Showing posts with label Il Cinema Ritrovato 2023. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Il Cinema Ritrovato 2023. Show all posts

Wednesday, 27 December 2023

2023 - The Year in Silents

Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'

Into the future...


We’ve had yet another big tick of the clock and, as Steve Miller (and his Band) implied, we need to establish exactly how it happened, at least in terms of the silent screenings I witnessed. So, here in no particular order, is the breakdown of twelve outstanding moments from the year they called 2023…


Game of thrones… Die Nibelungen: Siegfried (1924), with Costas Fotopoulos, Kennington Bioscope


First Bioscope of the year and it was an epic evening for one of the cornerstones of Weimar Cinema, one in fact that I’ve been saving up for just such an occasion and, judging from a non-too scientific sampling of the audience, I’m not the only one with the DVD/Blu-ray at home on the shelf, waiting to be watched after a proper screening and the Bioscope made sure that this was indeed a special screening. A 16mm print was shown, slightly shorter the restoration on which our home media is based but still very impressive, astonishing even given the scale and verve of the film making. Fritz Lang and his script-writing partner Thea von Harbou, dug deep into early 13th Century Saxon epic poetry, Der Nibelungenlied, written in High Middle German and by unknown hands in what is now southern Bavaria. 

I was transported with the help of Costas’ dynamic piano accompaniment and I’m not alone in hoping for Part 2, Die Nibelungen: Kriemhild's Revenge to complete the story in 2024.

 


I Don’t Want to be a Man (1919)/Beverly of Graustark (1926), Kennington Bioscope and Vito Project


Oh, this has to be one of my favourite screenings ever at the Cinema Museum with the KB co-presenting these two classics of cross-dressing and gender confusion with the Vito Project, another film club specialising in LGBTQ+ influenced film. The mixed audience brought out the best in both of these cross-dressing classics as pennies dropped and we became immersed in the moments as Ossi Oswalda and Marion Davies played with gender and sexuality in ways that resonate in the most human and historical ways. Accompaniment came from Colin Sell and John Sweeney who both love a party with atmosphere!

 


Master of the House (1925), John Sweeney, Hippfest 2023


I finally found my way to Bo’ness and the magnificent Hippfest which proved to be everything I’d expected and more, just the most friendly and good-hearted festival in the business and a small Scottish town filled with connoisseurs of silent film. Du skal ære din hustru translates as Thou Shalt Honour Thy Wife and shows Carl Theodor Dreyer at his most observational and heart-warmingly comic. It’s the story of an abusive relationship told with context and compassion; the ironic tone set from the first title card which tells us that this is a story of husbands no longer found in Denmark but still persisting elsewhere. Clearly this subject matter was just as loaded in 1925 as it is now and, if Dreyer handles the subject with such a light touch it’s only to underline the misery often experienced; he knew his audience well enough to know the prod of recognition was all they needed.

 

John Sweeney was master of the accompaniment as you’d expect.




Stella Dallas (1925) with Stephen Horne, Il Cinema Ritrovato XXXVII, Bologna


The best silent scores don’t pummel you into submission with dozens of drums, decibels and Dolby, they embrace the visuals in sympathy with the narrative and the actors, they duet with the directors and audience to connect our sympathy and imagination, interpret our response and subtly guide it too; a multi-verse of meaning, one that opens up a portal removing you from reality… irresistible forces, for un-resisting volunteers for a kind of magic.

 

This is no job for anything less than the most experienced of compositional pilots though and in the Piazza Maggiore and then the Teatro Auditorium Manzoni, first Stephen Horne and then Timothy Brock, who conducted the Orchestra del Teatro Comunale di Bologna, provided scores that enhanced two of the very finest Hollywood performances and silent films. Consider them as restorers, replicating the high impact of these films’ first screenings, Time Lords able to whisk us back to the feelings our grandparents felt. We are all companions now and Doctor Who plays, composes and conducts…


Irene Rich and May McAvoy


Lady Windermere’s Fan (1925), with Timothy Brock, Teatro Auditorium Manzoni, Il Cinema Ritrovato XXXVII, Bologna


As the cricketing Ashes started back in the UK, rain unexpectedly stopped play in Bologna and the screening of Ernst Lubitsch’s take on Oscar Wilde’s play was shifted to the splendid Teatro Auditorium Manzoni; a purpose-built modern auditorium with splendid acoustics, all the better to experience the power of Timothy Brock’s new score as conducted by him and played by the mighty Orchestra del Teatro Comunale di Bologna. Given the sophisticated wordplay of Oscar Wilde, he seems an unlikely candidate for silent film but here Ernst Lubitsch takes on Oscar using the wit and sophistication of his direction. There are some excellent performances and Ernst’s inch-perfect positioning, cross-cutting and way with purely visual messaging ensures that this take on a wordy, comedy of manners works bursts into sensational silence on screen.


