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We all think we know Faust. The guy who sold his soul to the devil, right? But before there was Christopher Marlowe’s dramatization of the tale of Faust, or Goethe’s two-volume epic Faust, or Rembrandt’s etching of Faust, or Liszt or Berlioz or even Randy Newman’s Faust, there was the actual guy. The historical record finds a Johan Georg Faust born in the last 13th century who went on to become a respected alchemist and astrologer, but who may also have been an outrageous con artist, claiming the ability to reproduce the miracles of Jesus Christ. Rumors suggest that he died in an explosion, a fate which his contemporaries attested to his ties with the devil. Before the century was out, tales of his extraordinary misdeeds had begun to proliferate; one such copy fell into the hands of Marlowe, and the legend of the man who made an unwise bargain with the devil began to spread.
The price of immortality is steep. “Faustian bargain” has become common parlance, and on this very site, two different interpretations of the Faust myth are currently under consideration for eventual induction into the Apocrypha, including a Jan Svankmajer-directed surreal mix and a version of more recent vintage from Russia. Today, let’s dive into a couple more such interpretations, one attempting to faithfully deliver the classic tale with what were then newfangled tools of cinema, while the other takes what it wants from the myth to reach its own, not-especially-lofty ends.
FAUST (1926)
DIRECTED BY: F. W. Murnau
FEATURING: Gösta Ekman, Emil Jannings, Camilla Horn, William Dieterle
PLOT: Heaven and hell make a wager over the fate of Faust, a pious man who sells his soul to the devil to save his city from the plague.
COMMENTS: The short directorial career of F. W. Murnau is so loaded with classics — Nosferatu, The Last Laugh, Sunrise, Tabu — that a remarkable achievement like Faust could easily get lost in the shuffle. The film more than earns its place in this august company, though, with style to burn. Though the tale is familiar and the visual gimmicks are naturally dated, there’s a freshness to this telling that sidesteps a lot of the expected reservations.
Murnau is particularly proud of his in-camera effects, and he deploys these techniques with Zemeckisian fervor. An early scene in which the devil looms over a small medieval town like the most imposing mountain would have justified recalling the film a hundred years hence, but we’re just getting started. That’s followed shortly thereafter by an extraordinary flight over the countryside on the hem of Mephisto’s cloak. Walls fade away to reveal a landscape filled with revelers, faces change within the reflection of a silver tray, and an entire seduction scene plays out with a troupe of dancers carrying on in the background. Whenever you see a dazzling scene, there’s another one just around the corner.
The other special effect at Murnau’s disposal is his cast, led by Ekman in the title role. As the young hedonist Faust, he looks a bit ridiculous, like a porcelain figurine, but the contrast with his old-man persona is so distinct (and the aging makeup is so accomplished) that he might as well be two different actors—for a time, I was convinced that he was. Ingenue Horn is initially given little to do but look pretty and distraught, yet the sequence of events surrounding her shaming by the community and her tragic fate fulfills the silent movie brief of overarticulated emotion without succumbing to melodrama, and the scene in which she puts her baby to bed in an addled haze is haunting. The real standout is Jannings — inaugural Best Actor Oscar winner, eventual Nazi stooge, and owner of a face that looks like the life model for the comedy and tragedy masks — who correctly identifies Mephisto as a character to be played over-the-top, and he does so in a manner that would make Jim Carrey blush. Murnau fills out his dramatis personae with a number of intriguing bit roles, from the street preacher who dies of fright at the sight of Satan to the barely clothed reveler who announces that she’ll have some fun if the end is nigh. Faust may have a classical pedigree, but the people making it seem to be having a blast.
Faust marks a critical turning point in Murnau’s career: his last film with horror elements, his last production in Germany, and his most vivid representation of his visual skills before the end of his career and life less than two years later. This is not necessarily a weird film, but its weird-adjacent elements make it a pleasure to bring forward for consideration. It’s a great piece, and one worthy of remembrance.
WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:
FAUST: LOVE OF THE DAMNED (2000)
DIRECTED BY: Brian Yuzna
FEATURING: Mark Frost, Jeffrey Combs, Isabel Brook, Andrew Divoff, Mònica Van Campen
PLOT: When artist John Jaspers’ girlfriend is murdered, he sells his soul to the mysterious M, who puts the newly compromised Jaspers to work as a blade-wielding assassin.
COMMENTS: The special effects in this take on the Faust legend have had 75 years to mature. They are inarguably more detailed and more realistic than Murnau could have hoped to achieve. Consider the film’s most audacious effect, in which the treacherous Claire is foiled in her efforts to usurp her master’s abilities, resulting in the demon intentionally inflating her noteworthy assets – boobs and buns – to absurd proportions, leading her to appear as a Burton-esque face trapped amidst oversized naughty bits. This shockingly goofy effect is unquestionably more advanced than anything in the 1926 film; yet, there’s not a frame here anyone could contend is actively better than its predecessor. It’s got the skill, but it ain’t got the soul.
It might be churlish to carp. The Faust legend is just a seasoning here; we’re already several steps removed from the source. Love of the Damned‘s primary inspiration is David Quinn and Tim Vigil’s bestselling comic book, which borrows just enough from the mythology to fulfill the amygdala’s need for familiarity but leaves plenty of room to innovate. (Quinn himself scripts here.) So while a mysterious and sinister “M” is on hand with the standard rich-and-evil contract for his mark to sign away his freedom for eternity, the surrounding details are cut from whole cloth.
Unfortunately, all that new material comes across as flash without bang. This newfangled Faust, far from being a noble soul brought down by avarice or even a figure of callowness and disdain, turns out to be a superhero complete with silly mask and Wolverine-style claws that wobble like Twizzlers. His alter ego, John Jaspers, is a basic white guy encompassing anguish and giddy malevolence, with little else in between. It’s impossible to buy into the film’s apparent philosophy that all he needs is the love of a good woman to keep him from going on bloody killing sprees, especially when the love story is pure hokum. “I wanted you the first moment I saw you,” criminal psychologist Jade tells the desperate Jaspers, an intriguing sentiment considering that their first meeting was at the insane asylum where he was incarcerated as a mass murderer. Their attraction is scripted but not felt, and feels like it could have come from any Spawn or Underworld movie rather than being a product of one of literature’s most enduring legends.
The biggest disappointment is that this comic, renowned for its graphic sex and violence, has been placed in the hands of Brian Yuzna, the man behind such marvels of bad taste as Society and a pair of Re-Animator sequels, and yet it pulls its punches. That moment where Van Campen turns into a mammary blob is the most amusingly shocking in the film, and nothing else really comes close. (She alone seems to appreciate how bonkers a film like this ought to be; Divoff’s demonic villain has the wry smile and the Eurotrash accent, but no real passion for chewing the scenery.) Faust’s battles with the incompetent police of Barcelona Los Angeles are devoid of stakes. Claire’s capture and S&M-styled punishment of Jade feel like a PG-13 version of the transgressive, blush-inducing scene we’re expecting. And perhaps most egregiously of all, Weirdo Hall-of-Famer Jeffrey Combs is appallingly wasted; he isn’t given the chance to deliver the amusingly single-minded enforcer of justice we meet at the outset, his conversion into mud-caked Renfield-esque minion of darkness is delivered offscreen and without even a hint of character motivation, and he never factors in the climax of the film for either good or evil. Everything feels so much smaller than it should.
There are two clear lessons to take away from any effort to dramatize the story of Faust: don’t sell your soul to the devil, and go big or go home. In this face-off, the edge goes to the 100-year-old silent film. It’s the one with the ambition to live up to the legend.
WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:
(Faust was nominated for review by B. Pullen. Faust: Love of the Damned was nominated for review by Motyka. Suggest a weird movie or two of your own here.)