The Kid Brother (1927) **

Ever had an annoying song in your mind and prayed for a brain aneurism? Well, watch this 1927 silent classic and then try to write a blog while hearing "Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves" over and over again—worse bargains have been made with God…think Salieri.

Harold Lloyd plays Harold Hickory, the weakling and not-so-bright son of the town sheriff and the brother of two huge he-men. Like all men who don’t seem to measure up to their fathers, Harold likes to pretend to be something he’s not. Unlike J. Edgar Hoover or Dame Edna, Harold doesn’t have a mother and so he dresses up in his father’s clothes. Wearing his father’s tin star, gun and holster one day Harold happens upon Flash Farrell (Eddie Boland), the leader of a medicine show, and signs a permit for the show. After his father learns of this, he orders Harold to deliver a cease and desist order to the owner of the traveling carnival, one Mary Powers (Jobyna Ralston). When a fire destroys her tent, Harold asks her to stay at the family farm. In one of the more humorous sequences of the film, Harold tries to keep his brothers in line while Mary is their guest.

The next day the town discovers that money for a dam project has been stolen and the sheriff, who was holding the money, is blamed. A posse is organized to find the real culprits, Flash and the carnival strongman, Sandoni. Off on his own, Harold finds these two splitting the money. In one of Lloyd’s most classic gags, Harold finds himself in a face-off with the strongman on a dilapidated boat. Thankfully for Harold, he realizes Sandoni can’t swim and uses that water to his advantage. Later, Harold arrives with Sandoni in hand to save his father from a lynch mob. In the end, Harold earns his father’s respect and the love of Mary.

The overall story is comical and entertaining. The gags are great: the most famous being the one where Lloyd keeps climbing up a VERY tall tree to keep extending his fond farewell to Mary—they had to build an elevator for the camera to follow this shot. Harold Lloyd is riotously funny in this film.

Many people say that Harold Lloyd was a comic genius and some even say he was better than Chaplin and Keaton. While I agree that this and many of his other films are highly enjoyable and have some great gags, I still prefer Chaplin—Lloyd and Keaton can tie.

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Napoleon (Napoléon) 1927 **

When men aspire to great things only to fail in the final campaign it can be disheartening. Napoleon had his Waterloo and Abel Gance had, well, his Napoleon.

This innovative 1927 silent was directed and written by legendary French filmmaker and actor Abel Gance. Originally planning to do a six-part film about the life of the greatest military tactician ever, Gance found himself facing his own Russian winter when he couldn’t raise the funding for his epic dream and instead only made one part of the film. Mind you, this one part was a long one at 6-plus hours. However, there is no complete version of this film. In 1979 film historian Kevin Brownlow performed a restoration of two-thirds of the existing film and a few years later Francis Ford Coppola released an edited 4-hour version of this restoration in the USA. In 2000, Brownlow released his latest restoration at 5½ hours in Europe—this version is unavailable in the USA because Coppola is evidently a pig.

If you’re looking for the Empire, Austerlitz, the Russian campaign, or, God forbid, Waterloo, this is not the film for you. Instead, this film traces Napoleon from his days in military school to his victorious 1797 invasion of Italy. I look at this film as a primer for those who want to know how a Corsican boy became the Emperor of France. Notable events that are covered in this film are the Reign of Terror and Napoleon’s flight from Corsica.

What makes this film most notable is the camerawork and the use of Polyvision (or triptych and later Cinerama). There are a number of scenes that employ the use of mobile camerawork, such as when Napoleon trades in his carriage for a faster horse. Gance used an overhead swinging camera to capture the chaotic National Convention, which was intercut with Napoleon rowing for his life in a raging sea, and the famous overhead shot of the guillotine. Of course the most famous sequence of the film uses Polyvision, which was a widescreen projection across three separate screens (hence the name triptych). Gance used this in the Italian campaign finale, while tinting the three screens blue, white, and red to match the French flag (see top picture).

The innovative techniques used in this film alone are enough to make it a classic. The story itself is good, but it does over-romanticize Napoleon. Albert Dieudonne makes a good Napoleon; an even better one than Charles Boyer’s in Conquest. It would have been interesting to see the entire epic that Gance planned, but one can take solace in watching later films he made about Napoleon.

