Originally posted to Facebook on 10/28/2018
Michael was a return to 1924 for us, our sixth film from that year. It stars Walter Slezak, Nora Gregor, and Benjamin Christensen, and is directed by Carl Theodor Dreyer, who also directed 1928's The Passion of Joan of Arc. Interestingly it was co-written by Thea von Harbou, who is most famous for co-writing numerous films with her then-husband Fritz Lang, many of which we've seen earlier in this project.
This movie's plot concerns a love triangle between the three leads -- Christensen playing a much-older famous artist, who treats Slezak as his muse -- with Slezak eventually moving on to a Countess played by Gregor. This film is notable for being a very early example of a film centered on a gay relationship, though it is ambiguous on that point until well into the film. Slezak looks quite different than he did as a character actor in Hollywood decades later, and is well cast as the handsome but callow center of the love triangle. The triangle plays out rather straight-forwardly, with Christensen fully emotionally invested in Slezak, and Slezak doing as he pleases. There is another love triangle as well -- in a subplot that is extraneous to the main plot, but thematically linked. The film is a bit slow-moving, and Dreyer is clearly trying to capture a certain kind of intensity of emotion -- though in a less extreme manner than in Joan of Arc.
The movie is most closely aligned with Christensen, with Slezak receiving a much less in-depth characterization, and Gregor's part even more cursory. Christensen's forbearance is martyr-like to an almost comical Giving-Tree-like extreme. In the end I think the movie finds Christensen's behavior admirable, casting it as some kind of high-minded true love, which is in keeping with the romanticism for which the film is so evidently aiming. Still, I think there might have been room for a slightly larger tinge of cynicism even within that approach.
Next week we continue our revisiting of a few earlier films before moving on to 1929, watching 1925's Maciste in Hell, which stars one of the secondary characters from 1914's Cabiria. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Showing posts with label 1924. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1924. Show all posts
Sunday, June 23, 2019
Monday, February 18, 2019
He Who Gets Slapped (1924)
Originally posted to Facebook on 10/24/2017
Our fifth and final film from 1924 was He Who Gets Slapped, our second film starring Lon Chaney, and our fifth directed by Victor Sjöström, who had relocated to Hollywood since 1921's The Phantom Carriage. This is also the first film in which we've seen John Gilbert or Norma Shearer.
The premise of the film is that Chaney is a scientist, and his patron, Baron Regnard, conspires with Chaney's wife to take credit for his work, publicly slapping him when he confronts the Baron. Chaney then returns home, where his wife reveals her part in the plot, and slaps him as well. The film then jumps forward, and in the intervening time Chaney has become a circus clown, where he has developed a starring act in which he gets slapped repeatedly by other clowns to mass acclaim -- a bizarre development not just because of its fetishistic aspect, but also because of the vertiginous mid-career shift between research scientist and circus clown.
John Gilbert and Norma Shearer are stunt riders, apparently one of the rare non-clown positions in this particular circus. There is a slight love triangle, in that Chaney is in love with Shearer, but he recognizes that she loves Gilbert, who is closer to her in age, and, crucially, isn't a clown with severe and masochistic psychological problems. When the Baron reappears, however, and begins to pursue Shearer, it provokes in Chaney both a protective instinct, and also a desire for revenge. This revenge motive recalls the previous film in which we saw Lon Chaney, 1920's The Penalty, as does his acting style, which is forceful and charismatic in both films, though not exactly naturalistic in either (an approach that would have been difficult in full clown make-up in any case.)
And it is this performance that, I think, makes this more of a Lon Chaney film than a Victor Sjöström film. Sjöström's assured hand is still visible, but the over-the-top luridness feels much more like The Penalty than any of Sjöström's earlier films.
Next week we being 1925 with our first Russian film, a film I've been intending to watch since I saw The Untouchables more than a quarter-century ago: Battleship Potemkin. Additionally, since we are starting 1925, I've added our planned films for 1926. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Our fifth and final film from 1924 was He Who Gets Slapped, our second film starring Lon Chaney, and our fifth directed by Victor Sjöström, who had relocated to Hollywood since 1921's The Phantom Carriage. This is also the first film in which we've seen John Gilbert or Norma Shearer.
The premise of the film is that Chaney is a scientist, and his patron, Baron Regnard, conspires with Chaney's wife to take credit for his work, publicly slapping him when he confronts the Baron. Chaney then returns home, where his wife reveals her part in the plot, and slaps him as well. The film then jumps forward, and in the intervening time Chaney has become a circus clown, where he has developed a starring act in which he gets slapped repeatedly by other clowns to mass acclaim -- a bizarre development not just because of its fetishistic aspect, but also because of the vertiginous mid-career shift between research scientist and circus clown.
