Lust in the dust? The Song of Love (1924), Directed by Frances Marion, produced by Norma Talmadge

Outside of Miss Talmadge there isn't an awful lot to "The Song of Love." It is another of those desert stories, the same type more or less that went out of fashion a little over a year ago…

The Variety reviewer (1) wasn’t pulling any punches about this film or even it’s undoubtedly very popular star – the highest paid female actor at the time – although he was considerably impressed with her revealing costume. The New York Times - Mordaunt Hall? -concurred on both film and the newly discovered Talmadge torso, a step away from her usual “demure” roles…

Imagine passing into the Rivoli with a vague impression of Miss Talmadge in poke bonnet and voluminous hoop skirts that jealously guard even her ankles from view, and suddenly beholding a startling vision of undeniable beauty, clad expensively, but not extensively.

Film Daily felt Norma looked ill at ease in the revealing costume – she certainly didn’t wear anything so skimpy again – but perhaps all of this shows that even though a highly competent and versatile star, the public had an expectation of what a Norma Talmadge film should be.

Norma's saying no to Arthur Carewe

No doubt intended to cash in on the sex and sand success of The Sheik, The Song of Love is entertaining but a bit of a clunker, one of so many well made, mediocre films that have blighted Norma’s reputation in spite of the evidence of her work with Frank Borzage (Secrets (1924) and The Lady (1925)), sentimental neo-classics like Smilin’ Through and the energised comedy of Kiki. As Lea Jacobs (2) has pointed out, Norma was let down by too many weak plots and even weaker dialogue. Jeanine Basinger (3) further suggests that the oldest Talmadge was just too versatile for her own good and “never developed a single persona, a ‘role’ that audiences thought was actually her in real life…” She was considered a fine actor and one who took on all kinds of roles many of which showed her as a transitional figure; “she had one foot in the 1890s and the other in the 1920s…”

All this said, Norma Talmadge is likeable in every film I’ve seen her in and, whilst F Scott Fitzgerald described her as the epitome of glamour in Tender is the Night, he also wrote that she must be a fine noble woman beyond her loveliness. Maybe Norma’s just too nice for modern tastes?

Too nice?

She transcends the limitations of Frances Marion’s adaptation of Margaret Peterson novel’s Dust of Desire and brings out the humour in a script of varying sensibilities that leaves even Norma sometimes staring our through lines she can scarcely believe… and she was the producer! Marion co-directed with Chester M. Franklin, one of only three films she directed, the others being Mary Pickford’s The Love Light (1921) and Margaret Seddon’s Just Around the Corner (1921). It’s a competent film, enjoyable on its own terms but mostly for Norma.

Song of Love is set in the town of Ahamar in Algeria and Norma plays an exotic dancer (in old money) called Noorma-hal (see what they did?) and described as The Rose of All the World by the appreciative locals in her Uncle, Chandra-lal’s (Hector V. Sarno) gambling den. Her biggest fan, Ramlika (Arthur Edmund Carewe) just so happens to be the leader of a Tuareg uprising against the occupying French “Christian dogs” (probably) who are likeable colonialists dressed smartly and unaware of the hatred all around them

New romantic or glam? Joseph Schildkraut

Ramlika’s passion is not reciprocated by Noorma-hal and is only inflamed by her skimpy style and sure-footed gyrations – which are mostly shot at distance either to shield the delicate audience from the full-on raunch or, possibly the fact that a stand in is being used. But Norma carries it all off and Ramlika promises that when this is all over, she’ll be his.

The local colonial notables, Commissionaire Desmond (Earl Schenck), Captain Fregonne (Mario Carillo), Dr. Humbert (James Cooley) and their American friend Dick Jones (Laurence Wheat) from Grand Rapids, Michigan, USA… have gotten wind of the plotting and called in French agent Ramon Valverde (Joseph Schildkraut) but, round these parts, it’s not just walls that have ears but curtains too with Ramlika’s spy, Chamba (Albert Prisco) hearing the whole plan.

