The best in silents… Il Cinema Ritrovato 40, Bologna

 

It’s just struck me that not only was this edition number 40 of the Ritrovato but that was the number in centigrade the temperature hit from time to time. Four dozen or so films to see out of 500 on offer in just eight days, crossing the city, finding the shadows in long medieval streets and I’m an old white guy from Merseyside wearing socks and old band t-shirts? No problem. After locking my flight bags in my room on the day of my departure – all perfectly normal, no sign of heat exhaustion or “sauteed Brit-brain” there – I’m now sat on the tarmac dredging the cranial swamp for the best silent treats of the week.

Matinee Idols Death Match

OK, this wasn’t what they called the strand, that was Women’s Male Stars who were developed to meet the largely female audiences of the growing matinee by the increasingly commercialised studios. In practice this was a competition to decide which of the following was going to be crowned the Male Matinee Idol of the Festival or, to be fair, who was going to come second as Rodolfo “Rudy” Valentino was nailed on in the rather interesting playboy to cabin boy coming of age film Moran of the Lady Letty (1922).

Rudy can't fail. Just ask Dorothy, his friend.

In a lesson to Capital from the Proletariat, Rudy’s character learns purpose in hard work and also finds love with Comrade Moran (Dorothy Dalton) who turns out, to be the very womanly Letty Sternerson. All this after he’s fellow sailors called him Lilly of the Fields… projection methinks! Love and Merchant Seamen is a big topic but mark this one for future reference. It’s a rollicking good adventure!

The ill-fated Wallace Reid has drawn the short straw in terms of his surviving work and his career was also tragically cut short after a studio accident left him addicted to Morphine. But he’s a charming performer and you can see enough in this restoration of Sick Abed (1921) although his is in the rather unheroic position of having to feign sickness in order to avoid a financially troublesome trip into work. He’s a charmer but there are better examples of his full appeal although his chemistry with Bebe Daniels is spot on.

Now for the Irish contender and Male and Female (1919) with Thomas “Tommy” Meighan as the Admirable Crighton who steps up to save the aristocratic by useless family who employs him after a shipwreck. He wins the heart of Gloria Swanson even though their hearts are approximately a foot apart, but class tells after they are rescued and the butler heads off for a new life in the country of opportunity south of Canada…

Torrence takes the competition far too seriously.

Contender No. 4 please… Tol-able David (1921) and its young Richard Barthelmess fighting to defend his family against a bunch of murderous men who are occupying his neighbour’s house. This is quite the best of the four films and as directed by Henry King is a deserved part of the canon. Barthelmess has to act young but this is a right of violent passage with all too believable and nasty stakes. When I say nasty, I mean the extraordinary Ernest Torrence who shows his dark side which such glee: one of the definitive bad men of this era who could also flirt with Clara Bow in Mantrap or do comedy till the cows came home….

 

Enrico Guazzoni’s World

No Ritrovato is complete without two things:

    Divas

    Films of antiquity and the ancient world

On the latter point we were spoiled with a new restoration of Enrico Guazzoni’s Quo Vadis? (1913) which take the tableau style as far as it could go with multiple depth of field slowly revealing the full effect of a well designed and choreographed set piece whether in a palatial room or at the Circus Maximus. There are crowds of thousands and the effect is to offer a deep and stylised window into the Italy of emperors and Christian revolt. I’m sure it will all work out… but this is a major film in the history of long-form cinema. What’s that Mr Griffith? Oh, your thing… that’s not due for a couple of years yet. The Hell it is.

Over ten years later an attempt was made to revive the Italian Golden Age with The Last Days of Pompei (1926) – an adaptation of the English novel by Lord Bulwer-Lytton, as had been the two competing versions of 1913. As UCL’s Maria Wyke points out this attempt to recreate the recent cinematic as well as antiquarian past  “… tries to reject the detached tourist gaze on the city of 19^th century imaginings for an impassioned, participatory vision of ancestral suffering.” Cecil B deMille could only watch and admire.

Pina Menichelli beguiles in Alla Deriva

We also had three films featuring one of the three main Diva of the cinematic golden age with Pina Menichelli in three of the seven she was directed by Guazzoni, including La Casa di Nessuno (1915), Una Tragedia al Cinematorafo (1915) and Alla Deriva (1913) which, as Giovanni Lasi writes in the programme, revolves around the presence and intense performance of the actress “… with her ability to hypnotise the viewer with magnetic and unsettling gazes…”. Consider me cross-eyed.

1906 given voice

I missed a couple of Japanese films with Benshi accompaniment but was treated to the Italian version for the 1906 compilation strands which was a delight, especially late night in the Piazzetta Pier Paolo Pasolini. Here Gabriel Gabriel Thibaudeau played piano with Alice Zecchinelli on drums and Julie Linquette providing what could be described as  vocalise combining sound effects, dialogue and narration. This was especially funny for Aux bains de mer (1906) as she provided commentary from a middle-aged couple watching events on the beach and then in the hand-coloured tour de force that is Aladin ou la lampe marveilleuse (1906) from the genius Albert Capellani.

It was one of the most joyous sections of the week and peak Ritrovato under those stars as our laughs drowned out the incessant cicadas.

Aladin and there's also a lamp...

