A hero for our times… Nelson (1918), BFI Player

My first thought in watching Maurice Elvey’s celebratory life story of Admiral Lord Nelson was that there was surely hardly anyone producing films of such length and scope in Britain at this time: a two-hour epic covering many years and battles across oceans... something that matched the ambition of American or European features. The film is not as good as the director’s next, The Life Story of David Lloyd George but that was backed more heavily before being pulled for many and complex reasons (c.f. Dutton, L).

Nelson - or Nelson; The Story of England's Immortal Naval Hero - is certainly propaganda, but it takes its facts and its audience very seriously. Nelson’s biography plays out with a minimum of gilded lilies and Elvey shows us major sea battles as forensically as possible with the aid of models, a chalk board and stop-motion ships. In its own way it reminds me of Monsieur Gance and his treatment of Napoleon (who, naturally, also makes his appearance here as less of a poet warrior than an implacable foe… France being our ally at the time of filming).  The style and technique of these films are worlds away, but both directors clearly saw their leads as key to their countries’ ideals of heroism and success.

Napoleon and Nelson both made their way against the odds – and established orders - on the basis of tremendous intelligence and daring. They were glory hunters and self-promoters but maybe that’s the price you pay for your heroes?  I’m sure Horatio would have approved of this film although maybe he’d have liked the crowds bigger at Portsmouth… just as Napoleon might have wanted a fourth screen added to the tryptic at the end of Gance’s film.

Napoléon Bonaparte

Elvey is here to salute the positives and is relatively subtle in this work. As Powell and Pressburger were later to show, to make good propaganda, you have to be fair to the opposition: hate isn’t enough especially when compared with inspiration and the need to do your duty. Here as in actuality, Nelson’s last words were “thank God I did my duty” and there were more than enough reliable witnesses to his last hours as confirmed by Andrew Lambert in his excellent biography (as recommended by Elvey-expert Lucie Dutton).

In the last section Nelson is in bucolic retirement in the beautiful gardens of his house in Merton, along with Emma Hamilton, his intellectual equal and the life of his love, only to be called away when Bonaparte looks to be making a pre-emptive move on the British fleet. In this time of great uncertainty, Pitt, his government and the admirals, turned to their unfailing naval leader, the man whose intelligence and intuitive genius had helped win battles across Europe and down to the Nile.

It was a battle too far, but Nelson won, and the course of history was changed.

1918

When this film was commissioned, there was still no certainty in the result of the Great War and, Nelson’s leadership, luck and determination was still the inspiration required on land and sea. The film starts in the now with the grandfatherly Admiral Fremantle persuading a young lad that there’ s a future in the navy and how the service has been funded by Kings and the Commonwealth as gifts to the people. An impressive shot of HMAS Australia and HMS New Zealand (part of the Royal Navy but funded by New Zealand) forging through rough seas with magnificent intent.

He tells the boy to study the life of Nelson and leaves him a copy of Southey’s Life of Nelson. Then we start the story of Nelson, someone who always had to fight against natural disadvantages but who never backed away from a thing that looked worth doing!  Whether it was falling from trees climbed far too high or fighting with the boys far too big, young Nelson was a boy of courage and endeavour.

He enlists in the navy at just 14 even though he is not considered the finest specimen and he even gets invalided out at one point, but nothing can stop his eventual re-appointment. In all of this he is encouraged by his uncle, Captain Suckling, although not to the extent of favours: the navy is an opportunity for any man made of the right stuff and as Lambert and other commentators support, it was possible to advance based on ability. This is fascinating in of itself and our hero does indeed have extraordinary resources.

This is quickly proved in artic waters when the young officer defends his men from a rampaging polar bear, an event which is portrayed in graphic details that are simply impossible to relay… safe to say the bear comes off second best and Nelson’s momentum to success builds.

Battle of St Vincent - Nelson boarding the San Nicholas...  "surrender and be damned!"

