The Show (1927)

The more I see of John Gilbert, the less I am convinced by him as an actor. In Tod Browning's "The Show" he plays an unsympathetic womaniser carnival player caught between a woman obsessed by him, her man seeking for revenge and an accusation of theft. If I admire the great leading man's choice of part, he chews way too much scenery to be credible or interesting to watch. His performance is one of the best examples of overacting of the late silent period.

The film itself also suffers from a lack of coherence in characterisation: Renée Adorée's Salomé changes (through no fault of her own) from a feisty man hunter to a devoted daughter simply by changing the sets: halfway through the film, we moved from the carnival (typical Browning) to melodrama within Salomé's appartment. This abrupt change in mood and the character's personality does no favours to the film, which works much better in the first half, despite the fact that, at times, it feels more like an amalgamation of ideas Tod Browning had used or would later use in his films. Nevertheless, Adorée was quite lovely and much better than Gilbert, her "The Big Parade" co-star.

The Browning touches in the carnival are wonderful: the strange creatures which antecipate "Freaks" and the atmosphere of, among others, "The Unknown"; and even the acts themselves. The woman-spider is just brilliant and the sword change is a really clever touch. Another positive was Lionel Barrymore's performance as "the Greek". He is truly the highlight of the film - sleazy, devious, and unlike Gilbert, subtle in his performance: no excesses, no hamming. I was just sorry he wasn't more in it.

On a final note, I felt sorry for the poor iguana in the film. To give the idea of a vicious attack, the poor animal was a few times put on a metal plate which was then electrified and I strongly suspect it might not have survived the film...

Beggars of Life (1928)

From its start, "Beggars of Life" is infused with an incredible energy. The opening sequence is silent narrative at its best and even now, months after I saw the film, it has stayed with me (I made some notes at the time which only now I am translating into a post). Within a minute or so of the credits, we see a young man, clearly a beggar, arriving at someone's house. He lusts after the man's breakfast. He asks if it's possible to have some but the man doesn't reply. He has been shot. A girl (Louise Brooks) comes in, dressed in man's clothes and in a frenetic flashback we learn what happened.

And this is only an appetiser for a film which oozes sex, fear and danger, often at the same time: at some stage, there is real danger that Louise Brooks' character will be gang raped. William Wellman's pace is frenetic and his direction assured. Having seen recently "Wings", his most celebrated silent film with its amazing aerial sequences, I found it lacking in comparison to "Beggars of Life".

The film is, (and I won't make it justice), a romance road movie, where the Boy and the Girl (they don't have names) have to go through ordeals before they earn the right to Love. In a sense it reminded me of the Borzage at his best, but whereas he usually has an ethereal aspect to the romance, Wellman (clearly a more pragmatic man) keeps them feet on the ground. All in all, this is one the best silent movies I have seen - and I can't recommend it enough.

Other than Louise Brooks, who was a revelation, as I never really "got" her in the couple of films of hers I saw,  the film also stars Richard Arlen (who Wellman also used in "Wings") and an amazing, unforgeattable Wallace Beery, as the bastard with a heart (or whatever is the masculine equivalent of the tart with a heart) . 

I think a word needs to go to the musicians who provided the score: Neil Brand and The Dodge Brothers (film critic Mark Kermode's band) did a fantastic job, creating a fantastic viewing experience. I wouldn't hesitate twice in hearing them providing music for another film. In an ideal world, a home video release of this would have been done long ago, and they would provide the music.

A Cottage on Dartmoor (1929)

A prisoner escapes from Dartmoor prison. The guards look for him. They go to a cottage near by, where they believe he is headed to. Then, in one of the great transitions to a flashback, using intertitles as both a cut and spoken words, we are told what has happened. And what we are told is one of the swansongs of (British) silent cinema, one that keeps you hooked, and certainly one of my favourites.

Director Anthony Asquith's reputation has been defined by his sound films, seen too often as film versions of well-made plays, in particular those of Terence Rattigan. This is unfair for two reasons: the first is that the films themselves are sometimes quite good ("Pygmalion", "The Importance of Being Earnest", "The Browning Version"); and the second is that it neglects his four silent features. Recently, both "A Cottage on Dartmoor" and "Underground" have been restored by the BFI, made available on DVD (or will soon) and reassessed for the wonderful works that they are. Of course, “A Cottage on Dartmoor” is a dreadful title, which probably hasn't helped – suggesting too much an idyllic England and very little going on the screen. And what goes on the screen feels, to modern audiences anyway, more like Hitchcock than theatre. Asquith's use of effects, camera angles and photography, borrowing a bit from German expressionism, is both confident and original.

