Il Cinema Ritrovato, ten take-aways from 2019…

1. Musidora absolutely deserves to be included in the canon of women writers, directors and actors. She also liked a bullfight.

OK, Jean Gabin may well be the poster boy for this year’s Il Cinema Ritrovato but for the cinemutophiles it can only be Musidora. I must confess that I have only seen her in Les Vampires and hadn’t fully appreciated the full range of this French actor who I now know is also theatrical performer, writer, poet, director, and icon… meaning many things for many people. Musidora, born Jeanne Roques in 1899, was also a cinema archivist, helping Henri Langlois to preserve not just her own legacy but many others at the Cinémathèque Française.

My Festival kicked off with Patrick Cazals documentary Musidora – la dixième muse (2013), which painted a fuller portrait of the woman who was Irma Vep – an actor of charm and tremendous abilities. Two of the longer episodes of Les Vampires were screened, Episode 3: Le Cryptogramme Rouge (1915) with John Sweeney and percussionist Frank Bockius, and Episode 6 Les Yeux Qui Fascinent (1915) with Neil Brand.

There were also three films in which the actor not only performed but directed and co-wrote:

Soleil et Ombre (1922) was screened outdoors at Piazetta Pasolini with Stephen Horne providing light and shade to this torrid take of toreadors projected by the famous Carbon Arc.

La Tierra de los Toros (Land of the Bulls) 1924 a Franco-spanish production accompanied by Gabriel Thibaudeau

Pour Don Carlos (1921) with Neil Brand is a major restoration of Musidora’s most ambitious and for me, interesting film

We also got the 1963 version of Judex which stylishly tipped its hat in *all* of the right directions in terms of its fast-moving gamelan adventure and abundance of plot, cat suits and secret lairs.  

More Musidora later. There has to be.

Greta Almroth and Lars Hanson in Song of the Scarlet Flower (1919)

2. Mauritz Stiller loved the great outdoors

Sir Arne’s Treasure (1919) with John Sweeney

I’ve written about this film before but its rugged and uncompromising story has so much more impact on the big screen and with Mr Sweeney’s ability to combine epic with emotion so detailed that I swear he changed musical sentiment right in the middle of one title card.

The film tells of a brutal murder by three Scottish warlords in Sweden as they make off with the titular treasure. One girl survives the massacre of Sir Arne’s family and falls in love with Sir Archie not knowing who he is.

The weather conspires to trap the evildoers as they carry the ill-gotten goods and the sea freezes away their escape route. Just when you think that redemption must surely be on the way, there comes the shocking truth that love may not be enough… The Swedes didn’t mess around.

Song of the Scarlet Flower (1919) with new recording of Armas Jarnefelt’s original score.

As for the film, says everything about our leading man, that at least one viewer had to be reminded of which of the female leads he’d ended up with. The trouble with Lars Hanson, observed another, is that he’s better looking than most of his leading ladies. Well, far be it from me to comment, but he’s certainly a fine actor with charisma to burn even when, as here, he’s a bit of a lad who can’t stop himself from lovin’ and leavin’ them.

Filmed in 1918, Mauritz Stiller’s film is the only Swedish silent with a surviving score, written by Finnish composer Armas Jarnefelt whose great nephew was present to hear a new recording alongside the Swedish Film Institute’s restoration of the film. Matching music to film when using so many sources was a digitally-intense job – the original cut for the score does not exist – but it was worth it to hear the film as it would have sounded for those lucky enough to have attended orchestrated screenings. Scoring for a two-hour film is an enormous task – especially in 1919 - and the music was rich in thematic content as well as narrative subtlety: literally, the sound of Swedish silent.

Let’s hope that the SFI and festivals keep the restored Stiller coming with The Saga of Gosta Berling… c'mon Greta Garbo, Lars Hanson... Jenny Hasselqvist!!!

Nell Shipman

3. So did Nell Shipman (and animals)

Back to God’s Country (1919) (35mm) was co-directed by the actor who also wrote the screen play and stared too along with her extensive menagerie. One actor die of exposure on the trip/expedition to the frozen North East and conditions were rugged.

Nell took it all in her stride even skinny dipping to help raise interest in the project: “Is the nude rude” ran the advertising, not by today’s standards but I’m sure many were shocked who’d not blinked an eye at elements of David Wark Griffith’s work.

Donald Sosin accompanied with verve and adventure of his own.

