Originally posted to Facebook on 7/16/2018
Our tenth and final film from 1927 was 7th Heaven. This is the second time we've encountered both Frank Borzage, who directed 1925's Lazybones, and also Janet Gaynor, whom we'd seen just the previous month in Sunrise, another 1927 film. Sunrise, along with this film and Street Angel (another movie starring Gaynor that we will probably not have the chance to see) won Gaynor the first Best Actress Oscar -- as the acting awards that year were tied to individuals and not particular performances.
Gaynor plays a young woman who, as a result of an altercation with her physically abusive sister, is homeless and suicidal. She is temporarily taken in by a municipal worker named Chico, played by Charles Farrell, who feels sorry for her, and the film is the story of their ensuing relationship. Farrell and Gaynor have a solid chemistry in this movie, and its success led to them appearing in eleven more films over eight years, both silents and talkies. A few were directed by Borzage, and a few others by David Butler, who appears in this film as Farrell's next door neighbor.
In addition to that chemistry, Farrell gives a distinctive performance; his character is slightly comical, prone to over-dramatic pronouncements about this or that -- and a strong contrast to Gaynor, who begins the film very meekly, and gradually absorbs some of Farrell's confidence -- though she remains completely devoted to him throughout. This approach was one of the slightly jarring things about her performance in Sunrise. It makes a little more sense in this picture, but it does fall into a certain kind of unhealthy female archetype that, based on these two films, Gaynor seems comfortable embodying. (Along those lines I found the following quote from Ida Lupino, who was about ten years younger than Gaynor, "My agent had told me that he was going to make me the Janet Gaynor of England - I was going to play all the sweet roles. Whereupon, at the tender age of thirteen, I set upon the path of playing nothing but hookers.")
But, healthy or not, her role works for this film, and the film itself falls short of greatness, for me, only near the end. But by then it has built up such a reservoir of good will that it is hard to be disappointed.
Next week, before moving on to 1928, we're planning to see 1916's Hell's Hinges, a movie I wanted to circle back and catch as part of this project. It will be the first film we'll see starring William S. Hart, one of the earliest western movie stars. Then we'll return to the normal chronological order, and so I've updated the list with our planned films for 1929, as well as some shorts from the 1920s that we plan to watch before finally moving on to the 1930s. That list as always is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Sunday, June 9, 2019
The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928)
Originally posted to Facebook on 7/14/2018
Before seeing our final film from 1927, we instead saw The Passion of Joan of Arc. It was our second film from 1928, since I have now retconned Harold Lloyd's Speedy into this project (which we saw back in August of 2016 when we were still working our way through 1916.) Like the earlier film, the reason we saw Joan of Arc out of order was that it was playing at the Alamo -- where, in addition to seeing it on the big screen, I actually won a raffle for the Blu-Ray just prior to the showing -- though to be fair my chances were quadrupled since Bianca and the kids were there as well.
The film was directed by Carl Theodor Dreyer -- who continued directing up through the sixties -- and starred Maria Falconetti as Joan, who had made two films in the teens, but none subsequent to this movie. Falconetti was in her mid-thirties at the time of the film, and could potentially be taken for younger, but was clearly not 19 -- which in some ways downplays the absurdity of the trial, during which the film is almost entirely set. The film mentions at the very beginning how remarkable it is that we have the actual court proceedings from six hundred years ago -- essentially a transcript (which is available at https://bit.ly/2LgRkli as well as many other places.) And the majority of the film is drawn from that transcript. The closest reference point I have to the events in this movie is Shaw's Saint Joan -- which also liberally used that same transcript. But Shaw's play is much wider ranging -- including Joan's rise and fall, and, while it includes Joan's misery near the end of her life, it also has Shaw's characteristic wit and charm, as well as musings about Joan as an early emblem of Protestantism and nationalism -- whereas this movie covers only the last few days of her life.
