Swanson Summer… Zaza (1923), Kino Lorber Blu-ray

The fastest, easiest, most enjoyable picture I ever made…

Gloria Swanson

 

There’s a buzz about Gloria Swanson what with a UK premier of a new restoration of Queen Kelly* and a cracking book about the film fresh on bookshelves** but, then again, there’s always been a buzz around Gloria. What strikes you so often about the primary stars of this enduring medium is the sheer kinetic energy displayed in service to the narrative, the action and the story. They had faces then of course but they had to radiate and then they had to mime: no portion of the screen was uncovered and no doubt was left in audience’s minds of the feelings on display.

Gloria was, of course, one of the golden generation of short actors, arching her back and standing on tippy toes to gain a fraction of an inch when measured against Mary, Mabel or Viola Dana. Lord knows what they were feeding them in Brooklyn, but the Talmadges were almost supernaturally tall at 5ft 5” and therefore probably unbeatable in the inter-studio netball league (if there was one).

But no matter how big they were, the harder they fell if they were playing alongside Gloria and this film features a couple of catty skirmishes with Mary Thurman (5ft 4”) who goes down just as quickly as Bebe Daniels (5ft 4”) in Why Change Your Wife? (1920). Gloria is too swift, has lightning combinations and goes in harder every time and, as Zaza, the talk of Parisian nightlife, she is peerless and fearless. Thurman plays Florianne, a singer just below Zaza on the bill and in the pecking order, who loathes her more popular rival as much as the men love her but she’s a tryer, we have to give her that.

Watch out for a swinging right hook Yvonne!

The film opens with a title card invoking the spirit of Zazas past on stage and on screen – Rajane, Duse, Leslie Carter, Farrar - before introducing another – “a modern and tempestuous Zaza – the Zaza of today – “, who is to be found in a small provincial theatre not far from the capital. The new sensation dominates the bill and backstage as well and we find Zaza in a dressing-room tizz as Gloria establishes her star’s quality by playfully bullying her loyal assistant Nathalie (Yvonne Hughes) when she can’t find the silk gown she’s actually wearing. She blames her anyway then smiles a crafty smile and drops a tip on the dresser. She’s somewhat less forgiving of the stage manager and crew, not to mention Florianne whose head-dress offends her as she peers through the safety curtain spyhole and so she plucks part of it out.

Director Alan Dwan sets a Fairbanks-frenetic pace as you’d expect and how else to establish the presence of Zaza who has to be a stage stunner even in silence and with her motivations only hinted at. Opening at the Théâtre du Vaudeville in Paris, in May 1898, Pierre Berton and Charles Simon’s play contains a backstory that is not present in Hollywood, not even implied, with Zaza having been a prostitute before escaping to success in the music hall. But don’t worry, things do get a little "French"… but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Gloria abides

Zaza casts a spell on her audience and one of those enthralled is the rich gentleman Bernard Dufresne (H. B. Warner) who comes to the theatre every night to stare adoringly at the petit star as she swings high over the audience in a very literal attempt to make her jump out of the screen. Technically these are so well filmed with the camera above Gloria as her swing moves to and fro at alarming speed, the cinematographer must have been moving exactly in parallel motion probably on a cherry picker or some other device, not looking down and cranking with all of his might to capture the action below.

 

Zaza’s swing is very impressive but it’s also her biggest weakness as Florianne cuts one of the ropes which frays and snaps during a performance throwing the star to the ground below and breaking her leg. Besotted Bernard takes command and arranges for the best surgeons in all of France to make her well again but she must spend a long time convalescing in his rural retreat and one thing leads to another… as it was always likely to do!

Gloria and HB Warner in the press

Yet there’s more than one twist in this particular tail as Bernard’s full situation is revealed and heads may have to rule over hearts. You really have to watch it to find out as Gloria gets to show us her dramatic range – her true superpower – emoting in ways that few could accomplish. But it’s not just her face, she is physically expressive despite not being a dancer, and has a natural pep and swagger that fills the screen and draws the eye.

The film is also splendid vehicle for Swanson as a clothes horse with stunning designs from a young Norman Norell who, recently graduated from the Pratt Institute in Brooklyn where he studied fashion design, joined Paramount in 1922. He worked with Gloria and also with Valentino before the film business moved to Hollywood and he then would go on to have a huge career in fashion right the way into the early 1970s.

Gloria's glorious gowns!

His remarkable talents are well on display here and you couldn’t ask for a finer clothes horse than Swanson who wears his creations as extensions of her character’s personality. You don’t need to be tall to wear haute couture on screen, just natural grace, main character poise and Zaza-vroom energy!

