Winter silents, and von Sternberg

The Bells (1926), directed by James Young. The print of this late silent film available on TUBI is exquisite. It is worth seeing just for the clarity of the images. It is also an opportunity to see both Lionel Barrymore and Boris Karloff. Barrymore plays innkeeper, Mathias, who is kindly and ambitious. He wants to be the burgomaster of his Alsatian village. As he goes about courting local citizens, his wife worries about finances, as well she should. Mathias is deeply in debt to local businessman, Jerome Frantz (Gustav von Seyffertitz), who threatens to foreclose unless Mathias pays his debt or gives his daughter to Jerome in marriage. This daughter, Annette (Lola Todd), is in love with the young gendarme Christian (Eddie Philips), and Mathias does not wish to interfere with her desire to marry Eddie. Oh what a web we weave. As things roll along, a travelling carnival comes to the village, a carnival that includes the impressive feats of the Mesmerist (Boris Karloff). The Mesmerist has a small, but central role in this photoplay, and Karloff gives him menacing stares, and sneering looks, and sinister touches. He also gives him a definite whiff of Dr. Caligari. Yes, Murnau’s film clearly influences the look of this film both in Karloff’s performance and in the fantastic “Dream of Conscience” sequence. Now to the point: a Polish Jew arrives at Mathias’s inn wearing a money belt filled with gold coins. This is too much for Mathias to pass up and he goes out into the snowy night and kills the Polish fellow with an axe. What follows is Mathias’s fear of exposure. Conscience rules and we have scenes reminiscent of Macbeth’s encounter with Banquo’s ghost. What to conclude? This is an efficiently made little thriller worth seeing for just how beautiful silent films can look. Oh, and it has Lionel Barrymore and Boris Karloff.

 

Underworld (1927), directed by Joseph von Sternberg. One of the first, if not the first, gangster films, Underworld tells the story of Bull Weed (George Bancroft), a criminal who befriends a down and under alcoholic, Rolls Royce (Clive Brook). Royce is grateful for Bull’s sympathy and help, but finds himself attracted to Bull’s squeeze, Feathers (Evelyn Brent). The plot is thin – Bull saves Rolls from Mulligan (who owns a flower shop and is another ugly gangster), Rolls fall for Feathers, Bull is arrested for murdering Mulligan, Feathers and Rolls decide to go away together, but not before they help Bull escape from prison, the escape takes place, Bull sees that Rolls and Feathers are loyal and that they have fallen in love, Bull saves the day while the two young lovers escape, the end. We know that Bull is, beneath his blustering, a sweetheart because of the manner in which he treats the kitten outside his apartment. The moment with the milk bottle is nice, but mostly we admire not the action, but the look of things. What stands out are the lighting and the camera work and the sets (the bizarre and baroque ballroom scene and the final sequence inside the apartment). This slightness of plot and richness of mise en scene and lighting will characterize von Sternberg’s films through the 1930s, the seven he will make with Marlene Dietrich. In Underworld we have many images that will resurface many times over the next eighty years and more. Here is how Geoffrey O’Brien puts it: “Presumably, a major part of its appeal was the profusion of then-novel images, pouring out at a rapid tempo von Sternberg was never to surpass, that would become part of the common vocabulary of the gangster genre: a bank window exploding, squad cars moving frantically through dark city streets, loose women parading themselves in underworld lairs, the outlaw hero contemplating a neon sign that proclaims “The City Is Yours,” a gangster shot dead in his flower shop, his desperate killer besieged by police in an apartment, the windows shattering from barrages of gunfire as the room fills with smoke” (The Criterion Collection, 2010). The acting may be exaggerated and the story overly melodramatic, but von Sternberg never fails to deliver images of power and beauty.

 

Docks of New York (1928), directed by Josef von Sternberg. This early von Sternberg film has all the marks of his cinematic vision: busy mise en scene, delicate lighting, fallen women, careful use of shadows, life in the raw, and a touch of sentiment. Here Mae Roberts (Betty Compson) is clearly a precursor of Marlene Dietrich in von Sternberg’s later films. Early in the film, she attempts suicide by jumping into the water at the docks. Gruff stoker, Bill Roberts (George Bancroft), jumps in to save her, and herein begins the story of two misfits who find love. They find love all right, but not before trials and tribulations, including the death of Andy (Mitchell Lewis) whose long-suffering wife, Lou (Baclanova) shoots him in a terrific scene that we observe from outside the room in which the shooting takes place. Lou shoots Andy because he has given her air too many times. In other words, he is a philanderer. Von Sternberg gives us the life of stokers, dock workers, and saloon girls with a cleverly moving camera and a careful eye. What triumphs in this film is the gutsy life of Mae. The focus may be on virile Bill with his sweaty and muscular body, but he finds that he, like the viewers, is taken with the beauty and strength of Mae.

