Long Pants.

Review #2542: Long Pants.

Cast: 

Harry Langdon (Harry Shelby), Gladys Brockwell (His Mother), Alan Roscoe (His Father), Priscilla Bonner (Priscilla, His Bride), Alma Bennett (Bebe Blair, His Downfall), Betty Francisco (His Finish), and Glenn Tryon (Glenn Tryon) Directed by Frank Capra (#102 - Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, #319 - It's a Wonderful Life, #456 - It Happened One Night, #1356 - Meet John Doe, #2036 - The Strong Man)

Review: 

Sure, why not? You might remember that Harry Langdon had made his way to feature films with the release of 1926's Tramp, Tramp, Tramp (1926) and The Strong Man, which saw him directed by Harry Edwards and Frank Capra, respectively. Langdon served as producer on this film for First National Pictures, with Robert Eddy and Tay Garnett being credited as writers while Arthur Ripley came up with the story. Capra related briefly about the making of the film in his autobiography, noting that the publicity that came with the success of The Strong Man eventually bubbled over into making Langdon develop a considerable ego; he was quoted as stating that Langdon's screams for more pathos was misguided because the pathos "is in your comedy" rather than trying for pathos, while Langdon derisively called Capra a director he made out of a "two-bit gag man". Langdon booted Capra right as the film was about to finish (after getting into an argument over daring to need the lead actor's hands for an insert shot). The movie (at one point with the working title "Johnny Newcomer") was a decent hit with audiences (as claimed by Capra) and critics. Langdon worked with Edwards once more with His First Flame (1927) before Langdon became personally involved with directing with Three's a Crowd (1927). A rumor spread around from the First National Pictures lot (from Langdon, who else) that Capra wasn't actually a director and that Langdon did all the work. Desperate to stay around, Capra did For the Love of Mike (1927) and wasn't even paid for the eventual flop, went through a divorce, went back to the gag work and landed upon Columbia Pictures for what became a lengthy association starting with That Certain Thing (1928)*.

Work with me on this premise: A relatively young man (note: Langdon was actually 43 when this came out) has been wearing knee-pants (or "knickerbockers", as they say*) for years and years until at last, he gets a pair of...long pants. I guess the clothes really do make the man, because he quickly finds himself falling for a femme fatale from the big city who happens to have a mob boyfriend. Hijinks ensue for the runtime of 60 minutes (since it is a public domain movie, there are a few copies that are a little shorter or don't even have music, incidentally). There are a few moments that invite the idea of Langdon going into darker territory, mainly because on his wedding day, he tries to escape it the best way he can: trying to shoot the bride. Naturally, he gets stopped because of a goofy hat and gets spooked by someone doing target practice. It is a strange little movie when you think about it, what with people growing up in a flash because of pants, falling for bad girls into a life of crime and, eventually, wind up back into the "normal" world. The best gag is probably when Langdon tries to get a "policeman" to move that sees him fake a fire and other various things only to try and take a swing at just as an actual policeman takes his place. Langdon has been a slippery one to really appreciate, and this is probably the one that probably best defines that strange ability to go for a different type of humor that wasn't necessarily based on his baby-faced nature but something murkier with basically a goof type of character. Sometimes it is funny, and other times it just flies over with the pace of a one-winged mosquito. One focuses on his oddball stuff more than say, Bonner or Bennett, which is mostly on par with the usual average silent comedy in terms of just rolling with the gags over who goes where (yes, crime does pay, even for women). If you like what you saw from Langdon's earlier features, you'll be fine here, even if it is a bit of a hit-or-miss kind of movie in actually getting to the point beyond, well, pants. You never know until you seek it out...

   

Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

Song of the day!

*It really sounds like a joke, but this is straight up what Capra put in his autobiography: Capra got told Columiba wanted to see him because Harry Cohn was looking at a list of unemployed directors and saw "C" for Capra listed first and said "God picked Abraham because his name came first. Good enough for me. Send for Capra."

*Knickerbockers you say?

Blackmail (1929).

Review #2374: Blackmail (1929)

Cast: 

Anny Ondra (Alice White; Joan Berry as offstage voice), Sara Allgood (Mrs. White), Charles Paton (Mr. White), John Longden (Detective Frank Webber), Donald Calthrop (Tracy), Cyril Ritchard (Mr. Crewe, an artist), Hannah Jones (The landlady), and Harvey Braban (the Chief Inspector; Sam Livesey in silent version)

Directed by Alfred Hitchcock (#219 - Rope, #223 - North by Northwest, #446 - Spellbound, #447 - Psycho, #450 - Vertigo, #455 - Rear Window, #553 - Strangers on a Train, #800 - Shadow of a Doubt, #910 - Notorious, #963 - The Lodger: A Story of the London Fog, #964 - The Ring (1927), #965 - Downhill, #970 - Mr. and Mrs. Smith, #977 - Frenzy, #1343 - The 39 Steps, #1739 - The Birds, #1828 - Rebecca, #2014 - The Lady Vanishes, #2032 - The Man Who Knew Too Much)

Review: 

"It was a simple yarn. It was a simple story. I never really did it the way I wanted to. It–– I was probably using “The Lodger” form. I was showing in the first reel the technique of an arrest."

So, it is time to see the dawn of sound with England, I suppose. Blackmail (1929) is the striking point between silent and sound for that particular country (it wasn't the first sound movie ever in England, but it's the one people know) and of course it was Alfred Hitchcock who was right there. The movie is based on Charles Bennett's play of the same name, which had premiered on the West End in 1928 that actually had Tallulah Bankhead as the star. Hitchcock and Benn W. Levy are credited with the screenplay for the movie. At any rate, Hitchcock had done nine silent movies (as started with The Pleasure Garden [1925]), with The Manxman having previously been released in January of 1929, seven months prior to this movie. Blackmail started as a silent film with British International Pictures, but Hitchcock was given permission to film a portion in sound. The result is, well, you have two versions to pick from (the silent runs at 77 minutes, the sound runs at 85 minutes), and the sound version happens to have a chunk of it that relies on imagery and not dialogue anyway, particularly with the opening six minutes and the chase sequence at the end (incidentally, here is a sound test of the movie online, complete with Ondra speaking). In the age of needing really audible voices, Ondra, an actress born to Czech parents, was essentially dubbed for her performance, as Joan Barry read the lines of the script off camera while Ondra mouthed the words, which, well, it was the 1920s.  Incidentally, a few future noted directors participated in the movie: Ronald Neame was a clapper slate handler on the movie and Michael Powell worked as a stills photographer.  Ondra may not have been a Hitchcock mainstay, but she did maintain a constant career in acting (in German, French, and Czech) and even forming her own production company (while also being relatively in profile as the spouse of famed boxer Max Schmeling, although they were not big on a certain growing German regime); she appeared in her last movie in 1957 prior to dying in 1983 at the age of 87. As for Barry, she actually did get the chance to appear physically in a Hitchcock movie with Rich and Strange (1931) before she decided to focus on starting a family in 1933 and never returned to acting before her death in 1989. Hitchcock would be a busy man, as he directed three movies alone in 1930 (Juno and the Paycock, Murder!, Elstree Calling) on the road to doing sixteen sound movies in his native Britain before America came calling.

