Nanook of the North – The Grandfather of Documentary

I’ve never really been big on the documentary genre. I always became enraptured in film and filmmaking due to my natural gravitation toward strong storytelling. I love being able to delve into the lives of fictional characters, to know that each word, placement, camera movement, lighting adjustment, musical cue, etc. was all placed there with artistic intent. It’s a gorgeous notion and why I, personally, want to be a filmmaker – to be able to tell the stories I want to tell and share my artistic nature with the rest of the world. Be able to make films that others can relate to or affect them the way my favorite films always have.

Documentaries rarely ever fill me with that same sort of effect. Some documentaries do know how to draw the emotions out of me or transport me into their stories, but most of the time they are simply just talking into cameras about facts and numbers, etc. That may be an unfair criticism, but again I don’t criticize these films for being what they are, I simply just don’t flock to go see these films and often shy away from them because it’s a genre I don’t personally enjoy.

But again, the purpose of this “journey” into film from its roots is to learn and appreciate how all forms of film came to be. This does not exclude documentary. After hearing for years about Robert Flaherty’s Nanook of the North being the pioneer of documentary-style filmmaking, I finally had the opportunity to check it out for myself. The film is pretty self-explanatory: it follows Nanook, an Eskimo living in the North, as he goes about his day-to-day routines of hunting, fishing, eating raw meat, building igloos, and more killing of wildlife.

Flaherty’s approach to filming Nanook is a very simple one and very easy to see why it’s become the norm of documentary filmmaking, like a Birth of a Nation equivalent for documentaries. Flaherty simply stands by and lets Nanook do his whole wildlife-murdering-for-food thing and it’s merely fascinating just watching this specimen go about things in such a different way from ourselves. After a while, you forget you’re watching a film as it feels like you’re right with Nanook and his family shivering your ass off in the deepest parts of the Canadian Arctic. Few films have ever perfectly captured the idea of being truly cold and Nanook certainly is up there despite being a black-and-white film made in 1922.

Though, just like with D.W. Griffith’s pioneering film, Flaherty’s film is not without structural flaws. Most of the film is just spent lingering on this man’s life, showing his day-to-day routines, but we never really get to know him as a person other than what we see him do. Documentary filmmaking has certainly evolved, especially with the advent of sound and color in film, so the idea of digging deeper into the thoughts and ideas of a documentary subject has certainly evolved with it. But that doesn’t dismiss how despite being a well-made documentary, in the same way Birth of a Nation was a well-made fictional film, the lack of a strong emotional core (or in the case of Griffith, a less racist one) forces the film to be forgettable. But again, Flaherty is not a filmmaker by nature, nor is he an artist, he was simply a man with a camera who wanted to show the world this glorious culture he became so enamored by. And that he certainly achieved, along with being the forefather of documentary filmmaking to boot. No big deal. Nanook would certainly be proud.


7/10

Sherlock Holmes – Quite Elementary Indeed, Watson

Long before Benedict Cumberbatch or Robert Downey, Jr. would put a modern spin on the classic character of Arthur Conan Doyle’s novels, and even before Basil Rathbone would put his iconic touch on him, John Barrymore (grandfather of Drew Barrymore) would be the first major star to tackle the role of the great private detective, Sherlock Holmes. From director Albert Parker, this now-iconic character is brought to life for audiences in a big way during 1922, and one would think that Holmes would almost be ripe for classic cinema. Especially in the silent era when so much emphasis was given to the star power of actors and the sweeping stories of dedicated directors and writers, one would think that the character of Sherlock Holmes would be right at home in this era. But somehow, the film fails at offering more than your average, dialogue-heavy (which means intertitle-heavy) silent film of the time.

The film follows Holmes – or rather, Barrymore’s interpretation of Holmes – as he attempts to solve the most basic of cases – a stolen wallet and the whereabouts of letters. Yes, as exciting as that sounds, there is actually a great deal more to it. But unfortunately, this is not the Sherlock Holmes character that we have come to know and love. He is not the same character from the novel that is more of a sociopathic, narcissistic, yet cunning, clever, and observantly deductive detective. No, Barrymore’s version is to make him an everyman, a simpleton who solves these two simple cases in order to win the affection of a girl. Watson is merely there to play the “friend” role without any sort of wisdom or insight or really any sort of chemistry at all that makes his character so great. He’s simply there. What’s worse is Holmes is played as someone not even that clever at all. Granted, this film is basically his “origin story,” yet there is only one scene that shows his cleverness, and in fact, plays him as if he is Peter Parker without the super powers.

