Originally posted to Facebook on 8/19/2018
Our eighth film from 1928 was The Man Who Laughs, an American film with a German director and leading man in Paul Leni and Conrad Veidt, respectively. This is the first film we've seen directed by Leni, and the second time we've seen Veidt, after 1920's The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. This is also the first time we've seen Mary Philbin, Veidt's costar.
Veidt plays Gwynplaine, the son of a nobleman who is murdered for political reasons at the beginning of the film. Gwynplaine, then a child, is mutilated so that his face is formed into a permanent grin. He ends up joining a traveling theatrical troupe, and when we see him as an adult, he is in a romantic relationship with a blind girl name Dea -- played by Philbin -- whom he had discovered as a baby.
Veidt's appearance famously inspired the look of the Joker, but the two characters are not similar at all from a dramatic perspective. Gwynplaine is actually remarkably well-adjusted, given the circumstances -- though he is anxious and ambivalent about his relationship with Philbin, feeling that she only loves him because she is unable to see his disfigured appearance. Dea is written and played as a saint, resulting in a rather static performance. Though Philbin was an established star, it's hard to imagine what she could have done to make this role more dynamic. Much more interesting is the role played by Olga Baclanova, the Duchess who has inherited Veidt's father's land, and who is in jeopardy of losing it once Gwynplaine's existence comes to light. She plays the role as hedonistic, threatened, and eventually desperate.
This was another Movietone release, meaning that we heard the actual score that was released at the time. Like Sunrise, there were actual wisps of human speech on the soundtrack -- crowd noises and such -- and in one scene, unprecedented so far in this project, Gwynplaine's name is actually heard being called, though it isn't synchronized or tied to any particular person.
Though this is often categorized under the rubric of German expressionism transplanted to America -- much like Sunrise -- it actually seems closer to the gothic over-the-top films of Lon Chaney -- because of its lurid nature, and its focus on disfigurement and the inner lives of those afflicted. So it was not surprising to me that Lon Chaney had been offered this role, but for scheduling reasons hadn't been able to accept. And it is very easy to imagine him in this film; though Veidt does a good job, you could easily see Chaney's intensity and charisma dramatically elevating the role -- but perhaps at the expense of its relatability.
Next week we watch Lonesome, our ninth film from 1928, which will be the first time in this project that we've heard synchronized sound in a commercial feature film. The list, as always is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Saturday, June 22, 2019
The Circus (1928)
Originally posted to Facebook on 8/10/2018
The Circus was our seventh film from 1928, and the fifth Chaplin feature that we've seen, the most recent being 1925's The Gold Rush.
This film began with a song playing over the opening credits, sung, as it turns out, by Chaplin himself. The kids found this quite surprising, though we'd heard some tinny isolated singing on a Movietone track during 1927's Sunrise. But Chaplin's voice in this case seemed to me a little too clear and resonant to truly be of the era -- and sure enough when I researched it, it turned out to be an addition he'd made in the late sixties, when he was nearing eighty. He added a new score along with his vocals, raising the question of how different the film we watched was from the one audiences saw at the time. Hopefully the changes were minor.
Chaplin again plays a variation on his tramp, starting the film penniless and in trouble with the law, but eventually being hired by the circus -- because he is unintentionally funny. There is a love triangle between him, the ringmaster's daughter (played by Merna Kennedy), and a tightrope walker (played by Harry Crocker), though it takes quite a while for that story to develop. The majority of the film consists of various medium length bits -- such as a chase through a hall of mirrors, or Chaplin getting locked in a cage with a lion. There aren't as many long set pieces as we've seen in his previous films, and there are a few surprisingly violent scenes showing how Kennedy's father, played by Al Ernest Garcia, mistreats her. There was one recurring bit that we kind of enjoyed -- a donkey that had somehow taken a dislike to Chaplin, and would occasionally appear from nowhere and attack him. In essence, though, with the plot being as thin as it is, the film became the sum of its parts -- and its parts ranged from tedious to mildly amusing. I think it is notable too that this film has very few of the iconic scenes that are shown in Chaplin clip reels -- in strong contrast, for instance, to The Gold Rush. I wasn't a huge fan of the earlier movie either, but it was far more ambitious than this one.