The movie reminded me in some ways of Martin Scorsese's Silence, both because of the religious interrogations, but also because I suspect one's reaction is necessarily going to be colored by one's own religious beliefs. If you view Joan's visions as, in some sense, true, and believe that she is really communicating with the divine in some way -- then she is a martyr. If you view her as very likely mentally ill and delusional -- which is my perspective -- then her cause and beliefs become less important than her mistreatment. In fact, the most interesting thing to me about her life is not so much her trial and conviction -- it is how a teen-aged girl was able to lead such an enormous movement at a time there were very few women of any age in positions of power. Shaw addresses this a little in his play (entertainingly if not particularly convincingly) but this movie is single-mindedly focused on her faith and anguish, emphasized by a barrage of close-ups, both of her and her interrogators -- with just enough dialog and change of scenery to keep it from being monotonous, a line which it does occasionally cross. It is the kind of approach that is well-suited for silent movies, and the uniqueness -- at least as far as the films we've seen so far in this project -- of having long uninterrupted interrogation scenes gives it an intensity which I am sure is part of its lasting appeal.
Next week, we'll return to 1927, watching 7th Heaven, our tenth and final film from that year. It will be the second film we've seen directed by Frank Borzage, and also the second film in which we've seen Janet Gaynor. The list as always is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Before seeing our final film from 1927, we instead saw The Passion of Joan of Arc. It was our second film from 1928, since I have now retconned Harold Lloyd's Speedy into this project (which we saw back in August of 2016 when we were still working our way through 1916.) Like the earlier film, the reason we saw Joan of Arc out of order was that it was playing at the Alamo -- where, in addition to seeing it on the big screen, I actually won a raffle for the Blu-Ray just prior to the showing -- though to be fair my chances were quadrupled since Bianca and the kids were there as well.
The film was directed by Carl Theodor Dreyer -- who continued directing up through the sixties -- and starred Maria Falconetti as Joan, who had made two films in the teens, but none subsequent to this movie. Falconetti was in her mid-thirties at the time of the film, and could potentially be taken for younger, but was clearly not 19 -- which in some ways downplays the absurdity of the trial, during which the film is almost entirely set. The film mentions at the very beginning how remarkable it is that we have the actual court proceedings from six hundred years ago -- essentially a transcript (which is available at https://bit.ly/2LgRkli as well as many other places.) And the majority of the film is drawn from that transcript. The closest reference point I have to the events in this movie is Shaw's Saint Joan -- which also liberally used that same transcript. But Shaw's play is much wider ranging -- including Joan's rise and fall, and, while it includes Joan's misery near the end of her life, it also has Shaw's characteristic wit and charm, as well as musings about Joan as an early emblem of Protestantism and nationalism -- whereas this movie covers only the last few days of her life.
The movie reminded me in some ways of Martin Scorsese's Silence, both because of the religious interrogations, but also because I suspect one's reaction is necessarily going to be colored by one's own religious beliefs. If you view Joan's visions as, in some sense, true, and believe that she is really communicating with the divine in some way -- then she is a martyr. If you view her as very likely mentally ill and delusional -- which is my perspective -- then her cause and beliefs become less important than her mistreatment. In fact, the most interesting thing to me about her life is not so much her trial and conviction -- it is how a teen-aged girl was able to lead such an enormous movement at a time there were very few women of any age in positions of power. Shaw addresses this a little in his play (entertainingly if not particularly convincingly) but this movie is single-mindedly focused on her faith and anguish, emphasized by a barrage of close-ups, both of her and her interrogators -- with just enough dialog and change of scenery to keep it from being monotonous, a line which it does occasionally cross. It is the kind of approach that is well-suited for silent movies, and the uniqueness -- at least as far as the films we've seen so far in this project -- of having long uninterrupted interrogation scenes gives it an intensity which I am sure is part of its lasting appeal.
Next week, we'll return to 1927, watching 7th Heaven, our tenth and final film from that year. It will be the second film we've seen directed by Frank Borzage, and also the second film in which we've seen Janet Gaynor. The list as always is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Sunday, June 2, 2019
The Red Mill (1927)
Originally posted to Facebook on 6/24/2018
The Red Mill was our ninth film from 1927, and our second starring Marion Davies. It was directed by Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle under the pseudonym William Goodrich, which he used after his career was virtually destroyed in 1921-1922 by the famous scandal and subsequent trials. The Red Mill was one of the more high profile films he made in his post-scandal career, though at the time of his death of a heart attack in 1933, his fortunes had begun to improve, and he had even begun acting under his own name again.