As we all know, though, Holmes is not a superhero who gets bit by a radioactive spider that feeds him intelligence and deductive reasoning; he was born this way. This is who he is. And maybe that’s the biggest reason this film fails in comparison to nearly every other one that came after is that they entirely misunderstood the character. Worse yet, John Barrymore’s (pictured left) take doesn’t help. He’s almost played as an idiot at times with how simple these cases are yet how oblivious he is to the culprits of them, until the script calls for him to finally understand. It’s an odd take on the character, and Barrymore’s performance is only sometimes good (not as over-the-top as I’ve heard he can be which was a surprise), but it’s not enough to make me care about Holmes at all. If this were the first Holmes film I had seen, I probably wouldn’t have dug any deeper into figuring out the character. Which is probably why it took a decade before the character ever found his footing in cinema with Rathbone’s interpretation.

There are positives, however. It’s not a bad film, just a painfully average one considering how great the character and his plights can be. The script is incredibly weak, offering us very little mystery and making fools of such strong characters of the great Dr. Watson and the vile Moriarty (pictured right with Barrymore's Holmes). But the performances from both (Watson and Moriarty) make up for the weak performance at the center of the film and almost tap into what makes them great characters to begin with. The overall make-up, artistic design, and costumes are a marvel as well, perfectly capturing the era.

Overall, though, this film is not a Sherlock Holmes must-see. It almost completely undermines the detailed nature of Sir Doyle’s work and feels like they read the back cover of the book and decided to make up their own idea of who Holmes, Watson, & Moriarty were. And they’re nothing special. Far from it. I would say the only reason to watch this film is if you’re a die-hard Sherlock Holmes fan and a completist (such as myself). Otherwise, there’s no real reason. Even Barrymore’s performance isn’t up to snuff and most of the film is spent just talking about pointless things that have little to do with the case at hand. It sure is a mystery as to what went wrong with this film, but perhaps we ought to put the real Holmes on the case to help us figure it out.


4.5/10

Destiny – Why Cinema Exists

Plunging once more into the world of German Expressionism, this time I’ve decided to take Fritz Lang under my belt with my first feature from the acclaimed director. Though not as visually outstanding as 1920’s The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari or even as beautifully detailed as The Golem, the film still stands as one of the most ambitious so far in early cinema.

Essentially serving as the inspiration for 2012’s Cloud Atlas, the film follows a woman who loses her husband to the hands of the Grim Reaper and is then transported into the souls of three other women in order to save his life. If she can save just one individual, she can have her husband back. Essentially, Lil Dagover (also from Dr. Caligari) gets to play a German, Persian, Asian, and Venetian woman in four parts in an attempt to save the love of each of their lives.

However, Dagover may not be on the same level of many other actresses of the time (she ain’t no Gish!), she still gives it her all and at least Bernhard Goetzke gets a chance to shine as Death incarnate. Though given very little screen time, he creates this wonderful incarnation of death – similar to Svennberg’s in The Phantom Carriage – as an immortal man who is disheartened by his line of work involving the mortality of those he wishes he could save, but cannot.

If nothing else, the film is to be admired for its sheer ambitious notions. The idea of transporting across time and space, and even through the bodies and souls of four main characters (with each character in the story played by the same actors), must have been mind-blowing at the time. Despite how insane of a concept, though, the film perfectly captures the universality of love, grief, sorrow, and conflict across the many lives on Earth as well as the inevitability of death. Even if the stories are all a bit cheesy, and not as well-acted (I had a similar issue with Dagover in Dr. Caligari as well), the ideas at play are perfectly executed due to Fritz Lang’s wonderful cinematic language. In fact, it’s stated that both Luis Buñuel & Alfred Hitchcock were both so impressed with the film that it finally convinced them of the power of cinema and what it could accomplish.

