The Hands of Orlac
Brief Synopsis
An experimental graft gives an injured concert pianist the hands of a murderer.
Film Details
Genre
Silent
Foreign
Horror
Thriller
Release Date
1925
Technical Specs
Duration
1h 32m
Sound
Silent
Color
Black and White
Theatrical Aspect Ratio
1.33 : 1
Synopsis
Orlac, affermato pianista, perde le mani in un grave incidente. I medici decidono allora di trapiantargli le mani di un assassino condannato a morte. L'operazione riesce perfettamente, ma, da quel momento, una serie di strani omicidi, generalmente commessi a mezzo dello strangolamento delle vittime, vengono commessi e la polizia, che inizialmente brancola nel buio, comincia a sospettare del pianista. Alla fine si scopre che il colpevole era, invece, da tutt'altra parte.
Videos
Movie Clip
Film Details
Genre
Silent
Foreign
Horror
Thriller
Release Date
1925
Technical Specs
Duration
1h 32m
Sound
Silent
Color
Black and White
Theatrical Aspect Ratio
1.33 : 1
Articles
The Hands of Orlac (1924)
Veidt, an actor from the Berlin theatre world who had studied under the famous Max Reinhardt, had also appeared in the fantastical Unheimliche Geschichten and already established himself by this point as someone who excelled in offbeat, challenging and menacing roles as witnessed by his previous performances in Der nicht vom Weibe Geborene (1918, as Satan), Different from the Others (1919, as a blackmailed homosexual), and Satanas (1920, in multiple roles including another impersonation of the Devil). So it was not surprising that Wiene and Veidt would reteam after the international success of Caligari on another film and in 1924 they collaborated on The Hands of Orlac (Orlacs Hande). Although technically an Austrian production, the film is usually associated with other German films of the period since Wiene and Veidt are German.
Based on the novel by Maurice Renard, this is the tale of Orlac (Veidt), a famous concert pianist, who is severely injured in a train wreck that fractures his skull and mutilates his hands. The supervising surgeon, however, decides to amputate Orlac's ruined hands and replace them with the hands of a recently executed prisoner who was serving time for murder. Once the pianist recovers and realizes that his hands are those of a killer, he becomes too distraught to resume his career and begins to question his sanity. Who is that strange man who is shadowing him? Why do his hands seem to have a life of their own? The storyline becomes increasingly grim as Orlac's father is found murdered and the fingerprints on the knife match those on the pianist's new hands.
In contrast to the delirious, hallucinatory quality of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari with its distorted sets and expressionistic lighting to suggest a disordered mind, The Hands of Orlac is closer in style to a psychological melodrama grounded in reality and downplays the more fantastic elements of the story despite the horrific plot developments. The film's slow, deliberate pace and avoidance of horror clichés may disappoint fans of the genre but there is much to admire here. There are some marvelous set pieces - the sprawling, massive train wreck, for example - and an intense, mesmerizing performance by Veidt as the increasingly frantic Orlac. Fritz Kortner as the demonic blackmailer who is driving Orlac toward insanity is also suitably sinister and memorable. Best of all, the cinematography by Hans Androschin and Gunther Krampf sustains the unsettling, doom-laded mood of the movie throughout on a visual level. Krampf, in fact, was an expert in this genre, and would go on to film such significant fantasy films as Der Student von Prag (1926), which also starred Conrad Veidt, The Bells (1932), The Ghoul (1933) with Boris Karloff, and Transatlantic Tunnel (1935).
When The Hands of Orlac was released in Germany, it proved to be an artistic and box office success. Der Kinematograph called it "an exceptionally thrilling and fantastic film, carried by the remarkable creative power of Conrad Veidt" while the Film-Kurier wrote, "Full of endless genius is the byplay with his [Conrad Veidt's] hands. Their eloquence alone reveals the drama of the soul. Veidt is one of the few select portrayers of man in German cinema." Despite the glowing reception from German audiences and critics, The Hands of Orlac did not fare as well on the other side of the Atlantic.
