Sunday, October 02, 2011

Striking a New Note (2011 schoolchildren's film concert) Oh Teacher


Walt Disney: Oh Teacher (US 1927).

Viewed at Teatro Verdi, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto, Pordenone, English intertitles, e-subtitles in Italian, 2 Oct 2011.

Scuola primaria “Carlo Collodi” Pordenone
Alunni IV e V elementare / Students of the 4th and 5th classes
Direzione/Conductor: Prof. Romano Todesco
Flauti/Flutes: Sofia Zorzetto, Sofia Argentieri, Flavia Perlika, Margherita Ceppi, Giulia Bortolin, Elena Busato, Anduela Dervishaj, Rachele Favaro, Anna Mutuale, Asia Reviezzo, Francesca Riccio Cobucci, Chiara Rosada, Linda Santarossa, Francesca Violi, Riccardo Zerbini.
Piastre (xilofoni e metallofoni) / Percussion (xylophones and metallophones): Leonardo D’Onofrio, Giorgia Basile, Francesco Panebianco, Giulia Rosada.
Rumoristi (effetti speciali)/ Sound effects: Angelo Stafie, Mattia De Filippo, Alham Zaid, Angelo Wang, Stefano Catalano, Erald Arapi, Giacomo Lo Giudice, Patrick Shilaku, Renato Tesi.

Maria Luisa Sogaro (GCM Catalogue): "This year’s novelty in the “Striking a New Note” project (now in its fifth edition) is the participation of the pupils of the Carlo Collodi primary school of Pordenone, conducted by our very dear Romano Todesco."

"After 30 years of teaching, as a matter of fact, I am convinced that to combat the widespread pollution of the mind it is necessary to offer meaningful cultural experiences from infancy. The power of the images of early cinema, offered as part of a special activity, brought to life with sound, I believe can afford a truly extraordinary new game. Moreover, the group from our school is almost entirely new; only four children took part in the last edition. However they all have very clear ideas, and have chosen to make music for Buster Keaton’s The Electric House."

"In fact, first Riccardo Costantini and then Silvia and myself tried to orient our new young musicians in different directions, suggesting some two-reel comedies by other artists, but when it came to the vote… Nothing doing! Once again, Buster has won. For the “soundtrack”, as a departure from our other works, in which we have principally drawn on a repertory familiar to the children, we have selected two Italian successes of the Twenties, taken from my personal collection of sheet music of the period."

"We have worked on the formal structure of the film rather than on its characters: for the introduction (the award of diplomas), we go back to Gaudeamus igitur; in the presentation of the house, a foxtrot of 1921 by Ripp; and for the vendetta with the engineer, we have the Tango della pampa (1929), from the prize-winning partnership of Cherubini-Bixio."

"The newcomers, the very young musicians of the Carlo Collodi primary school (pupils of classes IV and V), will take their first steps in providing music for the silents by giving voice to a little masterpiece of animation, Oh Teacher (1927) by Walt Disney. The protagonist is Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, a well-known figure of the 1920s, and a precursor to the much more famous Mickey Mouse. And to finish … a choral surprise for the 30 years of the Giornate." MARIA LUISA SOGARO

Oh Teacher (Disney/Universal, US 1927) Series: Oswald the Lucky Rabbit D: Walt Disney; anim: Ubbe Iwerks, Hugh Harman, Rollin “Ham” Hamilton, Friz Freleng, Ben Clopton, Norm Blackburn, Les Clark; DP: Mike Marcus; reissued with added soundtrack: 1932; DVD, 6'; from: Cinemazero, Pordenone. English intertitles.

Russell Merritt & J. B. Kaufman: "In this film, the third of Walt Disney’s Oswald the Rabbit cartoons, Oswald has become streamlined, more appealing, and younger than in his earlier appearances: here he’s a schoolboy, roughly the same age as our young musicians for this program. Traces of Oswald’s original design can still be seen in the opening scenes of Oh Teacher (in one closeup he retains his whiskers), but before long his compact, rounded, appealing design is well established. In design, as well as personality, he’s a clear forerunner of Mickey Mouse."

"And even in this formative state, Oswald does project a definite personality. Riding his bicycle to school, he lets the bicycle steer itself while he plucks petals off a flower: she loves me, she loves me not. When the flower indicates that the girl does love him, he indulges in a little dance of joy. Oswald’s encounter with the playground bully is not a slapstick gagfest but an extended, shamefaced subterfuge. Of course the brick in his hand is not a missile intended for the bully – perish the thought! – he’s simply lifting it for the exercise. And when, purely by accident, he does get the best of his opponent, he’s clever enough to take advantage of the situation with some quick thinking. Oh Teacher offers other delightful gags as well, including the little boy whose mother hangs him up on a “mail hook,” to be snatched off as the school bus passes. And in view of Walt’s kinship with the great silent-film comedians, it’s worth noting the scene in which Oswald rescues his girlfriend from drowning, only to be discredited by a rival who claims the heroic act for himself – much as Buster Keaton would be discredited, the following year, in The Cameraman. When the Oswald cartoons debuted in theaters in the fall of 1927, audiences and critics welcomed them warmly. Reviewing this film, Moving Picture World commented that “It contains some of the best gags we have seen in cartoons.” – RUSSELL MERRITT & J.B. KAUFMAN

AA: A delightful live cinema event with very young schoolchildren playing the music to a Oswald the Lucky Rabbit cartoon.

La serpe (2010 restoration CSC / Cineteca Nazionale / Cineteca di Bologna)


Roberto Roberti: La serpe (IT 1920). Francesca Bertini as Naia.

The Poison Mood (GB) / The Poison Moods (AU) / La Serpe (FR) / Die Schlange (AT) / A Serpente (PT).
(Caesar Film / Bertini Film, IT 1920) D: Roberto Roberti; story: Sandro Salvini, Vittorio Bianchi; ad., SC: Vittorio Bianchi; DP: Alberto Carta; AD: Alfredo Manzi; cast: Francesca Bertini (Naia), Sandro Salvini (Mario Sirchi), Emma Farnesi (Adonella Arsendi), Vittorio Bianchi (Bertrando Arsendi, banker), Duilio Marrazzi, Raoul Maillard, Luigi Cigoli, Luigi Farnesi; censor date: 1.1.1920 (no. 14749); Rome premiere: 1.3.1920; orig.: 1580 m (in 4 parts); 35 mm, 1050 m, 51' (18 fps), col. (tinted and toned, Desmet method); from: Cineteca Nazionale – Centro Sperimentale di Cinematografia, Roma. Restoration: Cineteca Bologna, 2010. Didascalie in italiano. Viewed at Teatro Verdi, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto, Pordenone (Cinema italiano: Francesca Bertini), with e-subtitles in English, grand piano: Antonio Coppola, 2 Oct 2011.

Aldo Bernardini (GCM Catalogue): "A classic melodrama made by the Caesar-Film team (director, scenarist, cinematographer, designer), which was exclusively devoted to nourishing the divistic aura of Francesca Bertini. To the character of the fatal beauty which the prima donna of the company had created, film after film added the allegorical image at the centre of this story, that of the donna-serpe (snake-woman), who first enchants and then devours her victim. A pity that the idea on which it is based this time should be in substance a fairly improbable idea: Naia – a girl with a fascinating name, but so wild as to merit the nickname of “la serpe” (“the snake”) – comes to believe (how, we never know) that the composer Mario Sirchi is guilty of the death of her father, who is also the father of her half-sister Adonella. The poor fellow is in fact innocent, but abandons fiancée and homeland rather than besmirch the honour of a family compromised by the true culprit. Inconsolable, he finally returns home after a lively stay in the United States, but must submit first to Naia’s seductive assault and then her vindictive fury, which succeeds in landing him, once again innocent, in prison. After which, repentant perhaps (the last scenes are missing), the snake-woman concedes to her victim the privilege of pardon and renewed amorous fulfilment."

"Here are, in short, all the ingredients of the cinema in frac (“tail-coat cinema”) genre, which reveal the threadbare depiction of characters, and the sentiments and ambience totally unrelated to everyday reality, with idle young people, voluptuous women, and mature dandies in tails who indulge their every whim. In the hands of the director Roberti, her faithful servant, the diva queens it from beginning to end in a series of close-ups, which catch her first as a young girl immersed in the pleasures of the countryside (where she has been relegated by her father, who has not recognized her as his daughter), then suddenly elevated to a lady of society, dressed in high fashion, and shown, with her eternal scowl, in violent chiaroscuro and chromatic effects chosen for her by the cameraman Alberto Carta. Adapting to the various shifts in the artificial lifestyle in which she is placed, the character (who remains in the wings in the first part, and irrupts into the foreground in the second) nevertheless emanates a certain decadent fascination, thanks to some interesting narrative ingredients (like the use of the music, the melancholy “nocturne” for violin composed and performed at key moments by the male protagonist, or the lighting and design effects of crucial scenes, which remove the mask and gestures of the actress from all demands of credibility), and to the counterpoint between the excesses of Bertini and the ingenuous acting of the male second leads. One can understand how in its time a film like this succeeded in exciting its admirers, despite the increasingly persistent hostility of the critics towards the decline of a style which a few years earlier had achieved some results of great quality. The print unfortunately has substantial lacunae, which however do not considerably compromise the narrative flow." – Aldo Bernardini

AA: A Francesca Bertini star extravaganza. Aldo Bernardini hits it on the head of the nail in his review above. In La serpe one can abandon all hope for narrative credibility or realistic psychology. This is a film of decadence and grand diva moments, a Francesca Bertini production where she flourishes and everything else withers. The father believes that the violin-playing Mario Sirchi is the culprit to the business swindle which ruins him while Mario has in fact been framed by the father's trusted business associates. Francesca Bertini relishes in flaunting the evil of Naia, the snake woman, even torturing insects and harassing cats. The same business continues with men. My favourite moment is after the shipwreck, when the snake Naia awakens from her torpor. She strikes an imperial vamp pose, equipped with a long cigarette holder. Another moment is her revelation to Mario, who she thinks has ruined not only her father's but also her stepsister Adonella's life: Naia tears the strings off Mario's violin. Before going to jail Mario actually detect's a viper's bite marks in his hand. "Le due prigioni": Mario in jail, Naia in her castle, a victim of her evil misunderstanding. Bertini is a master of the direct camera look in this movie, she speaks with her eyes directly with us. The conclusion takes place in a cheap bar where Mario gets drunk, but hearing his composition "La serpe" Naia finally breaks into tears. "La serpe incantata".

