Originally posted to Facebook on 3/22/2017
The Sheik was our fourth film from 1921, and is another one of the rare silents that is still referenced now and again in popular culture. It is probably Rudolph Valentino’s best known film, and the only one that we’ve seen him in so far. In addition it is also the first time we’ve seen Adolphe Menjou, who doesn’t look particularly young in this film, but is younger and trimmer than I’ve seen him elsewhere. Valentino of course died just a few years later, but Menjou continued appearing in films up through the 1960s, notably including Kubrick’s Paths of Glory.
To repeat a common theme, many of the movies we’ve been seeing from this period do a lousy job of representing non-Western cultures, and this movie is worse than most in this regard. Valentino plays a nomadic sheik who kidnaps an English woman, played by Agnes Ayres, and forces her to obey his orders. (The bestselling novel upon which the movie was based is apparently much more graphic than the movie, and was considered scandalous at the time.) During her captivity she grows to love him, which seems like a backward and antiquated sort of a development, until you reflect that a film for children with a very similar plot is right now the highest grossing film for 2017. At one point in the movie Ayres is kidnapped by a different desert chieftain -- which is presented without much irony as much worse morally than the original kidnapping. Apparently it is a well-known violation of desert ethics to kidnap someone who has already been kidnapped.
In short, this was not a good movie. One of the most egregious scenes comes near the end, when Valentino’s character has been injured. Ayres is holding his hand, and says to Menjou, “His hand is so large for an Arab.” I paused the film at this point to see how much was left, and discussed it briefly with the kids. (Me: “Is that even a stereotype?” Ben: “Haven’t you heard the old saying: ‘As tiny as an Arab’s hands?’” Me: “Please don’t say anything like that at school.”)
Next up is Destiny, our fifth and final film from 1921, and the first we’ve seen directed by Fritz Lang. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Sunday, September 2, 2018
The Phantom Carriage (1921)
Originally posted to Facebook on 3/14/2017
The Phantom Carriage was our third film from from 1921, and our fourth directed by Victor Sjöström. Of all the directors of this period, I think Sjöström has the best batting average, and this film continues the pattern -- in fact it is probably the best of his films we’ve seen to date. He again plays the male lead, as was true in all but one of his previous films we’ve seen, and Hilda Borgström, who also played the title character in 1913’s Ingeborg Holm, plays his wife. What sets Sjöström apart is mostly competent and assured storytelling -- though he is as innovative and technically solid as any of his peers. For instance, in the early part of this film, Sjöström’s character begins telling a story, which switches to a flashback. During that flashback, another character begins telling a story, and the film begins showing that narrative. Perhaps that had been done previously, but it seems pretty unusual for 1921; yet it was handled as smoothly as it would be in a modern film.
Sjöström, in the film, plays a character whose alcoholism has ruined his life, and Astrid Holm plays a Salvation Army worker who attempts to save him. She is played as a virtual saint, and apparently has fallen in love with him as well, though that is never fully motivated or developed. (I pointed out to the kids that her character had more or less the same profession as the women temperancists in Intolerance, who are of course portrayed in that movie as shrewish killjoys.) When the movie opens Holm is dying of tuberculosis and wants to see Sjöström before she dies. Most of the story is told in flashbacks -- again, fairly innovative for 1921 -- led by the driver of the eponymous Phantom Carriage, who is the ghost of a man whom Sjöström’s character once knew. I think the plot probably owes something to A Christmas Carol, but it is much more focused on the specifics of Sjöström’s alcoholism than the grand sweep of his life. Another interesting bit of trivia about this film is that there is a scene where Sjöström breaks down a door with an axe, which some people have theorized was the inspiration for the similar scene in The Shining.
Our next film, the fourth from 1921, will be the iconic Rudolph Valentino film The Sheik. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Phantom Carriage was our third film from from 1921, and our fourth directed by Victor Sjöström. Of all the directors of this period, I think Sjöström has the best batting average, and this film continues the pattern -- in fact it is probably the best of his films we’ve seen to date. He again plays the male lead, as was true in all but one of his previous films we’ve seen, and Hilda Borgström, who also played the title character in 1913’s Ingeborg Holm, plays his wife. What sets Sjöström apart is mostly competent and assured storytelling -- though he is as innovative and technically solid as any of his peers. For instance, in the early part of this film, Sjöström’s character begins telling a story, which switches to a flashback. During that flashback, another character begins telling a story, and the film begins showing that narrative. Perhaps that had been done previously, but it seems pretty unusual for 1921; yet it was handled as smoothly as it would be in a modern film.
Sjöström, in the film, plays a character whose alcoholism has ruined his life, and Astrid Holm plays a Salvation Army worker who attempts to save him. She is played as a virtual saint, and apparently has fallen in love with him as well, though that is never fully motivated or developed. (I pointed out to the kids that her character had more or less the same profession as the women temperancists in Intolerance, who are of course portrayed in that movie as shrewish killjoys.) When the movie opens Holm is dying of tuberculosis and wants to see Sjöström before she dies. Most of the story is told in flashbacks -- again, fairly innovative for 1921 -- led by the driver of the eponymous Phantom Carriage, who is the ghost of a man whom Sjöström’s character once knew. I think the plot probably owes something to A Christmas Carol, but it is much more focused on the specifics of Sjöström’s alcoholism than the grand sweep of his life. Another interesting bit of trivia about this film is that there is a scene where Sjöström breaks down a door with an axe, which some people have theorized was the inspiration for the similar scene in The Shining.
Our next film, the fourth from 1921, will be the iconic Rudolph Valentino film The Sheik. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Tuesday, August 21, 2018
Tol'able David (1921)
Originally posted to Facebook on 3/9/2017
Tol'able David was our second film from 1921, and also the second film we’ve seen in which Richard Barthelmess plays the male lead. He’s the title character, and tol’able apparently is a contraction for “tolerable”, although it doesn’t seem like a word that’s used often enough to really warrant a contraction. He’s the youngest son in a farming family, who are depicted as having an idyllic if tenuous rural life. However, a series of tragic events occur, forcing him to grow up and shoulder more responsibility. The film was paced and executed decently well, but I thought Barthelmess overplayed his character’s boyishness in the earlier portions in the film. This was presumably to create a contrast with the later portions, but Barthelmess was too obviously a full-grown adult for it to seem credible. He also had patches of overacting, in particular a scene in which he told his quasi-girlfriend (Gladys Hulette) that he didn’t want to see her anymore, and then dramatically turned his head and marched off. This made the kids laugh significantly more than any of the deliberately comic scenes.
Next up is The Phantom Carriage, our third film from 1921, and the fourth film we’ve seen directed by Victor Sjöström. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Tol'able David was our second film from 1921, and also the second film we’ve seen in which Richard Barthelmess plays the male lead. He’s the title character, and tol’able apparently is a contraction for “tolerable”, although it doesn’t seem like a word that’s used often enough to really warrant a contraction. He’s the youngest son in a farming family, who are depicted as having an idyllic if tenuous rural life. However, a series of tragic events occur, forcing him to grow up and shoulder more responsibility. The film was paced and executed decently well, but I thought Barthelmess overplayed his character’s boyishness in the earlier portions in the film. This was presumably to create a contrast with the later portions, but Barthelmess was too obviously a full-grown adult for it to seem credible. He also had patches of overacting, in particular a scene in which he told his quasi-girlfriend (Gladys Hulette) that he didn’t want to see her anymore, and then dramatically turned his head and marched off. This made the kids laugh significantly more than any of the deliberately comic scenes.
Next up is The Phantom Carriage, our third film from 1921, and the fourth film we’ve seen directed by Victor Sjöström. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Kid (1921)
Originally posted to Facebook on 3/2/2017
The Kid was our first film from 1921, and our third feature starring Charlie Chaplin. But it actually feels more like our first proper Chaplin film, because the first (1914’s Tillie’s Punctured Romance, which some claim is the first surviving feature length comedy) was before Chaplin had really refined his screen persona, and the second (1918’s Shoulder Arms) was only forty-five minutes long, and was more akin to some of his shorts than a full-length movie. The version of The Kid that we saw was actually somewhat edited by Chaplin himself in 1971, apparently to remove a few scenes in which he didn’t appear. The main victim of this editing according to the internet was his regular female costar Edna Purviance. His other co-star -- the title character -- was Jackie Coogan, the archetypal child actor who was cheated out of his earnings by his parents. He also famously starred as Uncle Fester in the 1960s TV version of The Addams Family, and continued appearing in movies up through the 1980s. The clarity of the print was unusually sharp, possibly due to its popularity and various re-releases over the years, and it was the most relaxed of Chaplin’s films that we’ve seen, with fewer acrobatic or closely-timed sequences than usual. Most of the comedy was of a domestic sort, with Chaplin trying to raise Coogan in a less-than-ideal fashion, after finding him abandoned as a baby. The most elaborate bit is a dream sequence in which Chaplin imagines himself in a sort of an urban heaven. I didn’t find the movie enormously amusing, but it was pleasant and charming, and certainly showed Chaplin’s increasingly polished style. Additionally Coogan was not as annoying as you might imagine a young child in this sort of role might be.
Our next film from 1921 is Tol’able David, which stars Richard Barthelmess, whom we saw just last week as the male lead in Way Down East. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Kid was our first film from 1921, and our third feature starring Charlie Chaplin. But it actually feels more like our first proper Chaplin film, because the first (1914’s Tillie’s Punctured Romance, which some claim is the first surviving feature length comedy) was before Chaplin had really refined his screen persona, and the second (1918’s Shoulder Arms) was only forty-five minutes long, and was more akin to some of his shorts than a full-length movie. The version of The Kid that we saw was actually somewhat edited by Chaplin himself in 1971, apparently to remove a few scenes in which he didn’t appear. The main victim of this editing according to the internet was his regular female costar Edna Purviance. His other co-star -- the title character -- was Jackie Coogan, the archetypal child actor who was cheated out of his earnings by his parents. He also famously starred as Uncle Fester in the 1960s TV version of The Addams Family, and continued appearing in movies up through the 1980s. The clarity of the print was unusually sharp, possibly due to its popularity and various re-releases over the years, and it was the most relaxed of Chaplin’s films that we’ve seen, with fewer acrobatic or closely-timed sequences than usual. Most of the comedy was of a domestic sort, with Chaplin trying to raise Coogan in a less-than-ideal fashion, after finding him abandoned as a baby. The most elaborate bit is a dream sequence in which Chaplin imagines himself in a sort of an urban heaven. I didn’t find the movie enormously amusing, but it was pleasant and charming, and certainly showed Chaplin’s increasingly polished style. Additionally Coogan was not as annoying as you might imagine a young child in this sort of role might be.
Our next film from 1921 is Tol’able David, which stars Richard Barthelmess, whom we saw just last week as the male lead in Way Down East. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Way Down East (1920)
Originally posted to Facebook on 2/18/2017
Way Down East was our fifth and final film from 1920, our fourth feature directed by D.W. Griffith, and our second starring Lillian Gish. As with his other features Griffith is at least as interested in hammering you over the head with a moral lesson as he is in making a movie, but at least this time his moral lesson is not perversely wrong-headed. The story concerns Gish, who is seduced by a womanizer, and gives birth out of wedlock. Needless to say, this is scandalous, and calamitously impacts her life, whereas her seducer suffers no immediate consequences at all. She eventually ends up as a servant for a family which includes the male lead, played by Richard Barthelmess. The moralizing -- even in a good cause -- is still annoying, but the more serious flaw with this film is that its two-and-a-half-hour running time is needlessly padded with superfluous sequences, including not just a secondary but a tertiary romantic couple. The scenes with the other two couples are intended to be comic relief, but comedy, like so much else, is not Griffith’s strong suit. The early scenes, too, could have been trimmed to focus more exclusively on the circumstances that result in Gish being conned, rather than introducing a raft of other characters whom we never see again. (Lowell Sherman, by the way, who plays the seducer, went on to direct Mae West’s first starring role in She Done Him Wrong, and Katherine Hepburn’s first Oscar winning role in Morning Glory.) Despite its various flaws, it is probably fair to say that this is the most polished and cohesive feature we’ve seen by Griffith, but of his four features that we’ve seen 1916’s Intolerance is still the only one with a non-negligible chance that I might someday watch it again.
So that ends 1920. Next week we begin 1921 with The Kid, our third Charlie Chaplin feature. I’ve also added the films planned for 1922 to our list, which, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Way Down East was our fifth and final film from 1920, our fourth feature directed by D.W. Griffith, and our second starring Lillian Gish. As with his other features Griffith is at least as interested in hammering you over the head with a moral lesson as he is in making a movie, but at least this time his moral lesson is not perversely wrong-headed. The story concerns Gish, who is seduced by a womanizer, and gives birth out of wedlock. Needless to say, this is scandalous, and calamitously impacts her life, whereas her seducer suffers no immediate consequences at all. She eventually ends up as a servant for a family which includes the male lead, played by Richard Barthelmess. The moralizing -- even in a good cause -- is still annoying, but the more serious flaw with this film is that its two-and-a-half-hour running time is needlessly padded with superfluous sequences, including not just a secondary but a tertiary romantic couple. The scenes with the other two couples are intended to be comic relief, but comedy, like so much else, is not Griffith’s strong suit. The early scenes, too, could have been trimmed to focus more exclusively on the circumstances that result in Gish being conned, rather than introducing a raft of other characters whom we never see again. (Lowell Sherman, by the way, who plays the seducer, went on to direct Mae West’s first starring role in She Done Him Wrong, and Katherine Hepburn’s first Oscar winning role in Morning Glory.) Despite its various flaws, it is probably fair to say that this is the most polished and cohesive feature we’ve seen by Griffith, but of his four features that we’ve seen 1916’s Intolerance is still the only one with a non-negligible chance that I might someday watch it again.
So that ends 1920. Next week we begin 1921 with The Kid, our third Charlie Chaplin feature. I’ve also added the films planned for 1922 to our list, which, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Monday, August 20, 2018
The Golem (1920)
Originally posted to Facebook on 2/3/2017
The Golem was the fourth film we watched from 1920, and our second German feature, after The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari from earlier in 1920. Like that film, The Golem is one of the handful of silent movies that still has a certain residue of fame. It is actually the third in a series, but the first two are lost outside of a few clips. All three not only featured Paul Wegener as the Golem, but were co-written and co-directed by him as well. The first two were set contemporaneously, but this film was a prequel of sorts, and set centuries earlier, when the Golem was first created by a Rabbi in a Jewish ghetto. Needless to say, any inter-war German film about Jews immediately raises some concerns. Upon actually seeing the film, though, it struck me as mostly sympathetic to the Jewish characters -- the Golem of course being created mainly as a defense against expected attacks. Also, the Jewish villagers are not portrayed monolithically; neither as saints nor villains. However, they are not quite portrayed as ordinary human beings -- and are shown to possess odd powers -- including not just the power to bring the Golem to life, but also the ability to cast various spells. I do not think this is as much of a classic as The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari -- in fact it is probably my third favorite film we’ve seen in 1920 -- but that speaks more to how strong a year 1920 has been than to the faults of this film. Probably the most analogous film we’ve seen in a similar genre was the 16 minute version of Frankenstein we saw from 1910 -- which, though only ten years earlier, is virtually an eternity ago in terms of film technique and sophistication. Interestingly the closest thing to a villain in the film is the character of Rabbi Famulus, the assistant to Rabbi Loew (played by Albert Steinrück) who brings the Golem to life. He is played by Ernst Deutsch who, three decades later, had a significant role in The Third Man.
Next week we watch our fifth and final film from 1920, which will also be the fourth feature we’ve seen by D.W. Griffith, and the second starring Lillian Gish: Way Down East. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Golem was the fourth film we watched from 1920, and our second German feature, after The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari from earlier in 1920. Like that film, The Golem is one of the handful of silent movies that still has a certain residue of fame. It is actually the third in a series, but the first two are lost outside of a few clips. All three not only featured Paul Wegener as the Golem, but were co-written and co-directed by him as well. The first two were set contemporaneously, but this film was a prequel of sorts, and set centuries earlier, when the Golem was first created by a Rabbi in a Jewish ghetto. Needless to say, any inter-war German film about Jews immediately raises some concerns. Upon actually seeing the film, though, it struck me as mostly sympathetic to the Jewish characters -- the Golem of course being created mainly as a defense against expected attacks. Also, the Jewish villagers are not portrayed monolithically; neither as saints nor villains. However, they are not quite portrayed as ordinary human beings -- and are shown to possess odd powers -- including not just the power to bring the Golem to life, but also the ability to cast various spells. I do not think this is as much of a classic as The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari -- in fact it is probably my third favorite film we’ve seen in 1920 -- but that speaks more to how strong a year 1920 has been than to the faults of this film. Probably the most analogous film we’ve seen in a similar genre was the 16 minute version of Frankenstein we saw from 1910 -- which, though only ten years earlier, is virtually an eternity ago in terms of film technique and sophistication. Interestingly the closest thing to a villain in the film is the character of Rabbi Famulus, the assistant to Rabbi Loew (played by Albert Steinrück) who brings the Golem to life. He is played by Ernst Deutsch who, three decades later, had a significant role in The Third Man.
Next week we watch our fifth and final film from 1920, which will also be the fourth feature we’ve seen by D.W. Griffith, and the second starring Lillian Gish: Way Down East. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Penalty (1920)
Originally posted to Facebook on 1/26/2017
The Penalty was our third film from 1920, and the first we’ve seen starring Lon Chaney. He plays a man who, as a boy, had his legs mistakenly amputated by a surgeon after a traffic accident, and who grows up to be a mob boss who plots revenge. It is every bit as lurid and manipulative as it sounds. Lon Chaney played the part by tying his legs tightly behind him, and could only work for ten minutes at a stretch because of the pain. He of course went on to more famous silent roles, including The Phantom of the Opera, and The Hunchback of Notre Dame, but this is the first entire movie of his I’ve seen, and it is immediately apparent why he was a star. He theatrically and athletically waddles and climbs from place to place, declaiming his various plans, and dominates almost every scene that he’s in. By contrast, the scenes depicting the proto-FBI organization that is attempting to bring him down take place in a static undistinguished office, and look as if they could possibly have been shot in a single day. This organization assigns a woman agent played by Ethel Terry to infiltrate his criminal organization and find out why he has assigned a large chunk of his criminal organization to the task of making hats, itself a clearly diabolical activity. This movie is not quite as eccentric as last week’s The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, but compared to almost any other film we have seen recently, it is quite idiosyncratic. It probably most resembles the French serials Fantomas and Judex, but those had a significantly lighter tone. This movie is not entirely serious, but it has an intensity (sometimes verging on camp) that those movies lacked.
