The big finish… The Chess Player (1927), Mark Fitz-Gerald with San Marco Orchestra, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto! Pordenone, Day Eight

That was the way to bow out, thousands of soldiers on horseback running at and around the camera as they charge, quick cuts of faces in battle, sword slashes, men falling… all as Edith Jehanne’s character plays the Polish anthem on her piano, envisaging a triumph as the San Marco Orchestra played Henri Rabaud’s original score at full volume.

It’s been a grand – exhausting - week and this last push lifted our tired spirits high up to the huge screen of the Teatro Verdi, fully engaging in Raymond Bernard's images and thoughts brimming over with so many highlights and wonderful conversations with a community passionately interested in communication, history and preservation. A week of shared values which showed, as the man said, how culture transcends boundaries. With attendees from across the globe, Le Giornate proves this every year as, whether from the Lower East Side, the North West, the Far East or the East End, we all want to learn more and to enquire without. Cinema Muto: it’s film for the curious…

The Chess Player is a masterclass in late-silent cinema technique that was made at the same time as Gance’s Napoleon and shares some of the scope and invention with the mobile camera and epic scale as well as innovative cutting, framing and that focus on filming thought… as Charles Dullin’s character, the clockwork inventor, faces his demise he sees the clogs of life turning and his death comes not wearing a shroud or on horseback but as an automaton… with a scythe the shape of a clock’s ticker.

Edith Jehanne et Pierre Batcheff

It’s a film of two halves, literally as well as figuratively: set in Eighteenth Century Poland after the Russian invasion of 1776, the first part covers the delicate balance between the locals and the occupying army of Tsarina Catherine II (so different from Pola Negri’s Tsarina…).

Debonair Pierre Blanchar is the pig-tailed Polish noble, Boleslas Vorowski, a master chess player and military leader who’s adopted sister Sophie Novinska (Edith Jehanne) seen as a symbol of Polish independence with her face even painted on the army’s standards. Her ward is the mysterious inventor Baron von Kempelen (Charles Dullin) a man whose genius has earned him royal favour and yet who seems to harbour deep agendas.

Sophie loves Boleslas like a brother, and loves his unlikely best friend, a Russian officer Serge Oblomoff (Pierre Batcheff) in a quite different way. But love of country will soon intervene and tear them apart. A friendly game of chess between Boleslas and the Russian Major Nicolaieff (Camille Bert) as the officer’s relax in the mess, degenerates after a Polish dancer, Wanda (Jackie Monnier), is pursued by an aggressive group of Russian offices. Boleslas goes to her rescue and starts a fight that sparks a war.

Pierre Blanchar et Edith Jehanne 

The Poles succeed in driving the Russians from Vilnius but they are eventually defeated by the latter’s superior numbers. There follows the battle mentioned at the top as the real battle is imagined by Sophie at her piano… Jehanne is just superb in this moment, emotion playing across her face as fluidly as the piano combinations as she watched and hopes in tortured isolation.

The uprising is brutally suppressed and whilst Boleslas survives the battle he is badly wounded, as the Russians search him out the Baron has an idea… it’s crazy, but it just might work. And so, it is that we take a left turn down the alley marked Georgian Steam Punk or at least the 1920’s equivalent of science fantasy.

Catherine is the Great Big Cheat!

Von Kempelen has invented many disturbing automatons, including one of himself and a platoon of sword-wielding full-size toy-soldier and he has an idea how to hide Poland’s great hope as he recuperates… inside a chess-playing automaton called the Turk. The film now shows the tour of The Turk, accompanied by von Kempelen, Sophie and Wanda, as the mechanical wonder beats all comers and travels ever closer to Germany and freedom.

But, Major Nicolaieff recognises the playing style in losing to the machine and realises that the clock-work grand master hides a secret. He persuades their host, King Stanislas, to send the Turk to the Empress in St Petersburg… out of the frying pan… and into a no-win scenario for, not only does Nicolaieff now the secret, Catherine has an even bigger secret about Sophie which could completely undermine the fight for Poland… the pace changes but the strange atmospheric and claustrophobia of the last hour, make for thrilling denouement.

Blanchar and Dullin

There was indeed a mechanical chess player known as The Turk who defeated almost all opponents from 1770 to 1854 and baffled the best minds of Europe including Napoleon Bonaparte (not to mention Benjamin Franklin). Remarkably it was only “exposed” in the 1820s... some trick but it wasn’t in Poland and Russia.

