1930s List Discussion and Suggestions (Lists Project Vol. 3)

[knives]

You have to check out Dishonored if you haven't. I'm trying to keep lean on von Sternberg, but that one is absolutely guaranteed. It's a very unique use of the pairing that is easily the most optimistic of the films.

[matrixschmatrix]

That's one of the two that's only available in region 2, right? I suppose I should bite the bullet and order them, I don't want to submit a list without having seen them.

[knives]

Yeah, it's really essential. Than again I shouldn't be talking as I haven't seen either SE.

[matrixschmatrix]

My plan with von Sternberg is to finish off the Dietrich collaborations and watch Crime and Punishment (which I picked up a while ago and then forgot that I had)- are any of the others particularly vital?

[knives]

The short answer is no, the long answer is that they help to contextualize both the importance of Dietrich and von Sternberg's place in Hollywood at the time. They're not great, though I have a deep fondness for An American Tragedy, but they help to develop a deeper appreciation for the Dietrich collabs.

[Cold Bishop]

An American Tragedy is a bastardization of the source material... but it's still an essentially Sternbergian film.

[knives]

I wasn't even aware of the book until just this very second so that probably has helped.

[Cold Bishop]

See also: A Place in the Sun and Sunrise.

And for the record, I'm also a big fan of An American Tragedy: Sternberg pretty much guts the novel of everything but the extreme psychological states of its two characters: Syliva Sydney's quiet suffering and Phillip Holmes's moral cowardice. Dreiser may have hated the film, but that final smile captures something of Dreiser that is completely absence in any of the other adaptations.

[Tommaso]

Thanks for the Soviet roundup, lubitsch. Some very interesting recommendations that I should better check out before it's too late for the listmaking. But as was to expected, some of the best films from the period again receive the 'lubitschian treatment', and thus I must necessarily come to their rescue...

Let's start with Dovzhenko. While Earth was of course made as a propaganda assignment, Dovzhenko turns this tale of farming collectivism into something totally different; a visual poem of nature (and myths of nature), incredibly beautiful and moving, and the propagandistic intent almost gets lost in what looks mainly like a celebration not of the the new Soviet regime, but far more of the archaic Ukrainian traditions (totally similar to "Zvenigora"). The comparison with "Jud Süss" is not only unfair, but also misleading; it was certainly not the intention of this film to cause the famine that hit the Ukraine two years later, while the Harlan film obviously wears its agenda on the sleeve (that it's unsuccessful as propaganda is a different affair, but let's keep that old discussion for the 40s listmaking). I largely agree about Ivan, but at least the montage sequences in the first half of it are among the most impressive the Soviet cinema has produced, and anyone who isn't 'bored to tears' by the likes of Vertov should see the film just for these.

Then, of course, Eisenstein. First, we cannot know how The Bezhin Meadow would turn out if it hadn't been destroyed; basing an accusation of a film purely on the script is simply not valid. The script of "Potemkin" or "October" will certainly also be a somewhat frightening read. Secondly, Alexander Nevsky. The greatness of the film obviously lies in its operatic qualities (not as pronounced as in "Ivan the terrible", but already there), its perfect synthesis of images and music. Prokofiev's soundtrack is stunning as a purely musical composition, and I would certainly recommend to listen to it in a good modern recording like that by Abbado on Deutsche Grammophon, but together with the images it attains an ever greater level of magnificence. The characters are types, especially the Teutonic soldiers, but you wouldn't expect realism from the great romantic operas of the 19th century either; and Eisenstein certainly aspires for something in the direction of the 'total work of art' here. Again, not as fully formed as in "Ivan the terrible", which is the greater film, but I still find it pretty amazing even after many viewings.

Finally, and most importantly for me, Kuleshov's The Great Consoler.

I was equally deeply disappointed by The Great Consoler supposed to be Kuleshov's masterpiece, but IMHO an equally stiff propaganda tract with Khokhlova thrown in with a parallel plot for no clear purpose.