This film is essentially a romantic comedy, unusual only in its foreign setting. Marion Davies stars as a servant in a tavern who falls in love with Owen Moore, a well-off visitor to Holland. There are a variety of shenanigans and misunderstandings, and a prominent secondary plot about another romantic couple played by Louise Fazenda and Karl Dane. Dane looked familiar to me, and, looking him up afterwards, I realized that I recognized him as one of John Gilbert's friends in 1925's The Big Parade. He apparently was also in 1926's The Scarlet Letter, which we saw at the Packard Theater in Culpeper, but I have less clear memories of him in that. He has a surprisingly long Wikipedia page that tells the cheerful story of his career decline during the sound era -- due to his Danish accent -- and subsequent depression and suicide in 1934.
There is not much surprising in this film, excepting maybe a slightly suspenseful ending sequence. Dane and Fazenda play their parts a shade broader than Moore and Davies, but nobody in this film is pitching their performance at any great level of subtlety. Davies is as charming as you would expect her to be, given that this is essentially a vehicle for her, as was the previous film we'd seen her in, 1922's When Knighthood was in Flower. That too was a romantic comedy, but it also had some aspirations as a period piece, and depicted events that vaguely lined up with the historical record. This movie has no such aspirations, but is in the main pleasant and agreeable.
Next week, before finishing up 1927, we're going to skip ahead to 1928, watching The Passion of Joan of Arc, our second film from that year, directed by Carl Theodor Dreyer and starring Maria Falconetti. The list of upcoming films, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Red Mill was our ninth film from 1927, and our second starring Marion Davies. It was directed by Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle under the pseudonym William Goodrich, which he used after his career was virtually destroyed in 1921-1922 by the famous scandal and subsequent trials. The Red Mill was one of the more high profile films he made in his post-scandal career, though at the time of his death of a heart attack in 1933, his fortunes had begun to improve, and he had even begun acting under his own name again.
This film is essentially a romantic comedy, unusual only in its foreign setting. Marion Davies stars as a servant in a tavern who falls in love with Owen Moore, a well-off visitor to Holland. There are a variety of shenanigans and misunderstandings, and a prominent secondary plot about another romantic couple played by Louise Fazenda and Karl Dane. Dane looked familiar to me, and, looking him up afterwards, I realized that I recognized him as one of John Gilbert's friends in 1925's The Big Parade. He apparently was also in 1926's The Scarlet Letter, which we saw at the Packard Theater in Culpeper, but I have less clear memories of him in that. He has a surprisingly long Wikipedia page that tells the cheerful story of his career decline during the sound era -- due to his Danish accent -- and subsequent depression and suicide in 1934.
There is not much surprising in this film, excepting maybe a slightly suspenseful ending sequence. Dane and Fazenda play their parts a shade broader than Moore and Davies, but nobody in this film is pitching their performance at any great level of subtlety. Davies is as charming as you would expect her to be, given that this is essentially a vehicle for her, as was the previous film we'd seen her in, 1922's When Knighthood was in Flower. That too was a romantic comedy, but it also had some aspirations as a period piece, and depicted events that vaguely lined up with the historical record. This movie has no such aspirations, but is in the main pleasant and agreeable.
Next week, before finishing up 1927, we're going to skip ahead to 1928, watching The Passion of Joan of Arc, our second film from that year, directed by Carl Theodor Dreyer and starring Maria Falconetti. The list of upcoming films, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Chicago (1927)
Originally posted to Facebook on 6/19/2018
Chicago was our eighth film from 1927, and would be familiar to modern audiences because of the 2002 movie of the same name. There are actually several versions of Chicago, all based on the 1926 play, which was in turn loosely based on actual events. Fifteen years after this film, there was a 1942 version titled Roxie Hart starring Ginger Rogers. Then there was the 1975 Broadway musical, and its 1996 revival, which is the second longest running Broadway show ever. I haven't seen the 1942 movie (though perhaps we'll get a chance as part of this project if we ever make it out of the twenties), but I have seen the 2002 film and the Broadway version, and it is surprising how similar this film is to both of those.
The plot concerns Roxie Hart (played by Phyllis Haver), who kills a man presumed to be her boyfriend (played by Eugene Pallette, whom we saw way back in 1916's Gretchen the Greenhorn.) The subsequent trial becomes a media circus, and her husband (Victor Varconi) hires a shady lawyer to defend her (played by Robert Edeson) who thrives on the tabloid nature of the case, coaching Hart to exploit a gullible public and jury. This is also the outline of the other versions I've seen, perhaps the biggest difference being that the part of Velma Kelly, a defendant in a similar case, is much smaller in this movie. Additionally Hart's husband is a more sympathetic character than in the later versions.