The Child of Paris/ L'enfant de Paris (1913) with Gabriel Thibaudeau & Fabiana Sommariva

Proving that it was not just the Italians but also the French who were leading the cinematic World Cup in the early 1910s, Léonce Perret’s film positively barrels along even though it is based on an unpromising premise of a young girl seemingly orphaned by the death of both parents in quick succession and then kidnapped by a criminal gang for reasons that they only make up on the fly… It is tense and content rich with a high level of cinematic technic from the director and his cameraman, Georges Specht. It’s two hours long and whilst there are some padded sequences overall you are gripped by the search and the chase from Paris to Nice.

There is so much pleasing technique in the film from backlighting, low-angled shots, close-ups and surprising camera movements which allied to the location shooting and a plot involving chases across France, trails gone cold then warmed again, persistence and steadfast heroism sees good win out. After all the shibboleths drummed into audiences about film development, you keep on finding innovations “out of time”… we see more every year with these restorations.

 

Depth of field, lighting, framing... such a complex shot.

Finish Films and Cleaning Women…

If it was Wednesday it had to be Finnish film day with two excellent titles from Finnish actor and filmmaker Teuvo Puro; the first Meren kasvojen edessä (Before the Face of the Sea) (1926), accompanied by the mighty Stephen Horne and the second Noidan kirot (Curses of the Witch) (1927) projected in the Piazza Maggiore and accompanied by Helsinki’s finest Cleaning Women.

Silent film is as much about travelling in space as well as time and I shall be saying more about both films in the coming days but just to say that the three cleaning robots (CW01, CW03 and CW04) that form the band know how to support the narrative of the film screening above them and how, despite their unusual dress senses, to focus musical energy in dramatic sympathy.

Suomi tuntee elokuvan!

Sisterly solidarity in Noidan kirot 

Vögel sind seltsam, aber die Liebe ist blind: Asta and Connie Restored

 

Cheating here but two German films for one with Conrad Veidt first up in a comedy, Liebe Macht Blind (1925) accompanied by Herr Neil Brand with the usual informed wit and wealth of reference. Connie is a psychiatrist Dr Lamare in love with his patient, the very married Diane (Lil Dagover). Her husband Viktor is having an affair with a woman played by one of Britain’s finest silent actors, the sublime Lillian Hall-Davis who is as eye-catching as always. It’s Veidt’s mad professor who takes the comedy biscuits though even after Emil Jannings pops up to spoof his role in The Last Laugh.

The film was considered lost until a pristine nitrate copy was discovered in Chile and another piece of Connie’s range was preserved in all its quirkiness.

Asta messes about on the river.

Less manic but equally important was the restored version of Urban Gad’s Der Fremde Vogel/The Strange Bird (1911) accompanied by James Shelby. The film was one of the first pictures he made with fellow Dane Asta Nielsen in their initial German contract. It’s a tale of an outing on the waterways of the Spree Forest, near Berlin during which Asta’s character forms a romantic attachment with a boatsman (Carl Clewing). The restoration has added some four minutes to the screen time and has added the tints missing for so long from. Shot almost entirely on location – to great acclaim – it’s presents Nielsen’s naturalistic emoting and physicality in ways that we revolutionary for the time. Europe’s first silent superstar was beginning to shine…

 

What Price Glory? (1926) with Gabriel Thibaudeau

The Ritrovato Road is long with many a wind and turn and, sometimes Pilgrims, we’re a bit less than match fit depending on a mix of self-care and the demon drink that my wide’s forebears signed the pledge against (no such thing in Liverpool I have to say…). So it was that my first attempt as watching this quite fabulous restoration failed after a missed the first skirmish with the Hunn lost to Morpheus sweet charms… I dreamt a parallel film that soon took off on its own narrative…

Back for a second try with a strict agreement between myself and Mr M Fuller of Bristol, to wake each other should an old war wound cause us to lose consciousness, we both saw the entirely of Raoul Walsh’s spectacular and, whilst there is perhaps too much larking about and attempts at mutually assured destruction from leading men “Big” Victor McLaglen and Edmund Lowe as they fight over who’s best and, mostly, who gets the hand of Delores del Rio, it’s undoubtedly a major film.

The combat scenes are extraordinary especially with the colourisation of the explosions so well done it’s hard to work out how they were done – double exposure possibly but there’s no overlap of the images. But the war scenes are so well handled and their intensity explains just why the boys’ squabbling are so necessary – they both recognise the reality of the war and their chances of survival… what else is there to do but enjoy yourselves whilst you still can.

 

Josephine Baker

Someone had mentioned that it was only when you see Ms Baker on film that you realise what a complete package she was: acting, looks, timing, range and humour all quite remarkable but it when Josie dances that my ears popped and musicians Meg Morley on piano with Alice Zecchinelli on drums, set the Jazz tempo to “11” as we saw probably the most energetic and distinctive Charleston I’ve ever witnessed (no one’s doing this on Strictly Come Dancing that’s for sure…).

Baker had longer-stronger legs than most mortals and greater strength than most of the stage-trained actor-dancers around her with the result that she was able to move faster and harder to create the most bewildering spectacle that drew from jazz dancing as well as throwing in some moves that I’ve not seen from other dancers of this era.

Josephine Baker

If it was just this and only this she did then she would still be a legend but her charm and ease with story-telling, her quickness of thought and expression also marks her as a fine dancer. In Siren of the Tropics she somehow manages to rise above the racist subtext - the idea that she doesn't belong in the Paris of her rich white love interest (and his rich white girlfriend) and that she should go “home”. She wants none of that and decides to take her chance in the new world of America.