4. Comedy is an experience best shared – especially in the Piazza Maggiore

The Cameraman (1928) with Timothy Brock and Orcestra del Teatro Communale di Bologna

The Piazza was rammed for the first big silent showpiece of the festival and we were lucky enough to find a seat, some drink and, crucially, ice-cream as we watched Buster’s last great film with Timothy Brock’s emphatic new score. Kevin Brownlow introduced and explained how Buster had been sold off to MGM by ex-brother-in-law Joseph Schenck where he was to face a more controlled environment. They gave him a director, Edward Sedgwick, but he was a friendly one and Buster was able to deviate enough off-script – he’d never worked to one – to produce the gags, particularly in the Giant’s baseball ground.

It’s not to everyone’s taste, seemingly, but I like the film a lot and it was good to hear a new audience of all ages respond to Buster’s charm and comedy as he tries to become a professional cameraman in order to win the charms of Marceline Day. The film is very disciplined and the timing is spot on from the moment Buster races across town on the telephone to his love only to answer her in person to the magnificent pull-away shot of the monkey filming Buster’s despair after his finest moment seemingly goes to waste.

Timothy Brock’s score punched emphatically along with every beat of Keaton’s comedy, running with him through Manhattan, fighting to get changed in the swimming pool and forlornly waiting for his big chance with MGM and Marceline. It was as sentimentally robust as the man himself and richly deserved the ovation at the end.

We had more Buster with College (1927) – one of his less masterpieces but still essential viewing, Neil Brand accompanied wit a knowing look and a twinkle as Buster gets the girl though guile and quick-thinking. The only issue being, how could this small but clearly ripped guy not be seen more quickly as an athlete? Still, only a movie...

Thursday night in the Piazza Maggiore and it was Charlie’s turn with The Circus (1927), a film I’ve never seen and one which really benefited from the setting, good company and a few glasses of Spritz…

He improvises at least as well as Keaton and his physical comedy is just as good, more intricate perhaps. But, the more I think about his main character – the man who has nothing and is always more than willing to give it all away, the more I find it striking. This is not some cutesy “everyman” character it is the lowest of the low: usually unemployed and with no health insurance of union to protect him: that “Tramp” has been failed by the system but is always living in hope: on his way back, somehow.

Anyway, we laughed like drains!

5. 1919 was a very good year as was 1899

In addition to the two Stillers and the Shipman there was a broad range of films confirming the strength of cinema in 1919 including Dreyer’s excellent Praesidenten (1919), Richard Oswald’s reconstructed Anders Als Die Andern (1919), Albert Capellani and Nazimova’s The Red Lantern (1919) and Augusto Genina’s curious comedy The Mask and the Face (1919), a social comedy about husbands and wives and homicide: key quote: “You can’t kill me again…”

 There was also a remarkable silent film from India – where so few survive - called Kaliya Mardan (The Children of Krishna) (1919) directed by the ground-breaking Govind Phalke and with Stephen Horne and Frank Bockius providing accompaniment. This was a sheer delight after seeing almost all the existing material from this period. Phalke’s daughter plays the young Krishna and gives just the right amount of cheeky as the young demi-god find his limits and responsibilities. It all culminated in the taming of a huge water God in the shape of a snake… surely a sign of things to come.

We also saw the Signing of United Artists Contract of Incorporation (1919) which showed a three heroes, Doug, Mary and Charlie, cavorting for the crowds whist DWG looked ill-at-ease and a bit grand for his own good in these changing times.

We also saw many restored prints from 1899, including a number from the BFI as well as the other archives. Seeing these projected in the Piazza Maggiore was especially rewarding Newcastle iron workers risking life and limb in the routine of their work… and we fret about Skype connections and toner cartridge… it was fantastic to see these with John Sweeney’s accompaniment in the big arena.

6. New years are not always happy

Piazzetta Pasolini’s carbon-arc projected brought us real rarities with Sylvester (1923) plus some precious Satanas (1919-20) fragments from Murnau and Veidt all with Frank Bockius and Stephen Horne accompanying.

After a dozen Weimar films at the BFI this Spring, I should have been better prepared for Lupu Pick’s dark drama but he went places no one else had gone with an horrific family struggle taking place in the backroom of a bar on a street filled with New Year’s revelry. Over and again Pick switches from the cavorting on the strasse to the condensed hatred and misery of the parlour as the unthinkable unfolds before our soft, festivalled eyes… we too were outside, under the stars having a good time, watching the Piazzetta Pasolini’s carbon-arc projector screen the purest of human relationships unravel, love and envy curdling to hatred…

Frank Bockius mostly took the lead for this one – with Stephen filling on with his customary versatility. It emphasised the films’ dichotomy between doing and hating and worked very well for me: something new, occasionally avant but also full of warmth for the family decent into Hell!

All that from one run through? I genuinely don’t know how it’s done!