Stephen Horne and Timothy Brock in Bologna


The Cave of the Silken Web (1927), with Richard Seidhoff and Frank Bockius, Silent Film Days Bonn 2023


Very little survives from Chinese cinema of this vintage and indeed this film was considered lost until a copy was found in the Norwegian National Library and restored with both Chinese and the Norwegian intertitles which add extra Scandinavian flavours. It feels something like a miracle, popping off the screen with so much style and energy in this film with director Dan Duyu and Yin Mingzhu, wife, spier woman and expert collaborator unleashing an imaginative riot based on Journey to the West, one of the four great classical novels of Chinese literature dating from the 16th Century.


Accompanists, Richard Seidhoff and Frank Bockius had so much fun with this, Franks’ percussive variety and energy reflecting the extremes of violence and drama whilst Richard weaved some delicious lines over the sweet and sour storyline.


Yin Mingzhu


The Crowd (1928) with Stephen Horne, BFI


King Vidor’s The Crowd undoubtedly breaks a number of golden rules for Hollywood and indeed a full seven different endings were filmed and tested reflecting MGM’s concerns about the more realistic style deployed and their audience proved them wrong by preferring Vidor’s take. Vidor’s wife, the glamourous and divinely elegant Eleanor Boardman, threw herself into the project with one of the most selfless performances of the twenties; hair tangled, dowdy-clothed and make-up free all a long way from the glittering gowns of Proud Flesh, subjugating her star-status to play the long-suffering but steadfast lower-middle class wife and thereby enabling her surprise leading man to excel. James Murray was far from Boardman’s level and had been pulled from the ranks of the extras after being spotted by Vidor. Certainly, nearer failure than success at this point, he acts his heart out in the film a good-looking guy with natural charisma and yet who might not have that extra drive and/or skill to really stand out from the crowd.


Stephen Horne accompanied with his usual elan, taking the moment as we all did to watch a film that is just not screened enough and is not even on home media. Perhaps it’s still far too close to the bone?

 

Murray and Boardman


It (1927) with Cyrus Gabrysch, Kennington Bioscope 10th Anniversary


This was the Kennington Bioscope’s 10th Anniversary edition and the package was so sweetly wrapped it even had a Bow on it. Cyrus Gabrysch is, he said, often accused of starting the whole thing but what he and then John Sweeney thought would be a connoisseurs-only cinema club was transformed by a brave dog fighting his way up the stairs of a lighthouse to relight the beacon. Kevin Brownlow’s copy of a Rin Tin film provided the moment when the audience erupted with applause for the heroic hound and Cyrus realised something special was happening.

 

This was a 35mm print from Photoplay – company by-line “Live Cinema” - which had the natural warmth of a pre-digital restoration and looked stunning on the big screen. I say stunning and I mean Clara Bow who, despite a cameraman buddy complaining how difficult her kineticism made her to catch on film, featured in close-up after close-up that left the watchers hanging on her every smile. Clara remains her own special effect as her light shone through the celluloid and Cyrus added his own sparkle.


You know...

Hindle Wakes (1928), with Maud Nelissen Ensemble, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto 42

 

Maurice Elvey told the BFI in 1949 that Hindle Wakes was “the greatest play ever written” and one of the films he most enjoyed making. Watching this new BFI 35mm print – a full restoration is apparently ongoing – the film stands out as one of the major works of British silent cinema because of the expertise with which Elvey controls character and the narrative; everything is there to serve a purpose and every character will have their moments.


