Jenny from the dock... Docks of Hamburg (1928), with Stephen Horne, Cambridge Film Festival 2019

"I love you. For the first time, I love someone. And I do not care about everything else…"

Emmanuel College was founded in 1584 by Sir Walter Mildmay, Chancellor of the Exchequer to Elizabeth I and as you walk past the dining hall, originally the chapel of a Dominican Friary, (replaced by a building commissioned from some bloke called Sir Christopher Wren), you’re so immersed in the atmosphere that a late twenties silent film feels positively futuristic.

The silent film experience is that magical mix of venue, audience, music and film and all are inter-active and malleable even the feeling on screen. Emmanuel’s theatre is a modern building tucked to one side of the graceful old quads and it provides a perfect place to focus the mind, comfortable seats, warm wooden finish and a Steinway grand for Stephen Horne to play with.

Ace Weimar programmer, Margaret Deriaz, introduced with a natural warmth and enthusiasm few lecturers present; silent film is like a continuing educational programme for the historically-fascinated and these films are unique primary sources that we not only read but experience in places like this and with accompanists offering emotionally rich audio commentary.

As Margaret said, Stephen Horne has an affinity with Weimar film and that can only come from decades of accompaniment and research into the area. Margaret herself is one of the leading experts on this period of cinema and earlier this year programmed a superb series of Weimar films at the BFI: one of the best I can remember.  

Stellen Sie sich in einem Boot auf einem Fluss vor...

Directed by Erich Waschneck with much excellent cinematography from Friedl Behn-Grund, Docks of Hamburg is rich with location shots of the docks and the St Pauli district, providing a view of Germany’s most vibrant port before the War re-arranged things and the Beatles arrived 30 years later. There’s also an audacious travelling shot of Willy Fritsch’s character as he walks through the docks in search of his Jenny… it prefigures neorealism and so much film of the early Beatle era.

The interiors and sleaze of St Paulis were also, as Margaret pointed out, the result of Alfred Junge’s production design. He had also worked for Ewald André Dupont on Moulin Rouge and Piccadilly and was to enjoy a long career including working in Britain with Powell and Pressburger as production designer on Colonel Blimp, A Canterbury Tale, I Know Where I’m Going, A Matter of Life and Death and Black Narcissus. Well, he started here.

The film is a loose reworking of Carmen with boats, not bulls, and smugglers replacing toreadors. Willy Fritsch plays Klaus Brandt, a naval seaman who has just been promoted to night watchman for his ship, just as he has become engaged to his social climber girlfriend (Betty Astor).

One night Klaus catches someone trying to break onto the ship and, having caught the intruder, makes the classic error of assuming a hat and trousers indicate a boy when really it’s a girl called Jenny (Jenny Jugo) who, soaked to the skin, strips in front of his saucered eyes to dry off. After the initial shock, Klaus is so won over by Jenny’s carefree, well, everything, that he forgets fiancée and work, covering for her as the port authorities pass by.

Komm, Gib Mir Deine Hand: Herr Rasp und Jenny

Jenny’s associated with a colourful gang of ne’er-do-wells including Tonio Gennaro as Gentle Heinrich (definitely harder than he looks ), Wolfgang Zilzer as The nipper (he’s young) and Fritz Rasp as The Doctor (probably not medically trained) all of whom are looking for an opportunity to get rich quick through smuggling, living off immoral earnings and extortion.

Jenny works in a nightclub as a hostess, dancer and cyclist… racing other girls in a competition to show off their thighs in skimpy bathing costumers with the winners of their sexy spin being pre-arranged. It’s all part of a whir of activities to relieve distracted punters from their hard-earned pfennigs either through drinking, gambling or the oldest transaction in the world. Jenny is in the midst of this world but seems happy enough – this is not the usual fallen woman, she’s more like Marlene’s Lola Lola.

By chance, Klaus bumps into Jenny outside of the club and she explains what she does and invites him to see for himself… he’s smitten and, for the first time in her life, Jenny is smitten too. This is Carmen but not quite as we know it. Klaus sneaks off from his ship-mining to see Jenny only to find that the Rats have broken onboard and stolen not only cash and goods but also his chance of a career.

Sie hat eine Fahrkarte, um Fahrrad zu fahren - Jenny's in it to win it

He tries again, this time getting a lowly job as a stoker on a ship bound for Australia only to be drawn away again by Jenny’s charms… All the while she keeps on working and, like Klaus, we aren’t sure if her feeling for him are as deep as his for her. She meets with a couple of rich handsome men, one an actual racing cyclist (Friedrich Benfer), and she’s whisked away to posher nightclubs where they ply her with new clothes and champagne… Is this what she really wants or is Klaus her heart’s desire?