The purpose of course is that if you want to make a film about the power of art (which this film is all about, the little bits of social commentary and propaganda are not the heart of the film IMHO), you'd better include the reactions of the recipients. The film is about the possibility of art (in this case, literature) to create alternative worlds, to overcome the cruel realities, and in this respect it's even surprisingly escapistic in places, even if it shows that those alternative worlds don't have the power to change reality in the end. And then there's this stunning, extended film within the film in which Kuleshov shows one of those 'alternative stories', and in which he makes recourse to a lot of silent film techniques to quite amazing effect, demonstrating the gap between reality and alternative world by a different style pointing to the artificiality of the latter. I'm not fully sure what Kuleshov's position is in all of this, but the film raises very interesting questions and, on top of it, shows all his usual mastery in montage and mise en scene. Not to be missed and certainly on my list.

[thirtyframesasecond]

I had a couple of sloppy months so am playing catch up. I reckon I still have 25-30 films minimum to see, so any extra time would be great.

Just seen a couple of Pabsts - Kameradschaft - the VHS copy was so bad it became near pointless, but Westfront 1918 was incredible.

Hmmm...given that the forum is going to be down all day on the 29th and possibly longer, I'm wondering if we shouldn't extend the deadline another week or so. Thoughts?

[lubitsch]

As for the Sternberg discussion: Sure it's comedy! Serious at the same moment, too. The people in the films are extremely well aware of their follies, are even playful about them and weaknesses and at the same time are helplessly controlled by them. That's what makes Sternberg so intriguing and modern, it's not just photographing beautiful surfaces, it's about creating them and destroying them at the same moment. Devil is a Woman is arguably the top film in this regard, each scene overdirected to the nth degree, the actors parodies of parodies, amusing themselves, but it's still deadly serious which makes the conventional melodrama surprisingly 'true' and intriguing.

Further to lubitsch's Soviet round-up, which I largely agree with, the 'Socialist Realist' film I like best, though it won't be gracing my list this time around, was unmentioned: Dzigan's We from Kronstadt. It's a long time since I've seen it, but I remember it as a bit moodier and more dynamic than the likes of Chapayev or the Gorky films, and it's got a powerful climax.

True I see that somebody has transcripted the subs from the tape, so this film is also available for a wider audience on the net again. The scene you are referring to plays at the sea and includes some deaths, I assume? It's not even the climax if I remember correctly but indeed it's so coolly matter of fact that it sticks long in mind.

Thanks for the Soviet roundup, lubitsch. Some very interesting recommendations that I should better check out before it's too late for the listmaking. But as was to expected, some of the best films from the period again receive the 'lubitschian treatment', and thus I must necessarily come to their rescue...

Let's start with Dovzhenko. While Earth was of course made as a propaganda assignment, Dovzhenko turns this tale of farming collectivism into something totally different; a visual poem of nature (and myths of nature), incredibly beautiful and moving, and the propagandistic intent almost gets lost in what looks mainly like a celebration not of the the new Soviet regime, but far more of the archaic Ukrainian traditions (totally similar to "Zvenigora"). The comparison with "Jud Süss" is not only unfair, but also misleading; it was certainly not the intention of this film to cause the famine that hit the Ukraine two years later, while the Harlan film obviously wears its agenda on the sleeve (that it's unsuccessful as propaganda is a different affair, but let's keep that old discussion for the 40s listmaking). I largely agree about Ivan, but at least the montage sequences in the first half of it are among the most impressive the Soviet cinema has produced, and anyone who isn't 'bored to tears' by the likes of Vertov should see the film just for these.

Finally, and most importantly for me, Kuleshov's The Great Consoler.

