At a time when feature films were rare, short film was King [or Queen] and mainly focused on short documentary, news items and comedy. This selection from the BFI National Archive has 14 films to inform and amuse, curated by Bryony Dixon and accompanied by a lovely new score from composer and pianist Stephen Horne.

1914 obviously had a lot to offer as far as news items were concerned, being the year that WW1 broke out and the shorts programme shows the year at war from beginning to end; one of the opening shorts is of the aftermath of Archduke Franz Ferdinand’s assassination, the event which is cited to have kicked the whole thing off. Egypt and Her Defenders is what you might call typical as far as ‘aren’t these soldiers lovely and brave’ propaganda travelogues go. We see footage of one man climbing up the Sphinx which will make you nudge the person next to you and exclaim. There is also one short showing the impact of German occupation (at Louvain) and Christmas at the Front.

Fighting quite a different war indeed, we have footage of Emmeline Pankhurst petitioning the King in person at Buck Palace. Votes for women!

On the lighter side of 1914, we have Lieutenant Pimple showing that a lack of good underwater equipment is no barrier to accessing underwater submarines. Also that submarines at that time were fairly flimsy cardboard affairs. Corny it may be, but there are quite a few snorty laughs to be had.

My favourite shorts had to be the two which showed film moving onwards and upwards from the earnest newsreels; satirical film General French’s Contemptible Little Army, by animator Lancelot Speed, is wonderfully clever. The other, The Rollicking Rajah [a Vivaphone song film], did originally have a synchronised sound disc which, now lost, is recreated from the sheet music.

The set of 14 films ends with an early glimpse of Charlie Chaplin; we may now be a little desensitised to his work but to see him in this film, in stark contrast with the other films of that time…Well, it is easy to see why he became such a star.

All this talk of silent documentary Man with a Movie Camera (1929) topping Sight & Sound’s greatest documentary EVER poll has surely whetted a few appetites, so get down to your nearest ‘selected’ cinema and have a look at some of the forerunners to this film.

A Night At The Cinema In 1914 is in selected cinemas from today (1 August)

Maryann has awarded A Night at the Cinema in 1919 four Torches of Truth

Fans of cinema history are in for a very rare treat at this year’s eight annual Flatpack Film Festival in Birmingham (20-30 March 2014), for they will be able to see a restoration of the collection of films shown at the 1900 Paris Exposition, coming to the UK for the first time.

See Sarah Bernhardt duelling in Hamlet, Gabrielle Réjane doing the can-can and Cléo de Mérode (pictured) in vibrant hand-tinted colour, some of the films complete with their original synchronised gramophone music, at the Phono-Cinema-Théâtre event on 23rd March at Birmingham’s Barber Institute of Fine Arts.

If you are in any doubt as to how special this occasion is, you should refer to the esteemed Neil Brand’s 2012 article for Silent London on these films:

‘Among the gorgeously designed pavilions on the banks of the Seine at the Paris Exposition of 1900 was a small, ornate theatre called the Phono-Cinéma-Théatre, which contained a screen and a small musical ensemble.  Across the screen moved the greatest actors, dancers, mimes and clowns of the day – they spoke, they sang, they moved to music provided by musicians playing live and they were often in exquisite, hand-tinted colour. Five years after the birth of cinema, film and recorded sound brought France’s finest theatrical artists to mechanical life for the lucky generation of fin-de-siècle Paris.’

Sounds like we all have the opportunity to time travel to turn of 20th century Paris, just like Owen Wilson’s character in Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris. I’ve probably cheapened the whole thing by mentioning Owen Wilson, haven’t I? Sorry ’bout that.

You can find Neil Brand’s article in full here

Other highlights of the film festival will be The Great Flood [directed by Bill Morrison] about the impact of the Mississippi floods of 1927 and This World Made Itself by LA-based artist and performer Miwa Matreyek. This World Made Itself recently had its world premiere at Sundance Film Festival, where it was described as ‘a fantastical journey through the history of the earth—from the universe’s epic beginnings to the complex world of humans’.

The full Flatpack Film Festival programme is due to be announced in mid-February but you can already book tickets for the main events here on the film festival website.

