With a face like that…

The Iron Mask (1929), dir. by Allan Dwan, with Douglas Fairbanks (D’Artagnan), Margueritte de la Motte (Constance), Nigel de Brulier (Cardinal Richelieu), Leon Barry (Athos), Tiny Sandford (Porthos), Gino Corrado (Aramis).

This is the last silent film Douglas Fairbanks made, and it is as good as many of his earlier costume dramas.  In this film he returns to the Three Musketeers storyline we last saw in his 1921 effort.  That film is probably a bit more even in its treatment of the story.  In part, that’s because this film tries to combine elements of that story, as well as parts of the other Musketeer novels, Twenty Years After, and The Man in the Iron Mask. 

A disappointing element here is that outwardly this story is much more tragic — D’Artagnan loses the love of his life, and each of the musketeers must give up something to complete their mission.  Though the storyline is more tragic, the treatment is not so.  The film is treated as if it were nothing more than a continuation of the first film, as if this film were More Adventures with the Three Musketeers.  As it is could offer something much more dramatically impressive, this failure to treat it so is disappointing.  Otherwise, Dwan’s use of the camera is quite effective in crowd scenes, such as we see in the court of Louis XIII and XIV.  There are some nice reveal shots as well, where a closed set is suddenly made to seem much bigger when a window is opened and the camera moves to the open window to look out on some greater panorama.  [A note on the print -- this is from the Paul Killiam collection -- many of the prints from the Killiam collection are very poor in quality.  This film was remarkably well preserved, as it was clearly not a restored film.]

Some of the actors from the first film are back (de Brulier, de la Motte, Barry and Fairbanks), but others are new — it is possible that in 8 years from the first film some of the other actors may have changed considerably and could no longer be used.  Eugene Pallette who played Aramis in the first film was quite svelte — by the end of the decade, I’m guessing, he no longer had that svelte appearance, but had the well-fed look he had when he played Friar Tuck in The Adventures of Robin Hood.

An Outlaw without In-laws

The Outlaw and His Wife (Berg-Ejvind och hans Hustru) (1918), dir. Viktor Sjostrom, with Viktor Sjostrom (Berg-Ejvind), Edith Erastoff (Halla), John Ekman (Arnes), Nils Arehn (Bjorn)

This film was directed by Viktor Sjostrom, better known as an actor playing the aged Professor Isak Borg in Ingmar Bergman’s Wild Strawberries.  During the silent era, a time when Swedish cinema was among the premier cinemas of the world, Sjostrom was one of the greatest directors.  He also acted in several silent films.  The story here, based on a play, involves Berg-Ejvind, a young man on the lam from the law for stealing from a pastor years in the past.  He escapes that past for a while, and becomes a worker on a widow’s farm, and ultimately wins her heart.  Soon after they marry, however, his secret is discovered and the two take it on the lam together, and are joined by another man with a somewhat larcenous past.  Eventually, this life on the lam loses its appeal and the couple begin to harp on one another.  This seems to me to be a very Nordic theme — the idea that human hearts can defy convention, but convention and the society that supports it is too powerful for those who defy convention to win in the end. 

The film seemed to me to be nothing special, so far as blocking, lighting or camera movement.  Sjostrom did a great job, though, of using exteriors of the Swedish hill country, the glacier lakes and the hot springs.  I read somewhere that the scenery is an actor in this film, and I guess that is so.  The beauty of nature did not save the protagonist and his wife — it did not allow them to start again, nor did it allow them to escape the past.  It may have seemed that, in that landscape, such escape was posssible, as poetic as the scenery was.  The poetry of the scenery did not save the day — when all was said and done, they were just as doomed in an idyllic setting as they would be in some Dickens slum.  That seemed to me very Greek — nature doesn’t care whether you succeed or fail — it looks on, neither helping nor judging. But humans do judge, and so bring a lot of pain into the world.

Holmes for the Holidays…

Sherlock Holmes (1922), dir. Albert Parker, w/ John Barrymore (Sherlock Holmes), Roland Young (Dr. Watson), Carol Dempster (Alice Faulkner), Gustav von Seyffertitz (Professor Moriarty), William Powell (Foreman Wells)