The purpose of course is that if you want to make a film about the power of art (which this film is all about, the little bits of social commentary and propaganda are not the heart of the film IMHO), you'd better include the reactions of the recipients. The film is about the possibility of art (in this case, literature) to create alternative worlds, to overcome the cruel realities, and in this respect it's even surprisingly escapistic in places, even if it shows that those alternative worlds don't have the power to change reality in the end. And then there's this stunning, extended film within the film in which Kuleshov shows one of those 'alternative stories', and in which he makes recourse to a lot of silent film techniques to quite amazing effect, demonstrating the gap between reality and alternative world by a different style pointing to the artificiality of the latter. I'm not fully sure what Kuleshov's position is in all of this, but the film raises very interesting questions and, on top of it, shows all his usual mastery in montage and mise en scene. Not to be missed and certainly on my list.

I know that I'm unfair to Dovzhenko and I've mentioned it. He indeed succeeded in pushing other things in the foreground, but it's the tragedy of these films and artists that the ugly message occassionally rears its head even if they fought to keep it at bay. You could argue that Harlan equally wasn't thrilled to make a Anti-Jewish movie, but we should discuss that later. After all Earth supports de-kulakization (is this the right word?) which was the first round of the mass murder. I know Dovzhenko doesn't care for this mesage probably even despises it as a Ukrainian nationalist (to a certain degree), but he isn't allowed to keep it out and I today as viewer can't keep it out of my head as I'm watching it.
As for the Kuleshov I understand on an intellectual level what you're saying but first I have this drab prison story where the director is eager to show that O'Henry is a nice guy but a fool and then I get this story where Khokhlova rebels against the oppression ... it's doubling the pedagogic effect (and pain for today's viewer) These films are all so bloody certain that they're on the right side of history, it's annoying how Kuleshov shows us what a collaborationist fool O'Henry is and how he Kuleshov is so far ahead of him. It's rather the other way round from today's point of view. Oh and the acting was really ... Khokhlova alone is a test for every viewer but the leading actor ... I know ithe overacting is supposed to show his false sentimentality ... ugh in case anyone's not sure I rather don't like the film .

[Steven H]

My "if you see one German film from the 30s" suggestion is Berger's Ich bei Tag und du bei Nacht which has already gotten some love in this thread but I thought it was worth mentioning again. I was completely bowled over by its effortlessness and charm, and I'm having a hard time arguing with myself that some of my previous favorites shouldn't move aside and let it have a really high ranking.

[Tommaso]

My "if you see one German film from the 30s" suggestion is Berger's Ich bei Tag und du bei Nacht which has already gotten some love in this thread but I thought it was worth mentioning again. I was completely bowled over by its effortlessness and charm, and I'm having a hard time arguing with myself that some of my previous favorites shouldn't move aside and let it have a really high ranking.

I hope you will win the argument, because Ich bei Tag und du bei Nacht really deserves it. I have it at #7 at the moment. But the greatness of the film lies not only in its charm and lightness, nor in the great acting by Käthe von Nagy and Willy Fritsch, but also in its self-mocking take on the genre to which it belongs and of which it forms one of the prime examples, the Weimar sound film operetta.

The genre, one of the most successful at the time, has its origins already in some Weimar silent films like Berger's "Ein Walzertraum" or Neufeld's "Erzherzog Johann", but it really came into its own with the early 1930 smash hit Liebeswalzer (directed by Wilhelm Thiele), which fully established the 'dream couple' Harvey/Fritsch and the genre itself: dashing young man, often poor, falls in love with beautiful girl, often rich (occasionally this is reversed, as in Der Kongress tanzt) but instead of terribly dramatic events the plots are invariably played as comedies which hold a striking balance between romantic escapism and pronounced, but good-natured satire. And of course the music, often written by the best composers of the Berlin entertainment scene like Mischa Spoliansky, Friedrich Hollaender or Werner R. Heymann, played a very great part, providing many successful songs which today are often better known than the films, sadly. The Weimar sound film operetta is the counterpart to the American Lubitsch musicals in many respects, and its prime examples are at least as good, and sometimes even better, than their US counterparts.