It is interesting how few films Chaplin was making by this point. By comparison, Buster Keaton starred in a film or two every year from the early twenties up through the mid-thirties (though he had lost creative control by the time sound films arrived.) Harold Lloyd appeared with similar frequency during the same time period. Chaplin, though, starred in four major films in the twenties, two in each of the thirties, forties, and fifties, and a final film in the sixties. It is probably too easy to ascribe this to his personality or his increasing exactitude about his films -- though I've read stories along those lines. But to the extent that his perfectionism played a role in his decreased appearance on the screen, it seems like a misplaced impulse, in part because his films are not notably stronger than his peers'; in fact most of them, including this one, are in the same "pleasantly amusing but hit-or-miss" category.
Next week we move on to The Man Who Laughs, our eighth film from 1928 -- featuring two German émigrés, Paul Leni as the director, and Conrad Veidt as the lead. Veidt, of course, we saw way back in 1920's The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. It also will be our first film with Mary Philbin, who plays the female lead. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Circus was our seventh film from 1928, and the fifth Chaplin feature that we've seen, the most recent being 1925's The Gold Rush.
This film began with a song playing over the opening credits, sung, as it turns out, by Chaplin himself. The kids found this quite surprising, though we'd heard some tinny isolated singing on a Movietone track during 1927's Sunrise. But Chaplin's voice in this case seemed to me a little too clear and resonant to truly be of the era -- and sure enough when I researched it, it turned out to be an addition he'd made in the late sixties, when he was nearing eighty. He added a new score along with his vocals, raising the question of how different the film we watched was from the one audiences saw at the time. Hopefully the changes were minor.
Chaplin again plays a variation on his tramp, starting the film penniless and in trouble with the law, but eventually being hired by the circus -- because he is unintentionally funny. There is a love triangle between him, the ringmaster's daughter (played by Merna Kennedy), and a tightrope walker (played by Harry Crocker), though it takes quite a while for that story to develop. The majority of the film consists of various medium length bits -- such as a chase through a hall of mirrors, or Chaplin getting locked in a cage with a lion. There aren't as many long set pieces as we've seen in his previous films, and there are a few surprisingly violent scenes showing how Kennedy's father, played by Al Ernest Garcia, mistreats her. There was one recurring bit that we kind of enjoyed -- a donkey that had somehow taken a dislike to Chaplin, and would occasionally appear from nowhere and attack him. In essence, though, with the plot being as thin as it is, the film became the sum of its parts -- and its parts ranged from tedious to mildly amusing. I think it is notable too that this film has very few of the iconic scenes that are shown in Chaplin clip reels -- in strong contrast, for instance, to The Gold Rush. I wasn't a huge fan of the earlier movie either, but it was far more ambitious than this one.
It is interesting how few films Chaplin was making by this point. By comparison, Buster Keaton starred in a film or two every year from the early twenties up through the mid-thirties (though he had lost creative control by the time sound films arrived.) Harold Lloyd appeared with similar frequency during the same time period. Chaplin, though, starred in four major films in the twenties, two in each of the thirties, forties, and fifties, and a final film in the sixties. It is probably too easy to ascribe this to his personality or his increasing exactitude about his films -- though I've read stories along those lines. But to the extent that his perfectionism played a role in his decreased appearance on the screen, it seems like a misplaced impulse, in part because his films are not notably stronger than his peers'; in fact most of them, including this one, are in the same "pleasantly amusing but hit-or-miss" category.
Next week we move on to The Man Who Laughs, our eighth film from 1928 -- featuring two German émigrés, Paul Leni as the director, and Conrad Veidt as the lead. Veidt, of course, we saw way back in 1920's The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. It also will be our first film with Mary Philbin, who plays the female lead. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Cameraman (1928)
Originally posted to Facebook on 8/5/2018
The Cameraman was our sixth film from 1928, and the third feature we've seen from Buster Keaton, after 1926's The General, and 1923's Three Ages.