Next week we’ll see our fourth film from 1920, which, like The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, is a well-known early German silent: The Golem. I am a little apprehensive about watching an inter-war German film focusing on medieval Jewry, but am fully braced for it. Our list of planned films is, as always, here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Penalty was our third film from 1920, and the first we’ve seen starring Lon Chaney. He plays a man who, as a boy, had his legs mistakenly amputated by a surgeon after a traffic accident, and who grows up to be a mob boss who plots revenge. It is every bit as lurid and manipulative as it sounds. Lon Chaney played the part by tying his legs tightly behind him, and could only work for ten minutes at a stretch because of the pain. He of course went on to more famous silent roles, including The Phantom of the Opera, and The Hunchback of Notre Dame, but this is the first entire movie of his I’ve seen, and it is immediately apparent why he was a star. He theatrically and athletically waddles and climbs from place to place, declaiming his various plans, and dominates almost every scene that he’s in. By contrast, the scenes depicting the proto-FBI organization that is attempting to bring him down take place in a static undistinguished office, and look as if they could possibly have been shot in a single day. This organization assigns a woman agent played by Ethel Terry to infiltrate his criminal organization and find out why he has assigned a large chunk of his criminal organization to the task of making hats, itself a clearly diabolical activity. This movie is not quite as eccentric as last week’s The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, but compared to almost any other film we have seen recently, it is quite idiosyncratic. It probably most resembles the French serials Fantomas and Judex, but those had a significantly lighter tone. This movie is not entirely serious, but it has an intensity (sometimes verging on camp) that those movies lacked.
Next week we’ll see our fourth film from 1920, which, like The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, is a well-known early German silent: The Golem. I am a little apprehensive about watching an inter-war German film focusing on medieval Jewry, but am fully braced for it. Our list of planned films is, as always, here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Sunday, August 12, 2018
Summary 1910-1919
Originally posted to Facebook on 1/22/2017
Late last year we finished up our chronological viewing of the 1910s, and are now four films into 1920. I thought this would be a good time to single out the films that I most enjoyed or found the most interesting from that period. We watched nineteen shorts and thirty-one features, though the dividing line between the two was a little fuzzy at times, and included some ~45 minute "features." One of those shorter features that I liked was The Mystery of the Kador Cliffs [1912], directed by Léonce Perret and produced in France at Gaumont Studios. As I mentioned in the write-up, it could very easily have been adapted as an episode on the old Alfred Hitchcock show, and coming when it did at the dawn of features it seemed markedly more realistic than the shorts we'd been watching previously, which were largely melodramas or the tail-end of the Melies or Melies-inspired camera-trick films. Two other films, also from Gaumont, were the crime serials Fantomas [1913] and Judex [1916], both of which were over five hours in total length, and both of which were directed by Louis Feuillade. Judex is more consistent in tone, and is probably the better film; I could easily imagine it being rebooted for a modern audience. But Fantomas is more tongue-in-cheek, and more bizarre (for instance the drive-by attempt at murder via python, foiled only by the hero having the foresight to wear a python-proof suit.)
The two films that are likely on any in-depth film history curriculum -- and deserve to be -- are Cabiria [1914] and Intolerance [1916]. The shock of seeing the camera begin moving into a scene during Cabiria -- rather than just panning -- cannot be felt by a modern audience in the same way it must have been felt by a contemporary audience, but one can still apprehend that something new is happening. And it is has a number of elaborate and impressive set pieces as well -- including the dark and weird scenes where children are tossed into an oven embedded in the stomach of a statue of a local god. Intolerance builds upon Cabiria, and adds the famous Babylonian crane shots, as well as an insanely ambitious attempt to make a coherent movie out of four distinct time period. It doesn't completely succeed, and spends a lot of time burrowing down some weirdly misguided moral rabbit-holes, but it's an impressive film, both in its ambition, and in what it accomplishes. Both films are long, and periodically lose focus. Cabiria, though, at least, seems to always have entertainment on its mind, rather than trying to teach some questionable moral lessons.
Besides Feuillade and Leonce Perret, there were three other directors whom we saw more than once: D.W. Griffith, Cecil B. DeMille, and Victor Sjöström. Victor Sjöström is the only one of the three all of whose films I liked. Probably the best of his three films we saw was Ingeborg Holm [1913]. Like The Mystery of the Kador Cliffs, it was markedly more realistic than the films we'd been seeing up until that point, and stopped short of some of the sentimental cliches it could have employed, at least up until the very end. It was Dickensian in a sense, in that it told a story about an individual's misfortunes, but also had a focus on the institutional failures that had played a role.
The final feature I'll mention was the one that I personally found the most entertaining from this period: the Douglas Fairbanks feature When the Clouds Roll By [1919], directed by Victor Fleming. It was the funniest of the various comedies we'd seen -- including the films we saw by the canonical three silent comedians -- Chaplin, Keaton, and Lloyd. To be fair to those three, all of their greatest work came in the twenties, and only Chaplin was making features in the 1910-1919 period. Fairbanks, too, probably did his major work in the twenties, but by 1919 he was already well established, and this film features his typical athleticism along with some intricate stunts and some fancy editing. Also it helps that he and his leading lady actually seem to like each other, always helpful in a romantic comedy, and surprisingly missing in a lot of the films we saw from this period (and even today, really.)
As far as shorts are concerned, I can't say there was anything that really stood out for me. Griffith's The Girl and Her Trust [1912] was a good short from the period just prior to features becoming common. I understand there were several other versions with a similar story that Griffith and others shot, but this was the one we saw, and it was a good straight-forward western, sort of a natural evolution of The Great Train Robbery. The Immigrant [1917] was probably the best of the Chaplin shorts we saw, especially the first half which was set shipboard. From Hand to Mouth [1919] by Harold Lloyd was also intermittently amusing. Lloyd's films don't have the touch of obsesssiveness that Chaplin's and Keaton's do, but he does have more of an everyman quality that makes his protagonists a little more sympathetic.
So that's it for the teens for a while -- probably forever in that concentrated a dosage. I'm looking forward to the twenties quite a bit, because I'm expecting the films to be better and stranger and more ambitious, which certainly seems to be the case four films in.
The two films that are likely on any in-depth film history curriculum -- and deserve to be -- are Cabiria [1914] and Intolerance [1916]. The shock of seeing the camera begin moving into a scene during Cabiria -- rather than just panning -- cannot be felt by a modern audience in the same way it must have been felt by a contemporary audience, but one can still apprehend that something new is happening. And it is has a number of elaborate and impressive set pieces as well -- including the dark and weird scenes where children are tossed into an oven embedded in the stomach of a statue of a local god. Intolerance builds upon Cabiria, and adds the famous Babylonian crane shots, as well as an insanely ambitious attempt to make a coherent movie out of four distinct time period. It doesn't completely succeed, and spends a lot of time burrowing down some weirdly misguided moral rabbit-holes, but it's an impressive film, both in its ambition, and in what it accomplishes. Both films are long, and periodically lose focus. Cabiria, though, at least, seems to always have entertainment on its mind, rather than trying to teach some questionable moral lessons.
Besides Feuillade and Leonce Perret, there were three other directors whom we saw more than once: D.W. Griffith, Cecil B. DeMille, and Victor Sjöström. Victor Sjöström is the only one of the three all of whose films I liked. Probably the best of his three films we saw was Ingeborg Holm [1913]. Like The Mystery of the Kador Cliffs, it was markedly more realistic than the films we'd been seeing up until that point, and stopped short of some of the sentimental cliches it could have employed, at least up until the very end. It was Dickensian in a sense, in that it told a story about an individual's misfortunes, but also had a focus on the institutional failures that had played a role.
The final feature I'll mention was the one that I personally found the most entertaining from this period: the Douglas Fairbanks feature When the Clouds Roll By [1919], directed by Victor Fleming. It was the funniest of the various comedies we'd seen -- including the films we saw by the canonical three silent comedians -- Chaplin, Keaton, and Lloyd. To be fair to those three, all of their greatest work came in the twenties, and only Chaplin was making features in the 1910-1919 period. Fairbanks, too, probably did his major work in the twenties, but by 1919 he was already well established, and this film features his typical athleticism along with some intricate stunts and some fancy editing. Also it helps that he and his leading lady actually seem to like each other, always helpful in a romantic comedy, and surprisingly missing in a lot of the films we saw from this period (and even today, really.)
As far as shorts are concerned, I can't say there was anything that really stood out for me. Griffith's The Girl and Her Trust [1912] was a good short from the period just prior to features becoming common. I understand there were several other versions with a similar story that Griffith and others shot, but this was the one we saw, and it was a good straight-forward western, sort of a natural evolution of The Great Train Robbery. The Immigrant [1917] was probably the best of the Chaplin shorts we saw, especially the first half which was set shipboard. From Hand to Mouth [1919] by Harold Lloyd was also intermittently amusing. Lloyd's films don't have the touch of obsesssiveness that Chaplin's and Keaton's do, but he does have more of an everyman quality that makes his protagonists a little more sympathetic.
So that's it for the teens for a while -- probably forever in that concentrated a dosage. I'm looking forward to the twenties quite a bit, because I'm expecting the films to be better and stranger and more ambitious, which certainly seems to be the case four films in.
The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920)
Originally posted to Facebook on 1/13/2017
The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari was our second film from 1920, and, I think, our first German feature. It was also the first feature in this project that I had actually seen before in its entirety. It is, of course, famously bizarre and unsettling, with strange sets, slanted doors and windows, odd furniture, and ostentatiously unrealistic painted backgrounds. The only feature we’ve seen that is even close to this film’s artificiality is 1918’s The Blue Bird.
The plot concerns the hero, played by Friedrich Feher, who tries to prevent a sleepwalker named Cesare (played by Conrad Veidt) from terrorizing the city, at the direction of Dr. Caligari (Werner Krauss), especially after his friend (Hans Heinrich von Twardowski) and girlfriend (Lil Dagover) become targets.
So much has been said and written about this film that I’m not sure I have much to add. I think it largely lives up to its reputation; the acting is sometimes overwrought, and not every eccentricity pays off, but cumulatively it does capture a strange dreamlike state. The ending still feels like a mistake to me, but Ben did not anticipate it and I could hear him puzzling it out as he started asking questions while the film wound down. He brought it up a few times subsequently too -- so I guess it still has a certain power to fresh eyes. (Though on the flip side, the kids also noticed that Dr. Caligari was wearing white gloves, and for a while were reading the title cards in a Mickey Mouse voice, until I suggested that perhaps the joke had worn out its welcome.)
Next week we’ll watch our third film from 1920: The Penalty, with Lon Chaney. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari was our second film from 1920, and, I think, our first German feature. It was also the first feature in this project that I had actually seen before in its entirety. It is, of course, famously bizarre and unsettling, with strange sets, slanted doors and windows, odd furniture, and ostentatiously unrealistic painted backgrounds. The only feature we’ve seen that is even close to this film’s artificiality is 1918’s The Blue Bird.
The plot concerns the hero, played by Friedrich Feher, who tries to prevent a sleepwalker named Cesare (played by Conrad Veidt) from terrorizing the city, at the direction of Dr. Caligari (Werner Krauss), especially after his friend (Hans Heinrich von Twardowski) and girlfriend (Lil Dagover) become targets.
So much has been said and written about this film that I’m not sure I have much to add. I think it largely lives up to its reputation; the acting is sometimes overwrought, and not every eccentricity pays off, but cumulatively it does capture a strange dreamlike state. The ending still feels like a mistake to me, but Ben did not anticipate it and I could hear him puzzling it out as he started asking questions while the film wound down. He brought it up a few times subsequently too -- so I guess it still has a certain power to fresh eyes. (Though on the flip side, the kids also noticed that Dr. Caligari was wearing white gloves, and for a while were reading the title cards in a Mickey Mouse voice, until I suggested that perhaps the joke had worn out its welcome.)
Next week we’ll watch our third film from 1920: The Penalty, with Lon Chaney. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Speedy (1928)
Originally posted to Facebook on 1/8/2017
Speedy wasn’t strictly part of our chronological movie viewing, since it’s from 1928, and we are just now reaching the 1920s, but it was certainly complementary. I saw it with the kids and my mom at the Alamo in Winchester, with a live band playing accompaniment. The film was enjoyable, if a bit fragmented. It really had four segments -- Harold Lloyd taking his girlfriend, played by Ann Christy, to Coney Island, then trying to keep a job as a cab driver, then a big fight scene between company goons and civil war vets, and finally a chase scene with Lloyd trying to drive his girlfriend’s grandfather’s horse-drawn trolley through various obstacles in order to beat a deadline. The last two are the most directly connected to the plot, while the first two are more extraneous. The Coney Island sequence, though somewhat isolated from the rest of the film, was interesting as a bit of a time capsule. The carnival rides were similar to modern rides, but a little different in style, and generally more dangerous looking. Several weeks later we saw Tillie Wakes Up, from 1917, and saw a similar visit -- possibly to Coney Island as well -- with a lot of the same (or similar) types of rides, but the comedic bits in Speedy were more sophisticated and better written. In the second section, Babe Ruth shows up as a terrified taxicab passenger for about five minutes. I imagine his scenes were shot in a day or two, but it was interesting to see them nonetheless, since Babe Ruth is one of the few figures from the twenties who is still a household name. In the third section, the mass fighting sequence was impressive in its scale -- dozens or hundreds of people fighting with improvised weapons. The trolley chase scenes were more familiar silent-movie territory, but still inventive. I don’t know if I really laughed during the film, but it was pleasant and engaging. The real highlight was the experience of seeing it in the theater with a live band. The band was made up of local musicians who had clearly studied the film beforehand, and chosen music appropriate to the on-screen action. I’m glad there are venues are still committed to presenting silent films in something approximating the manner that they were intended to be viewed, and I'm glad it was reasonably well-attended, so that hopefully similar opportunities will pop up in the future.
Speedy wasn’t strictly part of our chronological movie viewing, since it’s from 1928, and we are just now reaching the 1920s, but it was certainly complementary. I saw it with the kids and my mom at the Alamo in Winchester, with a live band playing accompaniment. The film was enjoyable, if a bit fragmented. It really had four segments -- Harold Lloyd taking his girlfriend, played by Ann Christy, to Coney Island, then trying to keep a job as a cab driver, then a big fight scene between company goons and civil war vets, and finally a chase scene with Lloyd trying to drive his girlfriend’s grandfather’s horse-drawn trolley through various obstacles in order to beat a deadline. The last two are the most directly connected to the plot, while the first two are more extraneous. The Coney Island sequence, though somewhat isolated from the rest of the film, was interesting as a bit of a time capsule. The carnival rides were similar to modern rides, but a little different in style, and generally more dangerous looking. Several weeks later we saw Tillie Wakes Up, from 1917, and saw a similar visit -- possibly to Coney Island as well -- with a lot of the same (or similar) types of rides, but the comedic bits in Speedy were more sophisticated and better written. In the second section, Babe Ruth shows up as a terrified taxicab passenger for about five minutes. I imagine his scenes were shot in a day or two, but it was interesting to see them nonetheless, since Babe Ruth is one of the few figures from the twenties who is still a household name. In the third section, the mass fighting sequence was impressive in its scale -- dozens or hundreds of people fighting with improvised weapons. The trolley chase scenes were more familiar silent-movie territory, but still inventive. I don’t know if I really laughed during the film, but it was pleasant and engaging. The real highlight was the experience of seeing it in the theater with a live band. The band was made up of local musicians who had clearly studied the film beforehand, and chosen music appropriate to the on-screen action. I’m glad there are venues are still committed to presenting silent films in something approximating the manner that they were intended to be viewed, and I'm glad it was reasonably well-attended, so that hopefully similar opportunities will pop up in the future.
Saturday, July 28, 2018
Why Change Your Wife? (1920)
Originally posted to Facebook on 1/7/2017
Why Change Your Wife? was our first film from 1920, and our fourth by Cecil B. DeMille. It re-united Gloria Swanson and Thomas Meighan from 1919’s Male and Female, and also starred Bebe Daniels, who had a bit part in Male and Female, and whom we just saw in the 1919 Harold Lloyd short Bumping Into Broadway. (According to IMDB she was in almost 40 shorts in 1919, quite a few of them with Lloyd.) This film was a follow-up to another 1919 Cecil B. DeMille / Gloria Swanson film called Don’t Change Your Husband. We didn’t watch that film, but this one wavered between being a romantic comedy and a moralistic cautionary tale. Thomas Meighan and Gloria Swanson start the film as a married couple who are not getting along. The blame is initially put rather squarely on Swanson’s shoulders, since she is continually nagging him, and not interested in wearing some ostensibly sexy lingerie that he buys for her. In one racist intertitle, she responds to the latter by saying, “Do you expect me to share your Oriental ideas?” But the racism was crowded out by the much more omnipresent sexism. Bebe Daniels plays a woman whom Meighan meets at the clothing store where he bought the lingerie, and he ends up spending a night with her after Swanson declines his invitation to see the Follies (at $3.50 a ticket.) The film doesn’t exactly absolve Meighan, but it strongly suggests that Swanson shares the blame. I won’t detail the rest of the film, but one partial spoiler I will share is that the film ends up having a very similar moral to Grease. Grease, though, had a much lighter tone. This film would have been much better, and much more palatable, if it had committed to consistently playing scenes for comedy -- without insisting on any kind of universal lesson. At times it adopts this approach, and it certainly has the form of a romantic comedy, but even conventional scenes from a movie of that type are sometimes weighed down with more solemnity than they can carry. The most dramatic and risible example of this is a scene late in the movie where Meighan slips on a banana peel -- really -- but then ends up lying on the ground with his head in a pool of blood while a crowd gathers. Our last film from 1919 -- True Heart Susie -- was also rather sexist, but in some ways its message was from the opposite side of the spectrum. It held up as an ideal a selfless non-paint-wearing martyr in the form of Lillian Gish, whereas this film blames Swanson for being reluctant to dance or wear perfume or lingerie. I guess you can’t win.
