We can be heroes… Le Giornate del Cinema Muto 42, Day Two

 

And so, from the sublime to the gorblimey and back again as my granddad might of said; from a France vs Wales rugby match (I know, during the Rugby World Cup as well!), to a runaway table, (literally, a table that runs away,) via three cowboys and a little baby and Charlie Chaplin’s brother Syd playing “Charlie’s Aunt” with all the comic aplomb of Arthur Askey in his prime; it was an incident-packed day from the serial winners of the Silent Film Premiership.

 

Where to bloody start though as the actors probably said to the director, Cecil Hepworth in his remarkable The Doll’s Revenge (1907) which featured as part of the closing Feminist Archive Fragments segment. During the film a doll comes to life invents the Robot dance a century too early and then proceeds to eat the severed limbs of an annoying boy; I loved it! Also eye-popping was a tinted colour copy if Émile Cohl's Clair de Lune Espagnol (1909), in which a silly senor upsets the Moon and there’s a musical dialogue from Stephen Horne and Frank Bockius using a Swanee whistle to pay tribute, surely, to The Clangers (possibly an in-joke too far for the Brits, but the World needs to know of these cuddly moon-dwellers…).

 

Kraftwerk, Peter Crouch's Robot Dance, Die Puppe... Cecil invented everything.

What made this section so sublime was that it followed perhaps the hardest hitting of the films screened so far, William Wyler’s Hell’s Heroes (1929) as accompanied by John Sweeney and Frank Bockius – who put in a very decent shift over the 90 minutes and the 60 in extra time.). After the first half an hour of this film, after the four main characters, all outlaws have terrorised a small town, robbed their bank and killed  in the process, as they made their getaway across the parched desert I was thinking what could possibly redeem these characters, especially with no heroes in sight apart from the two six-gun totin’ preacher, the Sheriff (Walter James) too busy ogling the bar’s dancer Carmelita (Maria Alba).

I, of course, was wrong – which is kind of this blog’s USP - José (Joe De La Cruz, who sees a hearts during the raid, gets shot and collected by the same vehicle but the other three Bob Sangster (Charles Bickford), "Barbwire" Gibbons (Raymond Hatton) and "Wild Bill" Kearney (Fred Kohler) escape to the desert. They survive a sandstorm and lose their horses whilst Bill has also been shot in the shoulder by the posse. They proceed on foot, their only hope a well spring miles ahead, they come across an abandoned waggon and inside find a dying mother (Fritzi Ridgeway) who hands them her baby, appoints them godfathers and asks them to promise to take his to his father, a teller at the very bank they have just robbed.

As moral set ups it is a clever one and the tough guts, perhaps aware that their chances of survival are limited make the calculation to try and save the baby… but even that is unlikely when they find the spring dry, other wells poisonous and hundreds of miles of sand in every direction.

 

John Sweeney played with thunderous command on the Giornate’s world-class piano and Frank Bockius added so much drive and tone on percussion; these two really play well together (not a soccer reference) and their ideas are always in service of the film. But, as the film moves towards its Christmas climax in the town’s church, a choir, sat on both sides of the Verdi broke into Silent Night, and it sent a shiver around the auditorium and right down my spine. This was 1929, a film about the ultimate redemption, for a Christian audience… the humanity still shines through and the audience erupted for Frank, John and every singer dotted around us.

 

This collective connection was also made by Sydney Chaplin’s turn in Oh! What a Nurse! (1926), which was easily the best of his performances I’ve seen and the audience in the Verdi laughed louder and more often than for anything else so far. Syd’s got those familial skills alright and he’s got charm too to match the quick changes of expression, lightness of touch and stage-hardened physicality. He plays newspaper reporter who draws the short straw in covering for the love expert column writer Dolly Whimple. Dolly has advised June Harrison (Patsy Ruth Miller) not to marry Clive Hunt (Gayne Whitman) who proves her right by coming into to have it out with her at the newspaper. Jerry dresses up as Dolly and, before you know it, he’s caught up in mod business and ill deeds that mean he must dress as a nurse to save June… OK, it sounds daft but you really don’t know how daft and funny until you’ve seen Syd in his high heels. All in the great British tradition natch!

 

Charles Reisner directed and Donald Sosin kept up with the crazy on keyboards.

 

Le P’tit Parigot: 1 La Premiere Partie (1926) was the feature length starter for a six-part comic serial which is playing across every day of the festival. Georges Biscot plays Georges Grigny-Latour, the titular titch who just happens to be the star of the French rugby team, the only Parisian in the side and, duh, the smallest. He has energy and charm but he’s no Chaplin, Charlie or Syd. It’s a thoroughly enjoyable romp though, consistently daft with George banging heads with his establishment Dad,

 

Special mention must be made of the absolutely stunning costume and scenic design from Sonia Delaunay. There’s a nightclub scene with outrageous modernist designs and clothing, as well as a startling amount of nudity – there never was a pre or post code in France? The dancer Marcelle Rahna, is featured in one of these striking outfits here and she’s the Giornate’s poster girl for 2023.

 

Mauro Colombis accompanied anticipating every twist and turn.

Ain't no party party like a Sonia Delaunay party!

 

More horses and guns but back to the wining ways of Harry Carey in two films that again showcased his meticulous yet relaxed acting style – fluid, able to shift on a dime from smile to anger – good with horses and, it turns out, children. In both Blue Streak McCoy (1920) and The Fox (1921), Harry ends up acting as either a mentor or guardian for a young boy, which says much for his appeal. The Fox, directed by Robert Thornby, was my favourite featuring a lot of action, a complex criminal gang, led by Alan Hale, and a Hole in the Wall Gang type outfit hidden in the desert who require the US Cavalry to take down in an epic confrontation.

 

Philip Carli rode along with his compadre in perfect step and clearly had a blast.

 

Harry's big country

Now for Harry Piel, a prolific German actor, director, writer and producer who made some 150 films and yet is little known today. Part of the reasons for this is that a large number of these were destroyed in an allied bombing attack although his membership of the Nazi Party and association with the SS arguably had a bigger impact.

 

All this was in the future when he wrote and directed Erblich Belastet (1913) and Das Abenteuer Eines Journalisten (1914) two films that are full of action and purpose. The latter is the more impressive and comes under the category of Sauerkraut Western as our hero heads west after being wrongly accused only to find his accuser already there and hunting him down. Betrayal, retribution and redemption are strong themes and I look forward to seeing more.

 

José María Serralde Ruiz accompanied with style.

There’s more, much more, but tomorrow’s apparently another day and moving forward is the only way: we have to jump for it.