Il veleno delle parole / [The Poison of Words]

(Lastertongen) (Celio Film, IT 1913) D: Baldassarre Negroni; cast: Francesca Bertini (Luciana Valdi), Carlo Simoneschi (Carlo [Charles in this print] Rizzi), Alberto Collo (Alberto [Albert in this print]), Augusto Mastripietri (Giovanni Valdi); orig.: 642 m; 35 mm, 559 m, 30' (16 fps), col. (tinted); from: EYE Film Institute Netherlands, Amsterdam (Desmet Collection). Nederlandse tussentitels. Russian intertitles. Viewed at Teatro Verdi, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto, Pordenone (Cinema Italiano: Francesca Bertini), with e-subtitles in English and Italian, grand piano: Antonio Coppola, 2 Oct 2011.

Ivo Blom (GCM Catalogue): "Il veleno delle parole [The poison of words] “stars” Francesca Bertini, who at that point was not yet a full-blown diva, but would soon become one. Luciana Valdi (Clara in the Dutch version) is married to Carlo, a lawyer, when Alberto, her cousin and lover in their adolescence, returns. People start to gossip about a relationship, although Luciana tries hard to avoid Alberto. At first, Carlo refuses to believe the story, and then starts to have doubts. He visits Alberto to ask him for his guns, saying he wants to fight a duel with a man who insulted him. He then discovers Luciana behind a curtain. She is there only to beg Alberto to prevent the duel. The husband grabs a gun and shoots her dead. Later on he reads his wife’s diary, where Luciana states that she loved only her husband. He repents, but it is too late."

"In one sequence the three protagonists travel to the country for a picnic, together with a large group of ladies and gentlemen from town in carriages or on horseback. They sit and eat in a deliberate composition, which brings to mind the various déjeuners sur l’herbe of 19th-century painting. The perception of the countryside is that of the well-to-do city dweller: nature is described as an idyllic and cultivated background for bourgeois romance, comedy, or melodrama."

"Il veleno delle parole is also a film about voyeurism. The sense of intrigue is heightened by the inclusion of scenes showing the alleged adulterous couple being spied on by different people. In several cases the spies are given more importance than the couple itself, as in the scene in which a group of girls are seen looking at Alberto and Luciana through huge box-trees. In another shot a lady turns back to cast a rapid glance at the two, with an evil smile on her face. It is not strange, then, that in the end Luciana stands behind a curtain: a symbol for the hidden, for something inducing a morbid curiosity. In contrast to similar situations in comedies, here the publicly shared secret is no longer a joy; rather it produces anxiety and suspense. Will Luciana be discovered? Carlo lifts the curtain at the very moment he thinks he has lifted an imaginary veil on the situation. He comes to the wrong conclusion."

"Quite uniquely for the time, the shooting of the female lead is depicted straight-on, full-front, and was not removed by the censors." – Ivo Blom

AA: A tragedy. A woman and her beloved husband meet her first lover, now only a good Platonic friend who comes to stay with them as a lawyer's apprentice. Evil words start to circulate, and first when Carlo actually sees Luciana's purse at Albert's place (Albert having established himself independently) and finds her hiding in Albert's bedroom he finally believes them, but he is wrong. Bertini is excellent, subdued in a story of grand passion. There are powerful moments and a striking ending in this movie. A beautiful print with beautiful colour.

Mzago da Gela / [Mzago and Gela]

(Mzago i Gela / Na volne 900 metrov / Devushka s gor / Radio v gorakh) [Mzago e Gela / Sulla lunghezza d’onda di 900 metri / At the Wavelength of 900 Metres; La ragazza delle montagne / Girl of the Mountains; Una radio sulle montagne / Radio in the Mountains] (Sakhkinmretstvi/Goskinprom Gruzii, Georgia SSR, SU 1934) D: Shalva Khuskivadze, Lev Push; SC: Shalva Khuskivadze, Lev Push; DP: Vladimir Polikarpov, Vladimir Poznan’; AD: Valerian Sidamon-Eristavi; ass. D: Aleqsandre Lortqipanidze; cast: Rimma Mkheidze (Mzago), Levan Khotivari (Gela), Aleqsandre Tsitlidze (tourist), Siko Vachnadze (Khevsur), Olga Kejeradze (Mzago’s mother); filmed: 1930; released: 10.1934; 35 mm, 1658 m, 60’ (24 fps); from: Gosfilmofond of Russia. Russian intertitles. Viewed at Teatro Verdi, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto, Pordenone, with e-subtitles in English and Italian, grand piano and violin: Günter A. Buchwald, 2 Oct 2011.

Sergei Kapterev (GCM Catalogue): "Mzago and Gela completes the exploration of Lev Push’s limited but fascinating contribution to cinema. This film was his last directorial assignment for the Georgian Studios to appear on Soviet screens. It was produced in 1930 but released only in October 1934, in an atmosphere significantly different from the time of its production: the film’s premiere took place exactly two months before the assassination of the Bolshevik leader Sergei Kirov, an event which led to what became known as “the Great Terror”; and close to the official end of the silent era in Soviet cinema: the last silent films were produced by Soviet studios in 1935."

"Although the opening credits cite Push as Mzago and Gela’s sole director, the film was directed by him in collaboration with Shalva Khuskivadze, a versatile actor who had appeared in Push’s Gypsy Blood. Mzago and Gela’s explanatory title, “A Khevsur’s story reproduced by photorecording,” establishes an overall tonality of ironic but positive attitude to the described events and their participants, an attitude emblematized by the hero’s encounter, in the streets of Tiflis/Tbilisi, with a giant plywood figure of a heroic Khevsur, an advertisement for the already-famous film Eliso. The lightness of touch which characterizes the film (and definitely makes one question its past categorization as “drama”) makes us look at Lev Push’s work from a new angle: here we deal with the author of a romantic comedy only slightly marred by the obligatory Soviet didacticism. One can only guess how this development was linked to his directorial collaboration with Shalva Khuskivadze. However, the fact that in his other films Push actively explored the potential of the “bourgeois” genre of melodrama may explain his interest in another, lighter form of traditional cinema."

"Mzago and Gela is a film of considerable pictorial and ethnographic value: the exotic physical types, costumes, and traditions of the Khevsurs, highlanders inhabiting the mountains of Northern Georgia, are displayed with expertise and gusto. The film confirms Lev Push’s interest in pictorialist patterns and his fascination with decorative qualities of movement. However, his “decorative” mind did not exclude profundity – as in the episodes of Mzago’s first experience of radio transmission and her daydreaming during the urbanite’s recounting of the pleasures of urban life, where short montage sequences provide acute representations of her discovery of modernity. Recently it has been established that Push headed the editing department of the Georgian Studios, and this experience is evident both in the general smoothness of his editorial style and in his skillful application of symbolic montage sequences."

"Push has re-entered the history of cinema because of his consistent decorative style, healthy eclecticism, spare but skillful use of cinematic tricks, respect for high production values, and, above all, joyful immersion in the practice of cinema." – Sergei Kapterev

AA: A delightful humoristic account of a traditional Georgian village facing modernization, the most important emblem of which becomes the radio. I like the sense of nobility and grandeur in the account of the traditional way of life in the mountain village. The young protagonists enter the capital Tbilisi separately, facing the urban modernity for the first time in their lives. It is an original interpretation of a familiar theme (in Finland the classic version is Juhani Aho's story Rautatie / The Railway). The visual sense is excellent, the montage is sharp, the intertitles are witty, there is a joy of cinema. A film to remember. The print is ok to watch although the contrast is a bit on the low side.

The Race to the Pole I

Viewed at Teatro Verdi, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto, Pordenone, with e-subtitles in English and Italian, grand piano: Mie Yanashita (very good, and funny in Amundsen's penguin sequence), 2 Oct 2011.

THE SCOTTISH ANTARCTIC EXPEDITION (GB, 1902-04) DP: William Speirs Bruce, Gilbert Kerr(?); DigiBeta, 7'; from: Scottish Screen Archive / National Library of Scotland, Glasgow. No intertitles.

Jan Anders Diesen, Bryony Dixon (GCM Catalogue): "As William Speirs Bruce set out on his Antarctic expedition in 1902 a Scottish newspaper wrote: “The Scottish Expedition is not setting out on a wild, extravagant dash for the South Pole, but rather on a patient, economical voyage of investigation and discovery. The results may not affect prices on the Stock Exchange, but they will surely add to the world’s store of scientific knowledge, and help man to an understanding of many things which, even in the twentieth century, remain mysteries.”"

"Bruce led a purely scientific expedition, described by Peter Speak in his book on Bruce as “by far the most cost-effective and carefully planned scientific expedition of the Heroic Age”. His main goals were oceanographic studies of the Southern Ocean and the compilation of meteorological, biological, and topographical data. He brought along all kinds of scientific apparatus – as well as photographic equipment, including a Verascope (for taking stereoscopic images), conventional cameras, and a cine-camera. Although he had a great deal of trouble with his cine-camera, he managed to secure the first film footage from Antarctica. In his log entry for 21 October 1903 he writes: “I got the cinematograph ready, and with Gilbert Kerr went over to the near Cape Martin penguin rookery. I succeeded in getting about fifteen metres of film rolled.” Most of his filming jammed in the camera due to the low temperature, but this fragment survived, showing a minute or so of floating ice and the much-desired penguin shot."

"The rest of The Scottish Antarctic Expedition consists of footage of the returning expedition party at Millport, Scotland, in July 1904, including shots of their ship the Scotia, a former Norwegian whaler, and Bruce and his companions being welcomed by cheering crowds." Jan Anders Diesen, Bryony Dixon

AA: Footage on ice, penguins, ships.