The score was composed and conducted by Maud Nelissen and performed live by Daphne Balvers (soprano & alto sax), Lucio Degani (violin), Francesco Ferrarini (cello), Rombout Stoffers (percussions & accordion) as well Maud on piano. In the catalogue she talked of how she researched locations and culture for the film, immersing herself in mill town history and the times of the annual Wakes weeks when the whole mill shut down and the workers went off together in search of precious joy. On the evidence of this lovely, soulful score she’s now an honorary Lassie from Lancashire.

 



Hell's Heroes (1929), John Sweeney and Frank Bockius, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto 42


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, and 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. I was, of course, wrong – which is very much this blog’s USP – and as the rogues 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 wagon and inside find a new reason to live…  John Sweeney and Frank Bockius rode along with sensitive accompaniment as this film took us all into the desert and made us question our hearts.




Sherlock Jnr (1924), Daan van den Hurk, Orchestra da Camera di Pordenone, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto 42


Even the most enthusiastic silent soul can become jaded but here Daan van den Hurk's emphatic new score provided the jolt I needed to re-connect with the timeless and universal appeal of this very familiar film anew. The music highlighted pretty much every section of the Orchestra da Camera di Pordenone and it just grew in momentum and delicious tonality with the film. It was a symphony to silent style pretty much as Keaton intended but given extra emphasis and depth as the adventure of the Projectionist and all the films he has shown is laid before us.

A thrilling sonic adventure all round and, most of us tired after a full week, the Verdi still erupted with the joy of recognition or holding this shared fascination close!! In the best showbusiness tradition, Le Giornate always leaves us wanting more!

 



 A Woman of Paris (1923), with Mark Fuller, BFI Cinema Unbound

 

The BFI treated us to the most exhaustive programme of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger films in decades, perhaps ever, which stretched from October to December. The Powell Silent Connection was represented by Rex Ingrams’ gonzo The Magician (1926) in which the young Mickey had a comedic cameo or three, followed by one of the films that had the biggest influence on him which as Archers expert Mark Fuller explained he saw as an 18-year-old bank clerk in Boscombe near Bournemouth. Powell’s reactions and praise made me reappraise Chaplin’s film for the ground breaker it was and for the influence it would have on Lubitsch and others.

 

Thank you to ALL who make these screenings and events work, and here's to more of this in 2024!!

 

 

Film on film on stage: Chris Bird of the Kennington Bioscope







Saturday, 8 July 2023

Mother courage… Stella Dallas (1925)/Lady Windermere’s Fan (1925), Cinema Ritrovato XXXVII, 2023 (Part 3)

Mssrs Horne and Brock take the applause in the Piazza Maggiore


Il Cinema Ritrovato is an experience that leaves you emotionally disrupted, it’s not just all that time spent in darkened cinemas, the relentless watching, pattern recognition, interpretation but also the human connections on screen and off… it leaves you open, and delightfully vulnerable to the enhanced flavours on screen and, in the case of silent film, the invention of the accompanists. Here we had two outstanding new scores that, coupled with the sense of occasion, location and performance produced moments of engagement modern studios would barely comprehend.


The best silent scores don’t pummel you into submission with dozens of drums, decibels and Dolby, they embrace the visuals in sympathy with the narrative and the actors, they duet with the directors and audience to connect our sympathy and imagination, interpret our response and subtly guide it too; a multi-verse of meaning, one that opens up a portal removing you from reality… irresistible forces, for un-resisting volunteers for a kind of magic.


This is no job for anything less than the most experienced of compositional pilots though and in the Piazza Maggiore and then the Teatro Auditorium Manzoni, first Stephen Horne and then Timothy Brock, who conducted the Orchestra del Teatro Comunale di Bologna, provided scores that enhanced two of the very finest Hollywood performances and silent films. Consider them as restorers, replicating the high impact of these films’ first screenings, Time Lords able to whisk us back to the feelings our grandparents felt. We are all companions now.


Helen Morgan in Applause

There was also an emerging theme across the programme this year – Rouben Mamoulian’s early talkie Applause (1929) featuring another selfless matriarch with Helen Morgan’s Kitty Darling - and one that was at the heart-breaking centre of both these films; the sacrifice of mothers willing to lose everything so that their daughters might succeed. If you think that sounds corny, take a break from the 21st Century and think back to the women who made a difference in your own family; Jenny, Jessie, Lil, Mabel… they all changed the course and there were entire generations watching just these films.


