Comet in Jutland… The End of the World (1916), Danish Film Institute Online

OK, it sounds crazy, but hear me out on this one. In 1946 Finnish writer, Tove Jansson published Comet in Moominland a story about the impending impact of a large comet with the potential to destroy much of Moomin civilisation, they hear about the astral threat from the local observatory and set off to warn others and find shelter deep in a cave. Jansson’s book, as so much of her writing, contained much subtext and hear she was providing solace to an audience of young readers who had just experienced another huge disruption and for whom the resilience of her characters would help show that life could carry on.

In August Blom’s film, inhabitants of a Danish town discover from their local scientist that a comet is on course to crash into Northern Europe which could spell the end of civilization and, whilst some hide in a mine, others take refuge in a cave… awaiting a fate that may or may not be catastrophic. Of course, Jansson was only two when the film was released and in a different country but she did study art in Sweden and Paris – it’s possible that she saw the film. If not, she almost certainly saw Abel Gance’s End of the World (1931) in Paris and this was based on the novel Omega: The Last Days of the World by Camille Flammarion which was published in 1894 and probably influenced Blom!

Destruction hanging over them

Whatever the connections, Blom’s film is quite extraordinary and probably made with similar purpose to Jansson’s at the height of a great European conflict in which his country was neutral. Verdens Undergang is a parable as much as it is science fantasy and is focused on the behaviour of those whose lives are under threat as much as the threat itself and its conclusion is not a particularly optimistic one for large parts of humanity even if, as always hope remains.

Blom had had huge success with his proto-disaster movie Atlantis, influenced by the Titanic sinking, and here the memories of a close encounter with Halley’s Comet in 1910 were still fresh along with the fears that Earth could have been caught by noxious tail gases. The utter destructiveness of events across the border were clearly on the minds of many and Verdens Undergang delivers powerfully in its depiction of impending doom as well as wide-spread devastation with the director flooding and burning not just models but full-scale buildings as doom approaches. Sparks fly and smoke fills the screen as his cast of thousands look up helplessly and try to escape and whilst the painted image of the comet grows bigger and bigger overhead, modern audiences may not be impressed but it looks rather good to me.

Is this really the end? You’ll have to find out for yourself and really that’s not the film’s main point as the director looks to the behaviours of mankind at the last chance saloon.

The human elements revolve around the West family headed by the local mine’s foreman (Carl Lauritzen) who is father to two daughters Dina (Ebba Thomsen) and Edith (Johanne Fritz-Petersen). Dina is in a relationship with mineworker Flint (Thorleif Lund) and Edith is sweet on ship’s mate Reymers (the ubiquitous Alf Blütecher). Flint is too earnest and Dina too easily distracted and when mine owner Frank Stoll (Olaf Fønss) offers to take her away from all this she agrees and meets him in the early morning as the deposed Flint arrives too late yet just in time for Stoll to knock him to the ground.

Faith and science play equal parts in the drama as a wandering preacher (Frederik Jacobsen) arrives before the drama unfolds and befriends the Wests whilst astronomer Professor Wissmann (K. Zimmerman) spots the oncoming comet which he calculates could hit Earth with enough force to destroy all that they know. Wissmann warnings go unheeded by some whilst others pray and Stoll preys on the markets.

Carl Lauritzen, Frederik Jacobsen and Johanne Fritz-Petersen

Stoll genuinely loves Dina but months into their marriage she’s bored and Stoll feels that only more money can buy him the love he needs. Tipped off by the editor of the newspaper about the comet’s threat, he buys stock as the market sells, keeping his head whilst all around are losing it, and then, following confirmation of likely disaster, gets his friend to write a contradictory headline so that he can sell as the relieved investors buy back into a recovery that will never come.

Blom clearly had a dim view of stock market speculators but Stoll’s bloodless cynicism is not only cruel but also potentially pointless unless he can survive the comet. He finds a route to the mine deep beneath his house and resolves to wait out the apocalypse and emerge as the ruler of the new world. He hosts a massive party on the eve of destruction and there’s food and dance aplenty with Dina on stage performing suggestively for Stoll’s chosen people.