Do they want to save each other or will this end as all Carmen tales with the ultimate punishment for Jenny and Klaus on the rocks? I couldn’t possibly comment.

Willy and Jenny make for charming leads and Jugo is indeed another “Earth Spirit” with a relaxed intensity and free expression which raises her above the dirty doings all around. We can fully see why Klaus would be drawn to this erotic firefly – throwing away his future and his fiancée, in an effort to not only win Jenny’s heart but to save her from the life she’s in.

"Sie liebt dich, ja, ja, ja!"

Stephen Horne responded to this complex Kabarett with clubby accordion, lilting flute and sentimentally intelligent piano – he has such a feel for every movement of Waschneck’s visual Bizet including one of those gorgeous themes he has which not only encapsulates the longing and fear of desire but sticks in your head for days. Klaus is drawn to Jenny… they’re on a collision course which will either work for them or kill them and, thanks to Mr Horne, we fall a little more emphatically ourselves.

Docks of Hamburg is a good Weimar film but Stephen’s playing lifted it higher as his well-informed melodies captured and expanded on the mood created by Waschneck and his players. It doesn’t exist on home media or even YouTube so I’m especially grateful for the opportunity to see it projected.

Another smashing show in Emmanuel and the Cambridge Film Festival remains one of the UK’s strongest for silent films and accompanists.

Field of dreams... Hungarian Rhapsody (1928) with John Sweeney, Kennington Bioscope

Anyone expecting a silent biopic of Freddie Mercury would have been doubly disappointed tonight; one this wasn’t really a Bohemian affair (it’s the other side of Slovakia) and two, whilst Queen’s music is ideally suited to the silent format (except their early stuff…), John Sweeney had other, more impactful themes in mind, perhaps inspired, like the film, by Liszt as well as the gypsy spirit that informed the composer’s 19 Rhapsodies. John hadn’t seen the film but he was more than ready for it and when a party of soldiers shouts for a Csárdás dance, we get one and the pianist’s hands were a blur of masterful syncopation – all the notes in the right order, on the beat and always in service to the story. At the end there were whoops as well as an extended ovation for John, projectionist Dave Locke and this lovely film on super crisp 35mm.

Directed by Hanns Schwarz, Hungarian Rhapsody is a German film and thus fits perfectly and co-incidentally with the current Weimar Cinema strand over at the BFI and reinforces the breadth and variety of cinema from this time – second only to Hollywood in quantity and more than capable of equalling the quality.

Where there's wheat, there's a way: Dita and Willy make hay whilst the Sun shines.

Hungarian Rhapsody looks stunning, a symphony of wheat (just like Murnau’s brilliant City Girl which is on next at the Bioscope!) that paints a stunning picture of the Hungarian countryside and the farm work that can make an honest man of you. Carl Hoffmann’s camera seems to catch every blade of crop amongst the grandeur of vast fields and the visuals are as fluid as they are controlled. In one sequence, the camera pulls away from a humble fireside across the courtyard to a sophisticated soiree where the violin catching our heroine’s attention is being used to serenade the woman who will be her love rival: it’s a movement that references a sound we cannot hear and provides a warning for the love triangle to follow.

The camera was also more than a little in love with our three photogenic stars, Germanic John Gilbert, Willy Fritsch as Franz Lieutenant Graf v. Turoczy, Lil Dagover as Camilla, the General’s wife, and Dita Parlo as Marika, the kind of girl you’d like to work on a farm with or even a barge; she’s a natural, outdoor type.

Blimey, Lil's here!

Marika’s father Gutsverwalter Doczy (Fritz Greiner) is not at all convinced by her smiling lieutenant – he doesn’t have the wherewithal to provide for his daughter being, seemingly, a stuffed shirt: all rank with no riches. We’ve hit the halfway mark and the romance goes further on the rocks as Franz, repulsed now by Marika whose no one’s bit on the side, becomes enamoured with the stylishly sexy Camilla, a woman of the World who is also his commanding officer’s wife.

Initially he wants to make Marika jealous but he ends up falling under the spell of the unobtainable, foolishly enlisting the help of a violinist to serenade her. The fiddler has designs of his own and dobs his rival in it by calling the general who thunders across the countryside seeking retribution.

Yeah, but DITA!

It is a stylishly slight story and there’s a probably-propagandist feel to the dénouement – it’s not enough that the aristocratic soldier must pay respects to his true love he must also commit himself to a more honest life style in the fields. Well, who wouldn’t for Dita and, possibly, the Fatherland?

The film was a smash hit and was re-released with a soundtrack in 1929 making it one of Germany’s first sound films... a fine example of the other side of Weimar, not expressionist or darkly-unsettled but thorough entertainment.

For the first half tonight, there were four shorts all accompanied with Meg Morley; after recent accidents with accompaniment what a treat to hear these pros along with Mr Jonny Best at the BFI; there’s an art to silent music and these three have spent years perfecting it.