Blurb on the Flatpack Film Festival:

‘An eleven day event that has carved out a unique place in the UK’s film scene, Flatpack Film Festival will stir together an eye-popping line-up of new features, shorts and special guests, as well as providing an alternative route-map to Birmingham with walking tours, installations and pop-up screenings across the city. The programme is known for using an all-encompassing definition of ‘film’, and the 2014 festival will be no exception.’

I am new to the world of silent films, having previously only seen The Artist (2011). Despite being familiar with the names of Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton, I had somehow never managed to look into those original films where it all began. So, I felt it was definitely time to become acquainted with Mister Buster Keaton in his 1926 film, The General, at the BFI Season dedicated to his talents as actor and filmmaker.

The General follows a young engineer named Johnnie Gray (Keaton) who goes to join the southern army in the American West but is turned down because his engineering talents are felt to be more valuable, though nobody thinks to tell him that. A year later, the northern soldiers steal his train and kidnap the woman he loves, sending the young engineer deep into enemy territory to recover both her and his beloved train.

In The General, Buster Keaton proves he is more than a comedic actor by offering an emotional performance that brings out the very best in both his acting and directing talents. The physical comedy in this film is staggering. Keaton is positively athletic in some of the moves he manages and they are fantastic to behold! From sequences of him climbing over the train cars to one of him re-loading the train with more firewood, he is far larger on the big screen than his naturally diminutive stature.The film offers impressive action sequences, especially as much of the story involves a train chase. One famous shot of a train going over a bridge was particularly breathtaking to watch on the big screen. There is also constant peril for our hero, expertly heightened by the incredible music which is a big feature of the silent film world.

The only aspect of the film which feels dated are the gender roles. Though Keaton’s love interest Annabelle (Marion Mack) occasionally manages to prove her own resourcefulness (and, often, stupidity!), ultimately she is a damsel in distress in need of rescue. However, given the era in which it was made this is more than excusable, especially when you consider that many films made today are far more sexist!

Having now seen The General, I can reassure those who might be hesitant to experience a silent film that they shouldn’t rule them out as of the past or think them hard to follow. Actors did not have speech to rely on, so had to work much harder to convey the emotions of their characters and it really pays off. There is something so beautifully timeless in Keaton’s work and the way he flawlessly blends comedy into a serious story is something many filmmakers can only hope to achieve.

With recent films like The Artist (2011) and Blancanieves (2012), it is easy to see a glorious future for silent film, the glorious future that stars like Buster Keaton laid the foundation for all those years ago. They made silent film so very enjoyable to watch that filmmakers are still trying to emulate their work today.

The General remains a magical cinema experience and has certainly converted me to the world of silent film.

The General was screened as part of the Buster Keaton and the Cinema of Today season, currently showing at the BFI Southbank. For more information, and to see Buster Keaton in all his glory on the big screen, go to BFI website

 Amanda has awarded The General (1926) five Torches of Truth

Issue 10 is now available to order.  As our magazines sell out within weeks of going on sale we recommend ordering to avoid disappointment. Our theme this issue is Time in Film and consequently you’ll be able to read up on how plausible film time travel techniques actually are, the role of stopped clocks in the movies, what Virginia Woolf thought of cinema in the 1920s and enjoy a special section that looks decade by decade at 20th Century Cinema – from its silent origins to its blockbusting finale.

Alongside our time-related features you’ll also find a smattering of topical articles including a 2-page preview outlining the must-watch films this summer, some musings on potential story lines for Jurassic Park IV, interviews with independent filmmakers, reports from special film events and our very own tribute to the seemingly untouchable Benedict Cumberbatch. All this and words from all our regular columnists that you know and love.

Issue 10 will be shipped to subscribers and buyers on 20th June 2013.

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Florence Lawrence is largely forgotten today even among established icons of the early years. Yet she deserves hallowed status. Miss Lawrence was the first of a well-known kind: the movie star. She was both a pioneer and a subsequent victim of Hollywood. That such a path could unfold from the off is almost spooky. A highly intelligent and forthright woman, several major events conspired against her. An incandescent popularity waned as quickly as it had sparked.

Did the public have an active part in the invention of the ‘star system’, as it would be called, through their inquisitive nature and fixation with performers? Canny producers certainly leapt on audience curiosity and developed an industry standard that catered to popular taste and obsession. ‘Film stars’ are vitally important to the selling of a motion picture in 2013 as they were in 1913. ‘Selling’ a movie is the name of the game. Fronted by ‘names’ the adoring public wanted to see, actors and actresses became a ‘type’ and pictures became standardised into vehicles for them.