The Dance of Death for the wealthy

The world may be ending but there’s still time for revenge and Flint rouses his fellow workers to storm Stoll’s house and take what property they can; class war clashes with cabaret as the West family pray and Reymers hopes that his ship will somehow still come in…

It’s dramatic stuff and whilst it may run unevenly for modern audiences it’s a very well-made film, proof of Nordisk’s high level of production values at a time when they were the equal of pretty much anything in Hollywood.

I watched the Danish Film Institute’s 2006 restoration which is available to stream for free on their a-mazing site and on DVD from Editionfilmuseum and other retailers.

There’s no accompaniment for the DFI streaming and so you can make your own musical choices; some Holst perhaps, some Hans Zimmer, Laurence Rosenthal’s score for Meteor (1979) or perhaps just REM’s It’s the End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine) on repeat.

Happy New Year!

Asta enlightened… Mod lyset (Towards the Light) (1919), Danish Film Institute Online, #Bosslady

The frivolous countess, who toys with men and their feelings the same way she played with dolls as a child…

 

This was Asta Nielsen’s last film in her Danish homeland and she’d already enjoyed much success in Germany and beyond – the first European screen superstar and a performer who helped establish the art of screen acting. From the start she was so measured in her expression, micro-managing her emotions in ways that were seemingly intuitive and which, even now, has you watching in vain for any sense that she’s consciously “acting”. Even with this melodramatic and largely predictable script she injects so much passionate febrility that you identify with even the shallowest of her emotions.

 

Acting has never been a competition – despite all those awards – but in Asta we can see the impenetrable security of someone who feels their way through any role and who never gives you doubt in her performance. She is always very much in the present on screen and engaging with her imagined surroundings as much as the direct narrative and other characters. At one moment, devastated by twists of fate, in floods of tears, she pulls her handkerchief to her mouth, biting into it in a way Greta Garbo might ten years later…

 

All for charity? Asta Nielsen and Augusta Blad

The film starts as Asta’s character, Ysabel, hosts a charity bazaar with her mother Countess Prosca (Augusta Blad) and very quickly we see the runners and riders in the race for her heart or, more practically, just her head? There’s Baron Sandro Grec – a rich adventurer with a “heart of lead” – who’s her current beau and then, his “competition” the younger noble, Felix (Harry Komdrup). Felix is the nephew of Professor Manini (Nicolai Neiiendam) whose daughter Inga (Lilly Jacobson) longs for her cousin but he wants the one he can’t have and Ysabel is not one to let affectionate attention go to waste…

 

Asked by one guest whether she would put her talents to the service of religion, Ysabel is dismissive: I never insult religion or its practitioners, however, I will not adorn myself with a belief I do not hold in my heart! For the first, and not last time, director Holger-Madsen cuts for contrast, to a different party, one being hosted by the “poverty preacher” Elias Renato (Alf Blütecher), who is helping his poor flock snatch some enjoyment just as Ysabel pours drink from an amusing porcelain figurine for her well-heeled guests.

 

Harry Komdrup and Lily Jacobson

Later that day as the rich men smoke cigars and play cards, Elias rescues a desperate young woman, Wenka (Astrid Holm) from throwing herself into the river. Her miserable story of domestic abuse is conveyed with Holger-Madsen cutting across to those who can afford to gamble their riches… as the day closes Elias prays and thanks God for his blessings in saving the girl. The next scene jars for being alongside this moment as Felix arrives at Ysabel’s front gate the following morning, just as she’s about to drive out in her limousine. He joins her and they come across a small crowd listening to Elias preaching. As Felix looks on with alarm, the Countess is moved by the hot priest’s presence if not necessarily his message.

 

He was so beautiful when he spoke! … it is the first time a preacher’s words have touched my heart!

 

But poor Felix can’t compete with the preacher’s allure and nor has he a chance against Sandro Grec’s wealth and masculine power. He announces that Ysabel has agreed to marry him even though we can see the doubt in her and her mother’s minds. But worse is to come as Felix, hopelessly in love, is devastated reading the announcement of their union in the paper, and, as his cousin looks on, he heads out to drown himself.