Unfortunately, the German version of Liebeswalzer is considered lost, and the alternate English language version is floating around only in a practically unwatchable copy, so you better skip that one for the moment and go directly for another 1930 Thiele film which is even more seminal: Die drei von der Tankstelle. Its plot with three young guys buying a filling station and all falling in love with the same customer (Lilian Harvey) sounds like typical screwball comedy stuff (if so, it's a damn early example), but apart from the great fun this film is and the gorgeous songs it contains, the most striking aspect is how these songs are integrated into the film: it's the first film I can think of in which the songs really form a part of the narrative; many important actions are actually presented by singing and the songs drive the plot forward. At the same time the US musicals were still showing us detached dance and song numbers with little or nothing to do with the story itself; although this only goes partially for the Lubitsch musicals, there must be a reason why Mamoulian's Love me tonight is often credited for attempting a much more 'modern' and almost revolutionary take on the film musical. But mind you, Love me tonight is from 1932, and so it should be recognized that the film that really brought about said revolution is Die drei von der Tankstelle. Apparently another Thiele film, Zwei Herzen und ein Schlag (1932) was even more completely driven by the singing, but unfortunately that's another lost film.

The Weimar sound film operetta reached its greatest height with Der Kongress tanzt, of course, about which I've already talked extensively. If you like the genre, you also can't go wrong with 1930's Einbrecher and 1931's Ihre Hoheit befiehlt (both directed by Hanns Schwarz), or with Friedrich Hollaender's 1933 Ich und die Kaiserin, all truly charming films.

Somewhat unusual - with the exception of Die drei von der Tankstelle - is the wonderful Ein blonder Traum (Paul Martin, 1932), which takes up the theme of the economic troubles of the early 30s and transfers the genre to the proletarian world; however, it almost completely replaces the portrayal of the working class's hardships that can be seen in many leftist films of the time with a 'yes we can'-attitude. This might be unacceptable to some, but the story of the two windowcleaners (the greatest singer/comedians of the time in one film: Willy Fritsch and Willi Forst) falling in love with the same girl who dreams of making a career in Hollywood (Lilian Harvey again, but who else would have been better suited for the role?) and setting up a menage à trois in some disused railway carriages is so exceedingly well written, played and filmed (there's a brilliant dream sequence which details the misfortunes of our heroine in Hollywood which alone is worth watching the film for) that such little criticisms seem like nagging. And the music by Werner R. Heymann is among the best of all those film musicals, too. If you're not moved by Lilian Harvey singing "Irgendwo auf der Welt", you must have a heart of stone...

All of which brings me back to Ich bei Tag und du bei Nacht, because the film is on the one hand the perfect expression of what the genre was about, but it's getting an additional twist by showing us the romanticized, idealised world of some of the lesser film operettas as a cinema film within the film itself, with the two main characters (both poor), especially the girl, dreaming of having such a cinema romance in their real life as well. The dialogue is full of references about the relationship between cinema and real life, perfectly expressed by the most famous song from the film, "Wenn ich sonntags in mein Kino geh'", but also by a visit to the Sanssouci palais in Potsdam, a place which had been the subject of Gustav Ucicky's excellent history/romance film Das Flötenkonzert von Sanssouci two years before and in general might be seen as an embodiment of romanticized German history in general. Ich bei Tag und du bei Nacht is thus a very complex examination of the cinema (and as such, the film has received quite a bit of critical attention in the last few years), but the great thing about it is indeed how charming and effortless it is. I can assure you that it gets better with every viewing and seems pretty inexhaustible with its multiple layers of meaning.

[Steven H]

Thank you for that explication of context for the Berger, Tommasso. I have seen a few of those other films you mention (thanks to past recommendations) and a favorite of the bunch is definitely Die drei von der Tankstelle, though I think it's a little bit less even than Ich bei Tag und du bei Nacht. Towards the end of the film especially I think Die drei von der Tankstelle loses some of what makes it feel so special for the first half. But maybe I followed too closely Ich bei Tag und du bei Nacht and that might have lent an unfair comparision since I am so utterly head over heels for the latter. Shouldn't be too hard to rewatch it before the list date.