DEPARTURE OF THE BRITISH ANTARCTIC EXPEDITION FROM LYTTELTON N.Z. 1ST JAN. 1908 (NZ, 1908) DP: James McDonald; 35 mm, 481 ft, 7' (18 fps); print source: The New Zealand Film Archive/Ngā Kaitiaki O Ngā Taonga Whitiāhua, Wellington. English titles.

"Crowds head for Lyttelton by tram to say farewell to Lieutenant Shackleton and his crew bound for Antarctica. His ship Nimrod is loaded at Lyttelton Harbour and inspected by Admiral Sir Wilmot Fawkes. The Nimrod sails out of the harbour escorted by well-wishers." – Bryony Dixon

AA: Footage on Manchurian ponies, Shackleton's message.

ROALD AMUNDSENS SYDPOLSFERD 1910-12 (Roald Amundsen’s South Pole Expedition 1910-12) [La spedizione al Polo Sud di Roald Amundsen] (NO 1912) DP: Roald Amundsen, Kristian Prestrud; cinema version, 35 mm, 987 ft, 16' (16 fps); print source: Norwegian Film Institute/National Library of Norway, Oslo. Norwegian intertitles.

Jan Anders Diesen: "It was Shackleton’s Nimrod lecture in Oslo in November 1909 that inspired Roald Amundsen to take a film camera with him on his expedition to Antarctica in 1910. International lecture tours were a major contributor to the fundraising for polar expeditions, and could help defray the cost of the expedition afterwards as well as providing a platform for celebrating its achievements. Moving pictures clearly added something extra to the lectures, but Amundsen did not consider it important enough to justify bringing along a professional photographer; instead he undertook the filming himself on the way south aboard the Fram. On arrival in Antarctica he made the camera the responsibility of another member of the expedition, Kristian Prestrud. Despite their inexperience, the two film photographers managed to secure 40 minutes of good film footage from the first expedition to reach the South Pole. Like Herbert Ponting simultaneously filming the British expedition across the Ross Ice Shelf, Prestrud took scenes of the ship, life in camp, the polar team setting off (a beautiful shot of the receding sledges carrying Amundsen away into the vanishing point), and some wildlife scenes, including a very fine shot of a pod of orcas."

"When Amundsen returned to Norway, Hugo Hermansen, a pioneering figure in early Norwegian film, edited together several different versions of the South Pole films in lecture form, tailored for the Norwegian, English, and German markets. Hermansen also made a stand-alone cinema version – forming a simple narrative with the help of explanatory titles for release once Amundsen had finished his lecture tour of Norway."

"All the different versions of the film have been restored by the National Library of Norway and released on DVD. The orchestral score commissioned to accompany the cinema version on DVD attempts to recreate the music played at the Cirkus Verdensteateret for its premiere in September 1912. His experience from the South Pole Expedition made Amundsen realize the importance of film, and for all his later expeditions he employed professional cameramen. His following 4 films have been restored by the National Library in Oslo and will be screened at a later festival." – Jan Anders Diesen

AA: Revisited the fascinating expedition film shot by Amundsen himself. The scene in silhouette of the encounter of man and penguin has classic value. The film itself does not convey the true drama, it needs commentary.

NIHON NANKYOKU TANKEN (The Japanese Expedition to Antarctica) [Spedizione giapponese in Antartide] (M. Pathé Shokai, JP 1912) DP: Yasunao Taizumi; 35 mm, 1121 ft, 20' (15 fps); print source: National Film Center, Tokyo. Japanese intertitles, with English subtitles. Printed in 2000 from a 35 mm safety dupe negative at the National Film Center, Tokyo.

Jan Anders Diesen: "One of the most remarkable shots in the film Roald Amundsen’s South Pole Expedition 1910-12 shows another expedition ship alongside the Fram in the Bay of Whales in February 1912. The ship, the Kainan-Maru, was commanded by Lieutenant Nobu Shirase, an army officer turned explorer on his Japanese Antarctic Expedition 1910-12. Shirase’s expedition had a professional cinematographer, Yasuna Taizumi, on board to record the events during their second year. Twenty minutes of this film survives at the National Film Center in Japan. This piece of film was presented as “one of the earliest documentary films produced in Japan in a true sense” during the International Documentary Film Festival (IDFA) in 2008."

"The film shows the departure from Japan, the voyage south with all the members of the expedition, scenes from Antarctica, and their triumphant return to Japan. Among the scenes shot in Antarctica there is one sequence that differs from the others. When the boat prepares to land we first see the crew disembarking from the Kainan-Maru with small sledges. The film then quickly cuts to a sequence where we see a group of four men pulling a larger sledge and pitching a tent quite different from the tent we see used later in the same film. Also, as far as we know, the Shirase expedition did not use this type of sledge. Like the Norwegians, the Japanese used dog sledges, and moved quickly on their dash to 80 degrees and 5 minutes South. Within the film there are also a few still photos documenting this trip – here we see them using smaller sledges, dogs, and skis. The shot of four men man-hauling the sledge may be from a different expedition. Could it be footage from one of the missing films of Shackleton’s Nimrod expedition, which we know was being sold by Gaumont in 1909? If that is so, it is fortunate that the Japanese have secured film footage previously considered lost."

"When the film was released in film theatres around Japan, the enthusiasm of the audience rivaled that of the news films from the Russo-Japanese War. The film premiered in Tokyo in June 1912." Jan Anders Diesen

AA: From a battered source another fascinating Antarctic film. My favourite sequence is the montage of the close-ups of the ship's crew. Battling gales, dodging ice, celebrating the New Year, deeply respecting the Emperor. English subtitles by Sarah Teasley.

PATHÉ’S ANIMATED GAZETTE NO. 140: Esquimaux dogs with Dr. Mawson’s Australian Antarctic Expedition on the deck of the SS Aldenham, Sydney, November 1911 (Pathé Animated Gazette, GB 1911) DP: ?; 35 mm, 36 ft, 1' (18 fps); print source: BFI National Archive, London. English intertitles.

AA: A good visual quality in this newsreel, which is interesting also in its other sections (the Stockholm torpedo!).

[THE FILM OF THE MAWSON AUSTRALASIAN ANTARCTIC EXPEDITION] (AU, 1911-1912) (1914-1916 lecture version) DP: Frank Hurley; narr. (lecture notes): Douglas Mawson (recorded by Quentin Turnour); DigiBeta, 20', sd.; from: National Film and Sound Archive, Australia. English narration, with English intertitles.

Quentin Turnour: "Although less well-known than the Scott and Amundsen expeditions of the summer of 1911-12, the Australasian Antarctic Expedition (AAE) led in the same years by Douglas Mawson was arguably one of the most productive of the “Heroic Age”. A geologist by training and a former member of Shackleton’s 1907 Nimrod Expedition, the 28-year-old Mawson chose the hard slog of extensive exploration of the “Adele Land” [Adélie] region directly to the south of Australia, rather than the immediate glittering prize of the “Dash to the Pole”. For all its more practical approach, the AAE still had its own romance and tragedies: two members of Mawson’s own sledging party, Belgrave Ninnis and Xavier Mertz, died during an arduous expedition to King George V Land. Mawson barely survived the subsequent 160-kilometre march, completely alone, back to base, an extraordinary feat, legendary in Australian exploration history."

"The AAE is also legendary in Australian film history. It was the first professional filmmaking job of Frank Hurley, then just 25 years old, who would go on to work as cameraman on Shackleton’s 1914-15 Endurance expedition (see South, 1919). His reputation as a predominant figure in exploration filmmaking must have contributed to the mistaken belief that the AAE film was solely his work, but this received history has begun to unravel in recent years, de-emphasizing Hurley’s role beyond the original cinematography, and placing more importance on the work of Mawson, the Gaumont Company’s Sydney office, and other filmmakers (particularly Richard Primmer, a Gaumont Sydney stringer we now know contributed additional scenes after the company saw the marginal quality of some of Hurley’s early footage)."

"Like Amundsen’s films, The Great White Silence and South, the AAE footage was released in many forms from the start. Starting as a lecture in 1912, a new version of the film was released by Gaumont in July 1913 – to capitalize both on the news of Scott’s death and Mawson’s heroic survival. This included additional footage and stills that Hurley shot during the rescue mission in March 1913. Subsequently Mawson prepared a new lecture using the AAE footage, working with Gaumont technical staff in both London and Australia, especially on grading and tinting and toning detail (for which Mawson’s exhaustive notes still survive)."

"The version long known as Home of the Blizzard appears to be a copy of a work print of around 4,000+ feet, printed in late 1916 and including Mawson’s detailed tinting and toning instructions. Some 15,000+ feet of film were passed to the Film Division of the Australian National Library (now the NFSA) around 1961. At some point during the interim, an extensive cull of damaged and decayed nitrate removed up to one-half of the surviving 1912 and 1913 Gaumont prints, which are now unreconstructable, while duplication to acetate in the early 1960s resulted in the loss of the colour in all surviving footage."

"However, the rediscovery of scripts for Mawson’s New York and London lectures, along with his detailed notes made between 1914 and 1916, now make it possible to reconstruct various versions of Mawson’s lectures. This includes not just the film, but his commentary and dozens of lantern slides, including a number using early Paget’s Plate colour processes. This is a tantalizing prospect, as it now appears that the AAE film is the only one of the “Heroic Age” films for which there survives a lecture script that can be narratively “interlocked” into surviving film images."

"However, this is still very much a work for the future. What you will see today is a 20-minute sample of how this could come together. The first part covers the Aurora’s journey south; the second, Hurley’s famous footage of expedition members walking against the notorious Adélie Land winds." – Quentin Turnour

AA: A reconstruction of the original illustrated lecture. This entry in the programme made the most sense because of the commentary. The overwhelming power of the blizzard was made evident.