Keaton in this film plays a struggling photographer, selling on sidewalks. After taking the photo of a young woman, played by Marceline Day, he becomes infatuated with her, finds that she works at a newsreel organization, and attempts to join the staff. As with many of the films we've seen from the famous silent comedians, this film uses its loose plot as a device on which to hang several not-terribly-connected sequences. For instance there is a long piece where Keaton goes on a date of sorts with Day to a communal swimming pool, and shortly after that there is a long sequence where he is filming gang warfare in Chinatown. The latter sequence is obviously fraught, although it does appear that the actors engaged in the gang warfare were mostly Asian, rather than white actors made up as Asians. Additionally, just prior to the brawl, Keaton acquires a monkey sidekick, the result of him running into an organ grinder's monkey, after which the organ grinder exclaims "Now, see! You kill-a de monk!" though of course the monkey turns out not actually to be dead. When I read that title card aloud, Ben sort of laughed, and then explained, "I just thought it was funny that your voice got kind of sad when you realized how racist it was." But whatever you think of the presence of organ grinders and Chinese gang members, it did seem a little funny to me that somebody might have left a theater for five minutes while Keaton was at the pool with Day, and come back to see Keaton's character trying to film brutal gang violence while a small monkey mans a machine gun next to him -- and perhaps wondered exactly what they'd missed in those five minutes.
The movie has a few of the iconic Keaton scenes that are regularly excerpted when people are showing clips -- for instance the scene of him atop a wooden structure that collapses as he's filming. I laughed a few times during this film, and enjoyed it probably about as much as Three Ages. It wasn't as good as The General -- in part because watching The General didn't summon up the image of an exhausted room of writers grasping for ideas, with somebody eventually pitching, "Maybe a monkey joins him?"
This was one of his last silents -- and will probably be the last feature of his that we watch. There's a completionist side of me that has a desire to sit down and watch all of his films -- but I also have a strong desire to move this project out of the twenties, where it has been lodged since early 2017. We are, however, planning to watch some of his short films between the planned features from 1929 and 1930.
Next week we move on from Keaton to Chaplin, watching The Circus, our seventh film from 1928, and our fifth by Chaplin. The link, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Cameraman was our sixth film from 1928, and the third feature we've seen from Buster Keaton, after 1926's The General, and 1923's Three Ages.
Keaton in this film plays a struggling photographer, selling on sidewalks. After taking the photo of a young woman, played by Marceline Day, he becomes infatuated with her, finds that she works at a newsreel organization, and attempts to join the staff. As with many of the films we've seen from the famous silent comedians, this film uses its loose plot as a device on which to hang several not-terribly-connected sequences. For instance there is a long piece where Keaton goes on a date of sorts with Day to a communal swimming pool, and shortly after that there is a long sequence where he is filming gang warfare in Chinatown. The latter sequence is obviously fraught, although it does appear that the actors engaged in the gang warfare were mostly Asian, rather than white actors made up as Asians. Additionally, just prior to the brawl, Keaton acquires a monkey sidekick, the result of him running into an organ grinder's monkey, after which the organ grinder exclaims "Now, see! You kill-a de monk!" though of course the monkey turns out not actually to be dead. When I read that title card aloud, Ben sort of laughed, and then explained, "I just thought it was funny that your voice got kind of sad when you realized how racist it was." But whatever you think of the presence of organ grinders and Chinese gang members, it did seem a little funny to me that somebody might have left a theater for five minutes while Keaton was at the pool with Day, and come back to see Keaton's character trying to film brutal gang violence while a small monkey mans a machine gun next to him -- and perhaps wondered exactly what they'd missed in those five minutes.
The movie has a few of the iconic Keaton scenes that are regularly excerpted when people are showing clips -- for instance the scene of him atop a wooden structure that collapses as he's filming. I laughed a few times during this film, and enjoyed it probably about as much as Three Ages. It wasn't as good as The General -- in part because watching The General didn't summon up the image of an exhausted room of writers grasping for ideas, with somebody eventually pitching, "Maybe a monkey joins him?"
This was one of his last silents -- and will probably be the last feature of his that we watch. There's a completionist side of me that has a desire to sit down and watch all of his films -- but I also have a strong desire to move this project out of the twenties, where it has been lodged since early 2017. We are, however, planning to watch some of his short films between the planned features from 1929 and 1930.