The US industry’s formative years were dominated by the tyranny of the General Film Company, actually a trust of cronies that wished to rule with an iron fist, and known as the MPCC (Motion Picture Patents Company). Partly for business reasons and partly due to snobbery, they refused their actors performance credits. It was a weak attempt to stop players from having leverage and a shot at fame. Theatre stars had their acolytes, for sure, but cinema would achieve new heights all together.

Lawrence moved from Vitagraph to Biograph and was dubbed ‘The Biograph Girl’. She earned $25 dollars per movie. Working in film wasn’t particularly respectable back then. She was a vaudeville starlet from a young age and billed as ‘Baby Flo, the Child Wonder Whistler’. She made over 100 films for Edison, Vitagraph and Biograph before taking up a contract with Carl Laemmele’s IMP, thus entering screen history.

The future, however, was not bright and her appeal not ever-lasting. An accident on the set of The Pawns of Destiny (how’s that for a tragically ironic title?) and a bad marriage helped derail her status. In 1938, aged 52, and having suffered financial hardship and an abusive second marriage, Lawrence committed suicide by eating poison meant to kill ants.

In 1910 Carl Laemmele, chief instigator of the ‘star system’, took Florence over to his pre-Universal outfit IMP (Independent Motion Picture Company). What he did next was a stroke of marketing genius. If you think PR stunts and tactics are crazy today, they’ve got nothing on Laemmele!

On March 12th 1910, the burgeoning mogul took out an advertisement in Movie Picture World denouncing the horrid rumours that the beloved Biograph Girl, Florence Lawrence, had not been killed in an automobile crash. The letter was released under the self-serving headline “We Nail a Lie”. As Richard Griffith and Arthur Meyer note in The Movies (1957): “Laemmele had planted the original story himself and his “reply” to it was designed solely to dramatize the fact he had lured the then most popular personality in motion pictures from her original employers: the Biograph Girl became the Imp Girl.” By 1912 she was earning $500 dollars a week, an astronomical sum.

If we look at images of her today and surviving one-reelers, Lawrence appears as a Victorian doll, a cultural hangover as one century merges into another. People clearly found her sexy and Laemmele once noted she had “sensational bubbies”. From such a typically sleazy comment, we can denote that even in 1910, sex appeal in the movies was important. It’s tempting to see the actress as a sort of proto Mary Pickford-style star, even though they were working, more or less, at the same time and for the same company, Biograph. However her fellow Canadian would go onto iconic acclaim and earn the moniker ‘America’s Sweetheart’. Lawrence fell by the wayside.

Lawrence is distinctly fixed in a late 19th century look, which seems a world away even from early screen sirens such as Gloria Swanson, Pola Negri or Vilma Banky. She would be overtaken by comediennes such as Mabel Normand and then more sophisticated Jazz Age figures. But we do not need to turn her into an overt victim. She was successful, had piles of money and other interests beyond cinema, until the 1929 Wall St. Crash wiped her out. No, she’s not the patron saint of damaged actresses. (That might be Frances Farmer or Marilyn Monroe.)

Her grave marker, placed in 1991, decades after her death, by the National Film Preservation Board said it all: “The Biograph Girl, the first movie star”.

Was Italian-born screen sensation, Rudolph Valentino, the original metrosexual? According to a vehement tabloid attack by Chicago Tribune, in July 1926, Rudy’s appreciation of cosmetics and fashion were tantamount to the fall of masculinity. The report notes masculinity all but ended when dudes quit the straight razor for the new-fangled type with a safety guard. “Do women like the type of ‘man’ who pats pink powder on his face in a washroom and arranges his coiffure in a public elevator?” The answer was a resounding ‘yes’.

Valentino, born Rodolfo Alfonso Raffaello Pierre Filibert Guglielmi di Valentina D’Antonguolla, was dead at the age of 31. Mourned by thousands of female – and male – fans across the world, he was the silver screen’s first modern romantic-hero icon, its ‘Great Lover’.

But what is the man’s reputation today? One hundred years ago, cinema was creeping towards the establishment of a truly popular art and entertainment. In the post-war years, the industry and accompanying appeal grew to cater more and more towards middle class audiences and taste. Fleapits became opulent picture palaces. The perils of Pauline and the japes of the Keystone Kops gave way to feature-length productions of melodrama.

