Thoughts On DeMille’s “The Affairs of Anatol” (1921)

Most of us have a weakness for a “so bad it’s good” film, something so cringey or badly written that you have no choice but to love it. Or, at least, snicker in wonder that those lines were left in, and that ludicrous plot twist was considered a good idea, and my gosh, why wasn’t that horrible special effect scrubbed entirely?

Could I pick a few silent films that fit the “so bad it’s good” bill? Other than a no-brainer like The Sheik (1921), it’s not an easy question–in my opinion, anyways. Silents tend to come in five flavors: Masterpieces of Cinematic Art, Really Good, Pretty Good, Dull, or Just Plain Awful. The Just Plain Awful also has multiple subcategories (one is “Italian Stage Divas Who Don’t Translate Well to Film”).

Sorry, Pina.

But as far as “so bad it’s good”? Here’s the deal: if a silent film’s bad, it’s usually just plain ol’ bad, if you get what I mean. It’s boring, or the story’s been done a zillion times, or the plot is preposterous and it’s a good half hour too long, etc. Instead, what tends to come to my mind is a film that’s quite good and well-made, but has preposterous things in it. And thus I come to a film like The Affairs of Anatol (1921).

Yes, there’s some hypnosis involved.

Thoughts On: “Four Sons” (1928)

I can hardly believe it, but this is my 600th published post! And it’s about a John Ford film with a WWI setting, one of those late-Twenties silents with gorgeous cinematography–not a bad milestone. Thank you all for your continued readership, especially as Silent-ology inches closer to its 10th (!) anniversary!

A couple weeks ago, midway between Veteran’s Day and Thanksgiving, I watched John Ford’s feature Four Sons. It struck me that this was the perfect time to see it, since on one hand it was a loving portrait of a mother thankful for her simple life with her sons, and on the other hand it showed how their lives were forever affected by World War I. It also struck me that this kind of American WWI film likely would not been released 10 years earlier–in fact, even a hint of a film like this would probably have been taboo.

Thoughts On: “The Devil In A Convent” (“Le Diable Au Couvent,” 1899)

And at long last, the spooky season has come around again! Let’s kick off our usual month-long examination of silent macabre with a look at Méliès’s split-reel film Le diable au couvent, or The Devil in a Convent, made way back in 1899. (By the way, I would also like to wish a Happy Buster Keaton’s Birthday to all who celebrate–which I trust is every single one of you!)

Also called The Sign of the Cross, this short features Méliès’s signature blend of féerie play imagery and mischievous fun. It is also one of the earliest (or perhaps the earliest) example of Méliès himself playing a devil–the man sure loved hopping around the set in Mephistopheles-inspired garb. And if we examine it further, might there also be clues about what could’ve inspired Méliès?

Thoughts On: “Underworld” (1927)

Better late than never, here’s the last post of Gangster Month! And the best film was saved for last, she declared. I always enjoy doing these theme months, and I hope you’ve enjoyed following along!

The sophisticated, moodily-lit crime drama Underworld (1927) is recognized by many as the “official” launching point of the gangster genre. But even if you removed it from that context, it would easily be considered a masterpiece all on its own. Funnily enough, director Josef von Sternberg himself would’ve probably appreciated it that way. “When I made Underworld I was not a gangster, nor did I know anything about gangsters,” he stated in Kevin Brownlow’s The Parade’s Gone By. “I do not value the fetish for authenticity. I have no regard for it. On the contrary, the illusion of reality is what I look for, not reality itself.”

But while Von Sternberg may have crafted his film first and foremost as a compelling story, that story melds perfectly with the dark setting of Roaring Twenties gangster culture–dark in both a figurative and literal sense. The opening title card establishes the mood: “A great city in the dead of night…streets lonely…moon clouded…buildings as empty as the cave dwellings of a forgotten age.” Many of Underworld‘s scenes take place at night, often hours after regular folks would’ve gone to bed. This alone helps the viewer sense the subversive nature of the criminal world.

Thoughts On: “Regeneration” (1915)

In film history books the year 1915 practically goes hand-in-hand with The Birth of the Nation—not surprising, considering its mega-blockbuster status. But it was also a banner year for many amazingly sophisticated, ground-breaking films, from scandalous dramas like The Cheat to period pieces like The Coward to realistic crime films like Regeneration. The latter was famed director Raoul Walsh’s first feature-length film, and today it’s also considered the first feature-length gangster film. It has those touches of sentiment so common at the time, but also has a surprisingly unflinching portrayal of the grittier side of city life. Somehow, it makes me think of an Edwardian Valentine’s Day postcard plucked gingerly out of a mud puddle.

