Sparrows

'Sparrows', the silent Mary Pickford-produced masterpiece, features certainly one of cinema’s most despicable villains with a concept even more frightening than the most grotesque from the horror films of today. It's the story of a baby farm run by a diabolical landowner, Mr. Grimes, who steals babies and interns them on his ranch for ransom, sale or anything else he desires. As one of the most celebrated Pickford films, it was a controversial talking piece in the day, a Gothic nightmare of monumental proportions, but also a riveting and inspirational adventure film featuring one of cinema's greatest escape sequences at the end.

Sparrows (1926) dir. William Beaudine
Starring: Mary Pickford, Gustav von Seyffertitz, Charlotte Mineau, Roy Stewart, 'Spec' O'Donnell

By Alan Bacchus

In the middle of a remote and treacherous bayou swamp lives Mr. Grimes (von Seyffertitz), a hunchbacked devil of a man. And judging by his sickly visage and ominous presence, he’s like Fagan meets Nosferatu. Huddled in the barn are a group of seven children who have been kidnapped by Grimes and his wife. The eldest is Molly (Pickford), who tends to the children like Mother Teresa, both sheltering them from the evil Grimes as well as educating them in the eventuality that they may escape or be rescued.

Early on, Grimes receives a doll intended to be given to one of the children, but in the most diabolical fashion he throws the gift into a mud sink hole and gloriously watches it slowly get sucked into the earth – a chilling visual metaphor for the danger these children face. When Grimes breaks into the mansion of one of the local plantation owners and steals their two-year-old daughter it sets in motion his demise and the escape of Molly and the children.

Perhaps what is most chilling is the fact that the film never really tells us why the children are there. Most of them are certainly too young to work on the land. Thus the nebulous purpose of this prison renders the mood and threat even more bone-chilling.

The film is not shy to characterize Molly like the Virgin Mary, a near-deified protector of the children. Her education of them includes quoting scripture and referencing God who watches over them. The most emotionally stunning sequence is the celebrated Jesus scene in which Molly, while nursing a starving baby, imagines Jesus himself entering through the barn to take the child away from her, only to wake up and find the baby dead in her arms. I can think of fewer moments in cinema as powerful and moving as this scene.

The finale is equally stunning, a riveting escape/chase sequence out of the compound and through the treacherous swamp. As Molly and the children climb across branches above the snapping jaws of snarling alligators and avoiding the trappings of the mud sinkholes, it’s one moment of tense jeopardy after another rendered all the more dangerous because of the children’s lives at stake.

If anything, the film pushes the chase one scene too long. After escaping the swamp and after Grimes is sucked into it, it turns into a boat chase between Grimes’ accomplices and the police. But it’s all in aid of the feeling of spectacle, as led by Pickford herself, who championed the film and served as its producer.

So look past the usual Halloween fare and seek out Mary Pickford’s Sparrows for a jolt of spine-tingling Gothic horror from the silent era.

****

Sparrows will soon be available on sparkling Blu-ray in the Milestone Films’ Rags to Riches: Mary Pickford Collection. It includes three Pickford films - Sparrows (1926), The Poor Little Rich Girl (1917) and Hoodlum (1919) - as well as invaluable audio commentaries, Pickford home movies and short film accompaniments, which add value to the reverent package.

Lonesome

What a magnificent Criterion discovery, a long since forgotten (at least in mainstream cinephilia) silent masterpiece comparable to the revered 'Sunrise' or 'Man with a Movie Camera'. A whirling dervish of a film, under the direction of eccentric cinema Renaissance man Paul Fejos combining an extreme mobile camera with innovative sound and colour technique at this unique juncture of cinema technology.

Lonesome (1929) dir. Paul Fejos
Starring: Barbara Kent, Glenn Tryon

By Alan Bacchus

It’s the 4th of July in New York and Fejos magnificently captures the vivaciousness of the city back in the roaring '20s through the eyes of two singles, a man and a woman, who through serendipity and happenstance find, lose and find each other again on this one rambunctious day in the city.

To begin, Fejos intercuts the routine actions of a man, Jim (Tyron), and a woman, Mary (Kent), both lonely single cogs in the wheel of the rat race of American industry. Jim is a factory worker and Mary is a telephone operator. Fejos choreographs their actions through montage, thus foreshadowing their eventual meeting. On a whim they both decide to go to the beach at Coney Island. Of course they meet and proceed to spend the day together drinking in the spectacle of the midway, the water and the throngs of people, all the while falling in love.

But when a storm hits sending the crowd under cover, the raging mob separates the pair. As in the beginning, Fejos intercuts the frantic search by each of them in the hopes of finding the other and rekindling their romance.

One of the delights of the silent film era has always been the emphasis on the visual, and in this case the inventiveness of the camera as an expressionistic storytelling device. This was also 1928 and the end of the silent era, a period when some of the most dynamic and stylish films were being made. Comparisons to the effect of the camera movement in Murnau’s Sunrise are appropriate. From the subtle but wholly modern motion of the camera following the day-to-day mundane activities of Jim and Mary in the opening moments to the complex gymnastics manoeuvres in the Coney Island sequences, it’s a phantasm of visual splendor from start to finish. Fejos even places his camera on a rollercoaster, which makes for a truly awesome action sequence.