Stella Dallas (1925)


Directed by Henry King and adapted by Frances Marion from Olive Higgins Prouty's novel, Stella Dallas of course walks that fine line between melodrama and drama. It features characters bound by the constraints of their time and it perhaps a backwards view of social mores even for 1925 but, the story was driven by grief as much as anything else. Prouty wrote the novel soon after the death of her three-year old daughter in 1923 and I’m sure for Prouty this was a case of if only; a tribute to the one lost and the lengths she would have gone to if only she could have.


Any decent into pulpy drama is completely offset by the fiercest performance from Belle Bennett who’s own 16-year-old son had also died either just before she got the part or soon after: whatever the motivations her Stella rings very true and every time I see watch it becomes greater with Stephen’s score so sympathetic and emotionally intelligent.


Belle Bennett


Stella herself, is something of a misfit, a woman of ambition to escape her small-town working-class routes who becomes involved with a rich businessman’s son, Stephen Dallas (Ronald Colman) who has fled from his father’s suicide and disgrace only to start rising again after they marry. New York calls Stephen to business success but Stella doesn’t want to leave the town she knows so well and nor does she want to disrupt the upbringing of their daughter Laurel (Lois Moran, 16-years old and playing both girl and woman in one of the odder practices of the time).


The gap between mother and father grows and Stella spends time with an earthy good-time fella name of Ed Munn (Jean Hersholt who is so very good at playing bad) and needless to say this doesn’t sit well with Stephen who misses the companionship of more refined women such as his former sweetheart Helen Morrison (Alice Joyce) who is now widowed with three boys of her own.


You can see the direction of travel but the humiliations have only just begun as Laurel’s teacher spies Stella having fun with Ed and expels her from school leaving her devastated when the rest of the class fail to turn up for her 10th birthday party. The story moves on a few years and as Laurel comes of age, she forms an attachment with a young rich boy called Richard Grosvenor (Douglas Fairbanks, Jr 15 at the time!) but is ashamed of her mother with her crude ways, working class manners and dress sense.




Stella overhears some of the rich set mocking her and begins to think she can only be holding her daughter back. By this stage she and Stephen have run aground and knowing of his attachment to Helen, Stella asks her competitor directly for help… what follows shows her strength of character and amidst the tragedy she shows her class in sacrifice something only another mother truly understands during the film’s iconic closing sequence.


Faced with such intense emotional extremes, Stephen Horne’s score is perfectly composed and he knows just how to under-score Belle’s expressive restraint and combines with the actress to leave the audience smiling through tears of recognition. Ben Palmer helped to orchestrate and Timothy Brock superbly martialled the sixty-piece orchestra under the stars. There’ll be a Blu-ray release at some point and hopefully further performances of one of the great modern scores of this silent renaissance.

 

Lady Windermere’s Fan (1928)


Irene Rich and May Mcavoy

As the cricketing Ashes started back in the UK, rain unexpectedly stopped play in Bologna and the screening of Ernst Lubitsch’s take on Oscar Wilde’s play was shifted to the splendid Teatro Auditorium Manzoni; a purpose-built modern auditorium with splendid acoustics, all the better to experience the power of Timothy Brock’s new score as conducted by him and played by the mighty Orchestra del Teatro Comunale di Bologna.


Given the sophisticated wordplay of Oscar Wilde, he seems an unlikely candidate for silent film but here Ernst Lubitsch takes on Oscar using the wit and sophistication of his direction. Sure, there are some excellent performances but Ernst’s inch-perfect positioning, cross-cutting and way with purely visual messaging ensures that this take on a wordy, comedy of manners works bursts into sensational silence on screen.


The director hardly needs to use title cards as the mood is established, explained and maintained throughout in what is one of the neatest of film: so balanced and perfectly timed, shot and performed… That “touch” is fully in evidence now – the delicate use of key signifiers to lift the tale above predictability and to convey small explosions of meaning in unexpected ways. Take that fan, for example, it’s everywhere: a symbol of marital love, a potential assault weapon, distraction under duress and incriminating evidence. It’s just a fan but Lubitsch uses it to pivot the whole story. That fan is also the undeniably fine hands of Irene Rich and you have another symbol of motherly sacrifice, unbreakable choices that have to be made and confirmation that true love does indeed conquer all.