Elevy is meticulous in his detail and replicates the major victories in Nelson’s rise faithfully starting with the incredibly bold attack on the Spanish fleet at the Battle of St Vincent in which he attacked their flagship, the San Nicolas, after leading his men through an adjacent vessel. The director details the ship movements in these battles and we see clearly how Nelson’s instincts led to counter-intuitive surprises for the opposition.

One man could indeed make a difference!

What a message for 1918 and indeed for 2018… perseverance leads to Victory (of course) and of course, Elevy uses the actual HMS Victory when the time comes with some gorgeous shots looking down on Nelson as he boards the vessel as if stepping up to a higher level.

Bothered by Britannia in delerium dream

There is impressive use of visual metaphor throughout the film; Horatio clutching his locket of Emma when thinking of his love or Nelson viewed within the Union Jack and as literally the heart of nationhood. The young Nelson is visited by Britannia and great admirals past as in delirium he dreams of his future greatness in much the same way Gance’s man saw the ghosts of Danton and the fathers of the revolution. These men are so great they must surely have been divinely aware of their fate… inspiration teasing a forgone cinematic conclusion.

Given his budget, Elvey also injects as much actual awe as he can muster with impressive shots of battleships out at sea and numerous location shots even though the Defence of Calvi (1794) looks like it’s taking place in Kent, we still get a feel for the action.

Out of the shadows

I like the use of shade in creating dramatic intimacy, with shots out of the dark of Nelson leaving for battle or in the thoughts of his family as he is away from home. For a while this was a family formed by his marriage to Mrs Nesbit the widow – played by the excellent Ivy Close (another link with Gance as she later played in La Roue, his epic of transgressive love off the rails…) but, in a shockingly frank title card she is dismissed; Nelson craving action and warm-hearted appreciation which his wife lacked the power to supply…

Sorry Ivy, it’s not you it’s him.

Donald Calthrop and Ivy Close

The film stops off in Naples which seems a world away from the wars with its flimsy regent (Edward O'Neill) less interested in his elegant and intelligent Queen than Mrs Emma Hamilton (the suitably eye-catching American actress Malvina Longfellow) the wife of the British envoy to this small Mediterranean ally. Sir William Hamilton (Allan Jeayes) scarcely notices Nelson’s instant fascination with his wife whilst the pair are happy to use her to encourage the King to resist Napoleon’s advances. Much adventure ensues as the Neopolitans revolt (and having been there I can understand why, a tough city not given to powder-puff princes…) and Nelson leads the escape following a nail-biting siege.

Malvina Longfellow,

Back in Britain, after all of these successes – Nelson settles down eventually with Emma after his dear friend Hamilton passes away. They live in the rural bliss of Merton, probably not that far from Wimbledon Dog Track as it used to be and the bog Sainsbury at Abbey Mills, and there are superb sequences of them in lush English gardens. Emma gifts Horatio (formerly Herbert actually) a baby and all is bliss. That is, until Bonapart escapes and the fight for Europe reaches the make or break Battle of Trafalgar.

Nelson seems happy to settle but he knows there is no other option but to do his duty and, possibly, he is the only man who can do what is required.

Nelson and Emma in the garden of Merton

Even if this were not true, it’s what those watching in 1918 wanted to see and Elvey, who had based the script on the aforementioned Robert Southey’s biography of Admiral Horatio Nelson, made sure this was what they got. More reading is required to find out exactly how much Nelson is myth but in 1918 this was as much as needed to be. England expected as every man was doing his duty.

You can view Nelson on the BFI Player in very decent quality. There’s no score and I trust that one day soon, it will be screened. After all, how many British feature films get shown from 1918 let alone films of this ambition and importance? Given the specific circumstances of the War, I wonder how the film came to be and how it was received? I’m sure we’ll get the answers soon…

Let's make this quite clear!

