SUNRISE: A SONG OF TWO HUMANS (1927)
A film review by David N. Butterworth
Copyright 2017 David N. Butterworth

*** (out of ****)

Many have dubbed it the greatest film of the silent era. Others have
lauded it as one of the finest films ever made. And in a recent interview, Richard Gere, star of many similarly-appointed modern-day melodramas (e.g.,
"An Officer and a Gentleman," "American Gigolo," and this year's "The
Dinner"), lists F. W. Murnau's "Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans" among his favorite films of all time, referring to it as "one of the most beautifully shot movies you'll ever, ever see--a 'wow' experience."
Without a doubt, cinematographers Charles Rosher and Karl Struss do
put some pretty impressive images up on the screen. So much so that for
their fine monochromatic work they won the very first Academy Award for
Best Cinematography in 1927. "Sunrise" holds up even today with its
reliance on moody lighting, dramatic framing, and inventive in-camera techniques. Its narrative, however, with its larger than life emotions and emoting, is a smidge OTT: humble farmer (George O'Brien) is seduced by
siren from the big city (Margaret Livingston) into an evil plot to murder
his wife (Janet Gaynor, who also won an Oscar), only to fall in love with
her all over again after realizing he can't go through with it.
Working in Hollywood for the first time, Murnau maintains the same
level of dedication he brought to his German Expressionist films
"Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror" (1922), "The Last Laugh" (1924), and
"Faust" (1926), all now considered classics in their own rights. The camera techniques on display in "Sunrise" are remarkably inventive, with an unnervingly anachronistic Steadicam-like maneuver through a marsh some
fifteen years before its inventor, Garrett Brown, was even born. There are
also equally smooth crane and dolly shots throughout, most notably as The
Woman approaches the farmhouse to lure The Man away, as well as some wonderfully creative superimpositions--the seductress appears to wrap her
arms around her willing confidante, The Man and The Wife are encircled by
angry motorists in the midst of a busy street, and scenes in which
foreground models are paired with background matte paintings with the
actors milling around somewhere in the middle.
This visual experimentation sets "Sunrise" apart, and might have moved
the medium along considerably had not "The Jazz Singer" (Al Johnson moves
his lips and actual words come out!) debuted that same year, focusing filmmakers' attentions on sound rather than image, at least for the short
term.
Gere was clearly talking about the look and the construction of
Murnau's film and in that regard his one word summation--wow--isn't far off
the mark.

--
David N. Butterworth
rec.arts.movies.reviews
butterworthdavidn@gmail.com

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SUNRISE: A SONG OF TWO HUMANS (1927)
A film review by David N. Butterworth
Copyright 2017 David N. Butterworth

*** (out of ****)

Many have dubbed it the greatest film of the silent era. Others have
lauded it as one of the finest films ever made. And in a recent interview, Richard Gere, star of many similarly-appointed modern-day melodramas (e.g.,
"An Officer and a Gentleman," "American Gigolo," and this year's "The
Dinner"), lists F. W. Murnau's "Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans" among his favorite films of all time, referring to it as "one of the most beautifully shot movies you'll ever, ever see--a 'wow' experience."
Without a doubt, cinematographers Charles Rosher and Karl Struss do
put some pretty impressive images up on the screen. So much so that for
their fine monochromatic work they won the very first Academy Award for
Best Cinematography in 1927. "Sunrise" holds up even today with its
reliance on moody lighting, dramatic framing, and inventive in-camera techniques. Its narrative, however, with its larger than life emotions and emoting, is a smidge OTT: humble farmer (George O'Brien) is seduced by
siren from the big city (Margaret Livingston) into an evil plot to murder
his wife (Janet Gaynor, who also won an Oscar), only to fall in love with
her all over again after realizing he can't go through with it.
Working in Hollywood for the first time, Murnau maintains the same
level of dedication he brought to his German Expressionist films
"Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror" (1922), "The Last Laugh" (1924), and
"Faust" (1926), all now considered classics in their own rights. The camera techniques on display in "Sunrise" are remarkably inventive, with an unnervingly anachronistic Steadicam-like maneuver through a marsh some
fifteen years before its inventor, Garrett Brown, was even born. There are
also equally smooth crane and dolly shots throughout, most notably as The
Woman approaches the farmhouse to lure The Man away, as well as some wonderfully creative superimpositions--the seductress appears to wrap her
arms around her willing confidante, The Man and The Wife are encircled by
angry motorists in the midst of a busy street, and scenes in which
foreground models are paired with background matte paintings with the
actors milling around somewhere in the middle.
This visual experimentation sets "Sunrise" apart, and might have moved
the medium along considerably had not "The Jazz Singer" (Al Johnson moves
his lips and actual words come out!) debuted that same year, focusing filmmakers' attentions on sound rather than image, at least for the short
term.
Gere was clearly talking about the look and the construction of
Murnau's film and in that regard his one word summation--wow--isn't far off
the mark.

--
David N. Butterworth
rec.arts.movies.reviews
butterworthdavidn@gmail.com

--- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
* Origin: fsxNet Usenet Gateway (21:1/5)