Bryony Dixon & Jan Anders Diesen: The Race to the Pole (GCM Catalogue introduction)

Bryony Dixon & Jan Anders Diesen (GCM Catalogue): "The Heroic Era of polar exploration is filled with fascinating stories about remarkable men, and the race for the poles is richly described in hundreds of books. But the so-named “heroic era” – broadly from the 1890s to the death of Shackleton in the early 1920s – also coincided with the development of film technology and the rise of commercial cinema. Many polar explorers saw potential in using this new technology as a research tool, and their sponsors saw the huge entertainment value of such a record. As a result there exists a range of films from the polar expeditions of this era, but with the exception of some of the feature-length titles, such as Herbert Ponting’s 90° South (1933) or Frank Hurley’s South (1919), the polar films as a sub-genre have received little attention compared to the written accounts. The – as yet – unwritten story of these films is a rewarding one, with much to tell us not only about the extraordinary achievements of the first polar explorers and their pioneering cameramen, but also about the development of filmmaking and of the Cinema, and even the tastes of audiences and the fortunes of empires and nation states."

"A few years after the production of the first film cameras, the explorer Carsten Borchgrevink took one along on his British Antarctic Expedition in 1898. His main sponsor, a newspaper publisher, wanted to make news films, but the cinematograph, the film reel, and filming skills were not sufficiently developed to capture living images from the polar regions. Our record of this first attempt at making a polar film suggests that it was limited to one scene of the expedition leaving London. The first explorer to succeed in filming in the Antarctic was scientist William Speirs Bruce, leader of the Scottish Antarctic Expedition in 1902-04. Following Bruce’s breakthrough the cinematograph became standard scientific equipment on all polar expeditions, with varying degrees of success, for it was not easy to film in sub-zero temperatures, nor were the unique light conditions of the polar regions easy to capture."

"In 1907-09 Ernest Shackleton almost made it to the South Pole. In his book on the expedition he wrote that they took a moving picture camera “in order that we might place on record the curious movements and habits of the seals and penguins, and give the people at home a graphic idea of what it means to haul sledges over the ice and snow”. Shackleton later used these moving images as illustrations on his lecture tours, and his incorporation of film appears to have been popular: “It was my privilege recently to see these living pictures from Furthest South, and they served largely to intensify my interest in Lieutenant Shackleton’s story. I saw the men engaged at their work and recreations amidst the ice and snow, watched the strange antics of the penguins when disturbed by the whirr of the operator, and in short, enjoyed a brief tour to the Antarctic by cinematograph.” (The Bioscope, 25.11.1909)."

"The attention these animated illustrations received influenced Roald Amundsen to take a camera on his famous expedition to the South Pole, and he used a similar approach in his international multi-media lecture tours, incorporating film footage, music, still images, diagrams, and illustrations. Robert Falcon Scott, leader of the British Expedition, made a similar decision, based on what he had seen of Shackleton’s film, but determined to take a professional photographer and cameraman, which would ensure the highest-quality images and records and attract some much-needed sponsorship from the Gaumont Company, who were developing their newsreel business and had for some years specialized in exploration films."

"This year we are celebrating the centenary of the race between Amundsen and Scott to reach the South Pole. Amundsen won that race; he reached the Pole on 14 December 1911 – Scott arrived there one month later, and died on his return journey. Parts of both of these expeditions were filmed: Amundsen’s amateur footage showing scenes from his triumphant expedition, and Ponting’s record of the British Antarctic Expedition, remade into a milestone narrative documentary film telling the tragic story of Scott and his companions and showing the wildlife and magnificent landscape of Antarctica."

"This programme will screen film footage from the race to reach the South Pole, including the newly restored The Great White Silence from the BFI and Amundsen’s film from the National Library of Norway. We will also show other films from the “heroic age”, including those of the Scottish expedition of William Speirs Bruce, the Japanese Shirase expedition, Shackleton’s last voyage on the Quest, and of course the films of that other great photographer of Antarctica, Frank Hurley – South (1919) and the National Film and Sound Archive of Australia’s work-in-progress of Hurley’s film footage from Douglas Mawson’s 1911-1913 Australian Antarctic Expedition (they hope to reconstruct Mawson’s original lecture, of which the film is just one element)."

"Many of the polar films in the programme were originally presented to the public in the form of a lecture with commentary, still images, maps and diagrams, music, film, and even audience interaction. It is the legacy of the lecture format that is the key to understanding the characteristic structure of the stand-alone film versions, and explains the challenges for archivists in restoring films for which there is sometimes no definitive “version”. It also goes some way to explaining why there are all those penguins: a prime requirement from sponsors was to bring back footage of these mysterious creatures. Ponting and Hurley were the first to film penguins in terms of their life-cycle – a small revolution in the form of natural-history filmmaking that we now take completely for granted."

"It is, however, the beauty of the images of Antarctica’s frozen landscapes in these films that lingers, as well as the stories of human courage (not to mention the heroism of the cameramen). On the release of The Great White Silence in 1924 The Times wrote: “One of the greatest achievements of the Kinematograph to-date has been to make Captain Scott’s Expedition imperishable. The story of Scott’s death will, of course, be told as long as the English language is spoken, but it is wonderful to think also that 100 or 500 years hence future generations will be able to see this pictorial record and gaze upon Scott and his comrades trudging over the ice to glorious death. It is to be hoped that Mr. Ponting’s own share in obtaining this record for posterity will not be overlooked.”"

"The restoration of Ponting’s silent film goes a long way to achieving that wish (appropriately, just as his original camera negatives head back to sub-zero temperatures in the BFI’s new vaults), but the great revelation of this programme will be other polar films from the less-well-known expeditions of the Scots, the Australians, and the Japanese, and most particularly the restoration by the film archive in Oslo of the almost-unknown footage of the Norwegian expedition and the man who first reached the Pole, Roald Amundsen."" - Bryony Dixon & Jan Anders Diesen

Newman Laugh-o-Grams (Sample reel)

(US 1921) D, anim: Walt Disney; filmed: Disney garage, 3028 Bellefontaine Ave., Kansas City; première: 20.3.1921, Newman Theater, Kansas City (with Mama’s Affair [First National]); 35 mm, 271.5 ft, 3'17" (20 fps); print source: The Walt Disney Company. English intertitles. Viewed at Teatro Verdi, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto, Pordenone, with e-subtitles in Italian, grand piano: Mie Yanashita, 2 Oct 2011.

Russell Merritt & J.B. Kaufman (GCM Catalogue): "This short film, variously labeled a test reel, sample reel, or the series pilot, was made as a filler for Frank Newman’s local Kansas City theater chain, and is the only Newman Laugh-O-gram known to survive. It could scarcely be simpler. But the opening image of Disney himself, the portrait of the artist as a young impresario, has an uncanny feel to it. Disney begins his animation career with multiple pictures of himself, the live image sandwiched between two self-caricatures. We see him first as part of the comic title card, a wide-eyed innocent at his desk, his sleeves rolled up and papers flying from his pen. Then, the live-action Disney puts the title card into motion, scratching his head, lighting his pipe, and applying pen to paper. Meanwhile, over his right shoulder we notice another drawing of him (a jumbo version of his actual business card), a third version of Disney the hard-pressed cartoonist working at his office desk, while we see the results of all his work hanging over his left shoulder – four sequential drawings of a figure we’ll see animated at the end of the reel."

"Seldom has a major filmmaker gone to such lengths to introduce himself as a go-getter. Gone is any vestige of the animator as a magician or trickster, the traditional image of the lightning-sketch artist. Nor, despite his youth (he was 19 years old), is he to be seen as an inspired prodigy working in an art studio. Rather, he is a down-to-earth office worker, like a newspaper cartoonist, ready to comment on the news and foibles of the day. The office is a fake, no more than a desk and a blanket tacked up somewhere outdoors, made to represent the office wall. He’s starting his animation career in his family’s garage."

"In part, Disney’s self-portrait is a witty transition from the documentary atmospherics of the newsreel that preceded this Laugh-O-gram on Newman’s one-reeler to the live-action comedy that followed. The cartoon we are watching Disney make is part of a program of newsreels, comedy shorts, and vaudeville acts that accompanied the feature film of the week. Disney is both the editorial cartoonist at the news desk and the humorist delivering the first gags in the program. But what is remarkable are the lengths to which he has gone to distance himself from any idea of the filmmaker as a popular artist."

"Two years later Disney started his final film in Kansas City with another live-action portrait of himself. In Alice’s Wonderland he is again in his office, but now he is surrounded by his staff. They are the ones working at their desks – actually, not working as much as goofing off, interacting with a cartoon character they’ve created, entertaining the little girl who has come to visit. Disney has become the benign studio head, the likeable go-getter who has made good. Now the office is real. The energetic go-getter may be on the verge of bankruptcy, but he’s on his way."

"Like all the Laugh-O-gram films made for Newman, this one was made by Disney single-handedly, and so provides a rare chance to see Disney’s own early animation style. This would change quickly, as Disney recruited friends to share the work. Here, though, completing each drawing on paper fully by hand (he had yet to learn the labor-saving techniques associated with cel animation), he in fact animates only the final sequence. If he tries to separate himself from the traditions of the lightning-sketch artist in his self-portrait, he immerses himself in them in the opening scenes, including the convention of showing his hand rapidly creating the drawings. In fact, it is a photograph of his hand, the hyperactivity of the artist recreated one last time through the magic of stop-motion." – Russell Merritt & J.B. Kaufman

AA: Revisited Walt Disney's first film, his promo reel, in the very beginning, working single-handedly at the age of 19. It's rudimentary, but the sense of humour and the joy of animation are already there. There are commercials (women's wear) and news parodies (the police's spring clean-up). The self-confidence is impressive.

Saturday, October 01, 2011

The score for the abandoned ending of Novyi Vavilon / New Babylon (2011) Dmitri Shostakovich


Grigori Kozintsev & Leonid Trauberg: Новый Вавилон / Novyi Vavilon / New Babylon (SU 1929).

[La nuova Babilonia] (SU 1929) 6' (actual score 4'10"). Score by Dmitri Shostakovich, performed by FVG Mitteleuropa Orchestra, conducted by Mark Fitz-Gerald. Viewed at Teatro Verdi, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto, Pordenone, the illustration is in English, 1 Oct 2011.