Valverde is no mug though and makes his first appearance in disguise looking something like Spandau Ballet’s bass player in 1983 as he listens in to the Tuareg’s plans at the gambling den. He doesn’t go unnoticed by our dancing heroine who ignores his make up sensing the goodness of the man inside. Ramlika isn’t impressed and the two men fight with Valverde making good his escape and deciding to use Noorma-hal’s attraction to him to keep tabs on the uprising.

Maude Wayne as the Other Woman

Whilst all’s fair in love and war, Valverde goes on to show us his moral fibre when he refuses to rekindle an old affair with the Commissioner’s wife Maureen (Maude Wayne). But Noorma-hal catches them in the act of not continuing and assumes, correctly based on his previous thinking, that he only wants the white Christian woman. Passions are, however, on the rise and Noorma-hal is soon stuck between a frog and a hard face as she must decide who to betray and when. The Tuareg forces are massing and only she can stave off disaster but, at what cost to herself?!

               

As the above reviews indicate even at the time this was an old tale and whilst there are twists and turns, they are mostly predictable. What saves it is Norma who is nearly always in the moment and the only really relatable character throughout.

I watched the film on the Kino Lorber Blu-ray set, Pioneers: First Women Filmmakers (4) which uses the German print which has a different ending from the US print – which is explained via title card and which is the more surprising conclusion for a number of reasons. The print quality is mostly excellent but there is some deterioration which Greta de Groat says is not present on the other surviving print held at the Library of Congress but you can’t have it all - it's a mostly fine looking 

film and inspite of the gripes, who doesn't like watching Norma T work even if it's mostly so much sand and fury signifying very little.

Norma Talmadge straight to mirror

1. Greta de Groat’s excellent website has a wealth of Norma information and links to the World-Wide-Web of Talmadge – I lifted the Variety and NYT quotes from her!

2. Writing in Idols of Modernity: Movie Stars of the 1920s, Rutgers University Press (2010)

3. Jeanine Basinger – Silent Stars, Wesleyan University Press (2000)

4. The six Blu-ray set Pioneers: First Women Filmmakers is of course essential and available direct from Kino Lorber as well as via Amazon.com – anyone else finding that export restrictions are being tightened recently?

 

Under the Moon… Salomé (1923) with Haley Fohr Ensemble, Barbican

Haley Fohr’s experimental score for Alla Nazimova’s radical passion project was commissioned by Opera North for the Leeds International Festival. It’s a mix of avant rock, post-rock, electronica and trace elements of folk/country although Tammy Wynette never sounded like this.

Vocalising and operating a console of synthesiser and samples, Fohr was accompanied by Tyler Damon on percussion, Andrew Young on double bass and Whitney Johnson on viola. The music was interesting in of itself but tended to take straight lines while the narrative followed a more elaborate path. The players followed a score and well though they performed the end result wasn’t balanced in the way that silent accompaniment often aims to be... but, this was intentional.

Fohr had taken the bold decision to remove the intertitles from the film arguing that by “…muting the text, I find new stories quickly sprout in its place from the action itself. The score to the film was composed as much to those stories as to the film itself.”  This is indeed bold given that the film was based on a poem by Oscar Wilde and featured extensive references to his original writing; removing this means you create a new narrative not only visually – we don’t have the specificity to define events – but also musically. That is Fohr’s intention and you have to respect that.

Alla Nazimova

One major issue I struggled with was the decision to leave gaps where the intertitles once where so that we had a blank screen between the action throughout. This interrupted the flow and unbalanced the mix – just when you were absorbed in the story it would stop and you’d be left looking at the band, well outside of the “moment” in terms of the film Nazimova created.

If you came to watch Oscar Wilde’s poem set to film with a score serving both then you were going to be disappointed but that was not the aim of a work that was in search of new meanings. To some that’s maybe like colourising Laurel and Hardy or adding CGI to old Star Wars films: just because we can doesn’t mean that we should... Still, you don't have to watch, unless, that is, you really wanted to see this film on the big screen, but maybe it wouldn't even have been there without the new music.