Travel back to March 1913 and Valentino was still kicking his heels in the dust of Castellaneta, dreaming of America. He wasn’t processed through Ellis Island until December 1913 and for years he undertook all sorts of jobs – including dancer/gigolo – in New York before heading to the glorious light of California and the even more glorious lights of the studios.

Rex Ingram’s The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1921) made Valentino a megastar to join the ranks of Gloria Swanson, Mary Pickford and Charles Chaplin. There had been Latin performers before, of course, usually occupying the role of villain. This was something a bit different. As opera and film star Geraldine Farrar noted: “Wouldn’t you think somebody’d be interested in trying out that young man, to see what he could do, what he had?” For a while, nobody was.

Screenwriter and executive June Mathis played a vital part in Valentino’s stratospheric rise in the movie world. She saw something of interest in those smooth Latin features and his ability to dance. Valentino could be a new sort of screen idol. Originally the character of Juan was nothing much to play. Mathis ordered it beefed up and a tango sequence to be included. It is this scene that captured the public’s imagination and the rest is history.

Rex Ingram’s film grossed over $1 million dollars at the box office and suddenly the kid from Castellaneta was a bona fide movie star. Mathis further helped craft Valentino’s persona – becoming his de facto Svengali – years before such a term was discussed regarding Marlene Dietrich’s and Josef von Sternberg. Without Mathis’s patronage, Valentino would never have had got his chance to shine.

The sensuality of the dance, the costume, the staging and Valentino’s smoldering looks confirm him as one of the earliest and most potent of screen icons. Valentino posed as tough, but respectful, especially to the ladies. Famous Players Lasky chief, Adolph Zuckor, summed up the Italian’s acting style: “[He] was largely confined to protruding his large, almost occult, eyes until the vast areas of white were visible.”

Rudy wasn’t the most subtle performer but his persona played on the sensual side of desire and told you he could bring a woman to orgasm and rapture, unlike their brutish husbands at home. South of the border became south of the boudoir, as Richard Griffith and Arthur Mayer put it in their weighty 1957 tome, The Movies.

Clearly tabloids felt threatened by the Italian so they verbally attacked him. Valentino was no angel, he’d be involved in several scandals, including committing bigamy – but it did not tarnish his image as the world’s greatest lover. He went on to acclaim and fortune reprising his limited schtick in a variety of pictures until his unexpected death in 1926. Although he worked in silent movies, he was recorded singing in 1923, the only example of his voice extant and literally, on record. Listen to it here.

In 1921 the American movie industry gave the world something it hadn’t seen before. Ninety-two years on, the tango scene in The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse still feels sexy and electric. The film made a packet and a new audience was found on the suggestion that women, not only men, liked to look too.

What would happen if King Kong went on a dating show? Now you know thanks to our talented cover artist Dan Havardi.

This issue is our Romance Edition. Inside you’ll find all sorts of quirky features on the theme of love and attraction as we explain why men hate romantic films, what you could expect from a real-life Jessica Rabbit and how to reenact your own real-life Tom Hanks rom-com. We’ve even got a special section devoted to classic couples where you’ll find our thoughts and analysis on the likes of King Kong and Ann Darrow, Greta Garbo and John Gilbert and Robot and Frank.

In addition to our themed entries we’ve also got interviews and articles on all the most important cinematic topics including the impact of hype, the digital revolution and the identity crisis in French horror.

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Subscription copies and orders will be shipped Monday 18th March.

What do Linnea Quigley, Bette Davis and killer telephones have in common? All three appear in our spooky horror special which is out at the very end of October. Other treats for readers include an exclusive interview with Richard Bates Jnr on his new psychological horror: Excision, an exposé on the role of distributors in the UK exhibition market and a flashback to cheeky horror Strip Nude for your Killer.

As if that’s not enough we also go on the hunt for a lost Oscar, mix up several vats of fake blood to find the ultimate recipe and lovingly remember the man of a thousand faces, Lon Chaney. Find out what it’s really like to be an extra, how the multiplex came into being and learn about the origins of the occult horror sub-genre.*

Subscribers receive their issues first before shops, before cinemas. The last few issues have sold out very quickly so we recommend subscribing to guarantee you never miss an issue. To subscribe click here.