A restoration of the silent version of Blackmail occurred just fifteen years ago (also, if you want to hear about someone comparing both versions, you can inquire with this fellow reviewer here)*. Incidentally, in the year 2025, you can see the movie in the public domain, as is the case with movies from the year 1929 (there are versions of the movie of shoddy quality that can be found for cheap, but, well, avoid that). Sure, there are plenty of Hitchcock movies to choose from in trying to see what all the fuss is about, and you won't go wrong with this one. You get a movie with aspects that will seem right at home with a typical Hitchcock experience with a lead character entrapped in a web of trouble, a chase sequence that takes placed in a noted place (in this case, the British Museum), and a clash of aggression and vulnerability where the ending is not going to be that easy. It takes its time to set things in place when it comes to its one focus (people in peril, namely), but it is a curious enough procedural without straining in all of the cliches dealing with crime having to pay, and it goes to show that making a foray into sound did not have to be creaky to get something across to interested audiences (at least the ones who weren't seeing all of the American products). Besides, sound can be a hell of a thing to generate suspense in what comes to one's attention and what *strikes* at your attention. The performance of Ondra/Berry relies on the strange things that come with having one person for being in a fugue state for a chunk of it and the other just being a voice that is probably best played with the scene of "Knife!" that certainly sticks out in one's mind in unnerving tension. The others are fine with the conundrum that comes in procedure and the seedy smarm of Calthrop and the strait-laced Longden. Apparently, the climax involves a bit of effects trickery, as the Museum wasn't lighted enough to film the chase properly, so Hitchcock used the "Schufftan process", which deals with taking still photos of the place one wants to film and reflecting the photos in a mirror that deals with a mirror having scraped slivering. Hell of a thing, folks. The last shot at the end involving a callback to what we just saw does lend the fact that the movie isn't necessarily ending on a certain happy note, at least. Interpret at your own (fun) peril at what version of Blackmail is best for you**, but what you get in either event is a neat movie from a craftsman of suspense like no other.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

*I'll be real, I don't follow too many writers because I am a bit lazy. But I check this person from time to time for fun.

**Hell, I am not watching the silent movie to compare the two. Since I'm told that a good chunk of folks prefer the silent version, I would rather split the difference and say that a 8/10 for Blackmail works for either movie.

The Last Laugh (1924).

Review #2079: The Last Laugh.

Cast: 

Emil Jannings (hotel doorman), Maly Delschaft (his niece), Max Hiller (her bridegroom), Emilie Kurz (bridegroom's aunt), Hans Unterkircher (hotel manager), Olaf Storm (young guest), Hermann Vallentin (guest with pot belly), Georg John (night watchman), and Emmy Wyda (thin neighbor) Directed by F. W. Murnau (#256 - Nosferatu, #499 - Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans, #1335 - Tabu: A Story of the South Seas, #1885 - City Girl, and #2002 - The Haunted Castle)

Review: 

The Weimer Republic had plenty of choices for people to look upon in its era, whether it was part of the "kammerspielfilm" or not. A cursory look into it states that it was a type of film involving intimate portrayals of the lower middle class. In the years of the Republic that came from the end of World War I, there was a great need for films, which would lead to various efforts from studios that saw various directors make their mark, whether that involved directors such as F.W. Murnau or (future "fellow traveler") Leni Riefenstahl. Murnau had made his debut in 1919, but none of his first six films survive in complete form. He directed for less than two decades due to his untimely death in 1931, but he cultivated such a curious line of work that have distinct qualities to them. The line of connection here with Erich Pommer is not particularly surprising, since he had been a head of production for two studios in Decla Film and UFA and produced a handful of Murnau films. Incidentally, Carl Mayer, who had written for a handful of Murnau films such as The Haunted Castle (1921), wrote the screenplay for this film (to say nothing of the connection of Mayer the writer and Pommer the producer with The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari). The film title [Der letzte Mann] actually translates to "The Last Man", and I am curious as how one knows it as "Laugh" (the German word for that is Lachen instead). In 1955, the film was remade in West Germany with Harald Braun directing. Jannings and Murnau would work together again with the UFA-distributed Tartuffe (1926) and Faust (1926). 

Perhaps it isn't surprising that Jannings (actor of his time and future propagandist) was cast for this role, which mainly allows him to control the screen without any thought for worrying about title cards. It is his own show to chew for pathos to go along with the camerawork from none other than Karl Freund. How can one resist the urge to look up how one can get such shots from a camera that apparently ranged from tying it to Freund's chest on a bicycle to suspending it in a basket from a bridge. All of this comes together for a curious film to view in the lens of seeing the rise and fall of a man in uniform within dignity. In some ways, the man may only really serve as a man when he wears the uniform of a great power (corporation, or perhaps empire?), if you think about it. Jannings accomplishes what is required in showing just how much a man can come and go when one finds their wellbeing challenged, one that might as well be original poster boy for "you are not your job". The camera can make him loom as a man of his job and also surround him like a man and a microscope once the uniform washes away from him. As such, 90 minutes is an interesting time to spend looking at such interesting shots that tells a fable that is generally effective in sobering flow. Well, I was semi-true in saying there were no title cards...because one does pop up near the end that is different from the usual title: "Here our story should really end, for in actual life, the forlorn old man would have little to look forward to but death. The author took pity on him, however, and provided quite an improbable epilogue." The ending is up to you to interpret beyond just labeling it as "the happy part", but I suppose one should consider the sticking point that someone made (whether it was Murnau or a boardroom executive, take your pick) that apparently the washroom attendant makes more than a doorman. Go with the flow or don't, I suppose, because maybe the real laugh is the one had at the expense of the one who thinks films require this type of ending. At any rate, those who want to see just how much one should look upon filmmaking beyond a passive interest would have a worthy time here with a curious and involving feature of camerawork in the measure of a man.

 

Overall, I give it 9 out of 10 stars.

Next time: Dersu Uzala.

The Perfect Clown.

Review #2042: The Perfect Clown.

 

Cast: 

Larry Semon (Bert Larry), Kate Price (Mrs. Sally Mulligan), Dorothy Dwan (Rosie), Joan Meredith (Her Chum), Otis Harlan (The Boss), Curtis McHenry (Snowball), Oliver Hardy (Babe Mulligan), and Frank Alexander (Tiny Tott) Directed by Fred C. Newmeyer (#667 - The Freshman, #674 - Grandma's Boy, #758 - Safety Last!, #864 - Hot Water, #889 - A Sailor-Made Man, #903 - Dr. Jack, #918 - Why Worry? and #938 - Girl Shy)

Review: 

Nine years ago, I reviewed a movie called Wizard of Oz (1925) that featured comedian Larry Semon as the star. It sucked. But hey, he was a comedian that had his time in the spotlight during the 1910s and early 1920s, clearly it was a case of me not picking something more representative of who Semon was as a presence in silent comedy. Born in West Point, Mississippi, he was born into vaudeville from his parents, a magician and assistant that did their own show. Semon worked for a time in graphic art with newspapers but found his way into vaudeville and later Vitagraph, where he had a contract that dealt with scenario writing, directing, and eventually starring for himself. He did a variety of short films (which can detailed in small part by better folks here) but eventually had to try his hand at feature filmmaking when it came to trying to make big financially due to his free-spending habits. All of this just so happens to match up with seeing Fred C. Newmeyer direct a film without Harold Lloyd in it. Actually, the Colorado native directed various comedy shorts and features between his time spent as an actor in the 1910s and early 1920s, which came after he had also tried his hand at minor league baseball. Newmeyer directed eight features that had Lloyd as star (albeit a few of those directing jobs were shared with Sam Taylor), but he made his first venture without Lloyd in Seven Keys to Baldpate (1925) that featured Douglas MacLean (unfortunately the film is lost). The Perfect Clown, was released not long after this one. So yes, the same year that saw Newmeyer go from directing Lloyd to going on his own was the same one where Semon was the star of two feature films, which both happen to feature Oliver Hardy (two years away from being paired up with Stan Laurel for the first time) in a supporting role.