On top of the wonderfully ambitious story, the expressionistic qualities on display in the film are admirable as well. Though not as vibrantly insane as the ones in Caligari, there are still many jarring images and special effects (such as the tiny soldiers in the Asian sequence) that bring the film to life through sheer imagery. Credit where credit’s due, the German artists of the time certainly saw the potential in cinematic storytelling and ran with it the way very few others did at the time. Even if the narrative was not as beautifully written as the premise might have hinted, the ambitious intent and the solid direction more than make up for it. And at the very least, it influenced my favorite director to start making films and maybe that’s enough to push it up a full star rating.


7/10

The Phantom Carriage and Why Life, Like Art, Is a Gift

It’s one thing for a film to manage to pull an emotion from you and make you believe in the world of the film; it’s another entirely to earn that emotion naturally. In the case of Victor Sjöström’s 1921 film, The Phantom Carriage, for nearly the entire runtime, each scene, each word, each facial expression earns that emotion by simply being present in these characters’ lives. It’s easy to see why Criterion would want to include this film in its own collection, and deservedly so, because not only has it this film (as with most of Sjöström’s work) been influential on many of the great filmmakers (i.e. Kubrick, Bergman), but because of what it offers cinema and audiences as a whole.

The premise of the film is one that has most assuredly been borrowed for many other films of its nature (think It’s a Wonderful Life), but what sets it apart is how earnestly real it feels. Where its offspring tend to force the emotions through Hollywood-style cheese (even if it works tremendously well in Frank Capra’s classic), Sjöström knows to let the characters drive the story and let their choices influence the conflict. Specifically, with the second part, I believe that’s what makes this film – clearly so ahead of its time – so fantastic. The film essentially starts toward the end and works its way back to help us understand – how did this character get here and why is he how he is? It’s over the course of the runtime that we begin to understand this character and each gut-wrenching emotion that’s felt due to the natural occurrence of incidents. Nothing is forced; nothing is cheesy; this is the life of a man in pain that’s clear as day for us to see and we essentially get to choose whether to interpret his fate as one of hope or one of failure.

At the core of the film is Sjöström himself (seen left) in the leading role, which I was quite nervous about considering in his last film I felt the acting was the strongest aspect, yet I had no idea whether he had any talent whatsoever. Turns out the man was not just a damned genius behind the camera, but he was ahead of his time in front of the screen, too. He cuts out the melodrama and goes straight for the gut – something many actors today would feel so proud to emulate, but not many could do so earnestly. He takes complete control of the film and his character is fully lived-in and real, something that’s very hard to come by when each character out of films from the 1920s tends to be more of a caricature than a character. But he makes this vile, nasty, hateful drunkard more honest and captivating than many actors of the decade.

Surrounding him is an ensemble of fantastic performances as well, particularly Tore Svennberg (the lead in his previous film and my favorite of 1920, The Monastery of Sendomir). Where he played a more vibrantly egotistical, yet increasingly paranoid character in Sendomir, he plays closer to the chest here as an old friend of Sjöström’s David Holm. Despite having little screen time in comparison to others, you have an absolute feel for who this character is that wasn’t evident in the script and Svennberg rolls with it. Each facial expression, each line is given so much weight due to his dedication to the character and he becomes the film’s voice of reason. Looking at him, I almost felt like I could hear Vincent Price reading his lines – that’s how bold and vexing he felt. Then there are the two actresses, Astrid Holm & Hilda Borgstrom, who perfectly encapsulate two tonally opposite characters (Holm the optimistic, Borgstrom the depraved) with many complexities on each side. Overall, the acting on display in this film is fantastic and so fully realized that it only helps to lend credibility to the fantastical story on display.

At the helm, though, is Sjöström’s powerful performance behind the camera. As if the script wasn’t strong and beautiful enough, his direction helps to weave an intricate story into something breathtaking and so incredibly well-paced for its time that it’s amazing this isn’t in considered one of the greatest masterpieces ever made. How people can discuss Griffith and Chaplin yet dismiss Sjöström’s incredible work during the decade is beyond me. This film alone is enough to put both of those filmmakers to shame (and I say that with the highest respect to both of them as filmmakers). Each frame is perfectly executed, each feeling of fear, love, hate, sadness, happiness is all merited and in using as little “telling” as possible. In particular, there’s a brief close-up of Sjöström’s character in a bar after his friends leave as he drinks a beer that slowly circles around his face as it changes from smug to distraught in the span of ten seconds that absolutely broke my heart (and continues to do so each time I reflect on it).