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The Jazz Singer (1927) **

"Papa, can you hear me?
Papa, can you see me?
Papa can you find me in the night?
Papa are you near me?
Papa, can you hear me?
Papa, can you help me not be frightened?"

…What? Wrong movie you say? But all my chaverot say Babs is the world’s greatest entertainer! Excuse my mistake, but when I watched the Warner Brothers’ promo claiming that the star of this film was the world’s greatest entertainer I just assumed that the young Jewish man singing was Babs—I thought it was an earlier version of Yentl, but this time she’s pretending to be a Jewish boy who wants to become a black man. Oh, the embarrassment!

Let’s see if I can get something right…this film is considered the first feature-length sound film, but in all actuality only the songs and a few very brief scenes after the songs are in sound. After checking with TCM.com I have learned that Al Jolson (evidently the world’s greatest entertainer…my goodness Babs must feel like an imposter!) stars as a Jewish boy who wants to become a black man… What! Jumping Josaphat! Let’s start again…

Jakie (played by this Jolson person) is the son of a cantor who doesn’t want his son singing jazz in saloons, but Jakie is a singing fool and runs away to San Francisco. Not wanting to be found by children’s services he changes his name to Jack Robin and disguises himself as a black man…What? Jiminy Cricket! One more time…

Evidently this man performs in something called "Blackface" and is allowed to become a very famous and rich man by performing in minstrel and Broadway shows. While rehearsing a Broadway show Jack decides to visit his parents. After making the fateful decision to sing jazz in his father’s house, he and his father argue and Cantor Rabinowitz indignantly calls his son a "jazz singer"—I wonder what he would have called him if he’d seen him with his makeup? Anyway, later when the cantor is too sick to sing on Yom Kippur, Mrs. Rabinowitz goes to Jack and begs him to take his father’s place at Temple. At first Jack denies this request but then relents and goes to the temple and sings the Kol Nidre. After hearing his son perform his duty, Cantor Rabinowitz peacefully dies. The final scene of the film finds Jack singing (black-faced and white gloved) "Mammy" on Broadway to his adoring mother—who I have learned under further review was not played by Hattie McDaniel in white-face. Evidently this was not considered racially sensitive in 1927.

Why is this film considered a classic? It marshaled in a new film technique: the sound of the recorded human voice matched to images of the human form in a feature-length film—the talkie. It eventually sounded the death knell for the likes of John Gilbert and Lina Lamont. In addition, some of the songs featured in the film became staples of pop culture. Other than the sound element, I can’t think of anything that distinguishes the film. Al Jolson might have been a good singer, but his acting left something to be desired. I suppose the story is somewhat interesting, but I wouldn’t go so far as to describe it as compelling.

So, if you want to see where the talkies began, this is the place to start. Mind you, don’t make the same mistake as Philip Seymour Hoffman in The Savages: some people will not appreciate the artistic expression that Jolson displays.

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October (Ten Days that Shook the World) (Oktyabr)1927**

Lots of scary things happen in October. Forget about ghosts, goblins, and effigies of dead Michael Jacksons and Farrah Fawcetts, if you want frightening look no further than totalitarian revolutions.

This 1927 silent directed by Sergei Eisenstein recreates the Bolshevik victory of 1917—a tenth anniversary celebration. The film is hailed as a classic, but it is very difficult to follow and it is overtly propagandistic. That said, the film itself can be visually stunning at times (but this is nothing new for Eisenstein) and for the few revolutionary Marxists (Michael Moore comes to mind) running around in the world, it prolongs hope that the proletariat may one day overcome the chains of capitalism…but I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.