Combining the two stories together makes for a unique blend and it worked so well with the full-blooded sound of the orchestra in the Teatro’s precision crafted acoustic space. Mark Fitz-Gerald conducted and deserved every bow in this most heated finale!

In Old Kentucky (1927) with Philip Carli

Our last John M. Stahl movie provided far gentler fare and was the rare opportunity of seeing James Murray not in The Crowd, although he was in several crowds and called on to do his trademark man-at-the-edge-of-his-tether routine. This film presumable happened after The Crowd – if the stories of Vidor’s discovery of the actor are true and probably Stahl’s use of Murray would confirm the chronology given his character arc.

Murray plays Jimmy Brierly the son of a long line of proud and successful Brierly’s (Edward Martindel) whom have made themselves rich through horse breeding and racing. Murray’s girl is Nancy (Helene Costello) and both seem well-adjusted kids… But when Jimmy gets called off to the Great War, things are about to change.

He returns a shell of the man he was before, drinking and unable to function let alone live up to father’s expectations. His relationship with both sweetheart and family breaks down and he walks away just as his father’s financial difficulties threaten the family’s future. But – you’ve seen this coming haven’t you… there’s always a chance at redemption if you happen to find your old thoroughbred in a army horse sale and the horse, who performed so valiantly with Jimmy in the tranches, is a “mudder”… the day of the big, make or break race approaches and it’s a dry sunny day… if only it would rain, the old nag would have a chance?!

The film features a number of actual black actors which is always a good thing to see although there’s a lead character in black face… still, this must have been progress. The film ends with Highpockets (Stepin Fetchit… real name Lincoln Perry) agreeing to marry Lily May (Carolynne Snowden) and as the two embrace, he picks her pocket… what a rogue! Snowdon especially performs well and does the right thing for her “employers” … she deserves more than being the comic relief and Stahl does allow her character through to the drama.

The Vengeance du Sergent de Ville (1913)

 Desmet Collection Discoveries, with Nick Sosin

The next generation got the chance to shine with Donald’s son Nick Sosin performing experimental and humorous accompaniment to a series of shorts.

I especially liked The Two Little Boys Next Door (1911) was a British short with the titular lads being very naughty indeed in battling their neighbours to Nick’s quirky accompaniment of hi-register scatt and ukulele.

Also good was Mes Voisins Font Danser (1908) featured the attempts of Max Linder to get some rest avec une malle du tete! There’s a choir rehearsing upstairs and they respond to his request to “turn that noise down” by starting to dance, so much so that, naturally the roof caves in. It’s comedy chaos but it’s also The Master, as Charlie called him, being masterly.

Louis Feuillade’s The Vengeance du Sergent de Ville (1913) was also a hoot as the policeman in question is a noisy neighbour, playing his horn far too load and forcing the other tenants to try stop him and resorting to slapping a paper mache model of the copper. My advice leave it out, he ain’t worth it!

The concentrated joy of these early shorts was a timely reminder of the prevalence and popularity of the short form comedy. And it was good to see at least a few this week!

So, that’s it, I’m leaving on a jet plane… DO know when I’ll be back again though! June for Bolgna and October for Pordenone and Le Giornate del Cinema Muto 38!! An excellent week and as Stephen Horne and Luigi Vitale collected the new David Gill Award for best musical collaboration – deservedly so for me  – Stephen dedicated it to all of the Giornate’s musicians, who even he is in awe of: me too and I’m not alone!

So, thank you for the music Giornate players, you have ALL brought us so much joy this week and we are loving your work.

Arrividerchi and see you all in 2019!

Turkish delight… The Chess Player (1927)

A mechanical chess player known as The Turk defeated almost all opponents from 1770 to 1854 and baffled the best minds of Europe including Napoleon Bonaparte (not to mention Benjamin Franklin). Remarkably it was only “exposed” in the 1820s... some trick.

In Raymond Bernard’s 1927 film, The Chess Player, a similar device is used to hide the leader of the Polish forces from the occupying Russian army. It’s an ingenious mix of illusory fact with fiction.

Charles Dullin and friend

Clearly treading a similar path to Abel Gance, Bernard’s film is full of camera mobility, rapid cross-cutting and attempts to show the inner lives of its characters.

