Silent Sunday: His People (1925)

"Scattered for centuries, these people have come from the four corners of Europe, each bringing a dream of prosperity and happiness, but finding only the reality of hard work, suffering, and privation."

This slice-of-life story of one Jewish family's hardships in a ghetto in an unnamed American city features one of the early stars of Jewish theater, Rudolph Schildkraut, who's probably best known as Caiaphas, the high priest of Israel in DeMille's 1927 epic The King of Kings, but whom I had never heard of before renting this film. He's quite an actor, or at least quite a presence, and the film uses his eminence well.

It's a bit of a shame that this film is only available on a $72 "for educational use" DVD published by Brandeis University's National Center for Jewish Film, because it deserves a larger audience. It's a really interesting look at a group of people who didn't get much favorable coverage from mainstream films.

Read the full review.

A Certain Bank-Owned Cinema II: Cinema Harder

The Other Michael Phillips wrote a nice article about that certain bank-owned revival house. But I don't think I've ever called him "fake." I just claim to be the original Michael Phillips.

The Feckin' Braadway Melody

Welcome to the second edition of Best Pictures from the Outside In, with a title provided by one of our participants, Nick of Nick's Flick Picks. The other two are Nathaniel of The Film Experience and yours truly, Mike at Goatdog's Movies. Each week we pull two Best Picture winners from Oscar's shelves, one from each end; last week we discussed the first and most recent winners, Wings and The Departed.

This time around, Oscar somehow knew that someday we'd spend part of the first week of this series harping on how guy-centric the Best Picture category tends to be, so he awarded the second Best Picture, for films released between August 2, 1928 and July 31, 1929, to the mother of all backstage musicals, The Broadway Melody, which follows the rise-to-the-top exploits of two dancing Midwestern sisters (Bessie Love and Anita Page) trying to make it big in the Big Apple. On the other end of the historical and thematic spectrum is 2006's The Departed, a hyper-masculine epic of crime and punishment that follows two double agents (Matt Damon and Leonardo DiCaprio) as they rise through the ranks of the cops and the crooks, respectively.

Mike: It's almost impossible, given the structure of this series, to avoid seeing parallels, and they're here: the scratch-and-claw rise to the top of the heap, the love triangles, the ghastly shootings—well, in one of them. But let me get this party started with two points of interest. First is the role of sound in The Broadway Melody, which, since it was released just over a year after Al Jolson said "you ain't heard nothing yet," is both a prisoner to its technical limitations and admirably adept at overcoming them, at least sometimes. Coming in the middle of the biggest technical overhaul in film history, it's a fascinating report card on how the film industry was coming along in its transition. Second, exactly how amazing is Vera Farmiga in The Departed? She takes a role that's basically a ruler against which the two alpha males can measure their dicks [is that too harsh? i don't think so] and makes Madolyn not only a three-dimensional person, but one of the most interesting characters in the film.

Nathaniel: It's an impossible role to be sure. So, Farmiga deserves props from making something of it. What she makes of it... well, your mileage may vary. But on this second viewing I was reminded that most everyone in The Departed is at the top of their game. Damon and DiCaprio are both even better on repeat viewings. They're so tightly strung one half expects them to snap in virtually every scene. DiCaprio's worry line cut so deep I wanted to suture it. Ouch. Scorsese knows how to sell urgency and I love imagining that behind the scenes the actors were all fully aware of how easily they could get lost in the big ensemble. They're following Frank Costello's opening credo: "No one gives it to you. You have to take it."

As for the mechanics of movie-making—narrowing it to sound is smart—The Departed sounds terrific, capitalizing on years of the technical virtuousity. We're all accustomed to the way movies overlap sound from one scene to the next (the visual equivalent being the dissolve) but with The Departed... is it just my imagination or does Scorsese let the sound bleed for much longer than other films do. The result is that everything feels simultaneous and dangerously fast. I found that a huge relief after the clumsiness of Broadway Melody. The latter plays so awkwardly for modern ears, its sound jarringly cutting in and out with each edit. It's undermic'ed. It's overmic'ed. It's a mess, an unpleasant experience. Though I did get a good chuckle from the opening prologue which feels crazy with elation about throwing all the sound at you at once. "Listen to what we can do: Crowd sounds. Office noise. Dialogue. Music! Hear it! Isn't it wonderful?"

