You know, it’s easy sometimes to feel like you’ve seen everything worth seeing. You’ve seen the classics, the cult-classics, the so-bad-they’re-good treasures, and so much of the new stuff you sample fails to make a particularly deep impression. But then, every once in a while, you can find something unknown that’s been hiding in plain sight all along, that you had just never heard of before, that can really blow you away. This is one of those.
The Unknown (1927)
This late silent era collaboration between director Tod Browning (who would later direct the horror talkies, Dracula and Freaks) and Lon Chaney, the ‘man of a thousand faces,’ is a blisteringly intense and occasionally hilarious tale of obsession, manipulation, madness, and murder. And somehow, I had never heard of it until very recently. I’m so grateful that I finally did and sought it out. Wow. It is a doozy.
I will say, The Unknown is quite plot heavy and it’s practically impossible to discuss effectively without spoiling it, so I suggest you do yourself a favor and go check it out first. It’s only 50 minutes long and it is worth every second. It’s currently available at this link (which I hope will stay active indefinitely—if you’re reading this years after I wrote it and I never noticed that the link died, sorry—try google).
Great, you’re back! Wasn’t that a kick in the pants? The Grand Guignol extremity of it all, the absurd moments of self-realization, the double amputations! But seriously, let’s run through the story in brief. So, we follow here the story of Alonzo the armless, who performs in a circus, using his feet to shoot the clothes off of and throw knives at the object of his secret affection, Nanon (a young Joan Crawford), the daughter of the circus owner. She has an overwhelming fear of the hands of men, so it is unfortunate that she has attracted the attention of Malabar the mighty, a big goofy puppy dog of a guy who works as the circus strong man.
Alonzo, determined to keep Nanon all for himself, consistently gives Malabar the very worst advice he could, suggesting that he take her in his strapping arms to make her feel the strength of his love. Malabar is pleased to notice that he does in fact have arms and goes, once again to try hugging the pretty girl. This of course terrorizes her and causes her to feel ever closer to Alonzo, the only man with whom she can feel safe.
What we soon learn is that Alonzo is actually a criminal on the run from the law, who has contained his arms in a special corset to avoid suspicion. On his left hand, he has a double thumb, which would immediately give him away as the perpetrator of various crimes. And then a new infraction is added to the list when he strangles Nanon’s father, who had sought to keep Alonzo away from her.
Aided by his friend Cojo, a little person who is sometimes dressed as a devil, Alonzo comes to realize two things: Should Nanon ever marry him, on their wedding night she would discover his subterfuge, as well as his extra thumb, and she had seen her father murdered by a man with just such a thumb. Furthermore, he has grown so accustomed to doing everything with his feet that he no longer needs arms at all.
Thus, Alonzo blackmails a surgeon into amputating both of his arms for real so that he could finally consummate his love. But of course, in the weeks that Alonzo is away, recovering, Malabar finally comes to understand what he’s been doing wrong all this time, and learns to keep his hands to himself, thus winning the trust and the love of Nanon, who ceases to fear his touch.
Finally Alonzo returns, learns that Nanon and Malabar plan to marry, and sets out to sabotage their new act in which Malabar has his arms strapped to two horses running on treadmills while Nanon whips them on from above. Should the treadmills suddenly stop, nothing would prevent the horses from running off, taking Malabar’s arms with them. Have you noticed that it’s a film about arms? Anyway, Alonzo attempts this treachery. The horses almost tear the sweet goofball apart. Nanon tries to stop them and is almost killed. And finally, saving her, Alonzo is trampled to death. Love triumphs. Hate dies. Horses eat hay.
At the end of the day, it’s a straightforward bit of melodrama, but it just plays so well. The emotions are all so heightened, but in a way that really lands, that you can feel. I believe Nanon’s fear. I believe Alonzo’s hate and his madness. I believe the earnest charms of Malabar the mighty. And there are moments here that are simply staggering.
When Alonzo comes back from his surgery and goes to find Nanon, she initially expresses joy at his return, saying, “now we can be married.” Of course, she’s referring to Malabar, who she calls into the room. As their arms entwine and Alonzo sees that his self-mutilation has been in vain, we are treated to a perfect moment of cinema. The film cuts back and forth between the young couple intimately holding each other and warmly laughing and Alonzo laughing in a building crescendo of mind shattering madness, before screaming in despair and collapsing. The whole sequence last less than 90 seconds, but it feels like it goes on forever, and by the end of it, you may feel a bit mad as well. It’s a hell of a performance.
And that ending. The set piece of Malabar between the horses, Nanon lashing them into a frenzy, and Alonzo carrying out his final act of betrayal, builds to such exhausting intensity. In the end, no arms are extracted, but that almost doesn’t matter. The horror of the possibility is what lingers. The mind has already seen it.
And the themes of the film feel surprisingly modern. When Nanon laments that “all my life men have tried to put their beastly hands on me…to paw over me…I have grown so that I shrink with fear when any man ever touches me,” the sentiment resonates today. Malabar may come across as a good hearted doofus, but the way he is oblivious to how he is menacing this woman he loves feels…not okay. To his credit, when he finally gets it through his thick skull what’s going on, he makes the requisite effort not to be so grabby and she warms to him, even coming to love him.
Alonzo, on the other hand, is a fascinating character. He is truly the protagonist. This is entirely his story. It is his choices that drive the action, and he is enjoyable to follow. Crafty, clever, bitter and lovelorn, he is a charismatic presence. And he is undoubtedly a monster. An unrepentant killer, he manipulates and deceives the woman he purportedly loves, murders her father, subjects her to assault by advising Malabar to keep trying to take her in his arms, and finally tries to maul and murder her lover. He is not a good guy.
But he also feels reflected in the contemporary context. My whole life, popular culture has prominently featured the trope of the ‘nice guy,’ an intelligent but physically unimpressive outsider, who wants the pretty girl and hates the jock who seems more likely to win her, who insinuates himself as her friend, only to be locked out of her romantic considerations, and who performs some deceitful act to try to win her. Typically, this has been in a romantic comedy and after this trickery has come to light, the lovable loser is forgiven and finally loved. But in recent years, this trope has lost allure, has come to feel quite toxic. He was never a ‘nice guy.’ This guy is a dangerous incel.
And here, while he is our protagonist, Alonzo is never shown as anything other than a monster. From the beginning, his obsession with this young woman (Chaney was 42, while Crawford was 18 at the time of filming) is shown as possessive and ugly. He repeats that “no one will have her – no one but me!” The happy ending involves him being crushed by a horse. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.
