The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and What Lurks Within

I will start this review by saying that this review contains spoilers. I realize it’s almost a century-old film, but as I had just seen it for the first time, there are obviously those who will be seeing it for the first time, too and saying “well, it’s been around forever!” is no excuse to spoil the fun for anyone. Anyway, that being said…

Robert Wiene’s 1920 hit film The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is not only a film that must have been ripe inspiration for Tim Burton in terms of its design, but is also a fantastic exploration into the mind of mental illness. As many films have tried since, this must have been one shocking film of its time by offering the audience an unreliable protagonist that forces the viewer to think much more deeply about the conflict in the film – as well as the conflict outside their front door. The film follows a man named Francis as he tells the story of the mysterious Dr. Caligari and the sleepwalker living in his cabinet.

Seeing as this was my first foray into the world of German Expressionist filmmaking, I was not expecting such elaborate set designs and gothic style make-up or costuming that would make any Hot Topic regular feel at home.

However, long before the idea of Gothicism became a sweeping teenage trend, the use of intricate, topsy-turvy sets serve to show the world as seen through the eyes of someone with mental illness with ingenious creativity. While the story is perhaps a bit too poorly paced for my liking, this expressionist art on display in this film certainly proves itself to be about the most creative use of imagery since George Méliés’ A Trip to the Moon eighteen years prior.

Putting aside my unabashed love for the design of the film, there are still quite a few flaws for me in terms of the story itself. Despite it only being a little over an hour long, its pacing is all over the place. Perhaps this was the intention of the filmmaker, but for me it felt too much like a rollercoaster. At first the film moves too abruptly to setting up location and characters, then slows down for a large chunk of the film where it hardly explores the wonderful avenues it sets itself up for in terms of conflict or mystery, before it finally reaches its conclusion before any mystery is developed. As a film that is about attempting to uncover who is murdering the townsfolk, it offers very little time in the whole detecting department, and almost right away answers the questions the viewer has.

But if the ending is any indication, maybe there is more here than meets the eye. I’ve read many others discuss the film as almost an early indication of what was to come during the time of World War II many years later. For instance, Dr. Caligari represents the possessive and brainwashing attributes of the German government and Cesare, his somnambulist science experiment, represents the mindless killing machines of Adolf Hitler’s Nazi regime. We always wonder, ”how did a man convince an entire nation that one race was superior to all others and then force them to murder millions for no reason whatsoever?” Perhaps that’s the same question we ask in Dr. Caligari, albeit to a much smaller level. Is it the fascist ideal that’s mentally ill or are we, as bystanders, the ones locked in the madhouse? Maybe it’s reading too much into a film when it was long before Nazism was even a thought in the world, but it’s still a very intriguing thought.

Judging the film solely based on what it must have meant back in 1920, it’s a fine piece of creepy entertainment. A bit lacking in the mystery department, and could’ve easily explored so many avenues that seemed infinitely exciting and would’ve made for a much more worthwhile film for me, but for what it is, it’s certainly one of the best of 1920s so far. In particular, the artistry present in the technical aspects is especially admirable and really draws you in as a viewer into this fantastical world that has served as an inspiration for many filmmakers since.


8/10

The Penalty : An Unusual Revenge Tale with Legs to Stand On

Nearly scraping the bottom of the barrel for 1920, I uncovered a Lon Chaney film that is rarely – if ever – discussed. And it should be because it harbors one of Chaney’s finest performances without any need for extensive (possibly racist) makeup or one-note characters. In Wallace Worsley’s The Penalty, Chaney stars as a man who – at a young age – had his legs wrongfully amputated by an amateur doctor and has lived his whole life with a Napoleonic rage, thriving in the seedy underbelly of San Francisco, while hoping to exact revenge on the doctor – who has now become a widely renowned surgeon – some twenty odd years later.

