The Private Life of Don Juan.

Review #1845: The Private Life of Don Juan.

Cast: 

Douglas Fairbanks (Don Juan), Merle Oberon (Antonita), Binnie Barnes (Rosita), Melville Cooper (Leporello), Benita Hume (Dona Dolores), Owen Nares (Antonio Martinez), Heather Thatcher (Anna Dora), Joan Gardner (Carmen), Gibson Gowland (Don Alfredo), and Barry MacKay (Rodrigo) Directed by Alexander Korda (#1678 - The Private Life of Henry VIII)

Review: 

If there had to be a swansong for an actor that you could appreciate for what it did to generate a proper sendoff, I think this one might be appropriate for an actor at the stature of Douglas Fairbanks. At one point in time, he was "The King of Hollywood", one who went from comedy roles to swashbuckling features that made him one of the most memorable acting presences of the silent era, and it comes from an actor who entered film at the age of 32 after years of acting in the theater. Perhaps fittingly, the movie was distributed by United Artists, which Fairbanks had help co-found in 1919. His escapades in the silent era (which included him serving as producer and writer on several works) worked well right to his final silent feature in The Iron Mask (1929), which actually had a few select moments with sound. The Taming of the Shrew (1929), his first sound feature, was not particularly successful, and he slowed down his output of features with his health slowly declining due to years of smoking; his son, Douglas Fairbanks Jr, also became an actor with moderate stature that his father oversaw for a time. So yes, it wasn't just a case of Fairbanks having an unsuitable voice for sound films, he just happened to already had his great peak come and go in the previous era.. Now, at the age of 51, he was recruited by director/producer Alexander Korda (having made films in Hungary, Vienna, Berlin, the United States, and France) and his company London Film Productions, which had received attention the previous year for The Private Life of Henry VIII (incidentally, Korda would do an adaptation of The Thief of Bagdad in 1940, just sixteen years after Fairbanks had starred in the last one). It was his last starring role (he had a cameo appearance in one more film), as Fairbanks died five years later of a heart attack in 1939.

The film is based on the 1920 play L'homme à la Rose by Henry Bataille, with a screenplay written by Frederick Lonsdale and Lajos Bíró. The legend of the character Don Juan had been covered before with plays by Tirso de Molina, an opera with music by Mozart, and even an epic poem. This particular version of Don Juan reflects the actor clearly: middle-aged and trapped by his own legend to the point where the image is what survives most more so than the man (which reminds me of the image one would prefer to have about figures in their lives, such as an athlete or maybe an old friend). In that sense, the filmmakers have made an interesting farce that briefly muses on the dilemma that occurs for all folks reaching middle-age: how does one know when to leave the spotlight gracefully? You have a guy who thinks the best thing to escape the challenges of old age and a long-running bit is to have people assume he is dead, only to realize that the image of a young Don Juan in glory is more suitable for Seville rather than admitting the actual image. In short: you have to grow up sometime, because the adversary for the film isn't even one person, it is the idea that time will pass one by without looking (unless one counts authors documenting his exploits with artistic license an enemy). Fairbanks is surrounded by a cascade of women that hides his lessened cavalier action (i.e. climbing one wall rather than a handful), since this is a romantic comedy. With a run-time of 89 minutes, it does start off a bit slow, but it eventually gets its footing together with light chuckles with a fairly game Fairbanks trying to coast through what is needed. Oberon and Barnes make up a capable list of would-be lovers that inspire a bit of interest for the vague sensibility the movie has about men and women. Besides, it is Hume that is the one involved for the rapidly developed climax, one who is desperate for anything to latch onto with her wayward partner. Cooper is the beleaguered companion to the proceedings, wry to the situation presented without dragging the proceedings into anything other than light humor. As a whole, it doesn't quite reach the heights of Korda's big hit with Henry VIII (despite having a bit less studio-bound atmosphere than that film), but it at the very least seems solid enough for light enjoyment with semi-effective charm that matches its star with a look upon one's last journey without turning into an eulogy.

Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

Blind Husbands.

Review #1782: Blind Husbands.

Cast: 

Sam De Grasse (Dr. Robert Armstrong, The Husband), Francelia Billington (Margaret Armstrong, The Wife), Erich von Stroheim (Lt. Erich von Steuben), Gibson Gowland (Silent Sepp), Fay Holderness (The 'Vamp' Waitress), Ruby Kendrick (A Village Blossom), Valerie Germonprez (Honeymooner), Jack Perrin (Honeymooner), Richard Cummings (The Village Physician), Louis Fitzroy (The Village Priest), William De Vaull (Man from 'Home'), Jack Mathis (Man from 'Home'), and Percy Challenger (Man from 'Home') Directed by Erich von Stroheim.