Norman Taurog, who worked with Semon for a time, once related a story about Semon and his tactics by the mid-1920s. He would be handed a script by Semon before he left for a trip that meant that Taurog filmed the script with a stunt double (Bill Hauber) to stand in for Semon before he returned for shots of close-ups. Of course, a biography of Semon once stated that in a two-year span, Semon was reported to have taken a vacation that totaled two days. It seems that Semon had plenty of gag ideas brimming in his head that he needed to get done in some way, but that did not mean his sense of timing was good enough to execute said gags. Honestly, I wish I could say that the runtime being just a few minutes short of an hour means a jolly time for the curious. Alas, what we have is a pretty mediocre time that doesn't exactly live up to its title beyond an expressive face that its star has. It lingers in coincidences and gags that might as well pop up in a cheesy haunted house show, which is too corny to really be anything other than just the most bored of chuckles ever imaginable. Semon may very well have been trying to draw blood from a stone with his attempt at dragging comedy into feature form, he seems a bit played out within this structure. Granted, it is better than the "ambitious" attempt he did with the aforementioned Wizard film, because it is obviously less high-strung, but that doesn't mean much more than saying a man who did well in shorts necessairly should be in features. The stuff just seems a bit mechanical, not really generating anything besides mild bemusement with a persona that can't hold anything further than what you might have seen with an earlier silent comedian. There are gags here and there that make the film get a bit more chuckles (such as one involving a knocked over person), but as a whole it just is very okay. As a whole, it lingers with nothing special under the foundation that could make you want that many more like it. In short, being average is one thing, being better than generic average is another, but at least it might make you wonder just how much potential there might have been for Semon, and I suppose that is enough.

Overall, I give it 6 out of 10 stars.

The Strong Man.

Review #2036: The Strong Man.

Cast: 

Harry Langdon (Paul Bergot), Priscilla Bonner (Mary Brown), Gertrude Astor (Lily of Broadway), William V. Mong (Holy Joe), Robert McKim (Mike McDevitt), and Arthur Thalasso (Zandow the Great) Directed by Frank Capra (#102 - Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, #319 - It's a Wonderful Life, #456 - It Happened One Night, #1356 - Meet John Doe)

Review: 

"If there is any shortcut to fame and fortune in motion pictures, it is as a gag man. Here you may jump to the top overnight, after the short probationary period, which is long enough to show you whether you have the stuff that makes gag men." - Frank Capra

"Comedy is a satire of Tragedy...deliciously comic moments, on the outside, are full of sad significance for those who realize the sinister characterization of the situation.” - Harry Langdon

In 1926, Frank Capra made his feature film debut as a director. But I'm sure when you think about Capra, you think first of those iconic films he did in the sound era such as It's A Wonderful Life (1944). But the story of Capra is one with plenty of interesting turns beyond just being a television staple every year. The son of Roman Catholics who left Italy for America when he was five, Capra studied chemical engineering at the California Institute of Technology but found himself having to do quick little jobs to get by during and after college, one of which involved selling books. He entered the film industry because when a film studio opened up in San Francisco, he implied he had "film experience" that got him into the door of directing various little films and getting himself other jobs, and one of those was as slapstick comedy director for the famed Mack Sennett, which he did in two separate stints in 1918 and 1924, with other stints in between including Hal Roach's Our Gang. Sennett, who had his own film stage and studio with Keystone, was once known as "King of Hollywood's Fun Factory", and various people appeared in Sennett productions that ranged from Harold Lloyd to Gloria Swanson (of course, the apparent talents of the actor vs. influence of Sennett is an interesting point to raise). Capra would direct his first film (12 minutes) with the independent Fireside Productions in 1922 with Fultah Fisher's Boarding House, which he also wrote, casted and edited based on the poem "The Ballad of Fisher's Boarding-House" by Rudyard Kipling. And then of course there is Harry Langdon. The Strong Man is one of two films that he made as star and producer with Capra, with the other being Long Pants (1927). In 1925, Langdon had signed a deal with First National Pictures that let his corporation (named after him) have full creative control to produce movies.

Admittedly, Harry Langdon was basically forgotten by me for a long time when it comes to mentioning the big names of the silent comedy era. Remember that his first feature was Tramp, Tramp, Tramp (1925), which was a success for the man once referred to as "The Little Elf". But Harry Edwards did not return to direct the next Langdon feature due to going overbudget. Online spelunking reveals several writers, with Arthur Ripley credited for the story while having Hal Conklin and Robert Eddy being labeled as "adaptors" and Reed Heustis for titles to go along with other writers with Tay Garnett, Clarence Hennecke, James Langdon, and Tim Whelan. One thing I can say about Langdon is that breaking into film when one is nearing their forties is quite remarkable. The Iowa native had honed his craft within medicine shows, vaudeville, and stock performances, so he obviously had an in-route to being a film presence that could both differ from the usual expectations that had come from being in league with Mack Sennett for the short films (i.e. Langdon was not a frantic comic) and the comic presences of the time that rivaled him in stature (to put it in perspective, in a film essay for 1949, Langdon was thought to be one of the four kings of silent comedy but the first biography of Langdon did not come out until 1982). All of this makes for saying he was a worthy pantomimist that makes for a useful team with his director in Capra (who knows who came up with a lead character being a Belgian emigrant) that does within careful pacing for a generally sweet feature. It is warmly funny in a way that feels entirely his own within an episodic structure (roughly five of them) with a handful of highlights, whether that involves him asking around just who "Mary Brown" is on every corner to the point where he falls under the situation with a vamp that leads to an amusing chase in a big house. Of course, the sequence involving him trying to help with a cold while on a packed trip that leads to him picking the wrong batch to rub over his chest (cheese!) is likely the most amusing sequence in execution that rewards timing. While Bonner does not have as much screentime as one might think about when it comes to doing a silent comedy with a "love interest", she does fine with the material presented here, with the sequence of the two meeting each other in town and sharing just who they've been since "The War" being a sweet little moment in understanding. By the time the film gets to its climax (for a film that runs at 75 minutes) involving a big coat and a cannon, the movie has shown the talents of its star within clownish rhythm that will please fans of silent comedy in what they see from one of the big names that came across at the right time for it.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

The Haunted Castle (1921).

Review #2002: The Haunted Castle.

