Ten Essential Silent Films Millennial Movie Fans Must See

I hope that title doesn’t come across as condescending.  The thing is, most of us born into an era of sound film have seen few, if any, silent movies. The early days of cinema may have produced some films that don’t stand up today, but it was also an era of new possibilities, new stories, experimentation, and boldness unlike anything that would succeed it. To the general public though, and even some movie fans today, it’s defined more by its limitations than anything else: its’ lack of colour, lack of dialogue, difference in its style of acting, directing, and visual effects. And for this people avoid them or consider them inferior to the nine decades’ worth of talking pictures we’ve grown accustomed to.

But silent cinema isn’t just an important part of the history of film; it offers profound insight into the art form itself. By watching the beginnings of narrative techniques, radical technical innovations and daring chances that couldn’t be taken today, it fosters a better appreciation of film. And also the power of the storytelling is something to admire –plenty of silent movies tell remarkable, provocative stories that are still entrancing, impressive, relevant, and moving today.  The very best of them used their disadvantage as an advantage, proving that dialogue is not strictly necessary to telling a good story in a visual medium after all.

So this is a list for those movie fans who haven’t experienced the marvels of silent pictures. Baby boomer, Gen X, and millennial alike should see them at least to understand the silent era and deepen their understanding and love of film as a whole. These aren’t necessarily my personal favourites, just the ones I think are most important for and would speak most to my peers today.

And rest assured, if you do have some familiarity with silent movies, that neither of D.W. Griffiths’ “classics” are on this list; so no one need be subjected to three hours of barbaric racism or self-indulgent boredom just for some innovative cinematography, editing, production design, and narrative structure. Just google the most important scenes instead. These are movies people can and should actually enjoy.

1. A Trip to the Moon (1902) -directed by Georges Méliés

Anyone who’s ever enjoyed a science-fiction movie owes a debt of gratitude to Georges Méliés. The French film pioneer set the stage for the fantastical storytelling, grand ambitions, and most importantly, special effects of not only that genre, but film as a whole. At fourteen minutes, it was also one of the longest films ever made up to that point. The plot, inspired by several Jules Verne stories (himself also considered a father of science-fiction), is about a group of astronauts going to the moon, encountering indigenous Selenites (from H.G. Wells’ The First Men on the Moon) whom they come into conflict with, and ultimately returning to Earth with a Selenite prisoner. Though it sounds like an endorsement of imperialism, the whole film is very tongue-in-cheek, highly expressive, surreal, and incorporates Méliés’ trademark trick photography to create a whimsical satirical tone. The revolutionary production design and special effects are still astonishing when you think of the sheer work that had to go in to pulling them off. Some, you still can’t figure out, and that’s exactly what Méliés the illusionist would have wanted. 
The visuals are iconic -who doesn’t know the image of the rocket  landing directly in the eye of the Man in the Moon, or the clown cars’ worth of people emerging from the bullet-like projectile on the strange lunar landscape? In an age when special effects are frequently overused and exploited, this film genuinely transports you to a bizarre world through creativity, ingenuity, and spectacle. And that’s what A Trip to the Moon is: pure spectacle. Méliés’ early films had always been novelties, magic tricks the like of which you’d find at fairgrounds and exhibitions. A Trip to the Moon was the first to really reach beyond that, using this new art form not only to thrill and entertain, but to push the limits of its visual expression for stronger storytelling; to in essence, make film more than an illusion.

2. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920) -directed by Robert Weine

German Expressionism: One of the most important, eclectic, and vividly unusual styles of early cinema.  And The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is its signature film. As creepy and unnerving today as it was nearly a century ago, it’s a Gothic tale in the mood of Edgar Allan Poe about a deranged hypnotist, the titular Dr. Caligari (Werner Krauss), committing murders through his captive somnambulist Cesare (Conrad Veidt). Investigating these crimes is an observer Francis (Friedrich Feher), who is suspicious of both, but his searching leads to some very unexpected results. This movie not only arguably invented the horror film but also the twist ending, again carried over from its Gothic influences. The implications of its twist though, are incredible, offering intense comments on themes such as subjectivity and insanity. It’s a film inspired by feelings of dread and anxiety following the First World War, and Robert Weine and art director Hermann Warm knew how to realize these ideas through harsh metaphor. The stylized acting, intentionally over-emotional and, of course, expressive, lend to the otherworldliness of the movie and the terror. Veidt in particular (whom you may know better as Col. Strasser in Casablanca) is exceptional at conveying the torment of a sympathetic pawn, but also the horror of a violent drone -not too dissimilar from Frankesnteins’ monster in fact. The sharp make-up though also has an effect, on all the characters. 

But The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari’s most striking characteristic is the production design and visual uncanniness. Everything in the environment is dark, jagged, and unnatural. Buildings and landscapes jut out at wrong angles, the architecture is deliberately absurd, and the lighting is clearly painted on the ground in oblique shapes. In short, the whole world looks like an Edvard Munch painting. This graphic design and mise en scene is forebodingly alluring and makes the film that much more creative and mesmerizing to watch.  Visually incredible, provocative, and frightening,  it’s a classic thats’ effect hasn’t waned at all.

3. Nosferatu (1922) -directed by F.W. Murnau

This is a movie that couldn’t be made today. It really shouldn’t have been made in 1922 either.  Nosferatu was an illegal adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, made without authorization from the Stoker Estate. It changes up character names: Count Dracula becomes Count Orlok, Mina Harker becomes Ellen Hutter, Professor Van Helsing becomes Professor Bulwer, even “vampire” is referred to by its lesser known simile “nosferatu”. But the story is so blatantly the same it’s hard to believe screenwriter Henrik Galeen and Murnau thought they could get away with it. Despite this, Nosferatu is still a landmark film. Another follower of the German Expressionist style, this copyright infringing movie may be the best interpretation of the classic horror story (I certainly prefer it over Tod Browning’s legal American version nine years later). Abundantly moody and mysterious, creepily atmospheric and finely paced, F.W. Murnau is really adept at building a tense environment, even for some otherwise silly scenes, like when Orlok stalks around the deck of a ship. 

Another component in maintaining this movie’s fear factor so many decades later is the make-up on Max Schreck, which is perfect nightmare fuel. From the pointed ears to the sunken eyes, sharp fangs in the centre rather than incisors on the ends, and long claw-like fingers, Count Orlok is one terrifying specimen. The use of shadow and lighting superbly emphasizes these features. Murnau orchestrates some great sequences and haunting imagery, shoots in authentic gothic locations and conveys a believable sense of dread.  This movie also introduced the concept of vampires turning to ash in the sunlight which has made its way into many subsequent adaptations. Stoker’s widow sued Prana Film, the production company behind Nosferatu and of course won, bankrupting the studio in the process. Only one print survived a subsequent mass burning, to become the first cinematic cult classic. Ironically the story of Dracula is now in the public domain, so there’s nothing stopping Nosferatu being enjoyed by all.

4. Sherlock Jr. (1924) -directed by Buster Keaton

You can’t talk about the silent movie era without at least touching on Buster Keaton. One of the most important figures in the development of American comedy, various films of his have routinely listed among the greatest comedies ever made.  And Sherlock Jr. is certainly one of his best. It may not have the epic scope of The General, or the greatest stunt of Steamboat Bill Jr., but I for one got more laughs out of this than any of his other films I’ve seen.  It’s about a projectionist who dreams of being a detective and winning the heart of a beautiful woman. When confronted with a crime at her fathers’ house though, he’s framed and shunned, subsequently imagining how he would have solved it. Like most silent comedies, the plot is really thin and mostly an excuse for jokes. And as usual with Keaton, the slapstick is really inventive, clever, and daring.  He famously performed all his own stunts, and in an age before conventional special effects and filming safety laws, all of them were real and most of them were dangerous. Keaton was even injured on this movie when a cascade of water sent him down onto rail tracks some ten feet below, only years later to realize it had broken his neck. 

