The funniest woman in the World… Exit Smiling (1926), Meg Morley, Kennington Bioscope 2nd Silent Laughter Weekend

The Cinema Museum’s redoubtable tour guide, Morris Hardcastle, was offering his hand at £50 per shake given he had once shook Charlie Chaplin’s hand, for David Robinson and Kevin Brownlow he was suggesting a bargain £100 given the number of silent performers these two have met over the years. But before Exit Smiling, our final film of the packed, inspirational Saturday programme, Mr Robinson told us of meeting its inimitable star, Beatrice Lillie at a screening of the film at the BFI in the late 1960’s and raised the stakes once more. 

David said she was often described as the funniest woman in the World and on that night in her seventies she still dazzled in unpredictable ways slaying the audience and laughing throughout the screening: “she’s very good, she does things the way I do them!” she remarked at her younger self… a one-off performer with unique timing and sense of the ridiculous and yet who could also reduce you to tears (with or without an onion…).

In her excellent, in-depth introduction, Michelle Facey related the opinions of Chaplin and Keaton on this Anglo-Canadian marvel including the latter sleeping outside her hotel room door – a slapstick guard of honour for this toweringly-talented Torontian. Sadly (for us) Hollywood couldn’t easily cast this quirky and stunningly individual talent and, for this and no doubt several other reasons (maybe she just didn’t want to?) this was Bea’s only silent film and she made few after, much preferring the more interactive and improvisational freedoms of the stage.

Tonight, we watched not only Kevin Brownlow’s 16mm copy of Exit Smiling but, as it turned out, Miss Lillie’s own, so I’d make that another £50 for shaking the hand of projectionist Dave Locke.

Beatrice Lillie and Jack Pickford

We are truly blessed by these associations with the silent past and also by expert accompaniment from the Bioscope Players. Meg Morley, a jazz musician by night and, a silent film accompanist by er, other nights, played along with a thoroughly modern mix of jazz-age themes and improvised scoring that sound for all the world like it’s been months in the preparation. I always imagine the music as a duet and Bea is such a graceful performer with a dancer’s arm extensions and amazing timing, that the music followed suit; to this extent Meg riffed with Bea and took some bold decisions along the way (a flash of Carmen for the vamping!) enjoying the tones as much as the audience.

I’ve previously raved about the actress and the film here if you want a fuller synopsis. I'd watched the Warner Archives DVD but, as ever, it's still a treat to see this film on screen especially in what Ms P. Hutchinson once described as a silent speakeasy: this crowd are fascinating as well as fascinated and all respect the subject.

Raymond Griffith and Vera Reynolds not in a night club...

With Miss Lillie tonight and Mabel Normand last week, it’s easy to forget that men can also be funny too… The day opened with Raymond Griffith in The Night Club (1925) a film that didn’t actually feature a club but as Kevin Brownlow’s introduction made clear, had been logged down as a title before script or even story. Block-booking in advance meant that there had to be a film of this title and so it was squeezed into the first title card as a gentlemen’s club dedicated to avoiding marriage.

Griffith’s character get’s jilted at the alter as his fiancé’s ex returned at the last minute from a presumed death on a desert island and so keen was he to marry that he tries to ban all women from his life. His fortune turns when an uncle dies and leaves him a million, but the condition is that he must marry his second cousin (Vera Reynolds).

He heads off for foreign climes only to find not only bump into but fall in love with Vera’s character, but things get awkward when they both realised, and she miss-hears his intentions. There’s a nice cameo from Wallace Beery (a bad-tempered Mexican) and an even better one from Louise Fazenda who plays his “Carmen” for whom he would kill whether you pay him or not.

Griffith is so watchable, he takes everything in his stride – even this daft script – with a wide-eyed smile and a look straight to the audience. Costas Fotopolous joined in the fun on piano, twinkling the ivories in sympathy with Raymond's knowing gaze. 