The film is full of wonderful little moments - the suggestion to see a talkie (oh, the irony...); the sequence at the cinema; the lost card that was supposed to come with the flowers; and above all the reality and regrets of relationships, in one of cinema's most honest moments - for once, we get to see what really goes on after the "happily ever after". Asquith's direction is certain but it also benefits from a great script and an astonishing trio of leads (one Swede, one British, one German), in particular Uno Henning (as the barber). I definitely think I'll try to see more of his work.

To finish, I should mention something about the actual screening (well, actually two things). One is that I saw this a few months ago, and the post is based on notes I did at the time: reality has been biting and time to blog has not been much. So if I don't make full justice to the film, is because I saw it over three months ago. The second thing, is that, like most silent film screenings, this one had a live piano accompaniment, this one by Stephen Horne, who provided one of the best accompaniments of a silent film I have had the chance to listen to and certainly enhanced my experience of the film.

Battleship Potemkin (1925)

While I am mildly curious about propaganda films, I confess I never really went out of my way to watch them – the exceptions being some animations produced during WWII, particularly the “Private Snafu” cartoons and Disney’s superb “Education for Death”. If they are done properly, as the latter is, they become powerful tools, but they can still hold on their own merits. I have shown it to several people, who, slightly expecting something Disney-esque were truly surprised and shocked. On the other hand, if they are badly done, and often they are, they become clunky - independently if you agree or disagree with its politics.

Fortunately for me, Sergei Eisenstein’s “Battleship Potemkin” fell in the first category. And of course, not just for me. It is one of the most influential films of all time – not only the incredible amount of homages and parodies of prams going down long magestic stairs, but also the editing style of the whole sequence of the Odessa steps, the film’s most powerful and celebrated sequence: the faceless soldiers, the horror of the faces, the cuts, the masses, all used incredibly effective to recreate, in the most emotional possible way, the panic and oppression of tsarist Russia. And by the way, that is a fictional event, although I have no doubt inspired by many other real ones.

The film recalls the events of the mutiny of the crew of the Potemkin, ignited by the poor conditions on board and the brutality of the officers, while stationed nearby the port of Odessa. At only 70 minutes, the film commands your attention from the start. There aren’t many superfluous moments – it’s not just because of the Odessa steps sequence this is considered one of the great examples of the art of film editing. The build-up to the ending is a good example too – especially if, as I, you have (had) absolutely no knowledge how the whole episode ended.

Contrary to what I was expecting, the cast isn’t full of demonic looking actors to play the antagonists. Most officers look either the same or more human than some of the sailors – or the people in the steps, for that matter. This makes them harder to hate them at first, but then the hate becomes almost rational – you can justify it: it’s purely their actions that condemn them. (There is one exception, the ship’s priest, who clearly looks insanely evil). Thus, whether you believe in communism or not, you side with the sailors, as our empathy will automatic go to those unfairly oppressed and in the most communist element of the whole film – while you don’t care for a particular character, as they are very much anonymous (with one or two exceptions), you do care for them as whole.

Missing, most wanted

Every (most?) classic film fans will, at some stage or another, find themselves wishing they could see a film considered lost. Common ones include Tod Browning's "London After Midnight" starring Lon Chaney or Murnau's "4 Devils", both available in reconstructed approximations using stills - most lost films don't even have that. Others like "Sadie Thompson" with Gloria Swanson survive in trucated forms, in this particular case nearly complete, but on the other hand only one reel has been found of "The Divine Woman" with Garbo (there are other instances where only small fragments survive). Occasionally, miracles happen - the Gloria Swanson/Valentino only pairing "Beyond the Rocks" was found in the early 2000s and more recently, the nearly complete director's cut of "Metropolis".

And of course there are versions of films which were never released, like Orson Welles' cut of "The Magnificient Ambersons" which I think would top anyone's most wanted list. Although even in this department miracles do happen, as the 2004 finding of the pre-release cut of "Baby Face" now available on the "Forbidden Hollywood vol 1" DVD set (not holding my breath for "Ambersons" though).

So, which one is mine? Well, it's an infamous WB Pre-code comedy called (yes, you've guessed it...) "Convention City" starring Joan Blondell, Mary Astor, Adolph Menjou and an array of other familiar faces of the studio. This is possibly the last major production of a Hollywood studio to be lost. After the Hays Code was fully enforced it remained mostly in the vaults (although it has been shown somewhere in the US in 1937). It has since gained a reputation of being too daring even within Pre-Code limits (I doubt it can be "worst" than "Baby Face"...). A full background can be found in this thread here. Because it did had a proper release there is hope it one day may resurface, even if it's in a truncated copy. My fingers are crossed. Yet, do I really believe that it will live to my expections? Honestly, no. It was probably as memorable or as forgetable as most of the comedies produced by WB between 1930 and 1934 - but I certainly wish I had the chance to see it.