Except that the entire film is littered with strong, emotional moments like that – and that’s something horror and fantasy films today are seriously lacking. They forget that their characters are real people, too, and often times treat them like meat puppets instead of allowing us to care for them. Good horror is when we care for these individuals so much so that the scares come from our wanting them to survive. In this case, we care for David and we want him to fulfill his journey and change his past – but we know, like David, that we can’t. But the beauty in Sjöström’s film, though, shows that maybe we can. Despite its fantastical and horror elements, this is still a film about people and the choices they make. It’s a message to those of us who might want to think twice about what we do and how it might affect others. Even watching this nearly a hundred years later, I’m caught thinking about my life and the mistake I’ve made and what I can do differently to change the future – and that to me is why filmmaking is my passion, to allow others to feel the same way I feel watching them; changed. Damn you, Mr. Sjöström, you’ve done it again. 2 for 2, and easily my favorite film of the decade by far.


10/10

The Sheik, or Stockholm Syndrome: The Movie

It was inevitable, but I finally found the first truly unsavory film of the 1920s. How this film managed to garner such praise, especially to this day, is beyond comprehension for me. Certainly Rudolph Valentino was a star at the time, so it makes sense why it was such a box office hit – especially since The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, a far superior film – was actually the highest grossing film of 1921, the same year. However, despite how fantastic his performance actually was in The Four Horsemen, he actually manages to teeter on something quite terrible and blatantly false this time around. Put on top of that the overwhelming connotations of racism, sexism, and general distastefulness that mars what could have been a decent film at its core, this film just did not sit with me well.

To continue with the topic of the acting, despite Valentino’s valiant turn in The Four Horsemen where he showed range, depth, and equal doses of charm and empathy creating a magnificent protagonist, he somehow forgets all of that and goes for the campy, false, and an overwhelming amount of “I’ll make my eyes big so it seems like I’m evil” (I mean... just look at that picture below) that would’ve possibly worked in a horror film, but is completely out of touch with the story being told in this film. I’m hoping that Horsemen wasn’t a fluke and in fact he can do a pretty great job outside of this film. And perhaps that’s true considering so many people have actually praised his performance here – which I can’t possibly understand. On the other hand, despite a mostly wasted cast, there are two incredibly bright spots.

Agnes Ayres perfectly captures the soul of the film, and whether intentionally or unintentionally, capturing the essence of Stockholm syndrome as well. She already impressed in her limited time in The Affairs of Anatol from the same year, but here she gets a chance to truly excel and show her talents across a wider range. The true MVP for me was actually Adolphe Menjou (pictured below) as the only semi-reasonable character in the entire film. Despite not mentioning it in my review for The Three Musketeers, he was actually the stand-out there for me as well, playing a believably domineering and paranoid King Louis XIII. Here, he tones everything down completely yet still maintaining a stern sense of authority but also authenticity. Never for a moment do I question his title as a doctor or author of passion, but neither his friendship to Valentino’s Ahmed nor love for Ayres’ Diana as well. In fact, if not for Menjou’s entrance in the second half of the film, my entire rating of the film would be sufficiently lower. He brings a likability and relatability that was certainly missing for the entirety of the film and brings a sense of validity to the story.

Unfortunately, it isn’t simply Valentino’s off-the-wall performance that hinders the film; in fact, I could’ve lived with the poor lead performance and still granted the film an above-average rating had it not been for the, you know, entire film itself. Firstly, let’s briefly acknowledge the sexist and racist implications. Essentially, Ayres’ character, Diana, is a free bird and does not want to be caged by matrimony; yet as the story develops, she begins to get attached to Sheik Ahmed (Valentino) due to her literal captivity. Which leads into the racist insinuation (and perhaps this is something that has genuinely happened before, I’m not well-versed on the subject), in which the Sheik decides to capture a pretty white woman and make her his own – essentially kidnapping and raping her. So for the first third of the film, if I were to just be born and brought into this world, I would have learned that Arabs are rapists and women aren’t allowed to be think for themselves. Great.