But it is still quite cynical about the press, and the judicial system, and human nature in general -- though it does have a bit of a moralistic streak that is less prominent in the later versions. I'm not sure it has an exact analog among the American films we've seen, which as a group are generally more sincere, but its cynicism is also different than the cynicism of the German expressionists -- than Dr. Mabuse or The Last Laugh, for instance. Those films had a heavier hand, and usually a tinge of melancholy or even of anger. Chicago's cynicism is lighter and more buoyant, and definitely has a stronger comedic streak.
Excepting Pallette, who had a relatively small role, none of the main characters are played by actors we've seen before, nor have we previously seen anything by the director, Frank Urson. Despite that it gives every appearance of being a top-shelf studio picture, and Haver particularly gives an entertaining, showy star performance as the selfish, shallow Hart. I'm sure there is some story or other as to why Phyllis Haver did not have the career of some of her better-remembered contemporary actresses, like Clara Bow or Marion Davies, but I don't think you would have been able to guess it based upon this film. She also has the distinction of playing one of the leads in 1927's The Way of All Flesh, the only lost film with an Oscar winning performance (by Emil Jannings.)
Next week we'll see our ninth film from 1927, The Red Mill, directed by Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle under a pseudonym. It will also be the second film we've seen starring Marion Davies. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Chicago was our eighth film from 1927, and would be familiar to modern audiences because of the 2002 movie of the same name. There are actually several versions of Chicago, all based on the 1926 play, which was in turn loosely based on actual events. Fifteen years after this film, there was a 1942 version titled Roxie Hart starring Ginger Rogers. Then there was the 1975 Broadway musical, and its 1996 revival, which is the second longest running Broadway show ever. I haven't seen the 1942 movie (though perhaps we'll get a chance as part of this project if we ever make it out of the twenties), but I have seen the 2002 film and the Broadway version, and it is surprising how similar this film is to both of those.
The plot concerns Roxie Hart (played by Phyllis Haver), who kills a man presumed to be her boyfriend (played by Eugene Pallette, whom we saw way back in 1916's Gretchen the Greenhorn.) The subsequent trial becomes a media circus, and her husband (Victor Varconi) hires a shady lawyer to defend her (played by Robert Edeson) who thrives on the tabloid nature of the case, coaching Hart to exploit a gullible public and jury. This is also the outline of the other versions I've seen, perhaps the biggest difference being that the part of Velma Kelly, a defendant in a similar case, is much smaller in this movie. Additionally Hart's husband is a more sympathetic character than in the later versions.
But it is still quite cynical about the press, and the judicial system, and human nature in general -- though it does have a bit of a moralistic streak that is less prominent in the later versions. I'm not sure it has an exact analog among the American films we've seen, which as a group are generally more sincere, but its cynicism is also different than the cynicism of the German expressionists -- than Dr. Mabuse or The Last Laugh, for instance. Those films had a heavier hand, and usually a tinge of melancholy or even of anger. Chicago's cynicism is lighter and more buoyant, and definitely has a stronger comedic streak.
Excepting Pallette, who had a relatively small role, none of the main characters are played by actors we've seen before, nor have we previously seen anything by the director, Frank Urson. Despite that it gives every appearance of being a top-shelf studio picture, and Haver particularly gives an entertaining, showy star performance as the selfish, shallow Hart. I'm sure there is some story or other as to why Phyllis Haver did not have the career of some of her better-remembered contemporary actresses, like Clara Bow or Marion Davies, but I don't think you would have been able to guess it based upon this film. She also has the distinction of playing one of the leads in 1927's The Way of All Flesh, the only lost film with an Oscar winning performance (by Emil Jannings.)
