Archive for Kobelkoff

London Particular

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , on June 10, 2017 by dcairns

I found this unused blog post from 2014 when I was first in Bologna. Why let it go to waste, just because some of its content got used elsewhere?

An eclectic and idiosyncratic array of shorts, Chaplin’s London & Calvero’s Colleagues, presented by Mariann Lewinsky, ran at Bologna — the selection aimed to reproduce the sights and sounds of Chaplin’s music hall days, with street scenes of London life in the years before his departure for the US (“America — I am coming to conquer you!”), and theatre acts which echoed those mentioned in his autobiography or recreated in LIMELIGHT. Maestro Neil Brand provided live accompaniment.

LIVING LONDON (1904) is one of the best Victorian street scenes I’ve ever seen, full of life and detail and quirks of behaviour, captured forever by Charles Urban. You can see a brief extract above.

WORK MADE EASY (1907, USA) was a trick film in which an inventor trains a gadget on various heaps of boxes, barrels, and a building site, causing the desired tasks to be performed in super-quick-time via both reverse motion and accelerated motion. At the end of the film, for no comprehensible reason, his arms fly off and streamers flicker from each hollow shoulder. That’s entertainment for you!

In L’HOMME QUI MARCHE SUR LA TETE, acrobat Monsieur Tack not only stands on his head but walks on it, kicking his legs to lift him off the ground, even descending a shallow flight of stairs with only a little pad bandaged to his cranium for protection. He’s my new hero.

KOBELKOFF (1900) was included in homage to a deleted scene from LIMELIGHT featuring an armless wonder. I’d forgotten how portly Nicolai Kobelkoff was, giving him a disturbing resemblance to a winesack or a sea-lion. Prince Randian, by contrast, was all muscle.

Albert Capellani’s CENDRILLON (CINDERELLA, 1907) is enchanting, and shows the growing sophistication of narrative and performance in this period — Capellani would be a key player in developing the motion picture from short subjects to features.

FESTA PYOTECNICA NEL CIELO DI LONDRA (FIREWORKS DISPLAY IN THE LONDON SKY, 1902) is Urban again, offering hand-tinted images of a rather spectacular fireworks display. Apart from the blazing portraits of Victoria & Albert, there’s a fire engine made of fireworks, from which firemen emerge, also apparently made of fireworks. Close examination reveals how this was done. Pyrotechnicians, hopefully dressed in asbestos, wear exoskeletons to which are affixed blazing, sparking fireworks at regular intervals, creating a luminous outline which converts them into animated figures — Victorian mo-cap technology in action.

This screened a second time in the Piazza Maggiore, ahead of A HARD DAY’S NIGHT, where I snapped the following blurry image:

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A carriage made of fireworks, right? I have a better phone now, so expect better snaps from me when I’m back in Bologna in a couple of weeks…

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The Last Day

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 27, 2014 by dcairns

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My selfies always turn out looking like someone else.

So, I finally get to the end of my Bologna report.

I knew it was likely that I wouldn’t see so much stuff on my last day, since Richard Lester was going to be in town and I wanted to hang with him as much as possible. I wasn’t sure how much that WOULD be possible, but I was certainly going to try to find out.

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I crawled out of bed and made it in at 10.30 am, to see a program of shorts relating to Chaplin’s roots. The 1904 LIVING LONDON pulled together footage of the London of Chaplin’s youth, while films such as L’HOMME QUI MARCHE SUR LA TETE showed the kind of music hall attractions Charlie would have been surrounded by during his early career. This 1909 film documented an acrobat who fulfilled the title role by bouncing along a plank on his head, wearing a protective skull-cap but still presumably jarring his brains loose with every impact. Albert Capellani’s CENDRILLON OU LA PANTOUFLE MERVEILLEUSE was a kind of pantomime, mirroring the popular theatre of Chaplin’s youth, WORK MADE EASY  was a 1907 trick film, KOBELKOFF (1900) documents a limbless wonder, referencing the armless wonder who appears in a deleted scene from LIMELIGHT… the whole show was accompanied by Neil Brand at the piano.

Kim Hendrickson, producer of the Criterion Blu-ray of A HARD DAY’S NIGHT was throwing a dinner and Lester was guest og honour and I got her to invite Neil since he’d interviewed Lester for his magnificent Sounds of Cinema series and I thought it would be nice to have a familiar face.