For one thing, it took three years for the film to acquire U.S. distribution rights and the version that was exported from Germany was edited down from the original release. When it opened in America, most critics found fault with the outlandish plot or treatment such as Variety which noted, "Were it not for Veidt's masterly characterization, The Hands of Orlac would be an absurd fantasy in the old-time mystery-thriller class." Mordaunt Hall, the reviewer for The New York Times, voiced a similar opinion, saying "...It is hardly fair to say that Conrad Veidt goes a bit far in his efforts to strike terror into the hearts of his spectators. Nevertheless, one can assert with safety that Mr. Veidt and the others would have added to the reality of their Grand Guignol tale if they had been a bit more restrained."
While the Robert Wiene-Conrad Veidt version of The Hands of Orlac may not be considered the definitive version of Maurice Renard's novel, it certainly inspired numerous remakes and homages (some unacknowledged like the 1991 Body Parts, based on the novel Choice Cuts by Pierre Boileau and Thomas Narcejac). Most horror buffs prefer Mad Love, the 1935 Hollywood remake by director Karl Freund which stars Colin Clive as Orlac and Peter Lorre as his tormentor. Other versions of the tale include a 1960 remake starring Mel Ferrer and Christopher Lee, a 1962 independent production entitled Hands of a Stranger (featuring a young Sally Kellerman in a supporting role) and a French-Hungarian TV version in 1991 - Des voix dans la nuit - Les mains d'Orlac.
The following is a note from the distributor Kino Lorber on the print TCM is airing: The Hands of Orlac was mastered in HD from a restored 35mm print provided by the Friedrich Wilhelm Murnau Stiftung. The intertitles of this version had been reset in a generic contemporary type. Kino, the distributor of the film, knew of the existence of a 16mm print with English intertitles, in the Raymond Rohauer Collection of Douris UK Ltd. They brought this print in to see if the titles might be originals from 1924, perhaps set in a unique typeface. Their plan was to cut the original titles from one print into the other. It turned out that the titles were not original but, like the German print, had been replaced with a generic font. What Kino did discover, upon closer examination, was that the edit of the 16mm print differed from the 35mm print. Side-by-side comparisons revealed that these films were derived from different negatives. Silent films at this time were often shot with multiple cameras (and in some cases compiled from multiple takes from the same camera) so that there would be two or more separate negatives: one for domestic distribution and one or more to be sent to the international territories to which the film was licensed. In most cases, Kino relied on the Murnau print but included any scene from the 16mm print that was not in the 35mm version.
Director: Robert Wiene
Screenplay: Louis Nerz; Maurice Renard (novel)
Cinematography: Hans Androschin, Günther Krampf
Art Direction: Hans Rouc, Stefan Wessely
Music: Henning Lohner (1998); Paul Mercer (2008 re-release)
Cast: Conrad Veidt (Orlac), Alexandra Sorina (Yvonne Orlac), Fritz Kortner (Nera), Carmen Cartellieri (Regine), Fritz Strassny (Vater Orlac), Paul Askonas (Diener).
BW-92m.
by Jeff Stafford
SOURCES:
Conrad Veidt on Screen: A Comprehensive Illustrated Filmography by John T. Soister (McFarland & Company)
From Caligari to Hitler: A Psychological History of the German Film by Siegfried Kracauer (Princeton University Press)
IMDB
The Hands of Orlac (1924)
In the evolution of the horror film as a popular genre, the German cinema has to be credited as one of its primary founders and shapers beginning in the early silent era with such influential movies as Der Golem (1915), directed by Henrik Galeen, Ein Seltsamer Fall (1914), directed by Max Mack, and Alraune (1918), directed by Eugen Illes and based on the popular novel by Hanns Heinz Ewers which mirrored many of the same themes as Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. The watershed year though was 1919 which saw the release of Unheimliche Geschichten (aka Five Sinister Stories) and Robert Wiene's The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari starring Conrad Veidt as Cesare, the homicidal somnambulist, and were soon followed by the 1920 remake of Der Golem, Nosferatu (1922) and Waxworks (1924), all landmark horror films.