Set in Eighteenth Century Poland after the Russian invasion of 1776, the film was adapted from the novel by Henry Dupuis-Mazuel and stars Pierre Blanchar as the pig-tailed Polish noble, Boleslas Vorowski, a master chess player and military leader.

Empress Catherine II’s troops have over-run Poland and the armies from both sides work in uneasy alliance sharing quarters in Boleslas’ home town of Vilnius. On the outskirts lives the inventor Baron von Kempelen (Charles Dullin) a man who’s genius has earned him royal favour and yet who seems to harbour deep agendas.

His ward, Sophie Novinska (Edith Jehanne) is seen as a symbol of Polish independence with her face painted on the army’s standards and yet she may not be entirely all she seems… Even though she loves him like a brother, she does not reciprocate Bolselas’ romantic feelings and instead is drawn to his unlikely best friend, a Russian officer Serge Oblomoff (Pierre Batcheff)… a decent enough chap in spite of the heavy foundation and powdered wig – fashion eh?

Edith Jehanne and Pierre Batcheff

Boleslas plays chess against the Russian Major Nicolaieff (Camille Bert) as the officer’s relax in the mess. A Polish ballerina, Wanda (Jackie Monnier), performs for them but this is not enough for some of the Russians who pursue her into a locked room… Boleslas rushes to her aid and starts a fight that sparks a war.

The Poles succeed in driving the Russians from Vilnius but they are eventually defeated by the latter’s superior numbers. The battle is filmed in style by Bernard with camera’s tracking the cavalry charge and with dynamic inter-cutting showing different facets of the chaos.

Sophie watches on in tortured isolation from her grand house… hoping for the survival of both her friends and appalled at the deaths in her name. Jehanne emotes superbly, playing out her grief on the piano – very 1927 but very effective.

Boleslas survives the battle but is badly wounded, as the Russians search him out the Baron has an idea…

Pierre Blanchar and Charles Dullin

The second half of the film shows the tour of The Turk, a mechanical chess player which conceals the recuperating Boleslas. Accompanied by von Kempelen, Sophie and Wanda, the mechanical wonder beats all comers and travels ever closer to Germany and freedom.

But, Major Nicolaieff recognises the playing style in losing to the machine and realises that the clock-work grand master hides a secret. He persuades their host, King Stanislas, to send the Turk to the Empress in St Petersburg… out of the frying pan…

Catherine's a great big cheat...

At court the Empress is highly amused by this new toy but orders it to be executed after she fails to beat it and tries to cheat… Boleslas sweeps all the pieces from the board (the real Turk would also react similarly to any moves outside the rules).

It is also revealed that the Empress knows Sophie’s real heritage and that she is a Russian princess and she sends Nicolaieff off to the Baron’s castle to find the evidence required to destroy Sophie’s credibility…

Pierre Blanchar and Edith Jehanne

Can Boleslas be rescued from the firing squad, who will Sophie chose between pigtaled and powder-puff princes and will the cause of Polish independence be maintained?

There’s a lot packed into the last part of the film and it feels very much like a novel turned to film with Bernard cramming in as many resolutions as possible.

Camille Bert gets a shock...

But The Chess Player also contains some stunning sequences especially those at the Baron’s castle when Nicolaieff encounters the full extent of his invention in one of the most macabre silent set pieces I’ve seen.

I watched the Milestone DVD which uses the restoration overseen by Kevin Brownlow, Patrick Stanbury and David Gill. It is enhanced by Henri Rabaud’s stirring new score performed by the Orchestre de Radio-Television-Luxembourg ably conducted by Carl Davis.

The Love of Jeanne Ney (1927) Pabst amongst the best?

GW Pabst doesn't appear to always get the same level of unfettered respect as compatriots, Lang and Murnau. His career wasn't as long and varied as the former and he maybe didn't have the cohesive style of the latter. It's been said that his success with Pandora's Box was more down to Louise Brooks' spellbinding performance but Brooksie always gave him great credit. Surely it would be churlish to say that he was similarly lucky to have Asta Nielsen and Greta Garbo making him look good in Joyless Street?

Any doubts about Pabst's technical ability are removed pretty swiftly when watching The Love of Jeanne Ney (Die Liebe der Jeanne Ney) made in 1927. The camera work is stunning and he cuts quickly moving the action and emotion along at a pace. There are hand-held shots, rapid close-ups - used to humorous effect upon the death of a parrot - and some unorthodox camera angles used, as in the excellent Abwege, to show the cross-eyed decadence of crowded bars. There are also some fascinating street scenes of Paris with the Gares du Nord and Lyon looking especially splendid in granite grey monotone.