I can say with certainty that this film must have been one hell of a sales pitch back in the early 1920s:
”So there’s this guy, he has his legs cut off as a kid, but it was a mistake because the doctor can’t read charts, and so this kid grows up and he’s pissed, but he’s also a kingpin of the San Francisco crime syndicate. Oh, also he houses women like sweatshop workers, but we’ll get to that later. Anyway, so he wants revenge on this doctor, but he’s famous now, and his daughter’s a sculptor and she wants to draw Satan, and to drive home the point that he is an evil man, he decides to be her muse for this sculpture. Oh, but he’s only doing it as a ruse to get to her father. Oh, and the cops are onto him with some covert mission. Because he’s evil and stuff. But who could play a guy who looks like Satan and is either has no legs or is willing to tie his legs to his ass to give off the effect that he has no legs? He’s gotta look like Satan though.”
“Well, Lon Chaney’s pretty ugly. And available!”
“Perfect!”

It’s certainly a weird and twisted idea for 1920 – probably not so much nowadays as convoluted plots about troubled weirdos as psychotic masterminds is kind of a niche category all of its own these days. But for 1920, this film was probably ahead of its time. Not in terms of style or technique or even acting, but due to its content. However, that doesn’t mean it’s a weak film because it’s not right for its time, in fact it only makes the film stronger that it can stand apart from the rest of its era so well. My one problem is that the film offers an ending that seems to come completely out of nowhere, almost as if a studio had dipped their grimy fingers into the cesspool of script fuck-uppery and drizzled it over the last ten-fifteen pages of the script. That’s probably a bit harsh, and the ending really isn’t bad as much as it could potentially be divisive, but it still doesn’t feel like it was the way the director or writer really wanted it to go. Maybe you – whoever reads these – can be the judge of that, but for now, it was a big factor in the drastic change in personal feeling I had toward this film.

That being said, the one aspect that was relentlessly commendable, even throughout the wishy-washy ending, is Lon Chaney’s commanding performance. Never mind the fact that the man literally bound his legs at the knees as tightly as he could to give off the effect that he had no legs (ahh, the days of no computer-generated imagery… You can hear Lt. Dan laughing from here), he still managed to offer an incredibly nuanced performance of a troubled, yet misunderstood individual even through the bouts of pain. From what I’ve seen of Chaney so far, he’s been a very over-the-top and generally typecast actor. Either he’s playing a makeup-heavy freak in a horror picture, or a cunning and vile thug/ evil-doer, and while he plays both the freak and evil-doer here, he hardly plays them to the same effect he has in other films. Here, the film rests solely on his shoulders and he can both frighten and cause you to empathize with in the same scene, perfectly capturing the psyche of this eccentric madman without overplaying him to a level of ridiculous he’s often known to do.

Thankfully, director Wallace Worsley helps to capture the persona of the character as well by lingering on scenes and building up tension in scenes just long enough to let the emotions play out naturally. There aren’t any loud, melodramatic scenes that aren’t thrown in just because it’s the 1920s; they’re given credibility and are respectfully tied into the characters’ personalities. The script, for about three-quarters of the film, offers a unique and fully-developed perspective on these types of characters as well – something that films of today could learn a lesson or two from. Even despite how it ends, it’s still a film well worth checking out – if, at the very least, because of Lon Chaney. I doubt there are many performances of his better than this, and it’s certainly the best male performance I’ve seen from the decade (but I also haven’t seen many yet). Sometimes you just have to look in the hidden areas to find small gems like this. I know that I wouldn’t have even thought twice about watching this film if it hadn’t been for my favorite film of the year, Monastery of Sendomir, changing my opinion about how even the small films of nearly a century ago can still hold weight with the big dogs of its time and even today. Hopefully Chaney’s performance does the same.


7.5/10

Way Down East : Gushing Over Gish and Learning to Forgive Griffith

D.W. Griffith – you've finally redeemed yourself. Mostly anyway. It’s too bad we can’t just simply wipe away the fact that Birth of a Nation exists as it certainly wouldn’t have served to be the inspiration necessary for film to thrive, but damn if this film doesn’t deserve the type of praise I’ve long heard people give Griffith’s films. Having now perfected a craft that he once boldly shaped in 1915 – finally softening all those rugged edges of editing, pacing, shot-framing, and narrative in general – Way Down East demonstrates at last what Griffith has essentially been working hard toward for the past five years or so. Yes, I’m aware Intolerance and Broken Blossoms exist, but I’ve yet to get there, so maybe he figured it out even sooner. Regardless, it still shows how far he had come in those five years to finally perfect a style that many would come to borrow throughout the generations of filmmaking.