Fejos' experimentation with colour tinting portends to have the effect of a 3D enhancement or those set piece Imax sequences in The Dark Knight. The ferry wheel sequence, for instance, is particularly astonishing with pulsing lights like the vibrant neon hues from Blade Runner.

The entire film has its own soundtrack of music and effects, but Fejos shoots two dialogue scenes with sync sound. The effect here is most distracting, especially the squeaky voice cadence of the actors. But who cares? The marvel of the picture is its ambition, from an independent filmmaker on the fringe of the studio system, much like the positions of today’s ambitious independents such as James Cameron and George Lucas.

****

Lonesome is available on Blu-ray from The Criterion Collection. Also included are two other equally ambitious features from Fejos - 1929’s 'The Performance' and a 1929 sound musical 'Broadway'.

The Gold Rush

The second of Chaplin’s feature films (after 1921’s 'The Kid') loses nothing over time, easily gliding past all technical innovations (sound, colour, widescreen, 3D). And with Chaplin’s natural gifts as a filmmaker and performer, he crafts a hilarious adventure epic with heartbreaking emotional sentimentality.

The Gold Rush (1925) dir. Charles Chaplin
Starring: Charles Chaplin, Mack Swain, Tom Murray, Georgia Hale

By Alan Bacchus

In this adventure the Tramp finds himself traversing the Rocky Mountains to join the throngs of treasure seekers during the Klondike Gold Rush. The first set piece occurs when the Tramp seeks shelter from a storm in a small shack along with a fellow prospector and a wanted fugitive. The physical hijinks include the famous storm sequence, which has the Tramp being blown throughout the cabin. The sequence ends with the fugitive killed and the prospector knocked unconscious without any memory of the location of his gold cache.

The next stop on Chaplin’s journey is the prospecting town, where he has given up prospecting and instead tries to find any kind of work. His next gig has him house sitting a cabin, where he falls in love with a local comely gal. The miscommunication of affection between the two is agonizing for us. At one point the Tramp gets a date with the gal on New Year's Eve, but he gets stood up when she attends a local dance instead. The result is earth-shatteringly emotional and heartbreaking.

As perfect and effective as his performance is, Chaplin the director tantalizes us with some bravura cinematic sequences and stunning visual compositions. The Tramp’s entrance into the dance hall for instance, looking at the hundreds of frolicking youth dancing in the barn, is stunningly composed with Chaplin in the centre framed underneath the support beams of the building (see still above).

The dancing sequence features some of Chaplin’s best physical comedy, which can overshadow his directorial skills in choreographing scenes of a massive scale, specifically the final tilting house sequence that shows Chaplin’s panache with spectacle and grandeur.

Three of the most famous scenes in all of cinema include; the dancing of the buns, wherein Chaplin entertains his female guests by sticking his two forks in pieces of bread and dancing a jig to entertain them; Tramp serving and eating his boots for dinner; and the rambunctious frozen Tramp sequence, which has the fugitive throwing a frozen solid Tramp around the room like a pole.

But it’s Chaplin's innate precision with his emotions that makes him a genius. His remarkable simplicity of movement and performance, moving us from extremes of laughter to heartbreaking pity and lasering in on his own core emotions, is a gift only a handful of filmmakers could ever match.

****

The Gold Rush is available on Blu-ray from The Criterion Collection.

Wings

Wings (1927) dir. William Wellman
Starring: Clara Bow, Charles "Buddy" Rogers, Richard Arlen and Gary Cooper

****

By Alan Bacchus

Renowned for being the first ever ‘Best Picture’ Oscar winner at the Academy’s inaugural awards ceremony in 1928, this film gets its Blu-ray debut 85 years later. Perhaps it’s timed with the success and acclaim of The Artist and, alas, the release of Red Tails (sad, but true). Wings, however, deserves much more than the minor historical significance of its Oscar win, as it’s one of the greatest film spectacles of all time and one of the greatest war films ever made.

Jack Powell (Rogers) and David Armstrong (Arlen) are chums from a small town, friends but also rivals, who compete for the same local hottie, Sylie. While Jack is ogling Sylie he fails to acknowledge the affections of his neighbour, Mary (Clara Bow!). Once word arrives of America’s involvement in the War (WWI), like all boys their age Jack and David quickly sign up, leaving both gals at home. The boys join the Air Service as pilots, trained in dog fighting against the German Air Service and the likes of the Red Baron.

The film takes us through some of the traditional stages of war combat, including basic training, the fun experiences during R&R and, of course, hardcore wartime combat.

As produced by Lucien Hubbard with a $2 million budget (then, ENORMOUS), every aspect of the production is huge. As for the combat, Wings is untouchable for its awesome aerial sequences. Through some great hustling by Hubbard and the Paramount execs the production received full cooperation from the US military, including use of their air force base, planes, men and weapons. The result is some of the most authentic, exciting, visceral and visually spectacular war action scenes we’ve ever seen on film.