Veidt, an actor from the Berlin theatre world who had studied under the famous Max Reinhardt, had also appeared in the fantastical Unheimliche Geschichten and already established himself by this point as someone who excelled in offbeat, challenging and menacing roles as witnessed by his previous performances in Der nicht vom Weibe Geborene (1918, as Satan), Different from the Others (1919, as a blackmailed homosexual), and Satanas (1920, in multiple roles including another impersonation of the Devil). So it was not surprising that Wiene and Veidt would reteam after the international success of Caligari on another film and in 1924 they collaborated on The Hands of Orlac (Orlacs Hande). Although technically an Austrian production, the film is usually associated with other German films of the period since Wiene and Veidt are German.
Based on the novel by Maurice Renard, this is the tale of Orlac (Veidt), a famous concert pianist, who is severely injured in a train wreck that fractures his skull and mutilates his hands. The supervising surgeon, however, decides to amputate Orlac's ruined hands and replace them with the hands of a recently executed prisoner who was serving time for murder. Once the pianist recovers and realizes that his hands are those of a killer, he becomes too distraught to resume his career and begins to question his sanity. Who is that strange man who is shadowing him? Why do his hands seem to have a life of their own? The storyline becomes increasingly grim as Orlac's father is found murdered and the fingerprints on the knife match those on the pianist's new hands.
In contrast to the delirious, hallucinatory quality of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari with its distorted sets and expressionistic lighting to suggest a disordered mind, The Hands of Orlac is closer in style to a psychological melodrama grounded in reality and downplays the more fantastic elements of the story despite the horrific plot developments. The film's slow, deliberate pace and avoidance of horror clichés may disappoint fans of the genre but there is much to admire here. There are some marvelous set pieces - the sprawling, massive train wreck, for example - and an intense, mesmerizing performance by Veidt as the increasingly frantic Orlac. Fritz Kortner as the demonic blackmailer who is driving Orlac toward insanity is also suitably sinister and memorable. Best of all, the cinematography by Hans Androschin and Gunther Krampf sustains the unsettling, doom-laded mood of the movie throughout on a visual level. Krampf, in fact, was an expert in this genre, and would go on to film such significant fantasy films as Der Student von Prag (1926), which also starred Conrad Veidt, The Bells (1932), The Ghoul (1933) with Boris Karloff, and Transatlantic Tunnel (1935).
When The Hands of Orlac was released in Germany, it proved to be an artistic and box office success. Der Kinematograph called it "an exceptionally thrilling and fantastic film, carried by the remarkable creative power of Conrad Veidt" while the Film-Kurier wrote, "Full of endless genius is the byplay with his [Conrad Veidt's] hands. Their eloquence alone reveals the drama of the soul. Veidt is one of the few select portrayers of man in German cinema." Despite the glowing reception from German audiences and critics, The Hands of Orlac did not fare as well on the other side of the Atlantic.
For one thing, it took three years for the film to acquire U.S. distribution rights and the version that was exported from Germany was edited down from the original release. When it opened in America, most critics found fault with the outlandish plot or treatment such as Variety which noted, "Were it not for Veidt's masterly characterization, The Hands of Orlac would be an absurd fantasy in the old-time mystery-thriller class." Mordaunt Hall, the reviewer for The New York Times, voiced a similar opinion, saying "...It is hardly fair to say that Conrad Veidt goes a bit far in his efforts to strike terror into the hearts of his spectators. Nevertheless, one can assert with safety that Mr. Veidt and the others would have added to the reality of their Grand Guignol tale if they had been a bit more restrained."
While the Robert Wiene-Conrad Veidt version of The Hands of Orlac may not be considered the definitive version of Maurice Renard's novel, it certainly inspired numerous remakes and homages (some unacknowledged like the 1991 Body Parts, based on the novel Choice Cuts by Pierre Boileau and Thomas Narcejac). Most horror buffs prefer Mad Love, the 1935 Hollywood remake by director Karl Freund which stars Colin Clive as Orlac and Peter Lorre as his tormentor. Other versions of the tale include a 1960 remake starring Mel Ferrer and Christopher Lee, a 1962 independent production entitled Hands of a Stranger (featuring a young Sally Kellerman in a supporting role) and a French-Hungarian TV version in 1991 - Des voix dans la nuit - Les mains d'Orlac.