A spring in their step (really sorry)

Around Versailles (1909) was a quite lovely hand tinted travelogue showing the gardens at Versailles in as much glory as the technology of the time could muster; this was filled out regally by Meg’s classic lines and crescendos – this must have hit audiences with the full-force of Endgame in rural fairs and picture houses.

Little Moritz Épouse Rosalie (1911), starring Maurice/Moritz Scwartz, was madcap, breakneck and confusing! Moritz is eloping with his sweetheart and leaves a trail of devastation as he tries to escape for true love! Also answers the question of just how many people you can fit in a horse-drawn carriage: a fair few!

Watching Louis Feuillade’s Spring (1909) I started getting flashbacks to the previous evening’s screening of Opium, as nymphs danced in the French countryside in the manner of Robert Reinert’s drug-induced fairies…  still, spring had most definitely sprung.

Sémiramis (1910) provided the most dramatic of climaxes with the hand-colourful story of Babylon starring the statuesque Yvonne Mirval as the title character who loved, then killed a King before ruling through force of personality and elaborate shows in those famous hanging gardens. When she died after a glorious reign she literally ascends to Heaven borne by a host of doves and the walls of Babylon fall under attack from Arabian invaders… pretty much all eight series of Game of Thrones in 16 minutes; a bewildering array of tableaux on a screen barely able to contain Miss Napierkowska hair. Great fun; I’m a sucker for stencil colour and Ms Morley went to town on this one.

Yvonne Mirval as the Babylonian Beyonce

Oooh, Betty!! A Sister of Six (1927) with Neil Brand, British Silent Film Festival Day Four

"Charming scenes – Gorgeous gowns – Splendid Acting. Betty Balfour’s greatest picture.”

As if it were possible to love her any more, A Sister of Six cemented Betty Balfour’s place in our silent hearts as forever, Britain’s Queen of Happiness.

This was a very special occasion as Magnus Rosborn had brought over an exceptionally fine 35mm print from the Swedish Film Institute: shipping back “Bettys to Blighty” in our hour of greatest need. This copy has only been screened a handful of times outside Sweden and is of a restoration completed in the mid-seventies from original nitrates that were sadly discarded at the time. New finds of nitrate elements raise the possibility of further digital restoration of this exceptionally energetic Swedish-German co-production that showcased an impressive array of European talent.

This was credited as directed by Ragnar Cavallius – script-writer for Greta, Lars and Jenny’s The Saga of Gosta Berling – but cinematographer Carl Hoffman (you know, Faust and all that Varieté, Varieté, Varieté…) really took the lead and this much was clear from his hand-held pursuit of a cheeky monkey to an array of shadowy dollies and pull-aways.

Betty on her way to finishing school...

A visual treat the film was filled with outstanding energy not just from our Betty but her handsome co-star Willy Fritsch who plays a Count Horkay tricked by his cousin into a trip to meet the seven daughters of Mrs. Gyurkovics (Lydia Potechina), the eldest of which is he is lined up to marry but – gasp! – he’s already wed. Y’see, Pat and Paddle’s Cocktails is supposed to be madcap but this, this is madcap and charming and funny throughout!

The plot is so complicated and cunning you could twist a tail around it and call it foxy but it doesn’t matter because at any given moment you’re only a cute Balfour twinkle or a mad Aunt’s leer away from a smile. The aunts in question are brilliantly created by Karin Swanström as Countess Emilie Hohenstein and Stina Berg as Countess Aurore Hohenstein – two women so concerned at the romantic behaviour of their niece, that they have prepared a padded room for her.

Padded room, dark mansion-imprissonment, cross-dressed Count come to the rescue? All you need to do is make sure that Betty is at the heart of all that and you’re there!

A Sister of Six is simply one of the most joyous silent films - the publicity quote above is no exaggeration - and no wonder the front row fan whooped with delight at the merest mention of Betty’s name. Mr Brand did very well to play on amidst the riot but it was magnificent on all fronts.

Women Variety Performers on Phonofilm

Tony Fletcher dropped his sock to the stage and we entered an alternate universe of music hall madness as the stars of the day were recorded on Phonofilm, a one-take audio-visual technique of the 1920s. Here we found Edith Kelly-Lange on violin, Yvette Darmac, Emmie Joyce (no relation to Alice or me) articulating her need for love and scouser Gertrude Watts aka Beryl Beresford, being all kinds of cheeky alongside husband Leslie Hinton Cole.

But nothing caused greater excitement on Silent Saturday than Fay “Frenchie” Marbe singing There's More to The Kiss Than XXX, a saucy song from your actual George Gershwin with lyrics from Irving Caesar. Miss Marbe was so smilingly direct she had us mooching along in the most carefree way as audience participation reached alarming new heights.