In one of the greatest performances I’ve seen from early cinema, Lillian Gish (pictured below) stars as a naïve young woman who is tricked into a sham marriage by a wealthy womanizer and then has to start her life from scratch, attempting to leave her past behind. To talk purely about Griffith’s expertise with the filmmaking is to dismiss the piece of emotional glue that holds the film together and makes it as incredible an experience as it is – and that is quite easily Gish’s performance.

From the beginning of the film, she plays the naivety of a penniless country girl who has never known real love with conviction and delight, but as the film progresses, her performance naturally does as well. Many criticize the film’s melodrama, but that was kind of the type of acting prevalent throughout the 1920s (and probably late into the 1930s as well). However, Gish still commands the screen with all the subtle sadness in her eyes – doing much more with so much less than people give her credit. How she isn’t talked about in the same breath as some of the best actresses of the 1920s, let alone all-time, is beyond comprehension for me as she was one of the greatest aspects of Birth of a Nation in 1915 as well, but here she excels more than I could’ve expected and I know there are many praised performances of hers I’ve yet to see as well.

Gish is not the only performer in the film making an effort, though. Her male counterpart – Lowell Sherman (pictured left with Gish) – who plays the slimy womanizer, plays him to a tee. From his initial appearance on screen, I could almost feel his sleaze seep out of the film reels. He’s very much charming, but quite easily disgusting in his actions and he holds no punches through his performance as well. The rest of the cast all makes an effort, even if some are quite over-the-top (like Vivia Ogden who plays the town gossiper, Martha) that can shift the tone of the film out of place.

The biggest downfall of the film has to be its unnecessary and atmospherically inappropriate subplots that focus on the townsfolk and their daily lives which involve far more slapstick and goofball behavior than really fits the tone of Gish’s heavy dramatic work. For a film that already feels quite long (clocking in nearly two-and-a-half hours) in a decade filled with a ton of very short films compared to films of today, over half an hour could’ve easily been cut out because of these subplots and the entire story would’ve still been as impactful. In fact, maybe even more so, that way we as an audience could feel the depth of Gish’s pain and emotional turmoil rather than be interrupted every fifteen minutes by some peculiar, Patton Oswalt-looking screwballs and their slapstick humor.

Altogether, this is certainly quite an admirable accomplishment from a director who once filled me with such rage due to his completely ignorant ideals on display in his influential “masterpiece.” In fact, he actually goes the extra mile and uses this film as a method of battling the ignorance and intolerance of many of his day (and yes, I’m aware he already combatted the public’s backlash with 1916’s Intolerance, but as I haven’t seen that yet and the fact that this is still quite relevant to the unfortunate inferior roles of women back in the day, I’m not exactly counting that). As one user on IMDB mentioned to me, while DeMille was one to focus on gender roles or issues facing women in a forward-thinking way, Griffith was always focused on the past and looking to perfectly reflect life through his art rather than send a message about the way things could be. Regardless of which director better raises the issues, it’s still interesting at least that Griffith ever bothered to address such issues faced by women considering how intolerant I once believed him to be. Here’s hoping that his Birth of a Nation days were left back in 1915 and each film of his I’ll see from here on out will show the same type of humanism displayed in Way Down East. Maybe using Gish in nearly all of his films will certainly help; I know it would get me to watch them again, that’s for sure.


8.5/10

Outside the Law – and Just Outside the Realm of Strong Filmmaking

Attempting to put aside my serious judgment and hatred of using “blackface, yellowface” or any type of racist makeup to allow white movie stars to play these roles that could just as easily be played by the actual people of the race they are attempting to portray… Tod Browning’s Outside the Law still has a lot of faults outside of this that makes it difficult to fully enjoy the film beyond that. It’s not a bad film by any means, but it’s a weak one for sure and if not for the strong performances and intensity of some key scenes, it would be nowhere near the rating for which I give it.