Next week we'll see our ninth film from 1927, The Red Mill, directed by Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle under a pseudonym. It will also be the second film we've seen starring Marion Davies. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Unknown (1927)
Originally posted to Facebook on 6/15/2018
The Unknown was our seventh film from 1927, and our fourth starring Lon Chaney. It co-starred a very young Joan Crawford, and was directed by Todd Browning, later famous for directing Dracula and Freaks. After the relatively normal Tell It to the Marines (from 1926), Chaney again plays a bizarre protagonist in a film obsessed with disfigurement, revenge, and humiliation -- playing his role with characteristic charisma, serious but also vigorous. In this case he plays a supposedly armless circus performer who throws knives with his feet. In reality, though, he is not armless, and has somehow concealed that from the rest of the troupe, including Joan Crawford, with whom he is in love. She does not reciprocate, and in fact ends up falling in love with another circus performer played by Norman Kerry. Crawford holds up her corner of the love triangle well enough, though nothing about her performance particularly prefigured her subsequent long and successful career. She was, like almost every other actor in Chaney's movies, overshadowed by the man himself -- and in fact she later credited Chaney as an influence on her acting.
The plot takes a few bizarre twists that I won't spoil, but it is in keeping with Chaney's earlier movies in that it is surprisingly dark, and would probably be rated PG-13 even today. But the darkness is quite unlike, for instance, the dark cynicism of the German films we've seen, which usually at least gestured in the direction of having some sort of intellectual pedigree. Chaney's films are much more visceral, and make no apologies for showing the grotesque or fetishistic, and do so without suggesting that we are actually watching an allegory about the modern world, or anything so high-minded.
This film is a little pulpier and less polished than his other three films, and probably the least well-made, but they are all in the same neighborhood, quality-wise. The Unknown would probably appeal to the same audiences entertained by 1920's The Penalty or 1924's He Who Gets Slapped. I think Tell It to the Marines showed that he easily could have portrayed normal roles as well, had that been his desire, and perhaps had he lived we would have seen him in more of those types of parts. He died only three years later, though, at the age of 47, so it is impossible to know what he would have achieved (or not) in the sound era (outside of 1930's The Unholy Three, his only talkie), or under the Hays code.
Next week we'll see our eighth film from 1927, Chicago, which comes from the same source material as the stage and screen musical of the same name. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Unknown was our seventh film from 1927, and our fourth starring Lon Chaney. It co-starred a very young Joan Crawford, and was directed by Todd Browning, later famous for directing Dracula and Freaks. After the relatively normal Tell It to the Marines (from 1926), Chaney again plays a bizarre protagonist in a film obsessed with disfigurement, revenge, and humiliation -- playing his role with characteristic charisma, serious but also vigorous. In this case he plays a supposedly armless circus performer who throws knives with his feet. In reality, though, he is not armless, and has somehow concealed that from the rest of the troupe, including Joan Crawford, with whom he is in love. She does not reciprocate, and in fact ends up falling in love with another circus performer played by Norman Kerry. Crawford holds up her corner of the love triangle well enough, though nothing about her performance particularly prefigured her subsequent long and successful career. She was, like almost every other actor in Chaney's movies, overshadowed by the man himself -- and in fact she later credited Chaney as an influence on her acting.
The plot takes a few bizarre twists that I won't spoil, but it is in keeping with Chaney's earlier movies in that it is surprisingly dark, and would probably be rated PG-13 even today. But the darkness is quite unlike, for instance, the dark cynicism of the German films we've seen, which usually at least gestured in the direction of having some sort of intellectual pedigree. Chaney's films are much more visceral, and make no apologies for showing the grotesque or fetishistic, and do so without suggesting that we are actually watching an allegory about the modern world, or anything so high-minded.
This film is a little pulpier and less polished than his other three films, and probably the least well-made, but they are all in the same neighborhood, quality-wise. The Unknown would probably appeal to the same audiences entertained by 1920's The Penalty or 1924's He Who Gets Slapped. I think Tell It to the Marines showed that he easily could have portrayed normal roles as well, had that been his desire, and perhaps had he lived we would have seen him in more of those types of parts. He died only three years later, though, at the age of 47, so it is impossible to know what he would have achieved (or not) in the sound era (outside of 1930's The Unholy Three, his only talkie), or under the Hays code.