But that’s not all. Now that she has been kidnapped and her senses numbed by her time in captivity and general feelings of helplessness, the film decides Ahmed is actually the hero of the story! Yes, that’s right. At first I thought, okay, her Stockholm syndrome has kicked in and she thinks she’s fallen in love with this guy when in truth he’s evil. But an outside force will help bring her mental state back and save her from this terrible curse. Enter Menjou’s character, a doctor from Paris who attempts to shirk the Sheik of his ways, but that only lasts about five minutes before it turns out he has a heart and they both love each other so.

Yeah.

I don’t get it either.

So it begs the question: Why is this film so loved? I never felt for one second that the Sheik was a hero, and the only potential saving grace turns out to give up on his quest to help the free bird suddenly in distress. The film offers a “happy” ending, but the entire time I kept wanting to yell at the screen ”HELP THIS WOMAN!”

Perhaps I’m wrong, though. Maybe the film is actually a twisted love story of the likes of 50 Shades of Grey or some other form of Stockholm syndrome/ captivity/ chains-and-whips-excite-me-type of love story. Maybe Valentino was actually playing this hero quite earnestly and I should have felt bad for him the entire time. I mean, the film did offer a lovely conclusion as to why he is how he is, which makes all of his actions completely justifiable. Maybe the real antagonist all along was the bandit at the end who attempted to steal Diana away, you know, the same exact way that Sheik Ahmed did in the beginning of the film. After all, he gave profoundly solid reasoning as to why he made such a life-changing decision in the first place: ”When an Arab sees a woman he wants, he takes her.”

Oh. Maybe not.


3.5/10

Orphans of the Storm – Gish Does It Again

I certainly hope that D.W. Griffith understood just how much he owed thanks to Lillian Gish in making his career what it is. Surely, he’s a director of talent – putting aside his personal opinions. He’s a pioneer of cinema and his technique has served as the foundation of filmmaking for the last century. But what makes his films so lasting, moving, and relatable is the emotional core of his last two films (and certainly many parts of Birth of a Nation as well) – Lillian Gish. In his 1921 film, Orphans of the Storm, Lillian is paired with her real-life sister, Dorothy Gish. In the film, the two play fictional sisters as Lillian (as Henriette, the daughter of a poor family) and Dorothy (Louise, the blind daughter of a rich family who had left her on the doorsteps of a church as a baby and was taken by the father of the poor family who was about to do the same) attempt to make their way to the center of France’s turmoil on the eve of the French Revolution in order to cure Louise’s blindness. Of course, as often turns out in Griffith’s films, things do not go their way and in fact go from worse to worse to devastatingly worse.

Despite being far ahead of his time in terms of filmmaking expertise, Griffith was often one to muse on the days long past. Someone once said – and I may have mentioned this in my review for Way Down East as well – that where DeMille focused on the changing times among everyday people, Griffith yearned for the olden days and often hated the way times changed. With Orphans of the Storm, his opinion still has not wavered. In fact, he goes far, far into the past – back to the days of revolution in France – to tell of a story of changing times (down with spoiled monarchs, up with the revolutionists!). The one aspect that Griffith manages to surprise with is how he actually shows both as equally right and wrong, but the entire time Henriette and Louise are forced into undesirable situations on both ends as a result of merely being bystanders.

Perhaps it’s this continuing idea of intolerance that Griffith wants to state for the world. As he attempted half a decade before with a film literally called Intolerance, it seems once wasn’t enough to get his point across and with each new film he has attempted to exploit the wrongdoings of the world. What sets Orphans of the Storm apart, however, is it shows the damage done to mere bystanders. No longer is it one side against another, we now see a third side entirely impartial yet wholly affected regardless.

Of course, we as an audience would have a difficult time truly caring about this third side if not for the remarkably moving performances of both of the Gish sisters (who are pictured left). Though I vastly prefer Lillian Gish here (the sister on the right in that picture), mainly because the film is practically hers and she gets many more key scenes than Dorothy, both still put on a great display of the effects of inequality and the love formed from sisterhood – whether by blood or not. The one quality of Lillian Gish’s work that has always stuck with me is her ability to both subtly and melodramatically play key emotional scenes. Her hands wave, her body crumbles, her voice gets (albeit inaudibly, because, you know, silent films) loud, but all the while her eyes do something entirely unique. She has very large eyes, which makes them the focal point of her close-ups (and perhaps Griffith understood that which is why he often allowed her to do her thing during close-ups); however, her eyes are often a character within itself, telling an entirely new story than what her words might say. To me, that’s the concept of strong acting – when you believe the emotions so wholeheartedly that you can look into their eyes and see it. And Gish certainly does that.

