The Man Who Laughs (1928)
Directed by Paul Leni

Film Review

The Man Who Laughs continued a series of big budget period horror films that were proving to be a goldmine for their production company, Universal Pictures, in the 1920s.  After the phenomenal success of The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1923) and The Phantom of the Opera (1925), both adapted from classics of French literature, Universal's founder and honcho Carl Laemmle turned to another, less well-known French novel for his next cinematic freak show: Victor Hugo's L'Homme qui rit.  This time, Laemmle was unable to call upon the services of Lon Chaney for the central role, as the actor was then under contract to MGM, so he had to look elsewhere.  His gaze fastened on Chaney's German alter ego, a leading light of German expressionistic cinema who had a special aptitude for horror: Conrad Veidt.

Veidt had already distinguished himself in one of the most iconic of all horror roles, the murderous somnambulist Cesare in Robert Wiene's The Cabinet of Dr Caligari (1920).  This he followed with equally chilling performances in Wiene's The Hands of Orlac (1924) and Paul Leni's Waxworks (1926).  It was Leni whom Carl Laemmle chose to direct his next magnum opus.  Leni was one of the most talented German filmmakers at the time and a highly accomplished set designer to boot, demonstrated by his recent work on The Cat and the Canary (1927), the film that launched a thousand 'old dark house' movies.  With two stalwarts of German expressionism on his payroll, Laemmle was guaranteed another sure-fire success in the horror genre, and whilst the film initially attracted some bad reviews it went on to become one of his most profitable films, making a healthy return on its colossal one million dollar budget.  The Man Who Laughs was in production just as cinema made the transition to synchronised sound.  To capitalise on this latest innovation, the film's release was delayed by a few months to allow time for a Movietown soundtrack (including sound effects and score) to be cobbled together.  The film not only paved the way for Universal's subsequent sound horror films, it also made Conrad Veidt an international film star, earning him some prominent roles in English-language films in the late 1930s, early 1940s, including, notably, The Thief of Bagdad (1940) and Casablanca (1942).

Although The Man Who Laughs was marketed by Universal as a horror film it only just qualifies to be regarded as such.  It would be more accurate to classify it as a period melodrama or swashbuckler, along the same lines as The Three Musketeers.  The only horror ingredient is the gruesome deformity of the central protagonist Gwynplaine, a permanent smile carved onto the face of a young man by an evil surgeon.  A marvellous piece of makeup design by Jack Pierce (who would later create some of Universal's greatest horror icons: Frankenstein's monster, the Mummy and the Wolf Man) gives Gwynplaine a genuinely frightening monstrous look, with lips and teeth set in a permanent rictus grin.  It is a face that is guaranteed to freeze the blood of any coulrophobiac (i.e. those who suffer from a morbid fear of clowns) and was also the main inspiration for the character The Joker in the original Batman comic books.

As terrifying as Gwynplaine appears when we first see his deformed features for the first time, he turns out to be anything but a monstrous character.  The real monsters of the piece are to be found elsewhere - the unspeakably cruel court jester Barkilphedro and predatory noblewoman, Josiana.   By contrast, Gwynplaine is a pure soul who appears incapable of evil.  There is not so much as a hint of malice in Conrad Veidt's portrayal of this sad but noble outsider.  Veidt presents him as a tragic hero, playing on our sympathies as powerfully as he had previously done with his portrayal of the ill-fated Orlac.  With the lower half of his face fixed like a mask, Veidt's only instruments for conveying his character's feelings are his eyes, but he uses these to devastating effect.  Elation, despair, kindness, revulsion... Every emotion of which a man is capable pours from Veidt's expressive eyes in the course of the film, and watching him perform in his most challenging role is a revelation.  You can easily persuade yourself that he was the greatest screen actor of the silent era.

Conrad Veidt's is not the only meaty performance on offer.  Olga Baclanova claims more than her fair share of the limelight as the Duchess Josiana, a sultry temptress with a kinky fetish for deformity (not something you would expect to see in a major Hollywood film of this time).  Josiana's perversions prove to be more grotesque and stomach-churning than the facial deformity that arouses them, and the character makes an effective dramatic counterpoint to the saintly blind girl Dea, played by Mary Philbin, the actress famous for her role as the heroine in The Phantom of the Opera.  No horror film is complete without a truly horrible villain, and Brandon Hurst's court jester Barkilphedro fits the bill admirably, a Mephistophelean fiend that revels in bringing misery to others (usually with an iron maiden). Completing the superb ensemble of principals is Cesare Gravina as the mountebank who adopts Gwynplaine and Dea - try as he might, he can't help looking like a benign yet unkempt version of Werner Krauss's Dr Caligari.

Two other names worthy of a special mention are cinematographer Gilbert Warrenton and art director Charles D. Hall, who both contribute a great deal to the film's distinctively expressionistic feel.  The film's ample budget allowed Hall to create some of his most ambitious sets, which include an elaborate (albeit slightly Germanic) reconstruction of 17th century London and some spacious palace interiors.  The subtly expressionistic set design is complemented by Warrenton's photography, which employs some ingenious lighting effects to give an intense aura of menace and tension to almost every scene.  The result is unlike almost anything else in American cinema - German expressionism on an opulent, almost operatic scale, in a film that spans pretty well every mainstream movie genre of the time.  Dispensing with the pointlessly tragic ending of Hugo's novel, The Man Who Laughs concludes in a vertiginous swashbuckling vein, with a feisty denouement in which the villain gets his well-earned comeuppance and the hero finally gets something to smile about.  On both the artistic and entertainment fronts, the film scores as highly as any other Hollywood blockbuster of this era, and it is hard to explain its current status, as the overlooked cousin in Universal's compendium of horrors.  This could well be the greatest thing that Carl Laemmle ever put his name to.

Film Synopsis

England, 1690.  King James II is so offended by the rebellious nobleman Lord Clancharlie that he orders his execution.  Before he dies, Clancharlie learns that his infant son Gwynplaine has been sold by the king's jester Barkilphedro to a gypsy surgeon, Dr Hardquannone, who has so disfigured the boy's face to give him a permanent clown-like smile.  Gwynplaine eludes his gypsy captors and ends up in the care of a travelling mountebank, Ursus, along with a little blind girl, Dea, found in a snowstorm.  Some years later, Gwynplaine has grown into a man and is content to earn his keep as a fairground freak, entertaining the crowds with his disfigurement.  When Queen Anne learns that Clancharlie's heir is still alive, she insists that Gwynplaine must marry the woman who is presently in possession of his estate, the Duchess Josiana.  He must also take his place in the House of Lords...