Metropolis (1927)

Where should I start on this one? Perhaps with my personal history with the film – I saw it around 2002 or 2003 in Bristol, at the Arnolfini. If you ever sat there before refurbishment (never went there afterwards) you’d probably remember how uncomfortable the seats were. Add to the mix that I wasn’t very versed in silent cinema and have an intense dislike of parables. So, despite its reputation, “Metropolis” then had little chances of engaging me. I think I saw the 2001 restoration, with photos and intertitles explaining the missing footage. This was the best approximation to Lang’s cut available then. Nevertheless, I was very excited when the news of the original cut being found reached me. Proof that miracles do happen.

So I went to UK premiere at the BFI – which is far less glamorous than it sounds, as it was just an ordinary screening at the NFT1. And if at first the cuts were minimal (they are easy to spot), suddenly whole sequences appeared out of nowhere, developing characters further and giving the film a rhythm that it I thought it lacked before. While the storyline is the same as the version I saw, the fact that I had images rather than text meant that the action made more sense. It also meant that the religiousness of it all become more diluted, which in turn highlighted the social aspect of it. The missing sequences also increase the story’s tension as the Thin Man, previously no more than a bit player, is now a menacing character pursuing Joh and Josaphat (another character who now appears much more developed). Josaphat also became an intriguing character, and some people might pick up on this as the cut becomes better known and studied, in that he seems to be infatuated by the hero (who seems to be oblivious). It still isn’t a complete print. There was too much damage in one or two sections which could not be restored, but I can live with it – I better do, miracles do not tend to strike the same place twice.

As for the film itself, my highlight is Brigitte Helm in her incarnation as the robot. Her body language, the way she moves, the way she almost winks at Fredersen, so different from her other character as the heroine. Plus her dancing routine as the the new Babylon is so weird and funny (and the faces of the men watching it) that is priceless.

So now I like “Metropolis”. I still cringe at moments – the banality of the philosophy in it and some of the silent film style of overacting – but I don’t think it matters. Even if I hated it, a near complete print of a film that is loved by millions and has influenced countless artists since, has been recovered to our common heritage. This is one the happiest endings in cinema history.

The Big Parade (1925)

I think it's near impossible to imagine the reaction of contemporary audiences to King Vidor's 1925 film "The Big Parade". WWI finished in 1918 and seven years later the events were very much alive in the memories of those who fought or lost loved ones. In the countries that were in the war, nearly everyone was affected one way or another. And here, at least in the war sequences, was a film that was as realistic as film could be on the subject. The camaraderie, the trenches, the fights for just a few metres of land. And young men who enlisted not realising what they were getting themselves into. From the moment the big parade starts (the parade of trucks taking soldiers to the front) till about ten minutes or so before the ending, including the famous walk though the woods sequence, this is one of the great silent films ever made. It was also one of the most sucessful.

The film follows three young men from different backgrounds from New York to the frontline. The spoiled rich kid is played by John Gilbert; the bartender by Tom O'Brien; and the construction worker by Karl Dane. The latter provides the film with one of his best moments during the trenches' sequences. Gilbert uses too much make-up, is overbearing when tries to moralise (oh, yes, there is one of those speeches) but while I didn't care for his character, or him for that matter, the change from brat to man is very well done.

However, the film has 70 minutes before the battle sequences and 10 minutes or so afterwards. The former are ok - we have been there before. Romantic war, the American soldier and the French peasant girl (played by Renée Adorée, and by the way, who thought of that name?), etc., etc., funny at times, and worth for character development. Note that a French peasant girl in 1917 is literate enough to use an English-French-English dictionary. Not quite at the level of Disney's Pocahontas magically being able to speak English but slightly amusing nevertheless. Depending on them, the film would be nice, but not memorable. On the other hand, the last 10 minutes - well most of them, and I will explain that in the moment - if cut would make this a much a better film.

So, spoiler alert! After the battle scenes, John Gilbert wakes in hospital and learns that the village where Renée Adorée lived was now a battlefield. And here the nonsense begins: he runs away from hospital, wounded in a leg, and goes to find her. The film's main selling point had been veracity - so why throw it out of the window for the sake of cheap melodrama? Of course he can't find her, is sent back to hospital and then home. At this stage, the film improves again - when we see him he has lost his leg. Not that my sympathy is with him, since he lost it because of the previous bout of nonsense. His family's awkward reaction is great cinema, and his mother's excellent. And a few minutes later, we are back to cheap melodrama, running with a wooden leg to the arms of the French love of his life. It really made me wonder if these had been later additions... After reading so much about it for so long, I really wanted this to be a better film than it is. But at least, for 40 minutes or so, it's really as good as it gets.

