Archive for Oscar Apfel

Teacher Training

Posted in FILM, Politics with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 8, 2021 by dcairns

Bombed back to the silent age? Something I learned thanks to this year’s Pordenone Festival of Silent Film — as a result of WWII and the Japanese occupation, sound production ceased in the benighted country, and even sound projectors were scarce, but cinema refused to die out altogether. So a fresh batch of silent movies was produced, relying on what the Koreans call a Byeonsa, equivalent to the Japanese Benshi, a live, in-person film-describer storyteller.

Many of the films from Korea’s second silent age are now lost, but we were treated to THE TEACHER AND THE PROSECUTOR (1948), with a recorded Byeonsa narration by Sin Chul. The film survives, gleaming through a patina of scratches and with a subaquatic ripple effect caused by the warping of the celluloid. It begins with quick cuts of the main characters, so the narrator can introduce them — shots clearly filched from elsewhere in the film, as in a movie trailer. Making me wonder if this was originally a sound film repurposed as silent due to the problems of exhibition. I unfortunately dropped off before I could form a firm theory about this.

The narration was certainly interesting. Sin Chul has a throaty, sing-song delivery, his voice at times degenerating into a gasping gargle, but always passionate, like one anxious to convey something with his last breath or death rattle. Delivered against dead silence — did Korean cinemas, or Japanese ones come to that, not employ musicians? — this made for eerie listening. It was quite interesting to experience, until weariness got the better of me.

Education, education, education, as Tony Blair is always saying. (“Why does he keep saying that?” is the best line in IRIS.) Teaching also played a role in PHIL-FOR-SHORT (1919), a charming story of love and self-determination, almost we might say feminism, directed by C.B. DeMille’s former directing partner Oscar Apfel. As co-director of maybe the first surviving Hollywood feature, Apfel’s decline to extra work or bit part acting is a sad story, especially when we see him here at his height, getting terrific performances esp. from the delightful Evelyn Greeley as the titular tomboy, managing the story very smoothly, and serving up live-action intertitles on a Grecian theme — the titles are actually superimposed over moving images. All this and a nubile Edward Arnold in an early perf.

The script is by Clara Berenger & Forrest Halsey, and makes a passionate argument for non-conformity and vivacity against prudishness and hypocrisy. Hugh Thompson is an amusingly unlikely leading man — I’d forgotten that I’d previously seen him in THE GRUB STAKE with director/star Nell Shipman, making him a bit of a feminist icon, possibly.

The whole movie had attractive columns of nitrate decomposition shimmering like flames up both sides, what I call an added attraction.

Oh, and the feature was preceded by LE MÉNAGE DRANEM, themed around the notion of cross-dressing and role reversal, but this Pathé short was a pretty unpleasant affair, though in spectacularly good nick. Dranem is henpecked by his trousered termagant of a wife, before turning the tables with a vicious display of entirely uncomedic domestic violence. There should have been a warning. It did end with a smile of sorts, as accompanist José Marìa Serralde Ruiz played a kind of death march over the family outing, mother, perambulator and numerous sprogs parading down a Parisian street, a witty critique of the patriarchal assumptions, and then the last kid in line is so intent on picking his nose that Dranem has to steer the little bastard through frame and away from the traffic.

Dranem seemed an unappealing lout. He was a boulevardier and he does appear in one of the funniest and most horrible short comedies ever, which Paul Duane and I were reduced to unexpected hysteria by on a visit to the Cinematheque Francais — Dranem plays a country bumpkin who mistakes a phone booth for a public lavatory. Explicit facial expressions of grunting and straining as he performs the act of physical evacuation before the unflinching gaze of the cinematograph, trousers round ankles, buttocks occluded by some merciful bit of scenery. He departs, relieved, and the next customer gets a nasty surprise.

I can’t remember what this film was called, probably something like DRANEM SHITS IN A PHONE BOOTH.

Here’s one of the man’s songs:

Thoroughly Unmodern Tillie

Posted in FILM, Theatre with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 6, 2021 by dcairns

TILLIE’s PUNCTURED ROMANCE (1914) isn’t highly rated — but we should give Sennett some credit for jumping into the feature film racket with both flapshod feet, even when he could have had little idea of what a feature comedy would be like (nobody had made one).

