The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920)

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari might be the first horror movie ever made. For this reason alone it deserves gratitude for helping to launch a generic trend that has lasted over a century - and probably a little scorn as well. But its value is not only as a pioneering work. The film remains an eerie, if not exactly frightening, experience, helped by the grainy darkness of its aging print, and an unsettling and warped set design.

It is probably Anglocentric geographical bias that Dr. Caligari brings nothing to mind as much as Shelley, Stevenson and Stoker, but the comparisons are unmistakable. The character of Caligari himself has shades of Dr. Frankenstein. Though his somnabulent slave Cesare is more his tool than his creation, the image of the mad scientist and his towering, mostly-mute companion is a familiar one. Both doctors share a mania for twisting nature to their own ends, though Caligari's motives are more openly nefarious from the outset. Cesare and the Creature share less in common, as the former seems to lack any kind of inner life struggling to get to the surface. Because of his fractured mental state, he has become a mere extension of Caligari's own influence. Cesare has more in common with a vampire (a pale-skinned man who sleeps in a box and stalks his prey through the night) but that resemblance is superficial. The sad tale of yet another doctor, Henry Jekyll, is reflected in the nocturnal murders committed by Cesare. Where Jekyll's formula separates his good and evil natures, Caligari uses another person to carry out his immoral deeds, keeping his own hands clean (if only literally).

Having said all of these things about the character of Caligari, it is entirely possible that that none of these things are true. The Dr. Caligari presented in the film may be a feverish projection by a psychiatric patient onto the director of his asylum. This may be the movie's greatest contribution to the horror genre. A book can transmit certain information to the reader more effectively, especially concerning the inner lives of its characters, but film is ideally suited to tricking an audience. After witnessing personally the grisly events of Dr. Caligari, everything we have seen is called into question by the final scene. This is communicated visually by the brighter, less fantastical setting, and the appearance of 'Dr. Caligari' himself, now lacking the grotesque make-up and sinister demeanour. If this is not the first twist ending in cinema history, it must be among the earliest. 

The final scene contrasts greatly with what has come before, particular in the set design. The scenery is comprised largely of painted paper backdrops, and this lack of realism is embraced. If Tim Burton has never seen The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, he has certainly absorbed the aesthetic philosophy in some way. The landscape is dominated by jagged shapes, usually curved and slanted, warping the viewer's perspective. It is a twisted fairytale world, at the same time quaint and threatening. The effect is certainly not diminished by the effect of the electricity rationing in post-World War I Germany, which necessitated that certain parts of the film's lighting were simply painted on to the background, leaving areas of deep shadow. This may be another hint that the movie's events take place inside a troubled mind: the world itself is warped. 

The heavy use of circular wipes throughout the film are a facet of the editing that might distract some viewers, and admittedly they are not particularly organic to the wider aesthetic. However, they are also a cunning way to overcome some of the limitations of early film-making, and achieve effects that are now simply taken for granted. In many scenes, the wipe will reveal only a small area of the frame before expanding to encompass the entire scene. Thus, focus is drawn immediately to where it is intended, and the most important part of the picture is highlighted, without the need for cutting. This effect may be achieved today by focusing the camera or using an establishing shot. Without these tricks, the method utilised is ingenious. 

The influence of Dr. Caligari is plain. One need only cite the Universal horror films of the 1930s and '40s, each with their own enduring legacy, to see this. But the roots run deeper than that, and the film can and should be enjoyed both for its historical significance and for its own quality. The moody setting and unsettling story make for an eerie experience, though time may have robbed the movie of some of its deeper dread.