So, not exactly an auspicious start to the 1920s, but our next film is one of the canonical classics of the silent era: The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. The list for our upcoming films is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Why Change Your Wife? was our first film from 1920, and our fourth by Cecil B. DeMille. It re-united Gloria Swanson and Thomas Meighan from 1919’s Male and Female, and also starred Bebe Daniels, who had a bit part in Male and Female, and whom we just saw in the 1919 Harold Lloyd short Bumping Into Broadway. (According to IMDB she was in almost 40 shorts in 1919, quite a few of them with Lloyd.) This film was a follow-up to another 1919 Cecil B. DeMille / Gloria Swanson film called Don’t Change Your Husband. We didn’t watch that film, but this one wavered between being a romantic comedy and a moralistic cautionary tale. Thomas Meighan and Gloria Swanson start the film as a married couple who are not getting along. The blame is initially put rather squarely on Swanson’s shoulders, since she is continually nagging him, and not interested in wearing some ostensibly sexy lingerie that he buys for her. In one racist intertitle, she responds to the latter by saying, “Do you expect me to share your Oriental ideas?” But the racism was crowded out by the much more omnipresent sexism. Bebe Daniels plays a woman whom Meighan meets at the clothing store where he bought the lingerie, and he ends up spending a night with her after Swanson declines his invitation to see the Follies (at $3.50 a ticket.) The film doesn’t exactly absolve Meighan, but it strongly suggests that Swanson shares the blame. I won’t detail the rest of the film, but one partial spoiler I will share is that the film ends up having a very similar moral to Grease. Grease, though, had a much lighter tone. This film would have been much better, and much more palatable, if it had committed to consistently playing scenes for comedy -- without insisting on any kind of universal lesson. At times it adopts this approach, and it certainly has the form of a romantic comedy, but even conventional scenes from a movie of that type are sometimes weighed down with more solemnity than they can carry. The most dramatic and risible example of this is a scene late in the movie where Meighan slips on a banana peel -- really -- but then ends up lying on the ground with his head in a pool of blood while a crowd gathers. Our last film from 1919 -- True Heart Susie -- was also rather sexist, but in some ways its message was from the opposite side of the spectrum. It held up as an ideal a selfless non-paint-wearing martyr in the form of Lillian Gish, whereas this film blames Swanson for being reluctant to dance or wear perfume or lingerie. I guess you can’t win.
So, not exactly an auspicious start to the 1920s, but our next film is one of the canonical classics of the silent era: The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. The list for our upcoming films is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Shorts (1918-1919)
Originally posted to Facebook on 1/1/2017
Last week we watched our second and last batch of shorts from the teens. They included:
A Dog's Life (1918)
The Bell Boy (1918)
From Hand to Mouth (1919)
Bumping into Broadway (1919)
All three of the canonical silent comedians are represented: Chaplin in A Dog’s Life, Keaton in The Bell Boy, and Harold Lloyd in the other two.
We’d seen three Chaplin shorts the previous week, and the new one was along much the same lines, including the presence of Edna Purviance as his leading lady. Quality-wise it was in the middle of the pack: not as good as The Immigrant, but better than The Tramp. Much of the plot revolves around Chaplin trying to obtain money and food, which is essentially the premise of the earlier shorts as well.
That basic plot is also the basis of Harold Lloyd’s From Hand to Mouth, though Lloyd is a somewhat more accessible leading man. Chaplin often has a slightly alien presence -- including his unusual appearance, and his ignorance or lack of concern with normal human conventions. Lloyd comes across as more of a normal human being down on his luck. His co-star in this film was Mildred Davis, who eventually became his wife of forty-plus years.
Bumping into Broadway was another Lloyd short from the same year, and had many of the same supporting cast, excepting his co-star, who in this case was Bebe Daniels, an actress whom we’d seen in a bit part in Male and Female, and who was active in movies and TV well into the 1950s. Interestingly both films end with dozens of policeman chasing people around, which conforms to a stereotype of silent comedies. Neither film was made for Keystone, so these weren’t technically Keystone Cops, but seem likely to be a derivative of some sort.
I’d taken the kids to see 1928’s Speedy back during the fall at the Alamo in Winchester, so this wasn’t their first time seeing Harold Lloyd. He’s a decade younger in these shorts, but his persona already seems to be basically intact.
The remaining short, The Bell Boy, was a Fatty Arbuckle picture, and co-starred both Keaton and Arbuckle’s nephew Al St. John, whom we'd seen in the previous week’s Fatty and Mabel Adrift. This is the first time we’ve seen Keaton however, and although he isn’t the star of the picture his talents are prominently on display, and you can see an athleticism and apparent willingness to endure pain for the sake of a gag that are unlike Chaplin or Lloyd. Interestingly, according to Wikipedia, he reprised much of this short twenty years later in the sound era, with 1937’s Love Nest on Wheels, and also used a portion of it almost fifty years later, in a 1966 short called The Scribe. Like all of the shorts this week, this film has a lot of scattershot jokes, some of which are better than others. Interestingly there are some topical references to Rasputin and to Kaiser Wilhelm, making this and Shoulder Arms the only two films we’ve seen to directly reference World War One while it was actually occurring.
Next week we begin the 1920s, with our fourth film by Cecil B. DeMille, titled Why Change Your Wife?. I’ve also added a new set of films from 1921. As with 1920, I’ve failed to keep to my original plan of targeting four films a year, and have instead selected five. This should take us into early March. I’m definitely hoping to hit sound films this year, since I would like to finish this project before the kids go to college, but we shall see. The updated list is shared here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Last week we watched our second and last batch of shorts from the teens. They included:
A Dog's Life (1918)
The Bell Boy (1918)
From Hand to Mouth (1919)
Bumping into Broadway (1919)
All three of the canonical silent comedians are represented: Chaplin in A Dog’s Life, Keaton in The Bell Boy, and Harold Lloyd in the other two.
We’d seen three Chaplin shorts the previous week, and the new one was along much the same lines, including the presence of Edna Purviance as his leading lady. Quality-wise it was in the middle of the pack: not as good as The Immigrant, but better than The Tramp. Much of the plot revolves around Chaplin trying to obtain money and food, which is essentially the premise of the earlier shorts as well.
That basic plot is also the basis of Harold Lloyd’s From Hand to Mouth, though Lloyd is a somewhat more accessible leading man. Chaplin often has a slightly alien presence -- including his unusual appearance, and his ignorance or lack of concern with normal human conventions. Lloyd comes across as more of a normal human being down on his luck. His co-star in this film was Mildred Davis, who eventually became his wife of forty-plus years.
Bumping into Broadway was another Lloyd short from the same year, and had many of the same supporting cast, excepting his co-star, who in this case was Bebe Daniels, an actress whom we’d seen in a bit part in Male and Female, and who was active in movies and TV well into the 1950s. Interestingly both films end with dozens of policeman chasing people around, which conforms to a stereotype of silent comedies. Neither film was made for Keystone, so these weren’t technically Keystone Cops, but seem likely to be a derivative of some sort.
I’d taken the kids to see 1928’s Speedy back during the fall at the Alamo in Winchester, so this wasn’t their first time seeing Harold Lloyd. He’s a decade younger in these shorts, but his persona already seems to be basically intact.
The remaining short, The Bell Boy, was a Fatty Arbuckle picture, and co-starred both Keaton and Arbuckle’s nephew Al St. John, whom we'd seen in the previous week’s Fatty and Mabel Adrift. This is the first time we’ve seen Keaton however, and although he isn’t the star of the picture his talents are prominently on display, and you can see an athleticism and apparent willingness to endure pain for the sake of a gag that are unlike Chaplin or Lloyd. Interestingly, according to Wikipedia, he reprised much of this short twenty years later in the sound era, with 1937’s Love Nest on Wheels, and also used a portion of it almost fifty years later, in a 1966 short called The Scribe. Like all of the shorts this week, this film has a lot of scattershot jokes, some of which are better than others. Interestingly there are some topical references to Rasputin and to Kaiser Wilhelm, making this and Shoulder Arms the only two films we’ve seen to directly reference World War One while it was actually occurring.
Next week we begin the 1920s, with our fourth film by Cecil B. DeMille, titled Why Change Your Wife?. I’ve also added a new set of films from 1921. As with 1920, I’ve failed to keep to my original plan of targeting four films a year, and have instead selected five. This should take us into early March. I’m definitely hoping to hit sound films this year, since I would like to finish this project before the kids go to college, but we shall see. The updated list is shared here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Shorts (1915-1917)
Originally posted to Facebook on 12/14/2016
This was our first of two weekends watching shorts from the teens. We saw five films:
The Tramp (1915)
A Burlesque on Carmen (1915)
Fatty and Mabel Adrift (1916)
Teddy at the Throttle (1917)
The Immigrant (1917)
Three of them were Chaplin shorts, the best of which was The Immigrant, which included a brief scene that I half-recognized from somewhere, specifically a few seconds in which Chaplin is half-walking / half-hopping in order to keep his balance on a rocking boat. The Immigrant is split into two parts, the first of which takes place on a ship bringing immigrants to the United States, including their sighting of the Statue of Liberty (which, as I believe I mentioned when discussing 1915’s The Italian, had been built just thirty years earlier.) The second section takes place mostly at a restaurant, once Chaplin and his co-star have settled in America. The best scenes are on board the ship; things slow down a bit once he comes ashore. His costar in all three shorts is Edna Purviance, who was also his co-star in 1918’s Shoulder Arms, which we saw several weeks ago. (The distinction between shorts and features during this period is a bit arbitrary; The Immigrant was half an hour, while Shoulder Arms was only forty-five minutes.)
A Burlesque on Carmen was interesting in that it was a direct parody of Cecil B. DeMille’s 1915 version of Carmen, which we watched back in May. The sets and costumes and plot points were quite similar, though the jokes were mostly shoehorned into the plot, rather than constituting any real satire of the earlier movie.
The Tramp was the earliest of the three, and probably the least inventive, with most of the jokes consisting of people being hit with bricks or poked with pitchforks or having things fall on them.
Fatty and Mabel Adrift starred Mabel Normand (who we last saw in 1914’s Tillie’s Punctured Romance, with Chaplin) and Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle. The villain was played by Al St. John, Arbuckle’s nephew. His acting in this short was extremely broad, even by the standards of early silent comedies, but apparently he went on to a long career as a Western sidekick in the thirties and forties, including many B movies with Buster Crabbe. This movie was basically about Arbuckle and Normand’s characters' romance and eventual marriage, and St. John’s jealous attempts at sabotage.
Teddy at the Throttle starred Gloria Swanson, whom we saw a few weeks ago in Male and Female. Her costar was Bobby Vernon, who was only an inch taller than Swanson at 5’2. The main villain was played by Wallace Beery, who was married to Swanson at the time. Like her, he bridged the gap between silents and talkies, winning a Best Actor Oscar in 1932. He was also famously referenced in Barton Fink (“Wallace Beery. Wrestling Picture. What do you need, a roadmap?”) The plot of this was similar to a few other films we’ve seen, in that Swanson and Vernon are due to inherit some money if and when they are married, and Beery and his sister attempt to use this information to enrich themselves.
I can’t say any of these films really struck me as worthy of recommendation, but The Immigrant and Teddy at the Throttle were probably the best of the bunch. Next week we see four more shorts, and then move on to features from the 1920s. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
This was our first of two weekends watching shorts from the teens. We saw five films:
The Tramp (1915)
A Burlesque on Carmen (1915)
Fatty and Mabel Adrift (1916)
Teddy at the Throttle (1917)
The Immigrant (1917)
Three of them were Chaplin shorts, the best of which was The Immigrant, which included a brief scene that I half-recognized from somewhere, specifically a few seconds in which Chaplin is half-walking / half-hopping in order to keep his balance on a rocking boat. The Immigrant is split into two parts, the first of which takes place on a ship bringing immigrants to the United States, including their sighting of the Statue of Liberty (which, as I believe I mentioned when discussing 1915’s The Italian, had been built just thirty years earlier.) The second section takes place mostly at a restaurant, once Chaplin and his co-star have settled in America. The best scenes are on board the ship; things slow down a bit once he comes ashore. His costar in all three shorts is Edna Purviance, who was also his co-star in 1918’s Shoulder Arms, which we saw several weeks ago. (The distinction between shorts and features during this period is a bit arbitrary; The Immigrant was half an hour, while Shoulder Arms was only forty-five minutes.)
A Burlesque on Carmen was interesting in that it was a direct parody of Cecil B. DeMille’s 1915 version of Carmen, which we watched back in May. The sets and costumes and plot points were quite similar, though the jokes were mostly shoehorned into the plot, rather than constituting any real satire of the earlier movie.
The Tramp was the earliest of the three, and probably the least inventive, with most of the jokes consisting of people being hit with bricks or poked with pitchforks or having things fall on them.
Fatty and Mabel Adrift starred Mabel Normand (who we last saw in 1914’s Tillie’s Punctured Romance, with Chaplin) and Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle. The villain was played by Al St. John, Arbuckle’s nephew. His acting in this short was extremely broad, even by the standards of early silent comedies, but apparently he went on to a long career as a Western sidekick in the thirties and forties, including many B movies with Buster Crabbe. This movie was basically about Arbuckle and Normand’s characters' romance and eventual marriage, and St. John’s jealous attempts at sabotage.
Teddy at the Throttle starred Gloria Swanson, whom we saw a few weeks ago in Male and Female. Her costar was Bobby Vernon, who was only an inch taller than Swanson at 5’2. The main villain was played by Wallace Beery, who was married to Swanson at the time. Like her, he bridged the gap between silents and talkies, winning a Best Actor Oscar in 1932. He was also famously referenced in Barton Fink (“Wallace Beery. Wrestling Picture. What do you need, a roadmap?”) The plot of this was similar to a few other films we’ve seen, in that Swanson and Vernon are due to inherit some money if and when they are married, and Beery and his sister attempt to use this information to enrich themselves.
I can’t say any of these films really struck me as worthy of recommendation, but The Immigrant and Teddy at the Throttle were probably the best of the bunch. Next week we see four more shorts, and then move on to features from the 1920s. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
True Heart Susie (1919)
Originally posted to Facebook on 12/11/2016
The final feature we watched from 1919 was True Heart Susie, the third feature we’ve seen directed by D. W. Griffith. It’s also the first we’ve seen starring Lillian Gish, though we’ve seen her previously in smaller parts, including in the unrewarding role of endless cradle-rocker in Intolerance. Her co-star is Robert Harron, who played the male lead in the modern section of Intolerance. Gish plays the title character, who lives in a small town with Harron, and has, since grade school, been in love with him. Harron fitfully reciprocates, but ends up marrying another woman, played by Clarine Seymour. Interestingly Harron and Seymour would both be dead by the following year; Harron via a self-inflicted gunshot, and Seymour of pneumonia following intestinal surgery. Gish on the other hand lived for seventy-three more years, dying in 1993, and appearing in movies well into the eighties.
In this movie Gish is portrayed as basically angelic, while Seymour, if not quite demonic, is certainly portrayed as selfish and unreliable. In the most amusingly anachronistic bit of disparagement, Seymour is described as the type of woman who wears paint, while Gish, of course, doesn’t. And this is part of a larger pattern -- all of Gish’s choices are presented as virtuous, including misleading Harron on several occasions, and generally not making her feelings known to him. Perhaps this is the model Griffith had of appropriate female behavior, but it appears ludicrous today, and I imagine to many audiences of the time as well -- since this was not the attitude shown in the other films of the period that we’ve seen (or at least not to this pronounced degree.) Basically this is the same flaw that polluted Intolerance; Griffith’s tendency to be at least as interested in espousing his strange and retrograde moral ideas as in making an entertaining movie. Another irritating trope in this film, which continues to crop up in films even now, is that Gish is described in title cards as being plain, despite clearly being a movie star. Notwithstanding all of the above, this movie may be the most conventionally entertaining of the three Griffith features that we’ve seen, but that only means that it is more entertaining than the uneven and muddled Judith of Bethulia, and more conventional than the sprawling and sui generis Intolerance.
So, with this film, we’ve wrapped up the teens, at least as far as features go. During the next two weeks we’ll watch a selection of shorts before moving on to the twenties. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The final feature we watched from 1919 was True Heart Susie, the third feature we’ve seen directed by D. W. Griffith. It’s also the first we’ve seen starring Lillian Gish, though we’ve seen her previously in smaller parts, including in the unrewarding role of endless cradle-rocker in Intolerance. Her co-star is Robert Harron, who played the male lead in the modern section of Intolerance. Gish plays the title character, who lives in a small town with Harron, and has, since grade school, been in love with him. Harron fitfully reciprocates, but ends up marrying another woman, played by Clarine Seymour. Interestingly Harron and Seymour would both be dead by the following year; Harron via a self-inflicted gunshot, and Seymour of pneumonia following intestinal surgery. Gish on the other hand lived for seventy-three more years, dying in 1993, and appearing in movies well into the eighties.
In this movie Gish is portrayed as basically angelic, while Seymour, if not quite demonic, is certainly portrayed as selfish and unreliable. In the most amusingly anachronistic bit of disparagement, Seymour is described as the type of woman who wears paint, while Gish, of course, doesn’t. And this is part of a larger pattern -- all of Gish’s choices are presented as virtuous, including misleading Harron on several occasions, and generally not making her feelings known to him. Perhaps this is the model Griffith had of appropriate female behavior, but it appears ludicrous today, and I imagine to many audiences of the time as well -- since this was not the attitude shown in the other films of the period that we’ve seen (or at least not to this pronounced degree.) Basically this is the same flaw that polluted Intolerance; Griffith’s tendency to be at least as interested in espousing his strange and retrograde moral ideas as in making an entertaining movie. Another irritating trope in this film, which continues to crop up in films even now, is that Gish is described in title cards as being plain, despite clearly being a movie star. Notwithstanding all of the above, this movie may be the most conventionally entertaining of the three Griffith features that we’ve seen, but that only means that it is more entertaining than the uneven and muddled Judith of Bethulia, and more conventional than the sprawling and sui generis Intolerance.