In addition to featuring such acts, Sherlock Jr. was really experimental in its camera trickery and match editing for the benefit of its humour. My favourite sequence involves Keaton entering a movie screen only for the film to nonsensically switch settings and genres. The continuity editing is so tight and flows so seamlessly it’s still incredibly impressive and really funny. There’s also a great sequence where his nemesis tries to kill him while playing a game of billiards, and a trick with a suitcase carried over from his vaudeville years. With Buster Keaton’s greatest hits, it really comes down to preference; but I definitely think Sherlock Jr. has enough laughs to be a good introduction.

5. Battleship Potemkin (1925) -directed by Sergei Eisenstein

To be honest, by todays’ standards, there are large parts of Sergei Eisenstein’s commemorative Soviet propaganda film Battleship Potemkin that are boring. It’s a dramatization of the Potemkin Mutiny of 1905, when the crew of the notorious battleship rebelled against the officers due to, among other transgressions, being fed maggot-infested rations. It was considered one of the formative precursors to the Russian Revolution, so it makes sense that post-Revolution Russia would want a film made praising the mutineers standing up to the oppressive Imperial regime. And like many propaganda films, the characters have no personality, merely standing in for ideology, and the conflict isn’t very complex -in fact it goes to extreme measures to vilify the naval commanders, and especially the Cossacks. However, Battleship Potemkin’s greatness lies in the genius of its director. Eisenstein was such an asset to the Soviet film industry in the 1920s and 30s because he was one of the first filmmakers to see how cinematic language could be used to manipulate how an audience responds to an idea. Specifically he’s credited with inventing and refining the methods of montage. Throughout this film he uses this to convey themes, such as by honing in on a priest and his crucifix cross-cut with an officer and his sword. 

But his most memorable use of montage and the greatest sequence in the film is the massacre on the Odessa Steps. Edited with a swiftness to match the violence, it’s still powerful, shocking, and moving, absolutely effective at depicting the antagonizing Cossacks in the worst possible light as they remorselessly murder innocents. Among Eisenstein’s greatest images in the scene are that of a childs’ hand being stomped on, an old woman being shot through her eyeglasses, and a baby in a pram hurtling down the steps with no one to save them. Obviously, some audiences will take issue with how fiercely manipulative all this is, but Battleship Potemkin is no Triumph of the Will (it’s not nearly as hateful to start), and Eisenstein is a far better director than Leni Riefenstahl. The text of Battleship Potemkin is important, sure; but the meaning of its visual language is what truly makes it stand the test of time.

6. Metropolis (1927) -directed by Fritz Lang

“The mediator between the head and the hands must be the heart.” There are a lot of themes at work in Metropolis, Fritz Lang’s dystopian vision of the future: class warfare, industrialization, mechanization, wealth inequality, even existentialism, to name a few.  Considered by many to be the mother of science-fiction movies, Metropolis is brimming with commentary and imagination in every scene. It’s about Freder (Gustav Fröhlich), the son of the city’s master, falling in love with Maria (Brigitte Helm), representative of the workers who live bitter lives below the city, and their attempts to bridge the disparity of their world. The most iconic figure of the movie, the Maschinenmensch (Machine Person), is a robot created by the mad inventor Rotwang (Rudolf Klein-Rogge) which can assume the appearance of anyone, and whom city master Fredersen (Alfred Abel) intends to use to manipulate the workers -only Rotwang has more sinister plans. First-time viewers of Metropolis will recognize its aesthetic. It’s the same Art Deco style as Blade Runner, Logan’s Run, Batman, Brazil, Ghost in the Shell, Minority Report, and Star Wars -particularly the prequel trilogy. Metropolis was its first appearance, the first time the city of the future was designed with technological achievement towering over society to create an imposing environment. This architecture was inspired by Manhattan, though exaggerated as one gargantuan machine sustained by human cogs. 

