The Haunted Castle (1921)
Directed by F.W. Murnau

Film Review

The German filmmaker F.W. Murnau's association with horror began not with his most celebrated film, the expressionistic masterpiece Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens (1922), but with earlier works in which his obsession with the darker aspects of human nature is readily apparent. The early films Satanas, The Hunchback and the Dancer and The Head of Janus, all released in 1920, were Murnau's first flirtation with horror, although the extent to which these influenced his subsequent work is hard to assess as all three of them no longer exists.  The earliest surviving film by Murnau that has any horror content is Schloß Vogelöd (1921), which is better known by the slightly misleading title of The Haunted Castle.

The Haunted Castle has the feel of those 'old dark house' films that would become enormously popular after the success of Paul Leni's The Cat and the Canary (1927) but it would be inaccurate to describe it as a horror film.  Rather, it is an old-fashioned chamber play dressed up as a murder mystery, adapted from a novel by Rudolf Stratz.  The subject is one that is probably better suited for the stage than for the silver screen and it is interesting that rather than disguise the play's theatricality, Murnau emphasises it with simple camera set-ups and conventional lighting that allow for none of the visual artistry of his subsequent films.  It is also the film in which Murnau employs the greatest number of inter-titles, something that badly impedes the pace of the film and diminishes its dramatic tension.  Stylistically and thematically, The Haunted Castle is one of the least interesting of Murnau's surviving films, but there is something about it that makes it strangely compelling.

Throughout the film, there is a discernible, quietly disturbing sense of malignancy.  The castle interior to which most of the action is confined becomes increasingly claustrophobic as the story builds to its dramatic climax.  The same lingering aura of evil that is so apparent in Nosferatu can be felt in The Haunted Castle, a faint presence of smouldering malice that stems not from supernatural causes but from the guilt, suspicion and murderous intent of the protagonists.  There is also a suggestion of the intense psychological realism that Murnau would skilfully employ on his later films, even a few humorous digressions.  Most significantly, there is a dream sequence which boldly presages the nightmarish vision he would inflict upon the cinematic landscape the following year.

In this sequence, a guest in the supposedly haunted castle, imagines he is attacked by a hideous night fiend.  It begins with a glimpse of a hairy, claw-like hand appearing at the bedroom window.  All that we see of the creature is this hand, protruding from a long black sleeve.  The windows open, seemingly of their own accord, and the victim is seen cowering in his bed with the shadow of his monstrous assailant projected onto the wall behind him.  It's a distillation of those memorably iconic shots in Nosferatu, terrifying and yet also peculiarly comical.  You can't quite decide whether Murnau intended this sequence to be rip-roaringly funny or nightmare-inducingly scary.  The sequence has become one of the stock horror clichés and watching it today it does feel like a cheeky parody of Nosferatu.  This first dalliance with expressionistic horror is conceivably where Murnau gained the inspiration for his most famous film.

Elsewhere, there is precious little of the pronounced expressionistic style that Murnau would employ so effectively on the series of films that would earn him enduring acclaim: Nosferatu (1922), Phantom (1922), Der Letzte Mann (1924) and Faust (1926).  Other than the freaky dream sequence the only other expressionistic touch is Olga Tschechowa's overly expressive portrayal of the overwrought Baronin Safferstätt.  By contrast, all of the other performances are unusually restrained, veering towards naturalism.  Paul Hartmann's portrayal of the supposedly villainous Count Oetsch is surprisingly modern, with layers of cunningly constructed ambiguity screening the character's real intent.  One of the curious aspects of Murnau's cinema is that it departs from the expressionistic style of acting that was almost universally deployed until the mid-1920s whilst embracing expressionism for all it was worth on the design front, Der Letzte Mann being a perfect example of this.  Almost completely shadowed by Murnau's subsequent films, The Haunted Castle is too easily written off as a minor entry in the director's career.  Whilst it may lack the stylistic brilliance for which the director is renowned it offers some tantalising pointers as to what is to come.

Film Synopsis

Lord von Vogelschrey invites several of his friends to his home, Castle Vogelöd, for a few days of hunting.  Incessant rain confines the guests to the castle interior and the mood darkens when the pariah Count Oetsch turns up without an invitation.  Oetsch is suspected of having murdered his own brother, although the only person who knows the truth of the matter is the dead man's widow, Baronin Safferstätt.  The latter agrees to stay when she learns that a friend of her husband, Father Faramund, is shortly to arrive at the castle.  When Father Faramund mysteriously disappears some of the guests become convinced the castle is haunted and hastily depart.  Father Faramund then re-appears, as unexpectedly as he vanished, and Baronin Safferstätt seizes the opportunity to make her confession...