Without sound, silent films become almost a completely visual medium and there was no one more visually-minded than German director F.W. Murnau. Aside from the opening title card and a message to begin the epilogue, he stays away from that kind of aid to tell his story and instead relies wholly on the image. His film does, however, boast a vibrant score, so that fills the void in the absence of dialogue.
Emil Jannings, the rotund, mustachioed leading man, stars as the veteran hotel porter, who is demoted to bathroom attendant due to his age and frailties. And it’s true that he always seems bent over and perpetually weary, but it only gets worse when he loses his esteemed position as the symbol of The Atlantic Hotel. Before he stood beaming ear to ear in his prim and pressed uniform that reflected his status. Then, he winds up towel in hand, resigned to stay hidden away in the bathroom. Now everyone could care less about him. It’s a tragic trajectory that this story takes.
The film opens at the lavish hotel which feels very similar to the grand hotel, and this along with the man’s apartment building are the main locations that Murnau works with. And he does set up his scenes so interestingly, whether it’s around a revolving door in the hotel or the staircase in the apartment. He’s constantly giving us a perspective of things with wonderfully textured, layered shots exemplified sublimely in such moments as Jannings superhuman feat carrying the large chest. Murnau gives it a wonderfully dreamy, ethereal quality, the way he clouds the frame. He also uses his actors in dynamic ways to fill the space in front of us. It hardly ever feels static or boring for that matter, because there’s almost always something of interest to be looking at.
This is a very heart-wrenching film, because, in a sense, at its core, it’s about aging gracefully and trying to navigate that season of life. Because, the reality is that, each one of us will grow old. Our bodies won’t be able to function like they used to. Our feet will grow weaker. Our eyes will become tired more easily. We can completely understand this man’s plight. He has pride and the shame of acknowledging his demotion is too much for him to bear. He tries to hide it, from the wife and from the neighbors, but, of course, they find out. His family is ashamed and his neighbors belittle him with glee. The saddest thing is this doorman is not a bad fellow, as illustrated by how he comforted a little girl who was being made fun of. He’s a good man, and he deserves better than this and yet life very often is not just. The gossips and the connivers seem to get ahead. The beatitude, the first shall be last, hardly ever seems to be true. In fact, the film pauses with the following title card:
“Here the story should really end, for, in real life, the forlorn old man would have little to look forward to but death. The author took pity on him and has provided a quite improbable epilogue.”
There is a major shift in tone as the doorman is left a huge sum of money rather unexpectedly, and he spends the days now eating heartily and generously tipping all his former colleagues at the hotel. It almost feels like a completely different story, and it’s the ending that we want as an audience. Except still lurking in the back of our minds is that this is very rarely reality. But there is some satisfaction that at least in this case Emil Jannings had The Last Laugh.
This film is literally a piece of film history that has thankfully been reconstructed for our viewing pleasure and I’m thoroughly glad it was. I’ve only seen Murnau’s Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans, which is magnificent. However, after watching this earlier work it made me realize I need to examine more of his filmography, including Nosferatu (1922), Faust (1926), City Girl (1930), and Tabu (1931).
4.5/5 Stars
“You’re living at home. Is that right?
Then Mrs. Robinson coolly enters his life. It’s perhaps best signified when she tosses him the keys. They end up in the fish tank almost as if on purpose and after that she has him reeling for good. Soon he’s walking into the lion’s den (or lioness’s) as she expertly manipulates and elicits the precise response from him. In these moments the film is elevated by the awkward, huffing and puffing, and nervous chattering of Hoffman. We often forget the second part of his famed line, “Mrs. Robinson you’re trying to seduce me. Aren’t you?” His general naivete and hesitancy say it all.
But when he meets Elaine Robinson and finally begins to connect with her on a peer-to-peer level, it’s something so profound to him. Having someone his own age that he can relate to, who feels the same unnamed apprehension and angst that strains on him. It’s what makes Ben become so mixed up. He has true feelings for her, while his affair with Mrs. Robinson only serves to poison all that could be good. And his illogical, unhealthy pursuit of Elaine continues to Berkeley where she is attending school. Still, Mrs. Robinson and her now estranged husband look to send their precious daughter far away from Benjamin Braddock.
That’s what makes his final Herculean effort all the more climactic. He bursts in on her marriage to another man and whisks her off to another life altogether. A life that seems exciting at first, because, oh how great it is to be young and in love. But once they climb aboard that bus in their tattered garments, have a chance to sit down and really think about what they are embarking on, you see something else in their eyes. The laughter slowly dissipates and as they look around nervously, they begin to somber up. True, Ben is no longer alone in an airport terminal, he has a fellow traveler, but that does not make the future any less unpredictable or scary for that matter.









Of course, her first customer happens to be a police chief named Griff (Anthony Eisley), who advises her to skedaddle out of town as quick as possible. He gives her the details on a cozy joint across the border known for their Bonbon girls. He thinks he’s got her pegged, but Kelly goes and does something even he wouldn’t expect.
The social commentary is there. The characters are interesting. Meanwhile, Fuller slices and dices through taboo subjects that would have horrified censors and yet he brings them to the forefront in such a way that hardly glorifies them, but actually gets them out in the open. Every detail isn’t written out, but Fuller throws us into the narrative and allows us to track with him. He puts a little faith in his audience.
“This long corridor is the magic highway to the Pulitzer Prize” – Johnny Barrett
Behind the pearly gates, there are brawls galore and noisy neighbors riddled with all sorts of neurosis, quirks, and ticks. There are the good cop and bad cop who help care for the patients and keep them at bay. Johnny even begins to have hallucinations of his girlfriend drifting through his dreams. He gets introduced to hydrotherapy, dance therapy, and even faces a traumatizing experience at the hands of women in the female ward.
The boisterous, tumultuous chaos of the ward does almost become maddening, even to the viewer. Johnny has a few angry outbursts of his own as the strain of the facility gets to him more and more every day. Electric shock therapy among the other treatments leaves him mixed-up, confused, and overtly paranoid. He’s hardly the man we met in that office so many days ago and even if he got the scoop he was looking for, at what cost? Shock Corridor has a thunderously disconcerting ending worthy of a Fuller production.
“What a fouled-up outfit I got myself into” – Sgt. Zack
But the old WWII vet simply acknowledges the facts and retorts with his own piece of trivia. In the all Japanese-American regiment the 442nd 3,000 Nisei “idiots” got the purple heart for bravery. All he knows is that he’s an American no matter how he’s treated. That doesn’t change. Once more Fuller delivers some of the most engaging portrayals of Asian characters ever and the discussions of race relations were way ahead of their time. Both Richard Loo and James Edwards are honorable characters who hardly fall into any common stereotype.