 

I have many favourite films, but not many can top the seven features Josef von Sternberg made with Marlene Dietrich beginning with The Blue Angel (1930) and ending with The Devil is a Woman (1935). In between we have Morocco, Dishonoured, Shanghai Express, Blonde Venus, and The Scarlet Empress. The Scarlet Empress is the penultimate film in the series and the one we watched again last evening. It is without doubt a "relentless excursion into style." It is the most opulent of the von Sternberg/Dietrich films. The story of Catherine the Great of Russia as she transforms from the innocent young Prussian girl, Sophie, into the powerful leader of Russia who arranges for the assassination of her "royal half-wit" husband is replete with a decadent array of sights and sounds - grotesque gargoyles, suffocating candles, oppressive clothing, massive doors that take several people to open and close, clanging bells (one of which has a human clapper), icons galore, a feast presided over by a skeleton, and so on. The effect sends a message mixed in its meaning. Does Catherine assume greatness or does she simply take the mantle of madness from her sorry husband?

 

Anatahan (1953/1958), directed by Josef von Sternberg. I can’t help but think that Guy Maddin watched this film closely. It has a staginess informed by documentary that results in a curio. It also has Josef von Sternberg as writer, photographer, director, and voice over. The narrative speculates on the seven years a group of Japanese soldiers spend on a fairly deserted pacific island from 1944 to 1951. The Japanese dialogue is not subtitled, and for a chronicling of the action, we have von Sternberg’s voice over narration throughout the film. This voice purports to be one of the sailors, but which one is never made clear. Shot in black and white, the film harks back to the lush mi-en-scene and the lighting of the director’s early films with Marlene Dietrich. I wondered whether this was von Sternberg’s comment on those early films with their interest in community disorder, power and its abuse, male desire, the human capacity for barbarism, and the indifference of nature. Think The Blue Angel crossed with The Lord of the Flies. As we would expect, the set designs are intricate and accentuate the complications of human interaction. The actors remain at some distance, partly because we do not know for certain what they say. But their motives are clear as we follow them from their first arrival on the island, to their discovery of a man and a woman who are also stranded there, to their descent into jealousy and desire for control. This is quite an amazing final film from one of cinema’s most curious figures.

Why Worry? (1923), directed by Fred Newmeyer and Sam Taylor. In this one, Harold Lloyd plays Harold Van Pelham, a hypochondriac young man who travels with his nurse and valet to a fictional island off the coast of Chile called Paradiso. There he finds an American cad, James Blake, who is inciting local rebels to overthrow the government. The usual American way. He also finds a friend in a character named Colosso (John Aasen). Colosso is a colossus. John Aasen, the actor, was 7 feet 2 inches tall, according to medical records after his death. He has also been variously tagged at 8 feet 11 inches and 8 feet 9 inches. Anyway, he is tall, very tall. His size makes for some of the film's most striking (as it were) visual humour. We have much running about, much hurling of bodies, much mistaken identity, and much taking of pills. One of the funnier set pieces involves Harold trying to pull Colosso's sore tooth. Of course, Harold overcomes his hypochondria and of course he finds that he loves his nurse who of course reciprocates. Lloyd's films have a sweetness of their own. He may not be as intensely inventive as Keaton or Chaplin, but he is sweeter. And his films allow him to grow through his experiences.

Speedy (1928), directed by Ted Wilde who was nominated for an Oscar for the movie - best director of a comedy. Speedy is Harold Lloyd's last silent film, and it is amusing, if not hilarious. Harold is a young man who finds it difficult to keep a job. He tries driving a taxi and working as a soda jerk. Neither job lasts long. Meanwhile, the father of Harold's girl friend is having troubles with a large corporation that wants to oust the old man's horse-drawn trolley and replace it with a new fangled electric trolley. The set piece in this film is Harold's coming to the rescue by driving Pop's horse-drawn trolley in crazy fashion through the streets of New York in order to keep Pop in business. After much in the way of thrills, accidents, and racing about Harold wins the day. The film also has a sequence at Coney Island in which montage makes for some fun.