Next week we'll see our eighth film from 1927, Chicago, which comes from the same source material as the stage and screen musical of the same name. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Sunrise (1927)
Originally posted to Facebook on 6/7/2018
Sunrise was our sixth film from 1927, and our fourth by F.W. Murnau. Along with a few other awards, it won the first Oscar for Best Unique and Artistic Picture, while Wings won the similarly-themed first Outstanding Picture Oscar. The former award was eliminated after the first Oscar ceremony in favor of the latter, so Sunrise remains the only winner of this strange pseudo-Best-Picture Oscar. The film's story concerns the male lead (George O'Brien) who lives in the country with his wife (Janet Gaynor) but is cheating on her with a woman from the city (Margaret Livingston.) Gaynor is probably the best remembered today, though O'Brien was a successful actor of the era as well. None of the three leads acted prominently beyond the late forties, but all three lived into the 1980s, dying in the space of a single year-long period in 1984-1985.
From a technological standpoint this was, I believe, the first Movietone feature we've seen, which means that, while it was still a silent film and did not have synced sound, the soundtrack was recorded on film, and we saw and heard essentially the same thing as audiences at the time. This included actual voices in crowd scenes and in background songs, but nothing synced to a particular actor or that was particularly important to the plot. Still, it is a tangible step towards the end of silent films, which we are rapidly approaching.
It is difficult to discuss the film without giving away some of the plot. Specifically, early in the film, Livingston advises O'Brien to kill his wife, and he reluctantly agrees. But at the crucial moment Gaynor realizes what is happening, and her terror and panic cause a change of heart in O'Brien, resulting in the two of them going into town and rekindling their love. It is a little bit like John Lennon's "Starting Over," if there had been an early stanza or two about the singer's adultery and plans to murder his wife. This was Murnau's first Hollywood movie after leaving Germany, and the film in some ways reflects that -- the adultery and attempted murder is filmed and performed expressionistically with grim Germanic foreboding -- while the scenes in the city are light-hearted and optimistic -- more stereotypically American. That they mesh together at all is a tribute to how well each of them work on their own. Gaynor won the first Best Actress Oscar for her roles in this and two other films during this time period -- acting Oscars not yet being tied to a specific film -- and she does give a strangely interesting performance in an essentially passive and reactive role. Her character, even after realizing that her husband in a weak moment may cheat on her and try to murder her, is remarkably accepting, and I think the movie's solution to this seemingly odd reaction is just that she loves and is willing to forgive him. I feel like the film might have been a little stronger -- without changing the overall plot -- if it had somehow acknowledged that this was not an entirely healthy attitude on her part. But the movie wants to portray Livingston as entirely bad, and Gaynor as entirely good, which gives it a certain strength and simplicity, but also means that the audience has to accept the two female leads as archetypes, rather than as psychologically realistic. It also has the result of largely absolving O'Brien of responsibility for his actions, leaving the blame on Livingston, in almost exactly the same way that John Gilbert's guilt was pinned on Greta Garbo in 1926's Flesh and the Devil. In fact, both films have a similar scene where the male lead turns on and attacks the woman that has, in the films' authorial view, lured him into behavior he now regrets.
But, even with these flaws, the movie is made up of many excellent moments and sequences that eclipse, for me, its larger problems. This movie was made with the polish and sure-handedness that marked the best silent films from the last half of the twenties. Although I am very much looking forward to sound, and to the films of the thirties, there's a part of me that wishes the silent film era had lasted just a little longer, perhaps five years. It feels as though the changeover happened just as the best filmmakers from the era had reached a certain level of mastery, and I strongly suspect that we lost a number of excellent movies as a result.
Next week we see our seventh film from 1927, and our fourth Lon Chaney film, The Unknown, which features a young Joan Crawford. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Sunrise was our sixth film from 1927, and our fourth by F.W. Murnau. Along with a few other awards, it won the first Oscar for Best Unique and Artistic Picture, while Wings won the similarly-themed first Outstanding Picture Oscar. The former award was eliminated after the first Oscar ceremony in favor of the latter, so Sunrise remains the only winner of this strange pseudo-Best-Picture Oscar. The film's story concerns the male lead (George O'Brien) who lives in the country with his wife (Janet Gaynor) but is cheating on her with a woman from the city (Margaret Livingston.) Gaynor is probably the best remembered today, though O'Brien was a successful actor of the era as well. None of the three leads acted prominently beyond the late forties, but all three lived into the 1980s, dying in the space of a single year-long period in 1984-1985.