John Gilbert and Norma Shearer are stunt riders, apparently one of the rare non-clown positions in this particular circus. There is a slight love triangle, in that Chaney is in love with Shearer, but he recognizes that she loves Gilbert, who is closer to her in age, and, crucially, isn't a clown with severe and masochistic psychological problems. When the Baron reappears, however, and begins to pursue Shearer, it provokes in Chaney both a protective instinct, and also a desire for revenge. This revenge motive recalls the previous film in which we saw Lon Chaney, 1920's The Penalty, as does his acting style, which is forceful and charismatic in both films, though not exactly naturalistic in either (an approach that would have been difficult in full clown make-up in any case.)
And it is this performance that, I think, makes this more of a Lon Chaney film than a Victor Sjöström film. Sjöström's assured hand is still visible, but the over-the-top luridness feels much more like The Penalty than any of Sjöström's earlier films.
Next week we being 1925 with our first Russian film, a film I've been intending to watch since I saw The Untouchables more than a quarter-century ago: Battleship Potemkin. Additionally, since we are starting 1925, I've added our planned films for 1926. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Die Nibelungen: Kriemhild's Revenge (1924)
Originally posted to Facebook on 10/5/2017
Our fourth film from 1924 was Die Nibelungen: Kriemhild's Revenge, the follow-up to Siegfried, again directed by Fritz Lang and written by Thea von Harbou. It takes place shortly after the previous movie, and stars Margarete Schön as Kriemhild. Most of the other cast also carries over from the previous movie, including Theodor Loos as her brother King Gunther, and Hans Adalbert Schlettow as his advisor Hagen Tronje. One addition to the cast is Attila the Hun, played by Rudolf Klein-Rogge, who also played the title character in Dr. Mabuse. Early in the film Kriemhild agrees to marry Attila, with the intent of using him to seek her revenge. Once in his kingdom, she conspires to invite her brother and his retinue to visit. The conflict escalates once they arrive, and Gunther and Hagen Tronje are eventually besieged, surrounded in a dining hall by Attila's army. This film is much more focused and intense than the previous film -- there are no dragons or subterranean treasure hordes -- and, I think, it is better for that single-mindedness. Schön does not give a particularly varied performance, but she is a strong and forceful presence, unlike the previous film where she largely played a more supporting role to Siegried. It must be said too, that, unlike the previous film, in which Siegfried was represented as more or less heroic, in this film Kriemhild is depicted as obsessed and borderline unbalanced; she is clearly the protagonist, but she is not shown entirely sympathetically.
The movie does, though, have some of the same questionable markers of German nationalism as the previous film. The Huns, for instance, are portrayed as essentially subhuman, which is probably the film's deepest flaw. Klein-Rogge, in fact, wears so much make-up for his depiction of Attila that I did not recognize him until I looked the movie up later on IMDB.
For our next film we return to 1922, for our sixth and final film from that year: When Knighthood was in Flower, our first film starring Marion Davies. We watched this one out of order because it was recently restored using a kickstarter campaign, and did not arrive until we had finished all of the other 1922 films (and the 1923 films as well.) The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT.
Our fourth film from 1924 was Die Nibelungen: Kriemhild's Revenge, the follow-up to Siegfried, again directed by Fritz Lang and written by Thea von Harbou. It takes place shortly after the previous movie, and stars Margarete Schön as Kriemhild. Most of the other cast also carries over from the previous movie, including Theodor Loos as her brother King Gunther, and Hans Adalbert Schlettow as his advisor Hagen Tronje. One addition to the cast is Attila the Hun, played by Rudolf Klein-Rogge, who also played the title character in Dr. Mabuse. Early in the film Kriemhild agrees to marry Attila, with the intent of using him to seek her revenge. Once in his kingdom, she conspires to invite her brother and his retinue to visit. The conflict escalates once they arrive, and Gunther and Hagen Tronje are eventually besieged, surrounded in a dining hall by Attila's army. This film is much more focused and intense than the previous film -- there are no dragons or subterranean treasure hordes -- and, I think, it is better for that single-mindedness. Schön does not give a particularly varied performance, but she is a strong and forceful presence, unlike the previous film where she largely played a more supporting role to Siegried. It must be said too, that, unlike the previous film, in which Siegfried was represented as more or less heroic, in this film Kriemhild is depicted as obsessed and borderline unbalanced; she is clearly the protagonist, but she is not shown entirely sympathetically.