The following is a note from the distributor Kino Lorber on the print TCM is airing: The Hands of Orlac was mastered in HD from a restored 35mm print provided by the Friedrich Wilhelm Murnau Stiftung. The intertitles of this version had been reset in a generic contemporary type. Kino, the distributor of the film, knew of the existence of a 16mm print with English intertitles, in the Raymond Rohauer Collection of Douris UK Ltd. They brought this print in to see if the titles might be originals from 1924, perhaps set in a unique typeface. Their plan was to cut the original titles from one print into the other. It turned out that the titles were not original but, like the German print, had been replaced with a generic font. What Kino did discover, upon closer examination, was that the edit of the 16mm print differed from the 35mm print. Side-by-side comparisons revealed that these films were derived from different negatives. Silent films at this time were often shot with multiple cameras (and in some cases compiled from multiple takes from the same camera) so that there would be two or more separate negatives: one for domestic distribution and one or more to be sent to the international territories to which the film was licensed. In most cases, Kino relied on the Murnau print but included any scene from the 16mm print that was not in the 35mm version.
Director: Robert Wiene
Screenplay: Louis Nerz; Maurice Renard (novel)
Cinematography: Hans Androschin, Günther Krampf
Art Direction: Hans Rouc, Stefan Wessely
Music: Henning Lohner (1998); Paul Mercer (2008 re-release)
Cast: Conrad Veidt (Orlac), Alexandra Sorina (Yvonne Orlac), Fritz Kortner (Nera), Carmen Cartellieri (Regine), Fritz Strassny (Vater Orlac), Paul Askonas (Diener).
BW-92m.
by Jeff Stafford
SOURCES:
Conrad Veidt on Screen: A Comprehensive Illustrated Filmography by John T. Soister (McFarland & Company)
From Caligari to Hitler: A Psychological History of the German Film by Siegfried Kracauer (Princeton University Press)
IMDB
The Hands of Orlac - THE HANDS OF ORLAC - The Original 1924 German Expressionist Thriller on DVD
It's become a classic tale, from a 1920 novel by neglected French speculative-fictionist Maurice Renard, and it's been filmed twice since, once in Hollywood as Mad Love (1935), directed by emigre cinematographer and longtime Wiene associate Karl Freund, and once in France as The Hands of Orlac (1960). Certainly, Renard's subjective-nightmare yarn was made to order for the German Expressionists, coming fully stocked as it did with intimations of madness, hallucinatory dream sequences, macabre set-pieces, the capacity for looming and shadowy interiors, and a central premise that teetered on a razor's edge between supernaturalia and the protagonist's insanity. Still, Orlac is not a German film technically, but Austrian, shot in Vienna, at a time when the Austrian film industry still struggled in the wake of the post-WWI breakup of the Austrian-Hungarian Empire. In fact, most of the great artists that made the German industry so powerful in the '20s emigrated to Germany from the empire's shattered remains, including Freund, Fritz Lang, G.W. Pabst, Carl Mayer, Willi Forst, Karl Grune and Hans Janowitz. Vienna was, of course, also the early-century hotbed of high culture and of Freudian psychoanalysis, both of which feed into and collide in Wiene's film with lurid anxiety.
Very simply, famed concert pianist Orlac (Veidt) is the victim of a train wreck, in which both of his hands were severed (off-screen); simultaneously, a psychotic killer is being put to death. Family and doctors decide to transplant the killer's hands onto the pianist a scenario that afterwards quickly sends the convalescing Orlac on an obsessive tear, learning more and more about the killer's story as he becomes increasingly estranged with his own appendages. Eventually, of course, Orlac becomes convinced or is it true? that the hands are acting under their own volition, and he may become compelled to murder. It's an ingenious piece of Euro-pulp (the concept of which, varying from body part to body part, has been reworked many times, including in recent films like The Eye), but Wiene's film dominates its more sophisticated and expensive sound remakes by virtue of visual ingenuity.
