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
