Originally posted to Facebook on 3/2/2019
The Man and the Moment was our fifth film from 1929, and the second partial talkie. It had perhaps a half-a-dozen scenes with audible dialog, significantly more than the three such scenes in the previous partial talkie we watched, 1928's Lonesome. Even during the talking scenes, though, there were title cards -- but that was an artifact of its restoration, rather than what audiences saw at the time.
Rod La Rocque plays an idly rich bachelor, and Billie Dove (whom we previously saw in 1926's The Black Pirate) plays an aviator. They devise a scheme to marry one another, so that La Rocque can avoid getting married to a character played by Gwen Lee, and Dove can avoid having her guardian essentially put her under house arrest. By the fact that she has a guardian, I imagine that we are supposed to infer that she is not yet an adult (though Dove herself was 26 at the time) which makes the whole film rather troubling. Another weakness is the contrived nature of major plot points. There would have been no film if La Rocque had clearly told Lee that he wasn't going to marry her, or if Dove had waited the (presumably short) amount of time until she was no longer subject to a guardianship -- both of which seem far simpler solutions to their respective problems than a sham marriage. In any case, as you would expect in a romantic comedy of this kind, they end up developing feelings for one another.
When initially hatching this plot they have a long pre-code discussion about how they wouldn't actually have sex during the marriage, the execution of which illustrates the main problem of the film. It starts out a little bit amusing, but the dialog is slow and unnatural, and the same joke is made several times over a period of several minutes. By the end the kids were literally laughing at how drawn-out the scene was. It doesn't seem fair to blame anyone in particular for this, given the infancy of sound, but Dove acquits herself much better than La Rocque, in this scene and in the movie in general. She gives a performance not too far from the typical acting style a few years later. La Rocque is not at that level; his delivery is slow and wooden, particularly when he is delivering ostensibly witty dialog. The fast-talking leading men of the thirties were clearly still a few years away.
To an even greater extent than Lonesome, this film would have been stronger as a silent, mainly because of the unevenly delivered dialog. But it also would have been stronger if it had been funnier, or cared about its characters a little more.
Our next film will be Hallelujah, our sixth from 1929, our first true sound film, our first musical, and our second film with a predominantly African-American cast. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Sunday, June 23, 2019
Escape from Dartmoor (1929)
Originally posted to Facebook on 2/3/2019
Escape from Dartmoor was our fourth film from 1929 - a British thriller very much in the Hitchcock mode, but directed by Anthony Asquith.
In fact, based on the two Hitchcock silents we've seen (1927's The Lodger and 1929's Blackmail), this is a better thriller than Hitchcock himself was producing at this time; both of those films had excellent sequences, but also significant flaws, while this film is of a more consistent quality. It opens stylishly, with a man escaping from Dartmoor prison, and breaking into a house. From there the film flashes back to the events leading up to his imprisonment -- the origins of which begin with a love triangle made up of Uno Henning, Hans Schlettow, and Norah Baring. Henning and Baring work in a barber shop together, and Schlettow is a customer whom Baring seems to like -- which doesn't sit well with Henning. Tension and misunderstandings build steadily. In addition to the main plot, there is a very meta sequence in which the lead characters go to a movie theater transitioning to sound -- which the film posits is not popular with audiences. That judgment could not have been more wrong -- but the movie's strongest argument for silent film is not that scene, but the spare, efficient way in which it builds its story.
Of the three leads only Baring was English -- with Schlettow being German and Henning Swedish -- which of course mattered not at all in a silent. Schlettow is the only one we've seen before, appearing as Hagen Tronje in Fritz Lang's 1924 Die Nibelungen films, and also in a small role in the film we saw just previous, Pandora's Box.
Our next film is The Man and the Moment, our fifth film from 1929, our second partial talkie, and the second time we've seen Billie Dove. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Escape from Dartmoor was our fourth film from 1929 - a British thriller very much in the Hitchcock mode, but directed by Anthony Asquith.