Astrid Holm and Alf Blütecher

 

The power that Sandro Grec holds over Ysabel makes her believe that she has truly found happiness…

 

When Felix does not return, Professor Manini and Inga go to Ysabel’s palace in the hope he might be there but not only has she not seen him, she has no desire to accept responsibility. When Elias arrives with the young man’s body and his note, she seems to privately revel in the dramatic testament of his fatuous longing. The Professor reminds her that whilst he does not judge her, what you sow you will reap… (especially in melodramas of this period). Then, from the selfish to the sublime, we cut to the community for orphans Elias has established on an island outside the city with charitable donations.

 

Karma comes quickly though when Sandro is implicated by a former partner in crime on the day of his wedding.  He’s not a fine rich baron at all but Loen Spontazzi a master criminal who the police rush to arrest, wedding night or not. Just as “Sandro” reassures his new wife their carriage is stopped by the police and he is arrested. Ysabel’s new life is snatched away and after she burns her bridal veil, she stares at herself in the mirror only to imagine the Professor there remining her of his prophetic statement. Six months later she is at her lowest ebb with her mother physically and emotionally broken yet pride still comes before her fall/possible redemption.

I did not acknowledge religion when life was fair, and I am now too proud to do it now that my happiness has been cast aside!

 

The kitchen sink is thrown at the closing segment of the film and whilst you might be able to guess some of what happens it’s still worthwhile watching our heroine “live” through it. This was a film made for a largely Christian audience and at a time of continent-wide grieving both for soldiers lost as well as flu pandemic victims; the socio-theological context is perhaps baffling for a world now fuelled by cultural disconnection and pure dislike even amongst a similar pandemic.

 

You can see it on the DFI Asta Nielsen collection DVD which comes with Afgrunden (1910), The Black Dream (1911) and The Ballet Dancer (1911) altough this looks to be hard to find now. The first two as well as this film are however, available to stream for free on the DFI site although Mod lyset runs a little faster than on the disc and comes in shorter.

 

There’s also an enlightening essay on Die Asta – Bosslady - on the site from film scholar, Nanna Frank Rasmussen. As if you needed any further reason to go to the DFI site, where there are literally hundreds of silent films to stream for the Lockdown and beyond!

So here it is (against all odds)… 2020's Silent Highlights

“A journey in one’s armchair – a journey of the mind – is the nicest kind of journey, because it’s what we want it to be, because there are no obstacles, and all our dreams are granted.”

In such a year as this with no accompanied silent film screenings since the middle of March… how can Arthur find very much to thank? Well, let me tell you there is more to be thankful of in 2020 than in any normal year because, despite it all, people did carry on and they did put the show on Right Here! So here they are - in no particular order - my top twelve silent delights from a year spent mostly at home...

Buster and Natalie Talmadge 

1. Slapstick Festival – Our Hospitality (1923) with The European Silent Screen Virtuosi

If it was January it must have been Bristol and the reliably sensational Slapstick Festival which was again packed with rare and beautiful shorts as well as features I’d previously missed such as Lubitsch’s So This is Paris (1926) and James Cruze’s On to Reno (1928) starring Marie Prevost. The highlight was Buster’s Our Hospitality screened in the cathedral with an informed, passionate introduction from actor Paul McGann who this year joined with me in celebrating victory for Liverpool Football Club in the Premier League as well the World Club Championship… 2020 eh!?

Our Hospitality was the first of Buster’s features and a huge leap for comedy kind with a substantial budget enabling him to shift the legendary Canfield and McKay feud back to the 1830s resulting in a very funny and genuinely thrilling film with real drama added to the gags by one of the greatest of comedy innovators.

The European Silent Screen Virtuosi joyfully accompanied with Günter A. Buchwald, Romano Todesco and Frank Bockius filling the cavernous spaces with perfectly judged collaborative improvisation.