After her reformed kingpin father, “Silent” Madden is wrongfully sentenced to prison after a scheme by master criminal Black Mike Sylva (played with rugged authority by Lon Chaney in a dual-role where he also plays an Asian servant named Ah Wing for some reason I can’t comprehend whatsoever…), Molly Madden (Priscilla Dean) works together with Black Mike’s right-hand man (played by Wheeler Oakman) to take him down. While the plot works for about two-thirds of the film, there is this unfortunately large chunk of the mid-section that is dedicated to both Dean and Oakman sitting in a room hiding out from police where the schmaltz and "convenience" is played up to a tee which takes away from a good amount of the intensity that had been built up to that point.

It’s not until Chaney’s Black Mike (pictured left) makes an appearance toward the last twenty minutes that the film finds new life once more and it leads to a shoot-out that, if not for the damaged quality of the film that made most of it almost incomprehensible, would have been very intense.

While I understand both that it’s unfair to rate a film based solely off of the standards of its time (the racist non-casting of Asian actors) and that I can’t poorly rate a film due to its film reels’ unsuccessful transition to modern times, I can still say the film would have easily not been worth the time if not for the strong performances of everyone. While Chaney and E. Alyn Warren (who plays the Confucius-like Chang Lo) both unnecessarily play Asian characters, Warren still plays Chang Lo quite well and with respect to the character and his race, while Chaney is quite pointless and over-the-top as Ah Wing, but gives a remarkably fierce turn as the thuggish Black Mike.

Beyond those two, the two leads (pictured right) – Dean and Oakman – manage to make the consistent banter that fills up a large portion of the film work as they show off their acting range from sweet to intense to devious – just like any good thief.

Without any of these performances, however, I would say Tod Browning (popularly known for his 1931-32 one-two punch of Dracula and Freaks) would have had a humungous flop on his hands and not have had the career he wound up having. This is not to undermine his strengths as a director as when characters were not sitting in rooms talking, he still crafted some suspenseful action sequences (primarily shoot-outs) and he really excelled when all of his characters were in play together. While it feels like 1920 had little to offer outside of the generic, each one of the films reviewed so far – including this one – showed potential for directors or stars who would go on to quite a bit of fame over the decade and even over onto the 1930s. Maybe without the racist makeup/ casting, perhaps their films improve (after all, he did remake this film with the powerful Edward G. Robinson in Chaney’s role without requiring him to play an Asian character too!). So perhaps they do learn after all. At least it’s not as bad as Birth of a Nation…


5.5/10

Pollyanna : A Schmaltzy, Naïve Introduction to Mary Pickford

As my first foray into the work of the ever-renown Mary Pickford (labeled as “the most popular star in screen history” by film historian Ethan Katz), and considering it was in tune with my 1920 streak, I decided to check out Paul Powell’s Pollyanna. While it’s probably better known by its 1960 remake by Walt Disney Studios, the one aspect I’m sure that film was missing was the glee and charm of Mary Pickford. While she’s not as well-known to me as she is to most, she certainly kept my attention throughout the entire film thanks to her vibrantly sweet performance.

Even though she was in her late twenties during the making of this film, Pickford plays the young recently-orphaned titular Pollyanna who goes to live with her cheerless Aunt Polly after her father passes away and she has no other relatives.

As expected, their personalities clash to create much conflict though Pollyanna becomes a shining symbol for all those in the town to live up to as she makes many friends during her stay. As the title cards state far too many times over during the film, Pollyanna likes to play the “Glad Game” and is “glad” about this, “glad” about that, and it brightens everyone’s day.

I would say it’s the cynic in me that finds that level of consistent optimism to be incredibly aggravating – probably akin to her miserable Aunt Polly – but it really just isn’t realistic to me for someone to audibly talk about the optimism they could find in each and every situation. That being said, Mary Pickford certainly helps to sell such a cheesy, corny performance that actually manages to work to make even the mean, ol’ Grinch grow a heart three sizes bigger. From the opening scene alone, as Pollyanna talks with her father on his deathbed, she perfectly blends the optimism of her character with the real emotion associated with losing a loved one.

