Showing posts with label Viktor Tourjansky. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Viktor Tourjansky. Show all posts

Sunday, 9 October 2022

Fire and ice… Manolescu (1929), with John Sweeney, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto Streaming, Day Seven


We belong to each other, I would never let anyone else have you…


Brigitte Helm stands to the right of the screen, a dark shadow receding behind her on the wall as gradually she lowers her right arm with a fisted hand slowly unclenched as she realisation saps the energy from her body. The game is up, devasted and all alone, she’s out of focus and for the first time, off balance… is this it, is there no way back? Don’t bet on it.


Ivan Mosjoukine’s eye’s well up, the most well-honed tear ducts in all silent film, febrile emotion twitching across his mouth and brow, as truth dawns and resolution nears. How do these people lay emotion so bare that we still feel it after almost a century of artifice and the endless replaying of trope and technique? This story was old even when it was first told but I’m still in bits.


This is Fantasy Silent Film, a game in which the combination of two of the best strikers in cinema muto both score hattrick after hattrick combining in ways that seemed impossible especially to this viewer who had no idea they had ever played together. Manolescu… Ivan “The Cat” Mosjoukine versus Brigitte “The Panther” Helm in a battle for our eyeballs, our attention… our love. Honestly, you could have taken the script for Carry on Cabby and given it to these two and we’d all be collapsed in a pool of utter distraction. You want engagement well here he and she are…


Brigitte Helm

Director Viktor Tourjansky, had previously worked with fellow emigree Ivan Ilyich Mozzhukhin/ Mosjoukine on Michel Strogoff (1926) and also assisted Abel Gance for Napoléon (1927) and boy does it show. This film shows every late silent period trick in the book, from audacious single take shots of Brigitte and Ivan getting out of a car, walking across through hotel revolving doors and through reception, to mixing positive and negative during a dream sequence and following every movement and expression of the performers with a camera so mobile you could pin a tail on it and call it Rover!


It’s a feast for the eyes and mine are welling up because I wasn’t able to see it on the big screen BUT at least we have the Giornate’s Silent Stream and I’ve no doubt this will get a screening in GB soon enough. In addition to the performers we also get exteriors including the Alps, Paris and Monte Carlo… all beautifully captured by cinematographer Carl Hoffmann, who had some form, including Fritz Lang’s epic Die Nibelungen and Murnau’s Faust.


The story was adapted by Robert Liebmann and inspired by the true story of the Romanian fraudster George Manolescu, a notorious fixture of the Berlin press at the turn of the century and source for three other films. In this version, Manolescu is inspired to raise his criminal game after fleeing his debtors in Paris and meeting a femme most fatale in the form of feline Cleo (Brigitte Helm) on route to Monte Carlo. Cleo is being kept in the manner to which she is accustomed by the plump gangster Jack (Heinrich George). The two meet on a train and share a night’s intimacy after Cleo sneaks into George’s compartment to avoid the police who are on Jack’s trail.


Ivan Ilyich Mozzhukhin/ Mosjoukine

Needless to say the combination of George/Ivan and Cleo/Brigitte is absolutely electric with the elder actor’s inherent delicacies balanced by the uncanny flexibility of Helm’s physicality. He touches her and she bends her back, forcing that unbelievable profile at an awkward angle against the cabin seat as she tries to avoid him. You sense that he respected his co-stars, just a hunch, because there seems absolute trust on show. How else to explain their ease in creating sexual tension? Fire and ice but (coolest) cat on (cooler) cat!


Cleo always follows the money and dumps George at the station in Monte Carlo before he spots her in the street and finds his way to her hotel room. Jack’s arrival forces him to action especially when the thug pulls a gun and Cleo’s cries alert the police who finally get their man. Jack out of the way, George has only one way to keep his new girl and that’s to steal jewels from the old lady next door in order to provide a viable economic and amorous alternative for Cleo and the two quickly become partners in love and crime. There’s a lovely sequence later on when George’s disguises for his crime-spree to come are lined up like a deck of cards… it’s the romance of Riviera robbery; everybody loves a con in the sun.