Nick: I'm absolutely on the Vera Farmiga train, which is just a keyhole into my favorite aspect of The Departed: you think it's going to be a high-concept picture, about two protagonists in this chiastic, unknowing pursuit of each other, and instead it's a sprawling, calico suspense-thriller character-drama, where this huge host of sterling actors is given full license to bleed all kinds of life and idiosyncrasy into the story, all of them creating real people who don't seem aware at all of "supporting" Damon and DiCaprio, who in turn don't seem aware of giving star turns in a big prestige picture. Nicholson remains a problem for me, shouty and arrogantly effusive, but Alec Baldwin, Vera Farmiga, Anthony Anderson, Mark Wahlberg, Martin Sheen, and so many others make this an enormously gratifying psychological experience. Plus a great thrill-ride, mostly for those sound and editing rhythms that Nathaniel describes. Love those occasional freeze-frames. And even if a couple of the set-pieces don't pan out (DiCaprio stalking Damon out of the movie theater always feels a bit clunky to me), the rooftop catastrophe, the turn-your-cellphones-off espionage job in the warehouse, the second rooftop catastrophe... those are sensational sequences.

By contrast, The Broadway Melody seems pretty beholden to its central love-triangle plot and its self-conscious technical breakthrough. Almost everything is keyed in those two directions, which only underlines the fact that the movie is too long. I'm guessing I was a little less impressed than you, Mike (albeit less sensitive to the evolving, year-by-year standards for sound incorporation), and more impressed than you, Nathaniel. I'm pretty shocked that none of the filmmakers seemed bothered by the fact that the Mahoney Sisters are just a terrible act, but as the film goes on—and again, it does go on—I got much more interested this time in Hank's increasing panic and unhappiness, and even a little bit in Queenie's sexual-romantic dilemma, despite the frequent ghastliness of Anita Page's gangly and tentative performance. Did these hooks work for either of you?

Nathaniel: Oddly, absolutely nothing worked for me in Broadway Melody save for those moments when it suddenly forgot to be a sound picture. There's a few blissful cutaway shots where the sound drops out and you get just a close-up of a face or a reaction shot, usually of Hank (the elder more business savvy sister) looking concerned for Queenie (the younger). It was a silent movie for a few seconds. It's the only time I felt anything for the characters.

Another connection between the films: There's a complete shortage of sympathetic characters, a surprise given that we always think of Best Pictures as erring on the side of playing for the heartstrings. My mind quickly jumps to Million Dollar Baby (a subject for a few weeks from now) when there's barely a character flaw in sight. The leads in Broadway Melody are talent-free, deceitful and contemptuous of anyone else in the theater. They lie to each other repeatedly. But it's not a Chicago style black comedy. We're supposedly to genuinely care for them but they do nothing to earn it. The Departed? Even the lovely Farmiga is ethically challenged. "Cops or criminals: What's the difference?" as the movie itself asks.

Mike: Let me clarify: I don't really like The Broadway Melody—it's got to be in the bottom five winners—and whatever praise I have for it is indeed for how well it escapes the strictures of late-20s sound. Yes, it trumpets, probably too much, the mere fact that it has "Crowd sounds. Office noise. Dialogue. Music!" (which Nathaniel described so well). And to modern ears, the sound problems you described are off-putting. But from a film history standpoint, it's pretty amazing how far it is from the stereotypical Singin' in the Rain-style "let's all stand around the flower pot" techniques. It has sound coming from multiple sources, and the filmmakers achieved this even if they had to bring in a phonograph or an orchestra to play offscreen. As for the bad acts that are the Maloney Sisters ("Mahoney!"), the second time around didn't make me care much more about Hank, and even less about Queenie, although it did pique my interest in the boundaries of their relationship—I think Hank has a hankering for her sister that goes beyond simple sisterly protectiveness.

