Gently down the stream... L'hirondelle et la mésange (1920), Barbican with Stephen Horne and Elizabeth Jane-Baldry

In her introduction, the BFI’s Bryony Dixon compared André Antoine to Mike Leigh in that he worked with a core of professional actors mixed with amateurs and presumably improvised parts of his film in the pursuit of realism. Antoine perhaps succeeded to well with this film as it was refused distribution for lacking contemporary saleability.

There were no stage sets in the film and it was shot entirely on-board and on-location as the director builds a rhythm around the working lives of the protagonists. This provides a deceptively tranquil context for a drama that emerges only gradually through the routine to explode in a flurry of desperate violence at the end.

His approach was repeated for La Terre (1921) which benefited from Emile Zola’s plotting as well as his naturalism, but this film stands comparison not least for the extraordinary views it gives of post-war Belgium. Antione had worked in the theatre absorbing the approaches of Ibsen, Strindberg and even Charles Dickens: environment was as key a part of personal journeys as free will.

Louis Ravet and Jane Maylianes

The comparison to the later film is important as The Swallow and the Tit-Mouse was only completed in 1984 when Henri Colpi, with the help of the director’s original notes, edited together 60 hours of rushes. The result is a film to savour and, when accompanied by Stephen Horne and Elizabeth Jane-Baldry’s score, instantly jumps to the premier league of silent screenings, qualifies for the Champions League and beats Real Madrid in the knock-out stages!

The two worked from a score and improvised around with confounding lines of multi-instrumentation from Stephen and the fiendishly multi-tasking harp from Elizabeth-Jane.  I’ve raved before about E-JB’s way with a harp and she works the entire instrument from the heavenly top end to the atonality of the deeper chords and the percussion she reaps from the frame. Add to this a bewildering array of peddles and general aura of magical invention and you have the semblance of a small band.

Add the game’s leading one-man-band to this and you have a contender for the end-of-year Silent London polls for Best Orchestral Accompaniment. The two work together with practiced ease their natural instincts so much in sympathy as they allow each other the space to let the source material speak for itself.

Louis Ravet

And L'hirondelle et la mésange has much to say, a mindful discourse on the rhythms of a hard-working life a mixture of river-slow pacing, travelogue and the most undramatic treatment of a dramatic storyline combine to deliver a narrative that is so engaging. It’s a slow-release concoction that plays on the characters’ confinement on board the barges… it’s L'Atalante without the romance and the whimsy and with added criminality.

Pierre Van Groot (Louis Ravet) is the captain of two barges, L'Hirondelle and La Mésange (The Swallow/House Martin and The Titmouse - whatever that be?) which he uses to transport building goods from the port of Antwerp into Northern France. He does a side-line in smuggling including diamonds and lace to bolster cash flow. The former are hidden below the waterline, strapped to one of the rudders whilst the silk is tightly wound around his wife, Griet (Jane Maylianes) and Griet’s sister, Marthe (Maguy Deliac) lives and works with them.

Pierre Alcover and Jane Maylianes - a simple prop to occupy his time?

At the port in Antwerp, a young man Michel (Pierre Alcover) spots Pierre in deep discussion with a local jeweller. He follows his every move and ends up working with Pierre as a pilot… Pierre likes the fact that he has sailing experience whilst Marthe his youthful twinkle but Griet has her suspicions… Pierre joins in the rhythms of the family’s life and soon proves his worth earning the trust of Pierre if not his wife whilst young Marthe begins to hero worship. It’s a simple story which passes by a slowly as the buildings and trees on the bankside…but you’re pulled in all the same. We know Pierre’s a wrong ‘un but we begin to forget as he seems so helpful, but the cuckoo won’t share the nest forever.

Antwerp’s Ommegang Festival all kinds of goings on captured as the two couples revel

Before departure from port, we catch a glimpse of Antwerp’s Ommegang Festival. There is a giant fish pulled by horses dressed in fish scales and with a cupid sat on top, spraying the cheering crowds in honour of a whale that swam up Scheldt River to be greeted warmly by the local fishermen. Then there are legends such as the giant Druon Antigoon who had his hand chopped off by local hero Brabo and who here towers over his carriers. The ceremony originated in the 14th century and was, at the time, run only every 25 years: a delightful slice of bizarre Belgium life.