David Robinson (GCM Catalogue): "At the end of Shostakovich’s manuscript score for New Babylon, following the music which now ends simultaneously with the film, on an unresolved chord, is an additional section, consisting of 130 bars, which Shostakovich has crossed out as eliminated. In fact we know, from a shooting script that was published in a film magazine in December 1928, that this music was intended to accompany a sequence of images which was conceived and perhaps shot, but which now has no place in the film. Jean, whom we have just seen digging a grave for Louise, is told to pose for a photograph for the Album of Heroes. He is “hunched, wet, insignificant and destroyed”. The photograph is taken by magnesium flash. A sergeant paternally pats his shoulder (title: “You’ll get used to it.”). Some commentators seek to perceive this cut as a change in the political significance of the end, but it seems more likely to have been an artistic choice: this little coda could only have been an anticlimax to the present ending, abrupt and uniquely unsettling."

"Now restored by Mark Fitz-Gerald, this musical fragment will be accompanied at the Giornate performance by projection of the script of the rejected ending, with images to evoke the visual textures of the final sequence of the film. This is however in no way intended as a “recreation” of the rejected and now lost ending. We are grateful to Don Fairservice for his generosity in editing this material for the occasion." – DAVID ROBINSON

AA: The illustration film worked very well as an "extra" to the New Babylon cinema concert.

Film concert Novyi Vavilon / New Babylon (2011) Dimitri Shostakovich, conductor: Mark Fitz-Gerald, FVG Mitteleuropa Orchestra)


Grigori Kozintsev & Leonid Trauberg: Новый Вавилон / Novyi Vavilon / New Babylon (SU 1929).

Новый Вавилон [La nuova Babilonia] (Sovkino, SU 1929) D+SC: Grigori Kozintsev, Leonid Trauberg; DP: Andrei Moskvin, Yevgeni Mikhailov; AD: Yevgeni Yenei; add. D: Sergei Gerasimov, Sergei Bartenev; asst: Mikhail Yegorov, Nadezhda Kosheverova, Nikolai Klado; M: Dmitri Shostakovich; cast: Yelena Kuzmina (Louise Poirier, the shop-girl), Pyotr Sobolievsky (Ivan [Jean], the soldier), David Gutman (proprietor of New Babylon), Sofia Magarill (actress), Arnold Arnold (the deputy), Sergei Gerasimov (Lutreau, the journalist), Andrei Kostrichkin (head salesman), S. Gusev (old Poirier, Louise’s father [the shoemaker, the father of the shop-girl]), Yanina Zheimo (Therese, modiste), Natalia Rashevksaya, A. Glushkova (laundresses), Yevgeni Chervyakov, N. Roshefor (soldiers of National Guard), Oleg Zhakov (young Communard), Anna Zarzhitskaya (girl on barricades), Boris Feodosyev (officer), Boris Poslavsky (officer with a boutonnière), Vsevolod Pudovkin (salesman), Liudmila Semyonova (cocotte with a monocle), Aleksandr Orlov (Menelaus in the operetta), Roman Rubinstein (Paris in the operetta); 35 mm, 2091 m, 92' (20 fps); print source: Cineteca del Friuli, Gemona. Russian intertitles, with Italian subtitles.
    Original score by Dmitri Shostakovich, performed by FVG Mitteleuropa Orchestra, conducted by Mark Fitz-Gerald.
    Viewed at Teatro Verdi, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto, Pordenone, with e-subtitles in English, 1 Oct 2011.

Mark Fitz-Gerald (GCM Catalogue): "After a handful of disastrous performances, Shostakovich’s music for New Babylon was withdrawn, and appears to have been considered lost by the composer for the rest of his life. Within months of the composer’s death on 9 August 1975, however, Gennadi Rozhdestvensky found a complete set of parts at the Lenin Library in Moscow, and prepared a six-movement suite of highlights from the work – the first time the music had been heard for 45 years. Both the original score and Rozhdestvensky’s suite were published, but both share the inherited shortcomings of missing tempo-indications and instruments out of synchronization. Nevertheless, this score was adapted for a succession of live performances."

"Subsequently the firm of Boosey & Hawkes in London acquired lithograph transparencies of the original (1929) orchestral parts and a manuscript score that seems to have been copied from them. This version had nearly 200 more bars than the previous version and contained all the missing tempo indications, as well as lining up the instruments correctly and solving many other problems. (I am grateful to the late Malcolm Smith for allowing me unlimited access to this material.)"

"With the fall of the Iron Curtain, a flood of hitherto unavailable material was to flow out of the former USSR. By the start of the present century the composer’s dedicated widow, Irina Antovnova, had established a centre in Paris for the study of her late husband’s life and work, as well as establishing a privately funded publishing house, DSCH, dedicated to the publication of a new complete edition of all the composer’s works in 150 volumes. The DSCH version of New Babylon was published in 2004 as Volume 122, and reveals how much music was missing from earlier editions. One of the first full-size colour facsimiles to be made available at the Shostakovich Centre in Paris was of the original (“lost”) manuscript full score of New Babylon, now housed in the Glinka Museum, Moscow. I am very grateful to Emmanuel Utwiller, current director of the Shostakovich Centre, for allowing me unlimited access to this score over a period of years, as well as his colleague Tatyana Maximova, who could confirm that all the corrections and cues added to the score were indeed in the composer’s own handwriting. The availability of this score was obviously of immense importance, as at long last we were now able to check the multitude of textual queries that had accumulated over many years. However, there were more unexpected surprises in store. For the first time we had some of the composer’s own indications as to how the music should synchronize with the film. One of the biggest mistakes we had made was to assume that the music started with the opening credits. In the manuscript it is clearly marked to start later, at the first intertitle, “Voina” (“War”), the opening credits being silent. The biggest surprise in this score was the ending. There were nearly 130 more bars after what we knew up to that time to be the final (and unresolved) chord! A preliminary script published in December 1928, before shooting began, tells us what shots were planned for this ending, but the passage must have been abandoned at an early stage, as it is not found in any known print of the film. This musical fragment will receive its belated premiere in a special performance, following the film."

"The composer was proud to produce this score at great speed, but the re-editing of the film obliged him to rework some sections in an unreasonable hurry. This has left its mark in occasional illegibility of notes, ledger lines, and other signs. I am very grateful to Pierre-Alain Biget for his help in spending much time both visiting the score at the Shostakovich Centre in Paris and helping us with well-considered opinions in finding solutions with which we hope the composer would have been happy."

"The score has sometimes been performed with large ensembles, but Shostakovich’s original contract specified that it should be for 14-20 players. In St. Petersburg, I visited all the surviving cinemas where New Babylon had been performed, and was surprised how small they were, with space only for a salon orchestra of 14 or 15 players – the size of the salon orchestra of Ferdinand Krish, which performed for the Moscow premiere. Moreover, the sets published for the first performances consisted of only 14 parts. Hence our decision – for the present performance as for the new recording for Naxos – to use solo players, which immediately gives both great clarity and character to the score. – MARK FITZ-GERALD."

David Robinson: "As the first modern proletarian revolution, the history of the Paris Commune was sacred to Soviet Communism – at his death Lenin was shrouded with a Commune flag – and the reasons for its failure remained an unending field of study. In 1871, discontented workers refused to recognize the Third Republic’s capitulation to the Prussians, following the siege of Paris, and formed a National Guard to defend the city. Municipal elections were held, and won by the insurgents, who assumed the name of the Paris Commune. Battle was drawn between the National Guard, centred in Montmartre, and Government troops in Versailles. After two months of fighting the Commune was brutally suppressed, and 25,000 Communards, many of them women and children, were executed in the Semaine sanglante."

"Kozintsev and Trauberg were at first unenthusiastic when Sovkino proposed the subject, but then recognized a continuity with The Overcoat and S.V.D. As before, they were eager to avoid the conventions of Russian/Soviet costume films."

"Their reading took in classic sources like Karl Marx’s The Civil War in France (1871) and the communard journalist Hippolyte Lissagaray’s Huit jours de mai derrière les barricades (1871), itself edited by Marx – but also Zola (Au Bonheur des Dames, La Débâcle, L’Argent). The script approved by Sovkino was “a real love story … an excellent melodrama scenario like S.V.D.” (Trauberg), but the appearance of Pudovkin’s The End of St. Petersburg radically changed their approach: “A social generalization appeared across the multitude of faces, situations, and objects, a collective portrait of the epoch interested us infinitely more.” (Kozintsev)"

"In February 1928 the directors made a three-week trip to Paris along with Abram Room and the cinematographer Yevgeni Mikhailov, who shot 1,000 feet of images of the city, later incorporated into the film. The group were clearly influenced by Impressionist painting, and Moskvin developed a pictorial style unique to the picture, making particular use of a portrait lens which put the foreground into sharp focus in contrast to the background activity, seen in near-pointillist textures. Smoke and steam play a great role."