The Patsy (1928)

Immediately before "Show People" King Vidor directed Marion Davies in "The Patsy", the story of a not-so-ugly duckling who is in love with her shallow sister's beau. She thinks she lacks "personality", her father disagrees. Her mother (played by Marie Dressler) thinks she is a major cause of problems and much prefers her sister.

I saw this film a few months ago, and again tonight at the BFI. Tonight's screening, part of Birds Eye View film festival boasted of a new score by a "multi-talented singer-songwriter" that has "made a name for herself as an innovative composer". Had I read that description before I bought the ticket, I would have stayed away - she made the music all about herself and not about the film. As a result it killed its natural rhythm and a few comic moments. It created noises slightly out-of-sync with the action (e.g. a plate crashing) that distracted too much. Plus it was loud, invasive and not in the tiniest suited for the action. We were even treated to a song...

And yet, despite all this, Marion Davies' performance shone through. I think I prefer her other Vidor film, but she has great moments. One is a sequence of imitations of great starts of the silent era including Lillian Gish and I think Pola Negri. Another is when she tries to get a "personality" and suddenly quotes witticisms unexpectedly. She's hilarious when trying to persuade the man she loves to kiss her (something on the lines of "what's a kiss between friends") and she engages your sympathy when she is being treated as second class by her mother and sister. She also manages to create those little funny moments that help create a good film - making sure her loved one gets the biggest ice-cream bowl. I can only say it's a pity that more her stuff isn't easily available.

Providing great support and nearly stealing the show is Marie Dressler. I think that had the Oscars a Best Supporting Actress from the beginning, she would have been a serious contender. The first act of the film, during a Sunday meal, is proof enough of that. She bosses one daughter and her husband left, right and center. She's delightfully overbearing when she manages to displace her husband from his seat, take the newspaper from him, play the ill and suffering wife and insult him all in a few minutes. You are left in no doubt who's the boss. She wants her daughter to marry a man that is both a good match socially and that both can boss around but at same time betrays her eagerness to rise socially, even ignoring an insult. Despite all this, she has a heart and while you laugh at her and sometimes with her, by the end you love her.

I have absolutely no idea who was the actress playing the vamp-ish sister, but I quite like her, as I did the father in his scenes with Davies. There was believable tenderness between the two.

I want to see more of Vidor's late silents. They are well constructed films, well acted and well directed. Martin Scorcese said he did one for himself, one for the studios. I assume under the first category fall "The Crowd", "Duel in the Sun" and "The Fountainhead". I struggle to say which one I liked the least. "Duel in the Sun" is just plain awful (Jennifer Jones and Selznick taking a lot of the blame) but the other two try too hard to be relevant. Yet, his studio assignments, star vehicles such as this, "Show People" and "Stella Dallas" seem to me much more interesting. Maybe he just relaxed. Whatever he did, I like it.

Her Sister from Paris (1925)

I think it's a good sign when you watch a comedy in the cinema and not only everyone laughs, but you also leave with your cheeks aching. It happened to me after watching "Her Sister from Paris" with Constance Talmadge and a very young Ronald Colman. It's farce where a plain wife pretends she is her sophisticated twin sister to recover her husband's affections. It's not entirely an original version of "Two-Faced Woman" because the twin sister actually exists.

From the opening scene, a fight between the two leads, till the end, there is not a dull moment. The pace is incredibly fast, the supporting cast exceptional. Talmadge in a double role shows impeccable comic timing and gift for comedy that I didn't suspect after seeing her in "Intolerance". The effects to show the twins together are actually very good, and the shots of the double when the two sisters share a scene are clever enough to hide the fact that it is a double and not the actress. Ronald Colman is stripped of all the weight of being an "Actor" that he acquired through the 1930s, and which is plainly in sight in "A Tale of Two Cities". Here he relaxes in front of the camera, and it shows. Great support comes from George K. Arthur as Colman's friend who works for the Embassy and takes care of monocles and the marmalade.

The copy shown at the Barbican was restored by the Library of Congress. Despite most of it being of very good quality, there were moments were the image nearly disappeared. I hope the source of the print is not the sole surviving copy. The film is about to be released on DVD through Kino in the US. It's a double bill with another Colman feature, "Her Night of Romance". I think sooner or later it will make way to my collection. But I hope they managed to mix and match prints to solve those problems.