There’s the obvious irony that she had to leave the US to finally be accepted as a leading lady on screen. As in these French films she was also a sensation in the clubs and revolutionised dance.

What I like best is her impish grin and dimples, she is having the time of her life and it is liberating.

Best festival freeby, evah!!

Sunrise (1927) – Piazza Maggiore

What more can I say about Sunrise? Looking back a week after this stunning World Premier moments stay with me and I can’t wait to watch it again… Albert Camus famously suggested that all art was a search for those first few things that really moved us and there’s something in that with silent film but also in the native experience of this film and Timothy Brock’s music.

Edna, Charlie and a friend

A Dog’s Life (1918)/Shoulder Arms (1918) – Piazza Maggiore

The version audiences have watched for decades was reconstructed from back-up camera angles and second-choice takes, assembled from degraded C and D negatives after the original A negative deteriorated beyond use.

Dave Kerr, Moma

Dave Kerr of the Museum of the Moving Image asked how many of us had seen these two films and after a considerable number of hands went up in the throng he said maybe not… Seems like the former workhouse boy from Kennington was not just a creative genius but an organised one who kept copies of all of his films based on what he considered to be the best takes.

Grade A were used to create copies for the American market and Grade B – almost but not quite as good – were mostly used to cut films for the European and wider markets. So, all of these years, we haven’t seen the very best takes in regional releases nor any others. The restoration team went in search of the material featured in the best canister and, using elements from across the world, from C and D as well as B, came up with about 95% of Grade A material within which to re-construct these films in the way that they were first seen 108 years ago.

Whether it was the suggestion, the occasion, the heat or Timothy Brock’s world-class re-construction of Chaplin’s later scores for these films but Mr Kerr’s point was well made and, with every impish thought shadowing across Charlie’s face, every quicksilver improvisational spark or perfectly executed punchline, it felt like we were indeed watching a more beautiful version of what we already loved. And you know, that can’t be bad.

Hi co-conspirators were also at the best with Edna Purviance revealing and equivalent level of imp to her partner and the two firing off each other with knowing smiles on their faces. Maybe this was something quickly learned from Mabel Normand but Charlie and Edna glance to camera both to make sure we not only know what their thinking but also how much fun they’re having.

This happens even in the middle of Shoulder Arms with it’s faithful representations of life on the font line taken to extremes – the boys sleep underwater in their flooded trench - but as a mark of respect to the millions fighting over there. It’s a mark of Chaplin’s ability and status that he managed to make this film – it’s a matter of how important and loved he was by those who were fighting or who had family fighting that they queued in their millions to see the funny side.

Tonight, the aforementioned Mr Brock conducted the all’ Orchestra Senzaspine in a reworking of earlier reorchestrated Chaplain music to fit the new material. It was again another powerful performance in the piazza and one enjoyed by thousands, in the seats, the bars and on the stage. Charlie’s made something that will last forever and he’s made Edna and his other friends immortal.

In an era of fake prizes, THIS is exactly worth having!

 

See you next year Bologna! Keep it cool.

 

These are a few of my favourite things… 10 from 2022

 

And so this is Christmas and what have we done...? Turns out quite a lot more than in the Year of Our Covid, 2021 but still not as much as we’d like to have done… in this game you take what you can get though and savour each experience as much as you can. Silent film doesn’t throw itself at you like an overeager superhero flick desperate to win back it’s $200 million budget, oh my no, you have to make an effort and all of that is rewarded with the shocks and joys of unremembered humanity and artistic enterprise. All of which is a Boxing Day hungover way of saying; hey Ma, will you look at these apples (and no, I don’t really know what that means)!

Woman of the Year: Dora Brandes (1916)/Poor Jenny (1912) with Stephen Horne, BFI Asta Nielsen Season

She acts, that’s the thing… she does not just pose before the camera… She impersonates a character, she makes it live and have meaning, a hundred meanings… New York Times, 1921

Who could have foreseen that Asta Nielsen would be 2022’s MVP – someway ahead of Liz Truss in terms of relevance, attainment and talent – but Pamela Hutchinson and the BFI set out one of the finest seasons of silent treasures for many a year with screenings of rare Nielsen grooves propelling us into the year with a spring in our step and a growing appreciation of this most important actor. Sure, I’d seen Asta’s before but mostly in her greatest hits, Hamlet (thrice), Joyless Street (twice), Afgrunden (so many times…) but it was a real connoisseur’s delight to be able to dig deeper into a body of work that is very rarely screened in this breadth and depth.

Asta Nielsen

As an example of Die Asta’s almost unparalleled range I’ve picked these two with accompaniment from Stephen Horne who has a way with Silent Sirens (and a CD to prove it, available here if you are shameless and unhip enough to have not bought a copy!). Poor Jenny (1912) was from the early days of the Asta series, written and directed with partner Urban Gad who the actress insisted at the time came with her to Germany to carry on the work begun with Afgrunden. It’s a typical rags-to-riches-back-to-rags again narrative but, as she joked, this was more than enough to feed her dramatic energy.

Dora Brandes, directed by Magnus Stifter, following her break with Gad, plays with the already well-worn Star is Born tropes. Asta playing a successful actress who finds herself having to choose between an older politician and a much younger journalist. Drama ensues… hearts break. As you watch you can begin to fully understand Asta’s ability to express and connect. So often at the start of her films, she’s seen smiling straight to the audience before the action begins, melting hearts and renewing her intimacy with the watchers and unflinching honest look, the only time she’s out of character, or at least the character she’s about to play. As a person she’s a mystery and her pre-show smiles just hint at the complexity to come whilst showing how easily she can draw us in… it only takes a few seconds looking at those huge dark eyes. Queen.

