From looking at the poster, one begins to form an idea of the shape of Paul Leni's adaptation of the Victor Hugo novel, The Man Who Laughs. The portrayal of the giant, leering face of the title character, for one thing, creates a creepy image for the film, thanks to the choice of… More
From looking at the poster, one begins to form an idea of the shape of Paul Leni's adaptation of the Victor Hugo novel, The Man Who Laughs. The portrayal of the giant, leering face of the title character, for one thing, creates a creepy image for the film, thanks to the choice of under-lighting actor Conrad Veidt's face for the painting. This effect is magnified by the judicious placement of hanging corpses in the background and the depiction of the main character standing ominously over a sleeping damsel, his cloak giving him more than a passing resemblance to Dracula. To see this poster possessing no knowledge of the film's plot, one could only assume that this is, by far, one of the creepiest, most horrific films of the silent era, featuring one of its most effective monsters. What a shock it is, then, when you watch the film and discover a rich, emotional melodrama on par with the Hunchback of Notre Dame or the Phantom of the Opera, and featuring a character far more sympathetic than either of them. The Man Who Laughs is the story of Gwynplaine, the heir of a Duke who spoke out against King James during the 17th Century. In retaliation for the Duke's defiance, James had Gwynplaine sold off to a nomadic band of child traffickers, who surgically mutilated the boy's mouth into a permanent grin and later abandoned him to eliminate evidence of their misdeeds. The boy wandered into the care of a gypsy philosopher and playwright, who raised him to adulthood and made him the featured act of a traveling repertory theater. His life as a famous clown is made bearable only by his relationship with Dea, the blind girl he grew up with who loves him for who he is, but soon his identity is discovered and he is forced back into the aristocracy against his will. Conrad Veidt as Gwynplaine is, without a doubt, the most visually striking character to come out of the silent era (whose likeness was reportedly the primary inspiration for the creation of the Joker)- the prosthesis that kept his mouth fixed into a grin must have hurt like a bitch! But despite his outwardly menacing appearance, Veidt conveys a world of longing and suffering with the use of his eyes, making us feel the lifetime's worth of ridicule and self-loathing that he must have felt, and when he finally reaches his boiling point, we cheer as he rebels against the corrupt aristocracy that tries to use him for their own ends. It's an effective criticism of the system of rule of the time period, run by a shallow and thoughtless class that see people only as a means for the manipulation of power, and one that is furthered by the two-dimensional portrayals of all of the members of the hierarchy (of course, the acting is far from subtle due to the fact that it's a silent film, but it's even farther from subtle with characters such as the queen, King James, the duchess, and especially Barkilphedro). Mary Philbin as Dea, on the other hand, is a surprisingly touching performance, bringing quite a bit of genuine emotion to a part that essentially only required her to stand around and pretend to be blind (which she does okay). Cesare Gravina is kind of hokey as Ursus, the gypsy playwright with wild hair and disturbing pop-eyes, but even he musters some considerable pathos during the film, especially when he believes that Gwynplaine has died and can't bring himself to tell Dea. The production values are pretty good for a silent film, and the camera is a lot more active that in certain other silent films (Nosferatu comes to mind...). What makes the Man Who Laughs a great movie, though, is the genuine, heartfelt love story that drives it, a beauty and the beast tale that, unlike the stories of the Hunchback or the Phantom, actually ends well for our heroes... maybe because this time, we have a hero that truly earns the right to call himself a man, and not a monster.