Alraune (1952)

Years ago, Professor ten Brinker (Erick von Stroheim) artificially inseminated a prostitute with the sperm of a hanged murderer in order to test his theories on heredity. He figured that by using the dregs of society, it would be easier to spot their degenerate traits when they are passed down, and besides, evil people are more interesting. The result was Alraune (Hildegarde Knef), who now as a young woman has an entrancing power over the men around her. When ten Brinker’s nephew, Frank Braun (Karl Boehm), shows up to leech yet more money from his uncle, he falls for Alraune and she for him. They arrange to run off to Paris, but ten Brinker explains her origin to Frank, and he abandons her, taking money from a princess who is in on the secret. Alraune is soon romantically pursued by Franks friends, the sickly artist Wolf (Rolf Henniger) and Count Geroldingen (Harry Meyen), as well as ten Brinker’s assistant Mohn (Harry Helm). Not long after, people are dying and ten Brinker blames it all on the soulless girl.

Alraune is a film out of time. Its German expressionistic style (well, it is German), its fatalistic theme, and its plot of a mad scientist breaking the laws of God, belong in late ‘30s cinema. Change the language to English (there is a dubbed and cut version re-titled Unnatural: Fruit of Evil that I haven’t seen) and Alraune would have fit as a Universal horror picture situated between Bride of Frankenstein and Son of Frankenstein. It is a close kin to Frankenstein: An obsessed scientist creates unnatural life from criminal sources, but the result is not so much evil as innocent; it (she in this case) is cared for improperly and things go to hell.

What isn’t clear in if this picture is a fantasy. Alraune‘s hold over men could be explained supernaturally, but her being beautiful and seductive is a better explanation. Throw in bit of luck and this isn’t a horror film, but a gothic tale of an abused woman. Her “father” shows her no affection, blames her for everything, and locks her away. The nuns punish her for reading. The man who seems nice leaves her without a word. No wonder she’s a bit cross. Either way, it’s interesting, and the fact that it could be either way makes it more interesting.

Where the picture shines is in its art design and cinematography. The combination of German expressionism and gothic gives us sharp detail soaked in fog. It looks beautiful. Our introduction to Alraune, as a near ghostly figure, is high art. The story can’t live up to the look, but then it is a really good look.

Erick von Stroheim commands the screen, but is wrong for the part. He comes off as arrogant and cruel instead of obsessed and incestuous. He’s playing a bit too much of himself. Hildegarde Knef has a nice combination of purity and malice, though the film would have benefited from her being edgier. Karl Boehm comes off as bland, but the rest of the cast is good with wonderful (and sometimes tragic) performances from the the youths and a good deal of humor from the corrupt princess. That’s a bit of the problem: between the quality cast and the design I expect the film to be better. It should have been a solid 4 star picture, but it can’t manage it. It is confused on what it wants to be. The story, based on a novel and filmed four times previously, wants to go one way, but so soon after the Nazi eugenics program, messages on the evils of heredity are a touch uncomfortable. So it is a bit too careful and pure for its own good and evil acts must have consequences. The 1928 silent film, generally taken as the best version, doesn’t hold back, casting Brigitte Helm (best known as the robot from Metropolis) as a much stronger and more lustful Alraune. It also has a better ending, but doesn’t look nearly as good. Toss Helm and the silent ending (and perhaps the silent professor as well) into this one and you’d have a masterpiece. As is, it looks great and has enough moments to make it the best genre film of 1952.