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Cult Review
Senior Film Conservator
To witness Humanidad is to step into a time machine that hasn't been calibrated for comfort. This 1917 Spanish silent film, a rare survivor of a volatile era in European cinema, offers more than just a historical footnote; it provides a raw, unvarnished look at the sociopolitical landscape of a nation in transition. While American audiences of the same period were being treated to the whimsical charms of The Innocence of Lizette, Spanish director Domènec Ceret was crafting something far more pungent and demanding.
Ceret’s visual language in Humanidad is defined by its refusal to look away. There is a certain kinetic energy to the framing that feels strikingly modern, avoiding the static theatricality that plagued many of its contemporaries. Unlike the rhythmic, almost mechanical precision found in the boxing footage of The Joe Gans-Battling Nelson Fight, Ceret focuses on the internal rhythms of his characters. The shadows in this film aren't just lack of light; they are characters in their own right, encroaching upon the faces of Lola París and Josep Font with an oppressive weight.
One cannot discuss the visual impact of this work without acknowledging the chiaroscuro lighting that predates the German Expressionist boom by several years. There is a sequence in a dimly lit tenement that rivals the atmospheric tension of The Fatal Ring, yet it remains grounded in a gritty reality rather than pulp serial thrills. The textures of the set—the peeling plaster, the frayed fabrics, the grime on the windowpanes—tell a story of poverty that is far more eloquent than any intertitle could convey.
In the pantheon of silent film actresses, Lola París deserves a pedestal far higher than the one history has currently afforded her. Her portrayal in Humanidad is a masterclass in subtlety. While many actors of the 1910s relied on the grand gesture—the back of the hand to the forehead, the wide-eyed gasp—París works with the micro-expressions of her mouth and the weary sag of her shoulders. She embodies the exhaustion of a generation.
When compared to the lighthearted performance of Mary Miles Minter in The Boy Girl, París’s work feels like it belongs to a different century entirely. There is a scene where she simply sits and stares at a piece of bread; the longing, the shame, and the eventual resignation that flicker across her face are more harrowing than any high-budget disaster film. She is supported ably by Consuelo Hidalgo, whose presence provides a necessary foil to París's more internalized suffering. Together, they navigate a world that is indifferent to their plight, creating a dynamic that feels as contemporary as any modern indie drama.
The title Humanidad is both a plea and a provocation. It asks where humanity resides when the structures of society have failed. This film shares a spiritual DNA with Le chemineau, focusing on the wanderer, the outcast, and the forgotten. However, while the French tradition often leaned into a pastoral romanticism, Ceret keeps his feet firmly in the mud of the urban sprawl.
The narrative avoids the easy moralizing found in films like The Shrine of Happiness. There are no magical transformations here; no sudden inheritances or divine interventions. Instead, the film suggests that 'humanity' is found in the small, often futile acts of kindness between the desperate. It is a bleak outlook, certainly, but one that possesses an integrity often missing from the era’s more commercially driven exports like The Shuttle.
To truly appreciate Humanidad, one must look at it within the global context of 1917. While Hollywood was refining the star system with titles like The Patriot, European cinema was often more experimental and socially conscious. There is a stark contrast between the gritty realism here and the stylized mystery of Il mistero di Galatea. Where the Italian film seeks the ethereal, the Spanish film seeks the terrestrial.
Even when compared to other tales of struggle like Humdrum Brown, Humanidad feels more uncompromising. It lacks the 'happily ever after' veneer that American studios often forced upon their directors. Instead, it shares more in common with the somber Scandinavian sensibilities found in En hjemløs Fugl, where the environment is as much an antagonist as any villain. This film doesn't just tell a story; it builds an atmosphere of existential dread that is occasionally punctured by the light of communal resilience.
Domènec Ceret’s direction in Humanidad showcases a sophisticated understanding of depth of field. He often places objects or people in the extreme foreground, creating a sense of claustrophobia that mirrors the characters' socioeconomic entrapment. This is a far cry from the flat, stage-like compositions of The Floor Below. Ceret understands that the camera is a voyeur, and he uses this to create a sense of intimacy that feels almost intrusive at times.
The editing pace is also noteworthy. While many films of the era, such as The Girl from Frisco, relied on rapid-fire action to keep the audience engaged, Humanidad is comfortable in its stillness. It allows the viewer to linger on a character's face, to observe the dust motes dancing in a shaft of light, and to feel the silence. This contemplative pace is what allows the film’s eventual emotional outbursts to hit with such devastating force. It is the difference between a splash of water and a slow, rising tide.
Why does Humanidad matter today? In an age of digital perfection and over-saturated colors, there is something profoundly grounding about the grainy, flickering world of 1917 Spain. It serves as a reminder that the core concerns of cinema—empathy, social justice, and the exploration of the soul—have not changed in over a century. It stands as a bridge between the primitive origins of the medium and the sophisticated social dramas of the mid-20th century.
When we look at The Island of Regeneration, we see a film about the potential for human change. Humanidad offers a more complex take: it suggests that while people can change, the systems they inhabit are often much more stubborn. It is a film that refuses to offer easy answers, making it a much more rewarding experience for the modern viewer than the simplistic morality plays of its time, such as Fine Feathers.
In conclusion, Humanidad is a triumph of silent cinema that deserves a place in the global canon. It is a testament to the power of film to transcend language and time, reaching out across a hundred years to touch the very core of our shared experience. The performances by Lola París and Domènec Ceret’s visionary direction create a work that is as haunting as it is beautiful. It is not just a film; it is a piece of our collective history, flickering in the dark, waiting to be seen once more.
IMDb —
1922
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