[matrixschmatrix]

Watching Stage Door- it's one of the most accurate depictions of theater people in their natural habitat I've ever seen, and I'm not sure it's possible to watch Katherine Hepburn in the 30s and not fall in love with her (which is pretty much the only reason Bringing Up Baby works.)

In a lot of ways, it's really devastating take on what feeds the theater- fun though the cast is, it's women who are practically starving, prostituting, and killing themselves in hopes of getting into a position controlled by someone who is entirely a monster (though occasionally a charming one)

Spoiler

and the montage contrasting Hepburn's character's success with Kay's grave, following on the heels of Miss Luther essentially telling her that success was all that mattered, is almost comparable to the one at the end of the Godfather. Even poor Lucille Ball's arc is essentially a woman who went to New York to follow her dreams, found absolutely no success, and wound up stuck with some loutish asshole.

There are aspects that don't work well for me- Hepburn's abrupt transformation into an actress seemed out of place in a movie that otherwise was at least fairly realistic, the scene where she and Menjou make friends after Rogers' character storms out seemed to weaken the attack on him, and Rogers' attack on Hepburn as having killed Kay was so emotionally violent that I wasn't prepared to have them get over it as though nothing had happened.

Overall, though, it's a fascinating admixture of playful, screwball tone and really nasty content- a strange enough one that I had to talk it out aloud before I could even put together what I thought of it. I don't know that I enjoyed it as much as Holiday or Our Man Godfrey, but it's definitely a list contender.

[the preacher]

A couple of additional Soviet recommendations: Protazanov's Bespridannitsa and Romm's Trinadtsat (not sure about availability of subtitles for the latter).

[Cold Bishop]

As long as we're allowed to host titles, I've decided to upload the two Edward L. Cahn films I have: Afraid to Talk and Law and Order, both two of the toughest pre-coders out there. I think there's been a pretty good amount of conversation about Afraid to Talk here, but I feel like I should copy-and-paste my write-up on Law and Order for those who missed the Western project:

Law and Order (Edward L. Cahn, 1932)

One of the earliest sound Westerns of any note, this film is also surprising one of the toughest and meanest, unlike any Western I know of (excluding some of those unseen-by-me William S. Hart silents) until the late forties started giving the genre its edge back. Interesting enough (as Nothing noted before flaming out), one can point towards the pseudo-western Treasure of the Sierra Madre as the turning point in that regards, and as if that film was only picking up a trail that was lost in the intervening 16 years, here we find another grim western and another Huston family affair. Walter Huston leads the film at his best, and it is John Huston, in one of his earliest assignment, who is given the task of adapting the screenplay, doing so from hard-boiled legend W.R. Burnett's novel, Saint Johnson - all these names, and this film emerges with its violent, masculine credentials in tact. But the missing key in this lineup is director Edward L. Cahn, someone who's beginning to emerge to me as an unknown auteur worthy of further study. A largely unknown figure, recognized only by the occasional follower of z-grade 50s and 60s schlock, this guy appears to have come running out of the gate in 1932 filled with incredible promise. Making his first four films in one year, they include two truly great pictures: not only this film, but his gangster film, Afraid to Talk/Merry-Go-Round, is to me one of the greatest pre-code films - a brutal, nasty, nihilistic masterwork in the genre. While unknown to me, his Radio Patrol, an early police procedural, is considered equally as "great" by Bernard Tavernier. And a fourth possible masterpiece emerges in the now-lost Laughter in Hell. Based off the great novel by the underrated Jim Tully, it's a chain-gang film following in the footsteps of I Am a Fugitive in a Chain Gang and Hell's Highway, and by many accounts, it was perhaps the most powerful and harrowing of them all. In fact, considering some of its inflammatory content - including a still-infamous scene where three black prisoners are lynched - it might not be so accidental that the negatives were eventually destroyed. Yet, his relationship with Universal ended nearly as soon as it started, and at the end of the year, it was he (according to press release) who asked out of his contract. Hopping around studios for a few years, he ultimately ended up (like that other could-be-contender, Arthur Ripley) in shorts, directing numerous Our Gang films... perhaps for the best, as his early films run on a pre-code attitude that would at this time have become verboten. He emerged in the late 40s as a poverty-row filmmaker of some note, including several programmers that are much better than they ought to be (including a pretty good Caged rip-off, Girls in Prison), but unfortunately he ended up working with AIP, a contract that ultimately led him cranking over a dozen films a year, often with the level of quality that output suggests (although some of his sci-fi films seem to have not-entirely-ironic cult followings, including the Alien-influencing It! The Terror from Beyond Space).