It (1927)

Whatever "it" really is, I'm afraid "It" lacks it. Oh, I know a lot of people like the film, and I admit there are funny moments, but as a whole the film feels too much like an assembled piece. What's worst, it was! Paramount made this after writer Elinor Glyn said that Clara Bow had "it", a notion arguably best translated as sex-appeal. The studio was clearly trying to cash in on their increasingly popular star. Despite being obvious, in case you missed it not only the first title card reminds you of this, but the writer herself appears later on to explain the audience what "it" is. The problem is that sexiness, sex-appeal, "it" or whatever you prefer to call it, usually depends on the person's unawareness. This is actually mentioned by Glyn. The moment someone becomes conscious of it and try to recreate it, or even keep it, it's lost. Since this is the only film I have seen with Clara Bow, I can't say if she ever had "it", but in my opinion she doesn't have it here. Furthermore, she's not even a terribly good actress - when I look at other major female stars of the late 1920s, such as Gish, Garbo or Marion Davies she pales by comparison. She has a fun twinkle in her eyes and an engaging smile but you need more than that.

Of course it doesn't help that the film has a very thin plot. It's the story of a sales girl going after her boss, while keeping her good name despite appearances. If done five years later and by MGM this would be the typical Joan Crawford vehicle, the sort that almost killed Crawford's career. Because it was built around Bow's persona, the rest of the cast is almost as bland as it can be, just to make sure no one would steal the picture from her. I was expecting much more out of this, but considering the film's popularity then and even now, it might be that this is simply not tailored for my taste.

PS - It's worth keeping an eye open for a very young Gary Cooper as a reporter.

Spring Fever (1927)

Until about 20 minutes before it finished, "Spring Fever" was a disappointment and William Haines, the leading man, was really getting on my nerves. He was lacking that something special that made him so engaging in King Vidor's "Show People" the only other film of his I have seen. His character was arrogant and conceited and rather uninteresting really. As far as I found out, this was very much his screen persona. There were also some private jokes (possibly not that private) about his sexuality, including one in the very beginning which surely could not have gone unnoticed (it's mentioned in the IMDb forums for the film, if you're curious). However, I believe a comedy should be funny on its own merits and not because it winks at the audience or its camp value. There was also too much pantomime, not enough acting and certainly not enough wit.

The film is clearly a factory product to sell William Haines. Not a single risk is taken, not a tiny bit of imagination is allowed. It worked before, it will work again, seems to have been MGM's motto for this production. This affected the supporting cast. Lead by a rising Joan Crawford, all give quite good performances but none is on-screen long enough.

So what changed in the last 20 minutes? In fairness, not much. It's still predictable, still formulaic. It has a minor twist which even if it comes as a surprise, it will be a mild one. The difference is that it has charm. Joan Crawford has now a few key scenes and that counteracts Haines' excesses. And they act together. It's a joint effort, not a star-vehicle. Suddenly I stopped seeing the gay guy and his fag-hag (Haines and Crawford were very good friends off-screen) and actually saw a romantic couple. And for those last few scenes the film clicked into place. If you want proof, look at the titles in the hotel room - they're actually funny and witty.

Show People (1928)

History is written by the victors. In cinema, it’s those who become more successfully, either critically or commercially. Billy Wilder and Preston Sturges demise of Mitchell Leisen meant that until recent he wasn’t held in much consideration. Yet, there is a more famous example. Citizen Kane as everyone knows was partly based on the life of Randolph Hearst; consequently Susan Alexander Kane, the character’s second wife and failed opera singer, must have been based on Marion Davies, Hearst’s mistress. This has lead to the myth that Davies was poor actress.

I have heard many arguments against this opinion, but had no opinion as I had never seen any of her films. Whatever the truth, the shadow of Susan Alexander Kane will forever fall over Davies and if nothing else because her films are quite hard to come by. This week I got a chance to see at the BFI one of her celebrated comedies “Show People” and now I am inclined to agree with those who think that Susan is not a fair portrait of Marion. She was hilarious.

King Vidor’s “Show People” is, after “Sunset Blvd.”, arguably the biggest satire Hollywood ever made of itself. It’s equally sharp, but the bitterness is not yet – sound has yet to come and erase the first generation of demigods. This is the story of an aspiring actress, Peggy Pepper, who becomes a hit in slapstick comedies and metamorphoses herself into Patricia Pepoire, the serious thespian she always wanted to be. It’s not too hard to fast forward twenty years to the late forties and see in Patricia, Norma Desmond. In fact, the film’s story is loosely based on Gloria Swanson’s path to stardom.

