Originally posted to Facebook on 8/1/2018
The Wind was our fifth film from 1928, reuniting Lillian Gish, Lars Hanson, and director Victor Sjöström from 1926's The Scarlet Letter. All three, particularly Sjöström and Gish, had been prominent figures in the movie industry since the beginning of features, and we have seen them all multiple times. Also returning from The Scarlet Letter was Frances Marion, who wrote or adapted not only these two films, but several others we've seen, including 1917's Tillie Wakes Up, 1918's Stella Maris, 1925's Lazybones, and 1927's The Red Mill. She later went on to be nominated for three writing Oscars, winning two.
Like The Crowd last week, The Wind is a rather well-known film which, however, does not appear to have an easily obtainable English language release. I again bought a Spanish language DVD ("El Viento"), but we instead ended up watching a version DVRed off TCM, where it happened to be playing. I'd hoped that the TCM version would have featured a better print, but sadly that was not the case. Often the picture was muddy or too dark, and it could clearly use a significant restoration. TCM actually prefaced the film with a 1983 introduction by Gish herself, taped when she was almost 90. In it she tells a few stories about the making of the film -- which I thought about showing to the kids until I saw an article (https://bit.ly/1SIaaTM -- spoilers included) which convincingly debunked them.
The film itself concerns Gish traveling west alone, to live with her cousin, played by Edward Earle. Once there, she finds she is not entirely welcome, especially by his jealous wife Cora, played by Dorothy Cumming, and eventually she is kicked out of their house. At that point, the most palatable options presented to her are marrying one of two suitors -- either Sourdough, a sixty-something prospector-ish character, played by William Orlamond, or Lige, played by Hanson. She unsurprisingly chooses Hanson, despite Ben's vocal disagreement ("If you have the chance to become Mrs. Sourdough, you take it.") The movie eventually heads into rather dark, pre-code, PG-13ish territory. Among other things, Gish's character, having been not only pummeled by life, but also now living in an inhospitable climate, including the constant wind, begins to show signs of mental deterioration. She gives a very good, skittish performance, probably her best that we've seen -- similar to the martyrs she's played before, but more layered and calibrated. Sjöström's direction is characteristically assured as well -- not showy, but with personality; I suspect that personality would shown through even more strongly had we been watching a better print.
Next week's movie, our sixth from 1928, is The Cameraman, a Buster Keaton movie - the third film of his we've seen. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Showing posts with label Lillian Gish. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lillian Gish. Show all posts
Saturday, June 22, 2019
Saturday, April 13, 2019
The Scarlet Letter (1926)
Originally posted to Facebook on 4/7/2018
The Scarlet Letter was our first film from 1926. We saw it at the Library of Congress's Packard campus, which is more than an hour's drive south, in Culpeper. The main reason I decided to make a trip that long with the kids was that the 1926 version of The Scarlet Letter -- despite being a well-rated and popular picture at the time -- is not easily available, either streaming or on disc. A good print exists for it, and it is occasionally shown on TCM, but for whatever reason it does not appear to be obtainable via my normal method of half-heartedly googling. By contrast, the 1934 version with Colleen Moore can be purchased from multiple sources, and I saw more than one complaint from people who thought they had ordered the earlier version and received the later. Their vocal and proportionate responses were much as you might expect.
I had never been to the Packard campus before, and did not know what to expect. As it turns out it has very much of a museum approach to screenings. No popcorn was available, for instance, much to the kids' disappointment, and we had to go through a metal detector prior to the movie. Additionally there was a short lecture before the film, which was interesting -- I did not know, for instance, that Sjöström had spent a good chunk of his childhood in the United States -- but not generally the approach we'd been taking with this project.
As with He Who Gets Slapped, this film unites director Victor Sjöström with an established Hollywood star -- in this case Lillian Gish -- whom we hadn't seen since 1920's Way Down East. It also stars Lars Hanson, another Swedish émigré, who had worked with Sjöström before coming to Hollywood, and would do so again, both in Hollywood and also after they'd both returned to Sweden.