Next week we move on from Keaton to Chaplin, watching The Circus, our seventh film from 1928, and our fifth by Chaplin. The link, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Wind (1928)
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
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
Sunday, June 9, 2019
The Crowd (1928)
Originally posted to Facebook on 7/29/2018
Our fourth film from 1928 was The Crowd. It was the second film in a row (after last week's Show People), and the third overall, that we've seen directed by King Vidor. Rather frustratingly, there doesn't appear to be an English-language DVD of this film available by a commercial publisher. I ended up buying a Spanish version ("Y El Munda Marcha"), which was fine; the title cards are still in English, so there is no difference when the Spanish subtitles are turned off. However the print was still not all that great -- an occupational hazard when you are watching silent films, but The Crowd is not some obscure rarity that has survived only through chance; it's a well-known movie, was nominated for a couple Academy Awards at the time, and was one of the first 25 features added to the National Film Registry in 1989, along with only five other silents. It's very strange that there isn't a decently well restored version of this film available for the American market.
In any case, the film stars James Murray and Eleanor Boardman. Neither are well remembered today, though Boardman had a brief but significant career, and was in some interesting films, including 1926's Tell It to the Marines which we saw earlier in this project. She also happened to be married to King Vidor at the time of this film. Murray's career was much more checkered, and he died in 1936, after many years of alcoholism and erratic behavior. The film covers the courtship and marriage of John and Mary Sims, and tracks their early lives through various ups and downs. It actually starts with John Sims as a boy, growing up in a small town, before he moves to New York City, but those scenes are almost completely superfluous and could have been covered by a line or two of dialog later in the film. Ideally the film could have started with the movie's iconic shot of a camera climbing up the side of an office building, dissolving through a window, and showing Murray in a dehumanizing sea of desks -- and that is in fact the way 1960's The Apartment started, explicitly paying tribute to that scene. And that shot also shows some of the influence of German Expressionism in American films -- sort of a white collar equivalent to Metropolis. That influence pops up intermittently through the film, another example being the maternity ward when Murray first sees his son.
I was a little disappointed by the film, probably in part because of the expectations set by its "classic" status, but also by Murray's performance. The film hits a lot of the notes you would expect in a mature film about ordinary people -- showing their ambitions and hopes meshing unevenly with day-to-day realities -- and it is indeed refreshing to see a couple on-screen arguing about something as prosaic as getting the toilet fixed. They face more serious challenges together as well, but Murray can barely keep it together under even regular circumstances. His emoting is almost a caricature of what people envision silent film acting to be. It doesn't completely distract from the film's virtues, but it does make one feel a little more sympathy for Boardman's family's disapproval of him. Another flaw is that Boardman plays a distinctly second fiddle in the film. Almost all of her frustrations are in reaction to Murray's choices or circumstances. A more modulated approach -- more emphasis on her inner life, and saving Murray's hysterics for a few key scenes -- would have strengthened the film significantly. I think the overall theme, though, of how people's relationships to one another provide meaning regardless of how mundane their lives seem, or how frustrated or despairing they may be, has almost universal appeal -- and is also what drives It's a Wonderful Life, for instance, which may well have been influenced by this film.
Next week, we'll see The Wind, our fifth film from 1928, and a re-teaming of the stars and director from 1926's The Scarlet Letter, all three of whom (Victor Sjöström, Lillian Gish, and Lars Hanson) we have seen multiple times before, together and apart. The overall list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Our fourth film from 1928 was The Crowd. It was the second film in a row (after last week's Show People), and the third overall, that we've seen directed by King Vidor. Rather frustratingly, there doesn't appear to be an English-language DVD of this film available by a commercial publisher. I ended up buying a Spanish version ("Y El Munda Marcha"), which was fine; the title cards are still in English, so there is no difference when the Spanish subtitles are turned off. However the print was still not all that great -- an occupational hazard when you are watching silent films, but The Crowd is not some obscure rarity that has survived only through chance; it's a well-known movie, was nominated for a couple Academy Awards at the time, and was one of the first 25 features added to the National Film Registry in 1989, along with only five other silents. It's very strange that there isn't a decently well restored version of this film available for the American market.