The screening I attended was introduced by Kevin Brownlow who pointed out several of the in-jokes that recur into the movie. Some are obvious like the John Gilbert character, some of the faces doing cameos (Chaplin, Gilbert himself, etc.), some not entirely obscure, such as the sets that resemble (or maybe are the same) as Vidor’s hit “The Big Parade”. Many, however, are lost to me, and I imagine to all but a very, very small minority of the audience. This is a tragedy, as it is obvious a contemporary audience would have got the jokes, thus making the film twice as funny. Kevin Brownlow told us he had one of the crew watching the film and telling many of these jokes. I would love to have been there. My favourite moment has to be when aspiring Peggy meets Marion Davies herself. She was not impressed.

Supporting Davies is another forgotten star of the late silent period – William Haines. Haines’ career was partly boycotted by Louis B. Mayer because the (fairly) openly gay actor didn’t want to have a fake marriage preferring to live with his partner. Like Davies he lasted a few years into sound and then bowed out and pursued an alternative career. In this film, despite his leading man status, and the obvious chemistry between the leads, he is really there to support the main star, to the point where nearly disappears for most of the second half of the film. But in his early scenes there is certainly an energy and a presence there that made me curious to see more of him. And I might have too much hindsight, but after his the way he moves onscreen during his first scene, wasn’t anyone suspicious of his bachelorhood?

7th Heaven (1927)

To describe the first 70 minutes of this love story between Diane, a prostitute, and Chico, a sewer cleaner, I truly can only use superlatives. It lives entirely to its reputation as a masterpiece, and probably doesn't do it justice. You can feel (rather than just see) these two beings falling in love with each other, complete with the little things, from absolute despair (they meet when he saves her from an abusing sister and later prevents her from committing suicide) to absolute faith in each other. The story is set just before and during WWI, and the long sequence that ends that first 70 minutes is of such intensity and intimacy even if a hardcore cynic like me was touched by it.

This part of the film is full of little gems: the pace of the story, told with great economy and not stopping at irrelevant moments; the beauty of the sets, in particular the stairs going up to the flat (they very much look like a single set which is amazing); the lighting which makes the film look gorgeous; the sister; Charles Farrell's facial expressions which reminded me of those of a friend and Janet Gaynor's wounded animal performance, something I quite liked in "Sunrise" but is so perfect for her character here - her best two moments being the sequence after Charles Farrell saves her and the sequence after the policeman leaves the flat.

And then the war comes, and while the action scenes aren't bad, they break the pace and change the atmosphere of the film. From a couple of intimate sets - we have spent most of the previous half an hour in the sewer cleaner's apartment - we are now in the open, in fields, in the trenches, in war rooms. Inevitably, the connection between the audience and the characters changes, and in my case the magic was gone, with the final sequence delivering a final blow in my interest. If you have seen the film, it's not the actual ending that I object to. It's the message that it conveys. Up to that point the cornerstone of the film had been a relation based on faith between two human beings, and suddenly God invades what it should never had invaded. Borzage did this later again in the ghastly "Strange Cargo" (which my flatmate loved, so "ghastly" is a very personal opinion). Yet, in his films I liked the most - "Mannequin", "The Mortal Storm", and to a slightly lesser extend "Three Comrades" and "The Shining Hour" (and I am excluding "Desire" since that one is more Lubitsch than Borzage) - he never crosses that barrier which is to me certain death. And I really regret that he crossed it here.

Sunrise (1927) and how my taste has changed

A few years ago Murnau's "Sunrise" got an extended run in one of Lisbon's arty cinemas and I got a chance to see it. To say that it bored the hell out of me is an understatement. I found the story uninteresting and other than the technical side of it I could not understand why people were raving so much about it.

The film is a parable and that's part of the reason I didn't like it. The characters have no name, they are generic, a Man and his Wife and the Woman from the City that tempts him off the path of virtue (he didn't seem to mind that much).

Tonight I saw it again at the BFI. I was pleasantly surprised. Ok, it's unevenly paced, with the beginning and the ending moving much faster that the longer city section that at times seems to take forever. But I quite like the German Expressionism feel of it and the trick shots, especially one where George O'Brien is thinking of his seductress and superimposed images of her seem to kiss him and hug him. Janet Gaynor provoked mixed feelings, but I quite liked how she mimicked a wounded animal after her husband's attempt to kill her. George O'Brien too was great as the big beast that indulges in lustful and murderous thoughts, but the moment he shaves and becomes tamed he looses part of his appeal. Best of all is Margaret Livingston as the Woman from the city. She's so sexy and deadly, and I love her face in the end.

