I just finished "The Trial" for the first time this evening (I bought a copy not knowing anything about it), and I see a couple of different ways it can be looked at.
The most obvious is the dreamscape setting in which Welles filmed the story. Is it not normal, in dreams (and nightmares) to wander aimlessly - with seeming purpose, but also with a feeling that things don't quite make sense? Kind of how Neo ("Mr. Anderson") felt in "The Matrix" before he found out he was in one. I am reminded of the Betty Boop cartoon "Crazy Town" (1932) (included in the Rhino Home Video compilation "Bambi Meets Godzilla and Other Weird Cartoons" - http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0022786/plotsummary), in which all sorts of strange things occurred that didn't seem to go together. In particular, feelings of genuine fear or powerlessness in life can spawn dreams like those portrayed in "The Trial" (as well as those in "Crazy Town"), whether or not one actually dies in the dream.
The existentialist aspect is also heavily present. Nothing that happens seems to make any sense, including Josef's reactions to things or even Josef himself. If we take the film to be a dream, that Josef and everyone else is a cardboard cutout is perfectly normal. But if we take it to be a portrayal of reality, that everyone's actions and words seem to have no meaning or motive is consistent with an existentialist view - that there is no inherent meaning in anything, and one must create one's own. And no person in the film does this - no one acts with purpose, or has any purpose.
The other characters are what they are, but not who they are - they do what they do because that is the role they play, and do we not often view people in this manner, judging them by the role they play rather than as the people they are? In this lack of self-identity, the characters simply do not know what to do. Bloch waits to do what he's told, for fear he'll be permanently condemned, while Mrs. Grubach fears to be anywhere near his position (or Josef's). The dying Hastler has no interest in his own life, so consumed is he with his power relative to others, and his power to give or withhold his assistance at his whim. Leni (Hastler's assistant/nurse) exists only to seduce, though not cruelly so. Miss Burstner has consumed herself by selling herself away (though that is only an impression). The other characters are similarly drifting and empty - because they survive, but do not really live, so caught up are they in mere survival for no particular reason, and they do not even understand the reason for their fear. While on the one hand some of us treat others as the roles they play, on the other hand many people - including ourselves - act those very roles, creating a vicious circle of identity destruction.
This is not to say Welles was condemning existentialism, only the failure of individuals to create their own meaning, in the mistaken belief that someone else must confer that meaning.
Titorelli bridges the gap between the existentialist side of the story and the Miltonian, in a fashion. In explaining Josef's options to him, he cements for Josef the clarity he has sought - that he's basically screwed no matter what he does, and there really is no way out. His only options (apart, of course, from confession and conviction) are to seek 'definite acquittal,' which is technically but not actually possible, or 'ostensible acquittal,' which essentially postpones the inevitable. Thinking of it in terms of the human condition, rather than the totalitarianism of Orwell's "1984" (which Briab correctly noted on 5/30/05 in this thread was Welles's interest), there are yet two ways to look at it: One is the certainty that we are going to die, and the other is the religious possibility (not addressed in the film - I have not read the book yet, though I suspect it was not there, either) of avoiding that certain fate.
In the first possibility is where existentialism starts up, in approaching philosophy subjectively rather than objectively (as did rationalists, empiricists and Kant) by noting that we cannot even study the phenomenal world without studying the student - oneself - and the clearest expression of that study is the knowledge of our own finitude. In that, existentialism observes no inherent meaning - i.e., "what's the point, if we're just going to die, anyway?" - and thus we must create it ourselves. And that self-creation - even if only illusory - is making our own way out of a futile existence.
For those unable or unwilling to create their own meaning, religion offers it from without. Not necessarily (though usually) in the objective sense - i.e., the objective reality of various mythological beliefs - but in the subjective sense, of one's relation to the universe. In the film, we see this in every character who suggests that Josef bow to the inevitable - that he is guilty (mortal) and cannot escape (i.e., will die). The police warn him as to his subsequent actions, Miss Burstner tells him no one gives a damn (i.e., "you're doomed - so what?"). Uncle Max is horrified, and rushes Josef off to Hastler, who insists he's the only way out, if there is a way. Contrast the latter with Bloch, who has utter faith and belief in Hastler's ability to save him from his inevitable fate, to the point that he is more afraid of Hastler than the system that condemns him. Leni admonishes him to forget about it and enjoy (probably the best advice anyone gives in the film), though he cannot do so because of the knowledge of his fate and the agony of not understanding the reasons behind it. He does not even accept Titortelli's options, knowing what those options mean though he cannot be guilty of anything (especially having not been charged with anything). He finally sees the absurdity of the situation shortly after leaving Titorelli when he realizes the other accused persons are afraid of him - not because he's a judge, but because he's not afraid of continuing to fight the system despite the futility of doing so. He continues to defy the system right up to the end - despite that 5-second delay during which he could have thrown the dynamite away, and that delay might have been deliberate, as a kind of acceptance of the inevitable. He must die eventually, but will not live the life of fear, such as Bloch; or denial, such as Leni; or despair, such as Miss Burstner; and a life of power over others for its own sake, such as Hastler's, is not available to him. He is resigned, in the end, but requires the final, actual act of ending his life must be done by others; he will not suicide (though it is questionable whether he did so - I cannot imagine that 5-second delay was anything other than deliberate, but it may have been more for our benefit than Josef's).