I have never read The Scarlet Letter, nor seen any other adaptation, but I had a pretty good idea of the plot just through cultural osmosis. As an aside, the logo of a company at which I worked for several years is the word Harris, with the A in Harris dramatically drawn in red. While working there I occasionally asked what this scarlet A was meant to represent, and whether it implied that something shameful had occurred that the company was being punished for. I don't believe this ever amused anyone besides me, but it did make me think that there were probably a few layers of executive leadership who had a limited knowledge of English literature. In case any of them are reading this, Hester Prynne (played by Gish) lives in 17th century Massachusetts, and becomes pregnant through an affair with a local minister (played by Hanson.) Unwilling to expose the father, she is sentenced to wear the scarlet letter A -- for adulteress -- and she and her daughter live under that burden of shame, while the minister also, secretly, lives with similar shame and guilt. The lead role is very much on-brand for Gish, who again plays a living martyr. Additionally, though she was in her mid-thirties at this point, she credibly plays someone who I believe was supposed to be a decade younger. Hanson too, does a solid job of playing someone tormented by repression and guilt. Sjöström's direction is as good as you'd expect, though a bit more conservative than in his earlier films.
The original novel was written in 1850, and set two hundred years earlier, and the movie of course follows suit. I think, at times, setting a story in the past allows one to reflect on what has and hasn't changed -- but just as often I think it allows the audience to undeservedly congratulate themselves for living in a more enlightened age. I think that is why many films about civil rights, for instance, are set in the past, and I think that criticism could apply to this film as well. As a story about specific people, I think it works fairly well -- but I think the specific situation they find themselves in manifests itself in such an archaic way that it creates a barrier to linking it to a universal experience.
Next week we see The General, our second film from 1926, and our second Buster Keaton feature. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Scarlet Letter was our first film from 1926. We saw it at the Library of Congress's Packard campus, which is more than an hour's drive south, in Culpeper. The main reason I decided to make a trip that long with the kids was that the 1926 version of The Scarlet Letter -- despite being a well-rated and popular picture at the time -- is not easily available, either streaming or on disc. A good print exists for it, and it is occasionally shown on TCM, but for whatever reason it does not appear to be obtainable via my normal method of half-heartedly googling. By contrast, the 1934 version with Colleen Moore can be purchased from multiple sources, and I saw more than one complaint from people who thought they had ordered the earlier version and received the later. Their vocal and proportionate responses were much as you might expect.
I had never been to the Packard campus before, and did not know what to expect. As it turns out it has very much of a museum approach to screenings. No popcorn was available, for instance, much to the kids' disappointment, and we had to go through a metal detector prior to the movie. Additionally there was a short lecture before the film, which was interesting -- I did not know, for instance, that Sjöström had spent a good chunk of his childhood in the United States -- but not generally the approach we'd been taking with this project.
As with He Who Gets Slapped, this film unites director Victor Sjöström with an established Hollywood star -- in this case Lillian Gish -- whom we hadn't seen since 1920's Way Down East. It also stars Lars Hanson, another Swedish émigré, who had worked with Sjöström before coming to Hollywood, and would do so again, both in Hollywood and also after they'd both returned to Sweden.
I have never read The Scarlet Letter, nor seen any other adaptation, but I had a pretty good idea of the plot just through cultural osmosis. As an aside, the logo of a company at which I worked for several years is the word Harris, with the A in Harris dramatically drawn in red. While working there I occasionally asked what this scarlet A was meant to represent, and whether it implied that something shameful had occurred that the company was being punished for. I don't believe this ever amused anyone besides me, but it did make me think that there were probably a few layers of executive leadership who had a limited knowledge of English literature. In case any of them are reading this, Hester Prynne (played by Gish) lives in 17th century Massachusetts, and becomes pregnant through an affair with a local minister (played by Hanson.) Unwilling to expose the father, she is sentenced to wear the scarlet letter A -- for adulteress -- and she and her daughter live under that burden of shame, while the minister also, secretly, lives with similar shame and guilt. The lead role is very much on-brand for Gish, who again plays a living martyr. Additionally, though she was in her mid-thirties at this point, she credibly plays someone who I believe was supposed to be a decade younger. Hanson too, does a solid job of playing someone tormented by repression and guilt. Sjöström's direction is as good as you'd expect, though a bit more conservative than in his earlier films.