Lang had a very bleak view of the modern industrial city and the power of technology. He saw the deceitful influence they could have over people. The Maschinenmensch in corrupting the workers, inciting them to violence through a deranged grand speech, is a terrifying omen of what was to happen in Germany in the succeeding decade. But the film is ultimately hopeful of a future where there is no class disparity and all people must work together for the greater good. Did I mention this film was criticized as being communist? Nonetheless, Metropolis remains astonishing, beguiling, and even prescient; that rare film that actually gets more relevant the more it ages.

7. Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans (1927) -directed by F.W. Murnau

Opening with a title card reading: “This song of the man and his wife is of no place and every place; you might hear it anywhere at any time”, perfectly sets the stage for the near ubiquitous parable of a film that is Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans. It was the first movie made by F.W. Murnau upon coming to America, but doesn’t abandon the Expressionist style he honed on movies such as Nosferatu, The Last Laugh, and Faust. Universality is the biggest theme of Sunrise and thus there are no specific details in the film, apart from  what can be discerned through Euro-American influences on the architecture, fashion, and society. It’s about the relationship between a humble farming couple, the Man (George O’Brien) and his Wife (Janet Gaynor). The Man is tempted by an affair with a Woman from the City (Margaret Livingston), who persuades him to murder his wife so they can be together. He takes her out on the lake to do it but resists at the last minute. Naturally once back on land she flees from him, and he follows her to the City. And believe it or not, this is only the beginning of what may be the greatest romance of silent cinema. 

I love that despite the Woman from the City being the corrupting influence, the City itself isn’t portrayed as overtly evil or morally inferior to the quiet farm life -in fact it’s very lively and welcoming. Over the course of a day there together, the couple not only manage to repair their relationship but fully renew their romance. It’s a testament to the metaphorical nature of the film and the strength of the acting that this actually works. O’Brien plays the repentant husband with palpable remorse, and Gaynor is incredibly sweet as the heartbroken young beauty, going on to win the first ever Academy Award for Best Actress for this performance (in addition to two others -the Oscars were a bit strange that first year). The film itself won the only Best Unique or Artistic Picture Award in Oscar history (again, there were still some bugs to work out) and is to this day one of the silent era’s greatest overlooked gems.

8. The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928) -directed by Carl Theodor Dreyer

I’ve already devoted an entire essay to this phenomenal movie and why I consider it the greatest silent film, so I’ll try to keep this concise. The Passion of Joan of Arc is a dramatization of the trial and execution of its title saint using much of the surviving transcript from the 1431 tribunal. Intense and focussed, powerful and sharp, it’s a movie that allows you to feel every ounce of Joan’s anguish, fear, sorrow, anxiety, and courage -partly because of Dreyer’s frequent use of close-up, partly because there is no make-up applied through the whole film, but mostly because Renee Jeanne Falconetti is giving perhaps the most moving performance in the history of motion pictures. Framed as an exalted figure, it’s a richly nuanced emotional roller coaster unlike any feat of acting I have ever seen, piercing your soul with every frame she’s on screen. Dreyer’s method is at work when the camera’s not on Falconetti though. Through the lack of make-up and extraordinary lighting, he makes the judges and those persecuting Joan look as grotesque as possible, spit flying from their mouths, and every wrinkle and wart being starkly visible. 

The sets are magnificent, the cinematography sublime (Dreyer, like Welles would later do for Citizen Kane, actually went as far as digging holes into the set for the sake of a shot) It’s a purely visual movie in the best sense, using dialogue cards only when essential, and allowing the performance, technical brilliance, and musical accompaniment to carry it. The best way to watch The Passion of Joan of Arc is with the beautifully operatic “Voices of Light” soundtrack by Richard Einhorn, which as far as I know, is exclusive to Criterion editions. If any movie is worth the prestige and expense of Criterion though, it’s this one.  It is an unbelievable, profound, and glorious masterpiece of cinema, exactly the kind of film the medium was made for.