So, with this film, we’ve wrapped up the teens, at least as far as features go. During the next two weeks we’ll watch a selection of shorts before moving on to the twenties. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Tuesday, July 24, 2018
Hawthorne of the U.S.A. (1919)
Originally posted to Facebook on 11/20/2016
Hawthorne of the U.S.A. was our third film from 1919. It starred Wallace Reid, whom we last saw in a leading role in Carmen, from 1915. There are a variety of other familiar faces as well: Lila Lee, the female lead, and Theodore Roberts both appeared in Male and Female, from just a few weeks back, and Charles Ogle we’d seen as far back as 1910 playing the monster in Frankenstein, and also more recently in Romance of the Redwoods. Also present was Harrison Ford as the protagonist’s best friend, or as IMDB calls him, Harrison Ford (II). I’ve been vaguely aware that there was a silent film star with the same name as the modern actor, but this was the first time I’d seen him in an actual film. The film itself is based on a play, and is essentially a romantic comedy, though with a slight satirical tinge. It begins with Reid winning a fortune at Monte Carlo, and making some vaguely anti-monarchical statements. This encourages some revolutionaries from the fictional country of Bovinia to draw him into their attempts to overthrow Bovinia’s king. Once he arrives in Bovinia, he ends up falling in love with the king’s daughter, and gets involved in various other intrigues. Overall it is a lightweight, occasionally amusing film, with no serious political points to make, excepting possibly the out-of-style viewpoint that the solution to foreign instability is just a good dose of American common sense. The revolutionaries even today seem reminiscent of the Bolsheviks, and certainly must have seemed that way to the audiences of 1919, but the source play was performed on Broadway in 1912 (and, as an aside, starred Douglas Fairbanks), so 1917 is presumably not the specific satirical target.
Next week we watch True Heart Susie, our final film from 1919, and our third feature from D. W. Griffith, starring Lillian Gish and Robert Harron. After that we’re going to take a couple of weeks to watch some shorts from the teens, and then move on to the 1920s. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Hawthorne of the U.S.A. was our third film from 1919. It starred Wallace Reid, whom we last saw in a leading role in Carmen, from 1915. There are a variety of other familiar faces as well: Lila Lee, the female lead, and Theodore Roberts both appeared in Male and Female, from just a few weeks back, and Charles Ogle we’d seen as far back as 1910 playing the monster in Frankenstein, and also more recently in Romance of the Redwoods. Also present was Harrison Ford as the protagonist’s best friend, or as IMDB calls him, Harrison Ford (II). I’ve been vaguely aware that there was a silent film star with the same name as the modern actor, but this was the first time I’d seen him in an actual film. The film itself is based on a play, and is essentially a romantic comedy, though with a slight satirical tinge. It begins with Reid winning a fortune at Monte Carlo, and making some vaguely anti-monarchical statements. This encourages some revolutionaries from the fictional country of Bovinia to draw him into their attempts to overthrow Bovinia’s king. Once he arrives in Bovinia, he ends up falling in love with the king’s daughter, and gets involved in various other intrigues. Overall it is a lightweight, occasionally amusing film, with no serious political points to make, excepting possibly the out-of-style viewpoint that the solution to foreign instability is just a good dose of American common sense. The revolutionaries even today seem reminiscent of the Bolsheviks, and certainly must have seemed that way to the audiences of 1919, but the source play was performed on Broadway in 1912 (and, as an aside, starred Douglas Fairbanks), so 1917 is presumably not the specific satirical target.
Next week we watch True Heart Susie, our final film from 1919, and our third feature from D. W. Griffith, starring Lillian Gish and Robert Harron. After that we’re going to take a couple of weeks to watch some shorts from the teens, and then move on to the 1920s. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
When the Clouds Roll By (1919)
Originally posted to Facebook on 11/17/2016
When the Clouds Roll By was our second film from 1919, and our third starring Douglas Fairbanks. This was also the first film we've seen directed by Victor Fleming, who directed many notable films up until his death in the late 1940s, but who is probably most famous as the primary director of both The Wizard of Oz and Gone With the Wind in 1939, the latter for which he won a Best Director Oscar. The plot of this film is a little complex, and begins with the unusual premise that Fairbanks’ doctor is attempting to drive him to suicide, and has enlisted a number of his friends and neighbors towards that end. However, after a while the movie changes course, and becomes more of a romantic comedy, with his boss enlisting him to help cheat his love interest’s father out of some land. Of course, he doesn’t know that he’s cheating her father, or even that he is her father, or that... Anyway, complications and misunderstandings ensue. I doubt anyone would contest that this is the strongest Fairbanks film of the three that we’ve seen so far; The Matrimaniac was enjoyable but slight, and Wild and Woolly was quite flawed in a number of ways, but particularly by its endless stereotypical depictions of Native Americans. (Sadly this film has a borderline racist joke near the end as well, but it is thankfully brief.) But by saying this film is an improvement over its two predecessors, I am not offering faint praise -- it is really significantly better, particularly in terms of stunts and production values, and is better written as well, with a more complex plot. There is one sequence, early in the movie, where Fairbanks walks up the walls and across the ceiling of a house in a manner so similar to Fred Astaire’s scene in Royal Wedding that it is hard to believe that the latter wasn’t quoting the former. In addition, Fairbanks and his love interest (Kathleen Clifford) have a little bit of chemistry, more so than usual in the romantic comedies we’ve seen to date, and actually seem to like each other for reasons other than the dictates of the plot. When you watch this film, and a few others we’ve seen recently, you begin to realize that somewhere along the line the resources available to make movies has increased drastically. Some of the features we’ve seen -- Gretchen the Greenhorn, for instance, or Romance of the Redwoods -- seem like they could have been made by a few dozen dedicated people. This isn’t universally true -- Intolerance and Cabiria were both massive undertakings, for instance. But those were essentially art films. When even a romantic comedy clearly requires the work of hundreds of people over months, something has clearly changed. Additionally, this movie also reflects changing times, specifically the dawning of the twenties. One clear marker is that a friend of the heroine is singled out for her bobbed hair, but more generally the dialog is slangier, and it seems more energetic and buoyant. I hesitate to outright recommend it, because it is paper thin, and very contrived, but it is high-spirited and amusing -- probably the best comedy feature we’ve seen to date.
Next we’ll watch our third film from 1919, called Hawthorne of the U.S.A.. It stars Wallace Reid, whom we last saw in a leading role in 1915’s Carmen. The list as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
When the Clouds Roll By was our second film from 1919, and our third starring Douglas Fairbanks. This was also the first film we've seen directed by Victor Fleming, who directed many notable films up until his death in the late 1940s, but who is probably most famous as the primary director of both The Wizard of Oz and Gone With the Wind in 1939, the latter for which he won a Best Director Oscar. The plot of this film is a little complex, and begins with the unusual premise that Fairbanks’ doctor is attempting to drive him to suicide, and has enlisted a number of his friends and neighbors towards that end. However, after a while the movie changes course, and becomes more of a romantic comedy, with his boss enlisting him to help cheat his love interest’s father out of some land. Of course, he doesn’t know that he’s cheating her father, or even that he is her father, or that... Anyway, complications and misunderstandings ensue. I doubt anyone would contest that this is the strongest Fairbanks film of the three that we’ve seen so far; The Matrimaniac was enjoyable but slight, and Wild and Woolly was quite flawed in a number of ways, but particularly by its endless stereotypical depictions of Native Americans. (Sadly this film has a borderline racist joke near the end as well, but it is thankfully brief.) But by saying this film is an improvement over its two predecessors, I am not offering faint praise -- it is really significantly better, particularly in terms of stunts and production values, and is better written as well, with a more complex plot. There is one sequence, early in the movie, where Fairbanks walks up the walls and across the ceiling of a house in a manner so similar to Fred Astaire’s scene in Royal Wedding that it is hard to believe that the latter wasn’t quoting the former. In addition, Fairbanks and his love interest (Kathleen Clifford) have a little bit of chemistry, more so than usual in the romantic comedies we’ve seen to date, and actually seem to like each other for reasons other than the dictates of the plot. When you watch this film, and a few others we’ve seen recently, you begin to realize that somewhere along the line the resources available to make movies has increased drastically. Some of the features we’ve seen -- Gretchen the Greenhorn, for instance, or Romance of the Redwoods -- seem like they could have been made by a few dozen dedicated people. This isn’t universally true -- Intolerance and Cabiria were both massive undertakings, for instance. But those were essentially art films. When even a romantic comedy clearly requires the work of hundreds of people over months, something has clearly changed. Additionally, this movie also reflects changing times, specifically the dawning of the twenties. One clear marker is that a friend of the heroine is singled out for her bobbed hair, but more generally the dialog is slangier, and it seems more energetic and buoyant. I hesitate to outright recommend it, because it is paper thin, and very contrived, but it is high-spirited and amusing -- probably the best comedy feature we’ve seen to date.
Next we’ll watch our third film from 1919, called Hawthorne of the U.S.A.. It stars Wallace Reid, whom we last saw in a leading role in 1915’s Carmen. The list as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Male and Female (1919)
Originally posted to Facebook on 11/12/2016
Male and Female was the first film we watched from 1919, and the third film we’ve seen directed by Cecil B. DeMille. It is also the first we’ve seen starring Gloria Swanson, probably twenty years old at the time. She is probably most famous for her silent work, but continued appearing in movies and television well into the 1970s, including notably Sunset Boulevard, in which DeMille also appeared. This movie is based on the play The Admirable Crichton, written by J.M. Barrie, author of Peter Pan. It has been adapted a few times over the years, and is probably somewhere in the lineage of Swept Away and its remake as well. It concerns a group of upper-class Britons and their servants who are shipwrecked on an island, and find their social roles inverted as a result of their isolation and the need for survival. Crichton, the butler who takes control post-shipwreck, is played by Thomas Meighan, and the eldest daughter of the upper-class family is played by Swanson. The majority of the film takes place on the island, though there is a probably too-lengthy portion set at the family’s London estate prior to the shipwreck. There is also a strange fantasy sequence, during which Meighan and Swanson imagine themselves in Babylonian times, with Meighan the emperor and Swanson a Christian slave thrown to the lions for refusing to submit. As with several films we’ve seen from this period, the incredible effect of Swanson being in the same shot with an actual lion is achieved by disregarding civilized norms of workplace safety.
I haven’t read or seen the original play, so I don’t know how it compares, but from the changed title of this version, I suspected that the depiction of the new social structure of the island was going to be rather sexist, and that certainly turned out to be the case. I think there is a larger point to be made about how the influence of society inhibits or shapes how sexism manifests itself, but this movie doesn’t attempt anything that sophisticated. It basically collapses into a love triangle, with Swanson and Lila Lee, playing the scullery maid, vying for Crichton. Its commentary on the collapse of class is similarly shallow and essentially suggests that the class roles are inverted on the island because Crichton is competent and best able to aid everyone in survival. There is the briefest suggestion of the use of force to maintain order, but only in relation to a character who was refusing to do his fair share. Otherwise Crichton is portrayed as being of too noble a character to enforce his position by violence. This is essentially a romantic comedy, though, and is meant to be lightweight -- so I am not arguing that it should have explored sexism and class structure more deeply. By all appearances the filmmakers would have been poorly suited to take that route, and I suspect a better approach would have been to adopt an even lighter touch.
Our next film is our second from 1919, and the third we’ve seen starring Douglas Fairbanks: When the Clouds Roll By. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Male and Female was the first film we watched from 1919, and the third film we’ve seen directed by Cecil B. DeMille. It is also the first we’ve seen starring Gloria Swanson, probably twenty years old at the time. She is probably most famous for her silent work, but continued appearing in movies and television well into the 1970s, including notably Sunset Boulevard, in which DeMille also appeared. This movie is based on the play The Admirable Crichton, written by J.M. Barrie, author of Peter Pan. It has been adapted a few times over the years, and is probably somewhere in the lineage of Swept Away and its remake as well. It concerns a group of upper-class Britons and their servants who are shipwrecked on an island, and find their social roles inverted as a result of their isolation and the need for survival. Crichton, the butler who takes control post-shipwreck, is played by Thomas Meighan, and the eldest daughter of the upper-class family is played by Swanson. The majority of the film takes place on the island, though there is a probably too-lengthy portion set at the family’s London estate prior to the shipwreck. There is also a strange fantasy sequence, during which Meighan and Swanson imagine themselves in Babylonian times, with Meighan the emperor and Swanson a Christian slave thrown to the lions for refusing to submit. As with several films we’ve seen from this period, the incredible effect of Swanson being in the same shot with an actual lion is achieved by disregarding civilized norms of workplace safety.
I haven’t read or seen the original play, so I don’t know how it compares, but from the changed title of this version, I suspected that the depiction of the new social structure of the island was going to be rather sexist, and that certainly turned out to be the case. I think there is a larger point to be made about how the influence of society inhibits or shapes how sexism manifests itself, but this movie doesn’t attempt anything that sophisticated. It basically collapses into a love triangle, with Swanson and Lila Lee, playing the scullery maid, vying for Crichton. Its commentary on the collapse of class is similarly shallow and essentially suggests that the class roles are inverted on the island because Crichton is competent and best able to aid everyone in survival. There is the briefest suggestion of the use of force to maintain order, but only in relation to a character who was refusing to do his fair share. Otherwise Crichton is portrayed as being of too noble a character to enforce his position by violence. This is essentially a romantic comedy, though, and is meant to be lightweight -- so I am not arguing that it should have explored sexism and class structure more deeply. By all appearances the filmmakers would have been poorly suited to take that route, and I suspect a better approach would have been to adopt an even lighter touch.
Our next film is our second from 1919, and the third we’ve seen starring Douglas Fairbanks: When the Clouds Roll By. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Monday, July 16, 2018
The Blue Bird (1918)
Originally posted to Facebook on 11/4/2016
The Blue Bird was our final film from 1918, and perhaps the strangest feature we’ve seen to date. It was directed by Maurice Tourneur, who continued directing well into the 1940s, and who was the father of Jacques Tourneur -- also the director of some great films that we may get to see someday. This film is based on a play, and begins naturalistically enough with a young brother and sister living in a modest house with their mother and father. They are contrasted with a poorer family living next door, and with a rich family as their other neighbor. One of the early moments when the film starts to take a turn from realism is when they peer out the window at their rich neighbor’s house, the shades of which are drawn, but upon which you can see artificially jet-black silhouettes of party-goers enjoying themselves. However the fantasy begins in earnest once the children fall asleep. Then they are visited by a fairy, who brings the spirits of various household items such as fire and sugar and bread to life. All of these, as well as the children and their cat and dog (now played by human actors), are sent on a mission to find the bluebird of happiness. This search takes place on vast fanciful sets, using a variety of special effects as well as costuming and camera-work to convey a strange hallucinatory state. At one point they visit their dead grandmother and grandfather, as well as their various dead siblings. The latter caused some comment from Ben and Alli -- mostly because the dead siblings numbered at least half-a-dozen. I explained that child mortality rates during the time portrayed -- which was not entirely clear -- were quite high. Still, a survival rate of two eighths did seem as if it might reflect some questionable parenting. It was interesting to see a special-effects-laden film like this from 1918, recalling some of the tricks of Méliès so long after they’d gone out of style. But while Méliès’ films were mostly jokey and playful, this film was more odd and dreamlike, even melancholy. It was very unusual, and, to the extent that there is any grain of truth to the idea that American films tend more towards naturalism than European films, it is perhaps even more unusual that this was an American film made in New Jersey. (It is true, though, that the author of the play and the director were Belgian and French, respectively.)
There was another movie version of the play made in 1940, starring Shirley Temple, and it is probably the more famous version, though I have never seen it. (Bianca, surprisingly, has.) Maybe when 1940 rolls around we’ll see it for comparison’s sake.
Next week, however, we watch our first film from 1919, and our third directed by Cecil B. DeMille: Male and Female. We are nearing the end of our films from the teens, which was the first decade that feature films were common. Short films were still a major part of the movie industry at this time, though, and stayed that way for many years. Recently we’ve basically stopped watching shorts in favor of features, and in order to correct that I’ve added a couple of weeks of short films before we dive into the 1920s. I’ve added those to the list, as well as the list of films planned for 1920, which should take us into the new year. For 1920, I’ve again broken my pledge of four films per year, and included five, mostly because they are all films I’d like to see or that I’d like the kids to see. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Blue Bird was our final film from 1918, and perhaps the strangest feature we’ve seen to date. It was directed by Maurice Tourneur, who continued directing well into the 1940s, and who was the father of Jacques Tourneur -- also the director of some great films that we may get to see someday. This film is based on a play, and begins naturalistically enough with a young brother and sister living in a modest house with their mother and father. They are contrasted with a poorer family living next door, and with a rich family as their other neighbor. One of the early moments when the film starts to take a turn from realism is when they peer out the window at their rich neighbor’s house, the shades of which are drawn, but upon which you can see artificially jet-black silhouettes of party-goers enjoying themselves. However the fantasy begins in earnest once the children fall asleep. Then they are visited by a fairy, who brings the spirits of various household items such as fire and sugar and bread to life. All of these, as well as the children and their cat and dog (now played by human actors), are sent on a mission to find the bluebird of happiness. This search takes place on vast fanciful sets, using a variety of special effects as well as costuming and camera-work to convey a strange hallucinatory state. At one point they visit their dead grandmother and grandfather, as well as their various dead siblings. The latter caused some comment from Ben and Alli -- mostly because the dead siblings numbered at least half-a-dozen. I explained that child mortality rates during the time portrayed -- which was not entirely clear -- were quite high. Still, a survival rate of two eighths did seem as if it might reflect some questionable parenting. It was interesting to see a special-effects-laden film like this from 1918, recalling some of the tricks of Méliès so long after they’d gone out of style. But while Méliès’ films were mostly jokey and playful, this film was more odd and dreamlike, even melancholy. It was very unusual, and, to the extent that there is any grain of truth to the idea that American films tend more towards naturalism than European films, it is perhaps even more unusual that this was an American film made in New Jersey. (It is true, though, that the author of the play and the director were Belgian and French, respectively.)
There was another movie version of the play made in 1940, starring Shirley Temple, and it is probably the more famous version, though I have never seen it. (Bianca, surprisingly, has.) Maybe when 1940 rolls around we’ll see it for comparison’s sake.
