Review: The Man Who Laughs (1928)

Universal's The Man Who Laughs routinely gets lumped into the horror category. This confusion is understandable, though. It's directed by Pau Leni, who had helmed the first film version of The Cat and the Canary for the studio the year before. It stars German actor Conrad Veidt, known on both sides of the Atlantic for his performances in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, Waxworks (also directed by Leni) and a number of other German Expressionist-influenced nightmares. Co-starring as Veidt's romantic interest is Mary Philbin, who had previously been menaced by Lon Chaney in Phantom of the Opera. The screenplay is an adaptation of a story by Victor Hugo, the author of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, an earlier Universal smash also starring Chaney (who would have starred in this project, had he not signed a contract with MGM instead). Brandon Hurst, the villainous priest in Hunchback, is here as well, as a devious court jester. And Veidt's admittedly creepy makeup job--a wide, sickly grin said to have been at least partial inspiration for Batman's main nemesis, the Joker--was done by Jack Pierce, who would later create some of the great monster makeups in the history of cinema, including the Frankenstein Monster, the Mummy and the Wolf Man.

But as much as Universal wanted The Man Who Laughs to look like a horror film, it's just not. It's a historical melodrama about Gwynplaine (Veidt) who, as a child, is subjected to cruel surgery that carves his face into a enormous, permanent smile by no less than King James II as a further torment to Gwynplaine's family--as if torturing and executing his father, also played by Veidt, on trumped-up treason charges weren't enough. Gwynplaine survives and even saves a little blind girl in a blizzard. She grows up to be Philbin, beautiful and oblivious to the fact that Gwynplaine, now a renowned clown in a travelling show, loves her deeply and truly.

It's later discovered that poor, defaced (almost literally) Gwynplaine is, in fact, nobility. And an opportunistic duchess (Olga Baclanova, who would later play a similarly villainous role in Freaks) tries to seduce the grinning clown--at one point, looking downright sexually excited while watching Gwynplaine's act--only to be rejected. All sorts of complications ensue, like chases, escapes, misunderstandings, duels and, eventually, a tearful reunion as a ship is about to sail away with a true love's heart aboard.

In other words, damn near everything but horror.

The Man Who Laughs is a consistently good-looking movie--Universal certainly dropped some cash on the elaborate sets and costumes--and the performances are all worthy, especially from Veidt who, like Chaney before him, must give an effective performance while denied facial expression due to restrictive makeup. But unlike Chaney's characters, who inspired simultaneous pity and fear, Veidt's Gwynplaine suffers so grievously from the outset that our sympathies are immediately with him; we're never afraid of him for even a moment, despite his gruesome appearance. We want his suffering to end. We want the poor bastard to win, for a change.

Thus, the expectations set up by the pedigree of this movie--the stars, the director, the source material and the makeup--are never met, regardless of the relatively high quality of the production. The Man Who Laughs certainly isn't a bad movie by any means--it is, in actuality, a fine historical melodrama. But after years of seeing appetizing stills in various monster magazines and reference books, it's hard not to find it to be a disappointing one. So enjoy The Man Who Laughs for what it is--not what we've always been told it should be.