From Antwerp they head up river to Tamise (the French name for Temse) where the railway bridge still survives. They disembark for some sightseeing and shopping offering a fascinating view of the fish market.  Michel makes his move for Marthe and there’s a terrifically tense picnic on the deck as Marthe glows, Michel looks shifty, Griet appraises and Pierre is oblivious. All four characters are so well defined and played - defined almost instantly by director and performer.

André Antoine and old lace

Antoine had many years of theatre direction and clearly knew how to get the best out of his actors even when they were not so experienced: without checking I’ve no idea which of the cast was the least experienced so well do they play.

The two couples attend a funfair and there is a precious sequence in which they go to have their photographs taken using a variety of popular props, a horse and cart and an airplane. These shots do indeed feel candid as if the performance veneer fell away when faced with photo formalities. But we know the type of poses as some of us are lucky enough to have our grand and great-grand parents in similar shots: on their best behaviour addressing the new world behind the lens.

A funny sequence that is just so meta, darlings 

They travel on towards Ghent and there is an accident when Michel hurts his hand when lowering one of the barge’s sails, Marthe rushes to bind the wound: did he do this deliberately? He eyes Marthe up and down and clearly has eyes for the elder sister. He sneaks over the boats at dusk and catches sight of Marthe wrapping herself in the lace she bought in Antwerp; the camera lingers and there’s something sensuous about this smuggling…

Pierre and Marthe head off to shore leaving Marthe and Michel alone, he takes plunge in the hold, but she pushes him away in disgust: if she didn’t know before she does now. As they approach the French border… Marthe tells all she knows to Pierre – Michel is not the man he thought he could trust. They make their way past customs but as Michel invites his captain to get drunk at Kruydewier’s Bar he plans his move for the prize… 

But, no spoilers!

Antoine handles the drama with the same ease as the documentary and pastoral leaving an ending that is all the more impactful for its simplicity. Like everything else we’ve seen; it is believable.

It was a treat to watch this film on the big screen and a print in far better quality than the rubbishy nth-transfer VHS I had previously seen. It deserves a digital release and the music of Elizabeth and Stephen would be the perfect score to accompany that too.

It is always a treat to watch silent films at the Barbican and it remains perhaps my favourite venue not least for the comfy chairs but also the amazing range of films commissioned by Robert Rider the soon to depart Head of Cinema: I would thank him for so many great screenings over the years and wish him all good fortune in his new role. Whoever takes over, if they have half of Robert's commitment and energy we'll be in for more treats in 2019!

Good Day… Sunrise (1927), with Elizabeth-Jane Baldrey, National Centre for Early Music, York, Yorkshire Silent Festival

I have waited so long to see this film screened and with live accompaniment. Normally the film is shown with its score from the early talkie period - Sunrise being one of the first feature films with a synchronized musical and sound effects soundtrack - but as it is one of the toppermost films of the silent canon, I just had to see it done proper… and I couldn’t have chosen a lovelier venue or a better accompanist.

Elizabeth-Jane Baldrey gets more sonic variation from her harp than you’d expect; not only does she use the frame for percussion (fingers tapping to create the skin-crawling sound of scampering rats for Nosferatu…), she hits groups of strings with her palm to generate atonal power chords, picks off the harmonic sweet spots with alacrity – hard enough on a six-string – and genuinely creates a singular cinematic language from bliss to bedlam. She can even vary the tension on the strings using the foot pedal to create a kind of metallic sound: I have seen the future of accompaniment and it could be 47 string grunge!!

Margaret Livingston

She was on super form with Sunrise, and as with most of us, Janet Gaynor’s toupee aside, feels it is deservedly in high regard. She mixed improvisations with some lovely pre-scoring – honestly, if you don’t feel the fear when big George looms over tiny Janet in the boot, or, darn it, cry a tear, when the two finally re-connect, then you’re probably in the phantom zone. But Baldry doesn’t over-play the positive emotion in the film and the surprise, if you haven’t seen harp accompaniment before, is just how dark it can go.