From a technological standpoint this was, I believe, the first Movietone feature we've seen, which means that, while it was still a silent film and did not have synced sound, the soundtrack was recorded on film, and we saw and heard essentially the same thing as audiences at the time. This included actual voices in crowd scenes and in background songs, but nothing synced to a particular actor or that was particularly important to the plot. Still, it is a tangible step towards the end of silent films, which we are rapidly approaching.
It is difficult to discuss the film without giving away some of the plot. Specifically, early in the film, Livingston advises O'Brien to kill his wife, and he reluctantly agrees. But at the crucial moment Gaynor realizes what is happening, and her terror and panic cause a change of heart in O'Brien, resulting in the two of them going into town and rekindling their love. It is a little bit like John Lennon's "Starting Over," if there had been an early stanza or two about the singer's adultery and plans to murder his wife. This was Murnau's first Hollywood movie after leaving Germany, and the film in some ways reflects that -- the adultery and attempted murder is filmed and performed expressionistically with grim Germanic foreboding -- while the scenes in the city are light-hearted and optimistic -- more stereotypically American. That they mesh together at all is a tribute to how well each of them work on their own. Gaynor won the first Best Actress Oscar for her roles in this and two other films during this time period -- acting Oscars not yet being tied to a specific film -- and she does give a strangely interesting performance in an essentially passive and reactive role. Her character, even after realizing that her husband in a weak moment may cheat on her and try to murder her, is remarkably accepting, and I think the movie's solution to this seemingly odd reaction is just that she loves and is willing to forgive him. I feel like the film might have been a little stronger -- without changing the overall plot -- if it had somehow acknowledged that this was not an entirely healthy attitude on her part. But the movie wants to portray Livingston as entirely bad, and Gaynor as entirely good, which gives it a certain strength and simplicity, but also means that the audience has to accept the two female leads as archetypes, rather than as psychologically realistic. It also has the result of largely absolving O'Brien of responsibility for his actions, leaving the blame on Livingston, in almost exactly the same way that John Gilbert's guilt was pinned on Greta Garbo in 1926's Flesh and the Devil. In fact, both films have a similar scene where the male lead turns on and attacks the woman that has, in the films' authorial view, lured him into behavior he now regrets.
But, even with these flaws, the movie is made up of many excellent moments and sequences that eclipse, for me, its larger problems. This movie was made with the polish and sure-handedness that marked the best silent films from the last half of the twenties. Although I am very much looking forward to sound, and to the films of the thirties, there's a part of me that wishes the silent film era had lasted just a little longer, perhaps five years. It feels as though the changeover happened just as the best filmmakers from the era had reached a certain level of mastery, and I strongly suspect that we lost a number of excellent movies as a result.
Next week we see our seventh film from 1927, and our fourth Lon Chaney film, The Unknown, which features a young Joan Crawford. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Napoleon (1927)
Originally posted to Facebook on 5/20/2018
Napoleon was our fifth film from 1927, and was directed by Abel Gance. Clocking in at over five hours, it took us most of January to get through. It was divided into four parts, beginning with Napoleon's childhood and ending with him at age 26 -- well before he seized power and about 20% of the way through his Wikipedia page. This movie is at its strongest and most compelling during the portions that deal with the French Revolution, both because it is an inherently interesting story, and also because of the stylishness with which it is told. At this point in our project, we have seen all manner of innovative camera-work, so I can't say whether this film definitely invented any particular technique, but it does feature a wide variety of effects -- extremely quick cutting, division of the screen into quarters and ninths, the camera swinging through meeting halls, and most famously the triptych scenes near the end, with an aspect ratio of 4 to 1. The latter effect was impressive, but the kids, after being initially appreciative, began to complain as it wore on, since it resulted in a dramatically smaller picture on our normally-proportioned TV screen.
We had previously seen 1923's Scaramouche, also set during the French Revolution, but while that was a fictional (though intelligent) Hollywood entertainment, this movie aspires to historical accuracy. As a result, it loses focus on Napoleon periodically, and spends a fair amount of time with Marat, Danton, and Robespierre. Napoleon is at times as much a spectator as the viewer, a feeling perhaps best captured in a memorable scene during the storming of the Tuileries Palace, shown from the standpoint of Napoleon upstairs in his apartment or study, looking out at the mobbed streets, contemplating his future and the future of the Revolution.