Well, following Hollywood’s lead, TCM decided to do them one better in having a series of Holmes movies on Christmas Day, 2009.  Featured among the films was this early entry, the silent Sherlock Holmes featuring John Barrymore as the great detective.  I have to say that I found this film quite disappointing.  The acting itself was fine — Barrymore does a great moody, and moodiness is one of the ways to play Holmes.  He is very good just sitting around and appearing to cogitate — he must have been a wonder to see on the stage, he has great stage presence.  Roland Young is a suitable loyal foil to Holmes, which every Watson should be.  Von Seyffertitz is very strange as Moriarty — more like the typical Grand Guignol sort of villain (rather like the crazy Dr. Caligari in the German expressionist film, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari).  The film is based on the play by William Gillette which served him as a star turn on the stage in the early part of the 20th century.  I’ve seen a more recent performance of this play and found it strangely disappointing, too.  I have a feeling that the cast is not to blame for this poor result, but the script.  The directing is pretty formulaic, and very stagey, which may be appropriate, as it is based on a stage play.  Still, it does not make for an exciting movie.  The film also seems to be damaged, as there are leaps that are not explained at all.

Chaplin, but not the tramp, yet…

Chaplin at Keystone, consisting of “Making a Living,” “Caught in a Cabaret,” “Mabel’s Busy Day,” “The Masquerader,” and “The Rounders” (all 1914).  directed by various directors, with Charlie Chaplin, Mabel Normand, Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle, Chester Conklin, Al St. John, Minta Durfee. 

These films come from Chaplin’s first year with Mack Sennett’s Keystone studios — he had not yet fully developed the tramp character, and that character is little in evidence in these films.  Chaplin plays a blackbeard type of character in one, a drunken rich guy (apparently part of Chaplin’s stable of characters when he played the English Music Halls with Fred Karno).  In “Caught in a Cabaret,” we have something approaching the look of the tramp, and we see that same figure in “The Masquerader.”  He isn’t quite the tramp, who is much more down and out, but is rather a figure on the make.  The jokes and pratfalls here have more to do with Keystone than they do with Chaplin.  We do see an occasional delicate use of the cane, a quick tilt of the head, the smile that we’ll see a lot in Chaplin’s later work.  And as the drunken rich man in “The Rounders,” we see something of the balletic quality (we also see it from Arbuckle) that will become very much a feature of Chaplin’s later persona.  None of these one and two reelers is particularly remarkable, and the copy that Kino made their tapes from is much in need of restoration — I’m sure Kino got the best available copies, but they are still very inferior visually.

A Christian Swashbuckler???

The Gaucho (1927), dir. F. Richard Jones, with Douglas Fairbanks (The Gaucho), Lupe Velez (the Mountain Girl), Joan Barclay/Eve Southern (the Girl of the Shrine), Gustav von Seyfertitz (Ruiz, the Usurper), Mary Pickford (the Virgin Mary)

I’ve seen some commentators consider this Fairbanks’ best film.  It is the one that has a serious message, that of redemption.  I think that rather like Chaplin’s sentimental flights of fancy in some of his films, with angels and the like, this film is bogged down by that sentimentality.  Give me the action figure, who is much more in evidence in Robin Hood, Don Q, the Son of Zorro, and the Three Musketeers.  In those films, the hero is able to be moral and adventurous.  Here, Fairbanks plays an outlaw.  Admittedly, he is an outlaw in a society beset by a tyrant, the evil Ruiz.  It is clear how evil Ruiz is, as he shuts down the miraculous shrine on the outskirts of the land, where people receive miraculous cures from the waters.  Still, this is a hard drinking, hard smoking Fairbanks.  He’s just as vigorous as in the other films, but only becomes a moral figure when he is converted after being inflicted by something akin to leprosy.  He is cured, and saved.  That saving makes the film too preachy, and undercuts the unmitigated joy Fairbanks clearly takes in action.

This film is notable in that Mary Pickford makes a couple of cameo appearances as the Virgin Mary in visions by the shrine.

Whip it good!

Don Q, the son of Zorro (1925), dir. Donald Crisp, w/ Douglas Fairbanks (Don Cesar de Vega & Zorro), Mary Astor (Dolores de Muro), Donald Crisp (Don Sebastian), Warner Oland (Archduke Paul of Austria), Jean Hersholt (Don Fabrique Borusta)

The success of The Mark of Zorro in 1920 was unexpected. Sure they expected the film to do well, but it did so well that Fairbanks’ career made a dramatic change — he began to make more and more costume pictures.  And so it was decided to do this sequel.  In it, Fairbanks plays both father and son.  The action takes place in Spain, where Don Cesar has gone for his education.  While there, Don Sebastian, a military officer and Archduke Paul of Austria quarrel and the Archduke is killed.  Don Sebastian then frames Don Cesar who becomes a masked outlaw (just like dad had been) called Don Q.  Don Q’s weapon of choice is a bullwhip, and it is clear that Douglas Fairbanks had become a master at the whip — there are lots of demonstrations of his prowess (no cutting — all done in continuous shots so you know that Fairbanks is the one wielding the whip).  The action moves at a much quicker pace, and is more humorous overall than its predecessor.  Donald Crisp does a good job at directing Fairbanks, and is equally at home playing the villain — interesting considering that for much of his career in the sound era, he played kindly fathers and grandfathers.