9. Pandora’s Box (1929) –directed by G.W. Pabst

Pandora’s Box is a movie about sex, lust, and the consequences of both. Though it starred Hollywood icon Louise Brooks, it was actually a German film produced during her self-imposed exile to Europe. Brooks plays Lulu, a seductress who has dalliances with numerous men while being the mistress of a newspaper publisher (Fritz Kortner). But her affairs lead her down a rabbit hole of vice and crime that negatively impacts both her and her lovers. The film is very much a cautionary tale about promiscuity, debauchery, and reckless inhibitions, and though there’s never any sex on screen it’s one of the most open movies on sexual themes of its era. The film even features a lesbian character played by Alice Roberts, notable for a very stereotypically masculine look, who falls for Lulu just as so many men do. 

There’s a lot of sensuality, suggestive costuming and framing about Lulu, and of course Louise Brooks herself just exudes a natural eroticism. Her piercing eyes  and seductive glare transcend the movie itself and she constantly carries an air of power about her. Despite the movie seemingly vilifying her sexual liberation, and the inherent misogyny in that, Lulu’s confident sexual agency is both remarkable and intimidating. But at the same time she’s sympathetic, an ignorant girl who just innocently stumbled into a life of lasciviousness and hedonism. As her fortunes are stripped away over the coarse of the film, this side of her character gradually becomes more apparent and the movie reveals itself to be a wiser commentary on sexual psychology and moral strictures. Pandora’s Box was a popular story in Germany by 1929, coming out of a pair of acclaimed plays by Frank Wedekind, but G.W. Pabst found a way to refresh it. The cinematography is dark with heavy shadows, almost noir-like, reflecting a social decadence not too dissimilar to Fritz Lang’s M. And like M, murder inevitably finds its way into this lustful story.

10. City Lights (1931) -directed by Charlie Chaplin

Of course it’s only fitting that a list of great silent films would end with Charlie Chaplin. Still the most famous by far of the silent movie stars, it wasn’t actually until the end of that era that he would produce his greatest works. By the time City Lights came out, talking pictures had been around for four years and were rapidly replacing the silents. Chaplin though was notoriously resistant to this change, believing his iconic Little Tramp character wouldn’t work in talkies -and he would be right. There’s something innately pure in his being a mute innocent vagrant, and that’s never more apparent than in City Lights which perfectly melds the humour and heart of this beloved character as he falls in love with a blind flower girl while intermittently befriending the eccentric millionaire she thinks he is. The comedy of course is what you’d expect from Charlie Chaplin: vaudeville-style slapstick, expressiveness, irony, a degree of cleverness. This movie contains some of Chaplin’s greatest comic routines, like the opening scene where he’s sleeping on a statue during its unveiling or when he unwillingly partakes in a boxing match. 

But what really makes City Lights shine is its love story. The relationship between the Tramp and the Girl, played wonderfully by Virginia Cherrill, is unabashedly sweet. He’s smitten with her but is too ashamed of himself to tell her the truth, certain she would reject him as just another homeless bum. Yet he spends a lot of the film trying to earn enough money to afford an operation that would grant her her sight back. The noble cause behind his outrageous activities in this film really adds to their effectiveness, and it’s all the more satisfying given the loveliness of this movies’ ending. It’s the perfect moment of Chaplins’ career and a great coda to the silent film era.

Though he adapted in small ways, Chaplin continued making silent movies up until Modern Times in 1936. But by that point they were already long out-of-date as a commercial enterprise. From then on silents would only be made as a curiosity, an art-film experiment, in the case of Silent Movie, a loving parody, or in the case of The Artist, a tribute. But their legacy continues to be felt. The great movies of silent cinema shaped the medium like no other, and there are many lost films from those decades that may have been even more instrumental. Nosferatu survives only because of piracy and The Passion of Joan of Arc WAS mostly lost until 1981.

The ten films I’ve discussed I feel are the best showcase of the silent era, not just the only ones to check out. Indeed, they should be a jumping off point from which to explore more gems of that radical, innovative, and elusive period in motion picture history that built the foundation on which our love of the movies stands.

Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/Jordan_D_Bosch 
Letterboxd: https://letterboxd.com/jbosch/