Asta and her infinite variety...

Downfall (1923) with John Sweeney, introduced by Pamela Hutchinson, BFI Asta Nielsen Season

Sorry, but I’m not just having one Asta moment and this was a breath-taking film that showcased the full power of Asta’s performance level whilst also confronting the fact that she was getting older – she commissioned the film aged 41. Watching her character with minimal make-up. looking in horror at her unfamiliar face in the unforgiving mirror before being deadened by her lover’s unyielding humiliations and finally vanishing from the love of her life’s vision… is oddly rewarding. Certainly, she presents one of the most searing portrayals of aged tragedy in silent film and proof, if any were needed, of her ability to transcend melodrama and to give something extra special entirely from within character.

 

Back in Bologna… Foolish Wives (1922), Timothy Brock, Il Cinema Ritrovato 36th Edition

At last, I was back in Italy and it was too hot, there was too much to do and far too much to see: I loved it!! So many highlights, watching the restored Nosferatu with Mr Brock and full orchestra in the Piazza Maggiore,  watching, The Conformist and Singing in the Rain in the same space and then the almost supernatural hit of three hours’ worth of The Beatles in Peter Jackson’s third episode of Get Back, including the full Rooftop Concert: the gear does not get any fab-er than that, a revelation and a stunning twist of the Extended Scouse Universe.

The big silent showcase was this splendid restoration of the first million-dollar movie, as acclaimed the publicity… Spectacularly, Erich von Stroheim delivered on the ROI and Universal had another hit on its hands from the most complex man in most parts of Hollywood whose productions had the skill of DeMille, the scale of Griffith and a dark heart the latter could never explain to himself. This is a slick crime caper movie from before the days when slick crime capers set in this period were all the rage. But Erich is making sure we see the seedier side as well, he and his two “cousins” are charming con artists, but he has a debauched sexuality which makes his character all too difficult to root for and yet we are conditioned to try… even now.

Timothy Brock’s extraordinary new score was performed with vigour by L’Orcestra del Teatro Comunale di Bologna which he conducted. His score included Russia themes reflecting the grandiosity on screen and also delicious lines of his own mapping every strange and unusual nuance from von Stroheim’s screen. It felt complete with the film and completed that magical connection between the place, the audience and the film that makes live silent screenings so compelling and which makes this place, almost uniquely, a truly silent city.

 

Les Misèrables (1912) with John Sweeney, Gabriel Thibaudeau and Silvia Mandolini

This was epic in length and was an unexpected joy equalling in its own way, the lengthier silent serial of 1926. Based in four parts totalling 168 minutes in length it was split into two screenings with different accompanists. The first parts, focusing on Jean Valjean and then Fantine, featured John Sweeney’s accompaniment and we were back the next day for Gabriel Thibaudeau’s piano and Silvia Mandolini’s violin as the story shifted onto Fantine’s daughter Cosette.

Recommended for students of French history and film alike; extraordinary clarity of purpose from Albert Capellani who was able to capture so much from the book with a narrative fluidity not often associated with this early period.

 

Evelyn Greeley

Phil-for-Short (1919), with John Sweeney, BFI

This film was introduced by me at the BFI and for a few hours at least, I was an honorary Nasty Woman.

Inspired by a remark made by the grandson of a one-time Yukon bordello owner, there has been an ongoing project to research and revive interest in unsung women filmmakers who broke new ground in the early years of cinema. This film is a deceptively nuanced take on gender roles in the wake of the Great War and increased recognition of women’s roles.

I wouldn’t say that Phil is a nasty woman, but she is a liberated one and just imagine how good it felt to watch her in 1919 newly enfranchised and with a range of choices starting to open up. As played by the energetic Evelyn Greeley, Phil stands out as practical, inventive and a leader; all very male characteristics for the older generation. She has to deal with reality as her aged father is still buried in the myths and legends of his books and, lovely and liberating though he is, she works the farm and is happy to step up to make things happen for herself and the men in her life.

There is now a magnificent new box set from Kino which includes this film and 98 others. It’s out now and is THE Archive Release of the Year – US and Canada can order direct.

  

Mary Johnsson - Gunnar Hede's Saga (1923) 

Gunnar Hede's Saga (1923) with Guenter A. Buchwald and Neil Brand, Bonn Silent Film Festival

Have Internet will travel and virtual Bonn was as excellent as usual. As many may know I’m always up for a Saga directed by Mauritz Stiller and based on a book by Selma Lagerlöf and, even though this one is still missing about half an hour, it is a thoroughly entertaining romp through snow, love and madness which features the humanity you’d expect from Selma along with the mastery of locations and character you can rely on from Mauritz. It’s a story about reindeers and redemption (the latter, always a Selma theme) and, how fitting that a film featuring two violin players and the healing power of music, should be accompanied by the Silent Film Supergroup of Guenter A. Buchwald on violin and Neil Brand on piano… I really wish I’d been there to witness this gig in the flesh but the streaming screening will have to do for now and how!