All begins with Lady Windermere (May McAvoy) facing the troublesome decisions of where to seat her dinner guests at her impending birthday party: where to put the dashing and entertaining Lord Darlington (Ronald Colman on the wrong side again…), right next to her ladyship… at the head of the table perhaps? The Lord arrives to bring handsome substance to her reverie and, whilst she presumes he’s come to see her husband he has her more in mind which, frankly, is caddish behaviour. Meanwhile Lord Windermere (Bert Lytell) is discovering something just as disturbing as a Mrs. Edith Erlynne (Irene Rich) has written to him claiming to be his wife’s mother who was lost to disgrace a long time ago with her daughter having grown up believing her dead and a great moral example. Hold onto your hats, it’s going to be a bumpy ride…


Mrs. Erlynne’s elegant blackmail is expressed through sight of a cheque and the Lord having to add a one to the five hundred he’s started writing following one smiling glance… His wife must never know of her mother’s disgrace and so she begins to lead an “extravagant” life with Windermere’s support, “…not accepted by society but the subject of its gossip…”


There’s a terrific scene at the races when “society” spies in fascination at the intriguing interloper: spy glasses from both men and women including The Duchess of Berwick (Carrie Daumery) leader of the pack. We see multiple points of view until Mrs E. sits down just in front of a group including Lady Windermere her husband, admirer and the gossips. Examining the back of her head with her binoculars the Duchess is delighted to see that Mrs E is going slightly grey and then, seeing her jewels, ponders where her money comes from. All wonderfully bitchy in Oscar Wilde’s immortal way.


Lord Lorton in pursuit

Sat with them is one of London’s most eligible Lord Augustus Lorton (Edward Martindel) who spies this fine filly and is intrigued. As the lady leaves he follows with the director showing their pursuit in longshot, small figures against a backdrop of advertisement-plastered walls: the view on screen narrowing as Lord closes in on Lady… Lorton goes to visit and Lubitsch uses the manner of his entrances to illustrate the developing relationship: at first formal, waiting to be shown through by the maid and then advancing from front door to drawing room with barely a pause: his familiarity only halted by Edith’s last minute swerve: he’s keen.


Meanwhile Darlington can’t help himself and casts aspersions about Lord Windermere’s relationship with Edith. Lady W can scare believe it but sure enough she discovers chequebook evidence of multiple payments to this strange woman… Rumbled, Windermere refuses to reveal all and asks his wife to take his word. Things come to a head though as Windermere asks to re-introduce Edith to society at his wife’s birthday party but she threatens to use the lovely fan he has bought her to assault the interloper… Having invited Edith, Windermere’s un-invitation isn’t seen in time before she arrives to potential humiliation. Cue Lord Lorton who arrives to sweep her into the room – her daughter, the two men chasing her affections and so many idle tongues gathered all in one room…


Lady Windemere hedging her bets

The film is Lubitsch in the raw; it’s very pared down with the focus on character and movement. The sets are elegant and but, as with the racecourse, recede far behind the foregrounded players all of whom are sophisticated and in the cases of the main leads, sensitive. Wilde and Lubitsch is a marriage made in Hollywood though: two men of subtle wit and piercing insights into polite society constrained by manners and rules almost designed to prevent happiness. Any triumph of love is almost accidental and always against the odds: perhaps these folk aren’t much different from those who watch them in the dark?


Timothy Brock’s score, powerful in the auditorium, every section clear and characterful, matched the wit of director and source material and breezes along delightfully in tune with Irene Rich’s powerhouse performance. We overdosed on sheer style and verve, the applause long and repeated almost congratulating ourselves for being there as much as the dozens of players on stage. What a night and what a week!! Brava Bologna, Bellissima!!


Up in the gods waiting for the show to begin... and what a show!




 

 

Tuesday, 4 July 2023

Cerebrismo! Russian Divas at Cinema Ritrovato XXXVII, 2023


Lyda Borelli and Diana Karenne were officially “cerebrali” divas, which meant that they were women with brains, but not in the sense of intellectual power… these actresses had such an inner life of their own, such as sense of spirituality, that they were superior not only to the average woman, but to the average man…**


So, there I was, slumped in the cosy seats of the Sala Mastroianni at the Cinema Lumière on Day Three of this festival of film festivals and waiting for the next screening to begin I tried to work out the order of what I’d seen from kick off on Saturday and, reader, I couldn’t. Those of you familiar with my on-going struggle to remember the name of films, the one with thingy in it, you know… may not be surprised but then I suspect I’m not alone. This festival moves fast, it collides with itself, over-runs and, sometimes the film snaps… but the first rule of Il Cinema Ritrovato and Bologna in general is to go with the flow, slow down, don’t look at your emails (I did and regretted it), relax and float down screen… it’s a cinematic multiverse of madness and delight.