 

Movie Crazy (1932), directed by Clyde Bruckman. Harold Hall (Harold Lloyd) is a small town fellow from Kansas who hopes to make it in the film industry. He travels to Hollywood and hangs around film studios and film crews on location making a nuisance of himself and meeting a young star whom he fails to recognize when she is acting the part of a Mexican beauty. Much hijinks in the manner of the silent cinema, although this is a talkie. This film is worth it for the long set piece at the end when Harold finds himself in the midst of a series of shenanigans on a pirate ship where he fights the ship's captain all the while being watched by the Mexican beauty. This fight is hilarious. 

Last evening we watched three Harold Lloyd films, this one, plus Get Out and Get Under (1920), directed by Hal Roach, and For Heaven's Sake (1926), directed by Sam Taylor. Get Out and Get Under is about a young man and his car. It has a scene in which, the car having stopped running, Harold sees a fellow on the sidewalk stop and inject himself with something (presumably cocaine). After the injection, the fellow perks up and Harold walks over to him and steals the syringe. He then injects his car, and lo and behold the car starts and begins to bounce. This scene reminded us of The Mystery of the Leaping Fish (1916). This film was made not long after Harold lost half his right hand in an onset accident. For Heaven's Sake has a long sequence during which Harold tries to herd a group of inebriated denizens of the bowery to the Mission where Harold is to get married. This sequence has the requisite run-ins with the police, with vehicles of various kinds, including a double decker bus.

 Just a few films for February, beginning with a few from Wes Anderson.

The French Dispatch (2021), directed by Wes Anderson. Here we have Wes Anderson in spades, in colour, in black and white, mostly in live action, and in animation. The screen is a cornucopia of delights, too much for one viewing. I was reminded of Anderson’s earlier work, Jacques Tati, Jean-Luc Godard, Jean Renoir, Curtis Hanson, Esteban Sapir, and others. The film offers a triptych of short stories held together by a frame in the offices of the Liberty, Kansas Evening Sun newspaper/magazine (The New Yorker in disguise?). The stories purport to be features by three of the magazines top writers, art critic/historian J. K.L. Berensen (Tilda Swinton), reporter in the field Lucinda Krementz (Frances McDormand), and food writer Roebuck Wright (Jefferey Wright). The stories follow the weird career of artist and mental patient Moses Rosenthaler (Benicio del Toro), student activist Zeffirelli (Timothee Chalamet), and police chef Nescaffier (Stephen Park). The three stories all take place in a small French city, Ennui-sur-Blasé, and they begin with a talk-about-town with bicycle-riding Herbsaint Sazerac (Owen Wilson) who gives us something of a tour of the environs of this French city including pickpocket alley, the arcade, and Le Sans Blague Café (sans blague =  no kidding or this is no joke, meaning in this case, we have nothing but a joke). This is clever, sly, witty, convoluted, and much fun. As I say above, the film requires more than one viewing. Even the subtitles, when required, are unusually clever.

 

Asteroid City (2023), directed by Wes Anderson. I suspect many of you have seen this film, and I will keep my comments brief. Near the beginning and the end of this film we see a (I think this should be the definite article) Roadrunner moving about, and many of us may wonder when the Coyote will turn up. Like all Anderson’s films, this one is chock full of cultural references. Here the references are to 1950s with cowboy clothing, box-like buildings, starchy clothing, down home music, the a-bomb, ufos, guns, diners, aloof parents, etc. A running (or at least moving) gag throughout is a speeding getaway car chased by a police car and motorcycle, guns a-blazing. Of course, the military is on hand, especially after an alien ship arrives to take a look at the object that lends its name to the small desert community. Much in evidence is the modern world’s penchant for consuming things, from land to food to gadgets of various kinds. The story, such as it is, comes framed by a Playhouse 90-style television production that combines the theatre with television – both of which are delivered on film to us. The television narrator is played with suitable gravitas by Bryan Cranston, and the playwright is a Sam Shepard-like fellow named Conrad Earp (Edward Norton). The rest of the cast is chock full of familiar faces, and everyone delivers performances that are best dubbed drole. As we would expect in an Anderson film, the world we see is artificial, the artificiality accentuating the point about America that Anderson conveys. If all the world’s a stage, then what we have is a country following a script, a script that has resulted in a certain level of comfort, laced with violence and the threat of annihilation.

