Summary
In a frost-edged laboratory that reeks of iodine and vaulting ambition, two white-coated demigods—Hatton, the velvet-tongued social magnet, and Felix, the taciturn visionary whose eyes already burn with post-mortem regret—race to transmute despair into a golden cancer elixir. Hatton, coveting the shimmering prestige that hovers just beyond Felix’s pipette, orchestrates a diabolically urbane sabotage: he loosens the corseted world upon his rival, parading before him Margaret, an orphan whose laughter sounds like coins spilling onto marble. While Felix’s gaze lingers on the girl’s collarbones, Hatton’s own gaze never leaves the microscope; every flirtation is a deliberate pipette of distraction. Margaret’s brother, Lieutenant Vincent—epaulettes sharp enough to slice gossip—is reassigned, leaving the siblings’ honor suspended like a chandelier over a ballroom of wolves. Letters, checks, and returned checks fly faster than champagne flutes; a duel at dawn stains the snow with crimson proof that science and gallantry are incompatible blood types. One coffin, one prison sentence, and six months of iron-barred remorse later, Hatton reappears in devilish domino mask, ushering the paroled Felix into a Venetian masquerade where trumpets sneer at his contrition. The revelry pops like a soap bubble when Felix learns that Margaret and their unnamed child have both hemorrhaged into eternity. He sprints through echoing hospital corridors, but the only pulse left is the metronomic drip of morphine in abandoned wards. Back in his squalid rooms, a newspaper headline crows Hatton’s miracle cure; the ink is still wet enough to smear across Felix’s final cup of cyanide. In the last synaptic fireworks before darkness, Hatton’s face superimposes itself on Mephistopheles, whispering the cruelest epitaph: scientific immortality purchased at the price of another man’s soul.
Synopsis
Dr. Hatton and Dr. Felix, two young physicians, are working to produce a serum for the cure of cancer. Dr. Felix secretly envies Dr. Hatton's personality and social conquests, while the latter is jealous of the other's more advanced work. Hatton conceives a plan to divert his colleague's mind from his work by getting him interested in society and a charming orphan, Margaret. Lieutenant Vincent, Margaret's brother and guardian, is soon transferred to another city and Margaret is left alone with an old aunt. Dr. Hatton maneuvers so that Felix spends most of his time with Margaret, while he diligently applies himself to his work. Marguerite's infatuation for Felix results disastrously, and Dudley, Lieutenant's friend, goes to inform him of the improper relations between his sister and the physician. Vincent obtains leave of absence and sets out to defend his sister's honor. Meanwhile Margaret has written Felix about her condition, to which he replies with a check. This she indignantly returns to him. Upon his return Lieutenant Vincent challenges Dr. Felix to a duel, in which the former is fatally wounded. Felix is sent to prison for six months, and the night of his release Dr. Hatton, as Mephistopheles, takes him to a mask ball. In the midst of revelry Dr. Felix thinks how cruelly he has treated Margaret, and he goes to the hospital in search of her, where he learns that she and her child both have died. Overwhelmed by sorrow he returns to his rooms, where he reads of Dr. Hatton's discovery of the cancer cure. Too late he realizes that Dr. Hatton's duplicity has ruined his career. As life no longer appeals to him he takes poison and his dying eyes behold a vision of Mephistopheles with the face of Dr. Hatton, and seems to hear his mocking words: "I have superseded you. Your folly achieved my triumph."
Review Excerpt
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Copenhagen, 1922. Streetlights smear gas-flare halos onto cobblestones slick with sleet; somewhere inside a brick-walled institute two men in starched collars play chess with human fate. What makes The Folly of Sin insidiously unforgettable is how director Niels Th. Thomsen refuses to treat this setup as mere melodrama. Instead he weaponizes the camera—tilted angles, chiaroscuro lighting that carves cheekbones into daggers—so that every frame vibrates with the unspoken certainty: progress devou..."