There’s also something poetically apt about Sennett co-directing with Charles Bennett (not the writer of THE 39 STEPS, no — but the guy who sings “Oh, Mr. Kane” in CITIZEN KANE, yes). I want more rhyming co-directors. Christopher Nolan & Xavier Dolan? Michael Mann & Ahn Hung Tran? Susanne Bier & Lars Von Trier? Suggest more!

I’m devoting three posts to this as it’s a six-reeler I guess and certainly thrice the length of any previous Chaplin.

And it starts very nicely, with imported star Marie Dressler emerging from stage curtains to smile shyly at the (imagined) audience, then dissolving into her movie character — and then another dissolve transports that character into her natural habitat. This seems to me better than anything in De Mille’s THE SQUAW MAN, sometimes considered the first feature film, but in reality only the first extant one.

Enter Mack Swain in a big rustic beard, to give Tillie/Marie the traditional Keystone kick up the arse. Welcome to the studio. Sennett tried to cover his costs by shoehorning every comedian in his stable into this movie, which is how Chaplin comes to make his inauspicious feature debut.

And is that Teddy the Keystone Dog ambling through lower frame? Apparently not, though he does seem to have been around pictures at the time. I tell you what, let’s start an unfounded rumour that it’s him.

Enter Chaplin, as “the stranger,” a kind of man with no name I guess, in a straw hat. Always interesting to see him as a villain, and he does it very well. This is his last baddie until Hynkel and Verdoux, I guess. He enters, back to camera, and we stay on that back a loooong time. Keystone has finally discovered preparation and suspense — well, they had to, a feature film made at the pace of a typical Sennett one-reeler would have required a huge budget.

Okay, it’s definitely not Teddy. we could christen him Freddy the Keystone Other Dog

Tillie is playing “catch-the-brick” with Not-Teddy, and accidentally hits the stranger in the nose with her lobbed bit of masonry. Very good pratfall from CC, and it all makes for a very Keystone meet cute. Less than three minutes in and two of their signature moves have been displayed. How long until a pastry is flung?

Charlie aggressively woos Tillie. Wonderful to see Dressler moving about so nimbly in head-to-toe wide shot. And the physical contrast is lovely, with Chaplin like a mosquito thinking of alighting on a tempting jelly.

Charlie and Swain have a drink and everything goes out of focus (nitrate decomposition).

People seem to communicate not by intertitles, but by kicking one another up the arse. I wonder how much nuance they can put into it / get out of it? Dressler’s facial expressions seem to suggest quite a bit. Without the use of her fantastic voice, though, she’s reduced to mainly being a gurner. And the fact that everyone tends to pitch their performances at the camera instead of at one another is a bit tiring. Chaplin was right to limit that to himself as actor, and to use it for audience rapport, not to telegraph things we might have missed. Expositional camera-directed pantomime is the worst.

Charlie’s “look” is yet another fascinating variation. He has a tiny moustache, but a DIFFERENT tiny moustache. Not a toothbrush. There doesn’t seem to be a name for this style or breed. It’s a bit like Max Linder’s chevron-style , but it’s in two pieces. Which is weird. Did it influence Cantinflas and his repulsive face-fungus? But the Spaniard’s two segments have grown further estranged, leaving his philtrum and most of his upper lip area bare, a gaping no-man’s land, while the hairs cluster together like herd animals at the corners of the mouth as if drawing sustenance from stray saliva.

The baggy pants and cane are still there. Chaplin has worked out that his brand definition is beneficial to him, but he needs to delineate between the Little Fellow and this little creep.

Speaking as we were of whiskering, I like that Mack Swain has a portrait of Lincoln on his wall, evidently the inspiration for his unsightly “Irish” beard.

Charlie sets about wooing the hefty hayseed for her father’s loot. This is good material for him, though hardly the kind of thing he’d get up to in his regular characterisation, partially-formed as it yet was. Dressler gets to have fun acting girlish, and would presumably have appealed to John Waters: “I like fat people who don’t know they’re fat.” She’s very graceful, but can drop it in an instant and stagger with pachyderm ponderousness: one thinks of her breaking stride at the end of DINNER AT EIGHT.

This film is usually dismissed, but I have to say, they’ve correctly worked out that the way to make a Keystone feature is to linger on character interplay in simple scenes, not to pack the screen with the usual busy-busy fussing or frenetic action. Cheaper, as well as less exhausting!

