Showing posts with label Betty Compson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Betty Compson. Show all posts

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

The White Shadow (1924)










Alfred Hitchcock
 









Alfred Hitchcock
 












THE WHITE SHADOW           C                  
aka:  White Shadows
Great Britain  (43 mi)  1924  d:  Graham Cutts
Assistant Director, Screenwriter, Editor, and Set Designer:  Alfred Hitchcock 

It may be said that there are no such things as white shadows, but just as the sun casts a dark shadow, so does the soul cast its shadow of white, reflecting a purity that influences the lives of those upon whom the white shadows fall. 
—opening title card

This is something of a rarity in the film business, as its mere existence surprised the world when a long considered lost film was at least partially unearthed in 2011 in a Hastings, New Zealand garden shed.  While only three reels or half the film was discovered, this was still a revelation considering it is the earliest surviving work of a film with such a significant contribution from Alfred Hitchcock.  Left on the doorstep of the New Zealand Film Archive in 1989 by Tony Osborne, the grandson of film collector and projectionist Jack Murtagh, the highly volatile nitrate print had been safeguarded in the archives for over two decades.  Because the archive only has funding to restore its own country’s vintage films, experts didn’t spend much time with what they thought were American releases.  Nitrate expert Leslie Lewis initially started combing through the archives examining miscellaneous unidentified works and discovered the professional quality of the tinted images was striking on two reels that were erroneously labeled “Twin Sisters,” later identifying the same actors and sets on a third reel labeled “Unidentified American Film.”  Both the New Zealand Film Archive and the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences worked on the film restoration, where there are initial signs of deterioration seen in the opening credits, but mostly, even though it’s an incomplete work, this is a unique window into early cinema, where Hitchcock actually broke into the British film business in 1920 as a title-card designer.  Within three years he was writing scripts, designing sets, while trying his hand at various other production roles as well.

According to David Sterritt, author of The Films of Alfred Hitchcock:

This is one of the most significant developments in memory for scholars, critics, and admirers of Hitchcock’s extraordinary body of work. At just twenty-four years old, Alfred Hitchcock wrote the film’s scenario, designed the sets, edited the footage, and served as assistant director to Graham Cutts, whose professional jealousy toward the gifted upstart made the job all the more challenging….These first three reels of The White Shadow—more than half the film—offer a priceless opportunity to study his visual and narrative ideas when they were first taking shape.

While this is one of five films that the young Hitchcock worked as an apprentice to director Graham Cutts, apparently serving as assistant director, art director, uncredited writer, and editor of the film, it would be another few years before Hitchcock completed his first feature film, The Pleasure Garden (1925).  In all likelihood after viewing the film, even Hitchcock scholars would be hard-pressed to identify this as a Hitchcock film, though it’s interesting, looking back at what we know about Hitchcock today, to extrapolate signs of what would become associated as familiar Hitchcock themes.  What’s intriguing here is the same actress (Betty Compson) playing the dual role of twin sisters, one good and one evil (“without a soul”), where a man falls in love with the bad twin while unwittingly romanced by the other, becoming an early variation on the double identity Vertigo (1958) theme.  According to the National Film Preservation Foundation: Lost Hitchcock Film ..., the film is “an atmospheric melodrama (of) mysterious disappearances, mistaken identity, steamy cabarets, romance, chance meetings, madness, and even the transmigration of souls.”  The wild and impetuous playgirl sister Nancy (blond) goes off to Paris spending time in the gambling dens while the more reserved sister Georgina (brunette) stays behind in their beautiful country estate in Devon, England to care for their elderly parents.  The home is filled with elaborate Gothic interior sets designed by Hitchcock.  On the return trip home, Nancy meets a young American, Robin (Clive Brook), promising to meet again.  Upon her return, however, her newly discovered rebellious streak continually clashes with her father, seeing her as the polar opposite of her more saintly twin sister.  When Robin unexpectedly arrives at their door, Georgina decides to play a trick on the young man by impersonating her sister, which only aggravates their father who refuses to allow Nancy to ever see this young man again, driving her out of the house as she flees to Paris.  Her mother literally dies when she hears the news, her body slouched over a chair with light streaming in from the window, which is such an exaggerated reaction that it has a comical effect. 