I tried to sell the film to Allison as a bit of a sequel to Hamilton, since Lafayette had returned to France by this time, leaving room for the suspiciously similar-looking Jefferson to leave for America. I don't think Lafayette was ever actually portrayed on screen though. I also pointed out that Napoleon had been dead for just over a hundred years when this film was released -- as compared to almost two hundred years now, so he was somewhat less of a distant historical figure for Gance than for modern viewers.
Napoleon is played by Albert Dieudonne, who gives an intense and focused performance, though not a particularly varied one. There is a scene not long after Thermidor when Napoleon is at a party, and Josephine says of him "He is really charming, this Buono-parte." The kids and I remarked at the time how wildly off-base this seemed, because, whatever the other virtues of Dieudonne's performance, it is not charming. After Marat, Danton, and Robespierre disappear from the scene, both the inherent dramatic appeal and the fancy camera-work start to fade -- excepting the triptych mentioned above. An excellent film of normal length could be cut from the first two parts (though it could not sensibly be entitled "Napoleon.") I am not so sure that is true of the third and fourth part.
It is also notable how insanely hagiographically Napoleon is portrayed. I haven't read enough of the history of this period to weigh in definitively, but I think it is safe to say that any approach to Napoleon that regards him as a wholly admirable figure is not an entirely mainstream view -- though of course most assessments of Napoleon take into account the period after he turned 26.
Next week we return with Sunrise, our sixth film from 1927, and our fourth by Murnau, the first since he relocated to Hollywood. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Napoleon was our fifth film from 1927, and was directed by Abel Gance. Clocking in at over five hours, it took us most of January to get through. It was divided into four parts, beginning with Napoleon's childhood and ending with him at age 26 -- well before he seized power and about 20% of the way through his Wikipedia page. This movie is at its strongest and most compelling during the portions that deal with the French Revolution, both because it is an inherently interesting story, and also because of the stylishness with which it is told. At this point in our project, we have seen all manner of innovative camera-work, so I can't say whether this film definitely invented any particular technique, but it does feature a wide variety of effects -- extremely quick cutting, division of the screen into quarters and ninths, the camera swinging through meeting halls, and most famously the triptych scenes near the end, with an aspect ratio of 4 to 1. The latter effect was impressive, but the kids, after being initially appreciative, began to complain as it wore on, since it resulted in a dramatically smaller picture on our normally-proportioned TV screen.
We had previously seen 1923's Scaramouche, also set during the French Revolution, but while that was a fictional (though intelligent) Hollywood entertainment, this movie aspires to historical accuracy. As a result, it loses focus on Napoleon periodically, and spends a fair amount of time with Marat, Danton, and Robespierre. Napoleon is at times as much a spectator as the viewer, a feeling perhaps best captured in a memorable scene during the storming of the Tuileries Palace, shown from the standpoint of Napoleon upstairs in his apartment or study, looking out at the mobbed streets, contemplating his future and the future of the Revolution.
I tried to sell the film to Allison as a bit of a sequel to Hamilton, since Lafayette had returned to France by this time, leaving room for the suspiciously similar-looking Jefferson to leave for America. I don't think Lafayette was ever actually portrayed on screen though. I also pointed out that Napoleon had been dead for just over a hundred years when this film was released -- as compared to almost two hundred years now, so he was somewhat less of a distant historical figure for Gance than for modern viewers.
Napoleon is played by Albert Dieudonne, who gives an intense and focused performance, though not a particularly varied one. There is a scene not long after Thermidor when Napoleon is at a party, and Josephine says of him "He is really charming, this Buono-parte." The kids and I remarked at the time how wildly off-base this seemed, because, whatever the other virtues of Dieudonne's performance, it is not charming. After Marat, Danton, and Robespierre disappear from the scene, both the inherent dramatic appeal and the fancy camera-work start to fade -- excepting the triptych mentioned above. An excellent film of normal length could be cut from the first two parts (though it could not sensibly be entitled "Napoleon.") I am not so sure that is true of the third and fourth part.
It is also notable how insanely hagiographically Napoleon is portrayed. I haven't read enough of the history of this period to weigh in definitively, but I think it is safe to say that any approach to Napoleon that regards him as a wholly admirable figure is not an entirely mainstream view -- though of course most assessments of Napoleon take into account the period after he turned 26.
Next week we return with Sunrise, our sixth film from 1927, and our fourth by Murnau, the first since he relocated to Hollywood. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
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