Cast: 

Arnold Korff (Schlossherr von Vogelschrey), Lulu Korff-Kyser (Centa von Vogelschrey), Lothar Mehnert (Graf Johann Oetsch), Paul Hartmann (Graf Peter Paul Oetsch), Paul Bildt (Baron Safferstätt), Olga Tschechowa (Baronin Safferstätt), Hermann Vallentin (Landgerichtsrat a. D.), Julius Falkenstein (Ängstlicher Herr), Georg Zawatzky (Küchenjunge), Robert Leffler (Majordomus), Victor Blütner (Pater Faramund), Walter Kurt Kühle (Diener), and Loni Nest (Kleines Mädchen) Directed by F. W. Murnau (#256 - Nosferatu, #499 - Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans, #1335 - Tabu: A Story of the South Seas and #1885 - City Girl)

Review: 

Admittedly, it is tough to assess a director from the silent era when a lack of preservation hinders someone like F. W. Murnau. Of his first nine films, only two survive: Journey into the Night (1921) and this film (known in its native Germany as Schloß Vogelöd). Thankfully, one can see the film in restored condition as well, complete with multi-colored title cards. Contrary to the title (the English title anyway, since the German one just refers to a man's castle), it isn't a haunted house movie, since it really is a potboiler mystery film that was based on a story by Rudolf Stratz (as originally written in the Berliner Illustrirte Zeitung), with the script adaptation being done by Carl Mayer, who had worked with Murnau on his previous efforts in The Hunchback and the Dancer (1920) and Journey into the Night (1921) and would work with him again on such films as The Last Laugh (1924) and Sunrise (1927).

Honestly, I find it just as interesting to cover some random title from a century ago that I never heard of until the day of watching it than just going with an obvious pick from a few years ago. It is important to keep the past alive in some small way, regardless of the varying quality that comes with extant silent films. The one defining aspect of the film, aside from being decent, is the vast space one sees throughout the movie as staged by Murnau. Space seems to mean the most when it comes to always feeling apart from the characters portrayed in the film, who despite their evident rich qualities seem to be just as powerless to react to the situation around them as someone without as much time to spend around other people in "power". It sure is a shame the film isn't particularly well known, and it may possible that the lack of cast recognition or a definitive lead may be a key reason: Korff (an Austrian-born American actor) is in theory the lead, because he plays the host, but it really could be thought of as the film for Mehnert (he apparently played in three films while being more of a stage guy before his death in 1926 at 51), playing a guy accused of getting away with murder while having a face that might as well scream "suspicion". But it sort of is a movie between Tschechowa (a Russian-German known as Olga Chekhova in everywhere but Germany, making her first appearance in a German film with this) as a Baroness talking to someone named Father Faramund about what may have led to murder. I would say Tschechowa probably does the best among the actors who are haunted among the space by the things they wish to say but can't because of their supposed adherence to the rules; she is the one with the most to say among her facial expressions when it comes to guilt, although Mehnert comes close with his sneer of defiance. So yes, the movie flakes a bit, particularly when it features two surreal sequences that don't exactly have much to do with the plot, but it is fairly effective within its runtime that runs under 90 minutes when it comes to drawn out cleverness within spooky space. As long as you watch the film with patience and don't think about it as a non-horror prototype for Nosferatu (released a year later), you might find something to look into, particularly with its climax that delivers a useful payoff that proves you can't get too ridiculous no matter how rich one might be when it comes to long-winded schemes. Do I like the movie? It is probably a bit winded in title cards to really be anything special, but it passes by with useful motion and doesn't insult my time, so I would say it might make your while as a decent little yarn of mystery that is best gone into without any warning.

Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

Souls for Sale.

Review #1995: Souls for Sale.

Cast: 

Eleanor Boardman (Remember "Mem" Steddon), Lew Cody (Owen Scudder), Richard Dix (Frank Claymore), Mae Busch (Robina Teele), Frank Mayo (Tom Holby), Barbara La Marr (Leva Lamaire), Arthur Hoyt (Jimmy Leland), David Imboden (Caxton), Roy Atwell (Arthur Tirrey), Forrest Robinson (Rev. John Steddon), Edith Yorke (Mrs. Steddon), William Orlamond (Lord Fryingham), Aileen Pringle (Lady Jane), and Snitz Edwards (Komical Kale, the Klown) Written and Directed by Rupert Hughes.

Review: 

Well, there's always room for movies about Hollywood. The movie is adapted from the novel of the same name, which was written by none other than Rupert Hughes. Born in Lancaster, Missouri, he studied at both Case Western Reserve University and Yale University and graduated from each with degrees before the turn of the 20th century. Eschewing the idea of teaching, he decided to become a writer, turning his attention to novels alongside reporting on occasion. He entered film in the 1910s as a writer with films such as The Deaf Mute (1913). His first film as a director was The Wall Flower (1922). In total, he was a director-writer on seven films from 1922 to 1924, although he continued to dabble in screenwriting, which included him introducing his nephew Howard (yes, that Hughes) to the film industry; Hughes died in 1956 at the age of 84. Boardman was actually in her first starring role here. She had dabbled in the stage, but when she lost her voice, she assumed it was dwindling down. Hearing about a contest for "New Faces" by the Goldwyn studio, she entered it and became one of two winners (the other was William Haines) among hundreds of entrants. Paul Bern, a director/writer of what became Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, helped her with the screentest, turning a disastrous first take into one that got her a contract (incidentally, Haines appears in a small role in this film). She made her debut with The Strangers' Banquet (1922) and did supporting roles with two further films before appearing as star with this film, which ironically is a role about an aspiring actress trying to make it in Hollywood; she retreated from acting after 1935, having had highlights in films such as The Crowd (1928). The film was thought lost for many years until it surfaced in vaults in the late 1980s before it was restored in 2006.

As a whole, the movie is light fun in melodrama and mythmaking. It varies wildly in what genre it wants to be, mostly because it can't settle between the perils of Hollywood on a youth or an oddball serial killer that likes young brides. It doesn't exactly gel well with each other, with only the offbeat title cards (interestingly, "simp" is used here about trying to sell oneself to a person when it comes to trying to act) coming in second in making an odd tone. It is generally involving at 90 minutes though, mostly because one can't help but wonder what little surprise cameo you could see coming, whether that involves Charlie Chaplin at work or whatever. I find it more interesting when it tries to play perspective in what it means to try and be an actor in a grueling industry and the emotions that come with it rather than, well, the moralizing that happens with those title cards. My favorites: an oddball that says when an actor gets into trouble, "they blame the screen" or movie folk that are "factory hard" when rising and leaving early and late. Bottom line, the movie thinks to try and put the stars on a pedestal too highly, especially considering that Hollywood actors like Roscoe Arbuckle had just gone through two trials (with a third happening in the very month this film was released) for manslaughter. In other words: actors may have interesting lives and troubles, but you really can't expect me to believe they have a hard factory life like this. Anyway, the movie itself is just fine, because Boardman does fine with the material, malleable in drama and plucky ambition (despite probably having the corniest name seen in a silent lead character in quite some time). Dix and Mayo try to make this a love triangle, but honestly, I forget sometimes which is which, so go figure that the director is the one who gets the girl over the actor. Interestingly, this was one of Dix's first roles as a film actor. Cody evidently was known for "male vamp roles", so this makes an interesting adversary, even if it tries to play it both ways a bit with the ending (you can do creeping or you can do sympathetic, don't try both). Really, it is the light relief provided by people such as Busch (a future associate of the Laurel and Hardy films) or with La Marr (a vamp icon until her premature death) or with Edwards and his usual presence. As a whole, I wanted to like the film more than I did when it comes to films that have not had the pleasure of being discovered as long as other silent films, but it mostly is just okay. As a weird and odd mess that tries to play melodrama and Hollywood sunshine, it comes off as a strange amusement that can work if one is in the mood for certain expectations.

Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

Five to go.

The Wild Party (1929)

Review #1992: The Wild Party.