"It is safe to assume that the final weeks of the production, from the meeting with Shostakovich, saw its radical transformation into its final and present state, the inseparable integration of music and image, a neo-operatic medium never paralleled, unique to this work. By a happy chance, Sovkino were currently concerned with the issue of improving musical accompaniment to films: Meisel’s German score for Potemkin had been a lesson. The 23-year-old Shostakovich was a choice that suited the FEKS unit: he had just made a name with his First Symphony, had written an opera on Gogol’s The Nose, and was composing music for Mayakovsky’s The Bed Bug. Kozintsev recalled, “We immediately came to an agreement with the composer that the music would be linked to the inner meaning and not to the external actions, that it should develop by cutting across events, and as the antithesis of the mood of a specific scene. Our general principle was not to illustrate, and not to complement or coincide on this point.” Shostakovich saw the film once, asked for a list of sequences and timings, and nine days later returned and accompanied the film from piano sketches. The full composition, scored, according to contract, for an ensemble of 14-20 players, was ready to rehearse by the beginning of March. However in the two weeks before the premiere, 19 March 1929, Kozintsev and Trauberg radically re-edited, to reduce the film from almost 2 hours to 90 minutes. Shostakovich, suffering from acute flu, struggled to cut the music to fit. Hardly surprisingly, the first performances were disastrous, with an unready score and conductors resentful that they were being denied their normal fee for arranging the musical accompaniment. After two shows in Leningrad and perhaps one or two more in Moscow, with audiences complaining that the conductor must be drunk, Shostakovich’s magnificent score was abandoned, and forgotten for the next half century. Both the film and the score polarized critical debate. The magazine Kino praised the “profound historical generalizations and a direct Marxist analysis of history”, while Komsomolskaya Pravda said that the film and its authors, having “desecrated the heroic pages of the revolutionary history of the French proletariat, should be brought to trial”. Four decades later the French government evidently felt the same, and banned a screening of New Babylon planned to commemorate the centenary of the Commune." – David Robinson

The “long version” of New Babylon

David Robinson: "In the early 1980s a print of New Babylon, titled in German and preserved in the Cinémathèque Suisse, came to light, and was screened in Hamburg. It proved to be one-third longer than the recognized Russian prints, with an additional 178 shots, totalling some 700 metres. Leonid Trauberg, then in Western Europe, instantly discredited and disowned this version, which contained, he said, “scenes I personally cut. Not lost material, but scenes Kozintsev and I deliberately removed… To me it is a great mystery how this film material, which we took out of our film, has survived. New Babylon does not need restoration. The generally available copies are of good quality and represent the version Kozintsev and I and our collective of artists – including Dmitri Shostakovich – authorized… I learned it may be possible that film material, be it negative or positive, exists which Kozintsev and I thought unnecessary or bad… If one has or finds parts which were obviously or apparently shot for New Babylon, but unknown to the final version (which was cut by Kozintsev and me), please, do not put them back in the film. Keep it if you like as a curiosity. But as far as the montage of New Babylon is concerned, cut it out. Like we did. Kozintsev, nor I, nor any of our collaborators, ever intended to make a tiresome film.”"

"In private, with friends, Trauberg maintained this position even more vehemently. After his death, however, would-be restorers speculated that he only wrote the letter out of political fear or discretion, trying to conceal the degree of official censorship that had taken place more than half a century before. This view becomes even more untenable when we examine the “replaced” shots, which are for the most part purely explanatory, without any possible censor-sensitive content. Conversely, it is certain that had 700 metres of film been disapproved on ideological grounds, the censorship process would not have been achieved within the period – little more than two weeks – in which Kozintsev and Trauberg completed their final editing."

"The two directors went to Moscow from 20-27 February 1929, to receive their instructions from the main Cinematography Department. Kozintsev remembered that the official authorization stated, approvingly: “It is a poem on the Paris Commune recited in brilliant cinema language. The Central Rehearsal Committee has registered New Babylon as a first category film, that is, it is ranked alongside the best Soviet films.” If there were critical instructions at this point, they may have included a request to reduce the then-running time of almost 2 hours. Such an instruction would most likely have been more stimulating than distressing to the directors, confirming their own view. As Trauberg said, they did not want to make a “tiresome film”. Kozintsev recalled, “Little by little we lost our taste for the labyrinthine complexities of the plot … a social generalization appeared across the multitude of faces, situations, and objects; a collective portrait of the epoch interested us infinitely more. The pages of the scenario dwindled, to be replaced by the unique musical thrust of the era, a dynamic fresco.” Without doubt they had been stimulated by the unprecedented audio-visual dynamic generated by the combination of the images and Shostakovich’s music. Those last two weeks of editing must have been concentrated on the creation of that unique fusion. Of course it was done too fast. Shostakovich, with bad flu and a 40o C temperature, was given a nightmare task in changing and reorchestrating at such short notice. Trauberg himself admitted, “At the last minute we experimented with the montage: the plot became too vague, secondary. Audiences were only able to follow our story with difficulty.”"

"It is in an effort to counter this that the extended, German-language version re-inserts shots in a pedantic effort to clarify the story. The editing of the added material is generally clumsy and unrhythmical, and was certainly not done by the filmmakers. The explanation is to be found in a footnote on page 13 of Correspondence of G.M. Kozintsev, 1922-1973: “Additional changes – inserts of ‘plot scenes’ which were missing in the version shown on the Soviet screens, were needed when sending the film to Germany.” The Cinémathèque Suisse print, then, is clearly one of these “export versions”. Confusion persists: even the most dedicated FEKS scholar, Marek Pytel, is on record as claiming this export print as the only authentic, unedited version of New Babylon; but it now seems safe to respect Trauberg’s wishes: “Keep it if you like as a curiosity.” – David Robinson

AA: Revisited New Babylon with one of the best original scores for a silent film. I studied a version of the Dmitri Shostakovich score in 1985 when we collaborated with the Helsinki Festival screening it at the Finlandia Hall with Omri Hadari as the conductor for a symphony orchestra. (I was finally not actually able to visit the performance itself, but I listened to a recording several times, and studied the L'Avant-Scène du Cinéma découpage of the movie.) It's been a while... but certainly Mark Fitz-Gerald's arrangement is excellent, and the lineup of some 15 players seems more right, more light, more brisk, and this will become the definitive version.

Marek Pytel's remarks (which I received 26 Oct 2011) are beyond the jump break:

Goldie Locks and the Three Bears (Walt Disney 1922)


Walt Disney: Goldie Locks and the Three Bears (US 1922). Laugh-o-Gram Studio, Kansas City. Photo from: The Disney Compendium.

(Laugh-O-gram, US 1922) Reissue: The Peroxide Kid (1929) D: Walt Disney; anim: Walt Disney, Hugh Harman, Rudolf Ising, Carman “Max” Maxwell, Lorey Tague, Otto Walliman; DP: Red Lyon; filmed: ca. 8.1922, Laugh-O-gram studio, 1127 E. 31st St., Kansas City; dist: Pictorial Clubs Inca. of New York (non-theatrical, regional circuit); 35 mm, 720 ft., ca. 9' (22 fps); print source: The Museum of Modern Art, New York. English intertitles. Viewed at Teatro Verdi, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto, Pordenone, with e-subtitles in Italian, grand piano: Stephen Horne, 1 Oct 2011.

Russell Merritt & J.B. Kaufman (GCM Catalogue): "This was one of the films discovered by Cole Johnson and David Gerstein at the Museum of Modern Art, hiding behind the unpromising title The Peroxide Kid. In this film the traditional story of Goldilocks and the bears remains more or less intact, but is augmented by a host of imaginative new touches. Among these is a cuckoo clock whose cuckoo performs an elaborate morning ritual before awakening the bear family – and who is then given the additional job of supplying eggs for their breakfast. The bears leave the house, not on foot, but on a bicycle built for five (and equipped with a handy duck, mounted on the handlebars, to serve as a horn)."

"The “mother” character from some of the earlier films is back again in this one, as are the cat and dog, but the star, “Goldie Locks,” is not the generic “girl” character of the other Laugh-O-grams. Instead she’s somewhat taller, and of course has blonde tresses, which fly into the air whenever she registers fright. True to the traditional story, the bears chase her from their home – but, in their defense, her table manners do leave something to be desired."

"It’s worth noting that Walt’s inclination to present scenes of pictorial beauty, along with the laughs – a tendency that would show up in the earliest Silly Symphonies, and would culminate in scenes of breathtaking beauty in such features as Pinocchio and Fantasia – makes a modest appearance as early as 1922, in the opening scene of this film. Here it takes the form of a sunrise effect, as we fade in on a distant view of the bear family’s house in a pastoral setting, long morning shadows stretching across the countryside. In fact, the background paintings throughout the film set a new standard for luxury in the Laugh-O-grams, with a series of handsome landscapes, marked by billowing clouds and distant trees. In later years Hugh Harman credited this scenery to Otto Walliman, an animator who doubled as a background painter – and who may be the object of an in-joke in this film, as the bears perform their morning calisthenics to “Wallie’s Reducing Record”. – Russell Merritt & J.B. Kaufman

AA: One of Walt Disney's very first films. The means of expression are still limited, but there is a nice spirit of humour in the movie. The three bear cubs enjoy a breakfast of pancakes and take a ride in their special bicycle for five. Meanwhile, Goldie Locks wreaks havoc in their house. It's all a dream. The print is nice, not brilliant.

Diepte / [Depth]

[Profondità] (FTL Film, NL 1933) (Silent version) D, DP, ED: Frans Dupont; asst: Elsy Keppler; col. tech: Willem Bon; 35 mm, 109 m, ca. 6' (18 fps), col.; print source: EYE Film Institute Netherlands, Amsterdam. No intertitles. Viewed at Teatro Verdi, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto, Pordenone, grand piano: Stephen Horne, and somebody played the flute, 1 Oct 2011.

David Robinson (GCM Catalogue): "Frans Dupont (1908-1978) was one of the group of young Amsterdam filmmakers who gathered around the Filmliga and the Ivens Studio in the early 1930s. With Willem Bon he was a leading figure in the Filmtechnische Leergang (FTL) – an offshoot of the Filmliga – one of whose three short productions was Diepte. Subsequently he made documentaries, often in collaboration with his wife Dientje Stevens, and taught editing at the Nederlandse Filmacademie. The opening credits announce “een absolute film” and declare that “This film seeks only to be harmony, there is no representation of an actual subject”. However, it does not fit into the strictest avantgarde definition of the absolute film as having no relation to any reality lying outside its own images, sound, rhythm, and in this case colour. (The colour process has not been established.) Dupont’s use of abstractions alongside animated characters and some moments of live action represent rather a combination of the purely abstract German absolute film and the French cinema pur, which makes freer use of images drawn from reality."

"The title expresses Dupont’s particular interest in illusions of a third dimension, exemplified in the forced perspective of the stylized building and the circle that recedes, finally disappearing, into its depths; and the ball which emerges from a doorway to descend a staircase, growing as it accelerates and advances on the spectator." – DAVID ROBINSON

AA: In the opening credits Diepte is announced as "an absolute film", and the purely abstract passages are the finest. The drawn characters are partly animated.

Gantsirulni / Obrechyonnye - Russkie vo Frantsii / The Doomed - Russian Soldiers in France


Lev Push: განწირულნი / Gantsirulni / Obrechyonnye / The Doomed (GE-SU 1930). Please do click on the montage to see a little better.

