Sago in the Cabinet

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (Das Kabinett des Doktor Caligari) is one of those movies i've always wanted to see, but never imagined i'd ever get the chance to, despite the fact that all these silent films are getting a new lease on life on DVD. i certainly never thought i'd get to see it on the big screen.

i once saw teeny bits of it on TV, teeny tiny bits, but enough to thoroughly whet, nay, positively soak my appetite.

last night, i got to see it. on the big screen. wow.

made by Robert Wiene in 1919, and with more-or-less 80 years of history (with the requisite period underground due to little things like World War II and Nazi censorship), the most appropriate one-liner i can think of for the film, oddly enough, comes from a bit in a Mad Magazine book published in the 60s or 70s called Inside Mad (or was it Mad Power?) that took a sharply satirical look at society, pop culture and the trend for trends in America at that time. still too young to appreciate the full satire but old enough to understand a bit of the irony in words, the line stuck with me through my formative years, and remains with me today, such that Kabinett recalls it perfectly: Das Kabinett des Doktor Caligari is so far out, it's in!

of all the old black and white films i've seen, Kabinett, imho, has dated the least despite being one of the earliest examples of cinematic art currently available for perusal. certainly, the ouroborosian tale of madness will strike modern viewers as nothing new, the acting will likely not appeal to modern sensibilities, the dialogue is simplistic and stilted, unnaturally fragmented, and, after all, it is a silent film; while the story itself may have been groundbreaking in its day, the modern viewer will probably recognize all the twists and turns and get the sense that, yes, it's all been done.

but so what? if you're going to do something that's been done, do it different, and Kabinett definitely does things different.

the lack of "special effects" as a modern viewer will recognize it is itself refreshing, because the whole film is a special effect, one that effectively conveys all the movie was meant to, delivering a sharp, unignorable flavor even, i'm sure, to the most jaded palate. given the film's utterly mind-fucking outre approach to the subject matter, Kabinett remains as relevant a work of art today as it was over 80 years ago, when it helped fuel the trend for German Expressionist films.

and yeah, all that has been said before. with over 80 years of history, the movie's been picked apart and criticized, loved and hated a hundred times over by critics and film-connoiseurs much more worthy than i'll ever be. but i bet none of them have ever seen the film scored live by Radioactive Sago Project.

that's right: Das Kabinett has been given a solid dose of Urban Gulaman. if that sounds strange to you, rest assured, the results were glorious. Sago's music was perfect, providing disjointed oddness, sullen menace and utter violence alternately and in combination with every single note of their performance.

in retrospect, it was probably a good deal Sago was asked to score Das Kabinett and not another; any other film would probably have drowned under the oppressive power of Sago's semi-improv, arthouse jazz/prog-rock madness, but Das Kabinett's visual power does better than hold its own. the result was a thoroughly effective, far out blend of images and music.

the only thing i have any reservations about with the whole production is the narration. i can't decide whether i liked it or not. certainly, i agree that deadpan was the only way to go, so that the full effect of the movie's images and Sago's music can be wrought on the audience, uninhibited by anything quite so sickly melodramatic as the cue-card text being read with feeling. nontheless, i can't seem to swallow the flat dictation that was the result. i can't help thinking that maybe Lourd De Veyra would have done a better job, but then again, his stoned-style deadpan may have been a disservice to the whole thing.

as it is, the flat, schoolmarm delivery of the narrator neither detracted nor added to the experience. which may or may not have been a good thing.

overall, it was an awesome production, and i'm glad i decided at the last minute not to miss it.

the Goethe-Institut Manila's 3rd German Silent Film Festival continues for the next 3 Tuesdays at Greenbelt 1 Cinema 1, with Tabu on Aug 22, music by Bo Razon; The Golem on Aug 29, music by Drip; and Sept 5, Asphalt, music by Cynthia Alexander. only 50 bucks a pop, i strongly suggest checking it out.

it would be great if the Festival could spark a new trend in modern art: silent films with live music. that would, imho, be uber-cool.

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after such an experience, i often feel restless, needing something to wind down the energy i'm left with, and last night, i did it by spinning the DVD of The Omega Man, the 70s film adaptation of Richard Matheson's I Am Legend.

i haven't read the book, but from what i know about Matheson's work, the film has a different take on the material. as far as i know, the underlying question, the main speculative theme, if you will, of the book was that X-files staple line, How do you define normal?: Robert Neville is the last living man, but with everyone else changed, what, exactly, does that mean?

but that, even if it were true (which i'm not committing to having not read the source material), seems beside the point, a fact the filmmakers may have recognized when they decided to change the title to The Omega Man, while still acknowledging its literary basis. the film, ergo, must be allowed to stand on its own.

the film allows the aforementioned question to fall by the wayside (though allowing it to surface at key points in the film), and instead focuses on the struggle of the last remaining recognizably human characters against a dominant force that is decidedly inhuman.

the result is a dark view of the "future" where humanity faces the fact of being, quite possibly, obsolete, but with the only alternative being hardly any better.

Robert Neville serves as the last bastion of that obsolete humanity, with his home recalling, for modern viewers and readers, the lair of V from Alan Moore's V for Vendetta. though recognizable as "one of us", an ordinary man that is more human than heroic (despite the shoot-em-up opening sequence), Neville is the subversive element, the last remaining rebel against a change that has already left humanity behind.

in the end, the movie is also a morality play, the apocalypse being the direct result of man's folly, and, if he suffers, then it's his own fault. Robert Neville's apotheosis, hinted at by the final frame of the film, does little to absolve humanity of that fact. this thematic focus also serves to date the film, throwing it back to those days when pop culture was obsessed with that sort of morality, harking to the days when the threat of annihilation through global conflict was foremost in the modern mind.

i'll say more when i've read the book, which, given the stacks currently barricading my bed, may yet be a long way off.