A Phenomenal Film of Foibles: On F.W. Murnau’s Tartuffe
Note: This is the hundred-and-thirty-ninth in a series of historical/critical essays examining the best in film from each year. Essentially, I am watching films from the beginning of cinematic history that interest me and/or hold some critical or cultural impact. My personal, living list of favorites is being created at Mubi, showcasing five films per year. All this being explained, what follows is an examination of my fourth favorite 1926 (or 1925) film, TARTUFFE, directed by F.W. Murnau.
Often referred to as a lesser work of German director F.W. Murnau, TARTUFFE is actually a compelling, lively, and funny kammerspielfilm (chamber drama) that stands as, sure, a unique installment in the filmmaker’s canon. It’s Murnau’s funniest movie, a light satire that loosely adapted a legendary story to great effect, not unlike Murnau’s next film, FAUST (1926).
First off, let me explain the dating of TARTUFFE. As I originally understood it, TARTUFFE premiered in Berlin in January 1926. I fairly recently learned it premiered in Vienna in November 1925. Since it fully released in the following year (and I don’t want to totally disrupt my entire list system here), I’m considering TARTUFFE a 1926 work.
Anyways, yes, TARTUFFE is based on Molière’s 1664 play of the same name. But Murnau tweaks its details to the point of creating an entirely new dynamic between the story’s characters. First of all, the “play” is in fact a production within the fiction of TARTUFFE; it’s just a screen-play. The film starts and ends with a frame story about a housekeeper (played with sneaky selfishness by cabaret singer Rosa Valetti) slowly poisoning her master. The master’s grandson is an actor; the master has a problem with that, so influenced by the housekeeper as he is, he turns his grandson away when he visits. But the actor grandson decides to take on a new role, disguising himself as a traveling film exhibitor, giving the two a private show. The movie? TARTUFFE.
What this entire situation imparts is a sense of modernity, more closely linking religious hypocrisy and charlatanism to today. Well, 1926, but what is made clear is that the Tartuffes of the world will never go away. And who is Tartuffe? Well, he’s a “saint,” or so a rich landowner thinks when he brings him to stay at his home, at the expense of the disposing of luxuries, servants, and his wife’s affection. But Tartuffe is a hypocrite and a fraud, ironically representing all seven of the sins throughout the relatively brief “meat” of the movie (about 45 minutes of the 63-minute run time).
The triumvirate of actors give some of the best performances of their career in TARTUFFE. Emil Jannings is birdlike and furtive in his “holier than thou” persona, before he turns swine-like at the culmination of the play. His turn is due to his lust for Elmire (Lil Dagover), wife of Orgon (Werner Krauss). This is in fact Dagover’s best role. She plays the increasingly suffering wife with grace, intelligence, humor, and seductive beauty. The latter comes into play when she attempts to expose Tartuffe as the sinful charlatan; Murnau boldly includes POV shots of Tartuffe’s attraction to her exposed cleavage. Dagover’s shoulders are always exposed, perhaps sexualizing Elmire to strangely support Tartuffe’s lust. Murnau, a gay man, makes this observation almost objective.
In fact, Elmire is the voice of reason in TARTUFFE. Krauss plays Orgon with earnest fanaticism, but also hidden conflict. He is briefly turned back to the side of his wife on a few occasions throughout the film, and in those movements Murnau gives us relief from Orgon’s incredulous behavior. He shows us how we should really be living, without fear of eternal damnation through otherwise harmless acts (such as loving someone and kissing them). Again, Murnau’s status as a gay man in the 1920s may imply a larger point to be made here, whether it was intentional or not.
TARTUFFE, as a satire, works on a few levels. I have a feeling that anyone watching it can find it agreeable to their ideas. It’s less strictly anti-clerical than its source material, instead exposing the terrible people who would commit sins in the name of God. For religious practitioners, it confirms their belief in the power of lust to corrupt otherwise righteous people. For others, it confirms their belief in religion as a tool for corruption and self-benefit. The frame story hammers the point home a bit too clearly, but nevertheless, it’s a fun bit of metafictional business with technical significance. André Mattoni’s grandson addresses the camera directly with an intertitle, at one point, asking the audience if they had seen what just took place. It’s a fun gag, and in this point, TARTUFFE illustrates the power of cinema itself.
These considerations make TARTUFFE a terribly powerful comedy, a foray into foibles and worse that feels more intimate than even some other Murnau films. It’s a tremendous, compact exercise in the realm of the chamber drama, a tight, well-paced story with a lot of character. In the discourse about Murnau’s work, it deserves a place among NOSFERATU (1922), FAUST, and SUNRISE: A SONG OF TWO HUMANS (1927).