განწირულნი / Обречённые (Русские во Франции) / [I condannati; Russi in Francia / Russians in France] (Sakhkinmretstvi 
    Goskinprom Gruzii, Georgia SSR, SU 1930) D: Lev Push; SC: Aleksandr Gidon, Lev Push, Boris Sharanskii; DP: Vladimer Kereselidze; AD: Lado (Vladimer) Gudiashvili; ass. D: Davit Rondeli; 
    C: N. Kolomenskii (Chernov), Galina Egorova-Dolenko [Dolengo-Egorova] (Louise), Anton Martynov (sergeant major, an internal enemy), Shalva Khuskivadze (Colonel Khrushchev), Iuli Maroti (Ribot); 
    35 mm, 1933 m, 70’ (24 fps); print source: Gosfilmofond of Russia. Russian intertitles. 
    Viewed at Teatro Verdi, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto, Pordenone, with e-subtitles in English and Italian, grand piano: John Sweeney, 1 Oct 2011.

Sergei Kapterev (GCM Catalogue): "The Doomed (subtitle: Russian Soldiers in France) is the least known and most ambitious of Push’s films. An eclectic construction of epic proportions, it comprises elements of historical fiction, anti-militarist rhetoric, intrigue-and-adventure film, prison escape drama, romantic melodrama, and compilation documentary."

"The film deals with one of the less-known events of 20th-century Russian and European history – the mutiny of the Russian expeditionary corps in France after the Russian Revolution of October 1917. It does not pretend to be a precise historical reconstruction, opting instead for a narrative centered on one protagonist."

"Back in 1930, the theme of The Doomed was interconnected with a very painful problem confronted by the Soviets: the presence in Europe and elsewhere of very large numbers of military-trained émigrés who were forced to leave Russia after the Bolshevik Revolution and who craved revenge. The possibility of their unification into an anti-Bolshevik military force was regarded by the Soviet regime as a major threat to its existence, and a considerable part of the Soviet propaganda effort was spent on exposing the émigré community."

"In this context, the story of “good” Russians fighting for the opportunity to return to their changed country not as enemies but as true patriots represented a more than appropriate subject. However, instead of turning into a powerful propaganda tool, The Doomed became to epitomize those films which, in the eyes of Soviet critical establishment, demonstrated “excessive attention to foreign topics inspired by bourgeois literature.”"

"It is likely that the criticism targeted at The Doomed was instrumental in Lev Push’s exit from Georgian – or, for that matter, “big” – cinema. The above-cited dictum by the prominent critic Boris Alpers was part of his diatribe against Push’s film as “a simple pretext for Georgia’s Goskinprom to construct a cheap adventure drama with emasculated socio-political content.”"

"While Soviet critical responses to The Doomed now firmly belong to history, Lev Push’s film can be enjoyed on its own, as a professionally presented stylistic hybrid."

"One of the most appealing features of The Doomed is the tactful imitation of French reality under the guidance of Lado Gudiashvili, one of the most important 20th-century Georgian artists, who spent 1919-1925 among the artistic community of Paris. Gudiashvili chose simple sets and mildly atmospheric locations which successfully implied the distinctiveness of the represented environment without artificial and potentially counter-productive articulation of its “Frenchness.”"

"The stylistic versatility of The Doomed is announced in the film’s prologue, where an assemblage of World War I documentary footage narrates the prehistory of the Russian mutiny. Another instance of this versatility / eclecticism is provided by a symbolist sequence which serves as a transition from the prologue to the main narrative and is reminiscent of Vsevolod Pudovkin’s semantic montage in The End of St. Petersburg."

"Together with Gypsy Blood (shown in Pordenone last year), The Doomed represents Lev Push’s work in the most profound way. In these two films, directed entirely by himself, he is revealed as a fascinatingly eclectic filmmaker, ready to absorb diverse influences without compromising his temperament and professionalism." Sergei Kapterev

AA: A powerful movie in the grand style of the heroic age of the Russian revolution. It starts with a montage of the Great War, proceeds to show the prison-like circumstances in the Russian barracks of France, details the escape of the rebel soldier and his acquaintance with the French war widow (similarities with La grande illusion here, the humanity between people who have suffered in the war), the ingenious plot to hijack the Russians to the Foreign Legion in Morocco, and ends with a mutiny on the ship. 

The account of the mutiny is very different than in Battleship Potyomkin, yet apparently inspired by it. The destination of this ship is Odessa, too. The presentation of the characters is still based on a commedia dell'arte style typage, yet there is a movement towards psychological nuance especially in the male and female leads, as remarked by Sergei Kapterev. The montage is effective. 

The print is clean, and contrast is at times a little low.

The Little Minister (1921) (2009 NFM print)


Penrhyn Stanlaws: The Little Minister (US 1921) with Betty Compson (Babbie = Lady Barbara Rintoul) and George Hackathorne (Gavin, the Little Minister).

(De Kleine Predikant) Pikku ministeri [käännösvirhe!] / [Mustalaismorsian] / Lilla prästen.
    (Famous Players-Lasky, US 1921) D: Penrhyn Stanlaws; SC: Edfrid Bingham, based on the novel and the play by J. M. Barrie; DP: Paul Perry; 
    cast: Betty Compson (Babbie = Lady Barbara Rintoul), George Hackathorne (Gavin), Edwin Stevens (Lord Rintoul), Nigel Barrie (Captain Halliwell), Will R. Walling (Dr. McQueen), Guy Oliver (Thomas Whammond), Fred Huntly (Peter Tosh), Robert Brown (Hendry Munn), Joseph Hazelton (John Spens), Mary Wilkinson (Nanny Webster)
    orig.: 1838 m; 35 mm, 1422 m, ca. 62' (20 fps)
    printed 2009 (mainly b&w, with tinted scenes, Desmet method); print source: EYE Film Institute Netherlands, Amsterdam. Nederlandse tussentitels. 
    Viewed at Teatro Verdi, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto, Pordenone, with e-subtitles in English and Italian, grand piano: Philip C. Carli, 1 Oct 2011.

David Robinson (GCM Catalogue): "J. M. Barrie’s 1891 novel and 1904 play have been adapted to the cinema at least five times, starting with a 1913 Vitagraph version starring Clara Kimball Young, and most famously the 1934 version starring Katharine Hepburn as Babbie, the girl from the local great house, masquerading as a gypsy. In this version the role is played by Betty Compson, at her most endearing, two years before she worked in Britain in Graham Cutts’ Woman to Woman and The White Shadow (also featured, in its surviving parts, in this year’s Giornate). Barrie’s story is set in his fictional village of Thrums, no doubt modeled on Barrie’s hometown of Kirriemuir, in the 1840s. The new young pastor finds himself caught up in the battle between the local weavers, protesting against exploitation, and the military determined to suppress unrest. He finds himself drawn to the mysterious Babbie, to the disapproval of the village elders. This film version uniquely changes Babbie’s relationship with the local Lord: in Barrie’s original she is the fiancée of Lord Rintoul; here she is his daughter."

"The timing of this production is remarkable, given the film’s emphasis on the use of the army to put down the unrest of the weavers, exploited by the manufacturers – a historic situation in Scotland’s industrial revolution: six strikers were shot by the military in the Calton Weavers’ Strike of 1787, among other comparable historic events. This was a peculiarly delicate subject in the U.S.A. of 1921, still quivering from the Red Scares of 1919–20, and with the “Blair Mountain War” – a confrontation between the army and Virginian coal-miners that cost some 20 lives – continuing with violence throughout the period of production and release of this film."

"There is no evidence of liberal sympathies on the part of the director Penrhyn Stanlaws, though his Scottish birth (in Dundee, 1877, as Stanley Adamson) may have influenced his choice of subject. He arrived in the United States in 1901, and paid his way through Princeton by working as an illustrator, before going to Paris to study art. Subsequently he enjoyed long success as an illustrator, his portraits of several generations of beautiful women figuring on innumerable magazine covers – notably the Saturday Evening Post from 1913 to 1935. His early models included Mabel Normand, Mae Murray, Florence La Badie, Marion Davies, Anna Q. Nilsson, and Alice Joyce. He believed that photographic modeling was better training for film acting than theatre work: he wrote that Normand “was fortunate that she didn’t have to unlearn stagecraft”, since she went directly from modeling to film."

""His career as a film director was brief: in 1921–22 he directed seven pictures for Paramount, four featuring Betty Compson, whom he styled as “pleasingly petite”. The film is visually handsome, fast-moving, and with interesting casting and performances. The Little Minister himself is played by George Hackathorne (18961940), a distinctive character actor, though hard to cast as a romantic lead. His career faded with the coming of sound, and his last, uncredited appearance was as a wounded soldier in Gone With the Wind." – DAVID ROBINSON

AA: This was my first acquaintance with this story by J. M. Barrie in any form. Betty Compson carries the movie in her double role of Lady Barbara who is also a wild young gypsy woman roaming in the village and in the woods. The comedy approach is successful and George Hackathorne is both amusing and convincing as the little minister who is not afraid to resist convention and who has the courage to stand up against violence and oppression. It is surprising to find themes of poverty and class struggle foregrounded in a Paramount production. Barrie's message of anti-racism and tolerance is sadly topical in today's Europe. A delightful discovery. The print is ok.

A tolonc / The Undesirable




[Il vagabondo]
    (Proja, HU 1915)
    D: Mihály Kertész [Michael Curtiz]; P: Jenő Janovics; SC: Jenő Janovics, Tamás Emőd, based on the play “A tolonc” (1876) by Ede Tóth; DP: László Fekete;
    C: Lili Berky (Liszka Angyel), Mihály Várkonyi (Miklós), Mari Jászai (Sára Ördög), István Szentgyörgyi (Mrawcsák), Gyula Nagy (Fridolin Kontra), Mariska Simon (His wife), Andor Szakács (Pál Angyal), Elemér Hetényi (Work representative), Alajos Mészáros (A gentleman), Katalin Berky (His wife), Zoltán Gálosi (a servant), Endre Kertész (Lőrinz, a young Jew), Fülöp Erdős (Work representative), Adorján Nagy (Policeman), Mihály Fekete (Warden), József Berky (Notary)
    Filmed: 6.1914-15.7.1914; première: 15.2.1915; released: 25.2.1915 (Wien), 1.3.1915 (Budapest), 5.2.1915 (Kolozsvár); 35 mm, 1400 m, 67’ (18 fps);
    Print source: EYE Film Institute Netherlands, Amsterdam. English intertitles.
    Viewed at Teatro Verdi, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto, Pordenone, with e-subtitles in English and Italian, grand piano and violin: Günter Buchwald, 1 Oct 2011.