Cast: 

Clara Bow (Stella Ames), Fredric March (James 'Gil' Gilmore), Marceline Day (Faith Morgan), Shirley O'Hara (Helen Owens), Adrienne Dore (Babs), Joyce Compton (Eva Tutt), Jack Oakie (Al), Jack Luden (George), and Phillips Holmes (Phil) Directed by Dorothy Arzner (#1648 - Sarah and Son and #1810 - Working Girls)

Review: 

There are three things to note with this film: it is the earliest surviving film in the career of Dorothy Arzner, as each of her first four works (Fashions for Women (1927), Ten Modern Commandments (1927), Get Your Man (1927), Manhattan Cocktail (1928)) are lost, save for select parts in two of the four. It is also the first "talkie" film featuring the Brooklyn native Clara Bow, who was considered the "it girl" of the 1920s, specifically within silent films. The 1930s would bring more sound films than silents, but Bow (never a fan of the sound process despite receiving reasonable reviews) appeared in just ten more films before retiring in 1933. Malcolm St. Clair was originally slated to be director for the film, but disagreements with Paramount led to the hiring of Arzner, who had directed Bow earlier with Get Your Man. It is also one of the first starring roles for Fredric March, who had been appearing in small roles for various years (while making his Broadway debut in 1926) before making his star turn in films such as this, which was the first of four appearances in an Arzner film. For theaters without sound capabilities, a silent version was constructed (this is also the case for Bow's next film in 1929 with The Saturday Night Kid). There were various writers involved: Samuel Hopkins Adams, known as an investigative writer, wrote the story under the pseudonym Warner Fabian (he also wrote a handful of novels featuring young women in the Jazz Age). E. Lloyd Sheldon was credited with "adaptation", while George Marion Jr and Sheldon wrote the titles and John V.A. Weaver was left uncredited. Apparently Bow was quite nervous when it came to filming in sound, to the point where a microphone exploded on the first day of filming. To help Bow out, Arzner tied a microphone in a fishpole, which basically makes this the first movie with a boom mic. 

The movie is a pretty decent one. It may seem to be a carefree movie about young women having fun, but there is a question that comes through in just what it means to see people treat life like one wild party, seemingly aiming for nothing but cheap sensation. But it is a useful 77-minute feature filled with energy and zip from Bow that goes well with an unconventional romance set by Arzner and company for a decent time with mild laughs and a semi-interesting romance. Reviews of the time were varied on the film, but they all generally focused on the sound of Bow and her voice, but she does quite well here, probably since she doesn't seem constrained to stiff habits that would doom a lesser early sound film. She seems engaging and compelling to view in charm in art of wandering youth. The space created by Arzner of these youthful women works out to reasonable sequences that invite the viewer into the proceeding by stringing them along to what might happen next without chattering time away. They make for a quality group of bad behavior (read: 1929), whether that means the light O'Hara or the feisty Compton. As for March, he makes a bemused counterpart to the action, one where you can see how he might become a bigger name in movies, which mostly means he has a useful growing rapport with Bow, whether that involves a friendly rescue of the latter (with fists, obviously). As a whole, it is a mostly carefree film about the joys of finding a party worth having with people, whether that means in romance or on the wild side. When it comes to viewing Arzner the director or Bow the star, you can't really go wrong here.

Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

Next Time: Where Are My Children?

The Symbol of the Unconquered.

Review #1967: The Symbol of the Unconquered.

Cast: 

Iris Hall (Eve Mason), Walker Thompson (Hugh Van Allen), Lawrence Chenault (Jefferson Driscoll), Mattie Wilkes (Mother Driscoll), Louis Dean (August Barr), Leigh Whipper (Tugi, Indian Fakir), with James Burroughs, Jim Burris, G. Tatum (Abraham), George Catlin (Dick Mason), and Edward Fraction (Peter Kaden) Directed by Oscar Micheaux (#1633 - Within Our Gates and #1795 - Body and Soul)

Review: 

This film was made in Fort Lee, New Jersey by the "Czar of Black Hollywood" in Oscar Micheaux. He was a promoter through and through: an advertisement that survives for public viewing describes the film as a "story of the Negro (without the "Uncle Tom stuff") with a Northwestern setting, all the while saying that the story, players, director, cameraman, and even the art titles were all by black people. As the most successful African American filmmaker of the first half of the 20th century, his films may not have had the best history in enduring on a consistent basis (three silent films out of a handful survive) or with the greatest material, but he is fundamentally important to understanding film beyond the usual expectations set out in its early days. He was a man who made his way across the country in work in various jobs that had included homesteading, as he believed that hard work and enterprise above all was the way to make one rise to respect and prominence for any color. So, yes, it should make sense that Micheaux wanted to make a film that saw Black folk take on the Ku Klux Klan along with seeing how race could affect relationships (in this case, folks with light-skinned African Americans); hell, if D. W. Griffith could make blatant propaganda with The Birth of a Nation involving the Klan, why couldn't Micheaux? He made movies for an audience that he felt wanted to see their stories on screen by going around the country and getting deals with theaters to help show his films.

The version that survived is one that had French intertitles, oddly enough. A restoration (as restored by The Museum of Modern Art Department of Film and Video and Turner Classic Movies in cooperation with The Oscar Micheaux Society) was done, so one can watch it, but not all of the material survived, most notably with the climax that apparently had action within the sequence of blacks defending against a Klan attack. For a film that lasts 54 minutes, one can say it moves pretty quickly for what is basically a take on the Western with its attempts to show rugged individualism shine through despite the odds (read: hustlers) against them. It is the story of trying to make advancements for oneself without pandering to fantasy (so yes, hard work and enterprise) in order to try and not be boxed in. If you've seen one Micheaux film, you know what you are getting into with something such as this, which is something that is raw and mildly interesting to those with the patience to sit through something where the actors try their hardest to not be stifled by fast shooting and a considerable sprinkling of title cards. It speaks to something that is timeless however: seeing just how people treat themselves, as is the case with mixed-race folks (whether involving scorn or not). Hall and Thompson at least balance things out as decent leads for easy presentability when contrasted with the self-hating Chenault. I have to admit that it is probably the lesser of the three Micheaux surviving silents, since it doesn't have as much to offer in diverting acting or with its story (when it comes to the Klan clash, a scene of a brick toss was seen by audiences of the time, but that scene was lost later); the resolution is as lowkey as it gets as well. As a whole, it is a movie of vignettes that is clearly meant to please with its edges of bluntness that is mildly entertaining and generally useful for those clearly invested into silent films. Micheaux may have made them fast and quick, but he made them with worthwhile determination that has made him an enduring face of black cinema. 

Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

Well, well, well, here is another Black History Month. We just had to start off with Oscar Micheaux just like what happened in 2021 and 2022, and the pattern of going in chronological order will continue as well, which will see familiar and new faces being covered from directors to actors that I hope makes for a suitable tribute within black cinema. Next up is Souls of Sin.

Man with a Movie Camera.

Review #1962: Man with a Movie Camera.

Cast: 

Mikhail Kaufman (The Cameraman) Written and Directed by Dziga Vertov.

Review: 

"My film therefore signifies: The struggle between everyday vision and cinematic vision, the struggle between real space and cinematic space, the struggle between real time and cinematic time."