If you are not familiar with the Russian Revolution here is what you need to know: after the people deposed Tsar Nicholas two groups fought for power: the Bolsheviks and the Mensheviks. The Mensheviks, under Kerensky, decided to keep Russia engaged in WWI. This did not go over well at home where people were starving or at the front where the war effort was ill-supplied and in tatters. In one of the more effective scenes of the film Eisenstein depicts Lenin’s return from exile. He is greeted by a huge crowd and delivers his famous speech from the front of the train. Later, as the country falls even lower into despair, soldiers desert and join agitated citizens as they protest the direction of the Menshevik government. Yet another one of Eisenstein’s brilliant montage sequences takes place when he depicts the gunning down of marchers and the raising of a drawbridge with people and animals on it. You may remember this scene as the one where the horse and woman slowly slip from the drawbridge into the river. Other memorable shots are the comparison shots between Jesus, Buddha, Shiva, etc., which Eisenstein used to make the Soviet atheistic point that all religions are alike. Eisenstein also uses a compelling comparison shot when the Kerensky government is about to be toppled by the Bolsheviks. It pains me to write this, but he compares Kerensky’s getaway, in a car decorated with an American flag, to that of a retreating Napoleon (damn those Russian winters!). In the end, the Mensheviks, who were just one step above the Tsarists, are defeated by the proletarian militias and Lenin and the Bolsheviks assume power.

The film is considered a silent becomes there is no speaking, but there are sound effects like gunfire, marching, roaring crowds, etc. The actual production itself was monumental with massive sets, location shooting, and a cast of thousands. However, after encountering great success with The Battleship Potemkin, Eisenstein found himself the object of massive criticism both in and outside the U.S.S.R. following the release of this picture.

Certainly this is not the greatest film he made, but it does have some merit. The visuals alone are enough to make it a classic cinematic effort, but critics are also correct when they say the film could stand some more editing.

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The Unknown (1927) **

Ever wanted something so bad you said you’d give your right arm for it? Why so cheap, wuss?

Tod Browning directs this 1927 classic silent film starring Lon Chaney and Joan Crawford as circus performers. Alonzo the Armless (Chaney) amazes circus patrons with his astonishing ability to toss knives with his feet. The problem is Alonzo is a fake (really, a fake circus freak—is nothing sacred!) and a fugitive, who feigns his disability in an effort to hide his two-thumbed right hand from the police. The object of Alonzo’s affection is Nanon (Crawford), a woman who cannot stand the touch of a man—think Ellen DeGeneres 80 years later). While spurning the attentions of Malabar the strongman, Nanon befriends the harmless Alonzo. When Nanon’s father discovers that Alonzo is a fake, Alonzo strangles him while Nanon looks on through a window. When questioned by the police Nanon reveals that she only saw the double thumbed right hand of the murderer. This gives Alonzo the perfect alibi, but presents another problem for him. Even if his love could one day overcome her intimacy issues he could never reveal his hand to her. And, so Alonzo makes the decision to have both his arms cut off for real. Yes, I know right now you’re humming those famous lyrics by Meatloaf: "I’d do anything for love, but I won’t do that", but that’s just because you’re a wuss. Anyway, while Alonzo is lovingly having his arms chopped off Nanon is conquering her intimacy problems and falling into the still attached arms of Malabar. Upon his return, Alonzo learns that his love is cured and in love with the strongman. When Alonzo breaks down into both hysterical tears and laughter the couple assumes that he’s happy for them. Well, he didn’t lose those damn arms for nothing! After learning that the couple’s new act involves the strongman having his arms pulled by horses whipped by Nanon, Alonzo rigs the act hoping to kill (or at least maim, tit for tat you know) Malabar. When Nanon gets in the way of the riled horses Alonzo pushes her out of the way and is promptly stomped to death. At this moment one can’t help but think of this MasterCard ad: Admission to the circus: $10; Pink Cotton Candy: $1.00; Two Dismembered Arms: $5,000; Being Stomped to Death for Love: Priceless…

Most people know Tod Browning as the director of Dracula and Freaks (and some weirdoes who like The Devil-Doll), but The Unknown is considered by many as his greatest film. Personally, I like Freaks better, but this film is quite entertaining. Chaney gives a great performance and Crawford is, well, silent—and not even Bette Davis could say this was a bad thing. The ironic twist of fate that befalls Alonzo is one for the cinematic ages—M. Night Shyamalan would be proud. One added bonus is John George as Cojo, Alonzo’s dwarf assistant—"Cojo will never tell!" Dracula had Renfield, right?

