Charlie Chaplin: the Mutual Films Volume One

Charlie Chaplin: the Mutual Films Volume One (Charlie Chaplin, US, 1916-1917)

After completing contacts at Keystone and Essanay, Charlie Chaplin, having at this time established and consolidated his success in Hollywood, was generously paid by Mutual to produce a dozen comedies. Afforded complete creative control, Chaplin acted in and directed some of the most influential and important silent comedies. These have been compiled by the BFI in two volumes (without whom many of the films from this era would either be unavailable or nigh-on impossible for British audiences to source). The first instalment, ‘Behind the Screen’ is relentlessly hilarious. Not just a prime example of slapstick comedy, but it’s also a satire on film making itself. Remember, audiences of this era would not have known exactly how these films were produced. Chaplin demonstrates, but with high levels of farce. ‘The Rink’ uses a case of mistaken identity to drive its plot and also showcases some neatly choreographed skating. ‘Easy Street’ is a widely acknowledged masterpiece, as Chaplin’s policeman accidentally puts to an end the violence that’s paralysed a slum. ‘The Cure’ is a minor short by these standards; an alcoholic’s attempts at rehab create chaos. ‘The Immigrant’ perhaps has the greatest human quality of these films, showing the problems and issues facing those emigrating to the promised land of the United States. ‘The Adventurer’ uses mistaken identity once more, as Chaplin’s escaped criminal saves a girl’s life, then causes havoc at a party he’s invited to. As was always, Chaplin’s ‘tramp’ persona, which had been developed for some years now, is at the heart of these films, giving them poignancy and empathy. With Edna Purviance, his lead actress of the time, co-starring opposite in every feature as Chaplin’s foil, she gives as good as she gets. Chaplin was entering one of the most creative periods of his film making career, adding a new dimension to his films. He retains the physical humour but adds depth, looking forward to the full length features that are still considered masterpieces even now.

R.W. Paul: the collected films 1895-1908

R.W. Paul: the collected films 1895-1908 (R.W. Paul, UK, 1895-1908)

It’s reasonable to say that R.W. Paul was the single most influential figure in establishing a British national cinema. His original involvement in the moving pictures industry was as a maker of scientific instruments, developing early equipment for the likes of Georges Melies. By experimenting with the kind of technology that would allow moving images to be projected, Paul became de facto a film maker himself. Paul directed hundreds of films in this period but little survives. The best of what does has been compiled by the BFI into this anthology. It demonstrates the development and range of Paul’s work; from the documentary style of ‘Rough Sea at Dover’ and ‘The Derby’ (1895-1896) to the recording/reproducing of real events (he both filmed incidents of the Boer War first hand but also recreated some on the fields of Muswell Hill!). Most important are those that developed the visual language of cinema, pioneering the kinds of special effects that film makers have used for subsequent generations. ‘Cheese Mites’ (1901) inserts a secondary scene shot on a different scale into a master shot, whilst ‘The Magic Sword’ (1901) uses multiple examples of visual trickery, including several dissolving scenes. More impressive is ‘The ? Motorist’ (1906), in which a reckless motorist evades the police by taking flight into space, circling the rings of Saturn even (inspired possibly by Melies’ 1904 film ‘The Impossible Voyage’. This anthology is a welcome rediscovery of the work of one of the most pioneering figures in early cinema, without whom British cinema wouldn’t have developed quite so quickly, nor in the same way perhaps. It shows not only his creativity but also his range as a film maker.

J’accuse

J’accuse (Abel Gancé, France, 1919)

Gancé is probably the most famous of all the French silent directors, mainly for his monumental, five and a half hour (after cuts!) ‘Napoleon’ (1927). With J’accuse, he first developed this epic style of film making, similar to that of D.W. Griffith in Hollywood. Armed with a budget that was unheard of at the time for French cinema, Gancé meticulously revised and reworked his film, showing a perfectionist’s touch that almost jeopardised every film he directed thereafter, although it became a big hit with both French and British audiences. Set during the First World War, ‘J’accuse’ sets the standards for pacifist film making; making an impact so striking that subsequent films that also wave this banner can never realistically hope to achieve. Gancé had seen action during the war and not only recreates life in the trenches but uses actual footage from the trenches to show war in all its horror and futility (which he also does with a battlefield of crosses to symbolise the dead). But as much as it’s an anti-war film (probably the first of its kind), it’s also a romantic melodrama, with a love triangle that is equally moving. The technical quality of the film has been deeply admired since its release, with its emphasis on mobile camerawork, lighting effects and visual imagery, notably the choreographed ‘return of the dead’ sequence that captures the war in a nutshell. Few films at this time, both in Europe or Hollywood, were quite as ambitious.

