#247. Disraeli (1929)

 

 

This is officially the oldest talkie I've ever seen (I seriously need to get around to watching The Jazz Singer at some point), and I think I'm beginning to understand why the technological advancement was initially met with some pushback. Like, as cool and charming as it is to hear spoken dialogue in a movie this old, the limitations regarding audio recording result in a very static presentation, with awkward blocking and a motionless camera.

 

Similarly, the storytelling's fairly primitive and formulaic, but at least this aspect was slightly less dry than I was expecting. Well, okay, the premise, about a prime minister's attempt to purchase the Suez Canal, didn't exactly have my heart racing, but there was enough of a strategy component (like Disraeli feigning an illness in order to trap a spy, or bluffing so that he could get a banker to sign a paper) that I remained at least somewhat invested in the plot.

 

Also keeping me invested was George Arliss, and not just because of the ridiculous haircut (was that thing painted on?). His performance may be hammy and over the top, but there's a playful mischievousness about him that both endeared me to the character and provided some much-needed energy and levity. If there's a reason to recommend this one to all the Best Picture nominee completionists out there, it's easily him.

 

Grade: B

#193. The Golem: How He Came Into the World (1920)

 

 

A.K.A. Der Golem, wie er in die Welt kam

 

Apparently, this was actually the third in a trilogy of Golem movies made by Paul Wegener, but the reason I'm covering it first (and last) is because the other two have unfortunately been lost to time.

 

On the bright side, How He Came Into the World is a prequel, so its story is pretty comprehensive. It's also, as you might expect, rather basic (though I give it credit for beating nearly every Frankenstein adaptation to the punch), but the structure is sturdy enough, the pace is steady enough, the emotions are compelling enough, and the horror elements are effective enough that I was mostly captivated by what was going on. Plus, the fact that this 1920 movie is both German and rooted in Jewish heritage/mysticism gives it a cultural significance that bumps the overall resonance up a few notches.

 

Helps, too, that the whole thing looks as good as it does. Like, even if the style isn't particularly original (it's basically just Dr. Caligari with a touch of Georges Méliès), that Expressionist combination of striking imagery, unusual angles, heavy makeup, and insane architecture is guaranteed to bewitch me no matter how many times I see it.

 

Grade: A-

#112. The Navigator (1924)

 

 

Thus far, the silent films I've covered haven't exactly rocked my world, so I thought I'd return to ol' faithful.

 

More than maybe any comic actor prior to... god, the seventies?, Buster Keaton still manages to make me laugh. It's all there in his stone face, limber body, flawless timing, and legitimately certifiable stunts. And even if his films lack the plotting and emotional depth of, say, a Chaplin movie, I think it's precisely that jokes-come-first prioritization that continues to make him so likeable and watchable (and besides, who really cares about plot in something like this?).

 

Of course, that's not to say that The Navigator is structurally flawless. It takes a little too long to get going (especially given the runtime), and much of the third act conflict with the cannibals has obviously not aged well. But everything in between - i.e. Keaton and Kathryn McGuire on the boat - is pure bliss. It's nothing but physical comedy and clever prop work, which is exactly what we came for.

 

There's also something I find especially cozy about this one. Probably has a lot to do with my love of large and largely empty settings (think The Overlook in The Shining, or the mall in Dawn of the Dead), of which this boat is a perfect example. It's grand and intimate at the same time, which adds an extra layer of warmth and comfort to the humour, in my opinion.

 

Grade: A

 

#77. The Black Pirate (1926)

 

 

Figured it was about time I gave another silent film a shot. Unfortunately, the results were about the same.

 

I mean, there's a lot to admire about The Black Pirate. The two-strip Technicolor process really holds up (and it gives the movie a certain immediacy that might've been lacking in a black & white format), the sets, ships, and costumes look exactly how you'd want them to, and the stunts continue to impress - especially on the occasions where Douglas Fairbanks effortlessly flies around from one end of the ship to the other.

 

Once again, though, the story and pacing didn't really do it for me. And I'm fully willing to admit that my modern attention span is likely the culprit (either that or the fact that the movie had such an influence on swashbucklers that it feels kinda cliche now). The first twenty minutes and last twenty minutes are pretty fun, as is the scene where Fairbanks single-handedly takes over that other ship, but I thought everything in between felt kinda sluggish and repetitive.

 

Ah well. I'm still holding out hope that a few of these early movies will eventually be to my liking - and not just in an "appreciation" kind of way.

 

Grade: B

 

#31. The Man Who Laughs (1928)

 

 

There's no denying the importance of silent cinema, but I should probably come clean early and own up to the fact that my attention span isn't always super compatible with these early movies. I'm hoping to eventually improve on that front, though, so I figured it might be a good idea to get my feet wet as quickly as possible. 

 

I started with The Man Who Laughs because I was expecting a horror movie in the vein of Dr. Caligari or Nosferatu, both of which I quite enjoyed. But while those Expressionist textures are definitely present, this is really more of a Hunchback of Notre Dame-style tragedy. I tend to be most drawn to silent dramas when the emotions are at their heaviest, though, so that was fine with me.

 

What I didn't care for so much was the long-winded and unfocused narrative. As heartfelt and tender as the romance was, and as compelling as Mary Philbin and Conrad Veidt are, it too often felt as though the two supposed leads were reduced to supporting players in their own story. Large swaths of the runtime are dedicated to the intrigue and corruption of the Royal Court, and that stuff just didn't grab me at all.

 

Fortunately, we end with a pretty strong third act, which features more melodrama, more theatrics, and even some swashbuckling action. This is no doubt a seminal movie; I just wish the whole thing was a little tighter and more consistent. 

 

Grade: B