I’m still learning how to watch silent movies without zoning out. It helps when they are visually interesting and the story is creepy, and funny. The Cat and the Canary is all of those things. I truly enjoyed watching it and you can read my review at Cinema Sentries.
I’m still trying to learn how to watch silent movies. I have the hardest time keeping my mind from wandering. It helps when the film is full of interesting visuals like The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and when it comes with a beautiful new transfer like this release. Ditto when it has some good music to go with it. Read my full review over at Cinema Sentries.
There are some films that loom so large in a cinephile’s imagination that they are almost impossible to watch. These are films that have been so well-praised, that are so influential, so important that they sometimes seem less like movies than cinematic gods.
Or something. I’m getting a little carried away with my bloviations. Battleship Potemkin is considered one of the greatest movies ever made. It is famed for its use of editing, creating montages to elicit an emotional response. Director Sergei Eisenstein believed that you could juxtapose two unrelated images and create an entirely new idea. What he did in Battleship Potemkin was revolutionary and those techniques are still used today.
The “Odessa Steps” sequence is one of the most influential scenes in all of cinema. It has been paid homage to, and outright stolen from, and parodied countless times. I first heard about it from Brian DePalma’s film The Untouchables which has a very similar sequence involving a baby carriage on some steps.
All of this hung over my head years before I ever watched it. I put off watching it because its reputation was too great, its influence too wide for me to ever be able to sit down and take it all in.
To be honest, I really just thought it was going to be dull. I’m learning to appreciate silent films, but it is a struggle.
Turns out Battleship Potemkin is a real banger. It is fast-paced, full of incident and action, and an utterly enjoyable watch.
It is about a historical event in which some sailors revolted against the officers of the ship and took it over. They then port in Odessa where the citizens celebrate the liberation of the ship and bring them food, all before being slaughtered by the Army. It was an important part of the 1905 Revolution and the film was made as a bit of propaganda celebrating the 20th anniversary of the event.
It is propaganda. It is utterly designed to make you side with the revolution and ultimately the Communist State. I find that modern reviews of the film ultimately fall on where one’s political views are. None of that matters to me. It is a magnificent, wonderful film with never a dull moment. It is a movie I’d show to people who have never seen a silent movie.
While I am a great lover of old movies I’ve only recently begun dipping my toe into the silent era. I gotta admit I still struggle to watch some of those films. They often contain some great visuals, but without audible dialogue, and often mismatched music, my mind tends to wander. But the more I watch the more I’m able to follow along.
The Shiek stars Rudolph Valentino who was a huge star at the time. It is a bit outdated by today’s standards but is still a pretty entertaining watch. My review is over at Cinema Sentries.
They say that the film modern audiences know as The Passion of Joan of Arc, is, in fact, not the original cut of the film. They say the original print was destroyed, and not being able to reshoot, Carl Theodor Dreyer re-edited the entire film from footage he had originally cut.
The mind mush reels wondering what the world lost if this is what was first considered unworthy of the picture.
As masterful as the film is, it is not a movie to invite all your friends to come and see. Unless your friends happen to be very serious film buffs. It is in black and white, it is silent, the title cards are in French, and almost all of the movie is just talking. Talking, talking, talking in a silent picture. So, it’s not a film for a frat party, or to play drinking games along with. Though one could get pretty hammered drinking every time Joan cries.
It is a film to watch silently, in a dark room, filled with hunger, filled with pain.
The story settles not on the full, adventurous life of Joan of Arc. There are no mystic visions from the angels. It shows none of the epic battles Joan led. Instead, it focuses on the end of the maiden’s life, her trial and execution.
It is hard to imagine that a silent film, that focuses on a courtroom drama could be so moving. And yet, Dreyer has managed to create cinema more moving than nearly everything that has come after it. This comes in large part from the performance of Joan herself, Maria Falconetti.
Falconetti is shot almost entirely in close-up, and medium shots. In fact, only once or twice do we catch a glimpse of her entire body. She pulls a performance out of her face that is all but brilliant. It is a face that moves mountains. The passion, the pain, and the unbelievable undercurrent of emotion emitting from those close-ups is something of a wonder.
Behind her eyes – my gawd those eyes, orbs of passion they are – behind her eyes lie such courage and fear, such passion and fury that we are no longer viewers of a film, but jurors, judges, and martyrs.
The judges and accusers of Joan of Arc are filmed from tight angles. From below so they tower over us, from sharp angular sides making them appear harsh and menacing. None of the actors used makeup, and the lighting is so acute that every flaw, every nuance of their ugly faces is brought out, spotlighted, and multiplied. These villains are made evil by nothing more than the scowls on their faces.
Yet Joan is shot from above, with a softer light. To look into the camera she must crane her head, appearing as if she is in constant prayer. Her face is smooth and angelic. She is a vision of purity and soft love.
The hero of this film is not the mighty warrior seen in so many other retellings of this story. She is not the wild fighter on a mission from God. She is a small, frail child, filled only with the conviction that she is right, and therefore righteous.
To the French, Joan is a patron saint. A national figure of Christianity and patriotic courage. I once visited the very spot where she was executed, in Rouen, France. It is a small ruined place surrounded by a kitschy wax museum, and pricey souvenirs. Yet it is a singularly moving place, knowing so much history was birthed from this one small spot of earth. It is a bit like standing at Gettysburg, or in Ford’s theatre – moving, tranquil, and magic.
Dreyer has created a picture, not so much about history, or its giants. But a film that reveals the passion and beauty that the cinema and all great art are destined to be.
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