In fact, based on the two Hitchcock silents we've seen (1927's The Lodger and 1929's Blackmail), this is a better thriller than Hitchcock himself was producing at this time; both of those films had excellent sequences, but also significant flaws, while this film is of a more consistent quality. It opens stylishly, with a man escaping from Dartmoor prison, and breaking into a house. From there the film flashes back to the events leading up to his imprisonment -- the origins of which begin with a love triangle made up of Uno Henning, Hans Schlettow, and Norah Baring. Henning and Baring work in a barber shop together, and Schlettow is a customer whom Baring seems to like -- which doesn't sit well with Henning. Tension and misunderstandings build steadily. In addition to the main plot, there is a very meta sequence in which the lead characters go to a movie theater transitioning to sound -- which the film posits is not popular with audiences. That judgment could not have been more wrong -- but the movie's strongest argument for silent film is not that scene, but the spare, efficient way in which it builds its story.
Of the three leads only Baring was English -- with Schlettow being German and Henning Swedish -- which of course mattered not at all in a silent. Schlettow is the only one we've seen before, appearing as Hagen Tronje in Fritz Lang's 1924 Die Nibelungen films, and also in a small role in the film we saw just previous, Pandora's Box.
Our next film is The Man and the Moment, our fifth film from 1929, our second partial talkie, and the second time we've seen Billie Dove. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Pandora's Box (1929)
Originally posted to Facebook on 1/12/2019
Pandora's Box is our third film from 1929, and the second time we've seen Louise Brooks, after 1928's Beggars of Life. It was directed by G. W. Pabst and based on two plays by Frank Wedekind.
Though we have so far seen a number of European stars and directors come to the United States to make movies (e.g. Victor Sjöström, F. W. Murnau, Conrad Veidt), Brooks is possibly the only prominent American star we've seen shift to European films. In this film she plays Lulu, who is young and vivacious, but also selfish and duplicitous -- which is quite different than the pensive and timid character she played in Beggars of Life. She is in an ongoing relationship with Dr. Schön (played by Fritz Kortner), but also ends up in a love triangle with his son Alwa (Francis Lederer). Kortner is engaged to another woman, and is aware that his relationship with Brooks is self-destructive -- even saying at one point, "It'll be the death of me." A family friend, played by Alice Roberts, is infatuated with Lulu as well -- which was not entirely clear to us until well into the film. ("Why is she glaring at Lulu?" we wondered.) Needless to say this subplot was very unusual for the time.
The film is divided into two parts, which I believe correspond to the two plays on which it is based. The first part, which concerns the trajectory of the relationship between Kortner and Brooks, has a more focused narrative (and is, I believe, more successful) than the the second, which deals with the aftermath. The first portion tells a complete story, and in fact could stand alone as a cohesive film with only minor modifications. I am not sure that is true of the second portion, which is more fragmented.
Next week we see Escape from Dartmoor, a 1929 thriller directed by Anthony Asquith. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Pandora's Box is our third film from 1929, and the second time we've seen Louise Brooks, after 1928's Beggars of Life. It was directed by G. W. Pabst and based on two plays by Frank Wedekind.
Though we have so far seen a number of European stars and directors come to the United States to make movies (e.g. Victor Sjöström, F. W. Murnau, Conrad Veidt), Brooks is possibly the only prominent American star we've seen shift to European films. In this film she plays Lulu, who is young and vivacious, but also selfish and duplicitous -- which is quite different than the pensive and timid character she played in Beggars of Life. She is in an ongoing relationship with Dr. Schön (played by Fritz Kortner), but also ends up in a love triangle with his son Alwa (Francis Lederer). Kortner is engaged to another woman, and is aware that his relationship with Brooks is self-destructive -- even saying at one point, "It'll be the death of me." A family friend, played by Alice Roberts, is infatuated with Lulu as well -- which was not entirely clear to us until well into the film. ("Why is she glaring at Lulu?" we wondered.) Needless to say this subplot was very unusual for the time.
The film is divided into two parts, which I believe correspond to the two plays on which it is based. The first part, which concerns the trajectory of the relationship between Kortner and Brooks, has a more focused narrative (and is, I believe, more successful) than the the second, which deals with the aftermath. The first portion tells a complete story, and in fact could stand alone as a cohesive film with only minor modifications. I am not sure that is true of the second portion, which is more fragmented.
Next week we see Escape from Dartmoor, a 1929 thriller directed by Anthony Asquith. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Asphalt (1929)
Originally posted to Facebook on 1/8/2019
Asphalt was our second film from 1929, and our second starring Gustav Fröhlich, after 1927's Metropolis. It is the first film we've seen directed by Joe May, and also the first time we've seen Betty Amann, the female lead.
