Shawn Hall At the very first Academy Awards, two separate honors were given for Best Film of the Year. Wings, a World War I aerial epic, received the award for Outstanding Picture. That title would later be renamed Best Picture, retroactively making Wings the first official Oscar winner in the category.
But Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans, which won the award for Unique and Artistic Picture, has arguably had the more lasting legacy. While it’s no longer technically counted as a Best Picture winner today, it remains one of the most revered achievements in American silent cinema. Sunrise was voted #3 on Silent Era’s Top 100 Silent Movies List, which I’m reviewing as part of a weekly series sharing whether I agree with the film’s lofty ranking.
I’m an absolute sucker for double exposure and night photography
Sunrise was German director F.W. Murnau’s first Hollywood feature. After spending the first half of the twenties making classics such as Nosferatu and The Last Laugh, Murnau was lured away to Hollywood by Fox studio head William Fox. Given a prestige Hollywood budget, Murnau used every penny to full effect. With that money, he built expressive, stylized sets and employed a groundbreaking level of artistry and experimentation that matched if not surpassed his previous German successes.
The plot of Sunrise is deceptively simple: a man attempts to kill his wife in order to run off with his mistress to the city. When he can’t go through with it, he and his wife spend the day in the city rekindling their love. That’s the simple plot, but Murnau’s storytelling is anything but basic.
Couldn’t she get drowned?
Murnau uses a stunning array of techniques to elevate this simple narrative, including double exposure, montages, miniatures and models, and elaborate tracking shots. Murnau’s camera is almost always moving, and even when it’s not, there’s always something dynamic happening within the frame. My favorite example is his use of double exposure to visually represent the internal thoughts and feelings of the characters. It’s haunting and effective.
He even plays with movement in the film’s title cards, one of which I count among my favorite title cards in all of silent cinema. It’s a small touch, but one that reflects Murnau’s commitment to expressionistic storytelling.
What makes this film work is the commitment from Lon Chaney and the rest of the cast. Chaney seizes every opportunity to chew the scenery in the best possible way. He plays Blizzard as maniacally evil, but never dips into cartoonishness. It’s a tightrope performance, and he understands the assignment in his first-ever starring role.
Double exposure before and after
Much credit also belongs to cinematographers Charles Rosher and Karl Struss. Their ability to shoot shadowy, emotionally charged scenes helps convey the inner turmoil of the characters, adding visual depth that supports the film’s emotional journey.
Most importantly, all of these stylistic flourishes are in service of a deeply emotional story. Murnau’s experimental direction supports the narrative rather than distracting from it. The film takes you from betrayal and hatred to renewal and joy, with every artistic choice enhancing the characters’ transformation.
Despite the heavy themes, the film includes a surprising amount of fun and slapstick. It’s an emotional rollercoaster, moving effortlessly between darkness and light, between heartbreak and hope.
Check out my video review of Sunrise complete with footage from the film.
For me, Sunrise is everything I want from a film: visually bold, emotionally raw, and universal in its message. I completely agree with Silent Era’s list that this movie deserves to be known as one of the greatest silent films ever made. As the saying goes, every frame in this film could be a painting.
In fact, I think it should be in the conversation for one of the greatest movies of all time, silent or otherwise. I love it just that much.
My next review in this series will be moving on to another legendary director John Ford, with his 1924 epic The Iron Horse voted number 97.