A few days earlier I had seen two electronica acts at the Barbican, Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith and Jlin (Jerrilynn Patton), both had back projections to accompany their very different beats and the latter had a dancer interpreting her music. You could argue that Fohr was following a similar line only with a pre-existing and defined artwork. Not everyone was comfortable with the recycle.

Or maybe not?

Personally, I’m not so sure the removal of text in exchange for a visual vacuum was the way to go, had the score played over the intertitles we would still have drawn new meaning based on the music alone and not the absence of text. As it was it was just too distracting from both the film and the hard-working musicians in front of us. I also say this as someone who is familiar with this film and therefore followed the narrative lines dictated by the text whether or not it was there…

"How strange the Moon seems! One might fancy she was looking for dead things..."

Salomé is a stunning silent film that features some of the most cohesive creative vision in film, with Natacha Rambova’s designs drawing on Aubrey Beardsley’s iconic interpretations of Wilde’s words. The whole enterprise drips in decadence – Wilde wrote the original in French whilst under the influence of new passions; in Salomé the act of merely looking can lead the soul on a fateful dive into the heart of desire.

Bad boy Beardsley and the "invisible dance".

Yet, even he was concerned his work might be overshadowed by the power of the drawing even though he had initially viewed Beardsley as "...the only artist who, beside myself, knows what the dance of the seven veils is, and can see that invisible dance."

Directed by Charles Bryant, Salomé is the quintessential platform for producer and star, Alla Nazimova - a woman aiming to combine both Wilde and Beardley's visions. This mix allowed her to put together one of the first genuine Hollywood “art” films – an enterprise laced with her European artistic sensibilities from the choice of story, writer, designer and even sexuality… Maybe the rumours of an all-gay cast were just hype, but this story of transgressive - deathly - passion may have additional spice being performed by homosexual actors given Wilde’s proclivities and the tragic response of Victorian authority.

Natasha Rambova's stunning designs took from Beardley's style...

Such freedom of expression clearly appealed to Nazimova who was forging a brave career through her alien sophistication and an angular, conflicted, expression so at odds with the warmth of mainstream American cinema. Yes, she strikes a pose, but it rings true and there's an undoubted sense of humour behind the balletic pantomime. Salomé needed to be well choreographed to translate the author’s rhythms and whilst the expressions occasionally grate some of these characters are meant to simply be grotesque…

Not Salomé though, she’s just a bored teenager…with an endless wardrobe to fit every flounce and flurry.  Nazimova was pushing it, being just 44 at the time and yet with expert lighting and deep inches of foundation she carries it off, like Mary Pickford on crystal meth. 

She sits bored stiff at the table as the regal bacchanal rages all around. Her stepfather, Herod, Tetrach of Judea (Mitchell Lewis) has obtained power by murdering his brother and acquiring his wife, Herodias, and her altogether more alluring daughter, Salomé. They party with a collection of bizarre guests, a group of Pharisees who argue over the existence of angels, men in strange hats and with strange hairdos and nervous servants so concerned over the risks of their master’s opprobrium that they would rather throw themselves off the battlements rather than be granted an audience with an unhappy King. 

Salomé imagining "a band of scarlet on a tower of ivory..."

Tiring of her step-father’s inappropriate attentions, Salomé leaves the banquet hall and steps outside for some fresh amusement. She finds her  loyal servants Narraboth, Herod’s Captain of the Guard (Earl Schenck) who harbours unrequited love for his mistress, and Herodias’ Page (Arthur Jasmine). Salomé ignores them and distractedly stares at the stars in a provocative pose before sounds from a deep well break her reverie… These are the prayers and pronouncements of John the Baptist,  or Jokanaan in the film and play (Nigel De Brulier), a seer and prophet  who just won’t be silenced on the subject of the impending Messiah.