Thoughts On The 2022 Sight & Sound List And “Jeanne Dielman”

Now that the dust has been starting to settle on the news about the 2022 Sight & Sound film poll–the once-a-decade event ranking the top 100 greatest films of all time, with particular focus on the top 10–I thought I’d share some thoughts. Because the newest list is–how to put it–a doozy.

Just in case you’ve heard of Sight & Sound (spelled with either “&” or “and”) but haven’t looked into it much, it’s a prestigious monthly film magazine that’s been published by the British Film Institute since the 1930s. In 1952 they decided to poll critics and directors about what ten films they considered the all-time greats–Battleship Potemkin (1925) nabbed the top spot. It was decided that the poll would be held every ten years to gauge the tastes of the critical consensus and to see how appreciation of great cinema might evolve. The once-a-decade nature of the poll and its knowledgeable voter base made it, in the words of Roger Ebert, “…The most respected of the countless polls of great movies–the only one most serious movie people take seriously.” (I’d keep that quote in mind for the rest of this article.)

The Unsettling Charm Of “Le Cochon Danseur” (“The Dancing Pig,” 1907)

Many of you have seen it, a lot of you probably love it, and I think it’s safe to say that some of you find it…unsettling. Oh yes, it’s one of the most viral bits of Edwardian film footage in existence–the split-reel oddity Le Cochon Danseur (1907) that many of us simply know as The Dancing Pig.

First bursting into the Internet in the 2000s, it’s become a go-to all-purpose “check out this creepy old film” film. YouTube alone has dozens (and dozens) of copies of it, and GIFs of it float about generously on social media. There are memes. There’s fan art. There’s even Creepypastas. But aside from all this 21st century hullabaloo, it’s also been a film festival mainstay since the ’80s, when the late, great historian David Shepard had a copy of it struck from an original negative.

Thoughts On: “The White Sister” (1923)

I’ve sometimes thought that if Lillian Gish hadn’t become an actress, she would’ve made an excellent Catholic nun. That’s a sincere observation–Ms. Gish, a highly-disciplined woman of innate dignity and fine character, seemed like a good match for a contemplative life. But come to think of it, she did come pretty close when she starred in the 1923 drama The White Sister.

This was Gish’s first film after her long tenure under D.W. Griffith. They had parted on friendly terms after completing Orphans of the Storm (1922), with Griffith admitting he couldn’t pay her a high enough salary and encouraging her to strike out on her own. Fellow former Griffith actor Richard Barthelmess and talented director Henry King had started working for the new independent company Inspiration Pictures and had just made the Americana masterpiece Tol’able David (1921). Gish decided to join them, and after some thought decided the 1909 novel The White Sister would make a fine melodramatic film.

Fun Facts And Murky Legends About “The Arrival Of The Train At La Ciotat Station” (1896)

We’re all familiar with the Lumière brothers’ 50-second early film The Arrival of the Train at La Ciotat Station (1895), which shows exactly what it says it does. Of all the early films screened for fascinated audiences back in the 1890s, Arrival of the Train has become the most legendary. For as we’ve all heard, when people saw that train on the screen steaming into the station for the first time–looking like it was about to roll right off the screen before vanishing outside the frame–the experience was so new and unexpected that they panicked, even fleeing the theater.

It’s easy to see why everyone loves this story. We can’t help smiling at those naïve early filmgoers, frightened to death of a simple moving image, in an age when three-hour action blockbusters are the order of the day and toddlers know how to watch movies on iPads. Just imagine if those delicate Victorians saw something like Aquaman or Mad Max: Fury Road!

An…accurate?…recreation from Hugo (2011).

Ah, but here’s some food for thought: What if the story of Arrival of the Train was actually more myth than fact? Could its legendary status actually be…just that, a legend?

Thoughts On: “The Bat” (1926)

In the annals of “Whodunnit?” spooky old house movies, the awesome The Cat and the Canary (1927) ranks pretty high. But how about The Bat (1926)? It’s not quite a masterpiece of murder mystery films, but it does its job well, has some quasi-Expressionist cinematography and features one of my favorite comediennes (and she livens up the reels quite a bit). And yes, it features a mysterious “bat man” quite a few years before the Batman. Hmm, could this murder mystery be more influential than we realize…?