Next week, however, we watch our first film from 1919, and our third directed by Cecil B. DeMille: Male and Female. We are nearing the end of our films from the teens, which was the first decade that feature films were common. Short films were still a major part of the movie industry at this time, though, and stayed that way for many years. Recently we’ve basically stopped watching shorts in favor of features, and in order to correct that I’ve added a couple of weeks of short films before we dive into the 1920s. I’ve added those to the list, as well as the list of films planned for 1920, which should take us into the new year. For 1920, I’ve again broken my pledge of four films per year, and included five, mostly because they are all films I’d like to see or that I’d like the kids to see. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Sunday, July 15, 2018
The Outlaw and His Wife (1918)
Originally posted to Facebook on 11/1/2016
The Outlaw and His Wife was our third film from 1918, and also the third film we’ve seen directed by Victor Sjöström. He stars as well, just as he did in 1917’s A Man There Was. This is a more conventional film than the earlier one -- but it is surprisingly grim. It’s a little amusing to see the stereotype of gloomy Swedish films played out this early, especially since that stereotype is most often associated with Ingmar Bergman, who was born the year this film was released. Given the title, I think I can say without spoiling anything that the central character is an escaped outlaw, who begins working on a large farm under an alias, and there falls in love with the proprietress (played by Edith Erastoff) before his true identity is discovered. They decide to get married, and flee the authorities -- and things do not go well. It is apparently based on a play about a real couple from the eighteenth century. The movie, though, is anything but stage-bound, and has many scenes of majestic outdoor vistas. I don’t know that it is completely psychologically realistic, but it certainly tries to wrestle with human desperation in a sincere way, which shows more ambition than most of the films we’ve seen.
The next film we’ll see is our last from 1918, and is called The Bluebird, and looks quite eccentric and surreal. Our list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Outlaw and His Wife was our third film from 1918, and also the third film we’ve seen directed by Victor Sjöström. He stars as well, just as he did in 1917’s A Man There Was. This is a more conventional film than the earlier one -- but it is surprisingly grim. It’s a little amusing to see the stereotype of gloomy Swedish films played out this early, especially since that stereotype is most often associated with Ingmar Bergman, who was born the year this film was released. Given the title, I think I can say without spoiling anything that the central character is an escaped outlaw, who begins working on a large farm under an alias, and there falls in love with the proprietress (played by Edith Erastoff) before his true identity is discovered. They decide to get married, and flee the authorities -- and things do not go well. It is apparently based on a play about a real couple from the eighteenth century. The movie, though, is anything but stage-bound, and has many scenes of majestic outdoor vistas. I don’t know that it is completely psychologically realistic, but it certainly tries to wrestle with human desperation in a sincere way, which shows more ambition than most of the films we’ve seen.
The next film we’ll see is our last from 1918, and is called The Bluebird, and looks quite eccentric and surreal. Our list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Shoulder Arms (1918)
Originally posted to Facebook on 10/27/2016
Shoulder Arms was our second film from 1918, and also the second time we’ve seen Chaplin. Chaplin’s brother Sydney has a significant role in the movie as well, and this is the first film in which we’ve seen Chaplin’s frequent female co-star Edna Purviance. The plot concerns an American GI during WWI, training and eventually fighting overseas. This is the the first movie we’ve seen in which WWI is explicitly referenced, though we have previously seen it generically alluded to. This film is still not what I would think of as laugh-out-loud funny, but it made me smile intermittently, and was more creative in its set-ups and much more methodical about presenting actual jokes than the first Chaplin film we saw, Tillie’s Punctured Romance, which was basically just a long parade of characters kicking, hitting, and throwing things at each other. The trenches in this film, for instance, turn out to be the basis for a lot of creative set pieces, including one brief tracking shot that reminded me of the similar but more elaborate scene from Paths of Glory. The ending was a bit of a let down, and I imagine a cliché even in 1918.
Our next film from 1918 is The Outlaw and His Wife, the third feature we’ve seen directed by Victor Sjöström, and the second one in which he is also the lead. The link, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Shoulder Arms was our second film from 1918, and also the second time we’ve seen Chaplin. Chaplin’s brother Sydney has a significant role in the movie as well, and this is the first film in which we’ve seen Chaplin’s frequent female co-star Edna Purviance. The plot concerns an American GI during WWI, training and eventually fighting overseas. This is the the first movie we’ve seen in which WWI is explicitly referenced, though we have previously seen it generically alluded to. This film is still not what I would think of as laugh-out-loud funny, but it made me smile intermittently, and was more creative in its set-ups and much more methodical about presenting actual jokes than the first Chaplin film we saw, Tillie’s Punctured Romance, which was basically just a long parade of characters kicking, hitting, and throwing things at each other. The trenches in this film, for instance, turn out to be the basis for a lot of creative set pieces, including one brief tracking shot that reminded me of the similar but more elaborate scene from Paths of Glory. The ending was a bit of a let down, and I imagine a cliché even in 1918.
Our next film from 1918 is The Outlaw and His Wife, the third feature we’ve seen directed by Victor Sjöström, and the second one in which he is also the lead. The link, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Stella Maris (1918)
Originally posted to Facebook on 10/14/2016
Stella Maris was our first film from 1918, and our second (after 1917's Romance of the Redwoods) starring Mary Pickford. Pickford plays dual roles: Unity Blake -- a poor friendless orphan -- and Stella Maris -- a rich girl who is unable to walk. Both end up falling in love with John Risca, played by Conway Tearle (birth name: Frederick Levy), who is already married (though separated.) Both of Pickford’s characters are impossibly good-hearted, and the only true antagonist in the film is Risca’s wife, played by Marcia Manon. The plot has a few twists and turns, and veers between being overtly sentimental to surprisingly violent. The movie also finds time for a strange subplot about two dogs that don’t get along very well. Pickford playing dual roles was interesting, but seemed like more of a stunt than an essential element (though apparently a remake eight years later starring Mary Philbin adopted the same approach.) Certainly having a second actress play one of the roles wouldn’t have changed the film in any material way. The two characters were rarely on screen together, but on those occasions when that occurred, the double exposures -- or whatever methods were employed -- were basically seamless. Not surprising, I suppose, since George Melies was chopping people's heads off and throwing them across the room twenty years earlier. But it was interesting to see special effects used unobtrusively at this stage in film history.
The next film on the list, Shoulder Arms, is our second film from 1918, and also the second film we've seen starring Charlie Chaplin, following 1914’s Tillie’s Punctured Romance. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Stella Maris was our first film from 1918, and our second (after 1917's Romance of the Redwoods) starring Mary Pickford. Pickford plays dual roles: Unity Blake -- a poor friendless orphan -- and Stella Maris -- a rich girl who is unable to walk. Both end up falling in love with John Risca, played by Conway Tearle (birth name: Frederick Levy), who is already married (though separated.) Both of Pickford’s characters are impossibly good-hearted, and the only true antagonist in the film is Risca’s wife, played by Marcia Manon. The plot has a few twists and turns, and veers between being overtly sentimental to surprisingly violent. The movie also finds time for a strange subplot about two dogs that don’t get along very well. Pickford playing dual roles was interesting, but seemed like more of a stunt than an essential element (though apparently a remake eight years later starring Mary Philbin adopted the same approach.) Certainly having a second actress play one of the roles wouldn’t have changed the film in any material way. The two characters were rarely on screen together, but on those occasions when that occurred, the double exposures -- or whatever methods were employed -- were basically seamless. Not surprising, I suppose, since George Melies was chopping people's heads off and throwing them across the room twenty years earlier. But it was interesting to see special effects used unobtrusively at this stage in film history.
The next film on the list, Shoulder Arms, is our second film from 1918, and also the second film we've seen starring Charlie Chaplin, following 1914’s Tillie’s Punctured Romance. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Tuesday, July 3, 2018
A Man There Was (1917)
Originally posted to Facebook on 10/7/2016
A Man There Was was our last film from 1917, and the second film we’ve seen directed by Victor Sjöström, the first being Ingeborg Holm, from 1913. In some ways that earlier film seemed more like a conventional feature than this one -- even though it was made at the very beginning of commercial feature films. This one is based on a poem by Ibsen, and the title cards are apparently excerpts from that poem -- a rhymed translation into English in the version we saw. It is set during the Napoleonic wars -- fifty years before the poem was written, a century before the movie, and two centuries from the present day. The lead character, played by Sjöström, is a sailor who, I hope I can say without spoilers, suffers tragedy and seeks revenge. It reminded me a little of a Griffith short we saw earlier this year called The Unchanging Sea (also based on a poem), but is significantly darker and more intense. In some ways this movie is closer to an illustrated version of the poem than what one might expect from a feature, and as a result it is fairly single-minded about telling its story, with few extraneous details, and a running time of less than an hour. It has some strong imagery as well, of the sea and the coast, and the aging protagonist. It is perhaps a bit melodramatic, but with a certain sense of heightened reality.
Next week we begin 1918 with Stella Maris, our second film starring Mary Pickford. I’ve also added our planned films for 1919 to the spreadsheet, which is linked here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
A Man There Was was our last film from 1917, and the second film we’ve seen directed by Victor Sjöström, the first being Ingeborg Holm, from 1913. In some ways that earlier film seemed more like a conventional feature than this one -- even though it was made at the very beginning of commercial feature films. This one is based on a poem by Ibsen, and the title cards are apparently excerpts from that poem -- a rhymed translation into English in the version we saw. It is set during the Napoleonic wars -- fifty years before the poem was written, a century before the movie, and two centuries from the present day. The lead character, played by Sjöström, is a sailor who, I hope I can say without spoilers, suffers tragedy and seeks revenge. It reminded me a little of a Griffith short we saw earlier this year called The Unchanging Sea (also based on a poem), but is significantly darker and more intense. In some ways this movie is closer to an illustrated version of the poem than what one might expect from a feature, and as a result it is fairly single-minded about telling its story, with few extraneous details, and a running time of less than an hour. It has some strong imagery as well, of the sea and the coast, and the aging protagonist. It is perhaps a bit melodramatic, but with a certain sense of heightened reality.
Next week we begin 1918 with Stella Maris, our second film starring Mary Pickford. I’ve also added our planned films for 1919 to the spreadsheet, which is linked here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Wild and Woolly (1917)
Originally posted to Facebook on 10/1/2016
Wild and Woolly was our third film from 1917, and the second we’ve seen starring Douglas Fairbanks. Like The Matrimaniac, it is set more or less in the present day (i.e. 1917.) Also like that film it is a light comedy with some mild stunt-work. The plot is unusual and seemed promising: Fairbanks plays the rich son of a railroad magnate. He idealizes the West, and is sent to Arizona, imagining it to be as represented in novels and movies, despite the fact that by 1917, the Wild West is essentially gone (though still within living memory.) The town, however, is aware of his misconception, and decides to play the part in an attempt to curry favor with him (and his father). However, this premise never lives up to its potential for a few reasons. First, and most significant, was the portrayal of Native Americans as the main antagonists, in the broadest and most unsympathetic way. At one point, when a group of Native Americans are terrorizing a bar, snarling and theatrically drinking liquor, I considered calling it quits, like we did for Traffic in Souls, and finding a replacement film for the following week. But by that point we were near the end, so we managed to finish it up. Thankfully I didn’t have to spend a lot of time explaining everything to the kids -- they were fully aware, and we’d had a similar conversation when we’d watched The Perils of Pauline a few months back. But even aside from that problem, there were other major issues with the film. For one, Douglas Fairbanks’ character doesn’t come off as charmingly misinformed; rather, he appears to be psychotically deluded, and a bit of a bully to boot. And he never really receives the kind of comeuppance you might expect the spoiled rich businessman’s son to receive in a film like this. He does give a speech at the end, where he acknowledges the error of his ways, but it’s not clear why, since his delusion is more or less what saves the day. The romance, with a town resident played by Eileen Percy, is also basically pro-forma -- not strongly motivated or convincing. Definitely a disappointment. Interestingly the director (John Emerson) and one of the writers (Anita Loos) were later married, and were also credited as writers of The Matrimaniac. Anita Loos, particularly, had a long and bizarre life that is worth Wikipedia-ing, and continued writing for the movies up through the forties, as well as writing the book and musical upon which Gentlemen Prefer Blondes was based.
Our next film, and our last from 1917, is A Man There Was, which was directed by and also stars Victor Sjöström, who also directed Ingeborg Holm, from 1913, which is one of the more naturalistic features we’ve seen from that early period. The link, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Wild and Woolly was our third film from 1917, and the second we’ve seen starring Douglas Fairbanks. Like The Matrimaniac, it is set more or less in the present day (i.e. 1917.) Also like that film it is a light comedy with some mild stunt-work. The plot is unusual and seemed promising: Fairbanks plays the rich son of a railroad magnate. He idealizes the West, and is sent to Arizona, imagining it to be as represented in novels and movies, despite the fact that by 1917, the Wild West is essentially gone (though still within living memory.) The town, however, is aware of his misconception, and decides to play the part in an attempt to curry favor with him (and his father). However, this premise never lives up to its potential for a few reasons. First, and most significant, was the portrayal of Native Americans as the main antagonists, in the broadest and most unsympathetic way. At one point, when a group of Native Americans are terrorizing a bar, snarling and theatrically drinking liquor, I considered calling it quits, like we did for Traffic in Souls, and finding a replacement film for the following week. But by that point we were near the end, so we managed to finish it up. Thankfully I didn’t have to spend a lot of time explaining everything to the kids -- they were fully aware, and we’d had a similar conversation when we’d watched The Perils of Pauline a few months back. But even aside from that problem, there were other major issues with the film. For one, Douglas Fairbanks’ character doesn’t come off as charmingly misinformed; rather, he appears to be psychotically deluded, and a bit of a bully to boot. And he never really receives the kind of comeuppance you might expect the spoiled rich businessman’s son to receive in a film like this. He does give a speech at the end, where he acknowledges the error of his ways, but it’s not clear why, since his delusion is more or less what saves the day. The romance, with a town resident played by Eileen Percy, is also basically pro-forma -- not strongly motivated or convincing. Definitely a disappointment. Interestingly the director (John Emerson) and one of the writers (Anita Loos) were later married, and were also credited as writers of The Matrimaniac. Anita Loos, particularly, had a long and bizarre life that is worth Wikipedia-ing, and continued writing for the movies up through the forties, as well as writing the book and musical upon which Gentlemen Prefer Blondes was based.
Our next film, and our last from 1917, is A Man There Was, which was directed by and also stars Victor Sjöström, who also directed Ingeborg Holm, from 1913, which is one of the more naturalistic features we’ve seen from that early period. The link, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Tillie Wakes Up (1917)
Originally posted to Facebook on 9/17/2016
Tillie Wakes Up was the second film we watched from 1917, and was a sequel of sorts to 1914’s Tillie’s Punctured Romance. In fact there was also an intervening Tillie film as well, but it is now mostly lost. As mentioned last week, neither Chaplin nor Mabel Normand are in this one, but Marie Dressler returns as Tillie -- though her presence and character name is literally the only thread connecting these two films. In this movie she is now married, unhappily, and living in an apartment building with a similarly unhappy neighboring couple. She decides to make her husband (Frank Beamish) jealous by going out with the similarly neglected husband of the neighboring couple, played by Johnny Hines. This cliched plot is redeemed by only two things: First, one of the places they visit is an amusement park -- either Coney Island or someplace very similar. I recently saw (but haven’t written up yet) Harold Lloyd’s Speedy, which was made a decade later in 1928, and this sequence makes me wonder if he was consciously emulating this earlier film. Certainly his version is significantly more sophisticated, with jokes that look like they were planned out in advance, whereas this movie mostly relies upon showing Tillie being discomfited by the various rides (all of which look very unsafe by today’s standards.) The most striking parallel between the two movies was a ride consisting of a disc in the floor, which spins its seated riders off to the sides as it quickly rotates.
The second interesting thing about this film was the absurdly slangy title cards, which are impossible to capture without examples. One read, “They missed Mattewan because Officer 666 was too tired to make a pinch. He thought they were a couple of nuts!”, which I think means they weren’t arrested because the officer didn’t take them seriously. Another read “Tillie had never tasted anything stronger than orange Pekoe and J. Mortimer was a bug on Clysmic, but they fell off the wagon with a splash that scared all of the Mackerel out of the Harbor,” which I believe means they weren’t used to drinking, and ended up getting very drunk. There were dozens of cards like these, and some of them were so absurdly obscure I just had to guess when translating for the kids. They were the most amusing thing about the film, although we were laughing at them as much as with them. I do wonder, though, if they really dated from 1917 or had been revised in the twenties or later. Some of them seemed a little too irreverent and jokey for 1917, and we haven’t seen anything like them in the contemporaneous films we’ve been watching, certainly not in this kind of concentrated barrage. One bit of evidence for a later vintage was the use of the word “hep,” which may have been in currency in 1917, but is more associated with later periods. Also, Oscar Hammerstein was mentioned, who was young and not particularly famous in 1917. I thought this latter piece of evidence had clinched it, but after doing a little research it appears Oscar Hammerstein had a grandfather by the same name who was also a well known theatrical figure, and it’s possible they may have been referring to him. So it’s still an open question for me. With the exception of the title cards, the movie was probably about as funny as Tillie’s Punctured Romance (i.e. not very) but there was something slightly more charming about it, perhaps having to do with the fact that it was a decidedly lower budget and less meticulous affair.
Next week we’ll see Wild and Woolly, our third film from 1917 and our second film starring Douglas Fairbanks. This list is linked to here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Tillie Wakes Up was the second film we watched from 1917, and was a sequel of sorts to 1914’s Tillie’s Punctured Romance. In fact there was also an intervening Tillie film as well, but it is now mostly lost. As mentioned last week, neither Chaplin nor Mabel Normand are in this one, but Marie Dressler returns as Tillie -- though her presence and character name is literally the only thread connecting these two films. In this movie she is now married, unhappily, and living in an apartment building with a similarly unhappy neighboring couple. She decides to make her husband (Frank Beamish) jealous by going out with the similarly neglected husband of the neighboring couple, played by Johnny Hines. This cliched plot is redeemed by only two things: First, one of the places they visit is an amusement park -- either Coney Island or someplace very similar. I recently saw (but haven’t written up yet) Harold Lloyd’s Speedy, which was made a decade later in 1928, and this sequence makes me wonder if he was consciously emulating this earlier film. Certainly his version is significantly more sophisticated, with jokes that look like they were planned out in advance, whereas this movie mostly relies upon showing Tillie being discomfited by the various rides (all of which look very unsafe by today’s standards.) The most striking parallel between the two movies was a ride consisting of a disc in the floor, which spins its seated riders off to the sides as it quickly rotates.