Murnau’s film is a fable and as such has various elements of traditional Teutonic fairy stories, Grimm though they be. Yes, George O’Brien’s Man falls all too readily under the spell of the Woman form the City (Margaret Livingstone) but she has put a spell on him; a female version of Nosferatu whose silken stockings and knock-out undergarments, make him incapable of reason.

He agrees to kill his sweet wife because he is under the control of this jazz-age succubus, his assignations are even in the swamps, hardly the kind of place to charm a regular flapper: there is demonic power at play and Janet Gaynor’s Wife knows just by the dark shadow cast by her huge husband that all sense of himself has left.

George O'Brien towers over Janet Gaynor

After he pulls back, he repeatedly says “don’t be frightened of me” … a mantra with little persuasion given his actions and it’s only when the couple are thrown together by the alien world of the city that they begin to discover each other again. They go to a hair salon where George gets a shave and Janet hold on to her wig for dear life. When glamourous Jane Winton (a small but key role) arrives to offer the strapping lad a manicure – way to “un-sex” him now – he looks down in horror and declines and it’s another sign that he’s coming to his senses.

The two head to a nightclub after George rescues and escaped piglet (long story) and the band plays a peasant tune allowing the tow to show the townies what real dancing is: it’s a romantic display between two lovers and the jaded jazzers step back in respect. Oddly, one man keeps on replacing the shoulder straps of a slinky lady next to him, almost as if the couple’s dance has raised the bar of morality…

The couple walk through Murnau’s carefully choreographed streets as traffic passes them by and they even end up in an imagined field of blossoms. They are making their own reality.

The City sleeps as they walk

 When they get their photographs taken, it is not in a formal pose but in a clinch the photographer is delighted to capture. He seen enough posturing and recognises unconditional expression when he sees it.

All the other drama is there to enable this sunrise of a new devotion and naturally Murnau creates a universe of unreal perspectives – part set/part camera angles – architecture from a Europe left behind and a city of dreams and impossible structure – models in the foreground and at the back to create impossible depths and the impression of an endless city in constant flow. Amongst this emerge two humans in song, once more in perfect accord despite his mad moments of doubt.

It's interesting to compare with Murnau’s later City Girl which also features a young couple under pressure only they are very much in the real world of economics and more everyday wrong-doings. Sunrise has maybe more in common with the same director’s Faust?

George passes the Jane Winton test...

Technically it is a, frequently astonishing, film with those forced perspectives – gauze was used in the windows of some city scenes in order to reveal the extraordinary elaboration beyond. The two cinematographers, Charles Rosher and Karl Struss, maximise the anxious angularities and there are countless dolly shots as they cut through scenes placing the viewer deep within the heart of the interior stories of lives defined by locations: from the secret meeting with the seductress in the swamps to city streets melting away to reveal those blossoms.

In truth there's so much to discuss about the film, even weighed down by the expectations of its enduring reputation, this is a film with very high levels of content from all parties. I even watched it again just to grab these few images... result hundreds of screen shots that are all mini-marvels in their own right.

The peasant dance is completely free of city formalities - just pure passion

The storm at the end is pathetic fallacy in excelsis completing the lover’s journey with the final test of fate and faith. Elizabeth-Jane’s harp flowed alongside the conflagration and in contrapuntal opposition to thunder-cracks and flash. In her hands the harp is so flexible, fragile and fierce; the perfect instrument for Murnau’s timeless fantasy.

While George and Janet perform so well we shouldn’t overlook the playing of Margaret Livingston who gets her clutches into the country boy but is surely driven by something more than malice; Murnau always had a soft spot for his vampires.

The National Centre for Early Music is situated adjacent to the 11th century St Margaret's Church,  which today was illuminated by the almost unnatural sunlight of a York spring day; sun streaming through the churchyard trees across hundreds of bluebells still in full bloom. A splendid place and one serving York Minster Ale… the scene was well set.

Sunrise is available on Blu-ray and DVD combo from Eureka, but I’d gladly swap all of that for this experience of FWM and E-JB in the EMC at YSFF18.

Full details of the excellent programme for this year is available on the Festival's website. 

No, er, not the hair... it's erm, a very special cut...