Henrietta Watson, Pauline Johnson and the impossibly youthful Leslie Howard

Then we had Tony Fletcher’s traditional sweep through rare and early British film and a revelation to me with a silent and very young Leslie Howard in Bookworms (1920). Based on a scenario from AA Milne (yes, him) it told the story of a young chap, Richard (Howard) and his attempts to woo his neighbour Miranda Pottlebury (Pauline Johnson) away from her over-protective Aunt and Uncle. The Pottlebury’s all use the local library and Richard starts to leave notes in books they order in the hope of communicating with the girl of his fancy… The results are gently amusing, and it is a very charming film with glimpses of post-War English gardens and sitting rooms.

A Fugitive Futurist (1924) was your standard time-travelling con which did feature some interesting special affects showing London as it will be in the future… a derelict Strand and water-filled Trafalgar Square are, of course, only just around the corner now thanks to Brexit…

Lillian Hall-Davis, Sybil Rhoda, Humberston Wright and Phyllis Neilson-Terry in Boadicea (1927)

Starlings of the Screen (1925) featured a host of young gals looking for fame with the Stoll Picture Company, including Sybil Rhoda who was to feature in Hitchcock’s Downhill as well as Boadicea (1927) – her favourite performance – with Lillian Hall-Davis.  Various screen tests are featured including professionals such as Moore Marriott playing alongside the hopefuls who include Molly Weeks, Phyllis Garton, Nancy Baird and Shailagh Allen but Sybil wins and gets the part of Melody Rourke in Sahara Love (1926).

“Look at all that sand, dozens of it…”

Crossing the Great Sagrda (1924) is almost indescribable; a mock ethno-graphical film with title cards that could have been written by a Goon had they yet been invented. It featured sand courtesy of Blackpool Borough Council and free-form intertitles each one attributed to a different film company. Whatever it was about, I liked it and I laughed.

Almost as barmy was Beauty and the Beast (1922) featuring Guy Newall as The Beast and Ivy Duke as… you can guess. Meg Morley brought musical method to all the madness.

After lunch it was time to cut to the Chase, Charlie Chase… as Matthew Ross took us through some more highlights from the second coolest silent comic who was so much his own man any comparison belittles his suave majesty.

Charlie helps a pal pull his car out from a muddy patch and ends up losing his own car to Hal Roache’s ACME mud pool and then goes in a brilliantly desperate search of trousers in The Way of all Pants (1927). The session ended with plastic-surgery farce Mighty Like a Moose (1927) which is a work of World-cultural significance.

Mr Sweeney stayed cool at the keys and kept pace with the Chase.

Monty Banks bronze medalist in the Freestyle Moustache 

Then in a surprise entry for moustache of the day (he came third…), Monty Banks twitched his winning ways through A Perfect Gentleman (1927). You can’t fail to like Monty in this well-balanced comedy, as he chases around a ship trying to prove his innocence after having crashed his own wedding inadvertently drunk and then doubled his disgrace by being accused of robbing his former fiancé’s father’s bank. Not the day’s first wedding nor the last bank robbery. 

Costas was really on the beat for this lightweight charmer and he was clearly enjoying himself as his punchy lines accompanied Banks' every pratfall.

The KB weekenders are great for bringing attention to performers such as Banks and Griffiths, but we were about to be reminded of the sheer excellence of one of those who is deservedly still widely remembered. Four commentators were given the essentially impossible task of choosing a favourite moment from a Buster Keaton film.

Even married to the star, Natalie Talmadge wonders why sisters Constance and Norma always had easier gigs...

David Robinson chose the breath-taking closing scenes from Our Hospitality (1923) when our hero rescues Natalie Talmadge from the rapids, a waterfall and over-bearing relatives. Then Kevin Brownlow’s choice was the Tong war from The Cameraman including a mini-tribute to the camerawork in Intolerance I hadn’t previously spotted.

Poly Rose (known to many on The Twitter, as The Flying Editor) is a film editor (natch) who revealed some secrets about Keaton’s own editing for Sherlock Junior. It takes one to know one and it was fascinating to see how this mind-boggling segment was constructed through double exposure. Publicity stills, and contemporary reviews also suggest that there were other versions of Buster’s somnambulant transition from what we see, Keaton test screened his work and fine-tuned the brilliance.