Pierre Magnier gets a hat, gets ahead.

2.       Cyrano de Bergerac (1925), with John Sweeney, Phoenix Cinema

Pure joy in February Finchley with a Cyrano that is one of the few surviving colourised silent features; a sumptuous classic that revels in its own excesses in full expectation that the audience know exactly what’s coming from this classic tale of secret love. It is a film that demands to be watched in a beautiful 108-year-old cinema and with accompaniment from someone as skilled as John Sweeney who provided so many stirring motifs that you could almost see a feathered hat bobbing over the keyboard.

I remarked at the time that it was “…well worth braving Storm Ciara for on a day National Rail told us not to travel! Faint hearts and all that…” Go on, tempt fate, why don’t you?

3.       Tatjana (1923), with John Sweeney, Kennington Bioscope

I don’t think anyone took the Cinema Museum for granted, even before all of this… but I wouldn’t have ever thought that this would be my last trip there for nine months and counting. This show was a very rare screening of a skilfully made tale of love and obsession during the turbulence of the Russian Revolution. Made in Germany with direction from the Danish Robert Dinesen, it does at least feature a Russian lead, Olga Tschechowa, as the woman distracting several comrades from purposeful politics.

John Sweeney is, of course, very much your man for the Russians and wove splendid dramatic and romantic lines through the web of revolutionary intrigue. He hadn’t seen the film – who had? – but he was, of course, spot on.

Jenny Hasselqvist y'all!

4.      Ingmar's Inheritance (1925), Selma Lagerlöf’s Jerusalem

Everything closed in the first Lockdown, those of us who could worked from home and, in my case, programmed an in-house season of Swedish films based on my reading of Selma Lagerlöf’s epic Jerusalem as translated by the well-intentioned but over fussy, Velma Swanston Howard. Four films were made of the two books of Victor Sjöström made the first two, The Sons of Ingmar (Ingmarssönerna) (1919) and then Karin Daughter of Ingmar (Karin Ingmarsdotter) (1920) which failed to repeat the success of the first film leaving the director to turn his attention elsewhere.

Gustaf Molander picked up the project and completed the story with his brace, Ingmar's Inheritance (Ingmarsarvet) (1925) and Till österland (1926). The two directors had many differences in approach with Sjöström’s narrative much closer to Lagerlöf’s text and more focused on the interior life of her conflicted characters whilst Molander broadened the palate, taking more liberties and setting up more action.

I especially enjoyed Ingmar's Inheritance which has a stellar cast including Lars Hanson, Mona Mårtenson, Conrad Veidt and Sweden’s actor/prima ballerina superstar Jenny Hasselqvist!

Indoor adventure with Raymond McKee

5.       KBTV – Kennington Bioscope Online, Kidnapped (1917) with John Sweeney (ITMA!)

When the going got tough, the tough went online… It was Dame Pamela of Walthamstow who once described the Kennington Bioscope as London’s Silent Speakeasy, an exclusive yet inclusive, almost mythical club of the committed and persistently passionate silent cinephiles who gather under shadowy circumstances once every three weeks or so… When the door of the Museum had to shut, these movie mobsters just stayed calm and carried on, shifting to digital and, with casual ease, bloomin’ well going global!

Hosted by Michelle Facey – literally the face of KBTV – throughout lockdown the Kennington Bioscope have been broadcasting shorter films on their YouTube channel but this episode was something else as there was a full feature film with live accompaniment from John Sweeney and an introduction from Fritzi Kramer, America’s premier silent blogger with Movies Silently and the woman who crowdfunded the restoration and DVD release of Alan Crosland’s adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Kidnapped. It’s a film for all the family and one which retains its sense of adventure and charm a century on.

Nita Naldi and John Barrymore: two great profiles...

6.       Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1920), HippFest at Home with Neil Brand

One of the first and biggest disappointments of the year was the cancellation of Hippfest – ock, we were just a week away…  The Hipponauts stayed connected via social media though and after an earlier shared watch-along of Clara Bow’s It, this was the full Monty: a learned introduction from Pamela Hutchinson and the wonderful – properly diegetic – scoring of Neil Brand for one of the classics of the silent era, courtesy of Kino Lorber’s Blu-ray of the 2011 restoration.