Seeing as how I’m a pretty sentimental individual, I certainly hoped the rest of the film would offer the same amount of tear-jerker scenes. Instead, what I received was far too many unrealistic scenarios of this Christ-like child spreading love far and wide and affecting all the grumpy people of the town, turning them into lively, loving beings. Most of the time, I wouldn’t mind, but maybe it was just a film made for the audience of its time (as is common knowledge, the Great Depression was fast approaching during the decade of the 1920s) that attempted to make people smile even during the roughest of times. Watching today in 2016, however, offers very little impact but a feeling that the film was unrealistic and overly corny (not to mention convenient, with her next-door neighbor knowing her mother quite intimately).

The one shining light, though, definitely has to be Mary Pickford’s delightful performance that must have certainly been an inspiration for Amy Adam’s equally charming turn in Disney’s 2007 princess/live-action hybrid film Enchanted. Though Pickford’s height and ageless beauty certainly made her able to play child roles long past her transition into adulthood (almost like Ellen Page in the 2000s), it worked for this film in particular and certainly helped establish her as a profitable and often-revered name in the film industry. Hopefully the rest of her filmography demonstrated a bit more inspired filmmaking than this one. For what it’s worth, though, she nailed the performance here so it wasn’t all that bad.


5.5/10

Fantastical Monsters Alive in Prague: Paul Wegener’s The Golem

I suppose if you only ever dedicate yourself to one role or film for the rest of your career, then make it the best you possibly can. This thought process must have been what director and star Paul Wegener had in mind when he directed his third adaptation of The Golem. After both directing and starring in a 1915 and 1917 version of essentially the same story (or at least involving the same character), Wegener reprises the role once more and sits behind the director chair to bring a Frankenstein-esque story to the big screen a third time.

The first thing I noticed about the film was its incredible use of saturation to color the film strips to bring a lot of vibrancy to the picture. From the film’s opening images, the prophesizing Rabbi Low (played by Albert Steinrück) looks to the stars atop of his humble church and smells a catastrophic disaster fated for his beloved Jewish community. From the bluish tint to the film that gave the “night” feel to the film (in the bottom-left corner of the picture to the left) as well as the sickly green glow of his lair (top-right in the picture), I was instantly drawn into the atmosphere of the film.

In order to battle the impending doom, Rabbi Low builds a creature – The Golem – with the help of dark spiritual forces to protect his people. What happens next is essentially the same story as Dr. Frankenstein and his famous monster.

Though the story is a slightly generic version of Frankenstein, and with much more political allegory and religious sentiment to boot, Wegener still tells the story in an exciting way. Wegener himself (pictured below, who looks a lot like Guardians of the Galaxy’s Dave Bautista) also plays the titular Golem and with more dedication than many of the other performers in the same film.

Despite having no dialogue whatsoever, he acts expertly through his facial expressions and mannerisms – either played to frightening or humorous effects. Outside of him, it was nice to see Ernst Deutsch of The Third Man fame at a very young age as the cowardly Rabbi protégé.

Though the ending carries a few anti-Semitic vibes with it and goes to some really strangely dark places, the film still serves as a film full of wonder and excitement that must have been a thrill to see in the early 1920’s. I can say so far that the European directors of the time certainly showed much more dedication to their craft than the American/ Hollywood directors offering simple, crowd-pleasing stories. While the film itself was not exactly perfect, it was still a great fantasy/ adventure film (some call it one of the early “horror” films as well, but I rarely got those vibes). The visuals gave the film the proper flare to draw the viewer into its atmosphere and the costumes/ production aspects were all put together proficiently to feel as if you were alive in the sixteenth century watching this story unfold. While Wegener never made anything quite as successful as his Golem films, especially this version, it certainly helped usher in (along with Robert Wiene’s The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari) a long tradition of successful horror/ fantasy films from European directors. For that alone, it’s worth checking out.