The original novel was written in 1850, and set two hundred years earlier, and the movie of course follows suit. I think, at times, setting a story in the past allows one to reflect on what has and hasn't changed -- but just as often I think it allows the audience to undeservedly congratulate themselves for living in a more enlightened age. I think that is why many films about civil rights, for instance, are set in the past, and I think that criticism could apply to this film as well. As a story about specific people, I think it works fairly well -- but I think the specific situation they find themselves in manifests itself in such an archaic way that it creates a barrier to linking it to a universal experience.
Next week we see The General, our second film from 1926, and our second Buster Keaton feature. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Tuesday, August 21, 2018
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
Saturday, July 28, 2018
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
Saturday, June 30, 2018
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
Sunday, June 17, 2018
Judith of Bethulia (1914)
Originally posted to Facebook on 4/13/2016
This week we watched our first film from 1914: Judith of Bethulia. It was D.W. Griffith’s first feature length film, and starred Blanche Sweet in the title role. Lillian and Dorothy Gish were also in the film, but in very small roles. Unfortunately the copy we saw played a little faster than it should have, which was a bit distracting, and in addition was not the greatest print in the world. The movie itself was a biblical epic, somewhat in the vein of The Last Days of Pompeii, but on a slightly smaller scale. The story involved the town of Bethulia besieged by the Assyrians, and Judith (of Bethulia) deciding to go to the enemy camp and somehow trick or convince Prince Holofernes (the military leader of the Assyrians, played by Henry B. Walthall) to relent. The movie lasts about an hour, but still feels padded. Judith, for instance, somehow acquires feeling for Holofernes (although nothing on screen makes that particularly plausible) and spends some screen time agonizing on whether to “betray” him. Also, two secondary characters -- Naomi and Nathan, played by Mae Marsh and Robert Harron -- are introduced, and then basically disappear for most of the film. There is also lots of ostensibly (but not very) decadent dancing before Holofernes, which after about the third appearance got a little tedious. Of course, it is quite possible that the film we saw is a somewhat butchered version of the original, but judging on what we viewed, it is not anywhere near as good as the shorts we saw from Griffith a few months ago, nor as good as some of the other features we’ve been seeing recently. The kids were a little surprised by the climactic scene (which I won’t spoil, in case someone is right in the middle of the Septuagint), so at least that moment still has something to recommend it. The kids also didn’t ask any questions when the prince assigned his “chief eunuch” to Judith, and I didn’t volunteer an explanation.
Next week we’ll watch The Perils of Pauline, which was a serial from 1914. It’s not quite as long as Fantomas though, and we hope to cover it in a single weekend. The list of our upcoming films is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
This week we watched our first film from 1914: Judith of Bethulia. It was D.W. Griffith’s first feature length film, and starred Blanche Sweet in the title role. Lillian and Dorothy Gish were also in the film, but in very small roles. Unfortunately the copy we saw played a little faster than it should have, which was a bit distracting, and in addition was not the greatest print in the world. The movie itself was a biblical epic, somewhat in the vein of The Last Days of Pompeii, but on a slightly smaller scale. The story involved the town of Bethulia besieged by the Assyrians, and Judith (of Bethulia) deciding to go to the enemy camp and somehow trick or convince Prince Holofernes (the military leader of the Assyrians, played by Henry B. Walthall) to relent. The movie lasts about an hour, but still feels padded. Judith, for instance, somehow acquires feeling for Holofernes (although nothing on screen makes that particularly plausible) and spends some screen time agonizing on whether to “betray” him. Also, two secondary characters -- Naomi and Nathan, played by Mae Marsh and Robert Harron -- are introduced, and then basically disappear for most of the film. There is also lots of ostensibly (but not very) decadent dancing before Holofernes, which after about the third appearance got a little tedious. Of course, it is quite possible that the film we saw is a somewhat butchered version of the original, but judging on what we viewed, it is not anywhere near as good as the shorts we saw from Griffith a few months ago, nor as good as some of the other features we’ve been seeing recently. The kids were a little surprised by the climactic scene (which I won’t spoil, in case someone is right in the middle of the Septuagint), so at least that moment still has something to recommend it. The kids also didn’t ask any questions when the prince assigned his “chief eunuch” to Judith, and I didn’t volunteer an explanation.
Next week we’ll watch The Perils of Pauline, which was a serial from 1914. It’s not quite as long as Fantomas though, and we hope to cover it in a single weekend. The list of our upcoming films is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)