D.W. Griffith, Broken
Blossoms (1919)
Griffith had been making films for ten years or more. In 1915, he made what is one of the most famous (and
infamous) films in history when he made Birth
of a Nation. The film uses white actors to play Black men, as Hollywood
continued to do with various racial types right up until recently. Broken Blossoms does the same, using
white actors to play Chinese people. Birth
of a Nation depicts the Black men as ugly and violent. The film was (and
continues to be) seen as racist. In 1916, Griffith made the lavish (like a
Cecille B. DeMille extravaganza) film, Intolerance
(some prints are as long as 208 minutes). This film seems in some way
Griffith’s attempt to assuage his guilt for his portrayal of African American
people in Birth of a Nation, the way
John Ford tried to do something similar when he made Cheyenne Autumn in 1964 as a way of revising his earlier depiction
of Native Americans. But Intolerance
is both very long and structurally demanding, telling four stories from
different historical times simultaneously with a recurring bridging scene of a
mother rocking a cradle. Griffith might have thought that to make his point he
needed to make a more straight -forward film, something simple such as Broken Blossoms. Did I say “simple”?
Well, you know what I mean: the story unfolds sequentially.
Broken Blossoms is
a melodrama with oversized villain and pint-sized victim.
Broken Blossoms is
obviously about race. The story is reminiscent of Romeo and Juliet, but instead of two families feuding, we have two
races. The lovers cannot come together happily precisely because of the
intolerance of the society in which they live.
What do you make of the opening scenes in China?
This is a film about broken dreams and aspirations.
This is a film about entrapment. The scene in which Lucy
retreats to the closet and cringes as her father hacks away at the door with a
hatchet will serve as example (cf Kubrik's The Shining). But the entire shooting style communicates
entrapment, from the opening shots inside a monastery, to the closed boxing
ring, the soporific house of sin, the claustrophobic shop where the “Yellow Man” works, the short abrupt streets,
the house where Lucy and Battling live, the enclosed space of the dock and work
yard, the night shooting, the close-ups, the extreme narrowness of the bedroom
above the shop. We seem unable to stretch in this film. For the most part, the
camera cannot get distance from the actors or the action.
This is a film about love. But I wonder just how this film
envisages love. Why does the Chinese man find Lucy attractive? Why does she
find him attractive?
This is a film about inner struggle and turmoil. The camera
locates much of the “meaning” in body language and, especially, eyes.
This is a film about the loss of innocence, its fragility,
and its inevitable failure.
The intensity of such loss is, perhaps, nowhere more evident than in
the scene in which Lucy mends her father’s work socks. She does this carefully,
and just before she puts the mended socks away, she briefly strokes them. What
does this suggest? (See a similar gesture in Ford’s The Searchers)
And what about Battling? His body language more often than
not suggests arrogance, anger,
violence, and a huge reservoir of
frustration. Why, I wonder?
This is a film about xenophobia. I wonder how successful
Griffith is in presenting China and Chinese people sympathetically.
Birth of a Nation
was technically advanced. Andrew Rausch’s book lists the many innovations this
film introduced (see pp.34-35).
Some of these techniques appear in Broken Blossoms: cross-cutting, tinting, close-ups. In fact, we
might call Broken Blossoms a film of
close-ups. We have many instances of facial close-ups and mid-range close-ups
(from torso up). The close-ups serve to intensify the emotional impact of the
film.
The film gesture: perhaps the most famous feature of Broken Blossoms is the gesture Lucy
(Lillian Gish) makes when her “Daddy” insists that she smile. She places her
fingers to her mouth and pulls her lips into a smile. This gesture appears
throughout the film, but most significantly in Lucy’s last close-up as she
dies. Does this work?
Gesture: we have many instances of signature gestures in
film (Bogart pulling on his ear in The
Maltese Falcon, Wayne holding his forearm in The Searchers, Woody Allen‘s many ticks and mannerisms and those
glasses, Henry Fonda’s play with the chair in My Darling Clementine). Can you think of others? The gesture reminds us of the body. It reminds us of
non-verbal communication. It draws our attention to character. The gesture reminds us of visual cueing. Not only do we have
Lucy’s gesture in Broken Blossoms,
but we also have Battling’s fists, various smoking apparatuses, and flowers. These serve as visual
“symbols” or signs. Each of these signs communicates to the audience. What have
I missed in the list below?
- gesture of forced smile
- clenched fists
- flowers (used for various “gestures”)
- the dolls and the one doll
- smoking apparatuses
- feet and foot
- clothes
- food
- streets and sets
- use of establishing shots (e.g. dark shots of night and ships, or dockside with workers sawing and doing other things, shots with mist)
Opening shots establish themes: we see various contrasts,
and the film builds on contrasts:
- children/sailors
- east/west
- young (children)/old (merchants)
- Buddhists (peace)/sailors (rowdy and pugnacious)
- Buddhist priests/American clergymen missionaries
- Chinese part of town/dock side
What do you make of the comment at the end of the film that
this day has seen “40,000 casualties”?
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