The films of Evgenii Bauer (part two)

Twilight of a Woman’s Soul (Evgenii Bauer, Russia, 1913)

After Death (Evgenii Bauer, Russia, 1915)

The Dying Swan (Evgenii Bauer, Russia, 1917)

Three more Bauer melodramas, compiled together in the ‘Mad Love’ collection, distributed by the BFI. Bauer had been remarkably prolific during his short directorial career (1913-1917), though he had been more or less forgotten during the Soviet era. Around a quarter of his films survive and what’s available proves Bauer to be one of the foremost film makers during the early years of cinema. From having seen a handful of Bauer films previously, one knows what to expect. These three films focus on familiar themes; love, death and dreams. Bauer might not necessarily have demonstrated much range of subject but he handles his melodramas well, with sensitivity and doesn’t allow them to spill out of control (as it would be easy to do with ‘Twilight of a Woman’s Soul’, Bauer’s first film, for instance). Bauer also surpasses his contemporaries in terms of technique, as you’d expect from a director whose original trade was photography. He uses deep focus photography before Welles (with whose films it’s become a recognised feature) was even born, utilises tinting to impressive effect in the ghost story ‘After Death’, introduces dream sequences in the likes of ‘The Dying Swan’ and has a masterful control of camera angles and lighting. Thanks to the efforts of the BFI, the work of a neglected film maker has come to light once more and with any justice, Bauer would be a name mentioned alongside the greatest of all directors – his work is that impressive.

Blind Husbands

Blind Husbands (Eric von Stroheim, US, 1919)

If ‘A Fool There Was’ showed us one side of uncensored sexuality in the early years of cinema, the films of Eric von Stroheim showed us another. Instead of Theda Bara’s ‘vamp’, we had von Stroheim’s exotic Europeanism. Himself a product of self-mythology, his screen persona was developed in ‘Blind Husbands’ and utilised in numerous subsequent films. An American couple vacation in the Alps; Dr Armstrong (Sam De Grasse) is the complacent, inattentive husband of Margaret (Francelia Billington), who envies the romance and happiness of other couples she notices. Ready to come between this couple is von Steuben (von Stroheim), an Austrian colonel who confidently seduces women without any effort. The first time the three meet, Dr Armstrong contentedly puffs away at his pipe, whilst von Steuben checks out Mrs Armstrong’s bare ankles, which is as suggestive as it got in the 1910s. von Steuben pursues the doctor’s wife, whilst he obliviously and inadvertently leaves his wife in von Steuben’s hands whilst he has to attend to a patient, though what develops is a battle of wills at the peak of the Alps and the prevailing morality of the day ensures a conclusion that would satisfy audiences. Whilst it’s contrived in places, there’s much subtle, natural acting on display, which is quite rare for the period. von Stroheim would make stronger, more controversial films in the next decade, but this was a very promising start.

A Fool There Was

A Fool There Was (Frank Powell, US, 1915)

By no means a classic of its era, ‘A Fool There Was’ remains significant because it’s the first instance of Theda Bara, the iconic sex symbol of silent cinema, adopting the ‘vamp’ persona that she would make her own. Adapted from a play by Peter Emerson Browne, which was itself based on Rudyard Kipling’s poem ‘The Vampire’ (lines from which are used in some of the film’s titles), it charts the decline of John Schuyler (Edward José), a diplomat, whose world is turned upside down upon meeting Bara’s vamp. He falls under her spell, abandoning his family and friends and rejecting any attempts to rehabilitate him. Powell starts by cross-cutting between the content family life of the Schuylers and the vamp’s early seductions and betrayals of numerous men, as if to foresee what will occur. When John and the vamp begin their affair, he still cuts back to the oblivious wife and daughter, unaware that their perfect life is about to fall apart. ‘A Fool There Was’ was a watershed in how sexuality was portrayed on screen. Certainly there hadn’t been a femme fatale quite like this on screen in Hollywood cinema. Its morality can be heavy handed in places and its melodrama often laughable, whilst Powell hardly breaks new ground with his camera either. That’s not to say it isn’t a wicked ride though.

The Whispering Chorus

The Whispering Chorus (Cecil B. DeMille, US, 1918)

Whilst many actors and directors failed to survive the transition from silent to sound cinema (the list of casualties can be seen in Wilder’s ‘Sunset Boulevard’), DeMille was one film maker who undeniably prospered. In fact, his sterling reputation in American cinema was achieved because of his spectacular, big budget films in the later period of his career. His early period, during the silent era, is often overlooked. He was a contemporary of Griffith, and whilst his films during the 1910s caused nothing like as much of a sensation, he proved himself a very capable director. Despite starting their careers at the same time, their reputations run in reverse; Griffith declined after an astonishing start, whilst DeMille’s career was the very definition of longevity.

‘The Whispering Chorus’ is an impressive drama that inventively focuses upon the psychological side of its protagonist, John Tremble. Its narrative and aesthetic looks forward to the noir genre that developed both in Hollywood and to an extent abroad in the 1930s and 1940s. Tremble is an accountant; married and living with this mother, but the financial demands placed upon him make life difficult. When he embezzles money from his employer and fakes his own death (assuming the identity of a dead man), Tremble sets in course a chain of events that threaten to lead of tragic consequences. The eponymous ‘whispering chorus’ is the voices in Tremble’s head that influence his choices, similar to the angel on one shoulder, devil on the other concept. DeMille superimposes faces circling Tremble as he agonises over these complex decisions, with the titles remarking upon their suggestions. It’s undoubtedly the most impressive visual aspect of the film and whilst the narrative is without question, melodramatic, it’s never suffocatingly so.