As for the film itself, despite being a bit overly long – as is Griffith’s one fault – very little of it is used to tell unnecessary subplots the way Way Down East did. Each character has a purpose to the story, however small that may be, and each scene is necessary for the overall arc of the story. This may sound like a criticism as well, but I assure you it’s not, the last twenty minutes felt like it went on for hours simply because of the amount of tension built up. Without giving anything away, it’s a climax easily as breathtaking and heart-pounding as the icy climax of Way Down East yet without any need for fancy special effects.

I can certainly say that Griffith has finally shown his merits as a filmmaker in my eyes. It’s still impossible to forgive him for the ridiculous amount of bigotry in his foremost film, The Birth of a Nation, but his mastery on display in both of these last two films (Way Down East and Orphans of the Storm) and his elements of deconstructing intolerance across space and time has certainly made up for its lack thereof in Birth. Though this film was apparently the last truly great film in Griffith’s filmography, chronologically speaking, it’s certainly a strong one. In fact, it may even just be his best one. It’s the one with the least amount of mess, it perfectly puts all the techniques and elements he’s been working toward for nearly a decade into perfect dramatic and romantic use, and of course is sealed with a kiss by the always fantastic Lillian Gish. Perhaps his greatest downfall was his love for the past and rarely looking forward, but as his films are now staples of cinematic history, perhaps he can rest easy in his grave knowing he now lives where he always wanted.


8/10

A Sailor-Made Man is Certainly Tailor-Made for Me

Continuing my exploration into the slapstick greats of the 1920s, Fred Newmeyer’s 1921 Harold Lloyd-starrer, A Sailor-Made Man, only continues to prove how difficult it must have been to compete with one another. While a completely simple story (a man attempts to impress a girl by joining the Navy; chaos inevitably ensues), the undeniable charisma, confidence, and timing of Harold Lloyd (playing, what I assume, is his trademark “Speedy” character) is an absolute riot and makes for an incredibly immersive and enjoyable film. It’s certainly clear why he was able to establish himself as one of the greats of the genre – where Linder established the foundation, Keaton had his stunts and Chaplin had his heart; Lloyd certainly had the confidence seriously pulsating through each frame.

Looking through his entire catalogue, it seems that Lloyd often worked with Newmeyer so perhaps there’s a reason for that. While Lloyd served to be the confidence and humor the story needed, Newmeyer’s direction certainly helped make an already 46-minute film go by like a breeze. Each scenario and frame is filled with so much action and humor that it’s difficult to ever be bogged down or bored by the film, even for those who perhaps find it nearly impossible to watch a film from before their time or without talking (like most of the people I know). It’s quite easy to see why, this being Lloyd’s first transition into features, he would become a huge success for the rest of the decade.

Lloyd is not the only one who brings to life the humor of the film, however. His co-stars, the beautiful Mildred Davis, and the brawny Noah Young (pictured below) certainly give the film a spark of life as well and perfectly bounce off of Lloyd’s brand of humor. Young, in particular, surprised me quite a bit as he played the “Lenny” type of brawns over brains to a tee, but with hilarity that I rarely see in roles like that. Their chemistry with one another makes me hope they had made more work together, but for what it is, their work here is still a gem in an already golden era of slapstick.

As this seems to be a “lower-tier” Harold Lloyd – judging from IMDB, anyway, and its general lack of discussion – it certainly makes me excited to see the type of work both Lloyd and Newmeyer make together when they’re at their supposed best. The two of them certainly give Chaplin and Keaton a run for their money laughs-wise, but I wonder if Lloyd is able to give as much depth as those two. For what it’s worth, though, for just one film he’s already quite memorable and perhaps that’s good enough for being nearly a century old. Can’t wait to see more of this team offers.


8/10