The movie does, though, have some of the same questionable markers of German nationalism as the previous film. The Huns, for instance, are portrayed as essentially subhuman, which is probably the film's deepest flaw. Klein-Rogge, in fact, wears so much make-up for his depiction of Attila that I did not recognize him until I looked the movie up later on IMDB.
For our next film we return to 1922, for our sixth and final film from that year: When Knighthood was in Flower, our first film starring Marion Davies. We watched this one out of order because it was recently restored using a kickstarter campaign, and did not arrive until we had finished all of the other 1922 films (and the 1923 films as well.) The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT.
Die Nibelungen: Siegfried (1924)
Originally posted to Facebook on 9/26/2017
Die Nibelungen: Siegfried was our third film from 1924, and also our third directed by Fritz Lang, written, like his previous films, by his wife Thea von Harbou. We've watched a fair number of German films from the 1920s over the last year, and I think it is not simply a post-hoc observation that their intense and often fantastical tenor reflects to some extent the turmoil in post-war Germany. Still, it is hard to know what to make of the fact that this particular film was a favorite of Hitler's, especially since there are elements of the film where one can understand why that might be the case. Its hero, for instance, physically resembles the Nazi ideal, and the film has a strong strain of German nationalism, and even opens with a title card reading "Dedicated to the German People."
But whatever baggage this film carries, it is the first time in this project that we've seen this kind of high fantasy. It could not be more different than the previous film we saw directed by Lang, 1922's Dr. Mabuse. That film was "modern" and cynical; Siegfried is mythological and largely sincere. Siegfried himself, the protagonist, is played by Paul Richter, who also had a prominent part in Dr. Mabuse. Within the first thirty minutes he slays a dragon, and discovers a strange dwarf-like race who possess a magical treasure hoard. The dragon is especially noteworthy; it is essentially a large puppet -- Henson-ish, but less whimsical. It of course pales beside modern digital effects, but is unlike anything we've seen previously. It noticeably does not move much from its initial location, but otherwise stretches its neck and tail, and bends down to drink. Siegfried attacks it with surprisingly little provocation -- though perhaps dragons were universally recognized as a public health risk. After killing the dragon, and having a few other adventures, Siegfried eventually ends up at the court of King Gunther, where he petitions the king for the hand of his sister, Kriemhild, played by Margarete Schön. Gunther agrees, but only -- in true fantasy RPG fashion -- if Siegfried will help Gunther with another task.
There were a few things that marred the film for me. One of the more prominent was that Siegfried himself is not particularly sympathetic -- he mocks his followers, and threatens people's lives for trivial reasons. Near the end he becomes sympathetic by default as several characters conspire to betray him, at which point Kriemhild, now his wife, endangers his life on at least two occasions by making implausibly stupid mistakes. Given that the second film in the series is entitled Die Nibelungen: Kriemhild's Revenge, it is probably not a spoiler to reveal that things do not go well for Siegfried as a result.
Next week we will see that second film, marking our fourth film from 1924. This list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Die Nibelungen: Siegfried was our third film from 1924, and also our third directed by Fritz Lang, written, like his previous films, by his wife Thea von Harbou. We've watched a fair number of German films from the 1920s over the last year, and I think it is not simply a post-hoc observation that their intense and often fantastical tenor reflects to some extent the turmoil in post-war Germany. Still, it is hard to know what to make of the fact that this particular film was a favorite of Hitler's, especially since there are elements of the film where one can understand why that might be the case. Its hero, for instance, physically resembles the Nazi ideal, and the film has a strong strain of German nationalism, and even opens with a title card reading "Dedicated to the German People."
But whatever baggage this film carries, it is the first time in this project that we've seen this kind of high fantasy. It could not be more different than the previous film we saw directed by Lang, 1922's Dr. Mabuse. That film was "modern" and cynical; Siegfried is mythological and largely sincere. Siegfried himself, the protagonist, is played by Paul Richter, who also had a prominent part in Dr. Mabuse. Within the first thirty minutes he slays a dragon, and discovers a strange dwarf-like race who possess a magical treasure hoard. The dragon is especially noteworthy; it is essentially a large puppet -- Henson-ish, but less whimsical. It of course pales beside modern digital effects, but is unlike anything we've seen previously. It noticeably does not move much from its initial location, but otherwise stretches its neck and tail, and bends down to drink. Siegfried attacks it with surprisingly little provocation -- though perhaps dragons were universally recognized as a public health risk. After killing the dragon, and having a few other adventures, Siegfried eventually ends up at the court of King Gunther, where he petitions the king for the hand of his sister, Kriemhild, played by Margarete Schön. Gunther agrees, but only -- in true fantasy RPG fashion -- if Siegfried will help Gunther with another task.
