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When Dracula, Frankenstein’s monster, the Mummy, and a host of other horror icons were lining up at the doors of Universal Studios in search of eternal fame, somehow the humble golem failed to get the invite. An immensely powerful beast molded out of clay, brought to life by a mystic Hebrew incantation, it may have had too much in common with Mary Shelley’s invention; or more likely, Hollywood’s Jewish studio chiefs prudently sidestepped anything that would offend sensitive and vociferous gentile audiences. Still, even without the spotlight, the legend of the golem has quietly endured, so much so that Golems appear in the vaunted Reader Suggestion Queue twice. Today we examine these two tales, one a literal origin story, the other something more abstract.

THE GOLEM: HOW HE CAME INTO THE WORLD (1920)

Der Golem, wie er in die Welt kam

DIRECTED BY: Paul Wegener, Carl Boese

FEATURING: Paul Wegener, Albert Steinrück, Lothar Müthel, Lyda Salmonova, Ernst Deutsch

PLOT: When the Emperor decrees that all Jews must leave the city of Prague, Rabbi Loew invokes the help of the demon Astaroth to construct a defender for his people out of clay.

COMMENTS: An early classic of German expressionist cinema, you will find quite a few reviews of this silent rendering of the original folk tale about the avenger of clay. They tend to focus on three main topics: the source material that came to inform the film, the peculiar history of how it came to be made, and a detailed recap of the plot. It feels like someone’s got my number, because that’s where my instincts would normally lead me, as well. So let’s try and cover those basesin one fell swoop, and then we can turn in a different direction: the ancient folktale was codified in a 1915 novel, which writer/director/star Wegener spun into a trilogy. The first two, set in contemporary times, are now lost to history, but the third, a prequel delivering the backstory in which a rabbi summons the warrior to defend the Jewish people but soon loses control of his creation, has survived the years, and that leads us here.

That background established, it’s important to note how neatly The Golem serves to meet the moment while paving the way for the horror legends of the future. While the story is set in medieval Prague, the fanciful decoration owes more to Méliès than the Middle Ages: impossible peaks tower over the city, while buildings are adorned with twisty staircases and walls never find a straight line. The rabbi’s magic is perfectly in keeping with these settings. Even a hundred years later, the visualization of an ancient language galvanizing the clay giant is an impressive bit of screen magic, as is the way Rabbi Loew creates visions in the air to alarm and influence his adversary the king. Wegener and Boese were lucky to call upon the services of cinematographer extraordinaire Karl Freund, whose talents would soon be employed to lend atmosphere to Universal’s Dracula and The Mummy; it explains why so many familiar scenes from horror and fantasy classics of the 30s are clear echoes of The Golem.

The golem itself is a table setter for the more familiar creature embodied by Boris Karloff in Frankenstein a decade later. Wegener is made-up somewhat absurdly like a giant Gumby doll, with a solid helmet of hair and an unnaturally smooth, monochromatic complexion. But when he stands to his full height, he towers over all around him, and the mindless destruction he wreaks is apt, given that he’s the very model of a blank slate. It’s fitting that the final scene demonstrates the only way to stop such a force is through guileless innocence, and it’s further fitting that this coda is almost exactly reproduced in one of Frankenstein’s most infamous scenes.

The Golem is full of cinematic innovations and pioneering images, but perhaps the strangest element is the way this Weimar-era production addresses the subject of Judaism. It should come as no surprise that the Jewish people are significantly othered in this production. Their belief systems are minimized as pure folk magic, they occupy a walled ghetto to separate them from their betters, and when one couple dares to fraternize (the rabbi’s daughter is seduced by the king’s foppish herald), you can bet it’s the gentile who will pay for his transgression. But there’s a hint of understanding that the Jews are more than their stereotypes, an appreciation for them as characters rather than the monolithic enemy they would soon become in the eyes of German society. The final image of a Star of David could either be a dedication or a mockery, but the very fact of the uncertainty demonstrates how odd The Golem was in its place and time.

(Being in the public domain, there are multiple versions floating around; most notably, multiple soundtracks. If you’d like to accentuate the weirdness factor, I will strongly recommend the one scored to the songs of Black Francis, whose lyrics are sometimes awkwardly on the nose but whose wailing vocal and crunchy instrumentals prove to be an unexpectedly appropriate accompaniment.)