The two move on to Paris where Cleo’s an irresistible object to many a moveable man, flaunting her powers in front of George; the two are alike but so different and whilst he can manipulate and emotionally defraud, she cannot help herself or perhaps she is less controlled. She’s not a soulless vamp though as we shall see; these two are, of course, a tragedy waiting to happen.



Sure enough Jack, out of prison, tracks them down and in a face off with George, fractures his skull with a heavy ornament, leaving Cleo shouting murder.


The film changes course… George wakes up in hospital being cared for by nice Nurse Jeanette (Dita Parlo); it’s the calm after the storm and, almost too calm if I’m honest but, and Parlo can hold her own in this company and is the catalyst for a change in the relationship between the two leads. Can these two leopards change their spots?

 

I am only fulfilling my duty as a nurse… (yeah, right sister)

This is a truly exceptional film with a sparkling digital restoration by the Friedrich-Wilhelm-Murnau-Stiftung which took over four years to combine as many original materials, in order to reconstruct the film according to the 1929 censorship certificate. All elements were scanned in 4K at L’Immagine Ritrovata as detailed in Luciano Palumbo’s notes on the Giornate site. What a job they did.

 

John Sweeney’s accompaniment wrapped itself around this film like the most luxurious of musical blankets, never strained but not just easy on the ear, as dynamic and quicksilver as the performers and the camerawork, duetting with Helm and Mosjoukine tonally, emotionally and stylistically. Oh to have been in the same room… Maybe not tomorrow but soon.

  

Jack of all trades, master too.

Thursday, 17 September 2015

A message from… Michel Strogoff (1926) with John Sweeney, British Silent Film Festival

The closing film on Day Two of the British Silent Film Festival and some of us were starting to flag and – in my case – were staring down the barrel of a lat-night return South down the M1… but, cometh the hour, cometh the film with its extraordinary star and cometh too the unfailing hands of Iron John Sweeney.

Michel Strogoff is one of the most famous products of the Russian ex-patriot community in French cinema and it is surprisingly hard to find making tonight’s screening a must-see or rather a Moz-see.

The Tartars
It is a film of scale and splendour which is lifted above the norm by extended sequences in Pathecolor – stencilled highlights over the dancers’ dresses in the ballroom sequence in the Tsar’s palace and then another truly stunning sequence as the Tartar forces mass at camp for the brutal entertainment of Allah’s judgement… it’s as if you are there; you can almost smell the burning flesh…

Director Viktor Tourjansky filmed across Europe from the palaces of France, the snows of Norway and down to Latvia where 6000 extras helped create the battles scenes and the Tartar camp. He took full advantage of the budgetary freedom allowed by the new affiliation  of Cine-France-Film with the German-led West production company.  The result was one of the few films of the period that really could truly match Hollywood scale.


Another was being filmed at the same time in the Billancourt studios and once Tourjansky had completed his effort he helped with Gance’s filming of Napoleon’s Toulon battle.

Their massed cavalry charge their horses across battle fields blurred by the speed of advance as quick cuts are made to pick up the human aspects of the slaughter; as with Napoleon this is not a film you can take likely, it’s at you from start to finish propelled by the unique intensity of its lead.

Ivan Mosjoukine
Jules Verne’s original story sounds true to his form: a time-limited chase featuring one man’s attempt to deliver a message from his Tsar to Irkutsk a city cut off by the Tartar advance. The telegraphs have all been cut and Michel must travel incognito using trains and boats across the plains making friends and beating enemies along the way. The story turns on an unlikely (but just possible) physiological event but the Russian’s present this moment as high drama and the improbable becomes powerfully cinematic.