In the air, cameras capture the actual actors in real bi-planes. With no rear projection, green screen or CGI, Wings spares no expense for realism, and the effect is more effective than anything of its equivalent produced today.

On the ground, Hope Loring and Louis D. Lighton’s script anchors the film in a melodramatic, but no less tragic and triumphant, human story. The two friends are torn apart by their love of the same girl and by Mary’s desperate plea for attention from Jack. The final act is almost Shakespearean in its tragedy. After the monumentally epic Battle of St. Michel, David is shot down behind enemy lines and presumed dead. But when he escapes and commandeers a German plane he comes face to face in the air with his best friend, who, in the most tragic of ironies, is hell bent on avenging David’s death. The final moments between the two friends are truly heartbreaking and bordering on homo-erotic (but I won’t go there).

Other than the Oscar, Wings is notable for its influence on George Lucas in cutting Star Wars, not only in the choreography of the Millennium Falcon-Tie Fighter battle, but actually using footage from Wings as temp cuts before his special effects were finished. And I doubt any filmmaker making a war film about aerial combat hasn’t referenced Wings or used the film as a yardstick.

The new Paramount Blu-ray special edition is a decent package, featuring two soundtracks, a completely new track with new music, and sound effects created by Ben Burtt, as well as a traditional organ music track one would have heard back in the day. Either version is fine and doesn’t significantly alter the superlative experience of the film.

TIFF 2011 - The Artist

The Artist (2011) dir. Michel Hazanavicius
Starring: Jean Dujardin, Bérénice Bejo, Malcolm MacDowell, John Goodman and James Cromwell, Penelope Ann Miller

****

By Alan Bacchus

What a remarkably entertaining film. French director Michel Hazanavicius's love letter to the silent film era has the potential to be the movie event of the year. It’s a remarkably poignant, humorous and thoroughly entertaining black and white silent film presented in the style, tone and form of this era in Hollywood.

Like studio classics of yesteryear, such as All About Eve and A Star is Born, The Artist chronicles an epic journey of a Hollywood actor from the highs of stardom to the lows of obsolescence and back up again in miraculous fashion. Jean Dujardin plays George Valentin, a silent film star who is obsessed with his own celebrity. After the premiere of his latest swashbuckler starring himself and his frequent sidekick, his dog, he's on top of the world. He lives in a lavish mansion decorated which shameless portraits of himself and all other forms of self-congratulations. His marriage falls apart when he's caught in a photo being kissed by a fan, the coverage of which puts the young gal, Peppy Miller, in demand as well. Peppy's background extra parts in films slowly turn into bit player parts, then back-up dancer parts, then co-star roles until eventually she becomes lead actress.

Stardom arrives for her in 1929 with talking pictures, a time when many actors like Valentin suddenly were out of demand, unable to transition into the sound era. As Valentin hits rock bottom, Peppy's star hits its height. Despite the cavernous distance between their career paths, the spark of love remains, the blossoming of which might just help Valentin get back on his feet.

Oh yeah, all of this is silent. That means no dialogue. There's a wonderful music track though, which guides us through the emotional ebbs and flows. But it's the phenomenally expressive performances that take us back in time and make us care about what happens, beyond our admiration for the technical audacity. Dujardin's resemblance to Gene Kelly is so remarkable that the film deservedly belongs to sit beside Singing in the Rain, which also used the switch to the new sound era to frame its story. His comic timing and physicality hit every comic and tragic beat for maximum dramatic impact. Dujardin is so good, he's practically Rudolf Valentino raised from the dead.

The Artist reminds us of Todd Haynes' experimentation with a Douglas Sirk-style melodrama played absolutely straight. This film works as well as Haynes', if not better. It's so well executed, it has a chance to open up lay audiences to how and why silent films were so popular and remain as entertaining as anything made today.

The Artist might just be the front-runner for the audience award here at TIFF and perhaps film of the year. Oscar might even be calling.

People on Sunday

People on Sunday (1930) dir. Robert Siodmak
Starring: Erwin Splettstößer, Brigitte Borchert, Wolfgang von Waltershausen, Christl Ehlers, Annie Schreyer

****

By Alan Bacchus

What a pedigree of talent behind this remarkable landmark in experimental independent cinema. It’s a silent German film at the end of the famed ‘Weimar period’ of German cinema, directed by future ex-pats Robert Siodmak and his brother Curt, and co-written by Billy Wilder. The film was produced by Edgar Ulmer, who was the set designer for Metropolis and M and himself a future Hollywood emigrant. Look closely and you’ll find the great Fred Zinneman (High Noon, From Here to Eternity) as cameraman. All of these guys were hopeful filmmakers in the ‘20s, unable to break into the German film industry themselves and thus, like any young emerging filmmaker today, they were forced to make it on their own with guile.

The result is a film that meets the mark we’d expect from such young and talented collaborators, a freeform kind of neo-realism combining non-actors in an unsecured real-world setting with only a semblance of a narrative script. And it's intoxicating.