I still don't agree with all the superlatives people use to classify it, but I have mellowed substantially my dislike of the film. Moreover, I quite liked it at times. According to some quick online search, I must have seen the film around 4 years ago. So, have my tastes changed that much? Possibly - In those 4 years I got to see many more silents, including some of the most acclaimed such as "The Crowd", "Greed", "Birth of a Nation", "Intolerance" and "The Wind" among many others - and looking forward to "Show People" in December. So am I now fluent enough in a language I hated (a bit like English, but that's another story) and therefore can appreciate it better? Unlike English, I still don't like it a lot, but I am getting there. But tonight's screening had a side effect: I am now quite keen to watch the Borzage BFI DVDs that I got from Amazon not long ago and that are full of Janet Gaynor. As for "Sunrise" maybe there's hope - maybe third time's lucky.

The Wind (1928)

Sometimes life is a series of coincidences with an unrelated starting point. When I found out that the BFI was going to show Victor Sjöstöm’s “The Wind” I decided to change my plans and take a holiday a week later than I originally intended. This turned out to be a very good decision not only because I loved the film, but also professionally due to circumstances no one could have guessed in late April/early May.

“The Wind” is one of the swansongs of silent cinema. It tells the story of Letty who goes west from Virginia to a desert area to live with her cousin. Perceived as a threat by his wife and pursued by a married man, she is forced into a loveless marriage. And all this with a constant desert wind which has a reputation to drive women mad. There is a strange happy ending to the whole thing, which doesn’t fit the film very well, but it does survive quite well despite it.

After “A Woman of Affairs”, this only the second silent film that I have seen, loved and gladly will see again – especially because I think there is so much in it. It is a truly disturbing film at parts. The wind imagery, aided by Carl Davis’ score, succeeded in producing in me a similar effect to what Gish’s character was going through. Its intensity, repetitiveness, the fact that everyone else seem to be perfectly accommodated to it, just highlight the isolation and the alienation that the combine effect of the wind, the desert and the loneliness produce in someone who seemed to have been sheltered from much hardness in life up to that point.

There are other amazing moments in the film – an extraordinary efficient and clear ellipse of an event that is crucial to the plot, so that no censor board could complain, and the final build-up of Gish’s madness, with the sand revealing way more than it should (if you watch the film you’ll know what I am talking about).

The screening I attended to was completely sold out, which I think is fairly impressive for a silent film. It was also introduced by Kevin Brownlow, which is one of the great champions of silent films and the main reason I am curious about so many of them, and by the leading actress herself in a recorded introduction from the 1980s – Gish died in 1993. I hope both the film and the intro will make it to DVD very soon.

Intolerance (1916)

A few weeks ago I received this "gentle reminder" (their words, not mine) from my DVD rental service:

Hi,

One of the best things about XXXXX is the 'no late fees' promise, which gives you the freedom to watch what you want, when you want - you're in charge of your viewing.

That said, we've noticed that recently you've been holding on to 'Intolerance' for a while. We thought we'd give you a gentle reminder to send 'Intolerance' back, just in case you'd forgotten to watch it, put it under a pile of magazines or something like that! You may even have gone off the idea of watching it right now - why not send it back and add it to your rental list later?

Of course it's completely up to you, but we also don't want you to miss out on our other top titles.
Happy viewing,
The XXXXX Team

Lovely isn't it? Basically, it's no late fees, but we'll annoy till you return the film. Of course, in all fairness I had the film since February - I must say I am usually quite quick at turning over the DVDs. This was an exception. Why? Because I didn't feel brave enough for 3h of epic silent movie, especially not after Birth of a Nation. Perhaps this was the encouragement that I needed because through the last week and a bit I saw the film (in four installments, since my patience is limited).

“Intolerance” tells four stories in parallel, united by the common theme of, you guessed it, intolerance. The two main stories are set in contemporary America and the final days before the fall of Babylon. The smaller ones are the story of Christ (with a few gaps, making me wonder if it wasn’t partially cut) and one set in the time of St. Bartholomew’s Massacre in Paris. The “intolerance” here is not only a religious intolerance, but a social one as well, of those who need to be protected from themselves.

According to some internet reading, Griffith decided to move forward with this project as a response to the attacks he suffered from his controversial “Birth of a Nation” (thus, the conclusion should be one needs to tolerate other’s racists views?). But all in all is a much better film. Of course, it’s still anti-semitic (most of the villains seemed archetypal Jewish to me…), homophobic (the villainous brother to the King of France is described as “effeminate”) and to a degree misogynist (I can’t recall the comment on screen correctly but it goes something like women who can’t attract men turn to social reformation), but not much more than other works from the period.