In any case, the film stars James Murray and Eleanor Boardman. Neither are well remembered today, though Boardman had a brief but significant career, and was in some interesting films, including 1926's Tell It to the Marines which we saw earlier in this project. She also happened to be married to King Vidor at the time of this film. Murray's career was much more checkered, and he died in 1936, after many years of alcoholism and erratic behavior. The film covers the courtship and marriage of John and Mary Sims, and tracks their early lives through various ups and downs. It actually starts with John Sims as a boy, growing up in a small town, before he moves to New York City, but those scenes are almost completely superfluous and could have been covered by a line or two of dialog later in the film. Ideally the film could have started with the movie's iconic shot of a camera climbing up the side of an office building, dissolving through a window, and showing Murray in a dehumanizing sea of desks -- and that is in fact the way 1960's The Apartment started, explicitly paying tribute to that scene. And that shot also shows some of the influence of German Expressionism in American films -- sort of a white collar equivalent to Metropolis. That influence pops up intermittently through the film, another example being the maternity ward when Murray first sees his son.
I was a little disappointed by the film, probably in part because of the expectations set by its "classic" status, but also by Murray's performance. The film hits a lot of the notes you would expect in a mature film about ordinary people -- showing their ambitions and hopes meshing unevenly with day-to-day realities -- and it is indeed refreshing to see a couple on-screen arguing about something as prosaic as getting the toilet fixed. They face more serious challenges together as well, but Murray can barely keep it together under even regular circumstances. His emoting is almost a caricature of what people envision silent film acting to be. It doesn't completely distract from the film's virtues, but it does make one feel a little more sympathy for Boardman's family's disapproval of him. Another flaw is that Boardman plays a distinctly second fiddle in the film. Almost all of her frustrations are in reaction to Murray's choices or circumstances. A more modulated approach -- more emphasis on her inner life, and saving Murray's hysterics for a few key scenes -- would have strengthened the film significantly. I think the overall theme, though, of how people's relationships to one another provide meaning regardless of how mundane their lives seem, or how frustrated or despairing they may be, has almost universal appeal -- and is also what drives It's a Wonderful Life, for instance, which may well have been influenced by this film.
Next week, we'll see The Wind, our fifth film from 1928, and a re-teaming of the stars and director from 1926's The Scarlet Letter, all three of whom (Victor Sjöström, Lillian Gish, and Lars Hanson) we have seen multiple times before, together and apart. The overall list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Show People (1928)
Originally posted to Facebook on 7/27/2018
Show People was our third film from 1928. It was directed by King Vidor, and starred Marion Davies and William Haines, all of whom we've seen before during this project -- Marion Davies in 1922's When Knighthood was in Flower and 1927's The Red Mill, William Haines in 1926's Tell It to the Marines, and King Vidor as the director of 1925's The Big Parade.
This was another film with a Movietone soundtrack, signaling the incipient end of the silent era, and the kids were impressed that, for the first time, we heard the MGM lion roar. ("Whoa!" they said.) Until recently I had actually believed that the point of the MGM lion -- and its roar -- was to signal to audiences that they were watching a sound film -- but we've seen the lion roaring silently on films dating back a few years, so obviously that was incorrect.
Show People is a Hollywood movie about Hollywood, similar in some ways to 1923's The Extra Girl, but its humor is broader than that film, which is especially notable when you remember that a long sequence in the earlier film involved Mabel Normand not being able to tell the difference between a dog dressed up as a lion and a real lion. Marion Davies in this case plays the newcomer to Hollywood, and is eventually helped out by William Haines, who is a slapstick comedian at a minor studio. Haines, as we saw a few months ago, held his own against Lon Chaney in Tell It to the Marines, perhaps surprisingly. But he does less well up against Marion Davies in this picture. She is clearly the star of the film, and gives her normal charismatic performance, though she is a bit less charming and more self-centered than in previous films. In fact, the major arc of the film follows her rise up the Hollywood ladder, forgetting her friends along the way. But she is obnoxious not only on the way up, but also when she rights things at the end. Haines also is fairly obnoxious in his role, and never quite shows his character's core of seriousness as he did in Tell It to the Marines.