While the film is wildly melodramatic, it’s not without its comical moments, such as watching Nancy say goodbye to her horse before running away from home, or seeing the wealthy father turn into an alcoholic street bum roaming the streets for his missing daughter.  Initially Nancy was the favored daughter, considered Daddy’s little girl, where the display of overt affection was enough to make the other sister look away, but this may account for his emotional freefall when he loses his daughter.  Georgina moves to London where she happens upon a chance meeting with Robin and his friend Louis Chadwick (Henry Victor), where she reverts to impersonating her sister, as that’s who Robin thinks he sees, but they fall for each other and move in together, apparently living together happily for years.  All this changes when Louis insists he’s seen Georgina in Paris gambling, drinking, and (perish the thought) smoking in an underground bohemian establishment known as The Cat Who Laughs, which features a giant mask-like face of a cat, rushing back to London to warn his friend that the woman he intends to marry is not who she claims to be.  Separately, both Robin and Georgina travel to Paris in search of this mystery identity, each seeking something altogether different, where there’s a wonderful shot of Nancy at the top of the stairs of a Parisian nightclub, sort of a moment of a woman in all her glory, just moments before Robin denounces Nancy after seeing her, causing a fight to break out, where Nancy slips away in the ensuing mayhem.  Georgina follows her, however, happy to have found her after thinking she had disappeared, but becomes so distraught over the circumstances that she’s forced to enter a sanitarium in Switzerland for her deteriorating health.  Robin follows her there, still thinking she is Nancy, and begs forgiveness.  Knowing her end is near, Georgina sends for her sister, urging her to marry Robin in her place, where at the time of her death her “white shadow” passes to her twin sister, now finally possessing a soul.  This kind of Victorian mysticism is a bizarre story element that never resurfaces in Hitchcock’s work, where the supernatural restoration of one’s soul plays out more as a corrective for conduct unbecoming of a lady.  This altogether prudish view of women may be more reflective of the times than Hitchcock, but either way, the most distinguishing looking image from this film is that creepy looking cat that perhaps has the final laugh in The Cat Who Laughs.   

Thursday, October 3, 2013

The Great Gabbo





















THE GREAT GABBO             B           
USA  (92 mi)  1929  director:  James Cruze, von Stroheim uncredited

Ladies and gentlemen, I have the privilege to appear before you in what I might call, with all due modesty, the greatest ventriloquism exhibition of all times.                        
—The Great Gabbo (Erich von Stroheim)

Shot in the era of early talkies, when the studios were under pressure to crank out talking pictures before they even learned how to use the cumbersome equipment, and while the result is a highly uneven film, it’s notable on several counts.  First, it’s a time capsule look at the Vaudeville era, where the charm of these old musical numbers are priceless, choreographed in an odd hybrid of styles, all of which predate Busby Berkeley, but heavily costumed dancers fill every inch of the frame, using a sense of constant motion in order to dazzle the audiences back in the 20’s.  Just as a note of comparison, this film was released the same year as the very first Marx Brothers movie, THE COCOANUTS (1929), where both feature plenty of overblown musical numbers that include both amateurish and near operatic singing voices.  Ben Hecht wrote the screenplay, adapted from his 1928 short story The Rival Dummy, described as “a macabre adventure into the strange workings of an unbalanced mind.”  But the real showpiece of this film is the slow psychological deterioration of a world class ventriloquist, The Great Gabbo, played by the legendary director Erich von Stroheim.  The eccentric nature of his performance is simply off the charts, yet his aristocratic mannerisms, so prevalent in THE GRAND ILLUSION (1937), are fully developed here, wearing a white Tuxedo with white gloves, with honorary medals stuck to his chest, not to mention his customary cigarette and eye monocle.  His distinct pronunciation of every Hecht word lends credibility to his view of himself as a legendary star, even early in his career when he’s playing in dives.  Betty Compson, the director’s wife, though they divorced a year later, is Mary, the faithful girlfriend with the shrill, high pitched voice that makes her sound dumber than she really is.  But she can’t compete with the real love of Gabbo’s life, his dummy Otto.  Though Mary is considered a second rate performer, her career is thwarted by slavishly taking care of Gabbo and Otto. 

