Film Review
Benjamin Christensen's short but brilliant career as one of Denmark's leading
filmmakers got off to a prodigious start with this gripping spy thriller.
Combining traditional themes of love, honour and betrayal with a fast-paced
adventure-melodrama,
Sealed Orders (a.k.a.
Det hemmelighedsfulde
X or
The Mysterious X) is the kind of crowdpleaser that would
have been massively popular on the eve of the First World War, and its abundant
use of exterior locations lends it a startling sense of immediacy.
The film was a hit with critics and audiences at home and abroad and established
Christensen's reputation as one of the most promising filmmakers of the day.
Prior to this auspicious debut, Christensen had been pursuing a successful
career as a stage actor with the Royal Danish Theatre, although he had appeared
in a few films as early as 1911. He began his film directing career
in his mid-30s, shortly after he took over the running of the film production
company Dansk Biografkompagni in 1913, where he had previously worked as
an actor and screenwriter. Being a producer as well as a director,
Christensen was privileged to have complete control over the first films
he made in Denmark, and this artistic freedom allowed him to develop a cinematic
style that was years ahead of its time. When you compare Christensen's
early offerings with other films of the 1910s it is hard not be struck by
how modern they appear. Lighting, camera positioning, even camera motion,
are used brilliantly to create atmosphere and tension, whilst fast editing
and cross-cutting help to build and sustain an extraordinary pace of action,
without ever losing narrative coherence. At a time when Denmark
was beginning to lose its supremacy as a world leader in the new medium of
cinema, Benjamin Christensen brought a sudden jolt of newness and vitality
to his country's widely revered film industry.
Being one of Denmark's most charismatic and talented actors, it was fitting
that Christensen should take the lead role, and he brings dignity and a quiet
charm to his archetypal character, allowing the focus to be stolen by his
photogenic co-star Karen Sandberg, with whom he would share top billing on
his next feature. The shamelessly melodramatic plot may seem unconvincing
today, but this is at least in part a reflection of how values have changed
since the time the film was made. Nowadays, the notion of honour barely
registers in our consciousness but a century ago it was one of the foremost
of the virtues and it was more than likely that an army officer of 1913 would
rather face a firing squad after being wrongly charged with treason than
publicly denounce his wife as the mistress of an enemy agent. The characters
are simply drawn, almost stock caricatures, but they are convincingly portrayed
and Christensen compels us to engage with their increasingly desperate plight.
A young boy's courageous bid to visit his father in prison is exquisite in
its poignancy and we even end up sympathising with the central villain as
he becomes cruelly caught up in the mechanics of Fate. The story may
be a tad far-fetched, but it is so skilfully put together and moves at such
a swift pace (helped by the paucity of inter-titles) that it is nothing less
than compelling.
Sealed Orders is silent cinema's nearest thing
to a rollicking good page-turner novel.
The narrative sophistication is only one part of the film's appeal.
Just as commendable is its artistic flair and dazzling innovation.
Christensen combines the visual artistry of his contemporaries and subsequent
filmmakers (Griffith, Lang, Murnau) with an unflinchingly deft treatment
of suspense worthy of Hitchcock - indeed the Danish director may even be
considered a forerunner of the so-called Master of Suspense. Many scenes
have a remarkable depth of field, with action manifesting in all parts of
the frame (not just the foreground). Christensen's recurring use of
silhouettes and shadows lends a touch of menace to more than a few scenes
and may well have had a strong influence on early German cinema. Most
striking is the ominous skeletal structure of the windmill that is central to
the drama. Sitting atop a steep hill, its stark silhouetted form seems
to glower with menace - and so it should. It holds the fates of all
of the three main protagonists in its hands and acquires a mystical, almost
demonic character.
In the film's most recognisably Hitchcockian sequence, the villain of the
piece manages to get himself sealed in a dank, rat-ridden cellar, with the
door to the windmill firmly wedged over the trapdoor. As poor Count
Spinelli struggles in vain to free himself, the camera pans slowly up the
fatal door towards the hinges that stubbornly refuse to yield. The
release or otherwise of the real traitor from his self-made hell is the plot
nexus around which the rest of the film dizzyingly revolves, resulting in
an almost unbearably suspenseful race against time as the world literally
falls to pieces in eerie precognition of the catastrophe that was WWI.
Benjamin Christensen followed this debut tour de force with a similarly well-paced
thriller,
Blind Justice
(a.k.a.
The Night of Revenge) (1916), which proved to be another popular
success. Christensen then gave up film directing for a while, perhaps
disillusioned with his lack of recognition at home, but he returned in force
with his third feature,
Häxan
(1922), in which his obsessive fascination with witchcraft through the ages
allowed him to craft one of the most remarkable films of the silent era.
This is the masterpiece that brought Christensen worldwide acclaim and earned
him a ticket to Hollywood, although his subsequent career was to be but a
pale shadow of what had preceded it.
© James Travers 2016
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