Expressionism… Fior di male (1915), Bonn Silent Film Festival with Cellophon

 

I don’t just sit here waiting for a new Diva film to be restored you know although sometimes maybe I do… Here was a prime cut of imperial Borelli in all her operatic pomp and with a collection of magisterial emotional displays only matched by her gorgeous and frequently changing wardrobe. Only in Italy miei amici and it took a German film festival to highlight that point. 

 

There's one review on IMDB that dismisses the lasting appeal of such "soapy melodrama" but this implies little awareness of the Diva cinematic concept that flourished in Italy in the 1910s and you would need a heart of stone and, frankly, zero fashion sense, not to appreciate the film. Flower of Evil is mannered, stylised, convoluted and skilfully excessive but it’s also – as with opera – meant to be like that, it’s not an accident or a wilful decision to piss off viewers a century later. 

 

Film historian and Diva specialist, Angela Dalle Vacche*, gives a very informed explanation of Borelli’s style and how she was not only influenced by Eleonora Duse, who she performed with, but also by classical art. The great Italian stage actor had a passion for simplicity and spirituality whereas Borelli took more erotic allusions into her art according to Dalle Vacche who also quotes art historian Robert de la Sizeranne concerning her clear debt to the Pre-Raphaelites especially with “…the desire to intensify the most minute of feelings sometimes... an obsession.”

 

Lyda Borelli and friend

For Borelli, acting was something of “a tightrope walking act between naturalism and expressionism…” and she was keen on using cliché to prick the audience bubble… as evidenced by a sequence at the start of the film where she holds a lion cub in her lap and shoots her most feline expression at the viewer… the actress “engaging in a camp deconstruction of the cliché”. Not a sex kitten but definitely one with claws.

 

So, fundamentally, the story matters less in terms of narrative context than in the provision of opportunities for La Borelli to show us her range of knowing eroticised expression. To this end Fior di male does not disappoint in the slightest.

 

As if to emphasise this relationship between story and actress, Lyda plays a woman called Lyda, a poor young woman who “lives among the lowest social classes”, dancing for the creepy men who pay for their pleasure. Borelli is shown lower screen right, her Lyda drenched in oppressed boredom, only just coming alive for the slinky show, taking a superior delight in the reaction she easily encourages; despising their petty passion.

 

A year later Lyda has given birth to a son but has to give him up not being in a position to care for him. The baby has a distinctive birth mark and, in her heartbreak, she knows there’s just a chance she might find him later in life. Things get worse for Lyda after the club where she dances is raided and she is sent to a correctional facility but, having hit rock bottom, the tough gets going and escapes.

 

Now the story really begins… as Lyda, exhausted from her flight, is found by the kindly Count van Deller who offers her food and rest. Restored she naturally robs him, only thinking twice when he mentions that the trinket comes from his daughter’s room, left untouched since she passed away. Lyda’s flicker of remorse turns into full repentance as she prays for forgiveness and returns the stolen item under cover of the night and there are some stunning shots of her guilty silhouette shot against a low sun on the beach – Domenico Grimaldi’s camerawork is fascinating throughout.

 

One of the great profiles

The Count sees Lyda’s good character and sets her up with a new name, Helena Simons enabling her to flourish as a tailor and then as manager of a fashion house. All the while she searches for her son and whilst he proves elusive other threads in the story begin to weave together, and at pace. The fashion house is funded by a bank run by one Bambi Rogers (Augusto Poggioli) who’s sister Fulvia (Fulvia Perini) is a trustee of the correction house where Lyda was incarcerated. Bambi makes eyes at Helena/Lyda and his sister suspects her of gold-digging before spotting who she really is and threatening to reveal all. But the Count stands by his new ward who, nonetheless, has rebuffed Bambi’s gifts and attention, she is no longer to be “bought”.

 

Nino Oxilia’s story being chock full of connected themes chief among which is parenthood, Lyda’s childless mother, the Count, robbed of his daughter becoming her surrogate father and Helena/Lyda herself adopting young seamstress Cecyl (c) as her daughter. Nothing supplants her desperate search for her son though, the natural bond is too strong and the search obviously will not be never ending…

 

Look at that for composition! Lyda and Cecyl Tryan

Things change when famous violinist Ruggero Davusky (Ruggero Barni) has a car accident near the family home and Helena and Cecyl nurse him back to good health, both falling in love with him without realising the other’s feeling. Once again Lyda must let her child go free and her broken heart is revealed in supple contortions of Borelli’s feature and form; her exquisite pain played out in lingering set pieces beautifully tinted in the EYE’s restoration.