Restoration work print, 2009, from an original nitrate print held by the Hungarian National Film Archive, Budapest.

Miguel A. Fidalgo (GCM Catalogue): "Transylvania, bounded on the East and South by the Carpathian Mountains, is a multi-ethnic region, rich in folk traditions. Hungarian dominated for centuries, its capital Kolozsvár (today Cluj Napoca), located strategically in the centre of the region, flourished throughout the 19th century, to reach its zenith during the first decade of the 20th. The 30-year-old Jenő Janovics arrived there in 1905, to become director of the Nemzeti Színház (National Theatre) and a progressive stage director. These first years coincided with the beginnings and growth of the Hungarian film industry, and Janovics, attracted by the new art form, decided to try his hand at it, as a logical evolution from the theatre. He planned to conquer the market by concentrating on local subject matter and settings. Consequently he showed a preference for classic Hungarian plays, while not completely abandoning the literary adaptations of celebrated foreign authors favoured by Hungarian film productions of the period."

"For his first film, Sárga csikó (The Yellow Colt, 1913), based on a popular rural drama, Janovics obtained financing from the French producer Pathé. This proved to be the first Hungarian movie to achieve successful international distribution, with 137 copies, shown in countries as distant as Japan. However, the accidental death by drowning of the actress Erszi Imre during the shooting discouraaged Pathé from financing future productions. Consequently, for the future Janovics became organizer and producer of his own movies. To that purpose, in 1914 he constructed the Proja studio, in a warehouse beside the Nemzeti Színház, and formed a distribution agreement for his titles with another new company, Kino-Riport. Keen to become the director of his own films but not knowing how, Janovics hired Mihály Kertesz [Curtiz]: the ambitious challenge and the opportunity to advance his career were totally in line with the young filmmaker’s wishes."

"Thus it was that in the spring of 1914 Curtiz arrived in Kolosvár, where Janovics was waiting with a dedicated team of actors and a few limited though practical facilities. Interior scenes had to be shot outdoors, in the courtyard of the theatre. The roof of the courtyard was covered with glass, but wind was a hazard and the weather generally limited filming to the summer months. For location scenes Janovics could offer Kertesz not only the region’s spectacular landscapes, but also the streets and houses of Kolozsvár and its surroundings, which provided unexpected and arresting settings. For Curtiz these were truly not the best working conditions, but, as would happen on a multitude of occasions in his career, difficulties stimulated his creativity. For the most part the scripts were written by Janovics himself, whose theatrical expertise allowed him to structure the material adequately. Curtiz was to make three films for Proja, shot in sequence and prepared together, a practice that would be common during his European period. This was not just a matter of saving needless expense and maximizing use of favourable weather, but proved an interesting work methodology, demanding an exceptionally organized and capable mind."

"Curtiz’s first film for Proja, A kölcsönkért csecsemők (The Borrowed Babies), was a burlesque comedy from an original script by Janovics, inspired by an item in an American newspaper. The second was A tolonc (The Undesirable), based on the posthumous masterpiece of writer Ede Tóth (1844-1876). Janovics also wrote the script of this popular drama, and produced the movie with as large a budget as he could afford, including a good number of extras, sets in varied locations, a costly wardrobe, and some of the best-known actors and actresses of the moment. Among them was Mari Jászai (1850- 1928), the grande dame of the Hungarian stage, and the promising young Mihály Várkonyi (later Victor Varconi, 1891-1976), with whom Curtiz would work profusely, practically turning him into his alter ego in front of the camera. A minor incident during the shooting of this film would be remembered as the first on a “black list” of accidents associated, maybe somewhat unjustly, with Curtiz’s name: Jászai broke a rib filming a scene in which she had to stop a wagon, and blamed the director for starting the action before the expected moment."

"It is true that the first steps of the cinema in many countries were full of incidents much more serious than this – Janovics himself was found culpable for the death of Erszi Imre – but this somewhat “fierce” portrait of Curtiz suggests, rather than the later groundless and simplistic charges of sadism that he would attract in later years, the limits to which he would go to in his dedication and efforts to achieve perfection and realism. These two qualities stand above the rest in A tolonc, a genuinely moving film shot with grace and rhythm, even when affected by some old-fashioned histrionics." – Miguel A. Fidalgo

AA: This recently rediscovered film has been little seen by present generations. I sat besides Vera Güyrey and István Szabó who confirmed that this is indeed a well-known play and that the actors are famous in Hungary. My first impression was that this is a melodrama based on familiar plotting and incredible coincidences, and the director has not found the key to subtle cinematic performances. Based on apparently difficult sources the print looks a little flat but the film is complete and the print is watchable.

Jön az öcsém / [My Brother Is Coming] (1999 restoration Magyar Nemzeti Filmarchívum)


Mihály Kertész [Michael Curtiz]: Jön az öcsém / [My Brother Is Coming] (HU 1919). The poem by Antal Farkas. Oszkár Beregi as The Brother.

[Il cadetto Jön] (HU 1919) D: Mihály Kertész [Michael Curtiz]; SC: Iván Siklósi, based on the poem “Jön az öcsém”(1919) by Antal Farkas; cast: Oszkár Beregi (The Brother), József Kürthy (The Man), Ilonka Kovács [Lucy Doraine] (the Woman), Ferkó Szécsi (The Child); filmed: 3.1919; released: 3.4.1919 (Budapest); 35 mm, 235 m, 11’ (18 fps); print source: Magyar Nemzeti Filmarchívum / Hungarian National Film Archive, Budapest. Hungarian intertitles. Viewed at Teatro Verdi, Le Giornate del Cinema Muto, Pordenone, with e-subtitles in English and Italian, grand piano: Günter A. Buchwald, 1 Oct 2011.

Miguel A. Fidalgo (GCM Catalogue): "On 21 March 1919 Béla Kun seized power, to transform Hungary into the world’s second communist republic. The once-proud Magyar nation, a huge kingdom ruled by an Austrian monarch, was transformed to a strict and brutal pro-Soviet regime based on collectivism. This “Republic of Councils” lasted 133 dark days. When it ended, virtually every one of the filmmakers who had raised Hungarian cinema to a level unthinkable only seven years before – when Kertész had released Ma és holnap (Today and Tomorrow), regarded as the first movie of its history - had gone into exile or been reduced to a mere cog in the subsequent political order. Many – including Korda and Béla Lugosi – were obliged to emigrate since they had enthusiastically embraced Kun’s cultural guidelines and accepted official roles in the new power apparatus."

"The new communist state forced the nationalization of production and exhibition, demanding a cinema with “a unique and common direction”. Kertész remained oblivious to the turmoil that erupted in the early weeks, while conforming unfailingly to the propaganda ideas of the new regime. Strictly applying Bolshevik theories, films whose themes were not consistent with their populist ideas were cancelled, and all film magazines were closed down."

"Lured into the gears of the system, Kertész was appointed member of the Actors’ Examiner Jury. Soon he was at the reins of Jon az öcsém, a short film of uncompromising communist ideology which adapted an incendiary propaganda poem by Antal Farkas which had appeared in the March 26th issue of the journal Népszava (People’s Voice)."

"The filming was completed very quickly, within days, with a rational economy of means, but also with everything necessary for so great a goal. Oszkár Beregi and József Kürthy, with whom he had previously collaborated, played the two brothers of the story, while Kertész’s own wife Ilonka (the future Lucy Doraine, who had till now had a discreet involvement in his films) was the worker’s wife who witnesses the triumphant return of her revolutionary brother-in-law."

"Jön az öcsém is a fascinating example of the didactic possibilities of cinema and how swiftly the new totalitarian regimes discovered them. The simple script relates a story not far removed from Kun’s own, showing the hero wounded at the battlefront, taken prisoner, and learning in prison the proletarian reality that allows him, once escaped, to return to harangue the masses and lead the revolution."

"His waiting family is rewarded with the rise from the modest house they inhabit at the beginning of the story to the luxurious mansion at the end, from whose windows they watch the triumphant proletarian parade. The political and propaganda intent of the film is undeniable, and Kertész emphasizes it without subtlety, using a profusion of intertitles for the text of the poem: “Do you hear his voice? Like thunder! / See his eyes glittering with rage! / Look, his arm moves rocks - / And this strength was trampled and injured?”"

"Built on 26 shots and 10 intertitles, the simplicity and economy of its staging (an inevitable consequence of the speed with which it was filmed) makes use of static shots of heightened iconography: silhouettes against a bright and pristine sky, with waving flags, diagonal lines that depict the direction of movement of the shot, and a very strong intent to engage the viewer in the message. Its propaganda effectiveness is undeniable, as well as Kertész’s skill in fulfilling the required objective.""

"Jon az öcsém was released on April 3rd, barely two weeks after the Bolshevik seizure of power. After that Kertész supervised the newsreels of the May Day parades, and participated in propaganda programs. But the communist regime began to disintegrate even before it was established. On 1 August Kun fled, and on 6 August Romanian troops occupied Budapest. By November the Romanians had been replaced by the National Army under the rightist Miklós Horthy, who was declared regent in 1920 and would subsequently be the ally of Hitler."

"None of this was witnessed by Kertész. Completely alien to the communist ideology, personally and artistically ambitious, he had not hesitated to accept the offer of Alexander Kolowrat, owner of Sascha-Film, and, with Ilonka and her daughter Katalin, left his homeland overnight for Vienna and a new life. He never returned." Miguel A. Fidalgo

AA: Revisited Michael Curtiz's final Hungarian film in which one can stretch one's imagination and find connections with Curtiz's rebel figures incarnated by Errol Flynn, Humphrey Bogart, Elvis Presley... Beautifully restored in 1999 in Budapest from challenging sources. The performances are so stilted that I doubt this was credible as propaganda.