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5.9/10
Archivist John
Senior Editor
A definitive 5.9/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. Face Value remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
Is Face Value (1927) a silent film worth your precious time in the 21st century? Short answer: yes, but with significant caveats. This rarely seen drama is a fascinating, if sometimes frustrating, artifact best suited for cinephiles interested in early cinema's psychological depth and the societal anxieties of the post-WWI era. Those seeking fast-paced narrative or polished, modern storytelling will find its deliberate pace a challenge.
In an era dominated by rapid-fire content, revisiting a 90-minute silent film demands a certain commitment. Yet, for those willing to lean into its unique rhythm, Face Value offers a surprisingly poignant and, at times, unsettling examination of identity, trauma, and the superficiality of societal acceptance. It’s a film that asks profound questions about what truly defines a person, long before such themes became mainstream cinematic fodder.
Let’s cut to the chase for those considering a viewing:
This film works because... it tackles profound themes of identity, trauma, and societal prejudice with surprising sincerity for its era, offering a raw look at the psychological aftermath of war through one man's struggle.
This film fails because... its pacing can be glacial, and some character motivations feel underdeveloped, leaning heavily on silent film tropes without always elevating them beyond the melodramatic.
You should watch it if... you appreciate the historical context of cinema, enjoy character-driven dramas with a psychological bent, and are willing to engage with the unique storytelling rhythm and visual language of the silent era. It is emphatically NOT for viewers expecting modern narrative conventions or rapid plot progression.
At its core, Face Value is a powerful, if somewhat understated, exploration of the human cost of war beyond the battlefield. Howard Crandall Jr. returns from the Great War not with a hero's welcome, but with a face forever altered. This physical disfigurement becomes a potent metaphor for the invisible psychological wounds that many veterans carried, forcing them to navigate a society ill-equipped to understand their suffering.
The film’s initial premise, Howard’s self-imposed exile in Paris among a secret society of similarly disfigured men, is a stroke of quiet genius. It immediately establishes a sense of shared trauma and alienation, a world apart from the superficial expectations of pre-war society. This brotherhood offers a glimpse into a community built on empathy rather than appearance, a stark contrast to the world Howard eventually re-enters.
Upon his return, the film skillfully portrays the uncomfortable dance between Howard and his family. Their initial shock, quickly replaced by an almost exaggerated display of comfort, rings hollow. It’s a subtle but incisive critique of how society often struggles with genuine empathy, preferring to mask discomfort with platitudes. Howard’s perception of pity, rather than love, is not merely a sign of his insecurity; it feels earned, a direct consequence of their awkward, hesitant acceptance.
The introduction of Arthur Wells, Muriel's former suitor, serves as the narrative’s emotional accelerant. Wells, presumably unscarred by war, represents the 'ideal' man, the past Howard can never reclaim. Muriel's warm reception of Wells, while perhaps innocent, is devastatingly interpreted by Howard through the lens of his disfigurement. This moment crystallizes the film's central conflict: the internal battle against self-loathing, amplified by external perceptions.
In silent cinema, the burden of conveying emotion falls almost entirely on the actors' physicality and facial expressions. Edwards Davis, as Howard Crandall Jr., carries this weight with commendable gravitas. His portrayal is a masterclass in internal suffering, communicated through subtle gestures – a downcast gaze, a hesitant movement, the way he often shields his face or turns away from direct light. There are moments where his performance transcends mere melodrama, particularly in the scenes depicting his isolation in Paris.
One particularly poignant example is a scene where Howard, in Paris, is shown observing others from a distance, a stark visual of his self-imposed separation. Davis doesn't overact; instead, he uses a subtle slump of the shoulders and a lingering look of longing to convey a profound sense of loss and otherness. It evokes a similar quiet desperation seen in some of the more restrained performances of the era, though perhaps not quite reaching the emotional intensity of a Anna Karenina (1920).
Fritzi Ridgeway, as Muriel, has a more challenging role. Her character is, at times, a projection screen for Howard's anxieties rather than a fully fleshed-out individual. Yet, Ridgeway manages to convey Muriel’s conflicted emotions – her initial shock, her attempts at kindness, and her genuine affection for Howard, which is constantly undermined by his insecurities. Her expressions often hint at a deeper struggle to reconcile the man she loved with his altered appearance, even if the script doesn't always allow her to fully explore it.
The supporting cast, including Paddy O'Flynn as Arthur Wells, effectively serves their narrative purposes. O'Flynn embodies the charming, unblemished rival, his easy confidence a stark contrast to Howard's tormented demeanor. The dynamic between these three actors, despite the limitations of silent film, manages to create genuine emotional tension, particularly in the later domestic scenes.
