The Man Who Laughs (Film Review)

1928 Universal Pictures
Directed by: Paul Leni; Written by: J. Grubb Alexander, Walter Anthony, Mary McLean, and Charles E. Whittaker
Starring: Mary Philbin, Conrad Veidt, Brandon Hurst, Olga V. Baklanova, Cesare Gravina, Stuart Holmes, Samuel de Grasse, George Siegmann, and Josephine Crowell
MPAA Rating: NR; Running Time: 110 Minutes
The Nicsperiment Score: 5/10

Little Gwynplaine Clancharlie is truly receiving the full Victor Hugo treatment. First, his dad, Lord Clancharlie, is put to death in an iron maiden for being a political rival of King James II. Then, Gwynplaine is disfigured by the vile Dr. Hardquannone, so that his face will be locked in a permanent smile. In a final Hugo twist, Gwynplaine is exiled into the snowy 17th century cold, where he finds an orphaned blind girl named Dea, and the two are rescued by a traveling carnival vendor named Ursus. You can't make this stuff up, but Victor Hugo can, and he did for his 1869 novel L'Homme qui rit, which is adapted in this 1928 film by director, Paul Leni, as The Man Who Laughs.
Gwynplaine and Dea grow into young adults, and actors of some sort, starring in a play written by Ursus. They are beloved by the common folk, and by one another, except in the latter case, romantically. Unfortunately, though, their idyllic bliss is interrupted, as someone's dug up the fact that Gwynplaine is the true heir to his dead father's lordship...and it just so happens that the duchess currently in charge of the Clancharlie estate is single, horny, and strangely attracted to facial scars. It's the age-old dilemma--stick with the blind person who doesn't care what you look like on the outside and loves you for who you are, and live out your life with them as a beloved traveling carnie...or hitch your tent to the kinky person who thinks you and your perpetual grin are fine as hell, and who doesn't care about your personality, and live with them in a giant mansion forever. Also, the second option is being forced upon you at sword-point.
I've seen plenty of silent films throughout my lifetime, and generally enjoyed most of them. There's a level of imagination one can bring into a silent film in regard to dialogue that's unique to any other form of film, let alone art. The artist must create a unique space for the viewer's imagination, must at once communicate more clearly with their imagery than a filmmaker who can rely on spoken dialogue to do the heavy lifting, and yet they must convey something more metaphysically to the subconscious to fill out detail, as well. You've got to not only more clearly "see" what's going on, but "feel" it more, as well.
The critics of 1928 were not kind to The Man Who Laughs. Since then, though, particularly in the last 30 years, critics have been far more kind. Let me just say, if you look at anything long enough, you can find something positive to say about it.
I've got to agree with the folks from 1928. The Man Who Laughs is an absolute tonal disaster. Paul Leni was a master of German Expressionism, using shadows and contrasting harsh lighting with darkness to create unsettling uneasiness, and using set design geometry, often featuring massive architecture, or absurd angles, to make the viewer question their sanity. At its core, The Man Who Laughs is a sweet, quiet romance. All of Leni's artifice in service of the actual themes at the heart of this film feels like someone running up to you at full speed in the street, pulling a knife, and shouting at full volume, "TODAY WILL BE PARTLY CLOUDY WITH A HIGH OF 72, AND A LOW OF 58!" With that said, the romance aspect of the film is completely rote, something 100 other films from this era did just as well, and no reason to watch the film...Leni's lighting, sets, and filming techniques are.
Perhaps to show how completely uninterested he is in the inner lives of these characters, or even what they actually offer the world, the one glimpse Leni gives of Gwynplaine and Dea's play simply features Gwynplaine walking out in front of the audience, removing a cowl from his lower jaw, and making dopey faces and hand gestures at the adulating audience. When the two are alone together, Gwynplaine generally just hunches next to Dea and smells her hair like a damn creep. That's about it. When Dea makes the pronouncement that God shut her eyes so she could see the real Gwynplaine, we just kind of have to take her word for it. As Gwynplaine, Conrad Veidt puts in nowhere near his best performance, mainly moping and pawing, outside of one powerful emotional moment late in the film revolving around the fact that even if Gwynplaine is crying, and in complete emotional agony, he still appears to be laughing...there's a reason Gwynplaine's terrifying makeup and character design were inspiration for Batman's Joker. However...that design is a bit too terrifying for a film whose central romance is so gentle, it makes Beauty and the Beast look like The Exorcist.
The Man Who Laughs form-pushing in the sound department does it little favors as far as tone, either. Schmaltzy, melodramatic music most definitely fits the sappy love story at the film's heart, but not its grotesque imagery and visual storytelling. The film also had some actual sound effects added after it experienced financial success, so that there are now things like sudden crowd noises in its carnival scenes, folks crying out to see Gwynplaine, punctuating the film's aural landscape, and making for an even more discomforting experience.
Despite what revisionist history may try to argue, there is no great film at the heart of The Man Who Laughs, just a carnival of curiosities. It's worth experiencing for the oddness, but there's no deeper thrill lurking underneath.