankly, high as my expectations were, they still have been far exceeded. Early in the length the storytelling might seem to drag a bit, but as the narrative advances and events escalate it becomes more and more captivating. In no time I was wholly swept away and could scarcely remove my eyes from the screen; I could hardly be happier with how good this is. In fact, while there are elements here that are part and parcel of everything we assume of the early years of the medium - for better and for worse - it's also true that there are fantastic touches of subtlety and underhanded intelligence in every odd and end, from minutiae of the storytelling, to the incredible labor of those operating behind the scenes, to Lubitsch's direction, and even the acting. There are tiny moments where I wonder if Servaes hasn't managed to outshine Jannings with the depth of emotion she carries with tact that is arguably more discreet, yet then Jannings, or Liedtke, or someone else leaps out just as surely. From smart tinting to smart effects and editing, through every beat, idea, and feeling, 'Das Weib des Pharao' is a tremendous, arresting, flavorful classic that still stuns over one hundred years on. I may even go so far as to say that this is a picture that exists beyond questions of personal preference; as far as I'm concerned it's altogether wonderful, and fully demands viewership. I'm pleased to give this treasure my very highest, heartiest, most enthusiastic recommendation; in my book 'Das Weib des Pharao' is worth going out of your way to see!
It's deeply unfortunate that portions of the original release remain missing, presumably lost over time, and we can only hope that some day they might be found in some hidden corner of an attic, cellar, or archive and restored in the same manner as the rest. Be that as it may, this certainly isn't the only picture to exist in a somewhat incomplete form, and as with other examples, those who meticulously assembled the extant piece filled in the gaps as necessary with what representative stills could be gathered, and intertitles to provide necessary explanation of plot. With that in mind one must applaud these technicians and institutions for working so mightily to preserve our cultural history - not least as Lubitsch's movie really is a blast, highly deserving on its own merits and handily impressing. Regular Lubitsch collaborator Hanns Kräly and co-writer Norbert Falk penned a strong, intensely compelling story of cruel, haughty kings, the people over whom they wantonly wield their power, and the small folk and affairs of the heart that would defy such imposing figures. Robust scene writing ranges from large battles and violence, to quiet malevolence and manipulation, to love, valor, heroism, and tragedy, and the story is firmly engaging, satisfying, and outright fulfilling all the while.
To the same extent that the director so ably crafted his comedies with wild antics and boisterous energy, every shot and scene in 'Das Weib des Pharao' is shaped with a mind for capturing the momentous weight of the saga, for mesmerizing with spectacular sights, and at no few points, for splendid artistry. From Lubitsch's shrewd vision and shot composition, to the sharp eyes of cinematographers Alfred Hansen and Theodor Sparkuhl, to even the lighting, the fundamental presentation is outstanding. That magnificence is made easier, of course, with fabulous, detailed sets, costume design, hair, and makeup, meeting the highest standards of like-minded contemporary flicks - nevermind innumerable extras, excellent stunts and effects, and not least, an exceptional cast. While Emil Jannings would go on to taint his legacy with his political dealings, there's no disputing that he was a terrific actor who commanded looming presence in addition to fine range and nuance. This is hardly to count out his co-stars, however, for all others involved, from Harry Liedtke to German titan Paul Wegener, from Paul Biensfeldt to Lyda Salmonova, and especially Dagny Servaes, all give superb performances that bring the rich drama to vivid life. It is true, perhaps, that the acting here is broadly characterized by the more exaggerated facial expressions and body language that typified the silent era. So marvelous and absorbing are these 100 minutes, though, that I don't think any but the most hard-nosed of modern viewers could take issue with the style as it presents; furthermore, there are plenty of instances where the acting reaches beyond those bounds to reflect the more natural and sophisticated method modern viewers are familiar with, and in such instances the result is nothing less than brilliant.
It can't be overstated how grand and striking this is from start to finish, and at times downright bewitching; it's obvious Lubitsch aimed to leave a big mark on the world of cinema, and show what he was capable of, and he definitely succeeded. The tale is flush with vibrant, meaningful emotions as conflicts brew and the mood varies; we get villains just as much as champions, enticing tension and suspense as much as heartwarming or heartbreaking tenderness, and major, thrilling action sequences just as much as affective, substantial scenes of just two characters testing each other's will. No matter what a moment calls for the writing, acting, direction, and craftsmanship are all just as stupendous in realizing a story that in my opinion quite deserves to be mentioned alongside more famous epics of both silence and sound. In one manner or another one is reminded of Fred Niblo's 'Ben-Hur' of 1925, or the 1959 adaptation with Charlton Heston; the works of Cecil B. DeMille come to mind in the largest and most complex sequences, whether one wishes to point to 'The ten commandments' or something else; this moreover finds kinship with the artistic eye of Swedish icon Victor Sjöström, who often employed the very sets and filming locations in a spellbinding fashion that made the very environs seem to come alive, not to mention infusion of a keen, intimate psychological approach. All these are certainly huge names to drop in speaking of Ernst Lubitsch and this 1922 title, but for my part I think 'Das Weib des Pharao' has absolutely earned the right to join such esteemed company.
I assumed I would enjoy this simply for the fact that I've loved most everything I've seen from the German legend. Frankly, high as my expectations were, they still have been far exceeded. Early in the length the storytelling might seem to drag a bit, but as the narrative advances and events escalate it becomes more and more captivating. In no time I was wholly swept away and could scarcely remove my eyes from the screen; I could hardly be happier with how good this is. In fact, while there are elements here that are part and parcel of everything we assume of the early years of the medium - for better and for worse - it's also true that there are fantastic touches of subtlety and underhanded intelligence in every odd and end, from minutiae of the storytelling, to the incredible labor of those operating behind the scenes, to Lubitsch's direction, and even the acting. There are tiny moments where I wonder if Servaes hasn't managed to outshine Jannings with the depth of emotion she carries with tact that is arguably more discreet, yet then Jannings, or Liedtke, or someone else leaps out just as surely. From smart tinting to smart effects and editing, through every beat, idea, and feeling, 'Das Weib des Pharao' is a tremendous, arresting, flavorful classic that still stuns over one hundred years on. I may even go so far as to say that this is a picture that exists beyond questions of personal preference; as far as I'm concerned it's altogether wonderful, and fully demands viewership. I'm pleased to give this treasure my very highest, heartiest, most enthusiastic recommendation; in my book 'Das Weib des Pharao' is worth going out of your way to see!