Directed by Frances Guihan, Face Value demonstrates a clear understanding of visual storytelling inherent to the silent era. Guihan employs close-ups effectively to highlight Howard's disfigurement and his reactions to others, drawing the audience into his internal world. The use of shadow and light, particularly in the Parisian scenes, enhances the somber, secretive atmosphere of Howard's exile.
The cinematography, while not groundbreaking by today's standards, is functional and often evocative. The contrast between the dark, intimate settings of the Parisian society and the brighter, yet emotionally sterile, environment of Howard's family home is visually striking. For instance, the lighting around Howard's face is often deliberately harsh when he is feeling exposed, or softened when he is alone, emphasizing his psychological state.
Pacing, as noted, is a significant element. Guihan allows scenes to unfold slowly, letting the audience absorb the emotional weight of each interaction. While this can feel arduous to a modern viewer, it also creates a meditative quality, forcing engagement with the characters' internal struggles. It's a deliberate choice, perhaps more aligned with stage play rhythms than the increasingly dynamic cinematic styles emerging at the time.
The film's pacing is undoubtedly its most polarizing aspect. It is, by contemporary standards, slow. Very slow. Scenes linger, expressions are held, and the narrative progresses with a stately, almost deliberate, rhythm. This isn't a flaw in the sense of poor craftsmanship; rather, it's a characteristic of early silent cinema that demands a different viewing sensibility. The film takes its time to establish atmosphere and allow emotions to build, rather than relying on rapid plot twists.
For viewers accustomed to modern editing, where a single scene can convey a wealth of information in seconds, Face Value requires a recalibration of expectations. The long takes and extended reactions are designed to draw the audience into Howard’s psychological journey, allowing his internal torment to slowly simmer and rise to the surface. It asks for patience, and rewards it with a deeper, albeit more melancholic, immersion.
One could argue that some sequences could have benefited from tighter editing, particularly in the expositional early acts. However, the sustained focus on Howard's internal world through these lingering shots is crucial to the film's thematic resonance. It forces the audience to confront the discomfort of his situation, mirroring the discomfort of the characters within the film.
Yes, Face Value (1927) is worth watching, especially for specific audiences. It offers a rare glimpse into the psychological aftermath of WWI, portrayed with a sincerity that predates many more famous treatments of the subject. The film's examination of identity, societal prejudice, and the crippling weight of self-perception remains remarkably relevant.
It’s a valuable historical document, showcasing the capabilities of silent cinema to tackle complex emotional themes. The performances, especially Edwards Davis', are compelling. The story, while melodramatic at times, resonates with universal truths about human insecurity and the search for genuine acceptance. You should absolutely seek it out if you are a student of film history or a dedicated fan of silent era dramas.
One of the most striking, and perhaps unconventional, observations about Face Value is how it inadvertently critiques the superficiality of 'support' that often masks discomfort, a social dynamic still acutely relevant today. The family's reaction isn't malicious, but it's clearly inadequate, highlighting how society often fails those who don't fit neatly into its aesthetic norms.
I would argue that the film’s greatest strength is also its most frustrating flaw: its unwavering commitment to its deliberate, almost ponderous pace. While it allows for deep character immersion, it occasionally tips into tedium, particularly for a modern viewer. There's a fine line between meditative and sluggish, and Face Value walks it precariously.
Furthermore, Muriel’s character, while central to Howard’s emotional arc, feels frustratingly underwritten at times. She is often reactive, a vessel for Howard’s anxieties rather than a fully realized woman with her own complex interiority. This is a common pitfall of early cinema, but it’s a missed opportunity here to explore the partner’s burden in such a relationship with equal depth. Her internal struggle is hinted at, but rarely fully explored, unlike more robust female roles in films like When a Woman Sins.
Face Value (1927) is a fascinating, if challenging, piece of silent cinema. It works. But it’s flawed. Its deliberate pace and occasional dips into melodrama prevent it from being a universally acclaimed classic, yet its thematic depth and the raw power of Edwards Davis’s performance elevate it beyond a mere curiosity. For those willing to adjust their expectations and immerse themselves in its unique rhythm, it offers a poignant and thought-provoking experience.
It’s a film that reminds us that the scars we carry, both visible and invisible, often define our interactions with the world more profoundly than any societal expectation. While not for everyone, it’s a valuable rediscovery for the discerning viewer, a testament to silent cinema’s capacity for complex psychological storytelling. Give it a chance, and you might find yourself surprisingly moved by this quiet exploration of identity in a world grappling with the aftermath of profound change.
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1921
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