Orlac is an eye-catching movie from the first scenes, in which Wiene shoots a car driving in a panic at night, from another car, using only a single nervous spotlight; news of the train crash hits town with an on-screen typographic cry of "Un Accident!"; and the site of the wreck itself is a muscular, high-contrast dose of chaos. Ironically, the look that Wiene achieved in of Orlac owes less to stylized sets than to a mastery of lighting (whereas, famously, the lighting on Caligari was suggested almost entirely by painted shadows). Wiene uses backlighting and harsh compositions to suggest a Kokoschka-angled universe, artificially distending the already ominous rooms around Orlac into infinite darkness; often, there're no ceilings or walls around Orlac's bed or parlor furniture, just black, and the characters are dwarfed by the unknowable space. (In one moment that forecasts a popular David Lynch trope, Orlac stalks into the impossible shadows, and vanishes.) To capture Orlac's dissolving consciousness, Wiene uses double exposures in profoundly creepy ways faces appear in the sky-high darkness above our cowering hero, and during one dream a giant fist and arm cuts diagonally across the abnormal blackness, from upper right toward Orlac's tiny bed, in lower left, until its knuckles press against the sleeper who then awakes.
But the greatest special effect might be Veidt, who turns his whole body into an Expressionist design, contorted by body horror and walking around in a tortured swoon as if his hands are huge, ravenous, paralyzing spiders he cannot disconnect from his body. Looking quite like Udo Kier at his thinnest and most frenzied, Veidt delivers a performance here that's half interpretive dance, half agonized psychosomatic seizure, and it's safe to say that, as with Caligari's Cesare, no one anywhere had the baroque physicality to match it.
It's a deeply strange film that just gets stranger, as Orlac also becomes the victim of an extortion plot (hinging on the notion of the killer's guillotined head being reattached, Frankenstein-style, to its body, which then threatens with mechanical hands), and the troubling matter of how the Orlacs Alexandra Sorina, as Mrs. Orlac, remains in a state of lemur-eyed terror throughout the whole film are supposed to pay their bills if the pianist's hands would rather grope for murder weapons than play Chopin. (This arm of the plot, so to speak, leads them to Orlac pere for a handout, but he's a hermited nutcase as well, living in a hulking castle set that looks left over from Lang'sDie Nibelungen, made the same year in Berlin.) If German Expressionism has any relevance today and the success of Tim Burton and the Batman suggests it does then Wiene deserves reexamination, and Orlac a spot on the movement's top shelf.
For more information about The Hands of Orlac, visit Kino International. To order The Hands of Orlac, go to TCM Shopping
by Michael Atkinson
The Hands of Orlac - THE HANDS OF ORLAC - The Original 1924 German Expressionist Thriller on DVD
The general consensus, for many decades running, is that though The Cabinet of Dr.
Caligari (1920) is a cinema-history landmark, and the seminal ship that launched
the thematic fleet of German Expressionism (which remained the world's coolest and
most influential film movement for a decade), and that the credit for the
film's pioneering abstruse stylization and invention went not to the director, Robert
Wiene, but to the film's team of writers, producers and theater-trained designers.
(And, to a degree, the performances by Werner Krauss and Conrad Veidt.) In fact, Wiene
has always been short-shrifted, if only because so little of his other work has been
available for viewing. (He'd made 18 movies prior to 1920, most of them lost, and
worked steadily until his death in 1938.) The Hands of Orlac (1924) is a case
in point, long written about but rarely seen, and never available before on home
video, but a vivid, throbbing demonstration of the visual fire Wiene had to offer,
with or without Caligari's set painters.
It's become a classic tale, from a 1920 novel by neglected French
speculative-fictionist Maurice Renard, and it's been filmed twice since, once in
Hollywood as Mad Love (1935), directed by emigre cinematographer and longtime
Wiene associate Karl Freund, and once in France as The Hands of Orlac (1960).