7.5/10

Why Change Your Wife : A Dated, but Brilliant Commentary on Marriage

Long before Gloria Swanson gave the world one of the most iconic performances in all of cinema in Billy Wilder’s (very meta) Sunset Boulevard, she was a thriving silent film star often under Cecil B. DeMille’s masterful eye. As both of their careers were rising at the dawn of the new decade, this film certainly helped to solidify each as some of the best in the business. Why Change Your Wife follows Swanson as the titular wife who is constantly berating and badgering her husband, Robert (played by Thomas Meighan), until he bumps into a model named Sally at a lingerie store while shopping for his wife – hoping a gift might make her happy. Eventually, Robert attempts to fight the “matrimonial resignation to fate” that the opening title cards declare most men are instinctively born with, but not everything goes the way he had hoped – and Gloria Swanson’s Mrs. Gordon sure isn’t giving up on herself either.

It’s a sweet little film made all the better with some solid performances from the main trio – Meighan, Swanson, and Bebe Daniels (who plays Sally). In particular, Gloria Swanson’s transformation from the irksome wife into the one-who-got-away ideal woman of Mr. Gordon’s dream (those eyes...) is a delightful turn and the best female performance I’ve seen so far in the 1920s.

It’s not difficult to see why Swanson was declared one of the pivotal stars of the 1920s and an influence on many actresses over the next century. But that’s not to shortchange Meighan or Daniels who give affective performances that are only one step behind Swanson’s glorious turn. Meighan spends most of the film sighing with defeat or looking worried, but it works to lend the film some comic relief and as a man in a long-term relationship, I can definitely say a lot of his behaviors are not that far off from that of a committed man. Daniels also excels in the first half of the film in a performance that is equally intoxicating as well as sensitive, but the second half of the film changes her character a bit too much that she loses her edge (more the fault of the writer than anything on her part).

The one problem the film is plagued with, however, is that it is a film very much meant for its time. From the misogynist title cards or dialogue that too often discuss the importance of beauty or accessories to define a woman to the many Bechdel tests the film fails many times over, the film would be met with much controversy had it been released today. While I am very much an advocator of equality among all genders, races, lifestyles, etc., I am not going to judge a film poorly based on the standards of its time. Art is only a reflection of the times, and while times have changed, the films stay the same and I will judge them solely off their quality as cinematic works. That being said, the work is still very dated both in its dialogue and in its scenarios.

While all of this may be true, the film still offers a very honest and brilliant commentary on marriage and fated souls that was certainly ahead of its time in that regard (weird; a film both dated and ahead of its time?!). As one title card in the film states: “Matrimony, like a dip in the sea, first stimulates, then chills. But once out of the water the call of the ocean lures the bather to another plunge.” This brilliant line alone is what the film is essentially about. Whether that plunge be with another man or woman, or back into a marriage that has not yet found its ending, it’s always that intimacy which we lost souls search. As someone who has been in many long-term relationships, as well as currently in one, it’s easy to lose the gratitude and fire that once ignited a relationship because we have sat in the water too long. But once out of the water, you’re shaking cold and wishing you could go right back in. The film, while still showing the difficulties of marriage and monogamy, still ends on a note of hopefulness that might open the eyes of some married or committed individuals who may have taken for granted the one thing they should hold most dear. For the commentary alone, however dated it may be, I enjoyed the film and hope to see more of the glorious Gloria down the road as well.


7.5/10

The Monastery of Sendomir : Suspense with Simplicity

A year before his most acclaimed and highly influential film, The Phantom Carriage, and long before he played the lead protagonist in Ingmar Bergman’s Wild Strawberries (uniting professor with protégé), Swedish director Victor Sjöström crafted this brilliant silent feature from 1920, The Monastery of Sendomir (sometimes titled Secret of the Monastery). The premise of the film is an incredibly simple one and almost plays out like an old fable or urban legend throughout its brief running time of 54 minutes: a cantankerous monk offers refuge to a group of weary travelers within his monastery and shares a story of the monastery’s owner and his wife. What begins as, what appears to be at least, a horror film about spirits or haunted castles turns into something far more terrifying – involving the morality of humans.