Produced under the sole direction of Maurice Elvey

St Patricia… Little Old New York (1923), with Morgan Cooke, The Barbican

As Jeanine Basinger has written, from a historical perspective, no one has it worse than Marion Davies; “…she was a big success in silent movies, and popular with audiences… but nobody believes it.” Whilst this is partly, as Basinger says, the curse of Citizen Kane, William Randolph Hearst was not Charles Foster Kane and nor was he the one doing the acting on screen. Right from the get-go Marion made films for Hearst and he was seen by contemporary reviewers as controlling her career.

Thankfully we get the chance to see for ourselves how good Marion Davies was not just in comedies such as The Patsy and the sublime Show People but increasingly in the kind of historical romantic dramas her wealthy lover liked to see her in and which were box office successes. When Knighthood was in Flower (1922), recently released on BluRay, was an enjoyable romp uplifted by the tonally-varied exuberance of Davies’ performance and was one of the biggest films of that year. Today we watched another smash which ended up the seventh highest grosser of the year.

Marion was big box office and the intimacy she still establishes with paying customers explains why.

Today’s screening featured a fine print from the Irish Film Institute and was supported by Culture Ireland as part of GB18: Promoting Irish Arts in Britain. The fact that it was screened the day after a St Patrick’s Day drubbing of the English rugby union side by the team in green was purely co-incidental.

The accompaniment was provided by Galway musician, Morgan Cooke who also introduced the film discussing the work of the prolific director Sidney Olcott, who was Hollywood’s go-to-fella for features of Irish origin. Marion herself was a first generation American with parents both from Eire but y’all know that surely just from the glint in her emerald eyes…

Little Old New York is a sub-Dickensian tale that has many a twist in just under two hours’ running time with a slightly clumsy plot taken from Rida Johnson Young’s play. For it to work, you have to be able to believe that people could accept Marion Davies as a young man… she might be wearing trousers and a bobbed haircut but, what can I say; “dude looks like a lady…” Probably she finishes last in a silent cross-dressing chart featuring Asta Nielsen (Hamlet), Ossi Oswalda (I Don’t Want to be a Man), Mary Pickford (various) and Louise Brooks (Beggars of Life), but you have to go with it.

Yep, totally a boy

Marion plays Patricia O'Day the sister of Patrick (Stephen Carr) who has inherited millions by way of his estranged Uncle’s dying wish to atone for cutting old man John O'Day (J. M. Kerrigan) out of the business they both started in America. John has returned to Ireland whilst his brother has prospered and has nursed a sizeable grudge over this time as he has struggled to look after his own. At the reading of the will, step-son Larry Delevan (Harrison Ford – no, not that one (again)) obviously has high hopes but he can only inherit of Patrick fails to turn up to claim his prize within a year.

That year is just about up and Larry is celebrating with his pals but there’s a knock on the door and in walks John O’Day and his son Patrick who has turned remarkably feminine since we last saw him. We learn later that Paddy had died on the crossing and John, desperate to get his just deserts, persuades Pat to drag up.

Pretty soon Pat is making large eyes as Larry (what could Lubitsch have made of this?!) who just thinks the lad is a bit soft: “Patrick, what did you do in Ireland?!”  asks one character later but the Americans remain fooled.

There’s a sub-plot involving Larry’s investment in a mad invention – a steam-powered paddle steamer invented by Robert Fulton (Courtenay Foote) who did indeed exist and do this thing. Various know-it-alls think it’s crazy but it’s Larry’s shot at making it given that Pat has inherited his inheritance.

Not That One and Such a Fine Comedienne

It all bobs along nicely and really takes off when Larry bets his house (literally) on an unlikely victory for his pal Bully Boy Brewster (Harry Watson) in a boxing match against the ferocious Hoboken Terror (Louis Wolheim).

There’s a good balance of comedy and drama and it has an amiability due in no small part to the star presence of Marion Davies. She’s an extraordinary pretty boy and once she’s back in feminine clothes there are numerous close ups of her tear-stained face that guarantee an emotionally immersed ending.