 

Norma Talmadge in The Lady (1925)

The Lady (1925), Daan Van Der Hurk, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto, Streaming

Oh, outrageous fortune! All set, ALL SET, for my first Giornate since pre-C, and I catch the latest variant a few days before I’m due to head for Venice Airport. So it goes, so it goes and at least we had the streaming version to give us some of the finest films from the full festival. 

Norma Talmadge has always been relatively undervalued in recent times, not afforded the screen time or respect of stella contemporaries Gloria, Mary or Lilian and so I was pleased to see her featured so extensively in this year’s programme and, if I had to pick just the one film to watch t would have been Frank Borzage’s The Lady, a film rated so highly by Talmadge scholars such as Greta de Groat. Norma and Frank did not disappoint and she provides perhaps the most affecting, emotionally powerful performances of her career although not one she wanted to repeat too quickly.

After the mid-teens, Talmadge called the commercial shots and as Jay Weissberg pointed out in his introduction, The Lady was too louche for middle American audiences and did not perform that well. As Talmadge herself said, quoted by Ben Brewster and Lea Jacobs in their notes on the Giornate site, she wasn’t going to follow up the film’s style “… I am not going to do any more like it for a time, anyway. Not that I don’t like to do characterizations – I love it. But what can we do? We must play to the box office… So, for a while I am going to do modern things. I think they want to see me in gowns, in style.”

A great actor but also a smart businesswoman who played the game until, to paraphrase, she no longer needed to.

 

Faces of Children (1925), with Meg Morley, Kennington Bioscope

2022 we were back home to the Cinema Museum and here was one of the great films of the French silent period, and one accompanied with consistently emotive, compelling improvisation with hints of period classical as well as Meg’s diverse jazz chops, so in tune with Jacques Feyder’s tale of childhood grief. The film was critically-acclaimed yet a commercial failure and for a long time this it only circulated as a two-reel 9.5mm condensed version – available on YouTube and worth watching! – and as Christopher Bird said in his excellent introduction, this encouraged the young Kevin Brownlow to seek out more complete versions. The film was finally restored over a twenty-year period starting with the Cinémathèque royale de Belgique in 1986 and ending with Lobster Films in 2004 but it is still rarely screened which is exactly why we need the Kennington Bioscope more than ever!

 

Face off: Ivan vs Brigitte

Manolescu (1929), with John Sweeney, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto Streaming

This was like watching Fantasy Silent Film, a game in which the combination of two of the best strikers in cinema muto score hattrick after hattrick combining in ways that seemed impossible especially to this viewer who had no idea they had ever played together. Manolescu… Ivan “The Cat” Mosjoukine versus Brigitte “The Panther” Helm in a battle for our eyeballs, our attention… our love. Honestly, you could have taken the script for Carry on Cabby and given it to these two and we’d all be collapsed in a pool of utter distraction. You want engagement well here he and she are…

Mr Sweeney was fully aware of all of the above and slotted into musical midfield as the great playmaker he is (that’s enough footie references. Ed.)

 

Up in Mabel’s Room (1926), Günter A. Buchwald & Zerorchestra, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto Streaming

Directed by E. Mason Hopper, this perfectly executed farce was based on the play by Wilson Collison and Otto Harbach from 1919, and like every successful comedy of this type it relies on perfectly executed performances and timing, whether from the performers and director or in the editing suite. There’s also some exceptionally pithy title cards courtesy of F. McGrew Willis’ script and Walter Graham’s text… and if a picture paints a thousand words, the expressions on Marie Prevost’s face are a British Library’s worth of inuendo!

Extra spice was added by accompaniment recorded right at the start of this year’s festival at the screening in Teatro Zancanaro, Sacile, it had that live energy some of the streaming films don’t always get, although, to be fair this was an ensemble, with the local group Zerorchestra improvising alongside Günter A. Buchwald’s piano and violin. This film was the perfect finale for the streaming version though, setting us up for a physical return in 1923, sorry, 2023!

 

We’re back up and rolling and 2023 I aim to attend as many screenings and festivals as possible, I’m looking at you Hippfest, Slapstick, Europe and even further afield… as for Pordenone, we are long overdue!

Happy Christmas and a let’s have a brilliant 2023!

 

 

Look to the future now, it's only just begun.

Click on the cover to order this set!

Asta addicted… Laster der Menschheit (The Vice of Humanity) (1927), with Filmsirup, Bonn Silent Film Festival

Weimar films never cease to amaze and there was clearly a different tolerance for subject matter in Germany at this time. This film deals overtly with drug addiction and features graphic scenes of both cocaine use and its euphoric impact as well as the longer-term devastation. All this is done in a dramatically convincing way and without the moralising outrage of, say, Reefer Madness and more puerile efforts of American films to get audiences to just say no.

 

No, here we have one of the finest actors of her generation, Asta Nielsen, acting out the message as part of her character’s general tragedy; her failure to face down the weakness that led to her requiring the “prop” to support her acting career as well as her decision to abandon family for theatrical success. It’s an old, old story but in the hands of Die Asta we believe it all over again.

 

Part of the success is in the extended sequence showing her performing Salome on stage as, unbeknownst to her (and us) her daughter sits watching, astonished at her stage craft, as are we all. Asta could be a great stage actor as we see but, as the story progresses, we watch her character, Tamara, break down with the kind of visceral psycho-physical implosion, very few could match then or now. Those who saw the BFI’s wonderful season earlier this year will recognise the style of this closing sequence and also the fact that whilst it’s different every time, it’s also never less than moving. In dramatic terms, Asta was her own special affect.