The second interesting thing about this film was the absurdly slangy title cards, which are impossible to capture without examples. One read, “They missed Mattewan because Officer 666 was too tired to make a pinch. He thought they were a couple of nuts!”, which I think means they weren’t arrested because the officer didn’t take them seriously. Another read “Tillie had never tasted anything stronger than orange Pekoe and J. Mortimer was a bug on Clysmic, but they fell off the wagon with a splash that scared all of the Mackerel out of the Harbor,” which I believe means they weren’t used to drinking, and ended up getting very drunk. There were dozens of cards like these, and some of them were so absurdly obscure I just had to guess when translating for the kids. They were the most amusing thing about the film, although we were laughing at them as much as with them. I do wonder, though, if they really dated from 1917 or had been revised in the twenties or later. Some of them seemed a little too irreverent and jokey for 1917, and we haven’t seen anything like them in the contemporaneous films we’ve been watching, certainly not in this kind of concentrated barrage. One bit of evidence for a later vintage was the use of the word “hep,” which may have been in currency in 1917, but is more associated with later periods. Also, Oscar Hammerstein was mentioned, who was young and not particularly famous in 1917. I thought this latter piece of evidence had clinched it, but after doing a little research it appears Oscar Hammerstein had a grandfather by the same name who was also a well known theatrical figure, and it’s possible they may have been referring to him. So it’s still an open question for me. With the exception of the title cards, the movie was probably about as funny as Tillie’s Punctured Romance (i.e. not very) but there was something slightly more charming about it, perhaps having to do with the fact that it was a decidedly lower budget and less meticulous affair.
Next week we’ll see Wild and Woolly, our third film from 1917 and our second film starring Douglas Fairbanks. This list is linked to here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
A Romance of the Redwoods (1917)
Originally posted to Facebook on 9/9/2016
A Romance of the Redwoods was our first film from 1917. As I mentioned last week, it’s the first one we’ve seen starring Mary Pickford, and the second one, after Carmen, that we’ve seen directed by Cecil B. DeMille. In another prominent role is Charles Ogle, who played Frankenstein’s monster in the sixteen minute 1910 version we saw earlier this year. This film is ostensibly a melodrama, but it has a strangely light tone not completely in sync with its plot. The initial contrivance that sets the film in motion is that Mary Pickford’s character, living in Boston, is orphaned, and decides to follow her uncle out to California. However, in the meantime her uncle has been killed by a group of Native Americans (or “Injuns” as one character calls them in a title card), and his identity assumed by a stagecoach robber played by Elliot Dexter. Since this movie is titled “A Romance of the Redwoods,” you can probably guess where this setup leads -- though the leads don’t have a particularly strong chemistry, and the romance is more announced than truly shown. But the plot has enough twists and turns along the way to keep it interesting, if not essential.
Next week we’ll watch our second film from 1917, Tillie Wakes Up, a sequel to Tillie’s Punctured Romance from 1914, minus Chaplin and Mabel Normand. Marie Dressler is still in it though, playing the title role. The link, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
A Romance of the Redwoods was our first film from 1917. As I mentioned last week, it’s the first one we’ve seen starring Mary Pickford, and the second one, after Carmen, that we’ve seen directed by Cecil B. DeMille. In another prominent role is Charles Ogle, who played Frankenstein’s monster in the sixteen minute 1910 version we saw earlier this year. This film is ostensibly a melodrama, but it has a strangely light tone not completely in sync with its plot. The initial contrivance that sets the film in motion is that Mary Pickford’s character, living in Boston, is orphaned, and decides to follow her uncle out to California. However, in the meantime her uncle has been killed by a group of Native Americans (or “Injuns” as one character calls them in a title card), and his identity assumed by a stagecoach robber played by Elliot Dexter. Since this movie is titled “A Romance of the Redwoods,” you can probably guess where this setup leads -- though the leads don’t have a particularly strong chemistry, and the romance is more announced than truly shown. But the plot has enough twists and turns along the way to keep it interesting, if not essential.
Next week we’ll watch our second film from 1917, Tillie Wakes Up, a sequel to Tillie’s Punctured Romance from 1914, minus Chaplin and Mabel Normand. Marie Dressler is still in it though, playing the title role. The link, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Saturday, June 30, 2018
The Matrimaniac (1916)
Originally posted to Facebook on 8/31/2016
The Matrimaniac was the fifth and final film on our list from 1916. Both leads also appeared in Intolerance: Douglas Fairbanks in a small role, and Constance Talmadge as one of the female leads. This is the first film that I recall where I’ve seen Fairbanks in the lead role. My image of him mostly stems from clips from his costume epics -- I usually envision him as having just taken Jack Handey’s course at swashbuckling school (i.e. Laughing, Then Jumping Off Something.) In this he plays an essentially modern character, who is exasperated by the various obstacles he runs into. In some ways that makes his occasional acrobatics a little more surprising, since he's basically dressed for a business meeting. And the film mostly belongs to him; there is occasional cross-cutting to Talmadge and various pursuers, but Fairbanks has most of the main action, which is a little strange given how prominent Talmadge was in Intolerance.
This film, though, couldn’t be more different from Intolerance; it is a light comedy, and conforms a lot more closely to the received popular idea of silent films. The plot involves Douglas Fairbanks and Constance Talmadge deciding to elope against the wishes of her father and her father's choice of a suitor, who discover their elopement plot and chase them to a neighboring town. There is a little bit of stuntwork along the way -- people climbing onto trains, and up the sides of buildings. Nothing particularly startling, but pointing in the direction of where movie stuntwork was heading. This is also probably the most explicitly comedic film we’ve seen since Tillie’s Punctured Romance. It is funnier than that film, but for me that is a low bar.
Next week we begin 1917 with A Romance of the Redwoods, our second film directed by Cecil B. DeMille, and the first starring Mary Pickford, the future wife of Fairbanks. I’ve also added our films planned for 1918 to the list, which is shared here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Matrimaniac was the fifth and final film on our list from 1916. Both leads also appeared in Intolerance: Douglas Fairbanks in a small role, and Constance Talmadge as one of the female leads. This is the first film that I recall where I’ve seen Fairbanks in the lead role. My image of him mostly stems from clips from his costume epics -- I usually envision him as having just taken Jack Handey’s course at swashbuckling school (i.e. Laughing, Then Jumping Off Something.) In this he plays an essentially modern character, who is exasperated by the various obstacles he runs into. In some ways that makes his occasional acrobatics a little more surprising, since he's basically dressed for a business meeting. And the film mostly belongs to him; there is occasional cross-cutting to Talmadge and various pursuers, but Fairbanks has most of the main action, which is a little strange given how prominent Talmadge was in Intolerance.
This film, though, couldn’t be more different from Intolerance; it is a light comedy, and conforms a lot more closely to the received popular idea of silent films. The plot involves Douglas Fairbanks and Constance Talmadge deciding to elope against the wishes of her father and her father's choice of a suitor, who discover their elopement plot and chase them to a neighboring town. There is a little bit of stuntwork along the way -- people climbing onto trains, and up the sides of buildings. Nothing particularly startling, but pointing in the direction of where movie stuntwork was heading. This is also probably the most explicitly comedic film we’ve seen since Tillie’s Punctured Romance. It is funnier than that film, but for me that is a low bar.
Next week we begin 1917 with A Romance of the Redwoods, our second film directed by Cecil B. DeMille, and the first starring Mary Pickford, the future wife of Fairbanks. I’ve also added our films planned for 1918 to the list, which is shared here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Gretchen the Greenhorn (1916)
Originally posted to Facebook on 8/17/2016
Gretchen the Greenhorn was the fourth film we watched from 1916. It clocked in at under an hour, which was a welcome change of pace after the twelve-part serial Judex and the three-plus hours of Intolerance. It starred Dorothy Gish -- whom we’d previously seen in Judith of Bethulia, along with Lillian Gish, though both of them had tiny parts -- and several other actors whom we’d seen just previously in Intolerance, including Elmo Lincoln, who would later become the first screen Tarzan. The main villain, when he finally shows up, is played by Euguene Pallette, who is not a household name, but who appeared in small parts in hundreds of films, including many classics, up through the forties.
It was directed by Sydney and Chester Franklin, each of whom went on directing well into the sound era, Sydney more prominently than Chester. This film was much more pedestrian than some of the films we’ve been seeing lately -- it uses none of the visual pyrotechnics of Intolerance, for example -- but it is well-made, and probably more typical of the sort of film that was being shown at the time. It is the story of a Dutch immigrant, Gish, joining her father in America, where he works as an engraver. (Ben asked what a greenhorn was -- I told him it was an old-fashioned word for newbie.) It has some superficial similarities to The Italian, from 1915, which we watched several weeks ago. But that movie was much more melodramatic and serious. This film is not a comedy per se, but it is the kind of movie where you can be relatively sure that everything winds up well in the end. It also subscribes heavily to the melting pot idea of America -- the neighbors in their New York tenement are Irish and Italian, with various other ethnicities appearing as well. (Needless to say when people from various ethnicities begin appearing in century old films, there is always the potential for disaster, but luckily nothing rose to the “pause the film and contextualize for the children” category.) In addition to this backdrop, there is a counterfeiting plot, some gunplay, and a romance as well.
Our next film will be The Matrimaniac, our fifth and final movie from 1916. It will be the first film in which we’ll see Douglas Fairbanks as the male lead. The link to our upcoming films, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Gretchen the Greenhorn was the fourth film we watched from 1916. It clocked in at under an hour, which was a welcome change of pace after the twelve-part serial Judex and the three-plus hours of Intolerance. It starred Dorothy Gish -- whom we’d previously seen in Judith of Bethulia, along with Lillian Gish, though both of them had tiny parts -- and several other actors whom we’d seen just previously in Intolerance, including Elmo Lincoln, who would later become the first screen Tarzan. The main villain, when he finally shows up, is played by Euguene Pallette, who is not a household name, but who appeared in small parts in hundreds of films, including many classics, up through the forties.
It was directed by Sydney and Chester Franklin, each of whom went on directing well into the sound era, Sydney more prominently than Chester. This film was much more pedestrian than some of the films we’ve been seeing lately -- it uses none of the visual pyrotechnics of Intolerance, for example -- but it is well-made, and probably more typical of the sort of film that was being shown at the time. It is the story of a Dutch immigrant, Gish, joining her father in America, where he works as an engraver. (Ben asked what a greenhorn was -- I told him it was an old-fashioned word for newbie.) It has some superficial similarities to The Italian, from 1915, which we watched several weeks ago. But that movie was much more melodramatic and serious. This film is not a comedy per se, but it is the kind of movie where you can be relatively sure that everything winds up well in the end. It also subscribes heavily to the melting pot idea of America -- the neighbors in their New York tenement are Irish and Italian, with various other ethnicities appearing as well. (Needless to say when people from various ethnicities begin appearing in century old films, there is always the potential for disaster, but luckily nothing rose to the “pause the film and contextualize for the children” category.) In addition to this backdrop, there is a counterfeiting plot, some gunplay, and a romance as well.
Our next film will be The Matrimaniac, our fifth and final movie from 1916. It will be the first film in which we’ll see Douglas Fairbanks as the male lead. The link to our upcoming films, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Intolerance (1916)
Originally posted to Facebook on 8/8/2016
Intolerance was the third film from 1916 we watched, and it turned into a bit of a slog. It ran three-plus hours, so we watched it over a few sessions. This was the second full-length feature by D. W. Griffith that we’ve watched, after Judith of Bethulia. Part of the reason for the extended running time is that four stories -- ostensibly thematically linked -- are presented, intercut, from four different eras: A Babylonian section set in the sixth century BC; an abbreviated story of Jesus, set when you’d expect; the story of the St. Bartholomew's day massacre, set in 16th century France; and a “modern” story, set 1916ish. The modern and Babylonian story get the majority of the running time; the other two are much shorter. Supposedly all of the stories revolve around the theme of intolerance, though the Babylonian story, for instance, just seemed like a power struggle, and some of the others seemed debatable too. I suppose any human conflict can be painted as a story of intolerance, in the sense that antagonists aren’t being tolerant of their opponents’ views. Griffith, of course, was famously intolerant himself, and is probably best known for the odious Birth of a Nation, even among people who don’t know anything else about him. Even in the context of this film, there is a scene where a woman’s reform society in the modern era is commented upon in the title cards, reading “When women cease to attract men they often turn to Reform as a second choice.” I rarely share my opinions with the kids during films (excepting, “Stop talking!” and “Get your shoes off the couch!”), but in this instance I paused the film, and expressed how reprehensible this was.
Another strange feature of the film was that many of the characters were not given names. For example the couple in the modern era were called “The Dear One” and the “The Boy.” This is perversely alienating -- perfectly understandable in, say, a Brecht or a Beckett play -- but not in a film that showed every evidence of wanting its audience to empathize with its characters. Many of the title cards were distancing as well, either written with overly purple phrasing (e.g. “The Loom of Fate weaves death for the Boy's father.”) or providing footnotes in a quasi-academic fashion (e.g. explaining who the Pharisees were, or noting the obscure fact that Judaism uses wine in many of its ceremonies.) “Jeff. Note: This is Jeff,” is how Ben mocked this latter practice. The movie also used the device of cutting back to a woman (played by Lillian Gish) rocking a cradle as a transition between scenes. I imagine this was used to emphasize the human and generational continuity between the various eras, but I feel like this point could have been made without dozens of nearly identical shots (and without the use of a rather famous actress in a non-acting role.)
But, for all the preceding, it was an impressive film in many ways, and it is clear why it has carved out a spot in film history. It is certainly leaps and bounds more interesting and entertaining than Griffith’s Judith of Bethulia, which was made just two years earlier. It takes many of the innovations -- moving cameras, intercutting, extreme close-ups -- that we’ve seen in earlier films like Cabiria, and makes more extensive use of them. In addition, the famous crane shots in front of the stairs in the Babylonian section may have some precedent in film history, but this is the earliest that I’ve seen this effect, and in context it is quite effective and jarring. It also has an enormous cast, both in terms of characters that drive the various plots, and also just in terms of the sheer number of extras in crowds or battle scenes. The two leads in the modern era -- Mae Marsh and Robert Harron -- also played a couple in Judith of Bethulia, but in supporting roles. Here they are probably the closest thing to main characters that the film has. The other competitor for that spot is the female lead in the Babylonian section, played by Constance Talmadge, whose constant mugging, though occasionally entertaining, was also a little distracting. There are also a host of other famous people playing small roles, including a number of future directors, and Douglas Fairbanks, who we’ll be seeing for the first time as a lead in a couple of weeks. Also, the actor playing Jesus (and who also played Robert E. Lee in Birth of a Nation) inspired what is probably my favorite IMDB trivia item for this film, which I’ll quote in its entirety: “Howard Gaye, an English actor who played Jesus Christ, got involved in a sex scandal involving a 14-year-old girl and was deported back to England. Because of the scandal, his name was removed from prints of the film at the time.” I feel like perhaps a more stringent screening process for potential actors to play Jesus may have been in order. (Though perhaps this was karmic retribution for being one of the few films that uses the story of Jesus as a minor subplot.)
The movie picks up considerably in the last 30-40 minutes. The intertitles and interminably rocking cradle used earlier to demarcate the switch between one time period and the next begin to disappear, and we begin to get direct cuts between time periods, trusting the audience to understand which time period is on the screen. And each of the stories are reaching their climax at that point, so you have St. Bartholomew’s massacre crosscut with the invasion of Babylon, further crosscut by a race car trying to catch up to a train in the modern portion, all of which showed that Griffith was capable of building suspense when he chose that as a priority over sharing his idiosyncratic, borderline-crackpot philosophy of life with the world.
Our next film -- the fourth of five from 1916 -- is Gretchen the Greenhorn, starring Dorothy Gish. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Intolerance was the third film from 1916 we watched, and it turned into a bit of a slog. It ran three-plus hours, so we watched it over a few sessions. This was the second full-length feature by D. W. Griffith that we’ve watched, after Judith of Bethulia. Part of the reason for the extended running time is that four stories -- ostensibly thematically linked -- are presented, intercut, from four different eras: A Babylonian section set in the sixth century BC; an abbreviated story of Jesus, set when you’d expect; the story of the St. Bartholomew's day massacre, set in 16th century France; and a “modern” story, set 1916ish. The modern and Babylonian story get the majority of the running time; the other two are much shorter. Supposedly all of the stories revolve around the theme of intolerance, though the Babylonian story, for instance, just seemed like a power struggle, and some of the others seemed debatable too. I suppose any human conflict can be painted as a story of intolerance, in the sense that antagonists aren’t being tolerant of their opponents’ views. Griffith, of course, was famously intolerant himself, and is probably best known for the odious Birth of a Nation, even among people who don’t know anything else about him. Even in the context of this film, there is a scene where a woman’s reform society in the modern era is commented upon in the title cards, reading “When women cease to attract men they often turn to Reform as a second choice.” I rarely share my opinions with the kids during films (excepting, “Stop talking!” and “Get your shoes off the couch!”), but in this instance I paused the film, and expressed how reprehensible this was.
Another strange feature of the film was that many of the characters were not given names. For example the couple in the modern era were called “The Dear One” and the “The Boy.” This is perversely alienating -- perfectly understandable in, say, a Brecht or a Beckett play -- but not in a film that showed every evidence of wanting its audience to empathize with its characters. Many of the title cards were distancing as well, either written with overly purple phrasing (e.g. “The Loom of Fate weaves death for the Boy's father.”) or providing footnotes in a quasi-academic fashion (e.g. explaining who the Pharisees were, or noting the obscure fact that Judaism uses wine in many of its ceremonies.) “Jeff. Note: This is Jeff,” is how Ben mocked this latter practice. The movie also used the device of cutting back to a woman (played by Lillian Gish) rocking a cradle as a transition between scenes. I imagine this was used to emphasize the human and generational continuity between the various eras, but I feel like this point could have been made without dozens of nearly identical shots (and without the use of a rather famous actress in a non-acting role.)
