We were surprised… Silent Laughter Saturday, Kennington Bioscope

Betty Compson and Raymond Griffith

Back to the Islington of the South and the walk along the graceful Georgian high-sides of Kennington Park Road, in the quiet hours of a Saturday morning when the city is still stunned after the week and the Friday night before…. A hearty breakfast was had at a café near the park and then into the Cinema Museum for a day of silent comedy re-connection.

Today we were only two degrees of separation from some of the greats with a talk from David Robinson, long-time director of the Pordenone Silent Film Festival and former Times film critic who once interviewed Laurel and Hardy for Sight and Sound as well as Kevin Brownlow for whom it might be easier to list those he hadn’t met.

and again...

First up was a film from Mr Brownlow’s collection, Paths to Paradise (1925), featuring the bonny Betty Compson and Raymond Griffith who Kevin felt could have been amongst the very best had it not been for a “difficult” nature and a way with the studios that made Louise Brooks look like an arch diplomat.

The film was directed by Clarence Badger and was a lively caper movie featuring triple-crosses and a police motorcycle chase sequence that would have exhausted even Smokey and his bandit.

Compson plays a moll called Molly (see what they did…) part of a gang that dupe innocent thrill-seekers hoping to see life in the underworld. They do a quick change routine depending on what brand of criminality you want and when a gent (Griffith) comes looking for some Chinese crims they make ready the opium smokers and incense. Just as they think they've duped the rube he turns the tables posing as a policeman and makes off with a generous contribution to the police fund before Molly spots that his badge is for the gas inspectorate…

Partners in crime?

Soon Molly and the gent - The Dude from Duluth according to IMDB (he does abide…) – are chasing the same mark as an old millionaire (Bert Woodruff) somehow trusts him with protecting a diamond necklace for his daughter’s wedding. The heat is on and Molly teams up with the Dude for that amazing chase sequence which gave accompanist John Sweeney ample scope for some high-speed playing: careering off in dangerous directions but always keeping his eyes firmly on the road!

The film is missing its final reel but ends on a perfectly acceptable moment of success or doubt… As KB said, hopefully one day someone in New Zealand will find they have the reel in their loft.

Laurel & Hardy Revelations

Next up were some Laurel & Hardy recollections from Mr Robinson interspersed with rarities including an un-censored version of Duck Soup (1926) complete with poor Stan dressed as a maid trying to avoid seeing his temporary mistress through to her bath. This film has recognisable dynamics between Stan and Ollie but was made a few years before their relationship was cemented.

The print came from the BFI and is far better than version on released DVDs – they will hopefully be remastered for the film's 90th.

Madeline Hurlock, William Austin, Oliver and Stan in Duck Soup

A clip was played from Leave ‘em Laughing (1928) in which Stanley has a tooth-ache. The couple started filming the bed scene and laughed so hard that nothing was committed to film for the first few days: they had fun so did we.

The final short was the surviving second half of a rather fine Stan Laurel solo spoof called When Knights Were Cold (1923) in which our hero is Lord Helpus. He and indeed all the knights ride pantomime horses and it looks for all the world like an outtake from The Holy Grail especially when Stan’s “horse” drains a water trough in one go.

Of course it's a horse...

David’s recollections of his meeting with the boys in the Brixton Empress Theatre were precious. It was the boys' last tour – Ollie was overweight and in ill health but they were very welcoming and, as the young journalist met them with pad but no pencil, Oliver duly lent him his.

Stanley did most of the talking and enabled Robinson to produce a summation of their career at a time when their critical stock was very low – “only popular with the public” and even regarded as “dross for the news theatre” by a young Kevin Brownlow. This new generation was about to reverse that impression in a major way: genuine “game changers” in their own right.

The Silent Contenders

But, what about those comics who are still little remembered? Of the Big Four even Harry Langdon is perhaps not so well remembered now but what of Charley Chase, Lupino Lane, Lloyd Hamilton and others?

Matthew Ross, editor of Movie Night magazine, gave a fascinating talk on the other silent comic contenders starting with Max Linder the man Chaplin used to call The Professor.

Charlie and The Professor

Linder was ahead of his time in the pre-war years with a subtle style in contrast to the slapstick craze. He fought in the Great War and was invalided out after a gas attack suffering psychiatric problems until his untimely death in 1925. He made some excellent features in Hollywood such as The Three Must-Get-Theres (1922) and Seven Year’s Bad Luck (1921) from which was shown a sequence in which Max’s servants try to prevent him seeing that they have broken his mirror – the Marx Brothers were watching as their Duck Soup shows.