While a specifically Christian religious outlook is not necessary (and I am far from any authority on that in any case and do not hold with those viewpoints, FYI), there is almost a reverse-Miltonian outlook on it. Remembering back to concepts of original sin (which I have myself always rejected the validity of), man is condemned to die because of the sin of our ultimate ancestors, even though the fault was theirs and not ours - and for a crime which, to humans, seems kind of silly in itself. And this, in a way, parallels Josef's situation - not that of Adam and Eve, but that of a descendant. He is accused of nothing, yet stands accused nonetheless and subject to trial, and finally condemned to die, though he did nothing to merit that penalty. And because he remains certain of his innocence, he refuses in a way to despair or surrender. The accusation (of nothing), indeed any trial at all, is unjust, and no escape route - no saving grace, or savior - can change or mitigate that, because it says the only way out is to accept the system and its validity, which he refuses to do throughout the film. (Remember, he went to Hastler at his uncle's urging, not his own.) He seems to be confused and unaware of what's going on - perpetually bewildered and clueless - but of truth and justice he remains certain throughout the film, rejecting even the last offer of salvation from Hastler. Josef recognizes that, even if he surrenders to the system and pleads for his life / soul, like the opening parable he may still be denied, having wasted his entire life on that hope.
Ultimately, he rejects that, having seen what it has done to others, though it mean his death. I called the setup "reverse Miltonian" because, while he ends with the defiance of "better to reign in Hell than to serve in Heaven" (and the executioners throwing Josef into the pit at the end brought up visions of the end of Book 1 of "Paradise Lost"), the society and legal system are portrayed in the film as a most wretched way to live. Knowing (per the opening parable) that the search is futile by its nature, anyway, he adopts a more existential - perhaps even a Norse - approach, by maintaining his defiance despite the certainty of losing the fight. That is to say, the available rescue from a certain fate claimed by the system, rather than the defiance of that system, is the real sham, unlike the traditional approach in which exile ("reigning in Hell") is perceived as the ultimate punishment. Here, Josef chose it as a victory instead, as did Lucifer in Milton's works.
Throughout the film, Josef appears to be completely clueless and irrational. But perhaps the only rational response to an irrational situation is, in fact, an irrational response. As he goes from dream scene to dream scene, and uncovers one unpleasant truth after another and identifies it, he demonstrates that he is not clueless, just afraid and shocked and horrified as he discovers the true nature of his situation. It can even be analogized, as the film suggested to me throughout, as the story of a man who refuses to remain in Plato's Cave. By refusing to change his direction, maintaining it to the end, he demonstrates his ultimate commitment to sanity, though his world be insane. In that sense, Josef can be seen to be the hero of the film.
What I found fascinating was Senor Herer's comment that: "If this was a "mood" movie, then the mood it created in me was not nightmarish fear but instead bitter frustration at, and utter indifference to, the endless parade of two dimensional, disposable characters." Not meaning to be insulting in any way; rather, the comment to me was ironic, because the frustration expressed is (as I see, at least) exactly the same frustration Josef was experiencing throughout the story. And while he was not indifferent to anyone, pretty much everyone was indifferent to him - as an individual person, as opposed to as a "role" (as I described above) - exacerbating his own frustration. As I see it, Senor Herer, by making you feel what you did, Welles accomplished his purpose far better than you (or he) could have expected, by putting you into it without having to participate in the "nightmare."
I do not mean to suggest that Welles necessarily meant all, or even any, of these viewpoints to be expressed. Perhaps it was less an allegory (which is in the intention of the author to communicate) than an applicability (which is in the freedom of the viewer to interpret) that I have found in the film. But I found it far from shallow, and an excellent portrayal of the human condition, from whatever perspective.
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