 

The wheel of fate turns again and you just know the finish will be bigger than anything that has gone before. This is the unwritten code of Diva film, it’s what we expect and what gets delivered with skill and grace.

 

This was one of the first features for Carmine Gallone, who would go on to direct Borelli again in the darkly magnificent Malombra (1917) and to make films up until the early sixties. He uses his asset well, framing her in so many delicious set pieces combining lighting, design and the glorious costumery you’d expect from Borelli the clothes thoroughbred.

Lyda and Ruggero Barni

Accompanying were the Cellophon duo, aka Paul Rittel and Tobias Stutz who both play cello in ways that are emotionally resonant and respectful of the source visuals. There’s admirable flavour and restraint with both recognising the need to underplay when confronted by the operatic fireworks on screen. The cello is the most mournfully flexible of instruments and they put nary a foot wrong is musical tribute to perhaps the greatest Italian silent film diva…

 

Another excellent presentation from this year’s Bonn festival and I have completely run out of reasons not to go there in 2022!

 

Vielen Dank für die tolle sendung!

 

* In Diva, Defiance and Passion in Early Italian Cinema by Angela Dalle Vacche (University of Texas Press) – essential reading with super commentary on contemporary acting including Danish diva, Asta Nielsen who, although not a diva per se, has to be the point of excellence against which all other performers are measured.

The poet and the painter… Il Fuoco (1916), Lillian Henley and John Sweeney, Kennington Bioscope

One of the great silent Italian divas and the return of the Bioscope Dream Team, Lillian Henley on voice and John Sweeney on keys, this was an evening to savour as we were lost in the infinite gaze of Pina Menichelli and the heat of dangerous passion.

If Borelli was the most expressive overall, Bertini the most naturalistic, then Menichelli is perhaps the most purely cinematic diva with a career born in front of the cameras not on stage and a face meant to be photographed. She’s got cheekbones to burn and commands the audience’s attention as easily as her lover, sneering a wide-angled smile that just radiates operatic haughtiness.

You think it’s funny back there in row five? Maybe it is and maybe she means it to be; this is Fifty Shades of Red in which the lead character knows the extent of her own caricature… nothing phony to see here just a mesmeric talent and a woman who knows how to wear an owl headdress. She is a joy to watch and moves as freely as she expresses: a moth that burns the very flames it's attracted to.

Pina Menichelli

Diva films put the woman at the centre of the story and not necessarily as a tragic adornment. In Il Fuoco (The Fire) it is the leading man, the painter Mario Alberti (Febo Mari) who is subject to the female will and who is not guaranteed a happy ending. Over in the US, Theda Bara was channelling Kipling’s very British idea of a femme fatale as the vamp in A Fool There Was but in Italian film, women were just that bit more sophisticated.

Yes, Pina may stalk her male prey with darting ornithological exaggeration but her little mouse is all too willing to play along as he paints a sunset and she sneaks up behind passing poetic comment as he struggles with his vision. Mario is stricken and yet when he returns to see her again the next evening at the same spot she rudely spurns his attentions before storming off.

Febo Mari

But the poet is merely toying with her prey and has left a note on a bulrush setting out the terms of their ensuing contest in which she will seek him out in his “nest” and he will try to take control of her… He tries ot prepare but she takes him by surprise, scorns him as a mother’s boy and then demonstrates the energy efficiencies of pure passion: he can either love in a mild way like his table oil lamp or be consumed like the flames that erupt when she smashes it.

Naturally he opts for the quick burn and the next thing we know its morning and as she slinks him away, arms and hands intertwined, he leaves a note for his mother: he has gone to find the way.

In the poet’s castle – yes, busting rhymes paid out as big then as now – the artist’s creativity  reaches new heights as he paints his love as she drapes herself on the nearest couch. It’s a passionate work and one that impresses the critics and public alike. Mario is a star of his lady’s making and his painting makes him rich.

But… you cannot dream without awaking can you?

Giovanni Pastrone directs with Caibirian dynamism and there is some gorgeous composition as well dreamy dolly shots as his camera moves around the action.

