Ernst Lubitsch started his career in broad slapstick, and a gleam of rowdy humor never fully left his work. The kind of wildness that often peeks through the tuxedoed elegance of his more well-known films—as in Herman Bing’s apoplectic geysers in The Merry Widow or Eugene Palette’s truculence over newspaper funnies in Heaven Can Wait—flows freely and steadily all through The Wildcat.
Proclaiming itself “a grotesque in four acts,” the film takes place in a snow-covered kingdom that could provide the setting for one of Erich von Stroheim’s scabrous fairy tales, had Lubitsch already not made the territory his own early on by having the departure of uniformed lothario Lieutenant Alexis (Paul Heidemann) leave behind a crowd of weeping women to miss his “services.” On his way to marry the daughter of the commander of the local fortress, Alexis is held up by a gang of mountain thieves led by spirited tomboy Rischka (Pola Negri), who jumps into action and leaves Alexis in his underpants in the ice, promptly smitten.
A film of merrily shifting angles and proportions, The Wildcat delights in raucous mock-opera and lyrical phantasmagoria: The palace, decked with corkscrewing staircases and what look like oversized, art deco question marks, is practically a knowing parody of German Expressionism, and in the midst of a mission to infiltrate the fortress, both the outlaws and the guards take time off to get caught up in the rhythms of the waltz emanating from inside.
Lubitsch blithely explores sets and frame sizes as if playing with toy soldiers, yet, characteristically, The Wildcat is more than an effervescent confection: Beneath the froth is a sharp view of social conventions, as Rischka and Alexis are enchantingly united in dream (spirits rise out of their sleeping bodies for a twirl scored to a full orchestra of snowmen) only to be separated by the reality of class divide. It’s a tribute to Lubitsch’s comic genius that his frenetic gags here brim with as much sly subversion as his later visions of glittering worldliness. Marriage is skewered, hilariously and witheringly, with the couple outfitted in a pair of handcuffs before sitting down in the snow to chow on borscht.
Image/Sound
Kino Lorber’s Blu-ray is transferred from a 2014 restoration that exhibits some light scratches and very occasional flickering but is otherwise rather stunning. The image is sharp, boasting incredible shadow detail and depth, as well as strong contrast ratio and deep black levels. Ernst Lubitsch’s film is fast-paced and the motion on screen is smooth and crisp. On the audio front, the piano and string-based score more than cuts the mustard.
Extras
Film historian Anthony Slide, who also recorded the commentary track for Kino’s recent release of Joe May’s Asphalt, is on hand to provide an erudite and entertaining analysis of Lubitsch’s silly, hyperactive silent farce. Along with offering up extensive background information on Lubitsch and The Wildcat’s major players, Slide pays particular attention to the film’s peculiar brand of comedy. He also interestingly places the film in the context of Lubitsch’s oeuvre and Germany’s humiliating defeat in World War I. The disc also includes Lubitsch’s 1916 short film When I Was Dead (also known as Where Is My Treasure?) and an accompanying commentary track by Joseph McBride, who delves into Lubitsch’s early work with theater and film director Max Reinhardt and how the former transitioned from acting to directing. He also shares some amusing stories included in his essential book How Did Lubitsch Do It?, including how Lubitsch’s father once told his son that he’d never succeed as an actor “with a face like that.”
Overall
Ernst Lubitsch’s absurdist farce may be an outlier in the director’s filmography, but laugh for laugh, it stacks quite well against even his most lauded masterpieces.
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