 

Die Asta abides...

The film has been unseen for many years and this new digital restoration by Cinematek, Belgian Film Archive, is the most complete version since the censors first set eyes on the debauchery, based on their 1993 restoration, this has new title cards and is as crisp as human-digitally possible, with live accompaniment from Bonn-based Filmsirup, who mix electronics with a range of instruments to cinematic effect, this digital stream of the live screening the day before engaged this watcher, 415 miles away.

 

The film begins on All Souls Day as Baron Beythen (Charles Willy Kayser) and his family gather in gloom to remember his late wife. His daughter Marleine (Elizza La Porta) asks to hear one of her recordings and mournfully places the 78 on the record player, imagining again the woman she never met and yet who had such a special talent. But all is not as it seems as the Baron’s sister (Sybille Lerchenfeld) reveals her discomfort at the fact that the Baron’s wife is not dead at all, just erased form existence at his will, to “protect” his daughter.

 

“… to let her say prayers for the dead for a living person is a sin!”

 

Elizza La Porta's Marleine listens to her mother's voice

Their friends arrive in the form of Mrs. von Führing (Trude Hesterberg) and her children, Hannah (Carla Meissner) and Victor (Ekkehard Arendt) who want to take Marleine to the theatre to see the sensational opera star, Tamara (Asta Nielsen) in that stunning performance of Salome… can you see where this is going? The whole sequence is an interesting one with director Rudolf Meinert making the most of the chance to direct the opera and also the audience with Marleine and Hannah watching the action with binoculars that just as easily could be pointed at the audience. It’s a brief meditation on the relationship between the film’s main purpose and any baser interpretation – you, watch this, we mean it…

 

Sure enough, in a break between scenes Tamara, wearying, begs the newly-arrived Mangol (Alfred Abel) for a pick me-up before the finale. He duly hands her a sachet of white power, she sniffs it and the opera swings to it’s conclusion. Meanwhile Marleine, not used to being let free, drinks the whole story in, especially when Salome kisses the detached head of John the Baptist; she’s mesmerised by the power of the performance and can’t wait to get the star’s autograph.

 

Alfred Abel is having a ball

We move on to an after-show party at Mangol and Tamara’s mansion where a number of revellers receive the former’s discrete packages in exchange for money and potentially a lot more. It’s not just the young but also an elderly man in tuxedo, no doubt a pillar of society – perhaps a conservative politician? - who needs some extra energy. Irises are fully dilated and Mangol passes through his society with a knowing smirk, master of most he surveys, controlling supply, creating demand. All this passes the youngsters by but Mangol stops dead when he sees Marleine, here’s someone new to pull into his orbit.

 

Tamara meanwhile is exhausted and strung out as Mangol’s maid Li (Maria Forescu in yellow face, the film being introduced with a trigger warning covering this and other "attitudes of the time") struggles to prepare her for her audience downstairs. She duly arrives like a pro and signs autographs including one for Marleine who, pestered by Mangol – Alfred Abel absolutely killing it as the embodiment of capitalist evil, he even twists his hair to give a demonic impression – is already vulnerable to his powers of persuasion.

 

But, almost immediately, there is a bond between Tamara and the young woman, especially after she sings… then, as Mangol makes his mischievous moves, a recording of Tamara sounds just like her late mother’s voice…

 

Mangol helps Marleine sniff his new oportunity...

I won’t spoil any further, but the action is well paced and Asta provides that operatic emotionality which lifts the story and the message over the closing parts of the film. Also present is Werner Krauss as a “cocainist” customer of Mangol’s who brings a strange physicality to the role of a man clearly hollowed out through addiction as he arrives in search of more drugs from the man who clearly has no further use for him.

 

Ludwig Lippert’s cinematography greatly adds to the mostly studio-based atmosphere and there are late period camera tricks aplenty including a lovely montage of night life and plenty of perfectly lit interiors that almost, but not quite, present as “expressionist” (Lotte Eisner would probably disagree).

 

I enjoyed Filmsirup’s score and it ranged occasionally towards post-rock whilst also including some Barrett/Gilmour type psychedelic slide guitar from Michael Hendricks. When the composition and players are this attentive, left-field accompaniments can work and the whole group contributed to a range of orchestration that properly matched the subject matter and the message. Hendricks also plays piano and provides tape loops whilst there’s Christian Carazo-Ziegler (xylophone, electro beats), Matthias André (bass, synth) and Matthias Kaufmann (cello, bass). I look froward to hearing more of their work!

Werner Krauss is haunted

 

Another quality presentation from Bonn in a week that has already seen the mighty Stephen Horne and Elizabeth Jane Baldry accompanying deMille’s Male and Female (1919) and Ellen Richter in Moral (1928) – recently screened at Pordenone - as well as solo Stephen on Francesca Bertini’s restored classic Assunta Spina (1915).

 

We’ve also seen Blind Husbands (1919) – an excellent restoration shown in Bologna as well as Fritz Lang’s Die Vier um die Frau/Four Around the Woman (1921) on which, more later.

 

You can still stream some of the performances and films up until the 24^th but you be quick as the films are only available for two days after screenings.

 

Full details are here on the festival site.

Screenings are broadcast via wireless waves that cross the entire globe!!

