Well, I'm guessing Carl Theodor Dreyer got some extra special TLC from his mother the first time he visited home after making this one.
The Danish director's 1925 silent film
Master of the House is a charming household drama,
a paean to mothers and wives everywhere. It's sentimental and
melodramatic and unashamedly so, and while not as deep as later
efforts like The Passion of Joan of Arc or
Gertrud, it does fit into the director's
filmography of profiles of interesting women.
Based on a play by Svend Rindom, and
adapted in conjunction with the playwright, Master of the
House is the story of a watchmaker (Johannes Meyer) and his
family after they have fallen on hard times. Viktor has had some
business troubles, and he takes his frustrations out on his
long-suffering wife (Astrid Holm) and their two kids. Ida is a saint,
rising early to make breakfast, and as we find out later, staying up
late to sew for other people in order to make sure her husband is fed
in the style to which he is accustomed. Her reward for these efforts
is scorn and derision. The text makes no bones about it: Viktor is a
tyrant. Ida and the kids can do nothing right, and they walk on
eggshells whenever he is around.
The story turns when Viktor's old
nanny, Mads (Mathilde Nielsen), sees what a beast he has become. She
colludes with Ida's mother (Clara Schonfeld) to get Ida to leave
Viktor, feigning illness. While she is away “recuperating,” Mads
will run the household, using her sway over her one-time ward to give
Viktor a taste of his own medicine and put him in his place. This
scheme will work, of course, and the ladies pulled it none too soon:
once Ida is away from Viktor, she has a breakdown for real. As it
turns out, the only thing holding her together was how clenched she
was around her husband. The time away will allow her some legitimate
rest.
Master of the House
balances its amusing plot with the darker implications of the abusive
family dynamic. It's funny watching Viktor forced to do housework, as
well as suffering other “manly” humiliations, culminating in Ida
tricking him into thinking his wife has fallen for another. Nielsen
is marvelous as the cantankerous older woman, even managing to pull
off a there's-something-on-your-tie gag, flicking Viktor in the nose
when he looks to see. (How long has that joke been around? Did
cavemen pull it?) Dreyer is careful to underline that Viktor does
really love Ida, and Ida adores him, giving a reason for why the
reconciliation is necessary. Likewise, the love his daughter (Karin
Nellemose) has for her daddy reinforces that there was a time when
things were better in the Frandsen home. Viktor is, above all, a
villain for whom we can have compassion. Master of the
House embraces forgiveness as an essential component of
redemption.
Dreyer's storytelling technique is
pretty simple here. His emphasis is on character, and he uses tight
close-ups to allow his actors to communicate their emotional
processes, making up for the lack of dialogue. Multi-character scenes
are deftly cut together, moving from person to person, making sure
each has their space. Dreyer served as editor and art director in
addition to writer and director, and his control of the mis-en-scene
is evident throughout. He carefully choreographs each performance,
finding nuance in the non-verbal expression that far exceeds the
cartoony cliché that many imagine when they think of silent movies.
The new Blu-ray/DVD release
reconstructs the original musical score written by Gillian B.
Anderson, and here performed on piano by Sara Davis Buechner. As with
the best silent film scores, the music works subtly, often fading
into the background even while maintaining a consistent presence.
Buechner's playing never overshadows the performances by the actors,
but instead elevates the appropriate moments. The music serves as
support, but it's not a crutch. Dreyer doesn't need it to sell the
emotional peaks and valleys. The work is being done up there on the
screen.
The image restoration on Master
of the House is also excellent. The print appears to be
largely intact, with only a couple of jumps where it looks like maybe
some frames are missing. The picture quality is clear, with very
little surface damage evident. The intertitles are presented here in
English, but in a style that appears to be consistent with the
aesthetic of the time. Mention should also be made of Beatrice
Coron's cover illustration for the Criterion release, which
effectively captures the old-fashioned, storybook quality of Dreyer's
film.
All in all, while not as essential to
the canon as previous Criterion titles from the director, Master
of the House makes a nice addition to one's Dreyer library.
It's a likable domestic drama that wears its message proudly on its
sleeve--the opening and closing title cards lay it all out for
you--yet somehow manages to avoid being preachy within the narrative
itself.
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