The film came with Italian titles translated by David Robinson and impeccably read by Lillian Henley accompanied by John Sweeney on piano. I loved what this duo did with TerjeVigen last year and they were no less impressive tonight. Lillian brought musical intonation to the reading, working hand in hand with her fellow pianist: only a silent film musician would know how to pace the words and only another could control their playing so well as to allow the reading to meld with their playing. All the words said and all the notes played in exactly the right order!

There were some huge, romantic chords from John – so much emotional on screen - and Lillian’s modulation was precise, filled with practiced emotional edge: the two were dueting and Pina made three. More please; this stuff should be on prescription!

We watched a superb 35mm print travelled over from Italy as part of a joint venture between the Bioscope and South West Silents – an exciting alliance that promises more riches from European archives.

Amleto Novelli and Pina Menichelli,

Also on the plane was a short film also featuring Pina but in a more conventional romantic comedy, Papà (1915) directed by Nino Oxilia. The film begins with a jaded playboy, Giuseppe Piemontesi, discovering that he has a son out in the country. Looking for purpose in his life, he heads out to meet the young man who turns out to be the not-so-young Amleto Novelli (about 30 at the time, not much younger than his cinematic “dad”).             

The lad has been romancing a local beauty, played by Pina, and disappointing a lovelorn shepherdess (Suzy Prim), well, amidst the lovely scenery, can you guess what is going to happen…?

Cyrus Gabrysch played along to this pastoral aperitif and enhanced its gentle if slightly confusing joy with Lillian making verbal sense of the translated titles.

So, you're my Papa?

First up we broadened our minds with some travelogues from the Cineteca di Bologna DVD Grand Tour italiano. 61 film dei primi anni del ’900 (available direct from Bologna!). There was a sea of faces from 1910, all gobbling up the potential of instant fame from the faces looking back up at them on screen, a novelty that never fades. Then to the skies for some fascinating shots taken from the Brera Observatory in L' Eclisse parziale di sole del 17 aprile 1912 - a partial solar eclipse had been filmed and the mechanism for capturing this event was shown: all this from a time when relativity was barely a twinkle.

Next we joined a group of patiently-posing dignitaries at The Great ceremony for the laying of the cornerstone of the sugar factory in Casalmaggiore (1910) the stone was carefully laid and then the men – and a few women – power posed like so many cigar-chomping frozen peacocks, for the moving camera.

L' Eclisse parziale di sole del 17 aprile 1912

Lest we forget that the Italian sense of humour is amongst the most advanced in the World, a smashing 35mm print of A Shrapnel Duel (1913) was shown: two silly men trying to blow each other in pursuit of a young woman’s hand. Bombs are attached to the daft duellists and they try and hit their opponent’s shell using metal hammers: be careful not to lose your head (and other body parts) in love or war.

Lillian was on piano for these first three, as modulated and expressive with music as with words.

Ben fatto Bioscope!! Stupendo!

The hand-tint to Hell (or The Diva is in the details)… Satanic Rhapsody (1915)

If Bertini is the thought, the determined-soul of classic Italian Diva films then could Lyda Borelli be the style and grace? Less naturalistic than her “sister” she was the one with the classic theatrical training (Bertini being more purely “of the movies” although she did theatre too) and was remarkably expressive whilst creating a natural intimacy that compels the viewer still.

She was enormously successful until her “retirement” in 1918 by which time she had married count Vittorio Cini and for the next four decades focused on raising her four children and shuttling between Venice and Rome: sometimes the going gets so good there’ll never be a “better” time to quit.

Lyda Borelli

But her work and presence left their mark on an adoring public and the reasons for this seem perfectly exemplified by this odd and spectacularly-colourful take on the Faustian-pact… a skilled mash-up of contemporary dance, art and literature…

American academic Angela Dalle Vacche makes an interesting point about the nature of the Italian “Diva” film at this stage; yes they were films centred around strong female leads but, unlike their sisters across the pond, they “…were characterized by a suffering and maternal aura (mater dolorosa) which the American femme fatales never adopted.” Their trials were to include the full gamut of women’s issues such as abandonment, divorce, adultery, pregnancy, employment and, as here, aging.

An offer she can't refuse?

Based on a contemporary poem by Fausto Maria Martin and directed by Nino Oxilia (director of Sangue Blu) in 1915, Satanic Rhapsody was not released until the year of his death in the trenches of 1917, delayed by other schedules and possibly post-production colourization! Today it stands as a remarkable testament to Borelli’s appeal as well being a remarkable film in its own right.  A pre-raphaelite delight... and more.

