Dirty rats… Outside the Law (1920), Eureka Masters of Cinema Blu-ray, Out Now!

What I was going to say is… we weren’t born crooks, were we?

It’s only right and proper that Tod Browning should be included as a Master of Cinema given his contribution to the horror genre and also, as here, the development of the gangster picture. Here in 1920, we have something of the flavour of the late twenties with the likes of Underworld or The Racket, following on from the prohibition-induced black market. Tod Browning directs with pace and that swaggering mix of suspense with cocky comedy that defines the bravado of the settled genre. There’s a moll, a truly vicious hoodlum and grandiose betrayal for love all against a rather over-egged moral thread that mixes Confucius with Californian Christianity. The clincher perhaps is when Lon Chaney’s gangster calls a faithless fellow criminal, “…you dirty rat!”. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I rest my case.

Outside the Law is dynamic, emotive, soppy, violent, fun and this new 4k restoration from a 35mm print looks crisp and clear, apart from a few short passages showing deterioration, really bringing the action and some very fine performances to life, The film is considerably enlivened by a sparkling new orchestral score from noted film composer Anton Sanko, which gives the film a modern but respectful “volume”. 

Lon Chaney

It was Tod Browning’s second collaboration with Lon Chaney after The Wicked Darling (1919) and, as if to make up time, he has two roles, one as Black Mike Sylva, a gangster with his face twisted by malice, and the other as Ah Wing, loyal servant to the sagacious Chang Lo (E. Alyn Warren), who possibly had a larger role in the original cut with what we have now being based on a 1926 re-release. Both these characters are played in “yellowface” as was the practice at the time and distasteful though this now is, Chaney does his usual trick of completely losing himself in make-up, false teeth and costume.

Whilst it’s the Man of a Thousand Faces we remember the undoubted star here is Priscilla Dean as Molly Madden (Silky Moll), who plays the Moll (ha!) to perfection, quick-witted and every bit as ready with a gun as the men. As she proved in Browning’s The Virgin of Stamboul (1920) as well as Wicked Darling, Dean was an actor of presence, range and natural warmth. She is top billed for a reason and you can see why she was such a star and how she earned the epithet, The Queen of Crookdom, in her run of nine flicks with Browning. She’s snappy, sassy, and self-determined in a way we don’t normally see.

Priscilla Dean lookin' mean

As film writer Eddie Muller has said, Priscilla “…was a feminist icon before such a label ever existed” and whilst Kim Newman rather dismisses her lasting cultural impact in his video essay on this release, she was undoubtedly a phenomenon at the time and therefore worth study. In Muller’s notes from the San Francisco Silent Film Festival 2017, he sums up the contemporary appeal: “the public loved the power she wielded on screen; especially the sceptical sneer that became the actresses’ trademark, alerting audiences that there would soon be hell to pay and Miss Dean would be cashing the cheques.”

Dean plays Molly – aka Moll - the daughter of “businessman” Silent Madden (the most excellent, Ralph Lewis) who is determined to step away from his life of crime – ironically, Lewis was in an even earlier crime film called Going Straight with Norma Talmadge. They take advice from the sagacious Chang Lo and plan their exit.

Wheeler Oakman and Edward Alyn Warren not looking himself...

Unfortunately, Black Mike has other ideas and, planning revenge on people he really, really hates, he hatches a plan with Dapper Bill Ballard (the always-charming Wheeler Oakman who was also married to Dean at the time and the two have great rapport) to frame Silent for the shooting of a cop and force Molly into working with them. Silent is duly sent down for a couple of years, not found guilty exactly, just “in the general location” when the killing went down and leaving his daughter without a “protector”.

Molly, pained at her father’s injustice, happily goes along with a plan to rob jewels from a society party, little suspecting that it’s another of Black Mike’s traps and that he will leave her in the lurch for the cops to grab as he makes off with the loot. But, crime, as the title card says, can’t hold sway over the human heart and Dapper Bill confesses all to Molly with whom, naturally, he has fallen in love…

Priscilla and Ralph Lewis

The two collude as the deal goes down and they avoid even a triple cross before hiding out and going stir crazy waiting for the noise to die down. Is there still time to get back on the straight and narrow, will Bill penetrate Moll’s tough exterior with his puppy-dog eyes and the repeated intrusions of the cute kid from across the hall (Stanley Goethals) and will Black Mike discover them?

I’m not spoiling anything by revealing that there’s a huge bloody punch up at the end, much the same as in The Virgin of Stamboul and one heck of a gun fight in which Miss Dean plays a full part. The violent confrontation between Black Mike and Bill is bloody and set destroying… you wonder how they were able to choreograph such a scrap and it reminds me of other encounters, especially the bare-knuckled viciousness of Hobert Bosworth’s fight in the early part of Behind the Door (1919).

"Why, you..."

Clearly viewers knew a good fight well enough for these performers to take the punishment necessary to show them one on screen. It also feels very much part of Browning’s approach to filmmaking, drawn to the darker side of humanity and, even in the midst of genre entertainment, revealing a lot of emotional truth. In this world, the goodie couldn’t just expect superior technique to win the battle, they needed to fight for their lives. So, yes, there is some narrative artifice in the film but it’s unsettling enough to keep you gripped. Not a pure “classic” but certainly masterful.

On the subject of yellowface, whilst the likes of Sessue Hayakawa were big stars at the time, here there’s a fascinating cameo from an uncredited fifteen-year-old Anna May Wong, whose time would come certainly in terms of impact if not deserved career success.

Young Anna May Wong

Extras on this set include a new video interview with author / critic Kim Newman as well as an alternate ending from a 16mm print of the film, created in 1926 for a re-release – it’s not as good as the high-octane thrills of the main version but is still interesting. There’s also a lovely collector’s booklet featuring an essay by film historian Richard Combs.

No silent home should be without a copy and you can pre-order direct from Eureka by clicking on this link!