Morgan took the bold step of asking a mostly English audience to participate by singing along to the song Marion Davies plays on her harp “Do you hear me callin' when the dews are fallin'...” – the rehearsals went well but we were a little quiet when the moment came! Never-the-less, it’s not often you get to join in. In addition to the harp, Morgan played piano and melodica lingering on the many magnificent close-ups of Marion and pummelling the keys during that boxing match.

For those of us who missed the Quiet Man for St Patricks, this was a good old scrap that descends into a free-for-all… before love saves the day.

For me it was another important part of Davies’ career slotting into place. The film was placed fifth in the – non-Hearst - New York Times top ten and Marion was voted fifth in Quigley’s Box Office Stars list; she came second the following year. None of which fits in with the narrative of her only finding her feet with comedy – she was funny all along and even in these historical dramas there was gurning, fighting and dancing. Whether William Randolph approved or not is another matter…

The funniest woman in the World… Exit Smiling (1926), Meg Morley, Kennington Bioscope 2nd Silent Laughter Weekend

The Cinema Museum’s redoubtable tour guide, Morris Hardcastle, was offering his hand at £50 per shake given he had once shook Charlie Chaplin’s hand, for David Robinson and Kevin Brownlow he was suggesting a bargain £100 given the number of silent performers these two have met over the years. But before Exit Smiling, our final film of the packed, inspirational Saturday programme, Mr Robinson told us of meeting its inimitable star, Beatrice Lillie at a screening of the film at the BFI in the late 1960’s and raised the stakes once more. 

David said she was often described as the funniest woman in the World and on that night in her seventies she still dazzled in unpredictable ways slaying the audience and laughing throughout the screening: “she’s very good, she does things the way I do them!” she remarked at her younger self… a one-off performer with unique timing and sense of the ridiculous and yet who could also reduce you to tears (with or without an onion…).

In her excellent, in-depth introduction, Michelle Facey related the opinions of Chaplin and Keaton on this Anglo-Canadian marvel including the latter sleeping outside her hotel room door – a slapstick guard of honour for this toweringly-talented Torontian. Sadly (for us) Hollywood couldn’t easily cast this quirky and stunningly individual talent and, for this and no doubt several other reasons (maybe she just didn’t want to?) this was Bea’s only silent film and she made few after, much preferring the more interactive and improvisational freedoms of the stage.

Tonight, we watched not only Kevin Brownlow’s 16mm copy of Exit Smiling but, as it turned out, Miss Lillie’s own, so I’d make that another £50 for shaking the hand of projectionist Dave Locke.

Beatrice Lillie and Jack Pickford

We are truly blessed by these associations with the silent past and also by expert accompaniment from the Bioscope Players. Meg Morley, a jazz musician by night and, a silent film accompanist by er, other nights, played along with a thoroughly modern mix of jazz-age themes and improvised scoring that sound for all the world like it’s been months in the preparation. I always imagine the music as a duet and Bea is such a graceful performer with a dancer’s arm extensions and amazing timing, that the music followed suit; to this extent Meg riffed with Bea and took some bold decisions along the way (a flash of Carmen for the vamping!) enjoying the tones as much as the audience.

I’ve previously raved about the actress and the film here if you want a fuller synopsis. I'd watched the Warner Archives DVD but, as ever, it's still a treat to see this film on screen especially in what Ms P. Hutchinson once described as a silent speakeasy: this crowd are fascinating as well as fascinated and all respect the subject.

Raymond Griffith and Vera Reynolds not in a night club...

With Miss Lillie tonight and Mabel Normand last week, it’s easy to forget that men can also be funny too… The day opened with Raymond Griffith in The Night Club (1925) a film that didn’t actually feature a club but as Kevin Brownlow’s introduction made clear, had been logged down as a title before script or even story. Block-booking in advance meant that there had to be a film of this title and so it was squeezed into the first title card as a gentlemen’s club dedicated to avoiding marriage.