The film itself is rather interesting, actually very good at times, especially in the beginning and the ending. The final sequences with the conclusions of the stories approaching their climax are very good indeed and just at the right pace. The film is certainly one of the landmarks in storytelling in motion pictures. I read somewhere that was the birth of film editing. If this isn’t true it’s a good imitation. Its influence can be seen today still in films like “Rendition” with its multiple stories that come together in the end. Moreover, it is also compelling storytelling, managing very well to tell four distinct stories at the same time, with a far more appealing subject matter than its predecessor (and I am sorry to keep going on with the comparisons here, but it is kind of inevitable).

Of course there are problems other than the ones I already mentioned – I am undecided to which of the two leading ladies was more annoying: Mae Marsh as “The Dear One” (the name alone makes me sick) in the modern story or Constance Talmadge in the Babylonian one. Neither can act, and I have grown to hate Mae Marsh after having to sit to her behaving like an idiot in “Birth of a Nation”.

Finally there was something rather curious in the film. Most films set prior to 1918 are period pieces. But here that’s not the case, and these people on the screen were wearing the same (almost victorian) clothes, as the people sitting in the stalls. And here, more than elsewhere was it visible that the 20th Century started with WWI.

Garbo and (her) silents

Silent films have a particular language of their own. It’s a language that I don’t always like. Having seen some of the acknowledged exponents of the period (“Greed”, “The Crowd”, “Metropolis”, etc.) I have only truly enjoyed one film – “A Woman of Affairs” with Greta Garbo, made in 1928 and one of her last silent films. I had the luck of catching it about six weeks ago.

In it she plays a woman prevented from marrying the love of her life, decides to have some fun, and proceeds to marry the guy her brother seems to be interested in, who then mysteriously kills himself on their wedding night. After this she is ostracised by polite society, who blame her… Despite the potential for disaster from this plotline the film is very well constructed, with strong performances from the leads, especially Garbo here during her “femme fatale” phase.

It wasn’t my first Garbo silent – I have the DVD collection with “Flesh and the Devil”, “The Temptress” and “Mysterious Woman”, but except for the first 30 minutes or so of “Flesh…” they were all quite uninteresting. However, they made quite clear to me why she was such a huge star during the 1920’s and 1930’s. Comparing her with all her co-stars, she emanates an effective quietness. With her less is definitely more. She almost seems out of place. Later, this would turn again in one of her best performances, in “Camille”. She is far more modern than most people are aware, and far from being a symbol of a bygone era, she should be recognised as someone who changed the art of screen acting.

I wish more of her silents were available, especially “A Woman of Affairs”. I probably won’t like them, but I really want to see them – and who knows, I might even fall in love with another.

Birth of a Nation (1915)

I have recently watched “Birth of a Nation” (1915), D.W. Griffith’s (in)famous three-hour long opus. I knew a bit of the film’s reputation, both as a landmark in cinema making and aware that it was considered by many as a very racist film. However nothing could have prepared me for its extent.

During the first half, focused on the pre-Civil War South and the war itself, most of what appeared on the screen was not far from what I expected: black faced actors, happy slaves, etc. But the moment the war ends, and the main plot starts, so did my discomfort and later horror. Roughly, the plot follows the honoured and honourable southerners being imposed a government that made them poor victims of the evil black people that came from the North and upset the good blacks from the South, the ones that knew their proper place. Nothing during the first half the film was bad as the horrid stereotypes that now continuously poured from the screen. It was also quite hard to swallow the Ku Klux Klan as a good thing – yes, they are the “heroes” of the film – and the preserve of the honour of the Old South. (Oh, by the way… the sheets are only meant to scare the silly and childish blacks) At least I was slightly comforted by the fact that even in 1915 the film was criticised by some – albeit a fantastic box-office success.

Why I am then talking of this film? Because I think people should be aware of it. It is, sadly, one of the most important landmarks in the history of cinema. Techniques that we are well familiar with were pioneered here or in other Griffith movies. It also opened the door to longer films (films tended to be much shorter, just one or two reels). Cinema would not have been the same without him and without this film. But I wish that the DVD edition I watched had a proper documentary and a good commentary that could contextualised it. Otherwise, it is just another film.

Griffith stopped making films with the advent of sound, in the late twenties. Despite his immense contributions to cinema, this is not something that saddens me. I would like to think that his political views may have had something to do with it.