The story of the director behind the film is basically the entire review, if you think about it. Born as David Abelevich Kaufman, he was a pioneer documentary film and newsreel director that was raised in the Russian Empire (in Bialystok, Poland, which at the time was in the Empire) born to Jewish intellectuals. After a childhood spent at the Białystok Modern School, he studied music theory before he began studying at the Psychoneurological Institute, as operated by psychologist Vladimir Bekhterev. His family fled to Moscow when the German armies made their advance during World War I. He eventually changed his name to be referred to as Dziga Vertov, with both names roughly translating from phrases about spinning (the former is the Ukrainian word for spinning top while the latter comes from the verb vertit’sia). The Revolutions of 1917 served as his guiding point to becoming a filmmaker, as he (aged 21) began as a newsreel camerawork during the Russian Civil War. He developed an idea involving film truth with Kino-Pravda, a series of newsreels directed by him alongside Elizaveta Svilova and Mikhail Kaufman in 1922. His Kino-Glaz theory, as he would put it, would propose that the camera is an instrument like the human eye that is suitable for seeing the happening of real life without the need for artifice like studio staging. In the next decade, he would direct various features with A Sixth Part of the World (1926) or Enthusiasm (1931), a sound feature with mechanical sounds that he called a "complex interaction". His last film with artistic control was Lullaby (1937), for which afterwards he was relegated to newsreels, as the age of Stalin did not favor his methods in the Soviet Union. His methods of filming have proven influential to several film movements, most notably with cinéma vérité. His two brothers Boris and Mikhail Kaufman became filmmakers in their own right, the former being a cinematographer on esteemed features such as On the Waterfront (1954). Vertov died at the age of 58 in 1954, but his legacy as a filmmaker grew in the next couple of decades, ranging from a group being named in his honor to the dawn of various cinema movements that all had some relation to his style, such as Direct Cinema, for example.

The resulting film is a documentary in numerous formats: it documents a day in the life of the Soviet Union, it documents the audience watching said film and it documents the editing of the film. There exists pages that visualize Vertov's intent with shooting the camera, whether that involves a camera lens that filmed like a gun. The best way to watch a movie that is just 68 minutes long is to just allow the images to sift through your mind to see how the rhythm moves on a visual level, where it isn't so much just describing things that happen more so than seeing how sincere Vertov is in actually wanting to make a movie that is just a camera in motion. Sure, movies would absolutely never get rid of actors or artifice, but the film is still sincere enough in its visual curiosity for the ordinary. People are born, people die, but the images endure all the same. It never comes off as pretentious for what it wants to show within the space of the camera, balancing the fine line of showing wonder without overextending oneself. It shows the magic of what can be shown in a camera alone without making it a novelty that can be exploited like cattle. It experiments even when showing a camera "moving", much in the same way an artist experiments when doodling. As such, seeing shots captured when the camera is strapped somewhere that isn't just a static shot or the use of montages is something that still looks far more than just ordinary when it is used in a film like this.

The reputation of the film at the time was not particularly favorable. Sergei Eisenstein called it "pointless camera hooliganism". It alienated those who believe it was more of a case of trickery or alienating. However, the reputation of the film has improved greatly in the next nine decades, to the point where some have called it one of the greatest movies ever made. As the movie is in the public domain, it is readily available, although there have been several soundtracks that have been released in the last 40 years (the original film was accompanied by live music), whether that involved Un Drame Musical Instantané, or British jazz with The Cinematic Orchestra, or even with multi-theremin ensembles. As a whole, Man with a Movie Camera is all of the things you would think could come from a film without actors and plenty more, one that endures for what it says on and off the camera about ourselves.

Overall, I give it 10 out of 10 stars.

Spite Marriage.

Review #1937: Spite Marriage.

Cast: 

Buster Keaton (Elmer Gantry), Dorothy Sebastian (Trilby Drew), Edward Earle (Lionel Benmore), Leila Hyams (Ethyl Norcrosse), William Bechtel (Nussbaum), John Byron (Scarzi), Joe Bordeaux (Rumrunner), Ray Cooke (The Bellboy), Mike Donlin (Man in Ship's Engine Room), and Pat Harmon (Tugboat Captain) Directed by Edward Sedgwick (#774 - The Phantom of the Opera and #1774 - The Cameraman) and Buster Keaton (#757 - Seven Chances, #762 - College, #805 - The Navigator, #877 - Three Ages, #908 - The General, #926 - Our Hospitality, #941 - Sherlock Jr, #1037 - Go West, and #1058 - Battling Butler, #1173 - Steamboat Bill, Jr,, #1774 - The Camerman)

Review: 

It may be an odd film to term as a "swan song", but this is one such case where it applies. This was the second feature film with Buster Keaton as star at Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, a decision that he later called the worst mistake he ever made. But The Camerman (1928), his first effort for the studio, was actually pretty good, since it had plenty of spontaneity along with scope to make a fun comedy. As such, Keaton wanted to make his second MGM feature a sound film, but the studio did not have enough of the recording equipment for that they felt was just another comedy. The following year, he did his first sound film with Free and Easy, but Keaton never directed a full feature after this film (which he didn't even receive credit for anyway), aside from a handful of gag direction assignments. In fact, the film was more in the control of the studio, who clearly wanted to cultivate a moneymaker with their star rather than the decent success of the last film. In short: the long and wavering road of improvisation became washed away by a studio that just wanted to see things run smoothly. Well, for the last Keaton silent film, there is one key exception: The film has a musical score and sound effects that come in from time to time. The film runs from 74 to 80 minutes, depending on what kind of print you find of the film.

The story was written by Lew Lipton, while Ernest Pagano also wrote for it, and Robert E. Hopkins wrote the intertitles. It certainly isn't the best Keaton feature when you consider the ones that came before it, but the movie is generally entertaining in the general ways that you would expect to make a worthy high note to finish the silent era for Keaton. His physical performance seems quite adept to what is needed for the general climax (on a yacht) while playing just fine with the loose plotting and scenario. The movie basically seems like two loose scenarios presented into one: a lovable oddball tries his hand at marriage when a lady wants to make someone else jealous (after trying his hand at acting that goes how you would expect) that eventually segues into adventure on the sea when the marriage falls out of hand (before falling into hand). Sebastian does make a decent leading lady in charm, while Earle makes a suitable cad. Undeniably, the highlight sequence might be one where you get to see an attempt by one inebriated person to get another inebriated person to bed without waking them up. The comic timing of the film may feel as fresh as one sees from Keaton, but the scene is still quite diverting in execution. Of course, Keaton participating in a Civil War melodrama play is a last little gasp at Keaton trying his hand at something only to fall down the pit of amusement, which works to the level one would hope in silly falls without riding the joke down to the ground. The climax does have semblances of his previous works such as The Navigator (1924) and Battling Butler (1926), but even familiar Keaton material is still fun material to watch play out, mostly because Keaton still has the energy to make the chuckles come out. As a whole, it is a light charming movie, a last hurrah for Keaton in the silent era that closes out his run of visual gags and physical comedy with a solid enough impact to make it worthy to view last among the accomplishments done by the actor/director. 

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

The Cat and the Canary (1927)

Review #1914: The Cat and the Canary.