This film is available in back-channels for those want to make the effort, and for my sake, I won't attempt to summarize the whole film here. Rather, let me give a mild spoiler-warning (although the basic story is familiar enough), and jump straight to the end. For while it moves along rather nicely up until then, it is the last fifteen minutes of the film where its begins to pull away, and distinguish itself as a truly remarkable western - stark, austere, grim, possibly nihilistic, a Western that seems to be operating on a completely different axis than anything else going on in the genre at the time - an era of singing cowboy serials and the occasional tentative sweeping epic. This film is, in essence, another retelling of the Gunfight at the O.K Corral. Wyatt Earp becomes "Saint" Frame Johnson, the Clantons become the Northrups, Doc Hollyday is largely eliminated and what is left is streamlined into the loyal, trigger happy Ed Brandt, the O.K. Corral turns into the O.K. ranch. However, Tombstone remains Tombstone, and the basic outline of the story remains visible even as particulars are transformed. The tale has been oft-told, but its most iconic representation still remains John Ford's My Darling Clementine. If to perhaps do Ford a great disservice by ignoring the ambiguities of his film, it can be said that it still largely follows the Myth: Wyatt Earp ultimately fulfill his role as lawman, defeating the Clantons, establishing law and order in Tombstone, and paving the way for civilization - for women, for the church, for Shakespeare - following the Western narrative of the taming of the wilderness. It is to this Myth, this narrative, that Cahn's ultimately distinguishes itself in opposition to. One could almost call it an early Revisionist Western, if not for the fact that the genre and its representation of the O.K. Corral were still nascent.

The film opens as if to fulfill this narrative: it posits the legendary gun battle in between the other great moments of the west - the Indian wars of 1840, the finishing of the Transcontinental Railroad in 1869, the land rush of 1889 - an era "punctuated with titanic struggle and stained with blood." For the duration of the film, the story follow the beats of the tale as we would expect it. But in the last fifteen minutes, something remarkable happens compared to some of its rival depictions: at the end of the film, law and order irrevocably breaks down, and Earp/Johnson gives up all pretenses of upholding it. In the middle of the film, he has a great triumph as marshall when he staves off a lynch-mob after a young murderer (Andy Devine). He even manages to sell the despondent killer on his own execution: he will be the first man legally hanged in Tombstone, and dammit, that ought to count for something. The sort of joyous, allegorical celebration is quickly deflated: despite all talk of civility and justice, as soon as the rope snaps around his neck the mood becomes terrible and grim; Cahn even includes a peculiar, but quick yet impossible-to-miss shot of a black citizen watching the hanging with great unease (pointing towards Laughter in Hell, perhaps). At this point the film turns; this must be one of the earlier films that recognizes and in its own way criticizes the American obsession with guns. "Saint" Johnson passes an ordinance banning the carrying of guns in city limits. At first, we are lead to believe that this is merely a calculated attack on the Northrups. Then, there is a close up of the note dictating the new law, and it is suddenly shot up with holes. The camera pulls back, but it is not the Northrups doing the shooting, but regular townfolk. Suddenly the camera whips around the main square as the town builds to a frenzy. We note an American community where guns are so ingrained into the fabric of life that even elegant young women carry Derringers in their handbags. But the mood goes from absurd to genuinely tense: in trying to do what was necessary, Johnson seems to have gone too far, and even those who were loyal to him against the Northrups turn on him.

