This is the one where Lyons takes Colbert on a visit to a "torture" ship, puts her in stocks, spread eagle, kisses here and then asks if she wants more "torture" to which she says "Yes, I can take it!" Approximately 35 minutes into the movie. This was pretty racy in it's day--not too shabby now either. For atmosphere for this sort of movie, I suggest "The Docks of New York"--another coast, of course, but I think it's a better movie--although it doesn't have the come-hither looks of Claudette Colbert. Waterfront movies need lots of atmosphere and this one has it. The ending is a bit trite, though--all of the fireplace and cats, but it is a good diversion picture and good example of it's period. I'd also recommend, if you like this, to try out "Anna Christie"--both the silent version and the sound version--"Garbo talks"--gimme a visky, ginger ale on the side and don't be stingy, baby"
Reviews
3 Reviews
Sunrise
(1927)
The Evolution of Film
10 July 2005
It is attributed to Mary Pickford that the evolution of film is essentially backwards--it should have started with sound and evolved into silent. Lillian Gish in fan magazines in the 1920s used to state that the potential of silent film was that it produced an art form that was universal--no need for language and it's inevitable losses from translations.
Sunrise, with Murnau's exquisite use of atmosphere, is a fine example of the universality of silent film as a separate and distinct art form. Early silents had fewer title cards--the story was carried by the faces. As film became more popular, more cards were needed to explain more "complex" stories. Here, we have a simple story--temptation and redemption, but without the need for title cards. Any one can watch this and understand it and appreciate it.
As for Pickford...well, some of that may have been bitterness over the loss of her own career with the advent of sound, but to a certain extent her observation has always seemed to me to be apt. A useless controversy, of course, but the best of silent film can be held up today--and doesn't lose anything by lack of language. The beauty of the art is there for all to see. Silent film is not passive as some sound films are--it requires viewer participation and concentration--and it is through that active participation in the art by the viewer that it achieves it's highest level.
Sunrise, with Murnau's exquisite use of atmosphere, is a fine example of the universality of silent film as a separate and distinct art form. Early silents had fewer title cards--the story was carried by the faces. As film became more popular, more cards were needed to explain more "complex" stories. Here, we have a simple story--temptation and redemption, but without the need for title cards. Any one can watch this and understand it and appreciate it.
As for Pickford...well, some of that may have been bitterness over the loss of her own career with the advent of sound, but to a certain extent her observation has always seemed to me to be apt. A useless controversy, of course, but the best of silent film can be held up today--and doesn't lose anything by lack of language. The beauty of the art is there for all to see. Silent film is not passive as some sound films are--it requires viewer participation and concentration--and it is through that active participation in the art by the viewer that it achieves it's highest level.
The Introduction to Silent Movies for those who only know Chaplin
6 July 2005
"In this scarlet house of sin, does he ever hear the temple bells?" Broken Blossoms is the movie I use to introduce people to silent film who only know it from Chaplin shorts or Birth of a Nation. It is one of the most sensitive movies ever made, in my opinion, and is usually overlooked in any top 100 movie listing. I fear the oversight is due to the listers not having actually seen it.
The version I have--which is now sadly out of print--is the Thames Video version with Lillian Gish's introduction. It is also the one with the original Louis Gotshalk score, pieces of which are sometimes heard on other versions, but the impact of the full orchestral Gotshalk score is overwhelming on an already exquisite film. If you have a chance to see this version, by all means do so.
In answer to a question in another posting, the movie WAS originally tinted--it was part of the "epic poetry" attempt and was quite common with a lot of Griffith work--even back to "A Corner in Wheat".
While I am an immense Gish fan, a lot has already been said about Miss Lillian in the other comments, so I will concentrate on Dick Bartlemess as Chen Huan. The quote above accompanied by his sad look as he leans against the wall of his curio shop tell it all: wrecked youthful enthusiasm--his despair only temporarily abated by the "pipe" in the Limehouse opium dens. His dreams of youth, all packed away in his garret, are only brought out when the one thing that gives him hope that is goodness amidst all the squalor stumbles into his shop.
Only after Lucy arrives can Chen Huan allow himself to dream--to return to golden days of learning, beauty and goodness and ideals. He literally places his dreams of his lost youth on the trembling body of Lucy, but it such a pristine ideal he dare not "defame" it, or it too will disappear like all his other dreams. He must observe it from afar--almost ephemeral. He knows what Hell is like (even before he was shown the booklet by the Christian Brothers). His hell is his lost heart, his lost love. "Bits and pieces of his shattered life." Almost invariably when I find someone to share the movie with me, they are amazed how well it is made and how well it's core story stands up to today. The particulars of Chinese, Cockney and London are not the point; it is a story of hope and despair, of lovers and dreamers. A mature story for a mature audience.
I often wonder if it could be made today. As open as we think we are, I wonder if the basic story could be told again. No matter--it's been told--excellently
The version I have--which is now sadly out of print--is the Thames Video version with Lillian Gish's introduction. It is also the one with the original Louis Gotshalk score, pieces of which are sometimes heard on other versions, but the impact of the full orchestral Gotshalk score is overwhelming on an already exquisite film. If you have a chance to see this version, by all means do so.
In answer to a question in another posting, the movie WAS originally tinted--it was part of the "epic poetry" attempt and was quite common with a lot of Griffith work--even back to "A Corner in Wheat".
While I am an immense Gish fan, a lot has already been said about Miss Lillian in the other comments, so I will concentrate on Dick Bartlemess as Chen Huan. The quote above accompanied by his sad look as he leans against the wall of his curio shop tell it all: wrecked youthful enthusiasm--his despair only temporarily abated by the "pipe" in the Limehouse opium dens. His dreams of youth, all packed away in his garret, are only brought out when the one thing that gives him hope that is goodness amidst all the squalor stumbles into his shop.
Only after Lucy arrives can Chen Huan allow himself to dream--to return to golden days of learning, beauty and goodness and ideals. He literally places his dreams of his lost youth on the trembling body of Lucy, but it such a pristine ideal he dare not "defame" it, or it too will disappear like all his other dreams. He must observe it from afar--almost ephemeral. He knows what Hell is like (even before he was shown the booklet by the Christian Brothers). His hell is his lost heart, his lost love. "Bits and pieces of his shattered life." Almost invariably when I find someone to share the movie with me, they are amazed how well it is made and how well it's core story stands up to today. The particulars of Chinese, Cockney and London are not the point; it is a story of hope and despair, of lovers and dreamers. A mature story for a mature audience.
I often wonder if it could be made today. As open as we think we are, I wonder if the basic story could be told again. No matter--it's been told--excellently
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