The vague title is an indication of the unrestrictive nature of the story at play. A taxi driver, a model, a film extra and a wine dealer, all young Berliners who float about the city as strangers, eventually meet up for a relaxing double date involving a paddleboat on the river on a Sunday afternoon.

The sexual tension between the four of them is palpable. Edwin, the taxi driver, for example, is engaged to Annie who spends her days moping around the house. On the day of their date he finds her sleeping on the bed, but he leaves anyway to meet up with Wolfgang. Together they pick up Christl and Brigitte for said 'double date'. Siodmak and his colleagues never pass judgement on Edwin for possibly cheating on his girlfriend. A carefree 'swinging' attitude is something we’d see in New Wave film or British kitchen sink dramas of the ‘60s.

The sexual liberties can also be seen in a number of suggestive metaphors with creative editing. At one point Wolfgang chases after Brigit, where they make out on the grass. The next scene begins with a shot of a nude mannequin implying they just had casual sex. Wolfgang, in fact, freely flirts with both women in an astute and playful battle of sexes.

Zinneman’s camera is always in a state of flux, capturing the flavour of the city with the same laconic style as the characters in the film. Siodmak’s placement of the 'actors' in real locations with unrehearsed real background crowds lends a remarkable production value to this very small film. And look out for the sharpness of the editing (which is not credited). The brisk pace from the variety of camera angles feels thoroughly modern, arguably taking some strong influence from the famed Soviet editing techniques. In fact, in the Criterion Collection liner notes, Dsiga Vertov’s Man With a Movie Camera and the Eisenstein films seem to be the filmmakers’ prime influence.

Part of the joy of the film is the contention between all these great filmmakers about who the true author of the picture is. Robert Siodmak denies Wilder had any involvement at all, and Ulmer (the credited producer) worked just a handful of days on the film. In his older age Billy Wilder would once tell Cameron Crowe that ‘they all directed it.’ Much of these speculations are storied in the fine documentary produced in 2000, as well as the comprehensive liner notes included on the Blu-ray disc.

As usual, Criterion outdoes itself by introducing the cinema world at large to a rare gem featuring some of the greatest filmmakers – young, ambitious, carefree and passionate artists looking to make their mark in the great medium of film.

People on Sunday is available on Blu-ray from The Criterion Collection.

Passion of Joan of Arc

Passion of Joan of Arc (1928) dir. Carl Dreyer
Starring: Maria Falconetti, Eugène Silvain, André Berley, Maurice Schutz

****

By Alan Bacchus

The legend and mystique around Dreyer’s landmark film certainly helps its appreciation – the original version of the silent masterpiece was appeared to have been lost after a number of fires destroyed what was thought was the only remaining complete film elements. But when a near complete version was found in a janitor's closet of an Oslo mental institution in 1981, along with an exhaustive restoration, ‘The Passion of Joan of Arc’ was rediscovered.

My moderately articulate words cannot possibly describe how great this film is. We all know the story of Joan of Arc, the teenaged French peasant who heard the voice of God command her to join the French army and lead her into victory for the nation. Dreyer’s film picks up the story when she was captured by English, imprisoned, tried and eventually executed.

Dreyer distills the production down to its bare essential elements, a few unadorned interior sets – the courtroom, Saint Joan’s prison cell, and other rooms in the prison. The walls are white with little in the way of art decoration or props - just the powerful words of the judge, jury and executioners and the expressive face of Joan, played by Maria Falconetti (sometimes referred to as Renée).

The story of Ms. Falconetti is even more legendary than the recovered film print. As lead actress it was her one and only performance, which emphasizes the astonishing artistic achievement. A performance which stands alongside Max Schreck as one of the great ‘one and only’ film acting roles in cinema history.

Dreyer almost exclusively frames Falconetti in a close-up, rarely placing her in a two shot with other actors and rarely anything wider than below her shoulders. Within these constraints, Falconetti expresses the anguish, fear, courage of the heroine with amazing intensity – arguably greatest ever female performance put to film. Rumour has it that Dreyer’s direction of Falconetti was so emotionally draining it pushed her into emotional collapse, thus she never acted again.

Even if Falconetti’s performance were merely adequate, the film is a masterpiece based on Dreyer’s stunning stylistic visual treatment and camerawork. Dreyer’s distinct compositions are simply astounding. The minimized aesthetic allows Dreyer to create a fresh visual dynamic by experimenting with creative and unorthodox framing. At Joan’s lonelinest moments watch Dreyer frame her awkwardly in the bottom half of the picture engulfed by the negative space above, and at her most powerful with her eyes framed at the top of the screen with the rest of her face and head dominating the lower half.

No shot is wasted, everything has a purpose. His stark white colour scheme and his reliance on close-ups emphasizes the duel of wills between Joan and her captors. The way he moves his camera feels thoroughly modern as well. The camera rarely sits still constantly roving throughout the courtroom, panning and tilting around the frame to guide the viewers’ attention and pushing into the English characters’ faces to boldly emphasize their intimidating strength. Dreyer exclusively holds on Falconetti’s close-up, repeatedly with same frame size subliminally conveying her resolute faith in God.