As a director, Stroheim was known for his extravagance and painfully slow working methods, where studio executives often had to step in before shooting was finished due to cost overruns, where his career as a director was all but finished when he was prematurely fired working with Gloria Swanson in QUEEN KELLY (1928), which forced him to return to acting.  As a scene constructionist, however, Stroheim was far more sophisticated than many of his contemporaries, using magnificent crane shots, often blending subjective points of view, using surrealistic flourishes, including Technicolor shots.  When this film was initially released, certain sequences were color tinted, where the title sequence indicates “Color sequences by Multicolor.”  Unfortunately, Multicolor went out of business and all color tints have been lost, so the only available version is not what the director originally intended, though we do get a hint of Gabbo performing his routine through a spectrum of colors here in this overly faded version, The Great Gabbo: Erich von Stroheim's Astonishing Yodel  YouTube (2:33).  Gabbo is a world class egomaniac, where he tyrannically orders Mary around, complaining about each and every thing she does, where if it’s not done perfectly, she’ll hear about it, which eventually drives her away, as Gabbo believes she’ll amount to nothing without his star status.  “If you're as great as you think you are, then why aren’t you in a real theater?” she quips before walking out on him.  Gabbo’s act is pretty impressive, even to the point of absurdity, as he can eat a five course meal, drink an entire glass of water, smoke a cigarette, and even swallow a scarf as he is performing the voice of the dummy, who even occasionally breaks out into song, all seemingly impossible, which of course is the basis of his legendary stature as the world’s greatest.  As a publicity stunt, he eats in the same classy restaurant with Otto, both receiving world class service, literally holding the audience in the room spellbound by the audacity of his nerve, seen here, The Great Gabbo - 1929 - by request  YouTube (15:27), where he cleverly reunites with Mary after a two year absence, leading to a Rockettes-style musical number “Every Now and Then,” featuring Frank (Donald Douglas) and Babe (Marjorie Kane), another high-pitched, Betty Boop/Shirley Temple sounding singer.

There is unfortunately not enough Stroheim in the film, both in front and behind the camera, as the overly conventional main story continually finds its way to the theatrical stage, where separately Mary and Gabbo have both become big name stars, and the director delights in shooting big production numbers, mostly from a distance with almost no camera movement, where the peculiar nature of many of these musical numbers only adds to the odd delight of the film. There is the great Art Deco style and grand theatricality of I'm In Love With You (1929)  YouTube (6:47), starring the duo team of Mary and Frank (Donald Douglas), though by the end the chorus isn’t even dancing, but simply walking in formation, or That New Step (1929) YouTube (2:59), again featuring Babe, where the German Expressionist sets seem directly stolen from the stage of THE CABINET OF DR, CALIGARI (1920).  Perhaps most amusing is the bewilderingly spectacular and oftentime hilarious spider-and-fly set design of Caught in the Web of Love (1929)  YouTube (6:57), featuring Mary and Frank, eventually taking a turn into what eventually became the Mickey Hargitay/Jayne Mansfield body sculpture nightclub act.  And while these strange set pieces are charmingly memorable, none of the other stock characters hold a candle to the diabolical flourish of Stroheim’s performance, where at one point he goes into unsubtitled German with his dresser, which appears to be his way of showing flattery, but in an instant he’s turned on the dresser as well with more wicked insults and verbal abuse.  But when things don’t go as planned, Gabbo has socially isolated himself from all others, who he snears at with haughty contempt, leaving him only the dummy for companionship.  Locked in the dual worlds inside his own head, his mind deteriorates until he grows delirious, as if trapped with no escape, where mixed surreal images are superimposed on top of one another to create a delusional state of madness, The Finale - The Great Gabbo 1929. YouTube (7:29).  Gabbo’s ruthless nature is startlingly exposed, suddenly tempered with a childlike vulnerability, where his comeuppance is poignantly sad, where by the end we finally see the man (child) behind the mask.