This was also another of those “appointments to view” with so many of the silent film community watching and commenting as the film played; from London, Bristol, Scotland, Europe and the USA… we were all in the room sharing the film just as we do in festival. Sure, we had to bring our own drinks and nibbles, but this was a night when social distancing became merely a physical construct.

Valéry Inkijinoff acting up a storm

7.       Storm Over Asia (1928), Silent Film Days Bonn, Elizabeth-Jane Baldry and Stephen Horne

Some countries did better than others post lockdowns and in August the 36th Silent Film Days in Bonn was one of the first to run in Europe. The organisers also decided to stream some of the films along with the live accompaniment so that those of us who couldn’t make it, could experience something of the immediacy and ambience of the festival.

 

So, huddled over my laptop, in my Berlinale t-shirt and with my Louise Brooks Pordenone Silent Film Festival mug topped up, I watched this crystal-clear restoration of Vsevolod Pudovkin’s Storm Over Asia (1928) and listened to the visceral interplay between accompanists Elizabeth-Jane Baldry and Stephen Horne on headphones… and it was almost like being there; certainly one of the most visceral streams of the year.

Ruan Lingyu

8.       Guofeng (National Customs) (1935) with Gabriel Thibaudeau, 39^th Pordenone Silent Festival

Talking of Le Giornate del cinema muto… this year’s edition moved spectacularly online with an afternoon and evening’s worth of musician masterclasses, main feature and post screening discussion that gave us something of the festival’s immediacy and intensity. Every day for a week festival director Jay Weissberg bounded out from our screens drawing us into the programme of restored gems and quoting the above lines from Michel Robida about our shared armchair journeys.

The films were a treat from the restored Weimar sophistication of Abwege (sex and drugs and Brigitte Helm…) to the small-town, mid-west, juvenile Americana of Penrod and Sam (1923) via a rare trip to Greece for The Apaches of Athens (1930). It’s a close-run thing but my favourite was probably Guofeng (1935), accompanied by Gabriel Thibaudeau. Made during a fighting pause in the China’s lengthy civil wars the film promoted Chiang Kai-shek’s Kuomintang (KMT or Nationalist Party) call for a return to core values with its New Life Movement. The movement, sharing values with the opposing Communist Party, was reaction against Western imperialist influence and urged the people to observe social and political responsibilities, practice frugality and to know one’s sense of shame.

Now, if that sounds too functional a brief the resulting drama is nonetheless well made and acted especially by a radiant Ruan Lingyu, the star of Goddess (1934) among many other Chinese silents, before she committed suicide aged just 25 in early March 1935, some two months before the film’s release. She is extraordinary here as every time I’ve seen her, gently emoting and disarmingly direct, sometimes straight to camera if not to the audience, she never leaves her character.

The Masterclasses were also uniformly fascinating and provided extra dimensions to the screenings along with Jay’s masterfully chaired discussions. Sorry Jay, but next year’s festival is just going to have to be that much longer to allow for this all!! Immacolato!!

BFI's Bryony and KB's Michelle introduce

9.       The Cheaters (1929) with Cyrus Gabrysch, London Film Festival 2020

After Pordenone it was straight on to London for the next streaming festival and one that brought a collaboration from the Kennington Bioscope and the BFI. KBTV MC Michelle Facey introduced along with the BFI’s Bryony Dixon who filled us in on the remarkable McDonagh Sisters, Paulette who directed this and seven other features, Isabel, the star, acting under the name Marie Lorraine and Phyllis who worked as art director. They even had their own set, using their splendid family home Drummoyne House as well as some stunning locations around Sydney.

The Cheaters was the third of the McDonagh sister’s films and shows a remarkable consistency of tone and aesthetic. It’s a very proficient melodrama with Hollywood-level performances allied to a crispness of direction and that visual cohesion described by the National Film and Sound Archive as evidence of the McDonagh sisters' “understanding of mood and atmosphere.”