So, if you’re a fan of Browning or Chaney and you like pseudo-sexual-psychological dramas, you will enjoy this film. If you’re a creepy stalker, take heed.

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The General (1927) **

Ever wondered why people stopped riding trains? Look no further…

Buster Keaton directs and stars in this 1927 silent classic about train engineer Johnnie’s quest to save his beloved train engine (The General) from the damn Yankees!

After it is determined that Johnnie can’t enlist in the Confederate Army because his engineer skills are too important, his girlfriend, Annabelle Lee (no, not the Poe one), dumps him, thinking he’s a coward. Later the damn Yankees come up with a dastardly plan to sabotage the Confederate railroad and guess whose train they decide to use? Since films are all about coincidence, you may be surprised to hear that Annabelle is a passenger on the General the same day the damn Yankees put their plan into action. During a dinner break, the Yankees steal the engine and luggage car (with Annabelle in it, of course). Johnnie chases after them via a hand-operated car and then a bike. Since Johnnie isn’t more powerful than a locomotive he can’t keep up, but he does reach a Confederate camp that needs an engineer to transport soldiers. Unfortunately for the Confederacy Johnnie’s an idiot and forgets to attach the troop car—and the South wonders why it lost the war! In route to rescue the General he fights off self-inflicted cannon blasts, disconnected cars, and logs. When he reaches enemy territory (damn Yankees!), Johnnie ditches the train and takes refuge in a house during a storm. Coincidence pops up again, and a hiding Johnnie overhears the damn Yankees plan for the next day and that Annabelle is a prisoner. Donning a damn Yankee uniform (OMG!), Johnnie rescues his girl and smuggles her onto the General and rushes to warn the Confederates about the damn Yankees. With the damn Yankees in pursuit, Johnnie sets a bridge on fire and makes his way to Confederate headquarters. Next, in one of the more astonishing sequences in silent film history, we see a damn Yankee supply train plunge into a river and Johnnie take out a dam with misfired cannon that washes away countless damn Yankees. Mistakenly thinking Johnnie is brilliant, the Confederacy gives him a commission and Annabelle and he walk off into the sunset…or they would have if it hadn’t been for those damn Yankees! No doubt she ended up wearing curtains and he and his train were blown up by that bastard Sherman. Damn Yankees!

This is considered Keaton’s masterpiece. The film itself is based on a true story (with many artistic liberties taken by Keaton) and Keaton does a wonderful job staying true to the historical time period in which the film takes place. The gags are outrageously funny and Keaton is brilliant as ever in pulling off his physically-daring stunts. One of his longer films at 75 minutes, the story has good pacing and is wholly enjoyable.

If you like Chaplin or Harold Lloyd you will like this film. A true silent classic.

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Sunrise (1927) **1/2

Row, row, row your boat,
Gently down the stream.
Evilly, Evilly, Evilly, Evilly,
Wife is gonna scream.

Catchy tune, eh? Too bad the musical directors of this 1927 Oscar-winning, silent classic from F.W. Murnau weren’t as clever as me—they could have made a fortune selling records to two-timing husbands looking to get rid of doe-eyed wives!

The crux of this story is a simple one: a married farmer (George O’Brien) falls for a seductive city girl (the outrageous Margaret Livingston) who convinces him to sell his farm and run away to the city with her…oh, and for good measure drown his wife (Janet Gaynor in an Oscar winning performance) in the process. What follows is one of the most riveting stories ever told in silent film history.