Cast: 

Laura La Plante (Annabelle West), Creighton Hale (Paul Jones), Forrest Stanley (Charles Wilder), Tully Marshall (Roger Crosby), Gertrude Astor (Cecily), Flora Finch (Susan), Arthur Edmund Carewe (Harry), Martha Mattox (Mammy Pleasant, housekeeper), George Siegmann (the Guard), and Lucien Littlefield (Dr. Ira Lazar) Directed by Paul Leni (#863 - Waxworks and #999 - The Man Who Laughs)

Review: 

When it comes to the haunted house movie, you can't go wrong with The Cat and the Canary, even if it wasn't the first to really come out. There were quite a few films with a killer going around a house, such as Cecil B. Demille & Oscar Apfel's The Ghost Breaker (1914), its 1922 remake by Alfred E. Green, D. W. Griffith's One Exciting Night (1922), along with Roland West's The Monster (1925) and The Bat (1926), for example. It would continue in further years, with West remaking his film in 1930 as The Bat Whispers, and James Whale directed The Old Dark House (1932). But some films last longer in the public consciousness than others, as is the case with a film like this. The movie was adapted from the 1922 play of the same name that had been written by John Willard to noted success on Broadway. The screenplay was written by Alfred A. Cohn and Walter Anthony, while the story was done by Alfred A. Cohn and Robert F. Hill. This was the first of five adaptations: Universal did both an English and Spanish version in 1930 (The Cat Creeps and La Voluntad del muerto, respectively), which are both lost. A 1939 film was done with more comedy involving Bob Hope and Paulette Goddard, while the next (and last) adaptation was done in 1979 for British audiences. It was the first of four American films directed by German director Paul Leni, the German Expressionist director that went from avant-garde painting to set designer to work in film by the 1910s. He moved to America at the invitation of Carl Laemmle at Universal Studios, as part of a wave of people from Europe coming to America for films (like Fritz Lang, for example). The Last Warning (1928), his final film, was presented as a companion film to The Cat and the Canary, as it also stars La Plante (it was released in both part-sound and silent, but the latter survives), albeit more as a mystery than comedy-horror. Leni would not live long to direct many films in America, dying of a sepsis from a tooth infection in 1929 at the age of 44.

So yes, we have a story about a creepy house filled with folks hearing about a will from a man 20 years dead. The only thing standing in the way of riches for one is to just not be declared insane but sliding panels and a fiend called "The Cat" threaten the whole affair. So yes, the suspense is balanced with comic relief, because this was the time for that kind of movie where horror can't be given to you full throttle, and the final twist is about what you might expect. However, it is the presentation that matters most, and that is where Leni shines. He utilized all of the tricks one would hope for in terms of establishing quality atmosphere, whether that involves shadows, superimpositions, gliding camera shots, or its lively title cards. The scene with a person walking in the hallway with a candle in hard while curtains blow is certainly a highlight when it comes to striking effect, alongside the opening sequence when it comes to saying "a man is trapped like a canary". So yes, the movie is a causal ride of spooky terror that fits far better than a movie without as much subtlety, because, well, things in 1927 can still play well in 2022. La Plante was a key presence for a number of Universal Pictures in the pre-sound era, and she does pretty well for not having too much to really do besides having things happen to them rather than with them. So yes, it's not too hard to be on her side when it comes the towering threat of spooked either by weirdo eccentrics or visitors. The other castmates are mostly there for relief without pandering to bad jokes, which works in favor for Hale in goofy charm that compliments La Plante pretty well or with the familiar face in Marshall. The others bumble in all the right ways without leaving an obvious clue to what could happen next. Yes, you have a good idea where things could go in its 82-minute runtime by about the halfway point, but it still is weird and engaging enough regardless of that fact. As a whole, it is a solidly dignified bit of horror worth a look for its era, being unsettling while having a solid atmosphere that makes everything work out just right.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

Well, we have had a quality month of horror. But you know the turn to November means it ain't over yet. As with the case with 2019, 2020, and 2021...it is time for Halloween: The Week After 4.0. That is correct, a number of horror reviews from November 1 to November 7, basically comprised of movies that deserved to be covered in October but are now present in November for all to enjoy. This time, I will be generous and tell you what is coming next because I like you very much.

Next film up is Exorcist II: The Heretic. Shit.

The Hands of Orlac.

Review #1896: The Hands of Orlac.

Cast: 

Conrad Veidt (Paul Orlac), Alexandra Sorina (Yvonne Orlac), Fritz Kortner (Nera), Carmen Cartellieri (Regine), Hans Homma (Dr. Serra), Fritz Strassny (Paul's father), and Paul Askonas (Servant) Directed by Robert Wiene (#261 - The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari)

Review: 

If you remember, Robert Wiene directed one of the most notable expressionist movies of its time. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920), with Conrad Veidt as one of the stars, is also one of the most notable horror features in the pre-1930 era, when horror was in loose definition for films. The German-born Wiene got into acting in the early 20th century before directing and writing by 1913, with Fear [Furcht] (1917) also serving as an early horror feature to go along with Genuine (1920). Wiene continued to make films on a regular basis until 1933, when Nazis took power in Germany. He made one further film in exile before dying of cancer in 1938 at the age of 65. This film (originally released as Orlacs Hände) was released as a production from Austria as an adaptation of Les Mains d'Orlac, a 1920 French novel by Maurice Renard. Two further films were adapted from the book: Mad Love (1935) and The Hands of Orlac (1960), although there have been a number of unofficial adaptations that cribbed elements from the book such as Hands of a Stranger (1962) and Body Parts (1991).

If one is thinking they are going to get a strange and eerie horror feature involving a man wondering what to make of his newly transplanted hands...you will get something, but one should temper their expectations. It is more of a psychological feature with the barest of horror elements (while not being an Expressionist work either), moving at a pace that will see just how one's patience goes on the strength of one good actor and well-enough cinematography for 90 minutes. Veidt is the best part of the film because of how he elevates what would be a bland character in lesser hands and makes it one with tortured patience and vulnerability that keeps you invested in seeing where the pain lies with him. He may seem a bit overwrought when it comes to looking at silent performances, but it works with what needs to be shown here. Kortner makes a sinister showing to make the buildup more than just a glacier-pace, because there isn't exactly much to really describe about the movie about "killer" hands besides a grouchy parent, since we know that our lead isn't exactly a killer (but Kortner doesn't have too much time anyway). This kind of overshadows the others such as a withering Sorina or Strassny being an old nut, but at least the movie is respectably done from start to finish. The train wreck that is in the beginning of the film is handled in sprawling detail I do think the second half works a bit better than the first when it comes to getting down to business, but its attempts at a tidy conclusion does seem a bit too convenient (strangely, Berlin had one quibble in its censorship authority: not the idea of a guy going nuts due to having "killer" hands, but a sequence talking about making molds of fingerprints from wax). So yes, the movie is a psych-out scare rather than a body count movie, and that will work out for others better than others when it comes to imagination and patience, and I think it ends up doing just fine in that regard. It may not be as particularly creeping as its title might suggest, but you could still have a decent time regardless.

Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

Okay, here's a blueprint of the month to guess on: the decades of the 1910s to the 2010s gets one film featured to review before the cycle repeats itself again (of course, the 1910s may be hard to repeat...)

So yes, a film from the 1920s gets followed by one from the 1930s, so enjoy the guessing.

Big News (1929).

Review #1882: Big News.