The plot, I have to confess, is a tad confusing and there is maybe too much thrown in and one outrageously overblown character...but it works overall because of the pacing, the images and the naturalistic and powerful, performances Pabst gets out of his cast.

Jeanne Ney (Edith Jehanne) is the daughter of a French diplomat based in Russia during the post-revolutionary civil war. Her father is set up by the scheming Khalibiev (the rat like Fritz Rasp...never has an actor been more aptly entitled...) and in the confusion is shot by Jeanne's lover, Andreas Labov (the ridiculously handsome Uno Henning).

Jeanne flees to Paris, as does Khalibiev and Andreas, she takes a job with her private eye uncle Raymond (Adolph Edgar Licho) working as a secretary alongside his band of detectives. Raymond's blind daughter, Gabrielle (played with some style by Brigitte Helm) is somehow enticed into engagement by the scheming Khalibiev who threatens all their lives with his greed.

It's a complex storyline but with some great set pieces. Just why no one spots Khalibiev for the fraud he is isn't clear but he's a great villain who lusts after Jeanne and treats everyone just like the street walker he picks up and casually shoves into his hotel room. He murders Raymond for the diamond his agency has found and there's an horrific moment when Gabrielle enters the room after the deed is done. She seems to terrify Khalibiev - as if with her sightless eyes she's looking right through him - and lets out a primal scream of mourning when she finds her father's body.

Khalibiev tries to implicate Andreas but Jeanne pursues him in the misguided hope that he can clear his name. He tries to use this in the most dastardly way to seduce her on a train but Jeanne learns the truth just in time. The ending is an optimistic one and reminds me of the Hitchcock dénouement at the end of North by Northwest; well, they're both set on trains and take mere seconds to resolve the plot! Cleverly done though, we want a happy ending and there are so many lose ends, Pabst provides this crescendo of hope and lets us do the rest!

Pabst gets some superb performances out of his cast. Edith Jehanne is so natural as the lovely and in love Jeanne (quite why this film was re-titled Lusts of the Flesh for the UK is beyond me: it's all about love and not some 1950's C-movie). It's hard to see Garbo (who may have had the role had she not headed west) doing the job any better and Jehanne gives more testament to the depth of modernistic acting talent in 1920's Europe.

Uno Henning also makes an excellent leading man and is a little underused. He went on to star in Anthony Asquith's superb A Cottage on Dartmoor but the coming of sound meant he wasn't more successful outside of his native Sweden. Brigitte Helm plays Gabrielle with a frail, halting physicality... dancing the role as much as anything. To some she appears to overwork the blindness but she gives a remarkable, consistent and quite moving performance. A great actress with a considerable range: from robots to rich countessas, wandering wives and innocents like Gabrielle.

If anyone oversteps the naturalistic line in the sand it's Rasp with his pantomime expressiveness, evil moustache and weasel features. But there is surprising depth in his playing and moments when he clearly doubts himself, is in fear or, indeed, in love with Jeanne or in pity with Gabrielle. Every good tale needs a bad rat and he's the man Jeanne and Andreas must overcome to win the day.

All in all this is a thoroughly entertaining film that alongside Abwege, Joyless Street, Diary of a Lost Girl and Pandora's Box, shows Pabst deserves to be aligned with the very best of Weimar directors.

The Kino DVD is very good; a fine clear print enlivened by Timothy Brock's excellent score - the music being always so important to silent films. You can buy it here.

Supplementary: Brigitte Helm as method actress? There's a fascinating quote from Close Up magazine (one of the first to treat cinema as academically important), from an interview with Pabst in 1929:

Interviewer: "Her performance of the blind girl in Jeanne Ney is one of her most striking. I don’t feel Brigitte Helm is acting. I feel she is in a trance. That she has the power to throw herself into a trance and to move and speak and live a life quite outside her own experience."

G.W. Pabst: “Ah, you see. You have it. Do you know the scene when she walks with Jeanne Ney in the streets of Paris, she was almost killed. The actor driving the taxi was not a driver really, but had had to learn. He was not very sure of his steering. Brigitte Helm walked right in front of him. I had to run before the camera to save her. Do you know why? She was blind. She simply did not see it.”