‘You are beautiful, my manufactured love…’
There is a temptation to lionise silent or classic cinema, to assume as a cinephile that because it’s old, it must also be good or important. Svengali is notable for being an adaptation of Trilby, a lauded novel by George du Maurier, and for starring John Barrymore (grandfather of Drew), a titan of the stage and an important figure in early cinema. And yet, the film itself feels like a museum piece, something to be admired from afar, but without the timelessness that ensures that many films from the silent era still retain universal appeal…
Svengali (Barrymore), an old mystic with dark powers, hypnotises Trilby O’Farrell (Marian Marsh) and parades her around Europe as a celebrated singer. Totally under his control, Trilby is unable to free herself from Svengali’s insidious grasp.
I watched Svengali as it is considered one of the first examples of horror cinema in the sound era. While Svengali himself is a malevolent chap, all wild eyes and Satan-esque facial hair, you would be hard pushed to describe the film itself as a ‘horror’ film in the same way as, say, Universal’s iteration of Dracula (that came out the same year). It’s easy to see why Barrymore was such a huge figure in early cinema, he brings a convincing and playful charisma to the undoubtedly evil character he portrays here, but Archie Mayo’s unsophisticated direction, coupled with the absence of a score and some shoddy acting elsewhere ensure that Svengali never hits the heights of some of the other ‘horror’ films of the era.
Svengali has some nice moments, and Barrymore is great, but it is a footnote in early cinema for a reason – one for completists only.