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“Prague’s Jewish ghetto, designed by architect Hans Poelzig, much of it looking like it’s been constructed out of clay [which makes sense seeing as the Golem is also made of clay] is a mass of twisted buildings, gnarled stairways, open balconies and doorways, bridges etc appearing at weird angles, creating a really nightmarish world that’s enhanced by Karl Freund’s cinematography which often uses silhouettes and splodges of black to striking effect. Der Golem remains an important picture in the history of the horror film, but I also think that first-time modern viewers will be surprised at how accessible and enjoyable it is.” – Dr Lenera, Horror Cult Films (Blu-ray)

GOLEM (1979)

DIRECTED BY: Piotr Szulkin

FEATURING: Marek Walczewski, Mariusz Dmochowski, Krystyna Janda, Joanna Zólkowska

PLOT: Following a cataclysmic war, a watch repairman with little memory of his past tries to understand the curious behavior of the residents in his building, while a group of scientists defend their development of artificial lifeforms that are replacing select citizens.

COMMENTS: Just so there’s no confusion: the title character in this instance is metaphorical. No Jews are whipping up a defender in the face of their oppressors. But something is definitely going on in a desolate council estate in a dystopian near-future, where a quiet tinkerer has been brought in to face questioning about a murder. The thing is, he can’t answer any questions about the crime, but he doesn’t seem able to answer questions about much else, either.

If it weren’t for the parallel narrative of the cabal of scientists who are populating this world with some kind of invented life, Golem would be a relatively straightforward Kakfaesque nightmare. The mysterious interrogation finds clueless Pernat completely at sea as a detective peppers him with questions about a murder that he can’t come close to answering. From there, he must deal with a property clerk who insists on giving him clothes that aren’t his (although they fit perfectly), a pretty dollmaker who surrounds herself with her creepy creations, and a domineering landlord who bullies him beyond all reason. Nothing he sees is natural. Dozens of windows open and close in unison, a derelict cinema is passed off as a church, and rock concerts are faked on a studio set. He occupies a world that would be plenty baffling on its own. But, of course, there’s the matter of just what Pernat is that moves Golem out of the world of Kafka and into that of Philip K. Dick.  

In the waning years of Polish communism, Szulkin seems to have delighted in constructing science-fiction allegories that blatantly called out the sins of the country’s rulers. (Golem is purportedly adapted from the same 1915 novel as Wegener’s film, just as Szulkin’s follow-up, The War of the Worlds: Next Century, is an H. G. Wells adaptation in name only.) In Golem, the powers that be are inveterate liars, eagerly hiding their malfeasance and happy to let the innocent public shoulder the burden. To contemporary audiences, Pernat’s plight would have seemed barely fictionalized. The sci-fi veneer serves as a barely opaque shield for the story’s true intent, but also works to capture the sheer unreality of living in a society that barely seems to function at all.

Szulkin leaves Pernat’s ultimate fate deliberately opaque. We see him marching off in the company of a passing military band, presumably to aid in his escape or to join their ranks. But a surprise mid-credits sequence throws into question his entire role in the story, as we see Pernat (or someone looking very much like him) giving a fiery political speech, seemingly excoriating those who would traffic in absurd stories about a program to replace humans with artificial constructs. But when did he give this speech? And are his motives protest or misdirection? In 1979 Poland, a year before the Solidarity labor movement would upend national politics and herald the coming dissolution of the Warsaw Pact, it could either be a call to action or a lament about the futility of dissent. Other than a title and the concept of a constructed lifeform, Golem has almost nothing in common with its predecessor from six decades earlier. But both films definitely share an appreciation for an ending that leaves interpretation up for grabs.

“Ah, what a marvelously strange film!… Golem has a rich, sepia-tone look which reminds me of Jeunet et Caro’s Delicatessen, a film which is almost as surreal and absurd, although it has also been compared to Gilliam’s Brazil, and Tarkovsky’s Stalker.  Which, you have to admit, is pretty good company.” – Marc Cole, Rivets on the Poster

(The Golem: How He Came Into the World was nominated for review by Mike B on Christmas Day 2017; our own Alfred Eaker, who previously wrote about the film on this site, replied, “I wholly concur.” Golem was nominated for review by Russa03. Suggest a weird movie or two of your own here.)   

Where to watch Golem (1980)