Neither The Extra Girl nor this film was intended as a brutal satire of Hollywood exactly, but this film has a little more of an insider feel than the earlier one, which gives it that much less bite. It reminded me of the phenomenon of celebrities who have been mocked on Saturday Night Live showing up in person, to signal that the mockery is all in good fun -- whether or not that is (or should be) the case. And there are a number of celebrity cameos throughout the movie, playing themselves, including William S. Hart, Douglas Fairbanks, and John Gilbert. Some show up only briefly in a single shot, but some, like Charlie Chaplin, are mentioned by name, and actually have a short scene with the lead characters. The Extra Girl had a few celebrity cameos as well, but nothing close to the star power of this film.
I think I would have preferred if this film had taken a stronger approach in one direction or another -- either to have been funnier, or to have had less two-dimensional characters, or to have been more scathing about Hollywood. But it was entertaining, and it was certainly interesting to see the impression Hollywood had or wanted to create for itself at this point in its history.
Next week we move on to The Crowd, our fourth film from 1928, which was also directed by King Vidor. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT.
Show People was our third film from 1928. It was directed by King Vidor, and starred Marion Davies and William Haines, all of whom we've seen before during this project -- Marion Davies in 1922's When Knighthood was in Flower and 1927's The Red Mill, William Haines in 1926's Tell It to the Marines, and King Vidor as the director of 1925's The Big Parade.
This was another film with a Movietone soundtrack, signaling the incipient end of the silent era, and the kids were impressed that, for the first time, we heard the MGM lion roar. ("Whoa!" they said.) Until recently I had actually believed that the point of the MGM lion -- and its roar -- was to signal to audiences that they were watching a sound film -- but we've seen the lion roaring silently on films dating back a few years, so obviously that was incorrect.
Show People is a Hollywood movie about Hollywood, similar in some ways to 1923's The Extra Girl, but its humor is broader than that film, which is especially notable when you remember that a long sequence in the earlier film involved Mabel Normand not being able to tell the difference between a dog dressed up as a lion and a real lion. Marion Davies in this case plays the newcomer to Hollywood, and is eventually helped out by William Haines, who is a slapstick comedian at a minor studio. Haines, as we saw a few months ago, held his own against Lon Chaney in Tell It to the Marines, perhaps surprisingly. But he does less well up against Marion Davies in this picture. She is clearly the star of the film, and gives her normal charismatic performance, though she is a bit less charming and more self-centered than in previous films. In fact, the major arc of the film follows her rise up the Hollywood ladder, forgetting her friends along the way. But she is obnoxious not only on the way up, but also when she rights things at the end. Haines also is fairly obnoxious in his role, and never quite shows his character's core of seriousness as he did in Tell It to the Marines.
Neither The Extra Girl nor this film was intended as a brutal satire of Hollywood exactly, but this film has a little more of an insider feel than the earlier one, which gives it that much less bite. It reminded me of the phenomenon of celebrities who have been mocked on Saturday Night Live showing up in person, to signal that the mockery is all in good fun -- whether or not that is (or should be) the case. And there are a number of celebrity cameos throughout the movie, playing themselves, including William S. Hart, Douglas Fairbanks, and John Gilbert. Some show up only briefly in a single shot, but some, like Charlie Chaplin, are mentioned by name, and actually have a short scene with the lead characters. The Extra Girl had a few celebrity cameos as well, but nothing close to the star power of this film.
I think I would have preferred if this film had taken a stronger approach in one direction or another -- either to have been funnier, or to have had less two-dimensional characters, or to have been more scathing about Hollywood. But it was entertaining, and it was certainly interesting to see the impression Hollywood had or wanted to create for itself at this point in its history.
Next week we move on to The Crowd, our fourth film from 1928, which was also directed by King Vidor. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT.
Hell's Hinges (1916)
Originally posted to Facebook on 7/22/2018
This week we jumped a decade back from 1927 to 1916's Hell's Hinges, which I wanted to see before we got too far removed from the silent era. This was our sixth film from 1916 -- having watched the fifth a year and a half earlier. It was the first film we've seen starring William S. Hart, who was a prolific actor during this period, making eight other features in 1916 alone, and continuing that pace throughout the teens. The majority are lost, but enough survive to get a decent idea of his work.