There were a few things that marred the film for me. One of the more prominent was that Siegfried himself is not particularly sympathetic -- he mocks his followers, and threatens people's lives for trivial reasons. Near the end he becomes sympathetic by default as several characters conspire to betray him, at which point Kriemhild, now his wife, endangers his life on at least two occasions by making implausibly stupid mistakes. Given that the second film in the series is entitled Die Nibelungen: Kriemhild's Revenge, it is probably not a spoiler to reveal that things do not go well for Siegfried as a result.
Next week we will see that second film, marking our fourth film from 1924. This list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Girl Shy (1924)
Originally posted to Facebook on 9/17/2017
Girl Shy was our second feature from 1924, and second starring Harold Lloyd (not counting 1928's Speedy, which we saw separately.) He plays a young man from a small town who has virtually no experience with women, but who is nonetheless writing a book called "The Secret of Making Love." In it he details his methods of romancing various types of women. Two in particular are dramatized: The vampire (for whom acting indifferently is the strategy), and the flapper (for whom the strategy is to be a "Cave Man.") It was a little amusing that, even this far back, this kind of pick-up artist advice was already part of the culture enough to be a target for parody. Lloyd, though, delivers his book to a publisher, where it is roundly mocked by the various readers. One woman references 1921's The Sheik, which we saw earlier this year, exclaiming, "I'd love to meet the sheik who wrote that stuff." While in the big city Lloyd meets and becomes involved with the female lead, played by Jobyna Ralston, but, later, when he feels that he won't be able to provide for her, he lies to her and tells her that he was never really interested in her. (This kind of romantic-comedy behavior always seems like sort of a strange staple to me; a good chunk of 1923's Safety Last -- the last Harold Lloyd film we saw -- also involves him lying to his girlfriend as a result of his financial situation.) In any case, she ends up getting engaged to someone else, and the last section of the film is a long chase scene where Lloyd uses a variety of different modes of transportation to travel into the city and attempt to stop the wedding. This parallels Safety Last as well, in that the climax of the movie is most characteristic of the received image that people have of silent comedy.
All in all this is a good-to-decent comedy, but it probably ranks third for me in comparison to the other two Lloyd films we've seen, just because the plot and the comedy are both a bit thin, excepting the final sequence. However, it is true that the story in this film is more cohesive and less episodic than in either of the other two Lloyd films we've seen.
Next week we see our third film from 1924, entitled Die Nibelungen: Siegfried. This is the first of a two film sequence, which together will be the third and fourth films we've seen directed by Fritz Lang. The list as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Girl Shy was our second feature from 1924, and second starring Harold Lloyd (not counting 1928's Speedy, which we saw separately.) He plays a young man from a small town who has virtually no experience with women, but who is nonetheless writing a book called "The Secret of Making Love." In it he details his methods of romancing various types of women. Two in particular are dramatized: The vampire (for whom acting indifferently is the strategy), and the flapper (for whom the strategy is to be a "Cave Man.") It was a little amusing that, even this far back, this kind of pick-up artist advice was already part of the culture enough to be a target for parody. Lloyd, though, delivers his book to a publisher, where it is roundly mocked by the various readers. One woman references 1921's The Sheik, which we saw earlier this year, exclaiming, "I'd love to meet the sheik who wrote that stuff." While in the big city Lloyd meets and becomes involved with the female lead, played by Jobyna Ralston, but, later, when he feels that he won't be able to provide for her, he lies to her and tells her that he was never really interested in her. (This kind of romantic-comedy behavior always seems like sort of a strange staple to me; a good chunk of 1923's Safety Last -- the last Harold Lloyd film we saw -- also involves him lying to his girlfriend as a result of his financial situation.) In any case, she ends up getting engaged to someone else, and the last section of the film is a long chase scene where Lloyd uses a variety of different modes of transportation to travel into the city and attempt to stop the wedding. This parallels Safety Last as well, in that the climax of the movie is most characteristic of the received image that people have of silent comedy.
All in all this is a good-to-decent comedy, but it probably ranks third for me in comparison to the other two Lloyd films we've seen, just because the plot and the comedy are both a bit thin, excepting the final sequence. However, it is true that the story in this film is more cohesive and less episodic than in either of the other two Lloyd films we've seen.