Cyrus Gabrysch’s accompaniment was a gorgeous gamelan, matching the drama but also the thread of family and love. Occasionally I glanced down at his work on the now famous Bioscope “Piano Cam” but mostly, as John and Neil had said in Pordenone’s masterclasses, the music was at the heart of the film and it felt exactly as if it was coming out of the screen!

10.   The House of Shadows (1924), Stephen Horne & Elizabeth-Jane Baldry, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto Silent Stream

There is much discussion about the “new normal” and whether cinema viewing will return in the same ways after the pandemic is ended but some things can stay, especially archive streaming. The Danish Film Institute has – literally – hundreds of silent films available to view on its site (of which more anon) whilst the San Francisco Silent Film Festival also provides highlights from previous screenings. Le Giornate has The Silent Stream which in addition to the masterclasses, features films from earlier editions including this gem from 2017, my first year in Pordenone.

The House of Shadows is an intense melodrama set in northern Norway and Anders Wilhelm Sandberg’s film is an intense, mystical family drama that is as disturbing as it is haunting with some outstanding locations matched by some exceptional performances.

Elizabeth-Jane and Stephen make for an intuitive paring and they fill the characters with so much musical warmth as well as dread, lifting their lines above the swooping panoramas and pacing the viewing narrative with a measured precision that confounds the occasional reminder that this is all played live. There’s a rapture of applause at the end and I think you can hear me whooping as well!

11.   Digital release of the year? The Intrigue (1916)/A Son of Erin (1916), Kino Lorber Blu-ray

Like many compulsive obsessives I have a stack of unwatched Blu-rays and DVDs, in order of release date or sub-sectioned by Director… and whilst this has been the year to eat into that reserve there’s also been good reason to add to the challenge by bringing in more! One I bought and watched was this great set from Kino Lorber featuring forgotten films from Julia Crawford Ivers.

Included are four films either written by or written and directed by Ivers all of which compliment her film, The Call of the Cumberlands (1916) included on the company’s boxset of Women Film Pioneers which, a six discs and 25 hours long, is the perfect lockdown companion.

This set majors on The Intrigue, a science fiction spy adventure from 1916, and whilst it’s very interesting, it was A Son of Erin (1916) written and directed by Ivers that drew my eye the most as it had a number of thematic parallels with Cumberlands; humble men making good, steadfast romance in a changing world and corruption in public office. Ivers sense of morality is consistent across these films and that draws you in further to the history of the films and the time.

Ben Model

12.   Streaming King: The Silent Comedy Watch Party, Ben Model and Steve Massa

Incredibly Ben Model hosted his thirty eighth silent comedy streaming on Sunday 20^th December making him one of the most relentless bringers of digital joy for the year. The redoubtable Steve Massa provides deeply informed introductions and Ben live-accompanies shorts comedies starring every silent comedian you have and haven’t heard of. It’s an education and an inspiration. Also *funny*!

This week’s episode featured champion Charley Chase in There Ain’t No Santa Claus (1925) which proved that, actually Chaz, there is one, as this was the perfect comedy gift on a day, we desperately needed it! We also had Martha Sleeper – who I’ve previously descried as the silent era Parker Posey (OK, just me then…) and who is literally slapstick on skates in Sure-Mike (1925) - effortless amongst the mayhem in a two-reeler which also features some youngster name of Fay Wray. There was also lovely Lillian Peacock in A Shadowed Shadow (1916) which is not as dark as it seems… no shades of grey just grade “A” comedy.

Martha Sleeper

Steve and Ben take the digital biscuit and epitomise the resilience and invention of our silent cineaste subculture and its positive refusal to stand by in disconnected silence. As Ben says, people are contacting them and letting them know how the show is heloing them cope with social restrictions and much more beside; laughter maybe the best medicine but so is routine and dedication. 

Thank you boys and thank you everyone above for continuing to shine your light in 2020. We go again in 2021 and I look forward to seeing you online and in theatres as soon as possible.