Fay “Frenchie” Marbe

Phil Carli then kicked off his talk on early sound and recording systems by declaring that “Edison was an ass!” about which there was complete agreement. A fascinating character though and a very entertaining presentation!

PG Wodehouse Stephen Horne, Neil Brand and Bryony Dixon

This was an interesting session whether or not your golf clubs, like mine, have been relegated to the lowliest garden shed. Neil Brand read from one of PG Wodehouse’s golfing short stories, A Woman is Only a Woman, and, relishing every bon mot, showed how crisp and witty PGW’s prose was, making me feel pure shame for never having read him (putting that right now). PG’s stories of golf are, of course, far more about the players – and men – than the game itself and are revelatory about twenties polite culture in general.

“Love (says the Oldest Member) is an emotion which your true golfer should always treat with suspicion… I have known cases where marriage improved a man’s game, and other cases where it seemed to put him right off his stroke. There seems to be no fixed rule.”

The Stoll Company made six shorts based on these stories and we were treated to three of them after Neil’s reading with Stephen Horne hitting an Eagle or two and proving more than up to par on accompaniment.

Rodney Fails to Qualify (1924) introduced us to the diminutive Harry Beasley as The Caddie, an invention of the film series intended to fulfil the same function as The Oldest Member in the stories: the oil that keeps the stories running. We couldn’t work out Harry’s age… anything from 20 to 40 but he was guaranteed cheeky!

The Clicking of Cuthbert (1924) featured the eternal Moore Marriott as grumpy Russian novelist Vladimir Roseleaf whose unexpected passion for golf, wrong-foots the local book group enabling Peter Haddon’s Cuthbert to impress Helena Pickard’s open-minded blue stocking Adeline.

Chester Forgets Himself (1924) in which Jameson Thomas’ Chester Meredith, a man with a potty mouth, almost loses his quest for Ena Evans’ Felicia Blakeney by forgetting to express himself. Some lovely title cards left Chester’s language to our imaginations but Felicia liked his tone better!

Canine Capers…

We’d already seen one comedy canine (in Cocktails…) and there just had to be more as is BSFF tradition. This sequence included Cecil Hepworth’s astonishing Dog Outwits the Kidnappers (1908) in which a dog not only outwits kidnappers but drives their car off… I hadn’t seen it before and I may have whooped.

Contrary to the title Teddy the Dog doesn’t actually drive a train in Clarence Badger’s Teddy at the Throttle but he saves Gloria Swanson who is *actually* tied to railway tracks! Proof that, even if only on this occasion, attempted murder-by-steam train was a thing in silent films.

Then we had charming Charlie Chase taking a bath with Duke the Dog in Dog Shy (1926). CC is the real deal and a premier league performer with or without the pooch.

  

Gloria, ready for her chain-up...

The Pleasure Garden (1925) with Philip Carli

Introducing, Bryony Dixon took us back to 2012, the year of the Hitchcock Nine and the BFI’s epic restorations which were unveiled throughout the year with diverse accompaniment – anyone else remember the beatbox Downhill!? Hitchcock’s directorial debut, The Pleasure Garden was Bryony’s favourite restoration – if not favourite film – given the challenges of the source material and the creative process involved in putting, literally, every cup of tea in its right place. Hitchcock was not a director who ever put in a shot without purpose and everyone served the overall narrative including that of a lone tea leaf floating in a cuppa; a sure sign of impending visitors for our grandparents and every viewer in 1925 (or 1927 when, post Lodger, this film got its general release).

The Pleasure Garden has some great Hitch moments: from the opening sequence as dancing girls hurry their legs down a spiral staircase to then be ogled by a front row of sweaty middle-aged men (ahem!) only for Virginia Valli to laugh off the attentions of her ogler-in-chief (you go, girl!) to the, sickly-disturbing, drowning as Miles Mander’s character finally loses it in the heat. This moment never leaves the film – as stark and psychotic as any in silent film.

Philip Carli, suffering throughout with that most British of gifts, an ‘orrid cold, cast off his discomfort to accompany with a dramatic dash, clearly relishing his duet with Alfred!

Virginia Valli disapproves

And then there was Betty…

The evening show was Stephen Horne and Minima’s fantastic re-scoring of Carl Dreyer’s Vampyr whichI had previously seen and raved about at the Barbican back in January. A film that takes on dramatic new flavours in the hands of the collaborating accompanists: their project is not so much a re-scoring as a chance to reflect on the pure brilliance of Dreyer’s technique.

And that was me at this year’s British Silent Film Festival, a wonderful event for which everyone involved – players, presenters, programmers, volunteers, bar staff and sandwich makers - should take a bow as we smooch Fay Marbe’s There's More to The Kiss Than XXX in their general direction!