But, for all the preceding, it was an impressive film in many ways, and it is clear why it has carved out a spot in film history. It is certainly leaps and bounds more interesting and entertaining than Griffith’s Judith of Bethulia, which was made just two years earlier. It takes many of the innovations -- moving cameras, intercutting, extreme close-ups -- that we’ve seen in earlier films like Cabiria, and makes more extensive use of them. In addition, the famous crane shots in front of the stairs in the Babylonian section may have some precedent in film history, but this is the earliest that I’ve seen this effect, and in context it is quite effective and jarring. It also has an enormous cast, both in terms of characters that drive the various plots, and also just in terms of the sheer number of extras in crowds or battle scenes. The two leads in the modern era -- Mae Marsh and Robert Harron -- also played a couple in Judith of Bethulia, but in supporting roles. Here they are probably the closest thing to main characters that the film has. The other competitor for that spot is the female lead in the Babylonian section, played by Constance Talmadge, whose constant mugging, though occasionally entertaining, was also a little distracting. There are also a host of other famous people playing small roles, including a number of future directors, and Douglas Fairbanks, who we’ll be seeing for the first time as a lead in a couple of weeks. Also, the actor playing Jesus (and who also played Robert E. Lee in Birth of a Nation) inspired what is probably my favorite IMDB trivia item for this film, which I’ll quote in its entirety: “Howard Gaye, an English actor who played Jesus Christ, got involved in a sex scandal involving a 14-year-old girl and was deported back to England. Because of the scandal, his name was removed from prints of the film at the time.” I feel like perhaps a more stringent screening process for potential actors to play Jesus may have been in order. (Though perhaps this was karmic retribution for being one of the few films that uses the story of Jesus as a minor subplot.)
The movie picks up considerably in the last 30-40 minutes. The intertitles and interminably rocking cradle used earlier to demarcate the switch between one time period and the next begin to disappear, and we begin to get direct cuts between time periods, trusting the audience to understand which time period is on the screen. And each of the stories are reaching their climax at that point, so you have St. Bartholomew’s massacre crosscut with the invasion of Babylon, further crosscut by a race car trying to catch up to a train in the modern portion, all of which showed that Griffith was capable of building suspense when he chose that as a priority over sharing his idiosyncratic, borderline-crackpot philosophy of life with the world.
Our next film -- the fourth of five from 1916 -- is Gretchen the Greenhorn, starring Dorothy Gish. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Judex (1916)
Originally posted to Facebook on 7/13/2016
Judex was our second film from 1916, and it took us a little longer than planned to finish watching it. It was another serial, directed by Louis Feuillade, who also directed Fantomas. It was twelve episodes long, most in the half-hour range, plus a prologue, so it really felt a bit more like binging on a television show than watching a movie. It had a few actors in common with Fantomas, and also with Les Vampires, an intervening serial which we did not watch. One of the most entertaining things about Fantomas was how insane it was -- python-proof armor, false prosthetic arms, and various ridiculous plot twists. This serial was more level headed and sensible -- making it a better film in many ways, but with fewer signature moments. Judex (played by René Cresté) in this film is essentially a vigilante, similar in some ways to Batman (and may be somewhere in the lineage of Batman’s influences, though that’s a bit murky.) Like Batman, he operates outside of the law, but with his own moral code. He is dressed in black, and wears a cape and prominent black hat -- which is what you’d expect from this kind of proto-super hero, but it does make it a little strange that his chief accomplice is his brother Roger, who dresses in a business suit, and tags along with Judex, a weird conventional grace note to a variety of eccentric adventures -- who probably could have been eliminated from the movie entirely with minimal rewriting. Judex’s primary target is a corrupt banker named Favraux, played by Louis Leubas, who also had a prominent role in A Child of Paris, which we saw a few months back. Given the running time, there is sufficient space to flesh out an assortment of other characters, including The Licorice Kid (an Artful-Dodger-type, named, so far as we could tell, for the fact that he is never seen eating licorice), Favraux’s young grandson (played, I believe, by a little girl who compulsively kisses everyone with whom she is in a scene), an incompetent detective and his fiance (the latter showing up late in the picture and mostly seen wearing a bathing suit, whether or not the situation called for it), and the female ringleader of a gang that is trying to recover Favraux’s money, played by the single-named actress Musidora, who also played Irma Vep in Les Vampires. The movie as a whole was entertaining and polished. It was lightweight, but not as tongue-in-cheek as Fantomas.
Next week we will watch our third film from 1916: Intolerance, one of the canonical “film-school” silents, and the first D.W. Griffith film we’ve watched since 1914’s Judith of Bethulia. It is not a serial, but it is a very long film at over three hours, so I hope we’ll be able to finish it in a single weekend, but we’ll see. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Judex was our second film from 1916, and it took us a little longer than planned to finish watching it. It was another serial, directed by Louis Feuillade, who also directed Fantomas. It was twelve episodes long, most in the half-hour range, plus a prologue, so it really felt a bit more like binging on a television show than watching a movie. It had a few actors in common with Fantomas, and also with Les Vampires, an intervening serial which we did not watch. One of the most entertaining things about Fantomas was how insane it was -- python-proof armor, false prosthetic arms, and various ridiculous plot twists. This serial was more level headed and sensible -- making it a better film in many ways, but with fewer signature moments. Judex (played by René Cresté) in this film is essentially a vigilante, similar in some ways to Batman (and may be somewhere in the lineage of Batman’s influences, though that’s a bit murky.) Like Batman, he operates outside of the law, but with his own moral code. He is dressed in black, and wears a cape and prominent black hat -- which is what you’d expect from this kind of proto-super hero, but it does make it a little strange that his chief accomplice is his brother Roger, who dresses in a business suit, and tags along with Judex, a weird conventional grace note to a variety of eccentric adventures -- who probably could have been eliminated from the movie entirely with minimal rewriting. Judex’s primary target is a corrupt banker named Favraux, played by Louis Leubas, who also had a prominent role in A Child of Paris, which we saw a few months back. Given the running time, there is sufficient space to flesh out an assortment of other characters, including The Licorice Kid (an Artful-Dodger-type, named, so far as we could tell, for the fact that he is never seen eating licorice), Favraux’s young grandson (played, I believe, by a little girl who compulsively kisses everyone with whom she is in a scene), an incompetent detective and his fiance (the latter showing up late in the picture and mostly seen wearing a bathing suit, whether or not the situation called for it), and the female ringleader of a gang that is trying to recover Favraux’s money, played by the single-named actress Musidora, who also played Irma Vep in Les Vampires. The movie as a whole was entertaining and polished. It was lightweight, but not as tongue-in-cheek as Fantomas.
Next week we will watch our third film from 1916: Intolerance, one of the canonical “film-school” silents, and the first D.W. Griffith film we’ve watched since 1914’s Judith of Bethulia. It is not a serial, but it is a very long film at over three hours, so I hope we’ll be able to finish it in a single weekend, but we’ll see. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Sherlock Holmes (1916)
Originally posted to Facebook on 6/18/2016
Sherlock Holmes was the first movie we watched from 1916. The play upon which it was based was first produced in 1899, and William Gillette, the star and author, had been a playwright and actor for decades earlier. He was born in 1853, and by the time this movie was filmed he had been playing the role on stage on-and-off for almost twenty years, and would continue reviving it for another fifteen years, into the thirties. The movie itself was lost for many years, until a copy was found in 2014, so it is a minor miracle that we are able to see it. Film-wise it seems relatively modern for its time, with camera movements, and cross-cutting, and a long complex narrative, and all of the other elements that seemed pretty standard by 1916, but were extremely uncommon just five years earlier. You can see some of its stage roots in the fact that there are a large number of verbose title cards, and numerous scenes involve people having long conversations. I don’t know what changes were made to the play, but some of the plot seemed a little disjointed and bizarre. For example, at one point Alice Faulkner, the female lead, played by Marjorie Kay, is being held prisoner in a house in or near London. Holmes visits the house, figures out what is going on, and manages to speak with her, but then leaves both Alice and the criminals still at the house with nothing more than a stern warning to the criminals. They predictably ignore him. (In Holmes’ defense, Alice probably should have left the house as well at this point.) At another point, Professor Moriarty (Ernest Maupain) gets involved, and decides to do away with Holmes. His clever plan? Get Holmes alone in his house and shoot him. This is foiled because Holmes has a gun as well. If only that were something a criminal mastermind might have foreseen! The entire last quarter of the film is a little anticlimactic. The main criminals have been disposed of, but Moriarty is still at large, and is seeking revenge on Holmes with only slightly more sophistication than his earlier “break into his house and shoot him” scheme. This section actually involves Watson (played by Edward Fielding), who has been largely absent through most of the film. Holmes is seeing clients at Watson’s office, rather than at 221B Baker Street, which, we are informed in a title card, has burned down. That seems like a pretty important event to be told about as an aside, but that’s how it’s handled. Despite all of these plot issues, Gillette makes a convincing Holmes, and it is interesting to see how much of Holmes’ iconic nature was already set by 1916. There was a 1922 movie based on the play as well, starring John Barrymore, which we may possibly see if we get that far. (I also dimly remember seeing a filmed version of the play -- actually on a stage with a seated audience -- starring Frank Langella on cable in the 1980s.)
As far as I can tell neither Gillette nor Marjorie Kay ever appeared in another film. Ernest Maupain popped up in a few films up through the end of the silent era, while Edward Fielding, on the other hand, was in a handful of movies until 1940, and then somehow got on someone's list, and started playing small parts in a dozen films every year up until his death in 1945.
Next week we begin our second film from 1916, the twelve-part serial Judex. It is directed by Louis Feuillade, who also directed 1913's Fantomas, which we saw a few months ago. Like that film, this one is long enough at 300 minutes that we are going to watch it over two successive weekends. Our list of films, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Sherlock Holmes was the first movie we watched from 1916. The play upon which it was based was first produced in 1899, and William Gillette, the star and author, had been a playwright and actor for decades earlier. He was born in 1853, and by the time this movie was filmed he had been playing the role on stage on-and-off for almost twenty years, and would continue reviving it for another fifteen years, into the thirties. The movie itself was lost for many years, until a copy was found in 2014, so it is a minor miracle that we are able to see it. Film-wise it seems relatively modern for its time, with camera movements, and cross-cutting, and a long complex narrative, and all of the other elements that seemed pretty standard by 1916, but were extremely uncommon just five years earlier. You can see some of its stage roots in the fact that there are a large number of verbose title cards, and numerous scenes involve people having long conversations. I don’t know what changes were made to the play, but some of the plot seemed a little disjointed and bizarre. For example, at one point Alice Faulkner, the female lead, played by Marjorie Kay, is being held prisoner in a house in or near London. Holmes visits the house, figures out what is going on, and manages to speak with her, but then leaves both Alice and the criminals still at the house with nothing more than a stern warning to the criminals. They predictably ignore him. (In Holmes’ defense, Alice probably should have left the house as well at this point.) At another point, Professor Moriarty (Ernest Maupain) gets involved, and decides to do away with Holmes. His clever plan? Get Holmes alone in his house and shoot him. This is foiled because Holmes has a gun as well. If only that were something a criminal mastermind might have foreseen! The entire last quarter of the film is a little anticlimactic. The main criminals have been disposed of, but Moriarty is still at large, and is seeking revenge on Holmes with only slightly more sophistication than his earlier “break into his house and shoot him” scheme. This section actually involves Watson (played by Edward Fielding), who has been largely absent through most of the film. Holmes is seeing clients at Watson’s office, rather than at 221B Baker Street, which, we are informed in a title card, has burned down. That seems like a pretty important event to be told about as an aside, but that’s how it’s handled. Despite all of these plot issues, Gillette makes a convincing Holmes, and it is interesting to see how much of Holmes’ iconic nature was already set by 1916. There was a 1922 movie based on the play as well, starring John Barrymore, which we may possibly see if we get that far. (I also dimly remember seeing a filmed version of the play -- actually on a stage with a seated audience -- starring Frank Langella on cable in the 1980s.)
As far as I can tell neither Gillette nor Marjorie Kay ever appeared in another film. Ernest Maupain popped up in a few films up through the end of the silent era, while Edward Fielding, on the other hand, was in a handful of movies until 1940, and then somehow got on someone's list, and started playing small parts in a dozen films every year up until his death in 1945.
Next week we begin our second film from 1916, the twelve-part serial Judex. It is directed by Louis Feuillade, who also directed 1913's Fantomas, which we saw a few months ago. Like that film, this one is long enough at 300 minutes that we are going to watch it over two successive weekends. Our list of films, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Sunday, June 24, 2018
The Italian (1915)
Originally posted to Facebook on 6/9/2016
The Italian was our fourth and final film from 1915. It was about a young Italian couple (George Beban and Clara Williams) who emigrate to the United States, and struggle to adjust to life in New York. As I mentioned last week, I was a little worried about how stereotypical the portrayals would be, and I am happy to say that it wasn’t as bad as I expected. The male lead is not portrayed as the brightest person on the planet, and some of the title cards present his dialog in an exaggerated Italian accent, but I don’t recall anything else that was obviously objectionable. At one point an Irish politician uses a derogatory word for Italians, but it is made pretty clear that this is the character’s bigotry and not the film’s (though I would have preferred the kids’ vocabulary hadn’t been expanded in this particular fashion.) I enjoyed most of the movie, which was mainly about the day-to-day lives of the main characters, until about the last fifteen minutes when it became much more plot driven and less believable. Additionally the film began with a strangely extended and totally unnecessary scene of the lead actor opening a book called “The Italian”, and then ended with him closing it and looking contemplative. It also spends a rather long time setting up a situation in Italy that ends up being the spur for the move to the United States. On the positive side, it made repeated use of flashbacks to events that had happened earlier in the film. I don’t recall if we’ve seen this device previously or not, but we’ve certainly never seen it used this extensively. There is also an interesting shot from an arriving boat of the Statue of Liberty, which had been constructed just thirty years earlier. Interestingly there were a few untimely deaths associated with this film -- both of the leads were dead by the end of the twenties, and the writer and producer Thomas Ince famously died after a trip with Charlie Chaplin and Marion Davies on board William Hearst’s yacht. This was the subject of various conspiracy theories, and was the basis for the plot of the 2001 movie The Cat’s Meow.
Next week we begin 1916. I’ve chosen five films rather than the normal four, starting with the recently rediscovered version of Sherlock Holmes, starring William Gillette. I’ve also added films for 1917 to the list, which should take us out through mid-August. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Italian was our fourth and final film from 1915. It was about a young Italian couple (George Beban and Clara Williams) who emigrate to the United States, and struggle to adjust to life in New York. As I mentioned last week, I was a little worried about how stereotypical the portrayals would be, and I am happy to say that it wasn’t as bad as I expected. The male lead is not portrayed as the brightest person on the planet, and some of the title cards present his dialog in an exaggerated Italian accent, but I don’t recall anything else that was obviously objectionable. At one point an Irish politician uses a derogatory word for Italians, but it is made pretty clear that this is the character’s bigotry and not the film’s (though I would have preferred the kids’ vocabulary hadn’t been expanded in this particular fashion.) I enjoyed most of the movie, which was mainly about the day-to-day lives of the main characters, until about the last fifteen minutes when it became much more plot driven and less believable. Additionally the film began with a strangely extended and totally unnecessary scene of the lead actor opening a book called “The Italian”, and then ended with him closing it and looking contemplative. It also spends a rather long time setting up a situation in Italy that ends up being the spur for the move to the United States. On the positive side, it made repeated use of flashbacks to events that had happened earlier in the film. I don’t recall if we’ve seen this device previously or not, but we’ve certainly never seen it used this extensively. There is also an interesting shot from an arriving boat of the Statue of Liberty, which had been constructed just thirty years earlier. Interestingly there were a few untimely deaths associated with this film -- both of the leads were dead by the end of the twenties, and the writer and producer Thomas Ince famously died after a trip with Charlie Chaplin and Marion Davies on board William Hearst’s yacht. This was the subject of various conspiracy theories, and was the basis for the plot of the 2001 movie The Cat’s Meow.
Next week we begin 1916. I’ve chosen five films rather than the normal four, starting with the recently rediscovered version of Sherlock Holmes, starring William Gillette. I’ve also added films for 1917 to the list, which should take us out through mid-August. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Alice in Wonderland (1915)
Originally posted to Facebook on 6/3/2016
Alice in Wonderland was the third film we’ve watched from 1915, and the second adaptation of Carroll's book. Unlike the films we’ve been watching recently, this one seems to fall outside of the canonical through-line that you might encounter when reading about the history of film. Neither the director (W.W. Young) nor the star (Viola Savoy) appear to have done anything significant in the movies before or after. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s an unusual story as to how and why this film was made, but if so it was beyond my researching capabilities (i.e. ten minutes of googling.) It has little or no camera movement, and surprisingly few special effects, especially for a film as suited to them as an Alice adaptation. The main visual interest lies in the costumes, which are extensive and obviously modeled on the famous Tenniel illustrations. I felt particularly sorry for the actors in the lobster costumes who had to crawl out of the ocean, possibly over multiple takes. If we had watched this film as part of our chronology from a few years earlier -- 1910 or 1911, say -- it would have stood out as being fairly innovative, for its long-form story; and for its large quantity of scenes, sets, shots, and title cards; and of course for the costumes mentioned earlier. But after Cabiria, and Regeneration, and some of the other films we’ve seen recently, it instead strikes me as a little old-fashioned. I think that’s partially influenced by our choice of films, but I think it’s also a reflection of how much films changed between 1910 and 1915. It is a fairly short film, at under an hour, and there are occasional jumps in the plot that would lead me to believe that we were seeing a somewhat incomplete version. It does a pretty good job of coherently telling the story of Alice in Wonderland -- hewing very close to the book, to a fault sometimes. (For instance I don’t think there’s any reason to memorialize a joke from the book hinging on tortoise sounding a little like “taught us.”) We watched this shortly before watching the 2010 Tim Burton Alice in Wonderland (and plan to see the sequel this weekend) and it was interesting to see all of the little parallels.