After making the necessary preparations for his wife’s demise, the farmer takes his wife on a rowboat trip. While rowing across the lake he menacingly glares at her and imagines throwing her overboard. He then stands up and is just about to take action when a ringing bell stops him. After they reach the shore the fearful wife jumps out of the boat and runs for her life. When the husband catches up to her he assures her there’s nothing to fear. After taking a streetcar into the city the wife runs into the street and is rescued by her husband from an oncoming car. Trying to assure her of his love, he buys her sweets and flowers. They then go into a church where a wedding is taking place and the husband is wracked with guilt. After leaving the church, the couple’s love appears reborn and they engage in a number of loving activities. Later, while they are rowing back home a storm strikes up and the man ties bulrushes to his wife to ensure her safety. The boat capsizes and the man swims to shore only to discover that his wife is missing. After seeing bulrushes drift ashore without his wife the man believes she’s dead. He then rushes home and is overcome with anguish. The other woman gleefully appears and is shocked when he chases her out of the house and begins to strangle her. Luckily for her, the husband hears that his wife has been found and he races home. Just as the sun rises the wife wakes up and kisses her husband.

The story itself is wonderful, but what makes this film great is the photography of Charles Rosher and Karl Struss. Every image in this film is masterfully framed, lighted, and shot. Of course, the final image of the husband and wife kissing at the break of sunrise is what most people remember, but there are countless images just as beautiful as this last one, especially the rowboat scenes. Other notable accomplishments for this film are the use of sound effects and double exposures.

It is difficult to believe that this film was a box-office failure. Yet, when you look at box office trends today you do see that absolute trash makes loads of money whereas films of merit often do poorly. Whatever may be the case, this film is one of the greatest silent films ever made in America.

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Metropolis (1927) **1/2

“The mediator between the head and hands must be the heart.” ...Wait! Don’t stop reading! I’m really NOT blogging about what my fortune cookie said tonight. I’m just trying to tell you the moral of this 1927 silent classic. But, if you were wondering, my lucky numbers are 2, 6, 23, 27, 29, and 32...

Fritz Lang directed this science-fiction epic about the struggle between workers and capitalists living in a futuristic world. While having a jolly good time in the Eternal Gardens, Freder, the care-free son of the Master of Metropolis (played by the great Abel Gance), meets Maria, a prophetess from the Workers’ City who opens his eyes to the harsh realities of the workers’ world. He witnesses the many hardships the workers endure with their hands so that he and the rest of his class can live pleasurable lives.

As the plot unfolds it is revealed that the workers are engaging in secret activities. The Master of Metropolis goes to the resident mad scientist, Rotwang, for help in revealing the workers’ plans. Here he is introduced to Rotwang’s newest invention: a machine woman who is to take the place of Hel—the Master’s dead wife and Rotwang’s lost love. When the men overhear Maria prophesize that a mediator will appear (who just happens to be Freder) and make the lives of the workers better the Master orders Rotwang to mold the machine in Maria’s image so they can use it to mislead the workers. And so, Rotwang kidnaps Maria and with the help of some nifty (for the time) special effects he turns the machine woman into Maria’s evil twin (no, this is not a soap opera). He then programs the machine to destroy everything that belongs to the Master (his ultimate revenge for having lost Hel) which, of course, is Metropolis. First, she dances in the nude and seduces the capitalists of Metropolis into committing the seven deadly sins for her—mostly murdering one another. Next, he uses her to urge the workers to destroy the machines, which leads to Evil Maria detonating the heart machine, which causes the city to have a major power failure and massive flooding where the workers children are. Luckily, Maria escapes and she and Freder rescue the children. Meanwhile an angry mob captures Evil Maria and burns her at the stake, revealing her as nothing more than an android. In the end, Maria and Freder (who represents the heart of reconciliation) announce that there will be an alliance between the ruler (the brain) and the ruled (the hands). To say this message didn’t go over well in the U.S.S.R. would be a mild understatement.

This film was a huge box office failure and almost bankrupted Germany’s UFA Studio—the film cost 7 million reichsmark. Lang saw his film mercilessly cut several times and no original master survives. Nonetheless, this film is a visual spectacle with elements of German Expressionism and Art Deco in the overall set design. The special effects are impressive for 1927, most notably the use of mirrors to place actors in miniature sets (later used by Hitchcock in Blackmail). The original music by Gottfried Huppertz is also an added bonus.

The story itself is a bit preachy for my taste, but I have to admit I enjoyed the film. I especially enjoyed the scenes in Rotwang’s laboratory and who can forget how Hel looked and moved when she first came to life. This is an important piece of sci-fi film history and a visual dynamo.

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