Film #920: 'The Unknown', dir. Tod Browning, 1927.

Keeping track of the films on the list is often a complicated task, especially when you're trying to find films years in advance of any opportunities to watch them. The master spreadsheet I keep has about two dozen films that are still marked 'UNKNOWN' in orange, and ironically Tod Browning's The Unknown was among them for over a decade. Fortunately, a restoration was undertaken in 2022, and you can now find the Criterion version easily accessible.

Silent film is a fascinating subject after a century of sound pictures. It operated with a very limited palette of techniques, and as such needed to make the most of what it had available. People often complain that silent films are too 'theatrical', but the lack of synchronised sound meant that a silent film in fact had fewer tools at its disposal than the theatre did. While modern films can use realistic sound (or its lack thereof) to punctuate, draw attention to or minimise particular moments of a film, in silent films these tasks had to be shifted onto an actor's performance or onto the film's musical score. Even the use of a score was not foolproof, as theatre musicians would have to compare the requested music with what they had available. A larger toolbox available in contemporary cinema has evened out the workload, and it's less common to see a modern film rely so heavily on, say, performance. Tod Browning's film, though, is a stellar example of how films from before the advent of talking pictures honed these elements - to the point where you almost forget that you're watching something with no audible dialogue.

The star attraction of a circus in Spain, Alonzo the Armless (Lon Chaney)'s main act is to use his feet to throw knives. He is smitten with his partner in this act, Nanon (Joan Crawford), who is also the daughter of the circus ringmaster, Zanzi. Nanon has a fear of being touched or held by men, which means that she easily finds solace in her friendship with Alonzo, and spurns the advances of the strongman, Malabar (Norman Kerry). Eager to further draw Nanon into his clutches, Alonzo encourages Malabar to display his strength to Nanon more and more. The situation is complicated when it is revealed that Alonzo actually still has his arms - he hides them in a corset to make his act more sensational. Alonzo's friendship with Nanon infuriates Zanzi and, after an altercation, Zanzi discovers that Alonzo still has his arms. Out of rage and fear, Alonzo strangles Zanzi to death. Nanon sees the strangling (and in particular, that the culprit has two thumbs on one hand) - but doesn't recognise Alonzo - and her fear is exacerbated. A cursory police investigation doesn't find the culprit, and when the circus moves on, Alonzo and Nanon stay in town, with Alonzo hoping that he might be able to draw Nanon's affections more.

Before long, Nanon embraces Alonzo - an act that alarms Alonzo's friend and servant, Cojo, who worries that Nanon will see through the deception. Realising that he is so accustomed to hiding his arms that he can get by without them, Alonzo hatches a plan to have both arms amputated, which will conveniently hide any evidence that it was he who killed Zanzi. He blackmails a doctor into performing the surgery, and hides from Nanon for the period of his recovery. During this time, ironically, Nanon overcomes her fear of "men and their hands", and kindles a romance with Malabar. Together, they plan a new theatrical show, built around Malabar's strongman skills.

When Alonzo has recovered, he visits Nanon and Malabar at the theatre (hilariously, Nanon notices that his torso is a lot thinner than it was before). They reveal their engagement to Alonzo, and describe the centrepiece of their new act, in which Malabar uses ropes to tether two horses running on treadmills in opposite directions. Alonzo is driven to hysterics by the news, especially because it was delivered in a way that got his hopes up tremendously, and plans to disrupt the performance so that Malabar is maimed in the process (as Malabar cheerfully admits, if a treadmill stops suddenly, "the horses would tear my arms from my body"). During the show, Alonzo locks away the technician who controls the treadmills, and abruptly slows the treadmills, panicking the horses. Nanon tries to calm the horses down to prevent them killing Malabar; Alonzo then pushes her to safety before he is fatally trampled by one of the horses. With Alonzo out of the picture, Malabar and Nanon can finally spend their lives together in security.