What happened to the Hood?

Robin Hood (1922), dir. Allen Dwan, w/ Douglas Fairbanks (Huntingdon/Robin Hood), Wallace Beery (Richard I), Sam de Grasse (Prince John),  Enid Bennett (Lady Marian), Paul Dickey (Guy of Gisbourne), Alan Hale (Little John).

This is the third of the costume dramas produced by United Artists featuring Douglas Fairbanks — he had been in The Mark of Zorro and The Three Musketeers earlier.  It has a lot in common with Musketeers, and something in common with Zorro.  It has the big sets just like Musketeers, and that’s a good thing — lots of places for Fairbanks to demonstrate his athleticism.  He is also part of a greater band, rather than a totally solo figure  — Fairbanks looks best as the star of a team.  He also has a double identity (sort of) like in Zorro.  Of course, here, both as Huntingdon and as Robin Hood, he is an athletic figure, the king’s right hand man.  When he returns to England to set things aright, it looks as if he is chickening out of the Crusades, and the king loses faith in him for a moment.  But he never plays the part of a coward or a fop, as he did as Don Diego.  The set design of the castle was quite outstanding, even though much of the great hall was done with a painted glass panel.  It looks impressive, and that’s what matters.  Lots of sword fights and leaping around, well done as always.

One thing that I don’t understand — why the story veers from the Howard Pyle version of the legend, which we get in the 1939 version — why is Robin Hood the second in command to Richard, rather than a Saxon knight, who comes afoul of royalty because of his Saxon blood?  And there is nothing to explain why Robert, Earl of Huntingdon, is now Robin Hood — in the legend, he is Robin of Locksley, and so Robin Hood when he takes to robbing the rich and distributing to the poor.

Wallace Beery was a strange choice for Richard — a big lug of a guy, he doesn’t seem very royal — a tugboat captain, yes, king, no!  That choice does make for a great contrast with Sam de Grasse as John, who is small and rather frail looking, and clearly someone not given to athletic endeavor.

But there are four…

The Three Musketeers (1921), dir. Fred Niblo, w/ Douglas Fairbanks (D’Artagnan), Leon Barry (Athos), George Siegman (Porthos), Eugene Palette (Aramis), Nigel de Brulier (Richelieu), Marguerite de la Motte (Constance), Adolphe Menjou (Louis XIII).

Following hard upon the success of The Mark of Zorro (1920), Fairbanks produced this costume piece based on Alexandre Dumas’ novel of the same name.  With this film, I think Fairbanks really hit his stride.  It’s not that he didn’t demonstrate his athleticism in Zorro, but it gave him less of a field in which to demonstrate his athleticism.  Also, there is something in the characters Fairbanks plays that call for him to be a part of a larger group.  In Zorro, he is on his own — he gathers the caballeros together at the end of that film to confront the corrupt administration of California, but that happens only at the end.  Here, he is a member of the ultimate group (“one for all, and all for one”), and that adds something to the tone of the film.  In addition, there are plenty of stairwells and rooftops from which Fairbanks can leap.  And this film, unlike Zorro, where Fairbanks plays a dual identity, here we have Fairbanks as D’Artagnan able to simply be his athletic self.  Throughout the film, he is bursting with energy, including a comic scene where a poor tailor tries to fit him for a new set of clothes.  Only in one moment, after a long fight, does he appear fatigued — and kudos to Fairbanks for that scene — filmmaking doesn’t move from one shot to another, but scenes and shots taken out of sequence.  And so Fairbanks, though he appears quite tired, was not tired when he shot that sequence, but gives a great sense of fatigue.  The supporting cast is excellent, and de Brulier, as Richelieu, maintains a stillness that sets of Fairbanks’ active persona quite well.  Adolphe Menjou in an early performance as the king, and Eugene Palette, the deep-voiced actor of the 30s (he plays Friar Tuck in 1939’s The Adventures of Robin Hood), is almost unrecognizable as Aramis.

The film takes some liberties with the book — we have a happy ending for D’Artagnan, rather than a bittersweet one — in the book he loses Constance, and no hint of Aramis’ ultimate renunciation of the life of a musketeer for the religious life.