Fröhlich plays a policeman, who helps to apprehend Amann attempting to rob a jewelry store. He is sympathetic, and ends up having to cover his tracks as he gets involved in a relationship with her. This is complicated by the fact that his father, played by Albert Steinrück (whom we saw as the chief Rabbi in 1920's The Golem), is also a policeman. The movie is efficiently paced, with relatively few title cards, and a running time of just about 90 minutes. The only sequence that seemed a bit extraneous was a five minute scene set in France, depicting a surprisingly detailed bank heist -- which seemed to have no other purpose than to establish that Amann's significant other was a criminal -- a fact which surely could have been communicated more quickly and without breaking up the flow of the main plot.
A lot has been written about the connection between noir and expressionism, and although that transition mostly occurred in Hollywood, I think this could be classified as an early proto-noir -- in the sense that the protagonist finds himself being pulled deeper into trouble, with Amann filling the femme fatale role (and incidentally looking quite similar to Louise Brooks.) It's stylishly shot, but more grounded in reality and not as flamboyantly expressionistic as the films we've seen by Lang or Murnau.
Speaking of Louise Brooks, next week we'll move on to one of her most famous roles in Pandora's Box, our third film from 1929. This will be the second time we've seen her, after 1928's Beggars of Life a few weeks ago. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Asphalt was our second film from 1929, and our second starring Gustav Fröhlich, after 1927's Metropolis. It is the first film we've seen directed by Joe May, and also the first time we've seen Betty Amann, the female lead.
Fröhlich plays a policeman, who helps to apprehend Amann attempting to rob a jewelry store. He is sympathetic, and ends up having to cover his tracks as he gets involved in a relationship with her. This is complicated by the fact that his father, played by Albert Steinrück (whom we saw as the chief Rabbi in 1920's The Golem), is also a policeman. The movie is efficiently paced, with relatively few title cards, and a running time of just about 90 minutes. The only sequence that seemed a bit extraneous was a five minute scene set in France, depicting a surprisingly detailed bank heist -- which seemed to have no other purpose than to establish that Amann's significant other was a criminal -- a fact which surely could have been communicated more quickly and without breaking up the flow of the main plot.
A lot has been written about the connection between noir and expressionism, and although that transition mostly occurred in Hollywood, I think this could be classified as an early proto-noir -- in the sense that the protagonist finds himself being pulled deeper into trouble, with Amann filling the femme fatale role (and incidentally looking quite similar to Louise Brooks.) It's stylishly shot, but more grounded in reality and not as flamboyantly expressionistic as the films we've seen by Lang or Murnau.
Speaking of Louise Brooks, next week we'll move on to one of her most famous roles in Pandora's Box, our third film from 1929. This will be the second time we've seen her, after 1928's Beggars of Life a few weeks ago. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Toll Gate (1920)
Originally posted to Facebook on 11/27/2018
The Toll Gate is the last film of our chronological detour before we return, next week, to 1929. It's our sixth film from 1920, and the second time we've seen William S. Hart in a starring role, after 1916's Hell's Hinges. We've also previously seen Anna Q. Nilsson, the female lead, in 1915's Regeneration. Lambert Hillyer directed (and wrote) this film, as well as over a hundred more, mostly westerns, from the teens up through the late forties, and then moved on to television in the fifties.
Hart plays Black Deering, the leader of a group of bandits, who is betrayed by a member of his gang after deciding to go straight. While on the run, he comes upon Nilsson, who lives alone with her insufferably adorable son. As in Hell's Hinges, Hart is supposedly an anti-hero, but his misdeeds are mostly mentioned in passing, or presented with some kind of mitigation. His heroism on the other hand is shown on-screen, or in the form of unsolicited praise from other characters. (The most cringe-inducing example of this occurs when he is told, "They may call you Black Deering, but, by God, you're white.") The film distinguishes itself from a generic western due to an intermittent grittiness and Hart's screen presence, but the characters are mainly archetypes, and have very little life beyond what the plot demands. We haven't really seen what I would consider a solid western as yet (unless you count The Wind) though that may just be due to our particular selection of films.