Asta talks! Impossible Love (1932), BFI Asta Nielsen Season

Three women: Ery Bos, Asta Nielsen and Ellen Schwanneke

It looks good from far away, just like me…

 

It’s no coincidence that the very first thing we see Asta Nielsen do in her first and only talkie is to put her finger to her lips to shush the chatter as her daughter gives a music recital. Only Die Asta could be so knowing and post-modern. She was fifty when she made this film and she looks great, lovely big smiles and gorgeous fashions, nothing like the rags of Joyless Street and, as with that film and so many others, she unrolls as stunning closing section… watching all of these films that’s one thing that stands out, the actress always left plenty in the tank for a sprint finish of audacious expression.

 

So many lines ring beyond the film, not least the one above and other’s relating to her age that she may well have improvised given their added poignance. The male characters in the film are mostly boorish and one constantly complains that a woman of her age with two grown daughters should simply resign which I took to be a mistranslation of retire but which the Kennington Bioscope’s Michelle Facey suggested was meant literally, Asta’s character being viewed by a conservative German man as wrong to still have personal ambition given her womanly responsibilities.

 

Maybe it was Asta’s age and her feeling that the parts were just drying up as younger actors swarmed. She made silent five films released in 1927 and headed off to the theatre before being lured back for Unmögliche Liebe (1932) and clearly decided that artistically that was enough and the stage would be where she would carry on before the changes in Germany forced her back to Copenhagen in 1936.

Asta Nielsen, Julius Falkenstein and Hilde Hildebrand

Directed by Erich Waschneck, Impossible Love is a little deliberate but also a very interesting film that is firmly centred on three women, sculptor and studio manager Vera Holgk (Asta), her eldest daughter Nora (Ery Bos) and youngest Toni (Ellen Schwanneke, who’d featured in the previous year’s Mädchen in Uniform). These three are the centre of the action and are largely surrounded by odd men.

 

Nora is, for some reason, in a relationship with the moneyed but foolish Leopold von Möllendorf (Anton Pointner) who, once engaged to his much younger partner, calls Vera Mutter like the man child he is, whilst also attempting to get Nora to give up the cello on the grounds that it is a most unfeminine instrument to play. He also thinks Vera should “resign” and surrender her selfish ambitions, declaring his family as “conservative” but not backward… Toni meanwhile has a relationship with a young man nearer her age, Erwin (Carl Balhaus) who works with her in a photographic studio and how is less intelligent and less realistic than she. Toni may be the youngest but she has insight and some of the film’s best lines.

 

Daftest of all is the Professor’s man servant Zimmermann (Julius Falkenstein, who, as Michelle reminded me, was so good in The Oyster Princess with Ossi Oswalda) but he’s meant to provide comedic relief and does so with practiced ease, some physical comedy, inappropriate napping and lots of outspoken lines that still cause a titter.

 

Asta still works hard on the casual details of real character

Tell me you still believe I can create great work? 

The exception to all this appears to be Professor Steinkampp (Hans Rehmann), a sculptor of repute and, even though younger, a suitor for Vera’s affections. Steinkampp pursues her with some style and then invites her to his studio to work on her own sculpture for a competition. At first, Vera, who has been running a commercial art studio, is doubtful she can still compete but with the Professor’s encouragement she is soon back in the groove, as it were. It’s a joy to watch Asta, fag in mouth and singing to herself as her character works… that’s how to use talkies for narrative continuity, her old tricks of seemingly casual distractions are accompanied by sound in this new environment. You can also see/hear the stage experience at play.

 

Vera has doubts and guilt about her growing feelings for Steinkampp and starts withholding some information from her daughters, the beginnings of a distance between them as she, for the first time in a long time, starts to put herself first. She wins the art competition and has to confess some of her new relationship but then things take a dramatic turn for the worst as Steinkampp’s old girlfriend, Martini (Hilde Hildebrand) sells her salacious story to the newspapers and all Himmel breaks loose…

 

Amidst the moral outrage, that Vera was seeing and staying with Steinkampp is the assertion that he helped her win the sculpture prize. Stuck up Möllendorf insists she responds publicly but Vera has nothing to say to the stuffed shirt and will deal with this in her manner. Nora is conflicted and leaves to stay with her man whilst Toni takes matters into her own hands to visit the newspaper and ask them to retract… she learns far more than she wants to hear.

 

A woman with agency, managing her life and business

Spoiler zone: Steinkampp is revealed to be married but his wife Katharina (Elisabeth Wendt) has lost her mind and is permanently residing in an asylum. Fair dos to the Professor, he makes sure that she is looked after and he wants a divorce but he hasn’t told Vera any of this and she is naturally devastated and, as he talks calmly with Toni about his plans to divorce and marry Vera, she is visiting Katharina… Wendt is made up like a supernatural Miss Haversham, golden hair floating around her head, a child’s mind but with enough left to know that her husband’s love is all the world to her.

 

Nieslen finally let’s rip in these circumstances and they are very powerful moments, it’s an over-egged scenario but she makes it work through all the years of skilled control and tears flow between the two. Even if Steinkampp had been completely open with Vera, how can he be forgiven this abandonment… Later, we see Asta sitting on a bench for a moment, she stands and walks into the darkness of the forest… out of life perhaps, but certainly out of film.

It's a perfect ending to her cinematic career and not dissimilar to that she confected at the end of the documentary she would direct about herself in 1968.

 

In this film, the family’s friends suggest she should just marry Steinkampp, “after all you can get married at 90 these days…” and, almost forty years later, that’s what Asta did, marrying a 70-year-old art dealer aged 88*. She didn’t let age deny her, just like Vera perhaps.