Many thanks once again to our talented cover artist, Dan Havardi.

To order an individual copy of issue 7 for delivery next week, click here.

Limited back issues of editions 1-4 are also available here.

*Due to our pledge to CAC (The Committee Against Cliché) our horror issue is strictly Christopher Lee free.

]]> http://newempressmagazine.com/2012/10/issue-7-our-horror-special-order-yours-today/feed/ 0 http://newempressmagazine.com/2012/10/issue-6-1-is-here/ http://newempressmagazine.com/2012/10/issue-6-1-is-here/#comments Mon, 22 Oct 2012 10:16:40 +0000 http://newempressmagazine.com/?p=13912

The second digital edition of the year is here! Our front cover is illustrated by Rory Mitchell and inspired by the unforgettable body horror: Videodrome. New Empress Magazine’s Minema  titles are a mini-digi-dose of film commentary, interviews and flashbacks. Inside this issue our writers have examined the way brands, TV, music and other elements of popular culture cross over into the world of moving pictures. In addition to articles on Videodrome, Mac and Me and Joe Pesci’s singing career we’ve also got an exclusive interview with director Mark Andrews and producer Katherine Sarafian who have most recently worked on Brave. Our new columnist Girl Gatsby offers her exclusive guide to silent film and regular columnist Adam Glasspool explains yet again why he hates film, this time it’s all about spoilers. The digital issue comes to subscribers free of charge or can be bought as an individual taster for £2.50.

Simply purchase the issue online and a private link to the digital edition will be sent to your inbox!

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Adapted from the play by Charles Bennett, Blackmail (1929) was a picture produced on the cusp of the sound revolution. Hitchcock, sensing the shift towards sound, sneakily shot a version with dialogue alongside his silent feature. Critics generally agree that the silent feature is the most engaging of the two cuts and certainly no dialogue is required to appreciate the taut, visually resplendent climax at The British Museum.

When young shop girl, Alice White (Anny Ondra) rows with her police constable boyfriend Frank Webber (John Longden) she takes revenge by going home with a local artist named Crewe (Cyril Ritchard). Events take a turn for the worse, however, when Crewe attempts to rape Alice and she responds by showing him the sharp end of a bread knife. Although her evil deed was in self-defence, Alice is wracked with guilt and, unfortunately, her presence at Crewe’s apartment did not go unnoticed. A local criminal by the name of Tracy (Donald Calthrop) was lurking in the shadows outside Crewe’s studio and decides to use this information for personal gain.

This film is an intriguing addition to Hitchcock’s filmography. The influence of filmmakers such as Lang and Murnau are apparent in his use of long, lingering shots on menacing characters and intricate shadow work, particularly the silhouettes that desperately grapple during the attempted rape scene. Hitchcock furthermore, clearly worked closely with cinematographer Jack E. Cox (who also worked on The Ring) to create visually striking sequences throughout – London is a city of vibrant light even in black and white; Tracy runs through labyrinthine bookshelves and corridors of the British Museum scattered with forgotten, ancient faces.

Anny Ondra delivers a deeply layered performance throughout, from her delectable sulking during her spat with Frank to her frantic post-murder misery, her doe-eyed, bow-lipped face fills the screen and bewitches the audience. It’s a great shame that in the sound version her lines were dubbed by the cut-glass accent of Joan Barry. Ondra was originally from Poland and foreign accents were not deemed widely acceptable on screen, according to BFI archive curator Vic Pratt however, who introduced last night’s screening, the dubbing diminished Ondra’s performance and simultaneously ended her acting career.

Blackmail is not a perfect film. At times the pacing is slow and there are certainly some unnecessary intertitles. Still, the film is aesthetically dynamic and indisputably tense. As an early entry in the Hitchcock canon it is well worth watching; film buffs and Hitchcock junkies will definitely want to look out for the director’s cameo in a bygone tube carriage and the actor-swap that goes on with the police inspector: due to other commitments Sam Livesey is transplanted in a later scene by Harvey Braban who played the police inspector in the sound version. The print has been beautifully restored by the BFI and the accompaniment at last night’s performance by Costas Fotopaulos provided an immersive and at times thrilling experience.

Both the silent and sound cuts of Blackmail are showing as part of the Genius of Hitchcock season at the British Film Institute.

Helen has awarded Blackmail (the silent cut) 4 Torches of Truth.