Z Marks the Spot

The Mark of Zorro (1920), dir. Fred Niblo, with Douglas Fairbanks (Don Diego Vega/Zorro), Noah Beery (Sgt. Pedro Gonzales), Marguerite de la Motte (Lolita Pulido), Robert McKim (Cpt. Juan Ramon).

This is a good film, but perhaps not a great film.  It is a very influential film.  Up to this point, Douglas Fairbanks had been in a number of films in which he played a young man from the city who was somewhat sissified — then, moving to the country and having a girl to save, he becomes a heroic manly figure.  The most famous of these efforts was The Mollycoddle.  This was the first film officially produced by United Artists, the studio created by Fairbanks, Mary Pickford, Charlie Chaplin and D.W. Griffith.  It was also Fairbanks’ first venture in costume drama, a genre he continued through the 20s.  In doing so, Fairbanks created a niche for himself.  His sissy turned man had been done by Harold Lloyd and Buster Keaton, both of whom, though smaller than Fairbanks, were quite athletic. 

The directing is adequate to the job.  Much of the film is shot in medium shot, or even medium long shot so that you can see Fairbanks’ athleticism acted out — cutting tends to obscure such athletic endeavors, while a longer shot, shot from an adequate distance allows the athleticism to shine.  And he is a joy to watch.  Whenever Zorro springs into action, every object becomes a possible tool, and every bit of set becomes part of a greater gym for Fairbanks to play in.  Chaplin, in his autobiography, speaks of visiting the set of Robin Hood (1922), and being amazed at Fairbanks’ energy and joy at the great set he could play in, even when the cameras were off him. 

This film was likely shot before indoor lighting became practical, so that all shots, even interiors, were done out of doors.  If so, the amount of wind in the interior shots was not noticeable, and shifts from light to dark were very smooth. 

This film was not expected to do great business, but it managed to exceed predictions, making a lot of money and creating a cottage industry for Fairbanks to exploit.  Fairbanks is a wonder to watch, and the director is smart enough to let Fairbanks do his thing and not get in his way.

Onward comic soldiers…

Tramp, Tramp, Tramp (1926), dir. Harry Edwards, with Harry Langdon (Harry Logan), Joan Crawford (Betty Burton), Tom Murray (Nick Kargas).  This was the first feature in which Harry Langdon, the last of the four great silent comics, starred.  When he hit the scene, he was touted as the next great thing, and expectations were that he would be the new Keaton or Lloyd (Chaplin was largely seen as out of reach).  I have to say — I’ve never got that.  He is certainly a capable enough comic actor, especially playing the hapless innocent which was his comic persona.  According to the film’s storyline, Harry is the son of a poor shoemaker, unable to compete against the giant Burton Shoes.  To save his father from bankruptcy and eviction, Harry agrees to take part in Burton Shoes coast-to-coast walking race.  Of course, he is already in love with Betty Burton, who is the face of Burton Shoes on all their billboards.  Of course, he is destined to defeat the world champion walker, Tom Murray and win the girl and the prize money.  Like many silent comedies, the plot is largely an excuse for set scenes — Harry hanging for his life on a fence, Harry in a town beset by a cyclone.  These episodes were humorous enough, though I couldn’t help feeling that I’ve seen this done better — Harold Lloyd did the “thrill comedy” better than anyone, and Buster Keaton did a much better job with gale force winds in Steamboat Bill, Jr. In addition, I never understood how it was that Harry could get the girl in any of these films.  I guess the idea is that the women fall in love with his haplessness — the maternal instinct kicks in.  I just don’t buy it.  Harry, in his film persona, is like a little kid — can’t see any woman falling in love with that.

The story goes that, as Harry did well in this comedy and in  The Strong Man (1926) and Long Pants (1927), both directed by Frank Capra, he got a big head about his star power and alienated those who had made him a star, stepping out on his own, but that he was incapable of helming a movie production, and faded into obscurity.  As sound movies came in, he was also at the mercy of film technicians, who did not help his image.  That may be true, but I think that he just wasn’t of the same caliber as Chaplin, Lloyd or Keaton, and that’s why he failed.  That demise may have been hastened by the coming of sound and his alienating co-workers, but I think his career was going to be short-lived in any case.

The video (wonderfully restored by Kino Video) was paired with a short film, “All Night Long” (1924), dir. Harry Edwards, with Harry Langdon (the Boy), Natalie Kingston (the Girl), and Vernon Dent (the Rival).  The 20 min. film was itself a collection of some shorter routines, told in flashback about WWI.  It was largely the same type of film as Tramp, Tramp, Tramp.  Again, I don’t fully understand his appeal.  It was nice seeing a younger Vernon Dent (often the bad guy in the Three Stooges shorts) as the Rival here.