Surrounded by the Tartars
 The story had an unique appeal for many of the crew who had seen their mother country overrun by a group with an incomprehensible agenda – to them at least. The fact that the Tartars had not enjoyed any kind of substantial military success against the Tsars for centuries is almost beside the point… the story needed an internal threat to show the benevolence of the Tsarist regime; a culture of honour and natural comradeship founded on respect for the Nation and its God-given monarch (I don’t recall Alexander II being especially benevolent…).

Acho Chakatouny
But let’s not let politics get in the way of a rollicking adventure especially one so rich in characters: the traitor Ivan Ogareff (Acho Chakatouny) is given to villainous excess it’s true but is also a very human hate-figure - Chakatouny plays his hero as a man wronged by his state who has the abilities but not the loyalty of a hero.

Nathalie Kovanko
 Love-interest Nadia Fedor (Nathalie Kovanko) is no mere adornment and it is only through her help that Michel has any chance of prevailing; she’s smart, quick to action and as determined as the men. Strogoff’s mother Maria (of course…) is similarly empowered and Jeanne Brindeau plays her with nobility and intelligence: what a pairing she and her son make – unyielding and bound by a love as strong as national pride.

Jeanne Brindeau
Marie-Louise Vois is also super as Zaugara the Tartar Mata Hari and Ogareff’s left-hand woman she can dance, dance and be a villain too… Other amusing stereotypes are available in the form of Daily Telegraph writer Harry Blount (Henri Debain) – a whiskery notepad scribbler for the status quo (they haven’t changed much have they?) and his French counterpart Alcide Jolivet (Gabriel de Gravone).

Vladimir Gajdarov makes Tzar Alexandre is far more likeable than I expected him to be whilst Boris de Fast Tartar leader Féofar-Khan is a superb creation of make-up encrusted malevolence: his evil runs so deep he seems almost serene and yet it's only ever a micro-second from boiling to the surface as he selects random vengeance from God.

Boris de Fast
Micolas Kougoucheff also features as General Kissoff who I just had to mention... no sign of Generals Sodoff or Clearoff though.

But, it’s all about Ivan who portrays a model of disciplined heroism with a twinkle in his eye that not only speaks of his wit but also his weakness. His Strogoff is not someone who can go about his triumphs in a way that makes them seem inevitable he gets stuck in even when he seems to be losing and, indeed, to have lost. What’s more, his victories are not achieved without the help of others…


 He fights off dozens of attackers on a ferry only to be struck down into the water where he makes it to shore and is saved by the kindness of an old man. In his delirium he sees himself in neo-classical torment – barely clothed and assailed by all kinds of monsters only to be saved by the two women in his life. Later he’ll look just like St Sebastian in seeming defeat to the Tartans…

Strogoff is knocked down more times than Rocky by Apollo Creed yet still gets up for one final fight with his nemesis Ogareff which is so much more than a standard silent scrap, the two push each other all over the screen and you’re not sure who the winner is until the very last as one after the other staggers out seemingly in victory…

Sightless in the snow
If we felt slightly exhausted watching all of this, spare a though for tonight’s pianist. Mr Sweeney set about his work with Mousjoukine-levels of energy and invention. His playing was impressively full-blooded and certainly contained doses of Russian that I wasn’t quite able to identify. This melodic engagement with the film must be very hard to maintain and yet he was still as fresh after the three hours: that my friends is the business of show and, indeed, entertainment! Salute Comrade Sweeney!


For such a major work – flawed but sprawlingly-brilliant – it is surprising that this reconstruction (from 2007?) is not available on DVD along with the Albatross output from many of the contributors. All we have is a VHS transfer that collectors swap amongst themselves, passed from hand-to-hand in the darker corners of bars from Omsk to Ormskirk and Irkutsk to Ipswich…

Come on, The Man, there’s money to be made in these digital disc sales!?

Sound and vision
 I drove back down the darkened motorway coffee and calories at the ready but uplifted by the show – I’d left the party halfway through but happy with all I’d seen – yes, even you, Three Live Ghosts with your soviet ret-con nonsense. Next year all four days!