Though the story is brief and told almost like an extensive anecdote or campfire tale, Sjöström manages to capture a variety of emotions within a short period of time. His film bears a heavy burden of intensity that looms over each frame like a dark cloud, which perhaps could explain why the film feels so much like a horror film of its time. The wonderful lighting and photography of Henrik Jaenzon certainly aids in crafting an eerie and troubling atmosphere, at times (at least for a modern viewer) reminding me of Frankenstein or Dracula of years later.

Even without any music to accompany the film (unfortunately, at least with the video I saw on YouTube), Sjöström still manages to create a truly compelling picture thanks to his genuine care for his remarkably engaging characters as well as his careful dedication to tell the story in the exact amount of time it requires. There is little time wasted on unnecessary subplots or attempting to maneuver back and forth between past and present as the monk tells his tale; instead Sjöström allows the film to breathe naturally as the intensity builds to an exceptionally thrilling climax.

On top of the wonderful atmospherics of Sjostrom’s profound eye, the cast actually lends a hand to create incredibly full-bodied characters. Though I have never seen or heard of any of the actors involved (I happen to be severely uneducated in too many foreign films, hence my odyssey through film), they all happen to provide excellent performances all around and fill me with excitement about seeing any future work from them. In particular, the lead protagonist of the Count played by Tore Svennberg is a fully lived-in performance that I have yet to see such dedication to during this decade (from a dramatic standpoint anyhow). As the intensity of the film builds and builds, he only becomes more inhabited within the character’s fear, anger, and anguish.

The stand-out, however, has to be Tora Teje (pictured left) as his wife, Elga. Though she appears to be the simple, naïve trophy of a rich Count, there is actually something more devious to her than we see, and she provides so many layers to a performance that never required many at all. In doing so, it only makes the character and the story feel more realistic for a time so long ago.

All I can say is that if Victor Sjöström could manage that much suspense and emotion with such little time and no music, I cannot wait to see what wonders await with his popular Phantom Carriage. Yes, yes, I know; I haven’t seen it yet. And crazy considering so many directors – particularly Ingmar Bergman and Stanley Kubrick – have been influenced by the film and his work, but maybe that’s the reason going back to your roots is so helpful sometimes. If we are influenced by the greats, then who were they influenced by? Of course, if Victor Sjöström’s Monastery of Sendomir is any example of his influential power, then it would certainly make a whole hell of a lot of sense.

9.5/10

The Saphead : A Hearty Introduction to Buster Keaton

Long before Buster Keaton became a household name during the 1920’s, Douglas Fairbanks recommended Keaton to play the leading role in this film, which Fairbanks had played on the stage previously (where it was originally titled The Lamb). The idea of movie stars was just coming into fruition throughout the past five years as cinema made its stride, and Fairbanks was certainly one of those stars. Thanks to Fairbanks’ suggestion, Buster Keaton became one of those stars as well.

Herbert Blaché’s The Saphead follows Keaton as Bertie, the titular “saphead” – purely innocent and oblivious – as he strives to marry a long-time family acquaintance, Agnes, while trying to impress his powerful financier father who believes he should make something of himself out in the world. Like any good Keaton film (even though this was not directed by Keaton himself), things do not go his way outright. On the side, there is Mark Turner, his brother-in-law, who is trying to keep secret the details of his affair with a woman named Henrietta from Bertie’s sister, Rose (Mark’s wife). If it doesn’t sound messy just yet, don’t worry, it will. Meanwhile, Bertie’s father is currently living well-off thanks to his new investment with the Henrietta mine – literally striking gold. All of these details converge at a climax equal parts hilarious, thrilling, and touching.

Long before Billy Wilder ever put that bittersweet touch on his films that made them so memorable, relatable, and classics in every sense of the word, The Saphead sure serves as an inspiration to that type of cleverly written, gently handled film that Wilder was known to do so well. At the heart of it all is Keaton’s adorable portrayal of a gullible, but kindly pure man who only lives as a “free spirit” with the best of intentions – to win the heart of his one true love, Agnes. In the hands of a lesser actor, the absent-minded character of Bertie might have been handled a little too inanely and made his character simply seem stupid rather than likable. But the power of Keaton is he always had a way to make his character likable, the same way Chaplin managed for many years as his famous “Tramp” character, even without using clever words or suave faces. Though he was not a household name at the point of this film, and his signature stunt work in silent films was yet to be renown to the world, his slapstick humor and creative stunt work during the climax at the Stock Exchange was certainly enough evidence of what was to come.