Griffith’s character get’s jilted at the alter as his fiancé’s ex returned at the last minute from a presumed death on a desert island and so keen was he to marry that he tries to ban all women from his life. His fortune turns when an uncle dies and leaves him a million, but the condition is that he must marry his second cousin (Vera Reynolds).

He heads off for foreign climes only to find not only bump into but fall in love with Vera’s character, but things get awkward when they both realised, and she miss-hears his intentions. There’s a nice cameo from Wallace Beery (a bad-tempered Mexican) and an even better one from Louise Fazenda who plays his “Carmen” for whom he would kill whether you pay him or not.

Griffith is so watchable, he takes everything in his stride – even this daft script – with a wide-eyed smile and a look straight to the audience. Costas Fotopolous joined in the fun on piano, twinkling the ivories in sympathy with Raymond's knowing gaze. 

Henrietta Watson, Pauline Johnson and the impossibly youthful Leslie Howard

Then we had Tony Fletcher’s traditional sweep through rare and early British film and a revelation to me with a silent and very young Leslie Howard in Bookworms (1920). Based on a scenario from AA Milne (yes, him) it told the story of a young chap, Richard (Howard) and his attempts to woo his neighbour Miranda Pottlebury (Pauline Johnson) away from her over-protective Aunt and Uncle. The Pottlebury’s all use the local library and Richard starts to leave notes in books they order in the hope of communicating with the girl of his fancy… The results are gently amusing, and it is a very charming film with glimpses of post-War English gardens and sitting rooms.

A Fugitive Futurist (1924) was your standard time-travelling con which did feature some interesting special affects showing London as it will be in the future… a derelict Strand and water-filled Trafalgar Square are, of course, only just around the corner now thanks to Brexit…

Lillian Hall-Davis, Sybil Rhoda, Humberston Wright and Phyllis Neilson-Terry in Boadicea (1927)

Starlings of the Screen (1925) featured a host of young gals looking for fame with the Stoll Picture Company, including Sybil Rhoda who was to feature in Hitchcock’s Downhill as well as Boadicea (1927) – her favourite performance – with Lillian Hall-Davis.  Various screen tests are featured including professionals such as Moore Marriott playing alongside the hopefuls who include Molly Weeks, Phyllis Garton, Nancy Baird and Shailagh Allen but Sybil wins and gets the part of Melody Rourke in Sahara Love (1926).

“Look at all that sand, dozens of it…”

Crossing the Great Sagrda (1924) is almost indescribable; a mock ethno-graphical film with title cards that could have been written by a Goon had they yet been invented. It featured sand courtesy of Blackpool Borough Council and free-form intertitles each one attributed to a different film company. Whatever it was about, I liked it and I laughed.

Almost as barmy was Beauty and the Beast (1922) featuring Guy Newall as The Beast and Ivy Duke as… you can guess. Meg Morley brought musical method to all the madness.

After lunch it was time to cut to the Chase, Charlie Chase… as Matthew Ross took us through some more highlights from the second coolest silent comic who was so much his own man any comparison belittles his suave majesty.

Charlie helps a pal pull his car out from a muddy patch and ends up losing his own car to Hal Roache’s ACME mud pool and then goes in a brilliantly desperate search of trousers in The Way of all Pants (1927). The session ended with plastic-surgery farce Mighty Like a Moose (1927) which is a work of World-cultural significance.

Mr Sweeney stayed cool at the keys and kept pace with the Chase.

Monty Banks bronze medalist in the Freestyle Moustache 

Then in a surprise entry for moustache of the day (he came third…), Monty Banks twitched his winning ways through A Perfect Gentleman (1927). You can’t fail to like Monty in this well-balanced comedy, as he chases around a ship trying to prove his innocence after having crashed his own wedding inadvertently drunk and then doubled his disgrace by being accused of robbing his former fiancé’s father’s bank. Not the day’s first wedding nor the last bank robbery. 