Review:

Well, we've heard of a few films that had a director that also served as writer. But there are fewer that had a director-writer-producer, you must say. Nay, one that might be even harder to find is a director-writer-producer-star adapting his own book into a film. And yet here we are with Blind Husbands (1919), likely one of the most curious debuts of a Hollywood director for the next several years: Erich von Stroheim. He was a character like no other when it came to showmanship, particularly when it came to his journey to moviemaking. He was born in Austria to middle-class parents (operators of a millinery) as Erich Stroeheim. Not interested in the life of business or merchants, he first did volunteer work in military transport with horses and wagons, but he did not last long due to physicality (incidentally, his reported height was 5'6). In 1909, he sailed to the States and identified himself as Count Erich Oswald Hans Carl Maria von Stroheim und Nordenwall. Dubious nobility aside, he first worked as a gift wrapper before eventually moving to the West Coast, utilizing his knowledge with horses in a riding academy in California. He soon found himself in the company of D.W. Griffith, starting with bit parts in the mid 1910s before moving onto Prussian roles late in the era (earning the nickname "The Man You Love to Hate", incidentally). His knowledge of military detail helped get him work in assistant directing, and he soon found an in when it came to a desire to direct for himself, doing so with Universal (headed by Carl Laemmle) in an agreement to star, direct and write alongside designing the sets and editing (at $200 a week in total). Von Stroheim would be noted for his lavish attempts at filmmaking that hindered his overall output: he made a total of nine films, with a considerable amount modified by the studio (most notably with Greed), for which two are lost and two others are missing their original versions; his last directorial film was in 1933, but he persisted in acting until his death in 1957.

This was an adaptation of his novel The Pinnacle. The movie was a considerable success for the fledging studio, even if von Stroheim was probably more irritated at the fact that the movie title was changed (strange, considering the fact that pinnacle in geology refers to an isolated indivdual column of rock in the shape of a shaft/spire). It is a curious debut, an offbeat fantasy film for its main name that looms over everyone with an interesting perspective about lust through the eyes of the folks at the center of it. Consider the fact that there have been plenty of love triangle films over the years, and consider the perspective of the adulterer in the middle of the action. Sure, adultery is a terrible thing, but emotional loss of a spouse beforehand is also a terrible thing to witness. Vulnerability is a terrible thing to have, whether spent in the mountains with oneself or spent with a mix of diminsihing hope and a manipulator willing to take advantage of it. Who is surprised to see von Storheim as the big presence? He glistens in self-importance in a way that makes him both detestable and the prime curiosity that could almost make him draw pity. Of course, the shot of him with a a big grin (and distinct scar) along with a pipe and hands pointing at the camera certainly lend attention. He isn't exactly playing a Don Juan type figure of seduction, you see, instead playing it with flattery to go with impeccable dress sense that works to his advantage in terms of appeal for the time. Besides, sometimes it does help to be a villain to stick out in silent roles, since one might recognize De Grasse for his handful of adversarial roles more so than this film (of course, he was also an early Canadian presence in film for two decades). He does fine here, benign to what is needed in terms of charm when paired with Billington until he is needed to match with von Stroheim in the climax. This ended up being the most famous role for Billington, who acted in a variety of films that are fairly obscure despite her acting for a variety of studios. At any rate, she does well here, playing the vulnerability to the lingering camera with the right emphasis. By the time the film is closing its 91-minute run-time, it has managed to make a useful drama on the perils of desire and neglect that would surely compare with the middle-tier of a growing silent era that would only continue to drive interest in the next decade of the 1920s, with von Stroheim playing a distinct part in that regard.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

Welcome to 2022! Year 12 of Movie Night starts here with a tremendous theme for the first month of the year - Movie Night: New Directors. Yes, you heard that right, Movie Night will feature a variety of directors not previously featured before from various eras and countries. 

Next Time: Sky High (1922).

The First Auto.

Review #949: The First Auto.