Cast: 

Robert Armstrong (Steve Banks), Carole Lombard (Margaret Banks), Louis Payne (Hensel), Wade Boteler (O'Neill), Charles Sellon (Addison), Sam Hardy (Reno), Tom Kennedy (Ryan), Warner Richmond (District Attorney Phelps), and Helen Ainsworth (Vera, society editor) Directed by Gregory La Cava (#1787 - My Man Godfrey)

Review: 

Remember the good ol' days of directors being tasked to make movies on the quick and low that had a semblance of a plot to go with sound? Well, okay, maybe you are quite familiar with films of the late 1920s that saw plenty of filmmakers try to mold themselves away from the silent era with new output of sound and all the challenges that came with doing so. Gregory La Cava was at least familiar with making a number of films with romantic or comedic interludes before this one, cultivating himself with two-reel comedies before moving into features in the 1920s. and this one that was spearheaded by Pathé Exchange, Inc (the American subsidiary of Pathe-turned independent spinoff that did a number of movies from the 1910s until 1930). The film was based on the play For Two Cents by George S. Brooks, while the adaptation was done by Walter DeLeon, Jack Jungmeyer and Frank Reicher. Strangely enough, the film has a sound gimmick within its plot, because the climax involves a Dictaphone record. Well, that, and a reporter who has to fight alcoholism and a crime ring that wants to frame him for murder...of the boss that just fired him (yea, okay). The film features Carole Lombard, billed as Carol Lombard for the second-to-last time in her career, with this being one of three sound films in 1929. Of course, the real fresh face is Robert Armstrong, who actually had studied law at the University of Washington before becoming an actor while nearing the age of thirty in 1919 and a film actor in 1927. 

Somehow, this just didn't become one of those sound movies that people really remember. Maybe it was just too low budget to really dazzle audiences curious for hearing people talk, or maybe it just was something else (for curiosity, I looked up any contemporary review I could see of this film, and the only one called it a movie that "will make money wherever it is shown" - this was released only a month before the Wall Street crash, incidentally). When it comes to newspaper wisecrackers, The Front Page (released two years later as an adaptation of a Broadway play) probably ends up being one of the first ones you would mention among the early sound features, mostly because of its own snappy dialogue and eclectic timing. Of course, both movies were made before the rigid enforcement of the Production Code, so there's that to consider. Big News is merely just a thing that exists in mediocrity, not exactly writing the wheel on camera movement or snappy newspeak, but it can work out for those who want to spend 75 minutes on something that moves in a straight line. Sure, there are a few moments where it explores the trouble of trying to let go a good bottle, but you probably know where it will go in setting the steps to inevitably laying off the stuff (because hey, this was the 1920s), for better or worse. Armstrong in that sense makes a quality lead to follow, one who can play things with wryness that doesn't aim for straight pity, earning stripes of charm gradually over time for general interest. The newspaper scenes are breezy and worthy in what you might see from banter that doesn't plod too much, and Lombard shows withering devotion that has the bare promise of having screen presence with better material. Hardy plays the heavy with relatively no trouble, while Kennedy and Ainsworth make goofy support. As a whole, the movie looks exactly what you'd see from something with two sets and a climax that is not nearly as built together as it thinks it is (with a haphazard setup that is solved haphazardly) in a confusing muddle of a movie. Watching the movie seems like watching rainwater slowly move down gutters - it might seem nice for a while, but you won't really remember much of it when it passes by. It just doesn't do enough to win out in the end, but at least the main folks got to do more promising things.

Overall, I give it 6 out of 10 stars.

The Love Parade.

Review #1881: The Love Parade.

Cast: 

Maurice Chevalier (Count Alfred Renard), Jeanette MacDonald (Queen Louise), Lupino Lane (Jacques), Lillian Roth (Lulu), Eugene Pallette (Minister of War), E. H. Calvert (Sylvanian Ambassador), Edgar Norton (Master of Ceremonies), and Lionel Belmore (Prime Minister) Produced and Directed by Ernst Lubitsch (#1026 - The Shop Around the Corner and #1358 - To Be or Not to Be)

Review: 

"I made sometimes pictures which were not up to my standard, but then it can only be said about a mediocrity that all his works live up to his standard."

So, here we are with an example of film directors honing their craft with the dawn of sound in features. Ernst Lubitsch had been a director after honing his craft in the early 1910s as an actor in his native Germany, doing so with a mix of comedies and historical dramas before notice abroad led him to leave for Hollywood in 1922. He directed for various studios over the next two decades, and one wouldn't be surprised that his first part-sound film in The Patriot (1928) earned him an Academy Award nomination. The Love Parade, which premiered in late 1929 but not released to the public until January of 1930, is his first true sound feature. Go figure that his first sound film featured two singers for actors. Chevalier became a performer in his native France since the turn of the 20th century, with only a stint as a prisoner of war in World War I serving to interrupt his career (apparently his two years as a POW is where he learned English). He did appear in a number of films before this one, which included Innocents of Paris (1929), but it is this film that made him a key name, although he had to be convinced by Lubitsch that his voice (a working-class one) would fit the style that Lubitsch wanted with a fantasy-land European sounding country. As for MacDonald, she was in the business of performances since she was a child, complete with touring in kid shows before becoming a teenager and soon doing stints on Broadway. Strangely enough, the way to her becoming involved with this film came from a screen test for a film she wasn't allowed to do (due to contract), since Lubitsch happened to look through old screen tests and found the one he wanted with her, with this being her debut feature. MacDonald and Chevalier would do a couple of films together (most notably with The Merry Widow (1934), which had Lubitsch as director).

The film is based on the play The Prince Consort, a French play written by Jules Chancel and Leon Xanrof (which in turn had been a Broadway play in 1905). Guy Bolton and Ernest Vadja wrote the screenplay for the film. Lubitsch made a musical different from the early approaches of doing a sound movie that folks saw with The Broadway Melody (1929) in having songs performed in front of a static camera. In other words: sometimes to tell a story, you tell it with a song, complete with a solid supporting cast to back them up in amusement. When it comes to good-natured escapism, you can't go wrong with something like this, one that makes for a solid achievement of entertainment. It does so with gusto of energy from its director that gives its main stars things to do beyond just being vehicles to sing, as their chemistry together proves quite refreshing. It is a romance of assessment, one where the wooing isn't as important as the process of finding out just what love really means to people living in a royal place where everyone seems to have their noses in business. Chevalier makes a quality rogue to follow with from the very first sequence we see and hear of him in the 107-minute feature, which involves him dealing with a scorned lady and even sees him address the audience for a moment (singing won't come for quite a while, and he isn't even the first one to sing) before fake weapons get used for playful fun. He has a sly charisma that seemed exotic for audiences in need of someone like him in a time for new sounds and charms. Of course, MacDonald isn't to be lost in the shuffle, because her self-assured charm and collected confidence make a worthy match, one who can sing as well as she can delegate with him in graceful charm. Being a royal is one thing, being a happy royal is another, one might say. Lane and the others (including the distinct voice of Pallette) make worthwhile contributions in chuckles along with a bit of singing that make it a splendid romp across romance and the lines between being just someone's spouse and being in love. In that sense, it works out quite well, complete with having Lubitsch find ways to get around early sound quirks, complete with directing two couples to sing the same song in alternative places by having two sets built (orchestra between them off camera) that he could then piece together with editing. As a whole, it may move within the expectations that encapsulate romantic musicals, but it still manages to move with resourceful timing and pace from cast and crew that worked beyond the dreams of what one thought sound movies could be that still seems engaging today. For that, Lubitsch seems just as interesting to look back now more than ever.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.