WANDA’S TRICK from 1918 was a diverting little comedy, part of a sidebar I’d completely missed up until then, celebrating the unknown filmmaker Rosa Porten, sister of actor Henny Porten, who directed along with Franz Eckstein using the pseudonym Dr. R. Portegg.

Having fallen asleep at a Japanese double bill earlier in the week, it was with trepidation that I attempted Yasujiro Shimazu’s SHUNKINSHO: OKOTO TO SASUKE from 1935, an early talkie which proved diverting enough thanks to its sheer, horrifying perversity. A fable of true love and self-mutilation, it did share with the comedies I’d snoozed through a focus on the voice as subject. Most of the filmmaking was staid in the way everybody always expects early talkers to be, even though they often aren’t, but there was one remarkable shot simulating a blind man’s POV. Since it wasn’t just a black screen, but a hand-held movement filmed out of focus, you had to admire the imagination behind it.

At 4.30 pm Richard Lester appeared in conversation with Peter Von Bagh, the festival’s director. Lester was on fine form. When he referred to THE MOUSE ON THE MOON being shot on old sets from a Cornell Wilde picture, David Bordwell, sitting next to me, laughed. “Ahah, someone here is old enough to know how degrading that is.”

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The event assumes a melancholic afterglow now that Peter Von Bagh has been taken from us before his time. His festival is just about the best I’ve ever been to. For location and buzz, Telluride is miraculous. Being an old movies guy, Bologna does it for me.

Photo stolen from David Bordwell’s site, where you can read more on the legendary PVB.

So then we had dinner, which meant missing Lubitsch’s THE MAN I KILLED, and Bimal Roy’s MADHUMATI, and Frank Tuttle’s THE MAGIC FACE — but it was dinner with Richard Lester! What’re you gonna do?

Unfortunately I wound up sat out of earshot, but got a recap at dessert: “I was telling them stories about Telluride,” said Richard, who filmed there for BUTCH AND SUNDANCE: THE EARLY DAYS, “where I believe you did rather well.” A reference not so much to my screening, but to my wedding, which was actually held in Glendale Bel Air, LA, but you could say brokered via Telluride.

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And then we strolled to the Piazza Maggiore and watched A HARD DAY’S NIGHT. Lester introduced it, and had hinted that he might take off after the first ten minutes, but he stayed to the end. The applause, I trust, was worth it. And the impact of that opening chord, on the big screen, coming as it should after complete darkness, no logos, no anything, was pretty remarkable. The audience applauded that, too, though it took them several seconds to process the startling effect.

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Beatles For Sale — I never noticed the signs to the right of the image, anticipating the title of a Beatles album yet to be recorded.

Moreso the Torso

Posted in FILM, Politics with tags , , , , , , , , , on January 13, 2010 by dcairns

KOBELKOFF, a curio from 1900, poised on the knife-edge between celebrating the triumph over adversity and pressing its nose against the glass to drool at the sight of malformity and difference. Asides from questions like “But is it art?” and the more urgent “Who would win in a fight between Kobelkoff and Prince Randian from FREAKS?” I’ll give the (nameless) filmmakers the benefit of the doubt here.

Not an experienced actor, Prince Randian (Prince of where?) is a little quick with his single line of dialogue, which is consequently hard to decipher. The DVD subtitles give it as “Say, can you do anything with your eyebrow?” which is a GREAT line, possibly the greatest and most obscure sentence since the last words of Dutch Schultz. (If you watch FREAKS with the subs on you get a lot of fringe benefits, heavily-accented line readings suddenly explicated, lines you didn’t even realise you hadn’t understood…)

While enumerating the limbless, we should pause to resembled the character of the war hero in SATYRICON — Fellini apparently instructed his assistant to find him “the most crippled cripple he could get.” (All this via John Baxter’s chatty, somewhat middlebrow biography). When Federico saw the living torso who’d been sourced for the role, he congratulated his underling: “I didn’t think you’d go that far.”

“I will go a long way to see something I haven’t seen before,” says Clive Barker, and I agree with him, but that does make the world of the cinema a short step from that of the tent show. I guess it always was. So I don’t require total scrupulousness from filmmakers who deal with or exploit disability, I’ll settle for some measure of complexity, conflicted response, or even the childlike wonder of a Fellini or a Jodorowsky at times.