Here is another distinction. In Ford, the Clantons terrorize the town but they are ultimately outsiders, haunting Tombstone from the outskirts. Here, the Northrups are part of the community, men about town, and it is final estimate they who the townfolk ultimately align themselves with and most resemble. While it follows the beats of the O.K. Corral as followed by Ford - Earp defeats the Clantons not by trial-and-jury but with a shoot-out, and he ultimately rides out of town at the end - in Ford, the ending, for all its ambiguities, can be seen as an extension of Earp's lawful duties, bringing justice to the wilderness, leaving when the deed is done. Here, on the contrary, while the trajectory is the same, the context is different: Johnson abandons the town to their lawlessness, the final gun-battle is turned purely into a blood vendetta, and if the community is more civilized afterward, it was done so kicking and screaming. After the death of one of his men, Johnson stands in the town square and yells so that all can hear: they'll get their wish, they'll keep their guns, him and his men will resign and leave... but before that, there will be blood to pay. One can read a fascist overtone to its nihilistic view of society, and the harsh steps sometimes needed to taken, by "men with guts", in the face of it; I won't go that far, but the film is definitely unsettling in its worldview. At the beginning of the film, Johnson is ready to give up his career as a lawman: it's a thankless job and the people don't seem to want law and order. Unlike Fonda's Earp, he's not drawn to the job out of personal revenge (that comes later); he seems to jump at the opportunity out of a rekindling of that spark for justice, for doing the greater good. The trajectory of the film is one of desperation, of increasing disillusionment, and as law and order collapses, even the legitimacy of that final famous battle is called into question. This is not the elegant duel of John Ford; the quiet walk to the ranch/corral is here, but it has a sense of desperation and bloody personal duty that points towards that of The Wild Bunch. And when the shooting begins, it turns into quick and brutal confusion - quickly interchanging stark, static shots that pile up until we're no longer sure which side's doing the shooting and which is doing the dying. At the end, the bloody, wounded "Saint" Johnson is the only one left standing. As he rides out of town on his horse, he sits stiffly, awkward, as if we expect to fall off the horse any moment and die from his injuries. But the wound seems to be as spiritual more so than it is physical; while triumphant in the battle, he seems a broken man, having lost his own men and his own faith in his vocation, realizing that the people he has sworn to protect "don't want peace", but as his dying brother tells him, he's a man who is doomed to "keep the peace as long as [he] lives". Huston doesn't ride off in the distance as a chorus sings "My Darling Clementine". The sounds that accompany his exit are the stark, haunting, monotonous rings of a funeral toll as the screen quietly fades to black.

Afraid to Talk / Law and Order

Pass: rar

I'm also DESPERATELY SEEKING Radio Patrol, which, along with these two and the now lost Laughter in Hell (I wish I could find someone to verify that), seem to make up a tetralogy of violent, caustic social commentary on law, order and corruption.

[swo17]

Thanks! I've added those links to the spotlight section as well.

[serdar002]

Here are three more recommendations (again, no DVD, but subtitled versions exist)

Der Mörder Dimitri Karamasoff (Fyodor Otsep 1931)

Herr Schreck has already posted his comments here, praise mixed with disappointment, I don't say he's wrong, but you get among lots of other highlights an opulent and authentic adaptation of a Russian classic, the nightmarish estate of the old Karamasoff, Smerdyakov played by Fritz Rasp, a fantastic carriage ride and gypsy dance, that's enough for me.