And as for The Departed, I'm not afraid to admit it. I had to look up "chiastic." And then I had to look up "chiasmus." And I really, honestly hate Jack Nicholson in this film, beyond my usual disdain for the accolades he tends to receive for doing that "Crazy Jack" thing again and again. But he's the only bad apple in this bunch. Well, unless you count the point that Nathaniel brought up about this being the most morally deficient bunch of liars and cheats and self-deluders possibly in the history of this category. Really, it's still quite surprising that this film won, given its genre, its general lack of sympathetic characters, and its violence. This might be a silly question, but why do you think Oscar picked this particular Scorsese film to honor?

Nick: Well, I personally think The Departed won because the other four nominees were impossible as winners—even though I realize that if one of them had won, I'd say it was because the other four, including The Departed, were impossible as winners. But given that we all knew people who thought Babel was overstrained and Little Miss Sunshine and The Queen were awfully modest and Letters from Iwo Jima was quite aloof (and fans as well as detractors of these movies seemed to agree frequently on these counts), how do you NOT vote for the propulsive energy of this film, dignified by a big and tony cast, and directed by a badly owed auteur. Plus, even though few people think The Departed is among Scorsese's best, I'm sure I heard a sigh of relief that there was more left in him than Gangs of New York and The Aviator. Honoring him for those would, to me, would have been like belatedly anointing Hitchcock for Torn Curtain or Topaz.

In the category of Never Thought I'd See the Day, I feel an urge to say something else in favor of The Broadway Melody, even beyond the sheer, outrageous, derisive pleasure of watching Bessie Love kick in a circle like an autistic stork and play her ukulele as a badge of her "art." I actually respect the movie—there's a huge Spoiler warning over this whole feature, right?—for stranding Hank so glumly with the arch, indifferent, deliciously bitchy Flo at the end of the film. Queenie, the avowed idiot, gets a lover no one would want, and Hank, to make it in show business, has to give up the man she loves and cast her lot with a bitter floozy. In contrast to all the rootin' tootin' for the Broadway life that we hear through the whole movie, the finale seems pretty brave. And in line with Nathaniel's point about the strangely off-putting character arcs throughout. (For the real deal, i.e., a really good movie, hang in there for Broadway Melody of 1940, with my favorite Fred Astaire acting performance, and a series of wowza dances with Fred and the incredible Eleanor Powell.)

By the way, speaking of other people's points, how did the straight guy in our trio beat us to the actressexual punch on Vera Farmiga, Nathaniel, and THEN drop the first hint about Hank and Queenie's lavender closet? We're such loafers, even if we are also light in them.

Mike: I'm straight but not narrow. Also, I hang around in real life and on the internet with actressexuals; it was bound to rub off eventually.

Nathaniel: I have to confess: the lavender streak never once crossed my mind—I was probably too flustered by that old school dyke (excuse me "big woman") and fag (flamey costume designer) bitchfight in the chorus girls dressing room. There's even a literal "lavender" punch-line in the scene. But reading Goatdog's errant line about sisterlove felt like a thunderbolt. Hank (love the name) is way too invested in her sibling. It's practically the Hotel New Hampshire Melody once Hank starts fretting about Queenie wandering from their (shared) bed.

Not that I want to turn this series into Uncovering Oscar's Gay Agenda but it has been a little weird how plentiful the homo subtext has been in three of these first four movies (with the exception of No Country for Old Men). I don't want to underline this too much, but consider The Departed's fascination with Colin's (Matt Damon) troubled sexuality: the constant references to homosexuality, the impotence... It's pretty meaty stuff if you're looking to dig deeper. All of the best Hollywood movies have those hidden layers if you want to dig for or argue about them, with the frosting of pure entertainment on top if you don't.

