"Broken Lullaby" is an atypical sentimental pacifist picture from director Ernst Lubitsch, better known for light sophisticated romantic comedies that eschew melodrama and moralizing--basically the opposite of this one. Heck, most of his films at this point were bubbly musicals featuring the likes of fourth-wall-breaking Maurice Chevalier. I prefer the light Lubitsch touch, including the two other films he made in 1932, "One Hour with You" and, especially, "Trouble in Paradise," both of which were nominated for Best Picture. While "Broken Lullaby" does have its moments of technical bravado and, I admit, it affected me, the heavy-handed treatment, ultimately, left me feeling betrayed, and the narrative ends up betraying its own speechifying.
The story begins on the first anniversary of Armistice Day, after which a French veteran travels to a German village to confront the survivors of the man he killed in the trenches. Eventually, he confides the truth of the death to the late German's fiancée, but not before inventing the fiction that he was friends with the deceased and of a joyful memory of their last meeting. Of course, he and the fiancée fall in love and, of course, the late German's parents begin to treat him like their own son, despite the father's initial Francophobia. The father gives a big speech against hatred and war to some other old Francophobic men in a tavern, blaming the old for sacrificing the young. But, then, the film concludes with, an albeit obviously different, yet still another sacrifice of the young for the pleasures of the old, as the Frenchman and the fiancée conspire to continue the lie and to adopt him into their home--suggesting the Frenchman, as well as the young woman, will continue to perform penance indefinitely by amusing the old with this fiction. As viewers, with the benefit of the narrative's dramatic irony, I suppose we must ask ourselves whether we're willing to likewise accept the fiction that is the film.
I can't. For all its self-righteous noble intentions, "Broken Lullaby" is too on the nose in its self-contradictory resolution, again resorting to sacrificing the young through sentimentality and theatrics--literally, they play the violin and piano--for the affections of the old spectators. The same sort of devices that shortly brought the world to war again within the decade and the never-ending cycle of violence that continues to this day. The film itself is theatrical, too, full of melodrama, speechifying and overstated acting. There's a bit of dramatic music, as well, but thankfully early talkies tended not to feature constant scores and neither does this one.
Reportedly (Scott Eyman, "Ernst Lubitsch: Laughter in Paradise"), Lubitsch wanted Emil Jannings, a fellow German and frequent star of Lubitsch's silent films, for the part of the father, which ultimately went to Lionel Barrymore. That would've been interesting had Jannings mastered English and not returned to Germany to become a stooge for Nazi propaganda, but it would've required a complete cast overhaul, since none of the principles involved attempt to represent the heritages of the characters they portray. At least, Barrymore knew how to give a speech and always fits the bill as a cranky old coot; he'd just won an Oscar for it, after all, in "A Free Soul" (1931).
There's some impressive filmmaking here, too. The opening montage of the Armistice Day anniversary includes a shot revealing a background parade under the foregrounding of the missing leg of a veteran, and the cannon firing and bell ringing causes another veteran with shell shock to scream. There are also some dolly shots throughout, which help alleviate the otherwise stagy look of the creaky early talkie. Other directorial flourishes, such as the superimposed battle images over the hunched-over Frenchman, head down (apparently, the default position to suggest sadness for actor Phillips Holmes), are far too blunt. The sound of marching feet as Barrymore leaves the tavern after decrying how he cheered his son marching to his death is more effective, though, and, in general, "Broken Lullaby" features some good use of sound effects for an early talkie. Ringing shop bells and a ticking clock also have their moments. Meanwhile, all attempts at humor and lighter touches fall flat against the dreadful subject matter: e.g. the gossiping and eavesdropping women and the business with the French dress. Even when it came to war, Lubitsch was more in his element with a comedic treatment, as evidenced by "To Be or Not to Be" (1942).
The story begins on the first anniversary of Armistice Day, after which a French veteran travels to a German village to confront the survivors of the man he killed in the trenches. Eventually, he confides the truth of the death to the late German's fiancée, but not before inventing the fiction that he was friends with the deceased and of a joyful memory of their last meeting. Of course, he and the fiancée fall in love and, of course, the late German's parents begin to treat him like their own son, despite the father's initial Francophobia. The father gives a big speech against hatred and war to some other old Francophobic men in a tavern, blaming the old for sacrificing the young. But, then, the film concludes with, an albeit obviously different, yet still another sacrifice of the young for the pleasures of the old, as the Frenchman and the fiancée conspire to continue the lie and to adopt him into their home--suggesting the Frenchman, as well as the young woman, will continue to perform penance indefinitely by amusing the old with this fiction. As viewers, with the benefit of the narrative's dramatic irony, I suppose we must ask ourselves whether we're willing to likewise accept the fiction that is the film.
I can't. For all its self-righteous noble intentions, "Broken Lullaby" is too on the nose in its self-contradictory resolution, again resorting to sacrificing the young through sentimentality and theatrics--literally, they play the violin and piano--for the affections of the old spectators. The same sort of devices that shortly brought the world to war again within the decade and the never-ending cycle of violence that continues to this day. The film itself is theatrical, too, full of melodrama, speechifying and overstated acting. There's a bit of dramatic music, as well, but thankfully early talkies tended not to feature constant scores and neither does this one.
Reportedly (Scott Eyman, "Ernst Lubitsch: Laughter in Paradise"), Lubitsch wanted Emil Jannings, a fellow German and frequent star of Lubitsch's silent films, for the part of the father, which ultimately went to Lionel Barrymore. That would've been interesting had Jannings mastered English and not returned to Germany to become a stooge for Nazi propaganda, but it would've required a complete cast overhaul, since none of the principles involved attempt to represent the heritages of the characters they portray. At least, Barrymore knew how to give a speech and always fits the bill as a cranky old coot; he'd just won an Oscar for it, after all, in "A Free Soul" (1931).
There's some impressive filmmaking here, too. The opening montage of the Armistice Day anniversary includes a shot revealing a background parade under the foregrounding of the missing leg of a veteran, and the cannon firing and bell ringing causes another veteran with shell shock to scream. There are also some dolly shots throughout, which help alleviate the otherwise stagy look of the creaky early talkie. Other directorial flourishes, such as the superimposed battle images over the hunched-over Frenchman, head down (apparently, the default position to suggest sadness for actor Phillips Holmes), are far too blunt. The sound of marching feet as Barrymore leaves the tavern after decrying how he cheered his son marching to his death is more effective, though, and, in general, "Broken Lullaby" features some good use of sound effects for an early talkie. Ringing shop bells and a ticking clock also have their moments. Meanwhile, all attempts at humor and lighter touches fall flat against the dreadful subject matter: e.g. the gossiping and eavesdropping women and the business with the French dress. Even when it came to war, Lubitsch was more in his element with a comedic treatment, as evidenced by "To Be or Not to Be" (1942).