I’d definitely seen Spellbound (1945) screened on the opening night in the Piazza Maggiore and so, in addition to now being an expert in pseudo psychoanalysis Hitchcock style, I am also relishing the chemical reaction between Ingrid Bergman and Gregory Peck even though most of what he does is dazed and confused whereas Our Ingrid lets the thoughts of all possibilities simply flash across her perfect brow as she uses science and intuition to solve her man. This film’s psychological hypothesis has, of course, not been peer-reviewed, but you’d have to be mad not to love it just a little.


Man of the week in silents has been unquestionably Ivan Mozzhukhin who not only featured in the epic serial, La maison du mystère (1923) he also blew the roof off the Cine Lumiere with Le brasier ardent (1923).


The stunning wedding sequence in La maison du mystère

Unlike many earlier serials, La maison du mystère (The House of Mystery), isn’t really episodic and plays like the chapters in the book, by Jules Mary, it was based on. It’s effectively one long narrative often picking up directly after the events of the previous episode. As such it holds your attention and you never feel there’s any padding or artificial rounding off to make the stories fit within the format: the filmmakers respected their audience and only now can we see their full intent by watching each element back-to-back – there was no box-set gorging in 1923; at least here the next episodes

 

For a French production this is, of course very Russian with Alexandre Volkoff directing and Ivan Mozzhukhin (as Ivan Mosjoukine) acting and co-scripting with Volkoff. The two maintain a superb continuity throughout and keep a tight rein on the narrative which could so easily sprawl. The tone is playful and inventive with each episode featuring a flick of the director’s wrist: a wedding shown entirely in silhouette, an overhead shot of a group of police officers suddenly emerging and circling around a wanted man and a breathless chase across a broken wooden bridge with four men holding hands to hold it together – a sequence that lasts for half an episode and could easily have come from a much later era.


Ivan Mozzhukhin

Ivan Mozzhukhin wrote, directed and starred in The Burning Crucible (Le brasier ardent) and proves that, actually, pretty much everyone likes a show off. He is such a commander of the screen with huge expressive eyes conveying a unique feline masculinity and here he has full rein to externalise the quicksilver musings that flash across his face in every performance I’ve seen.

 

The film has elements of contemporary dada and surrealism; it surprises us now and - even though it stretches out a little long (who’s going to tell Mozza to cut one of his own scenes?) – it still engages. The performances of the three leads are all part of the reason for this and it is not just Ivan that excels with his actress wife Nathalie Lissenko, proving his match in more ways than one as Elle and her older cinematic husband, Le mari (Nicolas Koline). The couple’s weekends must have been an exhausting. round of high-energy socialising and “performance” all that Russian wit and bravado: larger in every way than life!


Diana Karenne

Anyway, enough about men, there’s a restored Russan Diva in town and her name is Diana Karenne, who was also a screenwriter, producer and director and who later appeared with Ivan Mozzhukhin in the ultimate swashbuckling romance-with-poems, The Loves of Casanova (1927). Before all that she was a high-level diva to almost rank with Francesca, Pina and Lyda. Diana, or Dina, was originally from Poland when it was part of the Russian empire, moved to Italy pre-war and had multiple names and a story confused by the usual industry PR and the need to work across Europe, from Italy to Germany and then France by the late 20’s.


Her diva status had been based on a single surviving film until the discovery over the last couple of years of three of her early films in the Gosfil’mofond in Russia all of which were screened: The Two Sisters’ Tragedy (1914, Russia), Passione Tsigana (1916, Italy) and Smarrita! (1921, Italy).


Directed by Ernesto Maria Pasquali, Passione Tsigana was the big one, a love triangle involving a gypsy girl torn between the noble Baron Freiman (Giovanni Cimara) and the villainous Aleko, (Nello Carotenuto). It was among the most successful films of the year and still being screened in 1920; it established her as a star in her adopted country and showcases her screen presence and nuanced naturalistic style, more Bertini than Borrelli but with grace too.