I'd love to share Nick's feelings about the wrap-up of Broadway Melody but I don't think those "settling for" beats are intentional. Surely, the movie hasn't been that smart or self-aware previously? Too me The Broadway Melody is all frosting. It's gone awfully stale since 1929.

What do you, the reader, think about Oscar's Secret Gay Agenda? Or other things...

Stats: Depending on who you ask, The Broadway Melody was nominated for three Oscars and won only Best Picture. The two "nominations" for Best Actress (Bessie Love) and Best Director (Harry Beaumont) were unofficial.
The Departed was nominated for five and won four (Picture, Director, Editing, and Adapted Screenplay).

Silent Sunday: The Delicious Little Devil (1919)

This rather unfunny comedy is available on DVD because of a certain fifth-billed actor who hadn't yet settled on a moniker yet; his birth name was too ungainly (Rodolfo Alfonzo Raffaelo Pierre Filibert Guglielmi di Valentina d'Antonguolla), so here he's billed as Rudolpho De Valintine, but later he'd settle on Rudolph Valentino.

Unfortunately, absent the exotic locales and the heavy makeup, he lacks that androgynous sex appeal that made him so famous, and since the main attraction here is the rather unsexy and mostly unfunny Mae Murray, there's really not much reason to watch this aside from curiosity about what Valentino was like before he was Valentino.

Read the full review.

Previous Silent Sundays:

June 15: I Don't Want to Be a Man (1918)
June 8: The Kiss of Mary Pickford (1927)
June 1: Hot Water (1924)
May 25: La Chute de la maison Usher (1928)
May 18: After Death (1915)

Best Pictures from the Outside In vol. 1: No Country for Old Wings

Nathaniel, Nick, and I have teamed up for a gargantuan, impossible, possibly crazy series of posts in which we will talk about all 80 Best Picture winners, two at a time, starting with the first and the last and working our way in toward the middle—like a dagger pointed at the heart of Oliver! Head over to The Film Experience Blog for the inaugural post.

We covered a lot of ground: Best Picture's traditional disdain for women, the need for Best Pictures to be all things for all people, the fact that Wings is a really good movie, etc. I had hoped to write a full-length review of each film, but that's not happening (I wrote a review of Wings seven years ago [my god I can't believe I've been doing this for more than seven years], but I no longer like it), so here are some thoughts about each.

No Country for Old Men hung around near the bottom of my 2007 top ten list on the strength of its first impression, but perhaps even then I was finding it wanting—I kept having to remind myself how good it was. The second time around, it doesn't hold up as well. What still works? First and foremost is the sound design, which, in a film with so little dialog, does all the talking; in two scenes in particular—Llewelyn's attempts to retrieve the suitcase from the air duct and, later, his preparation for Chigurh's raid on his hotel room—the layers of sound add to an already unbearable tension, to the point where the inevitable violence is a relief. The film's array of seemingly unstoppable forces—"you can't stop what's coming"—is also handled with aplomb, from the obvious (Anton Chigurh) to the unusual (the pit bull that won't stop chasing Llewelyn). I still love the entire first act, the deliberate pace of Chigurh's hunt for Llewelyn, the staging and editing of their gunfight, and smaller touches like the conversation Harrelson and Brolin have about welding. However, the threads holding these pieces together as a complete film seem weaker, and as the film progresses, the Coens lose their tight grip on the tone, drifting again and again into the kind of exaggeration that works in their comedies but doesn't belong in a film so self-serious. It's a series of dazzling setpieces in search of a tighter structure and a firmer hand on the tiller.