Last up was David Macleod, broadcaster and president of the Blinking Buzzards, the UK Keaton Society, who has written extensively on the comedian’s sound films which extend far beyond his relatively-short silent period. He chose the pulsating climax to Steamboat Bill Jr (1928) as our hero literally risked life and limb in a town torn apart by hurricanes and another extraordinary river rescue.

Buster to the rescue as Marion Byron clings on in Steemboat Bill Jnr

John Sweeney accompanied and once again demonstrated extraordinary fluidity for those river-chase sequences but most of all he really Keatoned those keyboards!

A day of pure concentrated silent bliss – where else would we see these films and hear these musicians?! Thankyou Bioscope and the Cinema Museum.

The Way of all Pants!

Hitch and Shlomo at the NFT - Downhill (1927)

Annette Benson, Robin Irvine and Ivor Novello

This was the fifth of the BFI's superb silent Hitchcock restorations and featured arguably the most daring choice of live score from beatboxer Shlomo.

The audience crammed into NFT 1 to watch what could have been a messy culture clash between the silent expressionism of our master director and the vocalisations of the man dubbed the Harry Potter of Beatbox. Hipsters to the left of me, cineasts to the right...  would this be a hip-hop too far?

Not quiet: it was edgy and occasionally unbalanced but it also reinforced the sharp humour in the story and
created a new emotional blend for the film. It was a bit risky but that helped to remind you that, in 1927, this wasn't a sure fire hit film from one of our greatest ever directors, but a very early step in the young man's hectic career: only his fifth film and one begun in haste after he'd already started his next feature...

Ivor Novello and Norman McKinnel

So, the 28-year old beatbox innovator and dynamo from Bucks meets the 28-year old cinematic mash-up artist and creative whirlwind from the East End... who gave off the most energy and which one's actually more street?

In truth the balance between the silence and the sound was not always maintained. The music did sometimes intrude on the story and in this context at least, it was occasionally a little loud - especially the bass (impressive though it was!). But mostly it worked well and really clicked for certain sequences... the rugby, the music hall... the illicit dancing in Ye Olde Bunne Shoppe!

Dancing in the dark...

Shlomo didn't perform himself but had five amazing voices working together in total unity: Robin Bailey and Billy Boothroyd (tenors), Julie Kench (soprano), Harriet Syndercombe Court (alto) and Tobias Hug with that huge booming bass. They all pitched in with rhythmic sound but also sang exceptionally well - far from the DIY amateurism you might expect from this genre. But then Shlomo is no slouch, he's classically trained and an accomplished jazz drumer... he's worked with Bjork, Damon Albarn and the sainted Martha Wainwright amongst many others.

There were times when I thought that the score was too successful in musical terms and that this would be a great gig on its own. But, ultimately, the job was done well - the music and the images did succeed in creating a indivisible synthesis that was unique if not always smooth.

Sybil Rhoda

As for the film... Downhill is one of the restorations I've been keenest to see as it features Sybil Rhoda. Sybil is the great aunt of my friend Nicky and it is rare to find such a living connection to this period of cinema*. Nicky had talked about the film with her aunt who professed to having few memories of the experience and yet there she was sitting alongside Ivor Novello in near pristine quality.

Sybil died a few years ago but there's a lovely interview on The Guardian website she did in 2004 when she was 101. She lived a long and full life and was quite an ucompromising character by all accounts... what she would have made of Shlomo is hard to say...let alone the film's late start!

But it was a treat to have her great niece with us to watch this restoration.

Ivor Novello and Sybil Rhoda

Sybil plays the sister of  Tim Wakely (Robin Irvine), a public schoolboy who's best friend is rugby star and school captain, Roddy Berwick (Ivor Novello). She appears at the start of the film as the boys celebrate a rugby victory with a formal dinner. She encounters Roddy in the process of changing and chats with him during the meal.