Dreyer’s makes up visually what he loses in his minimalist mise-en-scene with a sharp editing style, which resembles how filmmakers cut their films today. Multiple close-ups from different angles and multiple reaction shots which control the pacing of the scene. In fact, if I didn’t know about the film it could pass for one of those modern films shot in the style of old silent pictures – like the Lumiere Bros’ omnibus film or the opening sequence of PTA’s “Magnolia”.

It’s obvious “Passion of Joan of Arc” works well as a metaphor for the Christian crucifixion. And anyone who's seen both this and Mel Gibson’s "Passion of the Christ", will see the heavy influence of one on the other, with Gibson paying direct homage by borrowing the 'Passion' from the title.

Dreyer lasting message is more secular than Gibson's. If you ever felt doubt in yourself, or loneliness or questioned your faith in something you believe in, “Passion of Joan of Arc” is as good a remedy as any confession.

CITY GIRL

City Girl (1930) dir. F.W. Murnau
Starring: Charles Farrell, Mary Duncan, David Torrence, Edith Yorke

***1/2

By 1930 ‘the sound era’ was well underway. F. W. Murnau ("Sunrise"), the German emigrant, was still working in the medium. One of his greatest films was made in the sound era – “City Girl”. Technically “City Girl” was a ‘talkie’ as well. Murnau filmed two versions, but unfortunately only the silent version remains. Murnau was a master at silent film and so, it’s difficult to imagine “City Girl” being improved with sound.

It’s a simple story. Charles Farell plays Lem, a rural farm kid is sent to the big city of Chicago to sell the family crop. He’s been given specific instructions by Pa to sell it for $15 a bushel, else they won’t be able to survive for the year. Once in the market he sees the price of wheat start to drop sharply and he sells it for $13.

Meanwhile, when he’s not playing the market he goes to lunch at a local diner, where he catches the eye of a beautiful young waitress Kate (Mary Duncan). They fall in love and before Lem leaves he asks for her hand in marriage. Together they move back to the farm. The honeymoon is short lived as soon as Lem’s crotchety old father takes an instant disliking to Kate. Lem doesn’t stand up for his wife, which causes their relationship to falter just as quickly as it grew.

The structure provides the audience with two unique film experiences. The Chicago scenes show Lem as the outsider to the fast-paced Big City world – a world so unforgiving and high pressure it causes Lem to sell his crop short. The second half takes place entirely at the farm, where Kate is out of place. Like “Sunrise” the splintered film comments on the differences between city and country.

In “Sunrise”, Murnau's mobile camera provided a fluid, dream-like point of view into these worlds, in "City Girl" Murnau’s photography of both environments are tableau Whistler-esque portrait-style framing. Though not as flashy, Murnau still frames some stunning imagery.

The remastered DVD from 20th Century Fox, included in their new Murnau/Borzage/Fox box set is stunning to look at. Ernest Palmer’s B&W is so crisp it's indiscernible from B&W imagery shot decades later.

Watching “City Girl” it’s hard to remember this is the same director of German expressionist classics like “Nosferatu” and “Faust.” Sadly it was the last film from this great filmmaker. Murnau died a year later in a tragic car accident. Enjoy.

“City Girl” is available in a special Box Set from 20th Century Fox Home Entertainment.

BATTLESHIP POTEMKIN

Battleship Potemkin (1925) dir. Sergei Eisenstein
Starring: Aleksandr Antonov, Vladimir Barsky, Grigori Aleksandrov, Prokopenko

****

Guest Review By Greg Klymkiw

I feel sorry for Leni Riefenstahl – that dazzling filmmaking genius who directed “Triumph of the Will” – a film that continues to send shivers down one’s spine with its staggering artistic virtuosity and the creepy realization of what its intent actually was. Frau Riefenstahl was and still is hated for making a film that extolled the values of a butcher (Hitler) and a regime of utter evil (Nazism). That Riefenstahl made “Triumph of the Will” is undeniable. That, in its thrilling depiction of the Nuremburg rally, it played a considerable role in convincing the German people to march behind Adolph Hitler is also undeniable. However, that it is also a stunning, groundbreaking piece of cinema is also undeniable.

Why then, is Riefenstahl’s Soviet brother in crime Sergei Eisenstein not equally reviled? He too extolled the virtues of a butcher (Joseph Stalin) and an evil regime (communism), he too was good at pretending he was unaware of his complicity in a regime of evil and most notably, he too was a genius that produced a stunning, groundbreaking piece of cinema – the great “Battleship Potemkin”.

Riefenstahl and Eisenstein walk as one, yet one is hated, the other is not.

“The Triumph of the Will” and “Olympia” are reviled, yet “Battleship Potemkin” and “Alexander Nevsky” are not.

What gives?

Is one form of propaganda any worse than another?

Are the goals of Rambo (presented, within its own context as artfully, yet as ham-fistedly by Sylvester Stallone) any different from the goals of Riefenstahl and Eisenstein?

At the end of the day, the answer must clearly be – NO!