This contributes to the film’s joys and, later on, acts as a counter point to the difficult choices Zaza must make as life moves from on stage and in stalls, to bucolic family settings. Love is love but there are many forms as she will discover…

The music is from Jeff Rapsis and is based on the original cue sheets from 1923 which takes us close to the original musical experience of audiences watching. It’s a 2.0 DTS-HD MA sound mix so hi-fidelity way beyond 1923 but all the better for filling your living room with Jeff’s expert extemporisation and practiced feel for the period and the musical sentiment of this joyful film. 

An excellent package all round from Kino-Lorber and apologies for only taking the nine years to watch and review it! NOW is the time though, now is Swanson Summertime!

*BFI 20^th September and tickets go onsale 6th August - there's also an introduction from Pamela Hutchinson author of…

**The Curse of Queen Kelly, (Sticking Place Books) – you can order from here or the BFI Shop and don’t forget to bring them along for signing on 20^th!

Gloria expects you on 20th... NO excuses!

Feline spooky… The Cat and the Canary (1927), Kennington Bioscope with Jeff Rapsis

This film is not so much a horror classic but a major step forward in spooky-comedy, paving the way not just for Bob Hope’s talkie remake but a whole sub-genre of scarily-funny movies. Paul Leni’s film looks great and takes many visual tropes from the German style and injects laughs into the resultant combination of eerie unease. From the opening titles, showing the title revealed by a horned hand wiping away the dust, it makes its intentions known and it really does achieve that balance between the unexpected, the unnerving and the uncannily-timed.

This being the Bioscope, we were treated to a watch of Kevin Brownlow’s own 35mm, one that resulted from his own restoration for Photoplay. We also got an introduction full of the insider jokes and insights from the man who – nearly – met the all, capturing silent stars on tape from the fifties to the eighties and preserving the oral history of the birth of film.

Guest pianist Jeff Rapsis had flown over from Boston in the morning and was full of praise for the Bioscope – and it’s (thankfully) ongoing contribution to keeping alive the art of improvised accompaniment for which a live audience is just essential. “I have no sheet music, I have nothing prepared I just go with the film and the audience…”

Courageous Creighton Hale

The film had long languished in poor quality but in the 1960s KB found a good print and restored it from 35mm nitrate it parodies the horror film, which hadn’t really started to dominate, although it was popular on stage, where this story began John Willard’s 1923 stage play. KB interviewed the camera man, Gilbert Warrenton, who told him that they had to dig into the floor to get the right angles. Extra lights were also needed to create the right dynamics between dark and shard.

Leni used a gong to drill his play’s movements and claimed that the shadows were as important to the film as the characters… and so it was to prove. Kevin also got to talk with the film’s striking star, Laura la Plante, was too shy to be interviewed and by that time had forgotten every detail apart from the costumes. Ultimately, he feels that The C&C is a commercial film, superbly well-made and one that is critically under-recognised, certainly it had a major influence on the Universal horrors of the thirties, especially James Whale’s Cold Dark House.

Martha Mattox feels the chills

It starts with a dark and stormy night, as it simply had to, but the director of Waxworks and collaborator with Lubitsch, May, Dupont and a host of European film-makers, knew what he was doing… The opening section shows mad old Cyrus West’s spires cross fade into milk bottles which imprison him, wheelchair bound, as viscous black cats encircle this crippled canary: his greedy relatives waiting to get their share of his fortune all, as set out in his will, to be unveiled twenty years after his death.

The action moves to the interior of the West mansion and Leni treats us to the works, wonderfully lit settings with Gilbert Warrenton’s camera swooping round corners with alarming grace then careering down blustery corridors as drapes and curtains fly wildly in the wind. This is a place full of dark surprise, bad humour and menace.

There’s a knock on the old door and West’s faithfully grim retainer, Mammy Pleasant (Martha Mattox) – not very motherly or, indeed, pleasant – opens the door which is almost held back by sheer weight of cobwebs. Enter Roger Crosby (Tully Marshall) West’s lawyer, here on the dot, two decades after his death to reveal the contents of the will. Opening the safe he finds a moth and knows someone has forewarned themselves of the contents… but no one else has been in the house only Mammy and her un-living companion who stares down with intent from his portrait.

