#157: The Hands of Orlac
A psychological thriller that shows Conrad Veidt’s acting chops
This review was originally posted to Twitter on August 13, 2019.
Initial release: September 24, 1924
Director: Robert Weine
Conrad Veidt. What an actor. Most know him from The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (directed by Robert Weine before he would go on to direct The Hands of Orlac) and Casablanca but there’s an argument to be made that his depressive, paranoid Paul Orlac is his greatest role, and I’m gonna make it.
Paul Orlac has everything going for him. He’s a world-renowned concert pianist with a bright future and a wife, Yvonne, who loves him… until one fateful night when his train has a terrible accident, leaving his hands — his livelihood — in ruins. His doctor, after Yvonne’s pleading, attempts an experimental hand transplant (very forward thinking — in the real world the first successful hand transplants weren’t until the late 90s.) By all rights it seems to have been a smashing success. That is, until Paul discovers that his new hands are actually the hands of Vasseur, a recently executed murderer. Horrified, he begs his doctor to remove his hands, but his doctor tells him that it’s not the hands that govern a person’s actions but their head and heart.
Paul can’t really vibe with this advice, and becomes obsessed with his hands, absolutely terrified by them; he gradually becomes convinced that his hands are driving him to crime — especially after his difficult, emotionally distant father is killed, the long-dead Vasseur’s fingerprints are everywhere, and Paul has no memory of the murder. Paul’s descent into madness and paranoia is obvious from the very start — he’s reluctant to touch anything, not just people, he obsesses over his hands, and early on removes his wedding ring. He has a vision of Vasseur murdering an old bookie, the crime that got him executed. One night Paul returns home to find Vasseur’s knife on the door, identifiable by the X on the handle, and as he contemplates it, he seems to fall into a trance, slashing the air as the killer would have done. Towards the end, he begs of Yvonne, “Am I crazy? What is happening to me?”
For all the fact that this is a silent film, Veidt has handed in one of the most powerful, compelling roles in this early entry into the “criminal organ donor” genre. He is at points depressive, obsessive and increasingly haggard and frightened. Alexandra Sorina’s role as Yvonne is another key part of the film; it’s really her who drives the movie as Paul descends into madness. She’s the one who gets Paul his new hands, manages the mounting bills, and tries to beg Paul’s evil father for money. She is absolutely splendidly acted; as the debts begin to pile up she’s convincingly despondent and resigned, and yet she sticks by Paul through it all, and in the end it’s her who brings the maid who knows the secret of Paul’s torment to the police at the film’s climax.
It must be pointed out that the 2008 Kino Lorber release brings with it a new soundtrack by Paul Mercer; it is incredibly effective for this film, all strings and piano, and brings a sharply melancholy vibe to this otherwise creepy German expressionist film. I often advocate for eschewing traditionalism and allowing other styles to have a voice in silent film (and really, any genre that often overuses “epic” orchestral music, like fantasy.) Mercer’s soundtrack is, despite classical instruments, a good example of what I’m thinking of. It blends perfectly with Weine’s moody mix of realism and expressionism and Veidt’s sad, scared pianist. Every shot is a work of art, feeling like an early prototype of film noir (indeed, film noir can be seen as a successor to German expressionism.)
If you liked The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari you must see this film; while the set design is far less fantastical than in that film, it’s clear that Weine and Veidt work well together to create an emotional, cerebral film that represents the best of what silent film can do.