 

So, the end of a stunning season of films covering 22 years when Die Asta was the biggest movie star most people hadn’t heard of… not anymore! Thank you, BFI, programmer Pamela Hutchinson, the accompanists, archivists and all who made this happen. There’s still enough films left for a part two… just saying.

 

Julius Falkenstein and Ossi Oswalda in The Oyster Princes

*Julie K Allen of Brigham Young University, quotes the 18-year age gap in a review of Lotte Thrane's book, Maske og menneske: Asta Nielsen og hendes tid. (Copenhagen: Gads forlag 2019) in Scandinavian Studies, Volume 93, Issue 1.

She also quotes Thrane on her examination of Asta's the public and private persona: "...her mask and her private self. . . . From time to time the mask can even triumph over the physical face upon which the mask is based, so that it alone is visible - and is therefore mistaken for the person..."

Looking froward to an english translation of this book... 

Crimes and misdemeanours… In the Eyes of the Law (1919) with Stephen Horne, BFI Asta Nielsen Season

Any suffering is easier to bear if the goal is great…

 

More Asta magic that turns what could be a melodramatic take on Crime and Punishment into something altogether worth watching. The secret of her success and lasting impact certainly wasn’t the scripts she was given or the directors she worked with but the ways she was able to create character and to self-direct… can you imagine her working with Griffith or DeMille? She did work with Lubitsch but that film sadly no longer exists and it would be especially interesting to view now as she was very much the established star… It’s also such a shame that her Miss Julie and Hedda Gabler are no longer with us, but so it goes.

 

Here she delivers yet another distinct performance, from metropolitan newspaper reporter flirting easily with her co-worker, and fiancé, so naturistic you feel like you’re intruding… to a committed newshound on a case, exposing inequality and ruinous criminal practice to an avenging angel who effects change but at a moral and personal cost.

 

The statement at the top is something her character says near the end and isn’t that far away from Friedrich Nietzsche's words, He who has a Why to live for can bear almost any How… a very apposite and necessary sentiment given the time after so many had died for Kaiser and country, a film made in the early days of the Weimar Republic when Germany was in recovery. Bruised and unbowed depending on your point of view.

 

In the Eyes of the Law (Nach dem Gesetz) is directed with fluid precision by Willy Grunwald, who worked with Nielsen on a number of films during this period and was obviously trusted to let the Danish diva get on with the real magic. There are, nevertheless, some well-constructed sequences and he really does show her to best effect as the film reaches its climactic sequence.

 

The film is presaged, as a number of Nielsen’s were, by some glamour shots of the actress smiling direct to camera and smelling a large bunch of roses, this is, as usual, a very knowing moment that seems to suggest that audience complicity is already guaranteed…

 

Asta’s Sonja Waler is dressed in some style as she breezes into the newspaper offices to briefly flirt with Arthur (Fritz Hartwig) before typing up her copy. The opening of the film feels like a rom com with some superb street shots of bustling Berlin – the locations are a glimpse on a lost world with cinematographer Max Lutze capturing the city in motion and one particularly delicious shot of Sonja and Arthur enjoying a champagne lunch high up in a café overlooking one of the main streets.

 

Lutze also captures the couple eating their sandwiches on the roof of the newspaper, Asta opening the bread to see what’s inside, an everyday action that almost no one else would think of. From a distance they spot her brother Eric (Otz Tollen) and doctor, with his colleague, Albert Holm (Theodor Loos). They invite them up and learn about Holm’s latest breakthrough which could greatly help the large numbers who are dying from lupus (remembering again that this was also the time of the Spanish flu pandemic).

 

Sonja wants to help raise the funds Holm desperately needs but her editor is less keen until she finds a way of popularising it. Never short of ides she decides to visit a wealthy industrialist whom she finds mid-argument with his son (Henri Peters-Arnolds). Her curiosity peaked by the elder man’s refusal to provide any further financial support, she follows the young man to a dingy part of town and a meeting he has with a money lender, Heere (Guido Herzfeld) who is bleeding his client dry.

 

Soon afterwards she hears that the youngster has shot himself, the latest casualty of the loan shark’s greed. Meanwhile, she visits her brother’s clinic and sees for herself the sad deaths of his patience, all of which could be preventable if funding could be made available.

 

Then Sonja’s aunt is ill and she is to travel to see her with her mother (Georgine Sobjeska) – she has not got long to live. It is then that Sonja, spurred on by the extremes of injustice, decides on an almost perfect plan to help the needy and punish the guilty… and it’s pretty ingenious at a time when not all such things were as well thought out – so props to writer Louis Levy!

 

The New Cinema Review said at the time that Nielsen’s “internalized play… makes one forget the shortcomings of logic ...” and you can say that about so many of these films although, this caper seems secure if only Sonja’s conscience allows it to be. There must be a reckoning of course and there’s a dogged policeman played by Bernhard Goetzke … so, once again we are treated to the actor’s emotional pyrotechnics; she never disappoints and, again, this is Sonja’s agony… unlike any other character I’ve seen.

 

Stephen Horne accompanied with Asta-assurance on piano, flute and accordion, and again one felt that different mix in his call and response with the action on screen. It’s been a full on three days of Nielsen films and we’re all deeply invested at this stage.

 

You still have time to experience the Asta impact as the films run until 15^th March. Booking and details on the BFI site.