Laura La Plante

The guests, all soon to be suspects, all save the murdered… arrive and Leni gives us portraits of people with something to hide; eyes darting, greed nervously bubbling just under the surface and desperation enough to make anyone of them suspicious. There’s Harry Blythe (Arthur Edmund Carewe) who’s already dark eyes take on additional edginess and who almost snarls as his estranged cousin Charles "Charlie" Wilder (Forrest Stanley) arrives. Charles has more regular features but nervousness around the eyes and a mouth that suggests weakness and desperation.

Their more senior cousin Susan Sillsby (Flora Finch) arrives with her niece Cecily Young (Gertrude Astor) both clinging on to the hope that there will be a windfall to compensate for the many obvious disappointments that have etched themselves on their faces: Susan old with bitterness and Cecily just on the cusp as youth fades. Cue the comedy. Paul Jones (Creighton Hale) arrives in a miss-firing motor car, breaking to avoid crossing the path of a black cat and then running into the house convinced his engine’s back-fire was an assassin’s bullet. He’s no Bob Hope but he’s funny alright.

The entourage is completed by the arrival of Annabelle West (Laura La Plante) – youngest of the group and seemingly as sane as sixpence. La Plante takes top billing on the film and had some of the sharpest haircuts in all of silent film.

Gertrude Astor and Flora Finch are shocked!

Anna is revealed as the sole beneficiary and becomes the Canary and the trick is to work out who the Cat(s) might be with pretty much everyone looking as guilty as can be… personally I was hoping it might be Creighton Hale. The mysterious deaths begin to happen, sliding panels start to reveal clawed hands and an escaped lunatic is revealed to be on the loose. What’s more, Annabelle must be proven sane in order to qualify for her prize or else her inheritance will go to another.

Who’ll it be? And will anyone from this strange family emerge as the unlikely hero to protect the true heir? There’s the usual miss-direction and emotional disturbance of the humour but it’s still a fun watch: golden rule of all whodunits… make ‘em all look guilty and then gradually provide them with alibis/good character.

Jeff Rapsis brought a confident narrative-driven dynamism to his accompaniment, different from UK players or just a man with his own style? The top players go world-wide and so this is music without boundaries and here he was perhaps more influenced by the film’s origins as much as he was last year when playing for Salt for Svanetia (1930).

He gave it his all and came good on his stated aim of recreating the tone and collective response to this wonderfully funny and slightly scary film!

Michelle Facey and Meg Morley - two cool cats!

There were further feline treats in the first half tonight with lots of Felix the Cat films celebrating the mad-cat adventurer’s centenary. We saw Felix in Hollywood – even Mr Brownlow couldn’t spot all the characters… and snatched of a documentary on the cat’s cool creator.

Meg Morley accompanied and then played accompaniment to the popular hit, Felix Keeps on Walking, for the Bioscope’s resident chanteuse, Michelle Facey, to sing. Michelle sells these songs so well and I think we have the beginnings of a regular spot here… Pamela Hutchinson famously described the Bioscope as London’s Silent Speakeasy and will molls like Michelle and Meg, we only need some feathers and more-illicit hooch and we’re there!! It brings the music to life, a human voice singing clearly in the new, old-fashioned way.

Brava!!

Felix learns the Black Bottom from Ann Pennington

Our guides through the life of Felix, Glenn Mitchell and Dave Wyatt

Special relationships… Salt for Svanetia (1930), Kennington Bioscope with Jeff Rapsis

“Our economic plan is stronger than religion and custom…” cheer inappropriately dressed soviet workers – think that first Boyzone TV appearance or In the Navvy… as they sing their way to Svanetia crashing a road through forest, mountain and unproductive agricultural landscapes.

Salt is so scarce in isolated Svanetia that cows gather round urinating farm hands in order to drink the salty outpourings whilst wolves lick the salt from new born babes rather than eating them… This is all to be found in Mikhail Kalatozov’s remarkable docu-drama, which starts off with history and ends up with hysteria as if the makers had suddenly remembered their brief and tried to cram an hour’s worth of propaganda into ten minutes.

Salt for Svanetia is a superbly-crafted film with outstanding cinematography from Shalva Gegelashvili and Mikhail Kalatozov showing the extraordinary lifestyle of the rural communities of the Svan people in remote mountain village of Ushguli in Svanetia – somewhere to the far North-East of Josef Stalin’s home state of Georgia. The Svan live off the land in huge towers that have traditionally been a defence against incursions and now they stand as a monument to their splendid isolation from the rapid industrialisation and social engineering of Stalin’s Republic.

