J’Accuse (1919), directed by Abel Gance. Before Citizen Kane (1941), we have Abel Gance’s Napoleon (1927). Napoleon is one of my favourite films, and deserves to be on anyone’s top ten list. I recommend it to everyone. But before Napoleon we have J’Accuse. This film is not as flamboyant as Napoleon; however, it is grand and innovative. Its use of animated skeletons, reminiscent of images from Durer, stark black and white drawings of death flying over the dark land, silhouettes, still images of peaceful activity such as ploughing and spreading seed and fishing, and Botticelli’s Primavera illustrate how inventive Gance was. This film is also one of the great anti-war films, containing some brief shots of the actual war. Gance had re-enlisted in the army in 1918 in order to film war as it actually took place; he filmed parts of the battle of Saint-Mihiel in September of 1918. French and American troops fought alongside each other. Another striking feature of the film is the return of the dead soldiers at the end. Gance used some 2,000 soldiers who were on leave from the front lines (Verdun); both he and these soldiers knew that many, perhaps most, of these men would die before the war ended. The film’s title, “j’accuse,” appears throughout the film, hurled at whatever force or forces control this world, hurled at anyone complicit in war, hurled as a cry of pain, and ultimately hurled at God or Gods above. All this condemnation of war is the backdrop for a simple story. This is a melodrama in which three people struggle with love and friendship. Francois is married to Edith who is in love with Jean Diaz, poet and dreamer of sunshine and goodness. Francois is jealous as all-get-out, and when he finds that his superior officer in the army is Jean, he is not amused. War, however, makes for strange bedfellows. While Francois and Jean are away fighting, Edith finds herself captured by German soldiers who act toward her in an ugly fashion. We cannot hope for a happy ending because war has a way of disrupting the order of things. This film goes down with Paths of Glory, La Grande Illusion, Dr. Strangelove as a major anti-war statement on film. Gance remade the film in 1938.

 

The Bride’s Play (1922), directed by George Terwillier. January brings us silent film Fridays, and the first of our silent is The Bride’s Play. Marion Davies stars in this romance. I have never read a book by Barbara Cartland, but I suspect the plot here resembles the plots in Cartland’s books. A young woman loses her father, is admired by an older member of the landed gentry in Ireland, and falls for the young poet, Bulmer Meade. Bulmer sees the young woman as just another in his gallery (literally) of female conquests. The narrative turns on the ancient tradition of the Bride’s Game. After she marries, the bride goes about the place of the wedding celebration asking men if they are the one she truly loves. Anyway, this fluffy plot is not the reason to see this film. What sparkles is the cinematography and the set designs, and in the flashback to ancient times, the costumes. These scenes late in the film are lavish and impressive. I also like the film’s various tints, especially the blue of the seascapes and the somewhat subdued yellow elsewhere. What weakens the film for me is its dependence on intertitles. Especially in the film’s first half, we have many – and I mean many – intertitles, some of them quite lengthy. Still, this is a fine example of Hollywood’s ability to create a sense of place, in this case Ireland both ancient and contemporary, without leaving the vicinity of backlots.