The lovers woo by slinging roses at one another. Tillie can hurl a blossom hard enough to knock Charlie on his ass. Of course, it’s not long before bricks are being tossed: this being the countryside, there are plenty lying about (it’s Keystone country).

Charlie proposes an elopement, and it’s a crystal-clear bit of mime, aided by Marie’s shocked, awestruck, delighted responses. His proposal that they rob her father requires a bit more explicit for-our-benefit gesticulation, but plays OK.

Dressler dresses up to elope, donning an extraordinary hat which seems to have a miniature egret or something posing atop it. I can imagine such a garment appealing to Bjork but few others. Anyway, get used to it, she doesn’t get another costume change for ages.

Enter Mabel Normand, forearms immersed in an almighty muff (elbow-deep in animal as they were, women of the era could have taken to veterinary practice as to the manner born), as THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM. We’re in Part Two now, and the plot, a thin gruel thus far, duly thickens. Mabel advances into a gaping, PIG ALLEY close-up. Either Mack Sennett or Charles Bennett, has been looking at Griffith (with whom Sennett used to work). It’s rumoured that Sennett decided to throw everything into TILLIE’S after learning that DWG was at work on what became BIRTH OF A NATION, but Hobart Bosworth’s THE SEA WOLF and Cecil B. DeMille & Oscar Apfel’s THE SQUAW MAN were already out there, making money, so that influence is not needed.

The mini-skirmish with Mabel in the street is just padding, though, since the trio face off again in a restaurant, another of those bustling, hyperactive scenes Sennett had a weakness for. Interesting to see Mabel as a villainess.

Tillie gets drunk (falls down a fair bit), Charlie steals her ill-gotten dowry and absconds with Mabel. A woman walks by in the background grinning right into the lens, but if the stars can do it, why not random Los Angeles citizens?

Tillie is ousted and rousted, into the waiting arms of a kop, while Charlie and Mabel laugh wickedly from a presumably adjoining shot. (Keystone movies are very Kuleshovic, since near everything’s a master shot and when you have two wide shots joined together by glances or shoved characters passing from one frame to the other, you never ever get a wider view that links the two frames explicitly.)

Mercifully, Tillie is having too good a time being drunk for the first time to notice that she’s been robbed, abandoned and arrested. The local kop shop is just a palace of drunken hilarity to her. So they put her in solitary confinement with five men and two other women.

Charlie and Mabel go shopping — he is floored by the department store’s swing door. Hinges! There’s just no combatting them.

In the jail cell, Tillie is assailed by varied print formats — things keep blazing into high-contrast glare, with curved corners flashing momentarily onto the frame, a bit of Lynchian strangeness that prepares us for the possibility of Marie Dressler inexplicably mutating in her cell into Balthasar Getty. Which wouldn’t be that much weirder than what’s gone before.

Further developments introduce Phyllis Allen, Keystone’s own Marie Dressler type, as a prison matron (though Tillie isn’t in prison yet, just in the hoosegow’s lock-up) and co-director Charles Bennett himself as Tillie’s rich uncle. Also Edgar Kennedy as his butler. Having a rich uncle duly gets Tillie released, and a good thing too as she’s now entered the lachrymose phase of inebriation, weeping and kissing the desk sergeant’s bald head. “You th’ bess pal in th’world, thass wha’ you are…”

Mabel and Charlie emerge from the clothing store, all gussied up. Mabel is now the full Theda Bara. Charlie no longer had the baggy pants, his divorce from the Little Fellow is complete. (But we can’t see his feet!) This movie is like his entire progress at Keystone played in reverse. Mabel and Charlie have a ton of fun just standing in the street interacting. Makes me wish we could have seen them actually clothes shopping.

Admittedly, Tillie’s weird pyjama-dress-pantsuit thing is pretty impressive too. She’s still having tipsy fun, roughhousing with the Kops, making a great play of jumping off one of those huge kerbs they had in them days. I guess having a massive step like that would actually potentially deflect a cartwheel coming at you sideways, so they probably saved a lot of lives. If you were on the sidewalk you were kind of safe, unlike now. On the other hand, the pedestrians must’ve been walking about on broken ankles alla time.

That’s End of Part 2 —

TO BE CONTINUED