Next week we return to the main chronological through-line, and see our second film from 1929 -- Asphalt, directed by Joe May, and starring Gustav Fröhlich, whom we previously saw in 1927's Metropolis. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
The Toll Gate is the last film of our chronological detour before we return, next week, to 1929. It's our sixth film from 1920, and the second time we've seen William S. Hart in a starring role, after 1916's Hell's Hinges. We've also previously seen Anna Q. Nilsson, the female lead, in 1915's Regeneration. Lambert Hillyer directed (and wrote) this film, as well as over a hundred more, mostly westerns, from the teens up through the late forties, and then moved on to television in the fifties.
Hart plays Black Deering, the leader of a group of bandits, who is betrayed by a member of his gang after deciding to go straight. While on the run, he comes upon Nilsson, who lives alone with her insufferably adorable son. As in Hell's Hinges, Hart is supposedly an anti-hero, but his misdeeds are mostly mentioned in passing, or presented with some kind of mitigation. His heroism on the other hand is shown on-screen, or in the form of unsolicited praise from other characters. (The most cringe-inducing example of this occurs when he is told, "They may call you Black Deering, but, by God, you're white.") The film distinguishes itself from a generic western due to an intermittent grittiness and Hart's screen presence, but the characters are mainly archetypes, and have very little life beyond what the plot demands. We haven't really seen what I would consider a solid western as yet (unless you count The Wind) though that may just be due to our particular selection of films.
Next week we return to the main chronological through-line, and see our second film from 1929 -- Asphalt, directed by Joe May, and starring Gustav Fröhlich, whom we previously saw in 1927's Metropolis. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Maciste in Hell (1925)
Originally posted to Facebook on 11/1/2018
Maciste in Hell is the second of a three film detour that we are taking before picking up the timeline again in 1929. It was made in 1925, our eighth feature from that year, and was part of a series featuring the title character Maciste, who had been a secondary character in 1914's Cabiria. Maciste was played by Bartolomeo Pagano, both in this film and in Cabiria, as well as in 25 other Maciste films in the silent era. (The series was later rebooted in the 1960s as well.) This was one of the last of the original run, and its director, Guido Brignone, directed the final four.
Cabiria was a sprawling, innovative art film, and it seems odd that it would have launched, if this film is at all representative, a series of essentially light-hearted adventure films. It is not entirely clear to me in what time period this film is supposed to take place -- but probably some time prior to the modern era. Maciste lives in a rural village, where he is targeted by demons who appear in human form, and try, a la Faust, to tempt him -- though unsuccessfully. Maciste takes this in stride, and after tending to some not-terribly-related local issues involving his cousin, he eventually winds up trapped in hell, battling to find his way out. The special effects in hell are perhaps not quite state-of-the-art, but they are extensive -- and likely would have been more impressive had we seen it on a better print. They certainly underline that this was the Italian equivalent of a major studio film.
The internal logic of hell seems a bit incoherent though. Pluto appears to effectively be the ruler, but the demons Nimrod and Minos both wear crowns, and Maciste encounters an animalistic Lucifer as well -- who presumably fits into the org chart somewhere. The characterizations in the film are unusually thin, even for what is essentially a comic-book movie. Maciste is inhumanly strong, and good-hearted, and not overly thoughtful; everyone else is good or bad as the plot dictates.
Next week we see 1920's The Toll Gate, our second film starring William S. Hart. Then we return to 1929 and finish out the decade. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Maciste in Hell is the second of a three film detour that we are taking before picking up the timeline again in 1929. It was made in 1925, our eighth feature from that year, and was part of a series featuring the title character Maciste, who had been a secondary character in 1914's Cabiria. Maciste was played by Bartolomeo Pagano, both in this film and in Cabiria, as well as in 25 other Maciste films in the silent era. (The series was later rebooted in the 1960s as well.) This was one of the last of the original run, and its director, Guido Brignone, directed the final four.
Cabiria was a sprawling, innovative art film, and it seems odd that it would have launched, if this film is at all representative, a series of essentially light-hearted adventure films. It is not entirely clear to me in what time period this film is supposed to take place -- but probably some time prior to the modern era. Maciste lives in a rural village, where he is targeted by demons who appear in human form, and try, a la Faust, to tempt him -- though unsuccessfully. Maciste takes this in stride, and after tending to some not-terribly-related local issues involving his cousin, he eventually winds up trapped in hell, battling to find his way out. The special effects in hell are perhaps not quite state-of-the-art, but they are extensive -- and likely would have been more impressive had we seen it on a better print. They certainly underline that this was the Italian equivalent of a major studio film.