Wings, on the other hand, improved immensely on second viewing, for a number of reasons. First, I think, is that non-comedy silent films are something that takes a little getting used to. Because I watched this one rather early in my silent film career, many of that period's eccentricities stuck out to my untrained eye. Also, maybe because I was so wowed by the action scenes, I didn't notice how great the quieter moments were. It's a more complete film than I had initially given it credit for. The action scenes are still among the best ever shot, and I especially appreciate the introduction of and battle against the monstrous Gotha airship, which seems like something out of a horror film. But the back-home scenes, especially the ones contrasting the family sendoffs that Jack and David receive, feel much more resonant now, and they add a lot of emotional weight that makes the film a more complete work of art. Finally, the years between my two viewings made me endlessly thankful that the film is silent, because we're spared second-rate dialect comedian El Brendel's fake-Swedish act. As annoying as he is in this film, thank your lucky stars that you didn't have to listen to him.

A Certain Bank-Owned Cinema

Chicagoist has an informative interview with the programmers of a certain bank-owned cinema in a large Midwestern city. (Ok, fine, one of them is me. Blogs are all about self-promotion, right?)

Silent Sunday: I Don't Want to Be a Man (1918)

Ernst Lubitsch offers an early glimpse of the joys of Weimar cinema with this cross-dressing comedy about a young girl who emancipates herself by dressing up in men's evening clothes and going out on the town. She supposedly learns some lessons about how hard men really have it, but I don't think Lubitsch is convinced, and besides, he's more interested in the romantic possibilities of the situation. Ossi's romanced by her Teutonic tutor, who thinks she's a he, but things don't turn out the way they do in countless Hollywood comedies of gender confusion.

The film is available on DVD as part of Kino's exquisite "Lubitsch in Berlin" set, which contains a good cross-section of the light comedies and historical epics he made before heading west to Hollywood in 1923.

Read the full review.

Movies About Movies Blog-a-Thon, August 22-24

"The only thing Hollywood relishes more than looking in the mirror is a light spanking."
—Michael King
"Seriously, how could you go wrong with Sullivan's Travels, Day for Night, 8 1/2, or Sunset Boulevard?"
—Dame James Henry

How indeed. Since at least 1913, one of the film industry's favorite topics has been itself. There are films about the insanity of the filmmaking process, about the neuroses of the people who make them, about the pleasures they bring to viewers. From the bitter cynicism of The Player, The Big Knife, Sunset Blvd., and so many others, to the happier endings of Movie Crazy and Singin' in the Rain, movies about movies are one of my favorite sub-genres.

If you feel the same way, over the weekend of August 22-24, write a post about a movie about the movies. You have at least 95 years' worth of films to choose from; if you're not sure what to pick, here's a list of suggestions. If you would like to participate, email me and let me know. I'll send out periodic, but not naggy, reminders as the event approaches.

After the jump you'll find several other graphics. Please feel free to use any/all of them, and help spread the word.

(Sullivan's Travels)

(Singin' in the Rain)

(Irma Vep)

(Inland Empire)

(Ed Wood)

(Sunset Blvd.)

(8 1/2)

The one at the top is from Contempt.

Silent Sunday: The Kiss of Mary Pickford (1927)

In 1926, while visiting Moscow, Hollywood supercouple Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks starred in a film about a young man who wants to become a movie star to impress his girlfriend. Pickford only learned about the film late in life, and Fairbanks died never knowing about it. The director, Sergei Komarov, had posed as a newsreel cameraman and convinced the superstars to clown around for him, including getting Mary to play a silly love scene with a bearded Russian actor (he loves me, he loves me not), at the end of which she kisses him. Around this footage, he constructed an American-style slapstick comedy about the unhealthy obsession with fame.

Read the full review.

Silent Sunday: Hot Water (1924)

I continue my silent education with a lesser-known Harold Lloyd comedy in which the middle-class everyman deals with domestic chores, unwanted relatives, and existential horror. Will he get the groceries home intact? Will he get a speeding ticket?

Will he hang for murder?

The film starts off pretty well, slooooows down to a crawl, and then redeems itself with what just might be one of the funniest finales in silent comedy. (I can't say for sure—I haven't seen enough.)

Read the full review.