7. Harvesting seaweed is dangerous and rewarding

Finis Terrae (1929) Jean Epstein's raw drama felt so much like a Robert Flaherty docu-drama and yet the exquisitely shot tale of desperate infection at the ends of the World was slow-burning tension from start to finish. The cinematography came from four cameramen and I’m sure both Flaherty and Michael Powell were watching as the quietly deadly battle between man and nature showed how quickly the latter can turn against the former.

8. Gender attitudes are “interesting” in classic film

Henry King’s She Goes to War (1929) is, as I’ve written before, a classic case of the glass half full… the original film was mostly silent with some dialogue and some songs from Alma Rubens, and battle scenes described by King Vidor as amongst the best yet filmed – quite something from the director of The Big Parade. Sadly, what remains is a re-issued version from 1939 which cuts out all the title cards and a fair chunk of the plot in order to present a sound film focused mostly on those battle scenes.

We must join the dots to understand Eleanor Boardman’s character’s story arc as she follows her beloved to Europe only to find that he’s a cowardly drunk – unlike the handsome young captain who leads his men, and woman, into fight. Clearly there was a lot more of the love triangle but all that’s left is the denouement when Boardman is left off the hook by her fella’s lack of courage and, having taken his place in the fray, emerges triumphant with the glory and the guy.

The print wasn’t great but there’s enough here to show how good King’s technical direction was – the battle is indeed edge of your seat gritty – and to show what a good actor Boardman was. She’s often not given the credit she deserves, The Crowd excepted, but this was another stretch for a woman once described as “the most outspoken in Hollywood”. That said, no amount of mud can disguise those eyes…

Eleanor Boardman

“Thank ‘eaven for leetle girls…” sings Maurice Chevalier in Gigi a film I had never seen and which was described by one festival-goer as a sing-along about child prostitution. I don’t think it’s quite that, Leslie Caron was 25 at the time of the shoot, and the film itself does have her character rebelling against being “arranged” into a relationship with Louis Jordan’s rich Count. In the end they both realise the only way for them is to proceed as equals and to marry… Chevalier’s old letch carries on as before, picking women when they are “ripe” and possibly regretting nothing.

It was projected on a vintage 1961 print and looked wonderful even with all those scratches: an analogue experience in a digital world…

Jean Gabin studies in Du Haute n Bas

9. Jean Gabin had presence and we can all see just why he was the love of Marlene Dietrich’s life

I watched on of Gabin’s earliest as a thug in Coeur de Lilas (1931) and then as the far more charming football player in GW Pabst’s Du Haute n Bas (High and Low) (1933) which was a much more polished film with a superb cast and a very focused story of love amongst the different classes in the Fourth French Republic. Director Anatole Litvak uses Jean Gabin well a soccer-playing hero who wants to improve himself in order to romance Janine Crispin, a Phd student who takes a job as a housekeeper until a teaching post comes up.

It's a deft comedy that includes Michel Simon as an unemployed layer who is trying to work out a way to break the bank at Monte Carlo.

Gabin was still learning his craft in these films and by1937 there was Pépé le Moko and he had definitely arrived.

10. Underground cinema is cooler than you think

I Topi Grigi Episodes 1 and 2 (1918), with Antonio Coppolla

The Cantiere Modernissimo is an underground cinema, as in cinema under-ground, which is in perpetual restoration a dampness pervading its musty walls; plaster undried and never drying with the smell of old ambition mixed with that of new construction. There’s an ambience of faded ballrooms which adds deep resonance to the piano accompaniment and tonight Antonio Coppolla (brother of Francis Ford who was also here) took full advantage with rolling chords that flowed along with the comedy-dramatics on screen.

This was very much an Italian version of a French serial, written, directed and starring Emilio Ghione who injects a sense of humour filling in for holes in plot wider than the river Tiber! But, as the plot heated up, we stayed cool, deep underground as the flags cracked above us.

A tight spot for Emilio Ghione

In summary...

I’d seen a number of the Festival’s films on DVD/Blu-ray and for all of the silents they we improved by audience and especially live accompaniment. For more modern fair, the big screen gave a chance to project wide-screen vintage prints which were sometimes stunning – as with Henry King’s noirish Western, The Bravados (1958) and Gigi (for all the scratches) - always more engaging than on home media… depending on how much sleep you’ve had and how well the aircon was working. For this year was a scorcher in Bologna with temperatures hovering near to 40 at one point; best advice on that was 1. Don’t book again for a room in one of the ancient and attractive palazzi (no aircon) and 2.  Always wear a hat!

See you next year in a straw trilby.