The internal logic of hell seems a bit incoherent though. Pluto appears to effectively be the ruler, but the demons Nimrod and Minos both wear crowns, and Maciste encounters an animalistic Lucifer as well -- who presumably fits into the org chart somewhere. The characterizations in the film are unusually thin, even for what is essentially a comic-book movie. Maciste is inhumanly strong, and good-hearted, and not overly thoughtful; everyone else is good or bad as the plot dictates.
Next week we see 1920's The Toll Gate, our second film starring William S. Hart. Then we return to 1929 and finish out the decade. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Michael (1924)
Originally posted to Facebook on 10/28/2018
Michael was a return to 1924 for us, our sixth film from that year. It stars Walter Slezak, Nora Gregor, and Benjamin Christensen, and is directed by Carl Theodor Dreyer, who also directed 1928's The Passion of Joan of Arc. Interestingly it was co-written by Thea von Harbou, who is most famous for co-writing numerous films with her then-husband Fritz Lang, many of which we've seen earlier in this project.
This movie's plot concerns a love triangle between the three leads -- Christensen playing a much-older famous artist, who treats Slezak as his muse -- with Slezak eventually moving on to a Countess played by Gregor. This film is notable for being a very early example of a film centered on a gay relationship, though it is ambiguous on that point until well into the film. Slezak looks quite different than he did as a character actor in Hollywood decades later, and is well cast as the handsome but callow center of the love triangle. The triangle plays out rather straight-forwardly, with Christensen fully emotionally invested in Slezak, and Slezak doing as he pleases. There is another love triangle as well -- in a subplot that is extraneous to the main plot, but thematically linked. The film is a bit slow-moving, and Dreyer is clearly trying to capture a certain kind of intensity of emotion -- though in a less extreme manner than in Joan of Arc.
The movie is most closely aligned with Christensen, with Slezak receiving a much less in-depth characterization, and Gregor's part even more cursory. Christensen's forbearance is martyr-like to an almost comical Giving-Tree-like extreme. In the end I think the movie finds Christensen's behavior admirable, casting it as some kind of high-minded true love, which is in keeping with the romanticism for which the film is so evidently aiming. Still, I think there might have been room for a slightly larger tinge of cynicism even within that approach.
Next week we continue our revisiting of a few earlier films before moving on to 1929, watching 1925's Maciste in Hell, which stars one of the secondary characters from 1914's Cabiria. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
Michael was a return to 1924 for us, our sixth film from that year. It stars Walter Slezak, Nora Gregor, and Benjamin Christensen, and is directed by Carl Theodor Dreyer, who also directed 1928's The Passion of Joan of Arc. Interestingly it was co-written by Thea von Harbou, who is most famous for co-writing numerous films with her then-husband Fritz Lang, many of which we've seen earlier in this project.
This movie's plot concerns a love triangle between the three leads -- Christensen playing a much-older famous artist, who treats Slezak as his muse -- with Slezak eventually moving on to a Countess played by Gregor. This film is notable for being a very early example of a film centered on a gay relationship, though it is ambiguous on that point until well into the film. Slezak looks quite different than he did as a character actor in Hollywood decades later, and is well cast as the handsome but callow center of the love triangle. The triangle plays out rather straight-forwardly, with Christensen fully emotionally invested in Slezak, and Slezak doing as he pleases. There is another love triangle as well -- in a subplot that is extraneous to the main plot, but thematically linked. The film is a bit slow-moving, and Dreyer is clearly trying to capture a certain kind of intensity of emotion -- though in a less extreme manner than in Joan of Arc.
The movie is most closely aligned with Christensen, with Slezak receiving a much less in-depth characterization, and Gregor's part even more cursory. Christensen's forbearance is martyr-like to an almost comical Giving-Tree-like extreme. In the end I think the movie finds Christensen's behavior admirable, casting it as some kind of high-minded true love, which is in keeping with the romanticism for which the film is so evidently aiming. Still, I think there might have been room for a slightly larger tinge of cynicism even within that approach.
Next week we continue our revisiting of a few earlier films before moving on to 1929, watching 1925's Maciste in Hell, which stars one of the secondary characters from 1914's Cabiria. The list, as always, is here: https://bit.ly/2lZtfmT
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