These thoughts occurred to me as I noodled over the notion of reviewing “Battleship Potemkin” (restored and recently released by Kino in a dazzling two-disc DVD special edition) and I wondered if it was possible to review such a milestone of cinema and still find something new and/or interesting to say?

Probably not, was my initial thought.

However, it is certainly not without merit to look at “Battleship Potemkin” from the perspective of what it ultimately is as a finished product – propaganda, pure and simple.

No mere entertainment (though chock-full of considerable entertainment value), Sergei Eisenstein’s “Battleship Potemkin” exploded upon the world of cinema in 1925 with its stunning use of montage, so powerful a piece of pro-revolutionary propaganda that many countries banned it outright (for fear of inciting violence against the respective governments). Even Jolly Joe Stalin eventually pulled it from circulation in the Soviet Union, as he feared the film might incite violence against his own delightful regime of butchery.

Watching it now - outside the context of the world in the first quarter to the middle half of the twentieth century – it is safe to note that “Battleship Potemkin” won’t be inspiring any revolutions, riots or violence against despots.

(The only despots it might frighten are those who hold various financing purse strings in the motion picture industry – especially in countries where the motion picture product thrives almost solely with the assistance of government subsidization. I think about the potential of what might happen in Canada right now if a certain bill before the Senate passes which forces filmmakers to censor themselves lest they be censored by bureaucrats. Perhaps a mutiny of a similar kind will occur wherein David Cronenberg, Atom Egoyan, Guy Maddin and other proletarian stalwarts of Canadian cinema lead a march onto the steps of Parliament Hill in Ottawa. However, since this is Canada, they will not be gunned down, but gummed down by endless droning speeches coming from the flapping jaws of Canadian politicians and bureaucrats. But, I digress)

In other words, “Battleship Potemkin” still exudes the power to inspire, though much of that inspiration has (and continues to be) inspiration of another kind – namely, the inspiration that artists thrive on from the work of other artists to make their own work move forward in new and exciting ways.

“Battleship Potemkin” is nothing if not influential upon ALL cinema.

I always find it both interesting and amusing to note that young film students, upon seeing Eisenstein’s masterpiece for the first time, are shocked to see a silent movie “ripping off” Brian DePalma’s gangster epic “The Untouchables” - until a few of them figure out that it was “conceivably” the other way around. Almost needless to say, I’m referring to “Battleship Potemkin’s” rendering of the famous Odessa massacre sequence and the teetering baby carriage that eventually careens perilously down the steps of the famed Ukrainian seaport.

And this key set piece in the picture – the Odessa steps massacre – replete as it is with its staggering editing and evocative images is bracketed by the simplest of plots.

This, of course, comes as no surprise since it was the drama of politics that mattered most to Eisenstein. Plot was there to serve the political will – nothing more and nothing less. And not only is it obvious that Eisenstein didn’t much care about plot, but that he most certainly had no use for character. His job was to present a thrilling and exciting depiction of working class solidarity. He also wished to experiment with his own notions of film editing since he and many other Soviet filmmakers of the time were not only pioneers in the area of cinema, but were eggheads of the highest order – writing endless tomes of film theory that film students to this day must wade through. (Though in fairness, this early Soviet film theory actually made practical sense in contrast to the knot head academics that rule most academic studies of cinema these days. Cinema as a post-modernist and highly organic process of light and motion, anyone?) Eisenstein, at least with “Battleship Potemkin”, wanted to achieve maximum emotional impact from his cutting style and his goal was to rile up the audience to favour the mutinous actions of the proletariat.

Therefore, the simple plot, served for a lovely backbone to work this propagandistic magic.

In a nutshell, this then, is the “plot”:

The working class crew of the title vessel has just about had it with the poor conditions imposed upon them by the evil Czarist overlords. Rotting meat, floggings, hangings and an impending mass firing squad, inspire our grubby proletarians to mutiny. The good folk of Odessa happily get wind of this nose thumbing in the Czar’s general direction and they congregate by the pier to wish the seamen well. The noble Cossacks make a surprise appearance and slaughter the good folk on the majestic steps of Odessa. Nobody is spared. Old coots. Women. Children. All of them are rendered to bloodied heaps of meat under the blazing sun. The Czar, then sends a whole passel of warships to hightail after the Potemkin and just when we figure the grubby mutineering prolies are about to be blitzed, all the other grubby proles on all the other warships mutiny also and refuse to fight against their working class brethren.

Yee-fucking-haa! Commie-style, of course.

The above “plot” was also supposedly based upon fact and presented as such. That the massacre on the steps of the sunny seaside port of Odessa was a figment of Eisenstein’s imagination mattered little to the communist butchers who ruled the Soviet Union. All that mattered was the propagation of the lie of proletarian solidarity.

And so it should be.

That is the goal of propaganda (and entertainment, for that matter) – to lie. And if Eisenstein were Pinocchio when he made Battleship Potemkin, his proboscis would, no doubt be elongated to swaggeringly astounding proportions. (It has been whispered that one of Eisenstein’s other appendages would engorge to astounding proportions as well, so perhaps he was Pinocchio after all. But, I digress.)

