Our divine voyage… Le Giornate del Cinema Muto 42, Day One

And so we came, by planes and boats and trains, back to the home of silent film festivals, Pordenone North of Venice and a very fine town indeed. My first time here since 2019 having been stymied by the lockdown and then by C-19 itself but not this year in spite of attempts by wild publishing horses to keep my mired in gobbledegook: get thee behind me Croydon!

 

Before the biggest of finishes we were served a reminder of the importance of this festival, breadth, rarities, new discoveries and men on horseback. Star of the Day was Pauline Frederick in The Love That Lives (1917) which had some foreshadowing of The Crowd and Stella Dallas… Pauline made me cry in 2019 with Smouldering Fires and she had me welling up again with her performance in this dramatic tragedy. She had a pair of the most penetrating eyes in Hollywood and here she looked so much younger as a put upon young mother who is preyed on by her boss and her drunken husband.

 

Her transformation by the end would have made even L Gish baulk at the physicality, she looked thirty years older yet still with enough love and grit to provide divine inspiration. Philip Carli accompanied with sensitivity and spirit.

 

Pauline Frederick

Meanwhile, in Ruritania – Part 2 of the GCM’s deep dive into mythical monarchies – there was some confusion in La reina joven (1916), a Spanish film – rare to see one of this vintage for me – as a romance between a Queen and an anti-monarchist went in ways that you might not expect. Said Anti-Royalist Rolando (Ricardo Puga) bravely rescues the young Queen Alexia (Margarita Xirgu) after her horse bolts and he throws himself around the beast’s neck to bring it to a halt… we almost saw it, but the editing was not so brave as the hero.

 

Anyway, once Alexia fails to die from the shock – the levels of distress-induced female mortality were so high at this time, someone should have investigated – things progress in resolutely non-romcom ways, as despite their romance, neither will change course. Oh, if only there was an evil Archduke to stir things up and thereby avoid criticism of legitimate political concerns about the Spanish system of government… Ace accompaniment was from Mauro Colombis who had fun with all the regal romance and that horsing about.

 

Queen Alexia takes to horse

A horse, a horse, my kingdom or a horse, yelled one British King according to Shakespeare, but Harry Carey had loads of horses, exactly when he needed them. Carey’s a handsome cowboy and it’s a treat to see the festival highlight him in his pomp after only really seeing him in talkies and with his good friend John Wayne (The Searchers, that final shot… Wayne standing at the door with his hand holding his arm like Harry used to, magnificent).

 

Carey’s a fabulous actor and has lots of physical motifs that indicate concern or casual thoughtfulness, a thumbnail stare here, a pensive thumb to the lips there… he might well have been studying Asta Nielsen. All of this plus his ability to fight and act make him a magnetic screen presence and these three simply whipped by with Stephen Horne riding along with gusto.

 

Most striking of all was the partially two-strip tinted Man to Man (1922) directed by Stuart Paton which featured some outstanding vistas and dynamic action as Steve Packard (Harry C), fights to clear his name, rescue the family ranch and win the heart of Terry Temple (Lillian Rich). To do this he must overcome the extreme disapproval of his grandfather, Old Hell-Fire Packard (Alfred Allen) and his confederate, Joe Blenham (Charles Le Moyne) who is the wrongest of wrong-uns.

 

Again, it’s striking how much of the wild western formula was in place this early with an impressive mass stampede of cattle organised by the baddies to ruin the ranch and the extended man-to-man combat of the closing sequence. Then there’s Harry who was rightly lionised by Wayne, he’s the real deal and I look forward to watching more of his gun-totin’ horseplay as the week unfolds.

 

 

The Divine Voyage (1929) with Antonio Coppola and the Octuror de France, Gala 

 

I missed this one last year at the BFI and so was especially keen to see it on the big Verdi screen and with a stunning new score from Antonio Coppola who conducted a nine-piece ensemble who translated his dynamic lines and simply gorgeous themes to accompany this magically-real story of hope and faith in spite of everything from capitalist carelessness to mutinous muscle men and the cruel sea itself. The music was packed with interest and recurring themes that are still replaying in my head and all done in the service of Julien Duvivier’s striking narrative and sumptuous visuals. The whole village turns out to wave ships off in good hope and to cheer their return, well the global Pordenone village does the same for works and music like this! Brava Antonio and the Octuror de France ensemble.

 

 

There is so much pleasing late-silent technique on show from Duvivier in this film – Renoir’s “rigorist poet” in action – with a roving camera that moves in and out of buildings, follows crews as they race to the harbour side or to confront wrong-doing. Close ups of locals cast for “face” that rival Dreyer for impact and rapid cutting that shows the influence of both Russian and German directors. The locations, Paimpol in Brittany, Louvigny sur Mer in Normandy and Ermenonville are superbly photographed and edited to create an impression of a people on the edge, battling unforgiving nature. Were you watching Michael Powell?

 

The film’s critique of blind capitalism is one of the reasons it was heavily censored at the time, and it begins with an act of desperate revolt when a mariner Kerjean (Henri Valbel) who has defaulted on his rent, attempts to assassinate unforgiving businessman Claude Ferjac (Henry Krauss), Ferjac in his chateau. Ferjac runs the town with a callous calculation and he will push the citizens to the brink before the story is through. Times is very much money and Ferjac makes it clear to the local mariners that manning the insufficiently repaired La Cordillère is of far more importance than the risk to their lives. Captain Jacques de Saint-Ermont (Jean Murat) makes their case but he knows there’s no way of changing Ferjac’s mind. The meeting between the boss and the sailors shows the hatred and fear they feel for this man and the desperate calculations they have to make for their families.

 

There’s further intrigue with Ferjac’s daughter Simone romantically attached to Captain Jacques and the two meet in the bay, separated by a fishing net, both trapped in their relationships with her father who will listen to no one be it the curate (Louis Kerly) or Jacque’s mother (Charlotte Barbier-Krauss).

 

The ship sets sail and includes the last-minute arrival of a mariner from outside the area, Mareuil played by Thomy Bourdelle who gives a stand-out muscular performance as the faithless opportunist upon whose actions so many lives will rest. Simone visits the Curate in his church and dedicates herself to repainting the frescoes and especially the painting of Maris Stella, she who is the “Star of the Sea”. Things swiftly go awry on the voyage as Mareuil decides that stealing the cargo is the way forward – another heartless capitalist? – and persuades most of the men to revolt, throwing one unfortunate who refuses into the sea to drown. His group overpowers the captain and his men, taking control just before the sea, as it was always going to do, erupts in a storm that would challenge even the finest of ships.

 

Back on land, the body of the murdered man is found and there’s a harrowing passage as his wife, Jeanne (Line Noro) is told of the news and leads a march to confront the man responsible. Ferjac is busy hosting a lavish dinner party to announce the marrying off of Simone to one of his business contacts, she cannot even hold her glass to toast the depressing nuptials and then Jeanne arrives followed by dozens of the locals who are now convinced that the ship has sunk and there’s only one man to be blamed. It’s a powerful set piece – fake elegance rudely interrupted by anguished poverty.

 

This is only the narrative entrée though and the Divine Voyage is yet to really begin… there’s a magical realism at play and faith, fate and hate will all have their roles as the full story enfolds. Duvivier maintains not only the pace but also a startling consistency of cinematic expression throughout as well as bringing out some extraordinary performances.

 

What a way to end this first day back “home”, as festival director Jay Weissberg said in quoting his predecessor, David Robinson.