Salomé catches one look at his fine chiseled features and slender strength and is hooked, demanding that he be released so that she may learn more. Jokanaan emerges and refuses to be distracted from his cause by the “young” seductress in spite of her best efforts: he knows that even if he glances at her too deeply he could fall. Soon good feeling turns to bad and, in the face of Salomé’s infatuation, faithful Narraboth kills himself in front of his love but she simply steps over his corpse in her attempt to speak closer to Jokanaan. Horrified at this callous disregard and so much else besides, Jokanaan returns to his cell…

Mother and step-father in shock. Kids yesterday...

The film, as the play, makes constant references to the Moon – it’s tied to fate and the immutability of feminine will. What starts off blue gradually gets darker as a skull appears to fill the centre and then the sky runs red as matters descend into madness. Salomé sulks and as the party finally comes out to join her, is made an offer she cannot refuse by Herod: if she dances he will give her anything she desires. She agrees but doesn't reveal what her prize will be… and, boy, there will be blood.

Salomé exists in an unsettling world all of its own and is surely one of the most subversive films of silent Hollywood. It was a box office dud that prevented Nazimova from being able to make further films with the same control – but we all know now what she really meant. 

Moon madness… Salomé (1923)

"Look at the moon! ...looking for dead things."

I’ve always liked the drawings of Aubrey Beardsley who, along with the more painterly Arthur Rackham, defined late-Victorian story illustration with their often unsettling graphics alongside the strangest works of Edgar Allen Poe and others. Beardsley also illustrated Oscar Wilde’s 1893 play Salomé about the curious incident of the prophet undone by seven veils and the impatient impulse of youth… and was a strong influence on the look and feel of Nazimova's filmed version of 1923.

Wilde wrote the play in Paris (and in French...) where he had been familiarising himself with the decadent and symbolist art movements. He supposedly completed the bulk of the composition in a single sitting after an evening discussing the legend with his fellow artists and writers - an act of passionate writing at a time when his life was shifting into radical directions... In Salomé the act of merely looking can lead the soul on a fateful dive into the heart of desire.

Beardsley illustrated the play's 1894 English edition and added his own twist to the central character who in his hands became a knowing, sexually-advanced woman completely in control of her own allure. Even Wilde was concerned his work might be overshadowed by the power of the drawing even though he had initially viewed Beardsley as "...the only artist who, beside myself, knows what the dance of the seven veils is, and can see that invisible dance."

Detail from Beardsley's illustrations for the 1894 edition

Directed by Charles Bryant, Salomé is the quintessential platform for producer and star, Alla Nazimova - a woman aiming to combine both Wilde and Beardley's visions. This mix allowed her to put together  one of the first genuine Hollywood “art” films – an enterprise laced with her European artistic sensibilities from the choice of story, writer, designer and even sexuality… Maybe the rumours of an all-gay cast were just hype, but this story of transgressive - deathly - passion may have additional spice being performed by homosexual actors given Wilde’s proclivities and their eventual consequences.

Earl Schenck and Arthur Jasmine - I don't *know* to be honest...

Whatever the interpretations modern minds may make… it is undoubtedly a superbly-designed photo-play that achieves a lot with essentially a single studio placement. As with Camille, design was provided by the extraordinary Natacha Rambova who, taking full inspiration from Beardsley, manages to capture his erotically-charged decadence if not quite the exactitude of his draftmanship… But no wonder the author of Dorian Grey thought he had found a kindred spirit in this electrically inventive portrayer of the perverse: “I have one aim – the grotesque. If I am not grotesque I am nothing”.

Don't look now...

Such freedom of expression clearly appealed to Nazimova who was forging a brave career through her alien sophistication and an angular, conflicted, expression so at odds with the warmth of mainstream American cinema. Yes she strikes a pose but it rings true and if you look hard enough she’s actually very funny in a “does this bother you…” sort of way.