Certainly, Renard's subjective-nightmare yarn was made to order for the German
Expressionists, coming fully stocked as it did with intimations of madness,
hallucinatory dream sequences, macabre set-pieces, the capacity for looming and
shadowy interiors, and a central premise that teetered on a razor's edge between
supernaturalia and the protagonist's insanity. Still, Orlac is not a German
film technically, but Austrian, shot in Vienna, at a time when the Austrian film
industry still struggled in the wake of the post-WWI breakup of the Austrian-Hungarian
Empire. In fact, most of the great artists that made the German industry so powerful
in the '20s emigrated to Germany from the empire's shattered remains, including
Freund, Fritz Lang, G.W. Pabst, Carl Mayer, Willi Forst, Karl Grune and Hans Janowitz.
Vienna was, of course, also the early-century hotbed of high culture and of Freudian
psychoanalysis, both of which feed into and collide in Wiene's film with lurid
anxiety.
Very simply, famed concert pianist Orlac (Veidt) is the victim of a train wreck, in
which both of his hands were severed (off-screen); simultaneously, a psychotic killer
is being put to death. Family and doctors decide to transplant the killer's hands onto
the pianist a scenario that afterwards quickly sends the convalescing Orlac on an
obsessive tear, learning more and more about the killer's story as he becomes
increasingly estranged with his own appendages. Eventually, of course, Orlac becomes
convinced or is it true? that the hands are acting under their own
volition, and he may become compelled to murder. It's an ingenious piece of Euro-pulp
(the concept of which, varying from body part to body part, has been reworked many
times, including in recent films like The Eye), but Wiene's film dominates its
more sophisticated and expensive sound remakes by virtue of visual ingenuity.
Orlac is an eye-catching movie from the first scenes, in which Wiene shoots a
car driving in a panic at night, from another car, using only a single nervous
spotlight; news of the train crash hits town with an on-screen typographic cry of "Un
Accident!"; and the site of the wreck itself is a muscular, high-contrast dose of
chaos. Ironically, the look that Wiene achieved in of Orlac owes less to
stylized sets than to a mastery of lighting (whereas, famously, the lighting on
Caligari was suggested almost entirely by painted shadows). Wiene uses
backlighting and harsh compositions to suggest a Kokoschka-angled universe,
artificially distending the already ominous rooms around Orlac into infinite darkness;
often, there're no ceilings or walls around Orlac's bed or parlor furniture, just
black, and the characters are dwarfed by the unknowable space. (In one moment that
forecasts a popular David Lynch trope, Orlac stalks into the impossible shadows, and
vanishes.) To capture Orlac's dissolving consciousness, Wiene uses double exposures in
profoundly creepy ways faces appear in the sky-high darkness above our cowering
hero, and during one dream a giant fist and arm cuts diagonally across the abnormal
blackness, from upper right toward Orlac's tiny bed, in lower left, until its knuckles
press against the sleeper who then awakes.
But the greatest special effect might be Veidt, who turns his whole body into an
Expressionist design, contorted by body horror and walking around in a tortured swoon
as if his hands are huge, ravenous, paralyzing spiders he cannot disconnect from his
body. Looking quite like Udo Kier at his thinnest and most frenzied, Veidt delivers a
performance here that's half interpretive dance, half agonized psychosomatic seizure,
and it's safe to say that, as with Caligari's Cesare, no one anywhere had the
baroque physicality to match it.
It's a deeply strange film that just gets stranger, as Orlac also becomes the victim
of an extortion plot (hinging on the notion of the killer's guillotined head being
reattached, Frankenstein-style, to its body, which then threatens with mechanical
hands), and the troubling matter of how the Orlacs Alexandra Sorina, as Mrs. Orlac,
remains in a state of lemur-eyed terror throughout the whole film are supposed to
pay their bills if the pianist's hands would rather grope for murder weapons than play
Chopin. (This arm of the plot, so to speak, leads them to Orlac pere for a
handout, but he's a hermited nutcase as well, living in a hulking castle set that
looks left over from Lang'sDie Nibelungen, made the same year in Berlin.) If
German Expressionism has any relevance today and the success of Tim Burton and the
Batman suggests it does then Wiene deserves reexamination, and Orlac a
spot on the movement's top shelf.
For more information about The Hands of Orlac, visit Kino International. To order The Hands of Orlac,
go to
TCM Shopping
by Michael Atkinson