Mad Love

Synopsis: In Paris, the great surgeon Dr. Gogol falls madly in love with stage actress Yvonne Orlac, and his ardor disturbs her quite a bit when he discovers to his horror that she is married to concert pianist Stephen Orlac. Shortly thereafter, Stephen's hands are badly crushed in a train accident- beyond the power of standard medicine. Knowing that his hands are his life, Yvonne overcomes her fear and goes to Dr. Gogol, to beg him to help. Gogol decides to surgically graft the hands of executed murderer Rollo onto Stephen Orlac, the surgery is successful but has terrible side-effects...
Director(s): Karl Freund
Production: MGM
  1 nomination.
Rotten Tomatoes:
68 min

- No, I won't. Let's get out of here.

- There's nothing to be afraid of.

When I go out to a play,

I want to have some fun.

You bring me to a place like this

where they make you scream and faint.

But it's a fillip to jaded nerves.

It's a new shudder.

Well, if that's the kind of a man you are,

you can take me home.

Now, wait a minute, darling.

You've got it all wrong.

Flowers again.

- A gentleman of the old school, Marie.

- Old or new, they all try the same things.

"Tonight I'm sad. For no longer will

I be able to watch you every evening

"from my lonely, shadowed box."

And no signature.

A man can't take the same box

every night for 47 nights

without the whole theatre

knowing who he is.

Gogol. Nasty, foreign-sounding name.

That was very mean of you.

You ought to be ashamed of yourself.

Making fun of a famous man

like Dr. Gogol.

Well, if he's so famous, what's he doing

hanging around here all the time?

Why, Marie, my public.

No, he really is a great surgeon.

He cures deformed children

and mutilated soldiers.

Soldiers? I wish he'd fix one up for me.

Your usual box, Professor?

- Will you do me a favor?

- Of course.

Call Dr. Wong at my clinic and tell him

I'll be there before midnight, will you?

Most happy, Doctor.



I've been meeting you in dreams

all my life,

standing just like that.

You know me.

Raoul, your own little cabbage?

Take your hands off.

Why didn't you warn me, my dear?

My card, monsieur.

I'm perfectly willing

to give you satisfaction.

Don't be a fool.

And don't you be jealous, my friend.

She's not for either of us. She's only wax.

Good evening, Doctor.

What time is it?

Just on the hour.

What number is the station?

Madame, I only told you

four times tonight, 12.50.

After I was married a year,

I remembered things like radio stations

and forgot my husband.

Continuing our concert

from Fontainebleau,

we shall now hear one of the most

brilliant younger English pianists,

an artist with a great future.

How about mentioning that he's married

to an artist with a great future?

Louder, Marie, he didn't hear you.

- Curtain call, madame.

- Oh, yes, yes

... here, tonight, for the first time

on any concert stage,

an original composition of Monsieur Orlac.

Hurry, please, please, hurry.

His enviable reputation for purity of tone

and brilliance of technique.

Monsieur Orlac is now on the platform.

- Curtain call, Yvonne.

- Oh, yes, Charles.

You listen, Marie. You know the signal.

If he coughs twice, it means "I love you."

Sir, how dare you threaten your Duchess

with torture?

- The Duke.

- You see my warrant.

You only have one question to answer.

Who was the man who escaped

from your balcony in the palace?


Don't! No!

How you must love him.

Nicolo, you're my husband.

You loved me once.

His name?

Yes, he was there. Yes, I do love him.

But do you think I'd betray him

to your vengeance? Never!

- How very unpleasant. Bring the irons.

- No!

Yes, yes, it was your brother!

- Did he cough?

- Certainly.

- How many times?

- Six, eight, ten times. I lost count.

Maybe he has a cold.

If he doesn't cough, he doesn't love you.

If he coughs too much, he has a cold.

What a system.

From now on,

we won't need any more systems.

Maybe we'll miss all this.

Curtain calls, grease paint, an audience.

Stephen will be my audience.

It's a waste, one person.

No, no, not waste, Marie. Happiness.

Marie, come on, we need help at the party.

You go, I can dress myself.

And don't get too near the punch bowl.

Monsieur Orlac's last number will be

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Maurice Renard

Maurice Renard (28 February 1875, Châlons-en-Champagne – 18 November 1939, Rochefort-Sur-Mer) was a French writer. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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    "Mad Love" STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 10 May 2021. <>.

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