Ham Hamilton and Charley Chase

Lloyd “Ham” Hamilton was next – a laconic mummy’s boy who specialised in misfortune and the art of disdain. Mac Sennett praised his “comic motion” and you could see this even in one of his relatively early films called The Simp (1920) in which he tries to win the heart of a very forgiving Marvel Rae (there’s a name to conjure with!).

Sadly, many of Ham’s films are lost and the same is true of Charley Chase who must have been close to the Champions League of silent comedy: a complex persona combining elements of Lloyd and the nasty side of early Chaplin he was another good “actor” as well, like Linder.

Lupino Lane before he points his sword

Last up was a Brit, Lupino Lane, a relative of Ida Lupino and part of a theatrical family that could trace its stage lineage back to the 1600s. He had decades of stagecraft under his belt and was a supreme athlete with a signature move involving elevating himself from the splits… We were shown Sword Points (1928) a parody of those Musketeers and the style of Douglas Fairbanks who was present on set at one point – mutual respect.

David Robinson had pointed to the importance of critical re-evaluation in ensuring a performer’s legacy and we should make the most of what primary evidence survives for these performers.

Buster Keaton and Kevin Brownlow - A Hard Act to Follow

One comedian for whom the case is already rock solid is Buster Keaton and this is in part due to the efforts of Kevin Brownlow who in the eighties produced an Emmy Award-winning, three part series for British TV pulling together what  he could of radio interviews with Keaton and one filmed interview.

A dog and a Buster

Keaton’s widow was heavily involved and there were contributions from surviving contemporaries even though there were difficulties in the reliability of some witnesses (no naming and shaming, whatever happens in The Bioscope, stays in The Bioscope…) and availability of outtakes.

Kevin’s reminiscences were interspersed with clips from the programme as well as the films including The General (of course) and a short excerpt from a British series with Richard Hearne (Mr Pastry... before my TV-time) and an alternative ending to My Wife’s Relations (1922) which even Mr B had not seen before.

Interviewed by The Bioscope's David Wyatt, who worked on the series, Kevin Brownlow was in his element and threw in a James Mason anecdote in which the actor found a treasure trove of films after buying Buster’s House. Mason’s favourite was The Playhouse whilst he also found a stack of Talmadge features and was full of respect for the acting of Norma (another who deserves a reputational uplift in my humble… someone clean up those Frank Borzage films!)

Those relations

You’d Be Surprised (1930)

Up until last Wednesday I’d never heard of Walter Forde but now I was watching a second film directed by and starring probably Britain’s leading silent comic - The Bioscope is an education.

Then another of those second degree connections… Tony Slide, author of over 70 books on silent film and a friend of Forde’s during his last years in Hollywood, gave a personal insight into a man he felt deserved a lot more respect and work from the domestic film industry.

Walter Forde

This was a neatly produced romp that was infused with wit and which ended with a cracking gag – the very British sense of the daft! It concerned the musical “journey” of a composer, Walter (Forde) who’s initial movements only involve working for a piano removal firm.

One delivery is to the home of a West End star, Maisie Vane (Joy Windsor) who hears one of his compositions as he “tests” her new piano. She arranges for him to play the song to her producer convinced he will pick it up and the rest of the film pretty much involves Walter’s increasingly desperate efforts to get heard.

Joy Windsor glams it up in 1928

He enlists the help of an orchestra of street musicians, gets accused of murdering a bagpipe player (c’mon, fair do’s…) and then handcuffed to an escaping prisoner (a vicious turn from Douglas Payne). It’s light but likeable and hasn’t been seen in public for much of the past 80 years.

Hats off to an extraordinary accompaniment from John Sweeney and a specially assembled Bioscope Ensemble including today's other two pianists Lillian Henley and Cyrus Gabrysch along with special guests… The film originally came with a music and effects track which is lost although some elements survive such as the theme song which plays a major part. It was a significant challenge to re-orchestrate and John and his not-motley-at-all, merry band did so with some style blowing and hitting anything that moved to produce one of the highlights of the day.

The last film was Harold Lloyd's Girl Shy which sadly I had to miss as domestic responsibilities loomed – Harold and Jobyna will have to wait but I do have the DVD.,,

A thoroughly entertaining, informative and inspirational day which must have taken some organising: they really walk the walk in Lambeth!