Salomé is a challenging enough subject in its own right but without Nazimova’s conviction it would collapse in on its own conceit. Salomé needed to be well choreographed to translate the author’s rhythms and, with title cards used only sparingly, the film’s attempts to visualise Wilde’s narrative rest on controlled direction and timing. The pantomime occasionally grates but then some of these characters are plain villains and they are meant to be grotesque…

The look of lust from Herod...

Not Salomé though, she’s just a bored teenager…  just about:  Nazimova was 44 at the time and with expert lighting and deep inches of foundation she carries it off, like Mary Pickford on crystal meth. She sits bored stiff at the table as the regal bacchanal rages all around. Her stepfather, Herod, Tetrach of Judea (Mitchell Lewis) has obtained power by murdering his brother and acquiring his wife, Harridan sorry Herodias, and her altogether more alluring daughter, Salomé.

They party with a collection of bizarre guests, a group of Pharisees who argue over the existence of angels, men in strange hats and with strange hairdos and nervous servants so concerned over the risks of their master’s approbrium that they would rather throw themselves off the battlements rather than be granted an audience with an unhappy King… seriously worse than the corruptions of the American studio system.

Party guests

Tiring of her step-father’s inappropriate attentions, Salomé leaves the banquet hall and steps outside for some fresh amusement. She finds  her  loyal servants Narraboth, Herod’s Captain of the Guard (Earl Schenck) who harbours unrequited love for his mistress and  Herodias’ Page (Arthur Jasmine).

Salomé ignores them and distractedly stares at the stars in a provocative pose before sounds from a deep well break her reverie… These are the prayers and pronouncements of John the Baptist  or Jokanaan in the film and play  (Nigel De Brulier), a seer and prophet  who just won’t be silenced on the subject of the impending Messiah.

Salomé catches one look at his fine chiseled features and slender strength and is hooked, demanding that he be release so that she may learn more. One of her admirers passes on the key not before a confused servant kills himself rather than face Herod’s wrath.

Jokanaan emerges and refuses to be distracted from his cause by the “young” seductress in spite of her best efforts: he knows that even if he glances at her too deeply he could fall. Soon good feeling turns to bad and, in the face of Salomé’s infatuation, faithful Narraboth kills himself in front of his love but she simply steps over his corpse in her attempt to speak closer to Jokanaan. Horrified at this callous disregard and so much else besides, Jokanaan returns to his cell…

“Thy hair, Jokanaan, is like the long black nights when the moon hides her face! The silence that dwells in the forest is not so black as thy hair!”

The film, as the play, makes constant references to the Moon – it’s tied to fate and the immutability of feminine will. What starts off blue gradually gets darker as a skull appears to fill the centre and then the sky runs red as matters descend into madness.

Salomé sulks and as the party finally comes out to join her, is made an offer she cannot refuse by Herod: if she dances he will give her anything she desires. She agrees but doesn't reveal what her prize will be…

There follows the dance of the veil in which Nazimova makes like Lady Gaga and showcases her graceful energy, she’s not quite Pola Negri but she gets the point across. Herod is certainly won over and only stops his inane grinning when she says what it is she wants: nothing less than the head of Jokanaan served on a silver salver.

Initially there’s no one to do the deed as too many have respect for the holy man but finally it is over and Salomé realises exactly what she has lost…. And there’s rather more to come as Herod takes matters into his own hands.

Salomé is wonderfully mannered and exists pretty much in an unsettling world all of its own - surely one of the most subversive films of silent Hollywood and one that undoubtedly confused its intended audience. It was a box office dud that prevented Nazimova from being able to make further films with the same control - still, she's now surely viewed as a prophet not without honour in her adopted country.

Salomé is available on DVD via Amazon and it deserves more than the basic efforts on sale. “We’re all of us lying in the gutter but some of us are staring at the kerb…” as Julian Cope later paraphrased Oscar Wilde’s famous observation…

You can also get the Beardsley illustrated  English version via Amazon... which leads you down a slightly different path.