Passione Tsigana 

My favourite was the fourth film Miss Dorothy (1920), the only one previously thought to survive until the Russian discoveries. Here our heroine disguises herself in rather smart spectacles which only emphasise her strong features, in order to find out what happened to the baby she had with the son of the cruel matriarch who runs the family. She maintains an aloofness but can’t help but be drawn to his younger brother… I may have, literally, lost the plot here as she encouraged her re-discovered daughter to marry the brother of the man she once loved but who (I think) was not the father. Not the first women to put daughter before herself in the Ritrovato, and not the last.


Taken together these films allowed a full audit of Diana’s Diva credentials:

  • Intensity... Diana stares into the mid-distance, ignores useless paramours and doesn’t care a jot what we think.
  • Her eyes see right through the narrative and the audience… she bores a hole in your mind, catches your secret thoughts and evaporates the fourth wall, not figuratively but in terms of the audience’s sympathy
  • Looks, DK has the extreme beauty and also the geometrically near impossible angularity of Dive Design.
  • Diana's character is, of course, willing to kill herself so that the Diva story arc is completed, even when the narrative doesn’t strictly call for it.
  • Fashion! Diana wears clothes like an angel wears wings…
  • Style, you’ve either got or you haven’t got it; Diana has It! In every respect, you can’t live with her or without her… she just is.
  • Cerebrismo!

The programme was part of a programme highlighting the work of Russian Dive in Italian film put together by Mariann Lewinsky and Tamara Shvediuk, who had helped discover previously “lost” films in the Russian film archive. Their research also uncovered the fact that Diana was not killed by an allied air raid in 1940 but lived until she passed away in Lausanne on 18th October 1968 (as proven by her death certificate).

Berta Nelson in Vittoria o morte!


There were also two gorgeous films from Berta Nelson, Vittoria o morte! and Fiamma simbolica (preserved in the Desmet Collection at the EYE Filmmuseum), who was originally from Odessa and who debuted in Italy as an opera singer. She’s certainly a woman of many talents as displayed in these two of her seven surviving films… and holds the screen focus almost as well as Diana but or differing reasons. In Eugenio Perego’s Fiamma simbolica (1917, Italy) she played a wife out to avenge the murder of her husband little realising that he was not quite the man she expected, her ability to pursue the innocent lines and then exhibit the destruction of his reputation and belief is something to see, again, as with Diana K, there’s something beyond the drama in their playing, maybe founded in the theatrical tradition of Chekov and Russian playacting in general, something less operatic and purely expressive than true Italian dive.


As Vittorio Martinelli has pointed out*"Nelson belonged to that very small elite of film actresses whose success on the screen was a mere reflection of their triumph on stage…" and her dual appeal is exhibited again in Vittoria o morte! (1913), as, playing a kind of forerunner of the female antihero in Filibus, she jumps from aeroplane into the sea to recover stolen documents from a spy, thereby saving the day and the reputation of her love and country.


These films are fascinating in general for the elevated parts they provided for women especially up to the change in Italian culture of the twenties, and their complex relationship with female and male audiences is worthy is further reading… see below**


Has he got it yet? Il Grido.

On the fourth day I watched Antonioni’s Il Grido (1957) not just to complete my big screen viewing of his major works, and just below, but also to see how well Italian males were coping with female intelligence forty years after Karenne and Nelson. As usual, Michelangelo gives a mixed report on that score: what do his films tell of the Cerebrismo of Alida Valli and Betsy Blair, then later Monica Vitti, Jeanne Moreau and Vanessa Redgrave?


I’ll be back with more thoughts in this year’s festival including ruminations on the Festival’s three – four? - great films featuring maternal sacrifice and details of the Michael Powell strand as Black Narcissus hits the huge screen in the Piazza Maggiore.

 

*In Cabiria e il suo tempo, Paolo Bertetto and Gianni Rondolino (eds.), Museo Nazionale del Cinema/Il Castoro, Turin-Milan 1998

** I always recommend Angela Dalle Vacche’s book Diva: Defiance and Passion in Early Italian Cinema (University of Texas Press) for further reading and, as above, she is a delight to quote!


So much to see... the eyes have it in Le brasier ardent