Ugo Bazzini - would you trust this man?

Lyda plays Alba d’ Oltrevita, an elderly society lady, who has little life left and spends her days remembering her former beauty. She wishes far too hard and from out of a painting pops the malevolent form of Mephisto (zestfully realized by Ugo Bazzini) who offers to return her youth on the condition that she destroys a small statuette of Cupid which will mean that she will be restored but never again be able to feel love…

She throws the objet d’amour to the ground (does it smash?) and is instantly transformed into her younger self, vitality coursing through the veins of her outstretched, graceful arms as Miss Borelli begins to show her extraordinary physicality.

Reaching out to Tristano and Sergio

We see her looking at her reflection in a pond, surrounded by a veil of white silk that floats around her upper body born aloft by her movement: this is youth and beauty in motion and repose. She meets two brothers Tristano (Andrea Habay) and Sergio (John Cini) and proceeds to enchant them both in playgrounds, parks and parties.

All of this is shown in remarkable colour thanks to the labours of Oxilia’s army of hand colourisers – their technique isn’t always within the line but it shows the richness of the fabrics and more than a hint of the technicolour re-birth Alba’s pact has enabled. It is very much her journey as she sashays through a society that now views her with lust and awe – no longer pity.

But one cannot traverse in glory for long without impacting on those around you (I should imagine…) and soon Sergio is smitten, jealous of his brother’s share of Alba’s affection and wanting her for himself at any cost. He delivers an ultimatum: Alba must agree to marry him or he will kill himself… Now, it’s been a while, but that doesn’t sound like a winning tactic to me.

Consequences and complications start queuing up like London buses in a tube strike and you can be sure that… well, you know, Faust…

 “Alba has a confusing idea: the whole universe is love…”

The film is split into three parts with the first setting up the rejuvenation, the second the tug of love with the brothers and the third a dance of regret, desolation, hope and mortality. Borelli dominates this sequence even more than the others and there is no end of colourful moments as she wrestles with her turmoil. This is art in film.

Mirror mirror

There are some superb compositions and none more unsettling than her standing in front of her reflection – a double image – as she slowly draws a veil over her head: a veil for marriage and a veil for death. This action is repeated in the gardens as she prepares to make the choice that will kill her… a rebirth of a kind as she leaves behind the destruction of her immediate regeneration: this is a freedom she never knew she had.

Loie swirls and Lyda twirls

Satanic Rhapsody is “opera” and I doubt any other actress in Britain or Hollywood could carry it off or at least mean it in the way La Borelli clearly does at least in this context. Dalle Vacche – in the excellent Diva – Defiance and Passion in Early Italian Cinema – points out the similarities between Borelli’s rapturous dance and American performer Loie Fuller but then Borelli was not only well-educated but also keen to express as much of her influences as possible. She gives a thoughtful and provocative performance so different in style and tone from what I’ve seen of La Bertini…  rich cinema.

I watched the 2007 reconstruction which features the original music from Pietro Mascagni written in 1914 and now played by Staatsphilharmonie Rheinland-Pfalz - it is good that the music survives to complete the experience of this most artful of films.

Further reading: This is just a blog, but these works are the real deal in terms of rigour, research and analysis; well written too even if I’m still trying to get to grips with Bergsonism ...

1.       Angela Dalle Vacche’s in-depth article Lyda Borelli’s Satanic Rhapsody: The Cinema and the Occult

  

2.       The same author’s Diva: Defiance and Passion in Early Italian Cinema is available from Amazon.

A real diva… Sangue blu (1914) with John Sweeney, Kennington Bioscope

Watching the extract from the documentary before the main screening, it’s hard to escape the impression that Francesca Bertini was almost more of a diva in real life than on film. Here she was at 94 bossing not just her grandson around but also the man at the Italian film archive and the man trying to direct the documentary: having performed sitting down she decided to stand “… the light is better…” and a re-take ensued.

Such presence of mind and command from a woman who had stopped making films 60 years before: what a remarkable energy she still had.

But as Amran Vance reminded us in his introduction, the great Italian silent divas were not always in command and would suffer for their art and our entertainment and he warned of impending struggles in the film to follow:  Sangue blu (Blue Blood).