But Roddy has many admirers and one of the waitresses, Mabel (Annette Benson, sizzling like a cockney Clara Bow), has designs on him. She arranges to meet with his mate Tim in the Bunne Shoppe hoping to ensnare one or the other.

Ivor Novello, Sybil Rhoda, Annette Benson and Robin Irvine

The three meet at the Shoppe and much dancing ensues. This is one of the film's best sequences and Hitchcock handles this teenage tryst with subtelty, lots of awkward interactions, false moves and shadow play as Mabel gets the one she can have but not the one she wants. A further assignation with Tim is arranged and clearly signposted on the shop door... wednesday half-day closing.

The meaning only becomes clear when the boys are summoned to the Head's office. Roddy turns in shock to see Mabel sitting behind him. she has come to accuse one of the boys of getting her pregnant... it was Tim but, in spite she points the finger at Roddy. His decency dictates that he takes the rap and he ensures his expulsion and the beginning of his life downhill...

Annette Benson

Thrown out of his home by his unforgiving father, Roddy decends down into the London Underground in a shot Hitchcock later felt was too obvious. It's still effective though and was surely worth the early morning shooting at Maida Vale tube station where the sign says "...to anywhere, quickest way, cheapest fare".

Ivor Novello... stage left

The next phase of Roddy's fall begins cleverly as the camera pulls back to reveal him wearing formal diner jacket, but he's a waiter... on stage... back in the minor places. Hitchcock has returned to his beloved music hall and this intelligent sequence says so much in just a few seconds.

Roddy is mixing with dubious theatricals, who soon contrive to liberate him of a lucky inheritance. He marries actress Julia (Isabel Jeans) who only has eyes on his new money and feathers her own nest whilst still seeing the brutish Archie (Ian Hunter of The Ring fame). Roddy is ruined and in his anger lays out Archie (which stretches credibility just a tad given their relative stature...).

Isabel jeans and Ian Hunter

He heads for France and the Moulin Rouge,"the world of lost illusions" and life as a "consort" who is loaned out to amuse lonely ladies of wealth. He meets a middle-aged poet (Violet Farebrother), who is understanding but then  the sudden illness of one of the revelers forces someone to pull the curtains wide and the empty debauchery of all those around him is revealed in dazzling sunlight.

Roddy hits absolute rock bottom in dingy Marseille where he looks to be near death... his motley cohabitants  return him to Britain in the hope of a reward but he escapes at the docks and make his delirious way home.

The sequences here are especially effective as all those who have dragged him down appear colluding in his waking dreams and his unforgiving father manifests as a deckhand and then a policeman. Hitchcock then shows the streets of London swirling in overlay as Roddy relives his downfall and fights the last few yards home... will he find redemption?

Downfall is a visually very coherent as you'd expect and has some excellent scenes utilizing expressionistic light and shade. It's not the strongest of stories and it is unsurprising that it started out as a play, co-written by Novello with Constance Collier.

Ivor Novello is superb as Roddy and is largely convincing as a schoolboy even though he was 34 at the time - he obviously relished the chance to run through the emotional gears. As has been noted, he is a male version of the Hitchcock blonde, with his extraordinary features perfectly suited to the cinematic process. But Annette Benson runs him close for visual intensity as the frustrated and vengeful Mabel.

And then there's Sybil... I'd like to hope that once the dust had settled, Roddy and her were able to continue their dinner conversation and then who knows...

Downfall is currently available on DVD but I'd hold off for the release of the restoration, which will hopefully have Shlomo's score. To find out more about his music visit his site Beatboxing Adventures.

*Having said that, Nicky's husband Mike, revealed that his father's second cousin used to clean the offices of the man who performed a hip replacement operation on Lillian Gish!

Post script... here's a stunning portrait of Sybil Rhoda taken from around this period - she was much in demand as a model. Copies are available from the BFI Printstore. Sybil was also in Boadicea (1928) starring alongside the great Lillian Hall-Davis as one of the daughters of the queen.

Sybil Rhoda