Costas was really on the beat for this lightweight charmer and he was clearly enjoying himself as his punchy lines accompanied Banks' every pratfall.

The KB weekenders are great for bringing attention to performers such as Banks and Griffiths, but we were about to be reminded of the sheer excellence of one of those who is deservedly still widely remembered. Four commentators were given the essentially impossible task of choosing a favourite moment from a Buster Keaton film.

Even married to the star, Natalie Talmadge wonders why sisters Constance and Norma always had easier gigs...

David Robinson chose the breath-taking closing scenes from Our Hospitality (1923) when our hero rescues Natalie Talmadge from the rapids, a waterfall and over-bearing relatives. Then Kevin Brownlow’s choice was the Tong war from The Cameraman including a mini-tribute to the camerawork in Intolerance I hadn’t previously spotted.

Poly Rose (known to many on The Twitter, as The Flying Editor) is a film editor (natch) who revealed some secrets about Keaton’s own editing for Sherlock Junior. It takes one to know one and it was fascinating to see how this mind-boggling segment was constructed through double exposure. Publicity stills, and contemporary reviews also suggest that there were other versions of Buster’s somnambulant transition from what we see, Keaton test screened his work and fine-tuned the brilliance.

Last up was David Macleod, broadcaster and president of the Blinking Buzzards, the UK Keaton Society, who has written extensively on the comedian’s sound films which extend far beyond his relatively-short silent period. He chose the pulsating climax to Steamboat Bill Jr (1928) as our hero literally risked life and limb in a town torn apart by hurricanes and another extraordinary river rescue.

Buster to the rescue as Marion Byron clings on in Steemboat Bill Jnr

John Sweeney accompanied and once again demonstrated extraordinary fluidity for those river-chase sequences but most of all he really Keatoned those keyboards!

A day of pure concentrated silent bliss – where else would we see these films and hear these musicians?! Thankyou Bioscope and the Cinema Museum.

The Way of all Pants!

Unsolvable... The Mysterious Lady (1928) with Carl Davis and the Philharmonia Orchestra, Royal Festival Hall

In the stalls at the Festival Hall there was no option but to just sit back and surrender to Carl Davis’ sound and Greta Garbo’s fury; both were overwhelming in their own way and the result was a unity of music and expression that you won’t find in Cineworld.

Crossing Hungerford Bridge after the show, I heard a complaint that the score had been “too loud” and “ill-matched” to the action but this is an opera without words and Garbo is radiating the same intensity as a stage full of singers with Puccini on full volume. If you want your Swede’s subtle and “silent” then maybe try some Ingmar Bergman instead?

The tempo is set early on when Austrian solder Captain Karl von Raden (Conrad Nagel) gets a last-minute ticket for the opera and finds Tania Fedorova (Greta Garbo) elegantly draping herself over the edge of their box as she watches Tosca. Karl is mesmerised and can hardly focus on the events on stage and Mr Davis’ score cleverly captures this by accompanying the interplay between the two leads as well as the performance on stage, quoting from the opera itself. Allegedly it’s an uncredited Betty Blythe playing the opera singer, but Conrad only has eyes for Tania… just as she planned (the minx!).

He doesn't even need to see her face...

Tania was due to meet her cousin, but he fails to turn up and, what do you know, she’s left her purse at home… like any gentleman faced with such a situation, Captain Karl races to the rescue and escorts her home in a handsome cab. He almost leaves only to find he has Tania’s carefully forgotten silk, returning it to her he accepts her offer of a “coffee” and enters her apartment not only abandoning all hope of an early night but also leaving his cab driver to soak in the pouring rain. Director Fred Niblo plays this for laughs and thankfully keeps the drama mellow just as Garbo herself injects the odd twinkle among the smouldering.