It is also of interest to note that Josef Goebbels, Mr. Nazi Propaganda himself, was a great admirer of “Battleship Potemkin”. He wished such a film could be made for National Socialism and, he further opined, that such a film would prove to not only be a tremendous hit in Germany, but a most useful instrument in rallying the troops (so to speak). Eisenstein himself was appalled with this notion and attempted to distance himself from Goebbels’ adoration by issuing a letter of rebuff.

But of course, one can never extricate oneself from those who love or loathe one’s work and Eisenstein’s pathetic attempt at extrication certainly didn’t stop Goebbels and cannot even begin to deny the impact Eisenstein and specifically, his “Battleship Potemkin” had upon Nazism. Goebbels also admired Dziga Vertov and his “documentary” approach in such works as “Man with a Movie Camera”. Blend this “Kino eye” with social realism (plus dollops of Teutonic superiority, as it were) and you eventually get something resembling Leni Riefenstahl.

With this in mind, then, let us redress the injustice foisted upon Frau Leni Riefenstahl. Her spirit and spinning corpse need to rest. She was no better and certainly no worse than Sergei Eisenstein. (Or, for that matter, Sylvester Stallone.)

Eisenstein, like all great propagandists, was happy to wear extra-comfortable kneepads when supplicating his butchering leaders.

Nothing was sacred,

He needed to keep make films.

And for this, we should all be thankful.

With “Battleship Potemkin”, Eisenstein ultimately did what ALL filmmakers should do.

He put on one hell of a good show.

THE DRAGON PAINTER

The Dragon Painter (1919) dir. William Worthington
Starring: Sessue Hayakawa, Tsuru Aoki, Toyo Fujita

****

Guest Review by Greg Klymkiw

The Orient!

That exotic, magical and wondrous land that exudes mystery – always and forever replete with the oh-so tantalizing fruits of utter temptation that drive those of the Occidental persuasion to such dizzying pinnacles of obsession that they threaten to rival even the heights scaled by the imaginary progeny of a Sir Edmund Hillary and Blaze Starr coupling.

And no Land of the Orient can tickle the white-bread fancy of the Occident than that of … Nippon!

NIPPON!

O! LAND OF NIPPON!

O! LAND OF GREAT JAPAN!

LAND OF THE RISING SUN!

LAND OF THE SAMURAI!

The delights you have offered us and continue to offer us are bounteous indeed.

And none are so bounteous as the delights offered to moviegoers the world over when the late, great Sessue Hayakawa ruled the silver screens of silent Hollywood and gave men and women alike a glimpse into the glories of the mysterious East.

Most of us know Sessue Hayakawa as the Oscar-nominated actor who played the legendary Col. Saito in “Bridge On The River Kwai” - David Lean’s classic war epic that delved into the souls of Occident and Orient alike against the backdrop of a Japanese P.O.W. camp. However, in the early years of cinema, Mr. Hayakawa was one of the most sought-after leading men.

Discovered by pioneering producer Thomas Ince (himself the father of numerous standards of production employed to this very day), Hayakawa got his start and immediately demanded and received unheard-of salaries for that period. He eventually signed with Paramount Pictures and his starring role in Cecil B. DeMille’s “The Cheat” turned him into a $5000 per week leading player. During this time, he formed his own production company Haworth in order to generate productions not only for himself, but his wife Tsuru Aoki and a host of other Asian Americans. His goal was to create box-office hits and roles for Asians that challenged SOME (though certainly not all) the stereotypes common to Asian roles during this period. In this sense, Hayakawa was well ahead of his time – call it ‘Forty Acres and a Samurai’, if you will. (Eat your heart out, Spike!)

Hayakawa clung to the mystery and history of the Orient, but chose to present the characters in more heroic roles rather than the typical Occident view of Asians which was mysterious, cool, sexy, but ULTIMATELY – evil. If one were to equate this with the images of Native Americans on the Silver Screen, it’s probably safe to suggest that Hayakawa clung to the notion of the “noble savage” and recognized the inherent box-office appeal of this stereotype and its less harmful and offensive “qualities” (which, of course were replete in that of the just plain old evil “savage”).

“The Dragon Painter” definitely falls into the Asian equivalent of the “noble savage” stereotype. Audiences have always been drawn to the exotic, but especially so during the early years of motion pictures. This was, of course, a time when the world still felt young and exploration of uncharted lands and discovery of new cultures was at a fever pitch. Coupled with the new medium of cinema, audiences – especially those in the West – just couldn’t get enough of what was perceived to be different or exotic.

In “The Dragon Painter”, Hayakawa plays Tatsu, an artist living alone in the mountains. Perceived by those around him to be insane, he does nothing to give them another opinion since he obsessively paints only portraits of dragons. He is convinced that his beloved fiancée was stolen from him and turned into a dragon. Tatsu’s grief knows no bounds and he insanely continues his dragon paintings. But, crazy or not, Tatsu is clearly a gifted artist and when he is brought before a Master Painter, he’s given a chance to become even greater. It is here where Tatsu faces his ultimate challenge when he comes face to face with the woman he once loved (played by Hayakawa’s wife Tsuru Aoki). He is a happy man once again. Or is he? Grief had eventually become this artist’s muse and now that he is without grief, he stands to lose the gift of his supreme artistry.

