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.

Still packs a wallop! The Docks of New York (1928)

If they still made silent films today*… this is pretty much how they’d look: perfectly controlled lighting, smooth almost relaxed camera movements, intense, naturalistic performances with the odd nod and wink. A story about everyday extra-marital strife and hope in the form of a promise… Real people living easily-compromised lives on the brink but enjoying the moment or failing, falling away down into darkness…

Such was Josef von Sternberg’s singular vision from The Salvation Hunters onwards: a vision he was able to present with an almost unrivalled totality in The Docks of New York.

The camera floats into a dockside bar (The Sandbar) and moves into the heart of the action past rowdy customers and the flailing arms of lady entertainers… everything is happening at once with almost every actor in constant motion and yet our eyes are drawn to the arrival of a man in a leather cap. He spots a likely lass and goes over to join her for the evening yet, as he sits down he spots a couple amongst the dancing throng. She is peroxide blonde in her late thirties and making passionate advances to her younger partner. They kiss and she smiles in sexual triumph but the thoughts die the moment she spots the man: her husband…

Mr and Mrs Andy...

Such are the casual cruelties of this twilight world, more nakedly honest in its dark corners than any sunlit suburban sterility. The woman Lou (Olga Baclanova) and the man, Andy (Mitchell Lewis) are repenting at their leisure the mistakes of their hasty youth: it’s killing them both.

Winding back, the film begins in the stoking house of a large cargo ship back in the coal-fired days before oil-power made the job “fit for girls”… Nothing very feminine about Bill Roberts (George Bancroft) a mighty man who is confident in his own power: taking bold steps always under his own steam and whichever direction he wants to go.

The rescue...

Bill and his scrawny mate, "Sugar" Steve (Clyde Cook), have the night off before their ship sails and intend to make full use of it as they head for one of the shore-side dives.  A figure approaches the edge of the water and we see its reflection hesitate and then jump into the murky depths of the dock. Hearing the splash, Bill takes a measured leap and fishes out the would-be suicide: a young woman.

As his colleagues attempt to tend to her, Bill eyes up his catch and decides that it’s finder’s keepers. He carries her off to the bar where he gets Lou to help dry her off whilst he goes off and steals some dry clothes for her. Gradually we learn that the woman is called Mae (a luminous Betty Compson: well-worth saving) who has reached the end of her tether, much to Bill’s bemusement.

George Bancroft

Bill hits the bar and alpha males his way through the throng to the start of a very good time. Bancroft is superb as the stoker with an unyielding belief in his own animal strength – none of the doubts of the “weak” characters in The Salvation Hunters: he has maybe too much self-confidence: no plan just reacting to the instant.

Mae makes an entrance

Mae is well enough to join him in the bar and the two begin to recognise themselves in each other. The parallels with the older couple are clear and intentional and Andy, former cock of the walk, tries to exert his fading authority by luring Mae away. Bill sends him packing with a brief flash of aggression. An enemy is made and the grudge will be held.

Lou takes charge...just about

But the evening goes well and Bill decides that he likes Mae well enough to marry her: right there and then! They enlist of the aid of "Hymn Book" Harry (Gustav von Seyffertitz with another excellent turn as the possibly de-frocked priest still hanging onto his faith) to perform a ceremony of dubious legitimacy.

The wedding party...

The following morning it quickly emerges that Mae had wanted rather more out of things than her “husband” who is keen to resume his seafaring ways… but there’s a touching moment when she sews his pocket and you wonder if maybe there’s more here for Bill than he thinks.

It takes a major incident – which I won’t divulge – to force the issue as the forces of love-hate that have been amassing come to the fore…

I really enjoyed this film, perhaps even more so than other von Sternberg offerings. It’s a simpler story than either The Last Command or Underworld and is more purely romantic. The director is perhaps more fully in control of what we see than in either and the composition and camerawork is sumptuous.

He makes most of Bancroft’s natural assets whilst both female leads emerge as dry runs for Dietrich… obsessively lit and wearing their hearts of gold visibly on their sleeves. Olga Baclanova is superbly world-weary, recognising that history could be about to repeat itself is she really trying to save Andy for herself of save Mae from Andy?

Betty Compson

But Betty Compson is the special von Sternberg effect: her face haloed in soft white light - a mask barely concealing the last vestiges of her girlhood.

You really have to see The Docks of New York to fully appreciate its monochromatic magic: to see believable, emotional drama emerging clear from out of the shadows and fog. It is available as part of Criterion’s superb von Sternberg box set. It’s still available although often at inflated prices, so shop around: it’s worth it. Adapted from John Monk Saunders story The Dock Walloper, Docks still packs that punch.

*Yes, I know they do. The Artist sits proudly on my silent shelves and Blancanieves has just joined it: and how do they look?