It’s been a while since I watched Greta in Hollywood and you can fully understand the impact she had on the American public with a forthright sexuality that slinked and scolded and yet was self-determined and not fully revealed. As author Zadie Smith recently put it, Garbo exhibited an “inviable selfhood, ultimately impenetrable by other people.” Here as elsewhere, Garbo’s character has a secret and yet another secret beyond that too… In the first instance she is a Russian spy and she has deliberately targeted the young Captain in order to take advantage but it’s a role she takes far more intensely than necessary.

Conrad Nagel and Greta Garbo

We are in Vienna in 1910 and Europe is bracing itself for conflict as the Russians and Germans eye the Balkans and each other. After their night after the Opera and a “perfect day” in the sun, the Captain is informed of Tania’s day job and is suitably vexed. Karl has a vital package to take to Berlin and his career and many lives depend on it, but he’s followed by Tania who “comes to him as his lover and leaves as his enemy…” such a difficult woman this mysterious lady.

She has the secrets and Karl has a court martial, ritually humiliated in front of his regiment who turn their backs as he is stripped of insignias and medals before being thrown in jail for treason. He’s given a shot at redemption when released by his uncle Colonel Eric von Raden (Edward Connelly) who sets him up with a trip to Warsaw under the guise of a Serbian pianist.

Karl naturally finds Tania at a cocktail party and plays Vissi d’arte, their aria… she turns in shock to find him playing these dangerous chords and luckily decides to follow her heart. But Tania is under the wing of General Boris Alexandroff (Gustav von Seyffertitz) and whilst he won’t wait forever for her to surrender to his very limited charms, he is also very suspicious of the pretty pianist. And why does he keep on playing Pucccini?!

The Mysterious Lady is a symphony of Garbo in shimmering silk and magnificently shaded close ups - devised and shot by William H Daniels, who specialised in setting up that face for the most devastating effect.  It works optically of course but all the more so because of the specific mysteries of the actress’ expression; she is constantly wrong-footing the watcher’s expectations with distracted agitation and we look that bit harder almost seeking her reassurance. She rides the edge of defined emotional response in a way that haunts us still. Worn down by pretty much everything at this point in America, film critic Alexander Walker describes how Garbo managed to make her exhaustion look like "romantic agony..." and that "...no film so clearly shows that, for Garbo, passion was a form of tragic depression."

For his part Conrad Nagel was ill-served by the example of Lars Hanson in the surviving nine minutes of The Divine Woman shown before the main feature. Large Handsome can go toe-to-toe with his compatriot and even deluged in dozens of Garbo kisses and with the actress – shockingly and perhaps to him, surprisingly – grabbing him by the hair, he keeps on responding no doubt urged on by guttural Swedish encouragement from director Victor Sjostrom. Conrad’s no dummy but he is outshone by the divine energy of his co-star as were so many others.

Lars and Greta amidst the rough and tumble

Such a shame that only one reel of The Divine Woman survives but what an explosive section it is as Lars and Greta play forcefully for each other’s affections as the clock ticks away his last moments before he must depart with his regiment: they have only right now and, as it happens, so do we.

Carl Davis conducted his own scores and he had the full might of the Philharmonia crammed on stage with him – an 87-piece ensemble of intricate power augmented by piano, harp and possibly even the sink from Carl’s kitchen. The score referenced far beyond my limited experience of contemporary classical music but was as expertly constructed around image and acting as you would expect: you don’t need to understand the method just feel the results. As with actress so with composer.

The natural volume of such an orchestra is quite different from the amplified power of, say, Mogwai who I have also seen in the Royal Festival Hall (front row, right by the bass speaker…) but the results are the same minus the ringing ears. This is music with which you have a tangible connection and which, interwoven with the action on screen leaves you stirred and smiling as those silent film endorphins race around for a few hours still. 

Both these films are available on the Garbo Silents collection from TCM, but you haven’t really lived them until you’ve watched them in cinema with Carl’s band.