Directed by Nino Oxilia, who almost certainly got assistance from his star… the film was thought lost until recovered in a Dutch collection and this extant 35mm tinted nitrate print has now been restored by the EYE Filmmuseum in Holland and it just looks stunning!

The cinematography of Giorgino Ricci captured rich depth of field for large-scale interiors built outside to make use of the external light – the Italians didn’t have the American’s lighting budgets. Similarly there are some wonderful shots of the Riviera and, at one point, Bertini making a break for freedom along a country road lined by trees with the camera pulling further and further away.

GIF from the excellent Silents Please blog

“Inside” there’s one especially noteworthy sequence when Bertinin walks in turmoil along a corridor with large windows to her left, her figure marches camera-ward alternating between shadow and bright light: she is furious. The tints are also wonderfully vivid: there may not be much camera movement or close ups but this is a technically accomplished film.

The film, also known as The Princess of Monte Cabello, is based on the unhappy marriage between Bertini, the titular princess, and her husband played by Amedeo Ciaffi. They have a daughter, Diana (Anna Cipriani) whom they both dote on, but the Princess cannot trust her husband’s feelings especially when he is in the orbit of the scheming Contessa Simone de la Croix (Fulvia Perini).

The spaces between friends...

After one especially fraught party the Prince decides enough is enough and sues for divorce. For a while the Princesses life carries on, as she cares for Diana and performs good works but then she comes into contact with an actor, Jacques Wilson (Angelo Gallina). She is to perform with Wilson in a charity play but, whilst one thing doesn’t lead to another, the Contessa makes sure that her private eyes make it look that way.

Appalled the Prince removes his ex-wife from court and, worst of all, makes sure she can never see her daughter. Cast adrift, the Princess lands herself with Wilson who turns out to be less of a man than she expected and soon bankrupts them both by gambling away their funds in the casino at Monte Carlo.

Wilson taunts the Princess

His only hope is to persuade the Princess to take to the stage and, aided by an aggressive money-lender, he sets about increasing her degradation until she is left with only one choice… or is she?

No spoilers as… a) you really should see this film if you like early Italian silent films and b) the Cineteca Bologna, together with Eye, has now produced a DVD version of this film which is available direct or readily available on eBay.

Bertini is a class act and whilst I don’t think the film is of the standard of Assunta Spina, it is certainly a fascinating watch 101 years after release. It also includes Bertini’s take on Asta Nielsen’s dirty dancing from Afgrunden (1910)… there are fewer gyrations and certainly no bondage but the intent is there…

John Sweeney caressed the keys with his usual fluency and between the Sign of Four on Sunday and tonight really showed his tremendous range and versatility: accompaniment suitable for the great diva!

There were also a number of special treats on tonight’s under-card…

Charley gets the bird in Movie Night

Events kicked off with a Charley Chase romp called Movie Night (1929) in which the Chase family struggle to enjoy their weekly Monday night trip to the flix – on this occasion to see Buster Keaton and Marceline Day in The Cameraman. Stingy dad tries to get over-age son in as a child but his bum-fluff gives him away whilst there’s some trouble involving a free bird: never look a gift goose in the mouth Mr Chase.

It was laugh-out-laugh comedy in the old school sense with some spritely support from Lillian Henley on piano. It might depend on your mood but is it more fun playing along to comedy than drama? Lillian clearly relished the Chase challenge!

Next up was a Disney animation from when he was funny – Oswald the Lucky Rabbit in Trolley Troubles (1927) – a stream of consciousness, surreal symphony in which the titular rabbit tries to navigate the everyday perils of the track, angry goats, immobile cows and unexpected gradients.

That's hazardous, Helen!

It was Cyrus Gabrysch’s turn to hang on to the nonsense narrative and he repeated the trick with a rare sighting of one of the Hazards of Helen shorts. Helen is played by Helen Holmes who did “all of her own stunts” and there are some doozies in this 1915 episode (number 13 of 119!) in which she allows the telegraph to get robbed, loses her job and then catches the thieves and recovers job and money: all in a breathless ten minutes and with her hair almost unruffled.

There was also a tantalizing preview of a brand new silent film called Written in Dust from its director Gareth Rees. Details can be found on the project’s website here. The film is coming to the Bioscope in November and looks a really interesting prospect all round: a modern, naturalistic, gritty drama just like Miss Bertini used to make!

 Written in Dust