 

The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar (2023) and The Swan (2023), directed by Wes Anderson. These two short films based on stories by Roald Dahl are typical of Anderson; they exhibit artificial two-dimensional sets, self-conscious acting, and a control that results in symmetrical compositions and witty moments. And, of course, we have the usual Anderson palette. If anything, we have too much of this distinctive style. Okay the material is intriguing enough, the story of Henry Sugar the rich guy who loves to gamble and acquires X-ray vision (his ability is never called X-ray vision, but this is what it amounts to) by following the strict regime of an Indian yogi (Ben Kingsley) begins with Roald Dahl (Ralph Fiennes) reading to us in his writing room. Thereafter we have narrators – Dahl, Henry Sugar (Benedict Cumberbatch), Dr. Chatterjee (Dev Patel) – telling us the story from both inside the narrative and outside the narrative. As for the story, it has its amusing aspects and perhaps offers a lesson in tempering greed and helping others less fortunate. The Swan is a brief 17 minutes and tells the story of Peter (both Asa Jennings as the young Peter and Rupert Friend as the adult Peter) who is bullied mercilessly by other boys when he is young. These same boys kill a beautiful swan and remove its wings in order to attach them to Peter. Yes it is fantastical. This film too has Anderson’s signature touches, with the same layered diegesis as Henry Sugar. It also tosses in a bit of animation for good measure. I ought not say “tosses in” because nothing in an Anderson film is “tossed.” Everything is carefully arranged, even obsessively and meticulously arranged.

Big Bug (2022), directed by Jean-Pierre Jeunet. Imagine Bunuel’s The Exterminating Angel set in the future some 50 or 100 years from now. Or The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie. That’s Big Bug, a futuristic look at a group of people who find themselves unable to leave the suburban house in which they either live or have come to visit. The film does gesture to a wider world in its snippets of the outside world in which advertisements are an ongoing thing in suburban streets, and computers seem to run things and humiliate human beings, and a borg-like entity dominates and controls human action. In other words, what might at first blush look like a utopia turns out to be a dystopia. I guess this ought to be obvious in the first scene in which we have two robots walking their humans who move along on all fours and act like dogs. The house in which the action takes place has a variety of technological devices and artificial intelligences seemingly controlled by one of these called “Einstein.” The set designs are colourful and jazzy in a sort of Jestons’s way or maybe Scooby-doo way. The camera work is fluid and inventive. The film tackles a number of themes including authoritarianism, artificial intelligence, the human desire for constant stimulation and pleasure, but it does so in a quirky and even goofy manner. We have one passing nod to the earlier Jeunet film, Delicatessen, and this should remind us just how deeply suspicious Jeunet is of human desire. The echoes of Bunuel let us know that Jeunet carries this suspicion with humour. All in all, this is a mixed pleasure.

Sand Storm (2016), directed by Elite Zexer. The film begins with 18-year-old Layla (Lamis Ammar) at the wheel of the family car and her father Suliman (Hitham Omari) in the passenger’s seat. Suliman is teaching his daughter how to drive, and they are on the way back from Layla’s school. Her cell phone rings and she checks it because her school grades have been posted. She has not done as well as her father expected she would do. In any case, before arriving at their desert Bedouin village, they change places because Layla cannot be seen driving. Driving is not something women do in this community. This opening scene contains most of what we will experience going forward: the clash of modernity with tradition, the psychological tension between family members, the gender inequality, and the enclosed feeling of enforced patriarchy. Layla and her father arrive home just before Suliman’s marriage to his second wife. His first wife, Jalila (Ruba Blal) is busy preparing a place for the new bride, including moving a new bed into her husband's place. She is not too happy about the situation. From here we have a film that examines the family dynamic. Jalila and Suliman have four children, Layla being the oldest. One of the other three serves as something of a focaliser, as she goes about spying on her elders. This character (I am not sure of her name) just may offer a hope that the younger generation might break free of the power dynamic that sees women as chattel rather than as independent persons. Layla finds herself caught between tradition and modernity, and her future is what drives the plot. This film is a slow burn. The sand storm of the title never materializes, although a storm rages inside most of the characters we meet.