The film concerns a young Reverend named Robert Henley, played by Jack Standing, and his sister, played by Clara Williams, who journey west to set up a ministry. It is immediately established that Henley is a womanizer, and not up to the task of being a community's moral leader. They arrive at Hell's Hinges, a semi-lawless western town, which nevertheless has a contingent of church-goers who welcome their arrival. "Blaze" Tracy, played by Hart, is not one of them, nor is "Silk" Miller, played by Alfred Hollingsworth, who is charmingly described as "Mingling the oily craftiness of a Mexican with the deadly treachery of a rattler." It was at this point that our hopes for the film began to dim. The film's arc is that Hart becomes attracted to and/or inspired by Clara Williams' character, and begins to mend his ways -- though her role is a bit underdeveloped as the catalyst for his change, and his attraction to her seems to be more about what she represents, rather than her specifically. Her attraction to him, if it truly exists, is even less well motivated.
I had expected skipping back to 1916 to be more of a regression than it actually was. The acting was a little broader, and the film was definitely shot and framed a lot more statically than some of the films we've been seeing recently, but the story was still competently and economically told -- notwithstanding the flaws discussed above. The screenplay was written by C. Gardner Sullivan, who had previously, with Thomas Ince, written 1915's The Italian, which also featured Clara Williams. It was interesting to see Hart for the first time, and to see how he fit perfectly into the tradition of the taciturn western hero -- a clear antecedent to, for instance, John Wayne and Clint Eastwood -- though in some ways he is more extreme than either of them. His character was also surprisingly morally ambiguous for a western hero, though his previous sins are referred to non-specifically rather than detailed.
Next week, we move on to 1928, with Show People, our third film from that year. It stars Marion Davies and William Haines, and is directed by King Vidor, all of whom we've seen previously during this project. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT.
This week we jumped a decade back from 1927 to 1916's Hell's Hinges, which I wanted to see before we got too far removed from the silent era. This was our sixth film from 1916 -- having watched the fifth a year and a half earlier. It was the first film we've seen starring William S. Hart, who was a prolific actor during this period, making eight other features in 1916 alone, and continuing that pace throughout the teens. The majority are lost, but enough survive to get a decent idea of his work.
The film concerns a young Reverend named Robert Henley, played by Jack Standing, and his sister, played by Clara Williams, who journey west to set up a ministry. It is immediately established that Henley is a womanizer, and not up to the task of being a community's moral leader. They arrive at Hell's Hinges, a semi-lawless western town, which nevertheless has a contingent of church-goers who welcome their arrival. "Blaze" Tracy, played by Hart, is not one of them, nor is "Silk" Miller, played by Alfred Hollingsworth, who is charmingly described as "Mingling the oily craftiness of a Mexican with the deadly treachery of a rattler." It was at this point that our hopes for the film began to dim. The film's arc is that Hart becomes attracted to and/or inspired by Clara Williams' character, and begins to mend his ways -- though her role is a bit underdeveloped as the catalyst for his change, and his attraction to her seems to be more about what she represents, rather than her specifically. Her attraction to him, if it truly exists, is even less well motivated.
I had expected skipping back to 1916 to be more of a regression than it actually was. The acting was a little broader, and the film was definitely shot and framed a lot more statically than some of the films we've been seeing recently, but the story was still competently and economically told -- notwithstanding the flaws discussed above. The screenplay was written by C. Gardner Sullivan, who had previously, with Thomas Ince, written 1915's The Italian, which also featured Clara Williams. It was interesting to see Hart for the first time, and to see how he fit perfectly into the tradition of the taciturn western hero -- a clear antecedent to, for instance, John Wayne and Clint Eastwood -- though in some ways he is more extreme than either of them. His character was also surprisingly morally ambiguous for a western hero, though his previous sins are referred to non-specifically rather than detailed.
Next week, we move on to 1928, with Show People, our third film from that year. It stars Marion Davies and William Haines, and is directed by King Vidor, all of whom we've seen previously during this project. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT.
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