German born director F.W. Murnau is best known today for Nosferatu, arguably the most faithful representation of Bram Stoker's Dracula ever made. We are fortunate that this original silent film and a subsequent sound adaptation have been preserved, since most of his German films only exist as fragments. As great as that film is, most critics will cite either Sunrise or Tabu as his greatest work.

In 1926 Murnau was invited to Hollywood, where Fox gladly allowed him to bring his cameraman, writers, and other support staff. Adapting Hermann Suderman's novel, A Trip to Tilsit, Murnau's initial U.S. feature was Sunrise (subtitled "a song of two human beings"), starring Janet Gaynor and George O'Brien as young farm couple making their first trip to the big city.

Widely praised by critics, it is one of the three films that earned Gaynor the Academy Award™ for Best Actress in 1927-8. Also garnering Oscars™ were cinematographers Charles Rosher and Karl Struss for their creative photography that seems quite advanced for 1927. Indeed, Sunrise was granted a special Award for Artistic Quality of Production--a category dropped immediately afterwards. Despite the critical acclaim, the film never did much box office, and Fox kept a much closer eye on his next two productions--neither of which are representative: Four Devils and Our Daily Bread (now titled City Girl). Breaking off from Fox, Murnau journeyed to the South Seas to compose Tabu, but died tragically in a car accident soon afterwards on the Pacific Coast highway at the youthful age of forty-two.

With Tabu getting a welcome DVD release, hopefully Fox unleashed Sunrise on DVD briefly. Previously the only copies available were dubbed VHS versions from rare late night television showings. Deservedly named #7 by film critics on Sight & Sound's 2002 poll for Best Films of All Time, Murnau's American debut and last hurrah for the silent era is worthy of its acclaim; the simple story is pure melodrama, but the German expressionist sets and imaginative cinematography vault Sunrise into true cinematic art.

Themes of good vs. evil permeate, all emphasized by Murnau's creative use of shadows and light that juxtapose night and day and idyllic country life and urban settings. Frequently Murnau superimposes images to give dreamlike insights to the characters, such as images of the seductive vamp to demonstrate the man's obsession. Add to that the director's signature camera movement that has influenced all filmmakers who have followed--note the sophisticated tracking shots that follow the characters through the water and on the trolley, and remind yourself that this was done in 1927, when most filmmakers relied on static cameras.

A country husband (George O'Brien) is tempted to leave his innocent and faithful wife (Janet Gaynor) for a vampish temptress (Margaret Livingston) from the city. He leaves his dinner, causing his wife to cry—she suspects he is having an affair, and a neighbor comments how the once happy couple has changed before the scene dissolves to those bucolic days of yesteryear. But now times are hard, and the farmer must sell the cow to pay the mortgage, and the inter-title sums it up: "Now he ruins himself for that woman from the city--Money-lenders strip the farm--and his wife sits alone."

As if in a daze, the husband winds his way through the dark side of the forest to an opening in the thicket where the evil city woman awaits. Contrasted visually with the sweetness of his wife, who looks after their baby, the city woman oozes sexuality and casts her spell on the guilt-ridden husband. He gives in to the seduction scene, and as they passionately kiss, she weaves a vision of murder for him. She wants him all to herself, and needs to get rid of the wife. A simple plan is devised--taking his wife out in a rowboat, tossing her overboard, and making it look like an accident.

So, the basic elements are put into place. Will the husband continue his guilty sinful ways or find redemption? The eventual choices are predictable enough, but the execution and plot twists remain mesmerizing.

The acting is exceptionally fine for a silent film. Murnau uses very few title cards, because the actors already communicate what is going on both with melodramatic flair, but also with surprisingly subtle facial expressions that often make the title cards that are used seem unnecessary. Who needs words when Gaynor's eyes and mouth silently cry out the joys and fears she feels when around her husband? Words would only slow down Murnau's exquisite timing and camera movement that visually communicate the characters' inner thoughts. The only director comparable to Murnau in camera technique and visual artistry is the legendary Alfred Hitchcock, and he undoubtedly learned from Murnau since the Master greatly admired the German expressionists.

Both directors were sticklers for detail, and Murnau even takes advantage of the title cards to add a visual touch. When the city vamp suggests that the man's wife could drown, the word "drown" slowly drips off the card, as if made of liquid. The director pays even more attention to cinematic artistry when composing his shots, and many of the black and white scene stills could be displayed in the post-impressionist wing of the Musee d'Orsay. Murnau tells a satisfactory fable that contrasts good and evil and offers a moralistic study between sin and redemption, but raises the formulaic melodrama well past the mundane with visual artistry that can span the ages if Fox would get its act together and make Sunrise more available on DVD. (They exist, but can be difficult to locate)