Still packs a wallop! The Docks of New York (1928)

If they still made silent films today*… this is pretty much how they’d look: perfectly controlled lighting, smooth almost relaxed camera movements, intense, naturalistic performances with the odd nod and wink. A story about everyday extra-marital strife and hope in the form of a promise… Real people living easily-compromised lives on the brink but enjoying the moment or failing, falling away down into darkness…

Such was Josef von Sternberg’s singular vision from The Salvation Hunters onwards: a vision he was able to present with an almost unrivalled totality in The Docks of New York.

The camera floats into a dockside bar (The Sandbar) and moves into the heart of the action past rowdy customers and the flailing arms of lady entertainers… everything is happening at once with almost every actor in constant motion and yet our eyes are drawn to the arrival of a man in a leather cap. He spots a likely lass and goes over to join her for the evening yet, as he sits down he spots a couple amongst the dancing throng. She is peroxide blonde in her late thirties and making passionate advances to her younger partner. They kiss and she smiles in sexual triumph but the thoughts die the moment she spots the man: her husband…

Mr and Mrs Andy...

Such are the casual cruelties of this twilight world, more nakedly honest in its dark corners than any sunlit suburban sterility. The woman Lou (Olga Baclanova) and the man, Andy (Mitchell Lewis) are repenting at their leisure the mistakes of their hasty youth: it’s killing them both.

Winding back, the film begins in the stoking house of a large cargo ship back in the coal-fired days before oil-power made the job “fit for girls”… Nothing very feminine about Bill Roberts (George Bancroft) a mighty man who is confident in his own power: taking bold steps always under his own steam and whichever direction he wants to go.

The rescue...

Bill and his scrawny mate, "Sugar" Steve (Clyde Cook), have the night off before their ship sails and intend to make full use of it as they head for one of the shore-side dives.  A figure approaches the edge of the water and we see its reflection hesitate and then jump into the murky depths of the dock. Hearing the splash, Bill takes a measured leap and fishes out the would-be suicide: a young woman.

As his colleagues attempt to tend to her, Bill eyes up his catch and decides that it’s finder’s keepers. He carries her off to the bar where he gets Lou to help dry her off whilst he goes off and steals some dry clothes for her. Gradually we learn that the woman is called Mae (a luminous Betty Compson: well-worth saving) who has reached the end of her tether, much to Bill’s bemusement.

George Bancroft

Bill hits the bar and alpha males his way through the throng to the start of a very good time. Bancroft is superb as the stoker with an unyielding belief in his own animal strength – none of the doubts of the “weak” characters in The Salvation Hunters: he has maybe too much self-confidence: no plan just reacting to the instant.

Mae makes an entrance

Mae is well enough to join him in the bar and the two begin to recognise themselves in each other. The parallels with the older couple are clear and intentional and Andy, former cock of the walk, tries to exert his fading authority by luring Mae away. Bill sends him packing with a brief flash of aggression. An enemy is made and the grudge will be held.

Lou takes charge...just about

But the evening goes well and Bill decides that he likes Mae well enough to marry her: right there and then! They enlist of the aid of "Hymn Book" Harry (Gustav von Seyffertitz with another excellent turn as the possibly de-frocked priest still hanging onto his faith) to perform a ceremony of dubious legitimacy.

The wedding party...

The following morning it quickly emerges that Mae had wanted rather more out of things than her “husband” who is keen to resume his seafaring ways… but there’s a touching moment when she sews his pocket and you wonder if maybe there’s more here for Bill than he thinks.

It takes a major incident – which I won’t divulge – to force the issue as the forces of love-hate that have been amassing come to the fore…

I really enjoyed this film, perhaps even more so than other von Sternberg offerings. It’s a simpler story than either The Last Command or Underworld and is more purely romantic. The director is perhaps more fully in control of what we see than in either and the composition and camerawork is sumptuous.

He makes most of Bancroft’s natural assets whilst both female leads emerge as dry runs for Dietrich… obsessively lit and wearing their hearts of gold visibly on their sleeves. Olga Baclanova is superbly world-weary, recognising that history could be about to repeat itself is she really trying to save Andy for herself of save Mae from Andy?

Betty Compson

But Betty Compson is the special von Sternberg effect: her face haloed in soft white light - a mask barely concealing the last vestiges of her girlhood.

You really have to see The Docks of New York to fully appreciate its monochromatic magic: to see believable, emotional drama emerging clear from out of the shadows and fog. It is available as part of Criterion’s superb von Sternberg box set. It’s still available although often at inflated prices, so shop around: it’s worth it. Adapted from John Monk Saunders story The Dock Walloper, Docks still packs that punch.

*Yes, I know they do. The Artist sits proudly on my silent shelves and Blancanieves has just joined it: and how do they look?