Cast:
Charles Emmett Mack (Bob Armstrong), Patsy Ruth Miller (Rose Robbins), Russell Simpson (Hank Armstrong), Frank Campeau (Mayor Jim Robbins), William Demarest (Dave Doolittle), Paul Kruger (Steve Bentley), Gibson Gowland (The Blacksmith), E. H. Calvert (Elmer Hays, the inventor), and Barney Oldfield (Himself - The Master Driver) Directed by Roy Del Ruth (#395 - The Maltese Falcon (1931), #432 - The Babe Ruth Story, and #807 - The Alligator People)

Review:
The transition of technologies is always a strange one for certain types of generations to handle, whether from transitioning from landline phones to cellphones, or horse carriages to automobiles; the latter is featured here, and while the movie isn't anything too great it is at least acceptable entertainment. Contrary to the promoted billing, Barney Oldfield (pioneer automobile racer who also served as the technical coordinator for the movie) is neither the main star nor does he have too much on screen, aside from a scene where he drives an automobile at one mile a minute, which is quite fast for the time depicted in the film (1904); in real life he was the first to reach a speed of 60 mph (97 km/h). The film mostly revolves around Mack and Simpson and their conflict over the transition from horses to "horseless carriages", which works alright for the 75 minute run-time. Miller is fairly alright, though nothing too special. The rest of the cast is fairly decent in their roles. Mack was killed in a car accident while driving to work, which occurred near the end of filming, with the movie premiering three months later.

What is interesting about this silent film is that it has a Vitaphone sound-on-disc soundtrack, complete with a musical score and sound effects (synchronized to the movie) that also contains spoken words (three) and laughter at some points. This is a fairly adequate comedy-drama, having a few tidy gags while also being relatively serious enough without going too overboard; the climax has a few thrills, even if it sounds a bit odd: Simpson and Miller are attempting to get to the automobile race before Mack's car (filled with sulfur) explodes, while they are on horse carriage. The automobile action (such as the race against a horse and the races at the end) is neatly executed, and I imagine this will appeal to fans of old automobiles (one particular photo of Oldfield and Henry Ford is shown near the end, featuring the Ford 999). The whole transitioning technologies aspect of the plot is still fairly applicable now, albeit with a few changes (such as the climax). On the whole, this is a mildly entertaining movie that works best alongside other silent movies of the time while not requiring too much to invest in. It's not hard to recommend, if you're looking for a movie with some old-fashioned automobiles.

My condolences go out to the families of the seven members of the USS Fitzgerald who were killed in a collision this weekend. This especially hurts to write considering that Noe Hernandez, one of the men that died, came from my home city of Weslaco. No one should have to go through a saddening tragedy like this. They will be missed and they will never be forgotten; may they rest in peace.

Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

The Phantom of the Opera (1925).

Review #774: The Phantom of the Opera.

Cast
Lon Chaney (Erik, The Phantom of the Opera), Mary Philbin (Christine Daaé), Norman Kerry (Vicomte Raoul de Chagny), Arthur Edmund Carewe (Ledoux), Gibson Gowland (Simon Buquet), John St. Polis (Comte Philippe de Chagny), and Snitz Edwards (Florine Papillon) Directed by Rupert Julian (with additional uncredited work by Edward Sedgwick, Ernst Laemmle, and Lon Chaney)

Review

After a bit of shopping on the Eve of Christmas, I decided to watch a film that I had planned to do earlier in the year but had forgotten to. 90 years after its release, all of the cast members had died, but it was only last year that the final cast member (Carla Laemmle, playing a prima ballerina) died, which was also when Soundstage 28, a set made for the movie that was demolished. Naturally, the one scene that is most memorable is the reveal of the Phantom himself, makeup (created by Chaney himself) and all. It shocked audiences in 1925, and it still looks shocking now, in a way that CGI can never duplicate. Of course the sequence in color (with the Phantom as the Red Death, most notably) is also a highlight, particularly for the time it was shown in. It's a melodrama that lasts for...a run time that depends on what version you are watching. The original release was 101 minutes, but when it re-issued in 1930 with sound, it lasted 101 minutes. The version I watched lasted 107 minutes, so I guess I won out with the movie. The movie certainly sets itself well with regards to the mysterious aspects of the Phantom, but also with the character himself, presented as more than just someone who stalks the opera, but one of misery and hope, masked in deformity. Of course he also was once a prisoner on Devil's Island before he escaped, but still. Chaney truly dominates the movie, in part due to the makeup, but also his ability to act so well without sound. The chandelier scene is treated a bit low key (compared to other scenes), but it is enjoyable to watch a chandelier fall down, especially due to its size. This is a technical marvel in terms of its makeup by Chaney, but also a good horror film that was one of the first films in the Universal Monsters series. Go see it.

Overall, I give it 9 out of 10 stars.