However, the film does not solely work due to Keaton’s delightful performance – as well as the decent performances of his supporting cast – but the writing is what puts it above the other films of the year or decade. Adapted from a play, it certainly has all the aspects of a good play with clever, whimsical dialogue which dashes off the tongue to make for many humorous moments as well as setting up many elements that would come together for an explosive climax. Thanks to director Herbert Blaché’s wonderfully light touch, it actually manages to work outside of the stage as it almost feels ripe for a film straight out of the 1950’s during Wilder’s reign where clever dialogue reigned supreme.

All in all, the film has several elements going for it and very few going against it, which makes it an instant crowd-pleaser for me. The one element that sets it apart, however, is Buster Keaton which was in a league only occupied by him and Chaplin for the next decade which made audiences hearts soar with delight, but feel with the utmost sincerity. For this, it easily pushes itself above many other films of the decade, and only excites me more to watch many more films from his repertoire and for the hopes that I can manage to find many other small gems such as this throughout the next few years. Hopefully quite a few more audiences will do the same regarding this film, as it would have been well worth the 27 cents to see it in theaters during 1920 (many times over, might I add), but now we even get to watch it for free on YouTube. Should count ourselves lucky.

9/10

What the World Needs Now: Fighting Prejudice Through Art

I want to say that watching Oscar Micheaux’s film, Within Our Gates (1920), after suffering through D.W. Griffith’s racist masterwork, The Birth of a Nation (1915), helps to subside my anger for the treatment of African-Americans during the early 1900s, but really this film only builds upon it – albeit for an entirely different reason. Within Our Gates earns a spot in the cinematic hall of fame for being the oldest living print of an American film written and directed by an African-American – the legendary Oscar Micheaux. The film depicts the troubling life of Sylvia Landry (played with great innocence by Evelyn Preer) as she attempts to rebuild a Southern school following her fiancé’s abandonment. Though the times have long changed from the late 1800’s when men, women, and children were forced into labor, she and many other African-Americans still face unfair and unwarranted prejudice from those who claim them to be “inferior” beings (ugh, just typing that boils my blood…). Despite these prejudices, Sylvia remains true to her cause to garner enough money to save a school in the South for uneducated children who want to better themselves and contribute to society.

Though she faces many obstacles along the way, this is not a film about tragedy or the evil of white people. In fact, despite its disturbingly honest portrayal of the treatment of African-Americans over the years (even having the guts to show lynching and attempted rape), Micheaux never ignorantly accuses white people of being evil or impure – simply the ones whose evil is necessary for the story. And he certainly never painted certain races certain colors or outright discriminatorily slammed another race like a certain director whose film I’ve reviewed…

Instead, Micheaux paints a picture of a woman brought up through tragedy and still wanting to bring some good to the world. She wants to help children in need, she loves fully and purely and does not give in to every romantic whim that comes her way, and she even steps in front of a moving vehicle to save a small, white child. Without even trying, Micheaux creates a character we are born to care for as long as we are not ignorant enough to step in her shoes.

Aside from the social and racial implications the film offers, the film still serves as an enthralling drama about Sylvia’s struggle to both find money to build the school as well as love. Micheaux has an eye for creating rich characters and wants his audiences to really invest time in each and every one. Even though it’s a simple story, the film allows the audience to think deeply about the issues at hand for not only the characters, but all African-Americans post-Civil War era. Sylvia is just one simple woman in a world filled with many tragic stories just like hers, but Michaeux demonstrates the heartbreaking plight of many through the witnessing of her one story. Yes, sometimes film is meant to entertain, but I believe the real purpose of film is to force an audience to think about their own lives as well as the lives of others. In this case, I would say Michaeux crafted a landmark of black cinema that perfectly captures this idea clearly, especially at a time in which the world – just as it was back in 1920 – really needs to see all sides to the story of every person’s life.
7.5/10