Some films spin elaborate plots, with a relentless parade of character and incident, and others simply toss out a ludicrous premise and let the chips fall where they may. The Unknown is a specimen of the latter type, as simple and as serious as a wheelbarrow full of rocks. Lon Chaney stars as Alonzo the Armless, a fugitive sideshow performer who actually does have arms, but skillfully conceals them under a girdle, partly as an alibi for the police, partly as an expression of innate masochism. But Alonzo commits to the bit, using his feet to light cigarettes, fire guns, and throw knives at Nanon (Joan Crawford) as part of their circus act. Nanon warms to Alonzo, believing him to be both armless and harmless, a marked contrast with all other men in her life, who invariably try to grab, grope, paw, and throttle her. Will they ever marry without Nanon learning Alonzo's intimate deception? The Unknown simply invites us to marinate in this impossibly perverse scenario for the duration. Critics in 1927 invariably fixated on its gruesome qualities, with plainspoken trade paper Harrison's Reports conceding that "it is artistically acted and skillfully directed. But those facts do not atone for the offence given by the feature to every normal-minded movie-goer." Latter-day sages from Guy Maddin ("mad-love cinema perfection, a psychology so bizarre it's utterly plausible") to Bob Dylan (who tweets movie recs now: "I told him to try The Unknown by Lon Chaney and go from there") have championed Browning's dark vision, which can now be enjoyed (?) with ten minutes of previously lost footage. 

Restored by George Eastman Museum with funding from the National Film Preservation Foundation