Archive for Mary Pickford

Secrets and Les

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , on October 3, 2018 by dcairns

SECRETS (1933), is Mary Pickford’s final film, and a remake by writer Frances Marion and director Frank Borzage of their 1924 drama of the same year, which I only realised after twenty minutes as I felt the deja vu lapping around my ankles.

Leslie Howard is male lead this time, replacing Eugene O’Brien, which helps Act 1 play as a romantic comedy (Norma Talmadge was the star of the original, which I caught in Bologna). Act 2 is a western, Act 3 is a kind of political/society drama, and then there’s a romantic comedy coda with the stars in old age make-up.

I don’t know what drove FB & FM to remake this film, since it never hung together the first time. With rapid course corrections as to tone and genre and location, and the characters aging from young (Pickford plays a teenager at forty-one without straining one’s credulity) to old (the make-up is kept shadowy but holds up well, as do the perfs), the only thing to stop this disintegrating into a bag of bits would be a thematic link, as suggested by the title. But the various story units don’t keep the idea of secrecy in play — it gets produced from nowhere right at the end to con us into thinking we’ve been watching something with connective tissue, cohesion, a reason to be one long film rather than three or four short ones.

That said, the chapters all have merit, and our protags make a sweet couple. Borzage ha become a lot more experimental since the early twenties, though he was always likely to reach for an unconventional touch from time to time, from the early days up until at least MOONRISE. Pickford talks well, and acquires, as Fiona observed, a bit of Howard’s technique — if it IS a technique — of stumbling over words and repeating them, adding naturalism to the theatrical situations. But her best moments are visual, and a tragic sequence where her baby is killed in the midst of a wild west gunfight leads to a masterclass in wordless performance, played out as bullets smash the window panes behind her, unnoticed by the grieving mother,

 

Brats

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 25, 2018 by dcairns

As the days blur into one another at a film festival, so do the films. Even on our first day of viewing, I was astounded to hear Marcello Mastroianni in LA FORTUNA DI ESSERE DONNA (LUCKY TO BE A WOMAN, 1954) hum the main jazz tune from DAINAH LA METISSE (1931), which we’d just seen. But it may have been my imagination.

The unintended theme of Day 1 was jealousy: in one of the silent shorts, a child’s doll comes to creepy stop-motion life and follows a little girl on a weirdly adult date, eventually breaking it up by telepathically implanting a vision of the kids’ restaurant meal in the mind of the girl’s nanny. The film’s title, absent from the print, supplied the absent motivation: THE JEALOUS DOLL (1909).

DAINAH features a jealous husband and all Sophia Loren’s suitors in LA FORTUNA are fiercely competitive. And don’t even get me started on REVENGE OF THE CREATURE.

Day 2 (Sunday) began with THE BRAT (1931), a charming pre-code John Ford from the Fox season. Sally O’Neil is adorable in it, Alan Dineheart repulsive but very funny. Male juvenile Frank Albertson is a classic Ford pretty boy but more interesting than Jeffrey Hunter, say. This is the only Ford I’ve seen where it’s the guy who gets spanked. Lest anyone feel excluded, there’s also a knock-down, skirt-shredding catfight between O’Neil and Virginia Cherrill (the blind flower girl from CITY LIGHTS). Some have cited this film as the reason Ford isn’t known for his drawing-room comedies, but it has a lot going for it, including Fox’s typical striking sets and angles — it feels very storyboarded in places, but Ford keeps it alive by seemingly refusing rehearsal and including all the line flubs in the finished cut.

The theme for the day, starting with this one, might have been dysfucntional families, with Pickford’s grotesque but lovable clan in ROSITA rounding off a series also including Roberto Gavaldon’s Wellesian noir-western hybrid ROSAURO CASTRO (1950) — in which Pedro Armendariz’s corrupt town boss is brought down by a government prosecutor in a story with, shall we say, contemporary resonance — and even MEET ME IN ST. LOUIS, screened in a gorgeous Technicolor print. The sound cut out just before Judy & Margaret’s cakewalk, but was restored before we missed a note. Wham wham wham went our heartbeats.

FROM HELL IT CAME!

But Chaplin’s SHOULDER ARMS didn’t fit any particular theme, unless the family motif is covered by the presence of Charlie’s brother Sidney playing both his comrade-in-arms and, in heavy make-up, the Kaiser. This was shown in a unique tinted version, but never mind that — it turns out the SHOULDER ARMS we’ve been watching for the last, oh, hundred years, is composed entirely of out-takes and this, finally, is the authentic preferred version. The best of Charlie’s “it was all a dream” movies; there are almost no clever jokes — just audaciously dumb ones performed with incredible skill against a startling backdrop of total war (with sets by the great Charles D. Hall). He supplied prints free to veteran’s hospitals where it was projected on the ceiling for men too badly burned to sit upright. I can’t imagine how painful those laughs must have been.

The Sunday Intertitle: Dinner for Three

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , on June 25, 2018 by dcairns

“Set the table for three: we dine with death tonight!” — or words to that effect (it’s late, I’m sleepy — technically not even Sunday here anymore).

The MOMA restoration of Lubitsch’s first US film, ROSITA, starring Mary Pickford, is beautiful, as you’d expect from something with those talents as well as Charles Rosher on camera and William Cameron Menzies on sets. Also, as a Snitz Edwards completist, I’m very glad to get this one viewed (under the stars! with a live orchestra!)

Snitz isn’t the only actor in it who sounds like a Goon Show character — there’s Holbrook Blinn and Charles Belcher and Bert Sprotte, and one of the writers is Edward Knoblock. A lot of low comedy characters, you might think, and not be wholly wrong, as Lubitsch’s smutty sophistication and bawdy silliness are both on display here, along with some surprising melodrama (it’s based on an opera).

Street singer Rosita’s loud, vulgar family were just reminding me of The Simpsons when Rosita herself declared “Caramba!” in another intertitle and sealed the deal.