Silent films are a purely visual medium, and fittingly, it's the visuals that first catch our eye, and that arguably received the most attention in 'Michael.' The production design and art direction are outstanding. The sets are flush with fetching design and decoration, immediately standing out from the opening scene onward and inculcating a definite feeling of art and luxury. Hugo Häring's costume design is wonderful, quietly vibrant and handily matching the surroundings. If to a lesser extent, even the hair and makeup work is distinct and notable. And on top of all this, Karl Freund and Rudolph Maté's cinematography remains crisp and vivid almost 100 years later, allowing every detail to pop out; clearly the effort to preserve the title has been very successful. Factor in some careful, precise shot composition by director Carl Theodor Dreyer, and one can only praise the craft of the feature as rich and satisfying.
There's a surprising trend toward nuance in the performances here. Much of the silent era was characterized by acting in the style of stage plays, with exaggerated body language and facial expressions to compensate for the lack of sound or spoken dialogue. In 'Michael,' it seems to me like the cast tend to strike a balance. Very often the faintest shift in their comportment is all that is necessary to communicate the thoughts and feelings of their roles, and it's a pleasure to watch, especially as it would be a few more years before cinema at large leaned the same way. No one actor here stands out, but they all fill their parts very capably.
The drift toward subtlety doesn't entirely work in the movie's favor, however. Fine as the screenplay is, the personalities and complexities of characters are generally so subdued that one could be forgiven for thinking that they haven't any at all. Dialogue as related through intertitles is suitable but unremarkable as it advances the plot. The scene writing that dictates the arrangement and flow of any given moment, and instructs the cast as such, is the most actively engaging aspect of 'Michael' as the whole is built bit by bit. The overall narrative is duly engaging for the interpersonal drama within, but that's all the more that can be truly said of it. There are prominent themes of unrequited love. There are LGBTQ themes running throughout, too, but they are so heavily downplayed (for good reason, in fairness; see Paragraph 175) that they're all but undetectable without the aid of outside analysis.
Lush visuals greet us, and a story is imparted - but as we watch, it's not a story that especially conveys the weight and impact of the course of events as characters feel them. It mostly just is. That's deeply unfortunate, because though sorrowful, there are great ideas here that should most certainly inspire emotional investment in viewers. It seems to me that the utmost heart of the production is somehow restrained, diminishing the value of the experience. Only near the very end do I sense any particular spark; I want to like it more than I do, but this title simply doesn't strike a chord with me in the way that other silent classics have.
Perhaps I would get more out of 'Michael,' as others surely have, if I were to watch it again. I definitely think it's worth watching - only, I don't see it as being an essential piece of film in the way that other pictures are. The sharpest story beats are sadly dulled, and those less significant rounding details that first greeted us are in fact what most leaves an impression - but all the same, if you have the chance to watch 'Michael,' these are 95 minutes that still hold up fairly well.