Whilst the state was starving the land to feed growing cities, the Svan are shown making their own clothes, painfully cutting wool from goats, spinning it and making felt hats. They work the land using archaic tools and initially their life seems peaceful and calm. And yet… there is no salt and the men have to risk their lives clambering over mountains to bring salt to the people…

Maybe salt depravation affects the mind… as the Svan suddenly appear in the grip of religious mania as they form a long deranged line burying “a rich man”. They throw their money and themselves into his grave, slaughter cattle and horses in tribute to their archaic gods then callously exile a woman about to break the ban on giving birth during funerals…

The women don’t actually want to give birth and would rather die… if only there was salt. If only there was a road! …and some muscular singing workmen!!

Worry not as the camp constructionists are on their way…

In the Navvy...

None of this detracts from the film’s power and with its Flaherty-styled set pieces it not only showcases a disappearing way of life but entertains with forceful imagery in this stunning setting. No wonder Andrei Tarkovsky thought it amazing.

This was the second year of the first Five Year Plan which, if memory serves, took seven years with more misery to follow with the second Plan – millions died of starvation as Stalin focused on industrialisation and Dekulakization, the process of removing the wealthier peasants from the land with or without salt.

The Bioscope welcomed a guest accompanist Jeff Rapsis who had flown in from Boston in the morning. There was little sign of jet lag as he worked the keys with expert ease throughout helping to underscore the scale and wonders of the visuals whilst tracking the cock-eyed narrative moods. There’s something special about the relationship between live music and film…

David Shepard

Given the recent death of silent film historian David Shepard it was good to have one of his fellow countrymen playing and one who knew him personally. Mr Shepard was passionate about live screenings and, as Amran Vance reminded us in his moving tribute, helped preserve many of the films we have been lucky enough to see at the Bioscope. Another one of those relationships that go way beyond the bounds of the less than exceptional.

If Salt was a bright and shiny Russian doll, there should be no surprise in finding three smaller but equally wondrous ones underneath it.

The Voice of the Nightingale (1923)

The evening began with a remarkable stencil-coloured short, The Voice of the Nightingale (1923) from Wladyslaw Starewicz – a fable of young girl who accidentally traps a nightingale and then is driven by dreams to let him free. Who knows why the nightingale sings? He sings for thee my friend…

Then Chris Bird introduced two films he has helped preserve and propagate with the aid of the increasingly legendary Fritzi Kramer who runs the outrageously excellent blog MoviesSilently. Both films were made by Russian emigres, who had escaped to France on a ship called The Albatross after the revolution.  They named their production company after their ship and from which they made The House of Mystery, Le Brasier Ardent (1923), Kean (1924) and so many excellent features.

Ivan in L’Enfant du carnaval - screen grab from Movies Silently

The first tonight was Child of the Carnival (1921) featured Fritzi’s main man, Ivan Mosjoukine. It only survives as a 9.5mm home cinema version which compressed five reels into one often cutting out key scenes and characters to speed up the story telling. Still, there was enough to see the debonair M. ease his way with trademark charm through forced adoption of a child he presumes to be the result of a wayward dalliance. The baby’s mother is brought in by his scheming manservant – clearly trying to make a man out of him - and, waddaya know, it just might work.

Lillian Henley played along for these films and borrowed some melodies from the nightingale and effortless elegance from Ivan.

The KB poster using artwork from Fritzi Kramer - follow the link for Fritzi's review

Next was Tales of the One Thousand and One Nights (1921) directed by the inestimable V. Tourjansky and starring his partner Nathalie Kovanko and Nicholas Rimsky. Shot extensively in Tunisia the film looked grand despite again being from an incomplete copy – again 9.5mm and tinted. It’s such a joy to hear the projector whirl round 80-year old celluloid: so much warmer than digital, new light casting old shadows… actual magic!

The story is the familiar one of Scheherazade telling tales to prevent herself falling victim to the Sheik’s habit of killing his brides on their wedding night (something tells me he’s missed the whole point…). Her stories feature young lovers, Kovanko and Rimsky and their efforts to remain faithful to each other and Allah… an unbeatable combination or at least they need to be...

Meg Morley accompanied with some lovely Arabian flavours and romantic major chords; there’s something primal about the Arabian Nights both in terms of the form and the appeal, and she caught it perfectly with misirlou minims and sandy semibreves...

Another excellent programme from the Bioscope and films you simply won’t see screened anywhere else anytime soon!

Both of these films are available to view online via YouTube and you can see more of the extraordinary work Bird and Kramer are doing on Chris Bird's channel here as well as Movies Silently for which my blog envy knows no bounds!

You can also find out more about Jeff Rapsis' music on his website here.