Next week we see our third film from 1924, entitled Die Nibelungen: Siegfried. This is the first of a two film sequence, which together will be the third and fourth films we've seen directed by Fritz Lang. The list as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Last Laugh (1924)
Originally posted to Facebook on 9/4/2017
The Last Laugh was our first film from 1924, our second directed by F.W. Murnau, and the first time we've seen Emil Jannings. Later, in 1929, Jannings was the first recipient of the Best Actor Oscar. In those early days, the acting Oscars were not given out for a specific movies, so Jannings won for two films. One of those was The Way of All Flesh, which has the sad distinction of being the only film with an Oscar winning performance that is now lost.
The Last Laugh, though, was dramatically different than Nosferatu, the last film we saw from Murnau. Unlike a lot of the German films we've seen from this period it is not supernatural in any sense, and is essentially a slice-of-life drama centering on Jannings, a hotel porter, who takes great pride in his position, and is devastated when he is demoted to a washroom attendant. The film is more or less realistic for the bulk of its running time, excepting perhaps the deeply cynical coda. From a stylistic point of view this film has almost no title cards, to such an extent that it was clearly a conscious choice. There is a bit of cheating here and there with diegetic text -- newspapers and handwritten notes -- but on the whole it is surprisingly clear and seamless.
At first glance The Last Laugh is similar to any number of social protest films we've seen about people who fall between the cracks of society, including films like Ingeborg Holm, or several of Victor Sjöström's other movies -- or even Griffith's Way Down East. In those films, the implicit message is that the society is responsible in some sense for causing or not alleviating some social ill. In this film it is communicated that Jannings really is too old to perform his job effectively, and that the hotel has reasonable grounds for demoting him. And in fact the hotel, though a bit callous in how they handle the situation, reacts in a relatively humane way -- in that Jannings is demoted rather than fired outright. I am really not certain what social message Murnau intended to be drawn from this film -- if any. He does not seem to be saying that Jannings should have continued in his existing job, nor that his new job caused any dramatic financial hardship. It is instead his self-respect that is wounded, but it is not clear if Murnau is pointing the finger at any person or institution in particular. One might conclude that the tragedy stems -- a la Death of a Salesman -- from Jannings drawing so much of his identity from his profession, but if so Murnau never really shows his hand and provides a moral in the way that Arthur Miller does ("He had the wrong dream!"), and that ambiguity is one of the things that elevates this film.
Our next film is Girl Shy, our second film from 1924, and also our second Harold Lloyd feature (not counting Speedy.) The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Last Laugh was our first film from 1924, our second directed by F.W. Murnau, and the first time we've seen Emil Jannings. Later, in 1929, Jannings was the first recipient of the Best Actor Oscar. In those early days, the acting Oscars were not given out for a specific movies, so Jannings won for two films. One of those was The Way of All Flesh, which has the sad distinction of being the only film with an Oscar winning performance that is now lost.
The Last Laugh, though, was dramatically different than Nosferatu, the last film we saw from Murnau. Unlike a lot of the German films we've seen from this period it is not supernatural in any sense, and is essentially a slice-of-life drama centering on Jannings, a hotel porter, who takes great pride in his position, and is devastated when he is demoted to a washroom attendant. The film is more or less realistic for the bulk of its running time, excepting perhaps the deeply cynical coda. From a stylistic point of view this film has almost no title cards, to such an extent that it was clearly a conscious choice. There is a bit of cheating here and there with diegetic text -- newspapers and handwritten notes -- but on the whole it is surprisingly clear and seamless.
At first glance The Last Laugh is similar to any number of social protest films we've seen about people who fall between the cracks of society, including films like Ingeborg Holm, or several of Victor Sjöström's other movies -- or even Griffith's Way Down East. In those films, the implicit message is that the society is responsible in some sense for causing or not alleviating some social ill. In this film it is communicated that Jannings really is too old to perform his job effectively, and that the hotel has reasonable grounds for demoting him. And in fact the hotel, though a bit callous in how they handle the situation, reacts in a relatively humane way -- in that Jannings is demoted rather than fired outright. I am really not certain what social message Murnau intended to be drawn from this film -- if any. He does not seem to be saying that Jannings should have continued in his existing job, nor that his new job caused any dramatic financial hardship. It is instead his self-respect that is wounded, but it is not clear if Murnau is pointing the finger at any person or institution in particular. One might conclude that the tragedy stems -- a la Death of a Salesman -- from Jannings drawing so much of his identity from his profession, but if so Murnau never really shows his hand and provides a moral in the way that Arthur Miller does ("He had the wrong dream!"), and that ambiguity is one of the things that elevates this film.
Our next film is Girl Shy, our second film from 1924, and also our second Harold Lloyd feature (not counting Speedy.) The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)