This is a relatively brisk summary of the plot, but it's put in greater context when you realise that the film is only about fifty minutes long. There's a small pile of things in the plot that make no sense - why does Alonzo, who is certain Nanon would come to forgive him for having arms, elect to have them both amputated, and not just remove his extra thumb? Why doesn't Alonzo come up with any explanation for his absence while recovering? - but the film moves along at such a breakneck pace that there's no time to properly question any of them before the next complication arises. Characters are also very fond in this film of saying the most on-the-nose things imaginable, partly as a way of dispensing with any long and realistic exposition. It doesn't take Alonzo long to realise his plan at the end of the film, mostly because Malabar outright says the plan aloud for him. Nanon unintentionally rubs salt into Alonzo's (literal) wounds when she says "I used to be afraid of Malabar's hands, but I love them now."

This excessiveness is one of my favourite elements of The Unknown. It operates in both directions - the excess of comedy becoming farce, and the excess of violence. When the performance with the horses at the end of the film goes awry, Browning cuts rapidly and close, drawing attention to the strain on Malabar's shoulders through close-up shots (and the version of the soundtrack used in the Criterion release piles on the kettledrums at this moment to underscore the tension. It feels like we're moments away from witnessing some terrific gore effects, even though those would be decades away when the film was produced. There are moments, though, where the emotional effect is deflated through farce. The moment Zanzi discovers that Alonzo still has his arms, Alonzo deals with this by... immediately hiding his arms behind his back. These moments sell the horror even more by contrasting them against the absurd.

Lon Chaney's acting is the heart of this film. It's the thing that lets us look past the absurdities of the plot, and buy into the emotional veracity of the film. Although many of the scenes of more fine motion were done with a stunt double, Chaney learned to manipulate things with his feet for wider shots, and it's deeply believable. Audiences at the time would have known that Chaney was not a double-amputee, but the opening scenes of the film sell this so well that the audience I was with murmured in shock when his arms were revealed. Chaney throws the whole of himself into the more emotional scenes, too, so that the intertitles are often superfluous to understanding the direction of a conversation. The performance has to carry a lot of weight throughout the film, too: Alonzo is a murderer and a con artist, driven to extremes by unrequited love, who then descends into hysterics when it is revealed that his extreme measures were unnecessary. In two minutes, he needs to go from hope that Nanon might intend to marry him, to shock that she has fallen for Malabar, to frenzied laughter when he realises he has had his arms chopped off for nothing. Are the emotions overplayed? Sure. But they're in proportion to the scope of the film, and Chaney has an ability to move between these emotions lightning-quick without being abrupt.

Browning does something really interesting with this film, though: he uses the cinematic tools to play into his themes. The best example of this is in the scene where Alonzo realises his plan to have his arms removed. Lost in thought over the idea that Nanon might reject him when she discovers he murdered her father, he absent-mindedly lights a cigarette with his feet. Cojo laughs at him, commenting that he's forgotten he has arms. Alonzo recoils at this, but in Chaney's performance, you can see the plan form (a slight widening of the eyes, a twitch at the mouth). A shift happens here: we move from a dialogue-heavy sequence to one where there are no intertitles at all. Alonzo continues to speak, giddy with realisation, but what he is saying is too horrifying for the intertitles. Cojo's expression turns to shock, and we do get an intertitle when he says "No, no, Alonzo! Not that! Never do that!", but the act itself cannot be spoken, or even written. In the very next scene, Alonzo and Cojo visit the surgeon, and once again there are no intertitles to describe the actual plan - the closest we get is a single ambiguous gesture Chaney makes at his left shoulder. You can sort of make out the words in the movement of his lips, but the audience never receives the confirmation of what has happened.

I find this fascinating. Usually, silent films don't have the luxury of holding anything back - they have to be repetitive and clear to the point of redundancy. Here, Browning has taken something shocking but admittedly rather mundane, and turned it into a taboo strong enough to abolish one of the tools normally at his disposal. The performances in these scenes, from Chaney, John George as Cojo and John St. Polis as the surgeon, are all so strong that it's easy to misremember the film as more explicit than it actually is. As a result, the film is far more subtle than a lot of Tod Browning's other collaborations with Chaney (ten in total), and probably the most restrained of all of Browning's horrors.

The Unknown is a genuine work of art, a film that moves from merely using its elements to portray a story to using its elements to enhance the story. I don't think it's quite like anything else from the silent era. Is it stagey and melodramatic? Yes, but those aren't bad things, and I'd argue they're necessary to make the film's more subtle elements work. This is a film that's well worth seeing; a little Halloween treat that I'm really glad has been rediscovered.