“The Dragon Painter” is an utterly exquisite celluloid tapestry of art and love. It is replete with images that are staggeringly, heart-achingly beautiful and charged with a sense of longing and passion that has seldom been matched.

Hayakawa is, quite simply, remarkable. Completely avoiding the usual silent histrionics, he delivers an intense, sexy and, at times, agonizingly beautiful performance – thoroughly and utterly restrained. It’s not surprising to see why he was such a big star. He is, quite frankly, gorgeous. His flat, broad forehead, piercing eyes, aquiline nose, glorious cheekbones, full, supple lips and a profile to rival that of even the great John Barrymore himself, Hayakawa is without question, an Asian Valentino. Even the way he moves on screen has grace and precision. Perhaps this has something to do with his cultural roots in the Samurai tradition. As a teenager, Hayakawa even attempted seppuku and stabbed himself in the stomach close to forty times. Finally, whatever it was that contributed to his genius as an actor, matters less than what is before us on the silver screen – a star of the highest magnitude.

“The Dragon Painter” was, by the way, a lost film and only one print existed in France. It has been painstakingly restored for posterity and I sincerely believe my life, and certainly the lives of anyone who cares about cinema, have been made all the more full for having had a chance to see it.

This, of course, is where Milestone Films comes in since they have released this stunning work of art to DVD in a special edition that goes above and beyond the call of duty. Not only are we treated to a gorgeous transfer of restored/rescued elements, but also the DVD includes such delights as the odd short pairing of Hayakawa with Fatty Arbuckle and the feature length marvel entitled “The Wrath of the Gods”. The latter film not only stars Hayakawa and Aoki, but also features a very young Frank Borzage (immortal director of “Three Comrades”, “A Farewell to Arms” and many others) as a sailor who becomes entranced with a young Asian woman who has been cursed by Buddha. “The Wrath of the Gods” (written and produced by the great and aforementioned Thomas Ince) not only features some really tremendous storm footage and effects, but also makes for equally compelling viewing.

There are lots of great companies out there who unearth some real finds, but Milestone is clearly a company that is devoted to digging very deep for product that not only deserves exposure, but also damn well DEMANDS it.

“The Dragon Painter” is surely a film that demands to be watched by all true cineastes and has found a home thanks to Milestone.

The Gods of Nippon are smiling.

SUNRISE

Sunrise (1927) dir. F.W. Murnau
Starring George O’Brien and Janet Gaynor

****

“Sunrise” is essential viewing in understanding the history of cinema. It was made at a unique time, just before the sound era, (the first 'talkie' “The Jazz Singer" was also released that same year) when cameras were about to be locked down and put in sound proof containers, so on-location sync sound could be accurately recorded. The result was almost a depression in the technique of cinema, with “Sunrise” one the last great silent films.

The subtitle for the film is ‘A Tale of Two Humans’ and essentially it’s about a remarkable day in the life of a young couple, whose names are conspicuously not given. Played by George O’Brien and Janet Gaynor, they are billed as "the Man” and “the Woman”, which is Murnau’s attempt to make the story mythic and archetypal. The story is indeed simple. We meet our couple living in a small rural community leading a simple farmer’s life. They are newly married and blissfully in love. But when a dark-haired city girl comes to the community for a vacation the man discovers temptation for the first time. The woman from the city attempts to steal the man from his wife, and nefariously suggests he drown her in the sea and make it look like an accident. The man accepts the plan and comes close to going through with it, but at the last minute convalesces and repents to his wife.

The film then moves to the city as the man and woman play out the rest of their day in the large metropolis. They are both new to the city and so they are fantasized by the attractions, lights, cars and hustle and bustle. Director F.W. Murnau was a pioneer of cinema who had created landmark films such as ‘Nosferatu” and “Faust” and “Sunrise” would be his Hollywood debut. The portrayal of the city life is told with kaleidoscopic dazzle, typical of Murnau’s work. Cinematographer Charles Roscher and Karl Strauss’ camera technique is a co-star and is the main reason to watch the film. For the first time we see the camera to move and prowl like we see and take for granted today. But because the movement of the camera back then was used only when necessary it had a much greater impact. The most famous shot frequently shown in film classes is the couple’s first arrival to the city. They get off their tram and walk across the street through traffic. The shot glides behind them over rail tracks and in between cars, in what appears to be a steadycam shot of today.

Murnau uses some striking superimpositions as well; particularly the scene in which the man’s subconscious is taken over by his thoughts for the woman from the city. Sitting on his bed, we see a ghost-like image of the other woman embracing him from behind.

Even taken out of context of the times it’s very effective storytelling and highly watchable today. Often the melodrama and over-emotive dramatics of silent film don’t translate well today, but the simplicity and tightness of the story, make it work. Enjoy.

Buy it here: Sunrise

This is the only footage online I could find, it’s 10mins, but it will give you a taste of the film: