Carl Theodor Dreyer´s "Vampyr" (1932) shares several common traits with another Criterion release this month, Jacques Tati´s "Trafic" (1971). Both films were intended as commercial follow-ups to prior box office failures: respectively, "The Passion of Joan of Arc" (1928) and "Playtime." Both of those "failures" also happen to be among the greatest films of all-time: I rate each in my personal Top Ten and I know I´m not alone in doing so. Furthermore, both Dreyer and Tati occupy a place in the inner circle of the pantheon of great directors based on just a handful of movies. Tati directed only six features. Dreyer helmed more, particularly in the silent film era, but his sterling reputation rests on the five features he made starting with "Joan," including "Vampyr," "Day of Wrath" (1943), "Ordet" (1955), and "Gertrud" (1964).
One more similarity is worthy of deeper discussion. Both "Vampyr" and "Trafic" are sound films which feel very much like silent films. In the case of "Trafic," this was simply a matter of Tati´s signature timeless style. With "Vampyr," however, Dreyer was (somewhat reluctantly) directing his first sound film and had little interest in dramatically modifying his style to suit the new sound equipment. He shot the entire film without sound, and recorded the effects and voices (in three different languages: German, French and English) during post-production.
With the need for heavy blimps to drown out the sound of the locomotive-loud silent-era film projectors and microphones with limited range, cameras on the earliest sound films were often anchored in place. Not so with Dreyer´s film where the camera was free to glide wherever he willed it to go. Much like Fritz Lang´s "M" (1931; shot mostly, though not entirely, without synchronized sound) "Vampyr" is a transitional hybrid of silent and sound cinema. The tinny voices and exotic animal sounds (produced by vocal performers, not clipped from then non-existent sound libraries) give the film and otherworldly feel perfectly suited to its material.
Vampires were popular in literature and on the stage during the early 20th century, but only a few full-fledged vampire films had been produced, most notably Murnau´s ground-breaking "Nosferatu" (1922). Todd Browning´s "Dracula" was released the year before "Vampyr" but Dreyer was in production well before Lugosi´s iconic performance ever hit the big screen. As a result, though the figure of the vampire was familiar in the popular culture, the full-blown mythology that surrounds the undead character was still in its formative stages, at least on film.
This explains, in part, why Dreyer devotes so much screen-time to exposition explaining exactly what vampires are and how they can be killed. It´s also a leftover effect from the silent era. Dreyer first uses intertitles then later places words from a book read by two different characters on screen, functioning much the same as intertitles. This approach may feel heavy-handed to viewers today, but I find it fascinating to watch a film in which we spend so much time watching people read. How often does that happen?
"Vampyr" relates a very simple, gothic pulp story (loosely adapted from two stories by Sheridan le Fanu) with all the requisite stock elements. Our intrepid hero Allan Gray (Julian West) is an adventurer who today would be called a ghost hunter. In his "aimless wanderings" he happens upon a "secluded inn by the river." You know where this one´s going. He finds himself immersed in a world of strange beings both of this world and the next. An older man wanders into his room for no apparent reason and cries out that "She must not die!" Later, Allan learns that this man´s daughter Léone (Sybille Schmitz) is plagued by strange marks on her neck (you know where this one´s going) and teeters on the brink of death. A creepy doctor (Jan Hieronimko) provides her with dubious care (you know where this one´s going.)
Allan, unable to sleep, wanders through the inn and a nearby abandoned house where he encounters all kinds of strange sights and sounds. Shadows dart across the moors; one appear to be "undigging" a grave. A peg-legged shadow moves independently of its peg-legged real-world counterpart.
Allan gawks at these eerie sights, but doesn´t do much about them. In fact, he has little reaction at all. Part of this is attributable to the fact that the lead role is played, not coincidentally, by the man who financed the film, Baron Nicolas de Gunzburg (under the name Julian West) who is not exactly a professional actor (it was his only film role.) Beyond that, though, Allan Gray is one of the most passive protagonists you´re likely to see in a genre film. His near total lack of investment in the story gives the film the feel of a youth-targeted adventure book in which the main characters are intended more to witness amazing things (think Harry Potter in the first few books) than to actually do anything about them.
Why then does "Vampyr" occupy such a prominent role in the oeuvre of one of the world´s most prominent directors? Dreyer´s strange, downright eccentric approach to this pulp material produces a horror film quite unlike any other. With a relative lack of match cuts and other standard aspects of film grammar, the geography of the world shown on film is downright confusing, if not impossible to make sense of. There is no flow from room to room, or from house to house. Allan and the other characters wander in and out of shots which vacillate from point-of-view shots to objective ones. The logic of the story is equally jarring too, though this is partly attributable to some of the cuts made due to censorship and for other reasons.
Carl Theodor Dreyer´s "Vampyr" (1932) shares several common traits with another Criterion release this month, Jacques Tati´s "Trafic" (1971). Both films were intended as commercial follow-ups to prior box office failures: respectively, "The Passion of Joan of Arc" (1928) and "Playtime." Both of those "failures" also happen to be among the greatest films of all-time: I rate each in my personal Top Ten and I know I´m not alone in doing so. Furthermore, both Dreyer and Tati occupy a place in the inner circle of the pantheon of great directors based on just a handful of movies. Tati directed only six features. Dreyer helmed more, particularly in the silent film era, but his sterling reputation rests on the five features he made starting with "Joan," including "Vampyr," "Day of Wrath" (1943), "Ordet" (1955), and "Gertrud" (1964).
One more similarity is worthy of deeper discussion. Both "Vampyr" and "Trafic" are sound films which feel very much like silent films. In the case of "Trafic," this was simply a matter of Tati´s signature timeless style. With "Vampyr," however, Dreyer was (somewhat reluctantly) directing his first sound film and had little interest in dramatically modifying his style to suit the new sound equipment. He shot the entire film without sound, and recorded the effects and voices (in three different languages: German, French and English) during post-production.
With the need for heavy blimps to drown out the sound of the locomotive-loud silent-era film projectors and microphones with limited range, cameras on the earliest sound films were often anchored in place. Not so with Dreyer´s film where the camera was free to glide wherever he willed it to go. Much like Fritz Lang´s "M" (1931; shot mostly, though not entirely, without synchronized sound) "Vampyr" is a transitional hybrid of silent and sound cinema. The tinny voices and exotic animal sounds (produced by vocal performers, not clipped from then non-existent sound libraries) give the film and otherworldly feel perfectly suited to its material.
Vampires were popular in literature and on the stage during the early 20th century, but only a few full-fledged vampire films had been produced, most notably Murnau´s ground-breaking "Nosferatu" (1922). Todd Browning´s "Dracula" was released the year before "Vampyr" but Dreyer was in production well before Lugosi´s iconic performance ever hit the big screen. As a result, though the figure of the vampire was familiar in the popular culture, the full-blown mythology that surrounds the undead character was still in its formative stages, at least on film.
This explains, in part, why Dreyer devotes so much screen-time to exposition explaining exactly what vampires are and how they can be killed. It´s also a leftover effect from the silent era. Dreyer first uses intertitles then later places words from a book read by two different characters on screen, functioning much the same as intertitles. This approach may feel heavy-handed to viewers today, but I find it fascinating to watch a film in which we spend so much time watching people read. How often does that happen?
"Vampyr" relates a very simple, gothic pulp story (loosely adapted from two stories by Sheridan le Fanu) with all the requisite stock elements. Our intrepid hero Allan Gray (Julian West) is an adventurer who today would be called a ghost hunter. In his "aimless wanderings" he happens upon a "secluded inn by the river." You know where this one´s going. He finds himself immersed in a world of strange beings both of this world and the next. An older man wanders into his room for no apparent reason and cries out that "She must not die!" Later, Allan learns that this man´s daughter Léone (Sybille Schmitz) is plagued by strange marks on her neck (you know where this one´s going) and teeters on the brink of death. A creepy doctor (Jan Hieronimko) provides her with dubious care (you know where this one´s going.)
Allan, unable to sleep, wanders through the inn and a nearby abandoned house where he encounters all kinds of strange sights and sounds. Shadows dart across the moors; one appear to be "undigging" a grave. A peg-legged shadow moves independently of its peg-legged real-world counterpart.
Allan gawks at these eerie sights, but doesn´t do much about them. In fact, he has little reaction at all. Part of this is attributable to the fact that the lead role is played, not coincidentally, by the man who financed the film, Baron Nicolas de Gunzburg (under the name Julian West) who is not exactly a professional actor (it was his only film role.) Beyond that, though, Allan Gray is one of the most passive protagonists you´re likely to see in a genre film. His near total lack of investment in the story gives the film the feel of a youth-targeted adventure book in which the main characters are intended more to witness amazing things (think Harry Potter in the first few books) than to actually do anything about them.
Why then does "Vampyr" occupy such a prominent role in the oeuvre of one of the world´s most prominent directors? Dreyer´s strange, downright eccentric approach to this pulp material produces a horror film quite unlike any other. With a relative lack of match cuts and other standard aspects of film grammar, the geography of the world shown on film is downright confusing, if not impossible to make sense of. There is no flow from room to room, or from house to house. Allan and the other characters wander in and out of shots which vacillate from point-of-view shots to objective ones. The logic of the story is equally jarring too, though this is partly attributable to some of the cuts made due to censorship and for other reasons.
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