Next week we’ll watch our fourth and final film from 1915, ominously titled The Italian. When I informed the kids of the title Ben said, “I can’t wait to see how racist this one is.” I have some of the same trepidation, but it’s in the National Film registry, and the synopsis doesn’t sound too awful. I guess we’ll find out. The viewing list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Alice in Wonderland was the third film we’ve watched from 1915, and the second adaptation of Carroll's book. Unlike the films we’ve been watching recently, this one seems to fall outside of the canonical through-line that you might encounter when reading about the history of film. Neither the director (W.W. Young) nor the star (Viola Savoy) appear to have done anything significant in the movies before or after. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s an unusual story as to how and why this film was made, but if so it was beyond my researching capabilities (i.e. ten minutes of googling.) It has little or no camera movement, and surprisingly few special effects, especially for a film as suited to them as an Alice adaptation. The main visual interest lies in the costumes, which are extensive and obviously modeled on the famous Tenniel illustrations. I felt particularly sorry for the actors in the lobster costumes who had to crawl out of the ocean, possibly over multiple takes. If we had watched this film as part of our chronology from a few years earlier -- 1910 or 1911, say -- it would have stood out as being fairly innovative, for its long-form story; and for its large quantity of scenes, sets, shots, and title cards; and of course for the costumes mentioned earlier. But after Cabiria, and Regeneration, and some of the other films we’ve seen recently, it instead strikes me as a little old-fashioned. I think that’s partially influenced by our choice of films, but I think it’s also a reflection of how much films changed between 1910 and 1915. It is a fairly short film, at under an hour, and there are occasional jumps in the plot that would lead me to believe that we were seeing a somewhat incomplete version. It does a pretty good job of coherently telling the story of Alice in Wonderland -- hewing very close to the book, to a fault sometimes. (For instance I don’t think there’s any reason to memorialize a joke from the book hinging on tortoise sounding a little like “taught us.”) We watched this shortly before watching the 2010 Tim Burton Alice in Wonderland (and plan to see the sequel this weekend) and it was interesting to see all of the little parallels.
Next week we’ll watch our fourth and final film from 1915, ominously titled The Italian. When I informed the kids of the title Ben said, “I can’t wait to see how racist this one is.” I have some of the same trepidation, but it’s in the National Film registry, and the synopsis doesn’t sound too awful. I guess we’ll find out. The viewing list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Carmen (1915)
Originally posted to Facebook on 5/24/2016
We had a busy weekend two weeks ago, so we didn’t get around to watching our second film from 1915 until this last weekend. The film we watched was Carmen, and it is the first movie we’ve seen directed by Cecil B. DeMille. Like Raoul Walsh from the previous week, DeMille had a long career in both the silent and sound era, including Cleopatra (1934), and The Ten Commandments -- both the silent version in 1923, and the 1956 version with Charlton Heston that used to be shown every year on TV. DeMille also had a memorable role as himself in Sunset Boulevard. However, unlike Raoul Walsh, he is probably more identified with his earlier, silent work than his later films.
There were two versions of Carmen released in 1915, as well as a parody (or “burlesque”) by Charlie Chaplin. The other non-parody was coincidentally directed by Raoul Walsh, but it is now lost. This film was based roughly on the opera, and its lead, Geraldine Farrar, was a famous opera singer. The backing music on our DVD was taken from the opera as well, and, although I know very little about opera, it is well-known enough that I recognized several pieces. The movie was fairly short, lasting about an hour, so the pacing was brisk. It is set in Spain approximately 200 years ago (i.e. 100 years before the movie was made) The plot concerns a group of gypsy smugglers (portrayed as always with nuanced sensitivity), including Carmen, and a town guard (played by Wallace Reid) that gets mixed up with them. Without spoiling anything, I will just say that it does not end well. Like our previous film from 1915, I don’t think I could really recommend this to a general audience, but we do seem to be in a run of films that are at least competently made and able to tell a coherent story.
Next week we will watch our third film from 1915, a version of Alice in Wonderland. We had previously seen a ten minute version from 1903, but films have totally changed in those twelve years, so I’m expecting a far more sophisticated version this time around.
Our list of upcoming films is shown here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
We had a busy weekend two weeks ago, so we didn’t get around to watching our second film from 1915 until this last weekend. The film we watched was Carmen, and it is the first movie we’ve seen directed by Cecil B. DeMille. Like Raoul Walsh from the previous week, DeMille had a long career in both the silent and sound era, including Cleopatra (1934), and The Ten Commandments -- both the silent version in 1923, and the 1956 version with Charlton Heston that used to be shown every year on TV. DeMille also had a memorable role as himself in Sunset Boulevard. However, unlike Raoul Walsh, he is probably more identified with his earlier, silent work than his later films.
There were two versions of Carmen released in 1915, as well as a parody (or “burlesque”) by Charlie Chaplin. The other non-parody was coincidentally directed by Raoul Walsh, but it is now lost. This film was based roughly on the opera, and its lead, Geraldine Farrar, was a famous opera singer. The backing music on our DVD was taken from the opera as well, and, although I know very little about opera, it is well-known enough that I recognized several pieces. The movie was fairly short, lasting about an hour, so the pacing was brisk. It is set in Spain approximately 200 years ago (i.e. 100 years before the movie was made) The plot concerns a group of gypsy smugglers (portrayed as always with nuanced sensitivity), including Carmen, and a town guard (played by Wallace Reid) that gets mixed up with them. Without spoiling anything, I will just say that it does not end well. Like our previous film from 1915, I don’t think I could really recommend this to a general audience, but we do seem to be in a run of films that are at least competently made and able to tell a coherent story.
Next week we will watch our third film from 1915, a version of Alice in Wonderland. We had previously seen a ten minute version from 1903, but films have totally changed in those twelve years, so I’m expecting a far more sophisticated version this time around.
Our list of upcoming films is shown here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Regeneration (1915)
Originally posted to Facebook on 5/12/2016
This week we watched Regeneration, our first film from 1915. It was directed by Raoul Walsh, who had a long career in both the silent and sound eras. He was a protégé of D. W. Griffith, and played John Wilkes Booth in Birth of a Nation. He directed, among many other films, The Thief of Bagdad (1924), The Roaring Twenties (1940), White Heat (1949), and continued directing up through the 1960s. The list of famous actors he worked with is too long to list, but it includes a few who are still alive today -- for example Olivia de Havilland, Sidney Poitier, and Joan Collins.
This particular film was his first, and it shows the continuing evolution of the movies. The type of camera movement that we first saw in Cabiria last week is used in this film as well, although a little less extensively. It also has an increased amount of cutting and cross-cutting. The plot concerns a young boy who is orphaned, and has a rough upbringing, on the streets and in abusive households. He grows up to be a young gang leader (played as an adult by Rockliffe Fellowes), but falls in love with a well-to-do social worker (played by Anna Q. Nilsson), and begins to feel divided loyalties. Some of the plot elements reminded me a bit of The Town, though that was a much more modern and textured film. I’m not sure I could quite say that this is a good movie. It is certainly melodramatic at times, but I enjoyed it more than some of the other films we’ve seen recently. It has a grittiness we haven’t seen before -- though A Child of Paris had a certain grittiness too (and also excepting Traffic in Souls which we had to stop watching after ten minutes.) Certainly seeing a film set in more-or-less contemporary times, as opposed to historical epics, gives it a greater immediacy. I also thought that the matter-of-fact depiction of the brutality of city life for people unfortunate enough to fall between the cracks was well portrayed.
Next week we move onto Carmen, our second film of 1915. It’s directed by Cecil B. DeMille, another director with a long career than spanned the silent and sound era. It will be the first film of his that we’ve seen. The link to our viewing plan is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
This week we watched Regeneration, our first film from 1915. It was directed by Raoul Walsh, who had a long career in both the silent and sound eras. He was a protégé of D. W. Griffith, and played John Wilkes Booth in Birth of a Nation. He directed, among many other films, The Thief of Bagdad (1924), The Roaring Twenties (1940), White Heat (1949), and continued directing up through the 1960s. The list of famous actors he worked with is too long to list, but it includes a few who are still alive today -- for example Olivia de Havilland, Sidney Poitier, and Joan Collins.
This particular film was his first, and it shows the continuing evolution of the movies. The type of camera movement that we first saw in Cabiria last week is used in this film as well, although a little less extensively. It also has an increased amount of cutting and cross-cutting. The plot concerns a young boy who is orphaned, and has a rough upbringing, on the streets and in abusive households. He grows up to be a young gang leader (played as an adult by Rockliffe Fellowes), but falls in love with a well-to-do social worker (played by Anna Q. Nilsson), and begins to feel divided loyalties. Some of the plot elements reminded me a bit of The Town, though that was a much more modern and textured film. I’m not sure I could quite say that this is a good movie. It is certainly melodramatic at times, but I enjoyed it more than some of the other films we’ve seen recently. It has a grittiness we haven’t seen before -- though A Child of Paris had a certain grittiness too (and also excepting Traffic in Souls which we had to stop watching after ten minutes.) Certainly seeing a film set in more-or-less contemporary times, as opposed to historical epics, gives it a greater immediacy. I also thought that the matter-of-fact depiction of the brutality of city life for people unfortunate enough to fall between the cracks was well portrayed.
Next week we move onto Carmen, our second film of 1915. It’s directed by Cecil B. DeMille, another director with a long career than spanned the silent and sound era. It will be the first film of his that we’ve seen. The link to our viewing plan is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Sunday, June 17, 2018
Cabiria (1914)
Originally posted to Facebook on 5/4/2016
Cabiria was our final film from 1914, and, I believe, the third ancient historical epic we’ve seen, after The Last Days of Pompeii and Judith of Bethulia. Like The Last Days of Pompeii this was an Italian film, and had at least one actor in common with that film. It is most famous for its use of a moving camera. After all of the other silent features and shorts that we’ve seen over the last several months, in which camera motion was limited to an occasional pan, or a camera fixed to a train or other moving vehicle, it was truly jarring to see the camera zoom into a scene or glide from one part of the set to another. I don’t know how quickly this was adopted by the movie industry at large -- even today a lot of films are rather static -- but one can only imagine how electrifying it was to audiences at the time. The storytelling itself was not as anywhere near as innovative, but it was an improvement on the previous two epics of its kind that we’d seen. Like The Last Days of Pompeii, this movie also featured an exploding volcano -- Etna this time -- and the collapsing buildings and general destruction were similar to the earlier film, but more extensive and convincing. The sets in general were also more lavish, including particularly the temple of Moloch. The sacrificing of struggling children one-by-one, with the priest throwing them into an oven set into the belly of a demon statue was surprisingly decadent and dark. (The prayers to Moloch referred to him as a great devil and used other insulting terms, which the kids pointed out was perhaps not the best way to win his favor, regardless of how many delicious children you sacrifice to him.) Alli must have just had a unit in school about Greek architecture, because she pointed out various columns and identified them as Doric or Ionic. At one point there were two columns carved into the shape of giant cats. I asked her what type of columns those were. “Ionic,” she said. “Anytime it’s carved into something, it’s Ionic.”
Sad to say, there were a number of characters representing various ethnicities who were played by actors who had darkened their skin. This was fairly distracting, and required periodic pausing of the TV to provide explanations to the kids. At another point a greedy and cowardly innkeeper has what appears to be Hebrew lettering outside of his inn, indicating that this was probably supposed to be a negative Jewish portrayal. The plot was also at times a little confusing, and the title cards were overly verbose, and often written in a weird high-flown poetic style that was not always clear. The movie’s namesake, Cabiria, is a little girl who is separated from her Roman parents at an early age, and ends up with the Carthaginians. She, however, does not get much screen time, and her story is interrupted with other plot arcs, and a fair amount of overly detailed geopolitics. At one point Hannibal’s elephants are shown, and at another Archimedes makes an unexpected appearance with his ship-burning mirrors. (Though who better than Archimedes to send the movie off onto a tangent?)
So, anyway, that concludes 1914 for us. In the real world WW1 was just beginning, but we’ve seen no reference to that in any film to date. I imagine we’ll see it soon. Next week we begin 1915 with Regeneration, an early gangster feature -- some claim it as the first -- directed by Raoul Walsh, who went on to direct many famous films well into the sound era. I’ve also added films from 1916 to the spreadsheet, which is shared here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Cabiria was our final film from 1914, and, I believe, the third ancient historical epic we’ve seen, after The Last Days of Pompeii and Judith of Bethulia. Like The Last Days of Pompeii this was an Italian film, and had at least one actor in common with that film. It is most famous for its use of a moving camera. After all of the other silent features and shorts that we’ve seen over the last several months, in which camera motion was limited to an occasional pan, or a camera fixed to a train or other moving vehicle, it was truly jarring to see the camera zoom into a scene or glide from one part of the set to another. I don’t know how quickly this was adopted by the movie industry at large -- even today a lot of films are rather static -- but one can only imagine how electrifying it was to audiences at the time. The storytelling itself was not as anywhere near as innovative, but it was an improvement on the previous two epics of its kind that we’d seen. Like The Last Days of Pompeii, this movie also featured an exploding volcano -- Etna this time -- and the collapsing buildings and general destruction were similar to the earlier film, but more extensive and convincing. The sets in general were also more lavish, including particularly the temple of Moloch. The sacrificing of struggling children one-by-one, with the priest throwing them into an oven set into the belly of a demon statue was surprisingly decadent and dark. (The prayers to Moloch referred to him as a great devil and used other insulting terms, which the kids pointed out was perhaps not the best way to win his favor, regardless of how many delicious children you sacrifice to him.) Alli must have just had a unit in school about Greek architecture, because she pointed out various columns and identified them as Doric or Ionic. At one point there were two columns carved into the shape of giant cats. I asked her what type of columns those were. “Ionic,” she said. “Anytime it’s carved into something, it’s Ionic.”
Sad to say, there were a number of characters representing various ethnicities who were played by actors who had darkened their skin. This was fairly distracting, and required periodic pausing of the TV to provide explanations to the kids. At another point a greedy and cowardly innkeeper has what appears to be Hebrew lettering outside of his inn, indicating that this was probably supposed to be a negative Jewish portrayal. The plot was also at times a little confusing, and the title cards were overly verbose, and often written in a weird high-flown poetic style that was not always clear. The movie’s namesake, Cabiria, is a little girl who is separated from her Roman parents at an early age, and ends up with the Carthaginians. She, however, does not get much screen time, and her story is interrupted with other plot arcs, and a fair amount of overly detailed geopolitics. At one point Hannibal’s elephants are shown, and at another Archimedes makes an unexpected appearance with his ship-burning mirrors. (Though who better than Archimedes to send the movie off onto a tangent?)
So, anyway, that concludes 1914 for us. In the real world WW1 was just beginning, but we’ve seen no reference to that in any film to date. I imagine we’ll see it soon. Next week we begin 1915 with Regeneration, an early gangster feature -- some claim it as the first -- directed by Raoul Walsh, who went on to direct many famous films well into the sound era. I’ve also added films from 1916 to the spreadsheet, which is shared here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Tillie’s Punctured Romance (1914)
Originally posted to Facebook on 4/29/2016
Tillie’s Punctured Romance was our third film from 1914. It is claimed that this was the first feature-length comedy, and would therefore also be the first feature film of many of the comedians present, including Chaplin. It is definitely the first film we’ve seen that contained a significant number of people that are still somewhat famous today. Charlie Chaplin, of course, is the most famous, but it also contained Marie Dressler, who starred in many silent films, and had a resurgence in popularity in early sound films twenty years later, winning an Oscar for Best Actress, and being nominated for another. Also present was Mabel Normand, who was a popular silent star, and Edgar Kennedy, who I remember as the food vendor tormented by Harpo and Chico in Duck Soup, but who also appeared in many films up through the forties. However, this assemblage of talent sadly does not result in anything very funny. There were a few moments where I smiled, such as when people were throwing bricks at one another, or when Chaplin slapped a newspaper boy, but in general it is full of people chasing each other, and falling down and knocking each other over, to such an extent that it becomes monotonous. Chaplin does not play his Tramp character, though he looks somewhat similar. Instead he plays a character given in IMDB as “The City Stranger,” who woos Marie Dressler because he thinks she is rich. Mabel Normand plays his actual pre-existing girlfriend, who is not terribly happy about the whole situation. Marie Dressler is also not happy when she finds out that Chaplin already has a girlfriend. They both express their frustration via violent and repetitive slapstick. So, anyway, something of a disappointment. On the plus side, the film print was bright and clear, which was the first time that’s been true for a couple of weeks. Also, I liked the title -- even without knowing you’d almost guess that “Tillie’s Punctured Romance” was a silent movie title, or failing that a single by The Decemberists.
Next week we watch our final film from 1914: Cabiria, which apparently was one of the first films where camera movements beyond simple pans began to be used routinely. The spreadsheet, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Tillie’s Punctured Romance was our third film from 1914. It is claimed that this was the first feature-length comedy, and would therefore also be the first feature film of many of the comedians present, including Chaplin. It is definitely the first film we’ve seen that contained a significant number of people that are still somewhat famous today. Charlie Chaplin, of course, is the most famous, but it also contained Marie Dressler, who starred in many silent films, and had a resurgence in popularity in early sound films twenty years later, winning an Oscar for Best Actress, and being nominated for another. Also present was Mabel Normand, who was a popular silent star, and Edgar Kennedy, who I remember as the food vendor tormented by Harpo and Chico in Duck Soup, but who also appeared in many films up through the forties. However, this assemblage of talent sadly does not result in anything very funny. There were a few moments where I smiled, such as when people were throwing bricks at one another, or when Chaplin slapped a newspaper boy, but in general it is full of people chasing each other, and falling down and knocking each other over, to such an extent that it becomes monotonous. Chaplin does not play his Tramp character, though he looks somewhat similar. Instead he plays a character given in IMDB as “The City Stranger,” who woos Marie Dressler because he thinks she is rich. Mabel Normand plays his actual pre-existing girlfriend, who is not terribly happy about the whole situation. Marie Dressler is also not happy when she finds out that Chaplin already has a girlfriend. They both express their frustration via violent and repetitive slapstick. So, anyway, something of a disappointment. On the plus side, the film print was bright and clear, which was the first time that’s been true for a couple of weeks. Also, I liked the title -- even without knowing you’d almost guess that “Tillie’s Punctured Romance” was a silent movie title, or failing that a single by The Decemberists.
Next week we watch our final film from 1914: Cabiria, which apparently was one of the first films where camera movements beyond simple pans began to be used routinely. The spreadsheet, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
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