Der brave Sünder (Fritz Kortner 1931)

The fussy pedantic civil servant out on a spree in the big city. A biting satire on the middle classes and the bureaucracy, brilliant style and tempo. Long analysis here

Das Lied ist aus (Géza von Bolváry 1930)

I have by now seen most of the early Bolvarys, but this is by far the best, and the best of the so-called "Vienna films", surpassing in my opinion even Maskerade. The scriptwriter Walter Reisch himself called this one of the most important German films ever made (quote from Elsaesser's book on Weimar cinema who devotes a whole chapter to this film). The film's setting at first looks like the usual light musical comedy, and there are lots of brilliantly funny and frivolous scenes, but the overall tone is darker. Willi Forst plays a former Guards' officer down on his luck after the war, he's conservative, nostalgic and in the end

Spoiler

fails.

[matrixschmatrix]

I watched Pépé le Moko tonight, and I was really impressed in a number of ways at once.

First, and maybe most unavoidably, it's fascinating as a French-made portrait of Algiers- one which is so opposed to the sense of French colonial rule that it felt as though it prefigured The Battle of Algiers more than once, from the mention of calling in the army, to the fact that Pierrot is a deserter, to just the sense of the Casbah as something that can't be touched by the machinery of French government. It really strongly made the point that this place was fully functional and even multicultural, but not at all part of anyone's dominion. While it centers mostly on French expatriates, and doesn't give the few native characters particularly admirable roles (though I'm not sure of where to place Inés either culturally or in terms of how admirable she is), it nonetheless avoids the problematic attitudes that a lot of movies designed around 'exotic' locations have. It never feels like the Casbah is the heart of impenetrable darkness, or the Europeans have become better at being Arabs than the Arabs, or like the city is all just pretty backdrop to set an exotic story in- it's a real place, and if the French can fit in, it's because real places have room for any number of different types of people.

Moreover, while Gabin is desperate to get out, it's also clear that part of him is in love with the place- it's not Casablanca, where the location is a waystation from one place to another and exists largely as a setting. Gabin's reasons for wanting out- and his attraction to Gaby, which would normally seem abrupt and unreal- are the alienation of an unwilling emigrant, longing for home. It's layered throughout the movie, but oddly the most powerful expression is from Carlos's wife- she is alienated from her home and from the past where the version of herself she loved more is trapped, and her song is a pointed reminder that everyone always longs for somewhere or something else.

There were a few scenes I was particularly struck by-

Spoiler

When Pierrot is brought back to face Régis, the scene becomes almost expressionistic- the cuts to extreme closeups of the one gangster's face are particularly unsettling- and what would otherwise be a throwback to silent cinema is heightened still more by the unsettlingly contrasting happy music that is playing. The businesslike approach to the brutality, there and in Pépé's fairly shocking form of suicide, is a startling reminder that we're not having our hands held by the Production Code.

No question this will be on my list- I think Gabin might wind up beating Dietrich as my most frequently included actor- and I'm anxious now to see more Duvivier. (Shame the print on the Criterion is so shitty, though.)

[swo17]

Nice appreciation! Another great moment for me is

Spoiler

Gabin's few moments on the boat at the end before realizing he's to be captured. This to me is the personification of freedom, and only makes the ending all the more tragic.

Allow me to selfishly point you in the direction of my Duvivier post from a couple months ago. There's some good discussion from others throughout that page too. Also, I'm hosting Poil de carotte in the spotlight section.

[matrixschmatrix]

Oh, I'd missed that, thanks.

Pépé is so great obviously that I assumed I didn't even have to mention it. It feels like probably Duvivier's most assured effort. Credit is due all around but much of it has to go to Mireille Balin, who just has one of those faces that when the camera closes in on it you know you're watching a great film.

For some reason, neither actress is listed on Criterion's page, and they're both down near the bottom of IMDB's listing. Until I looked it up, though, I assumed you meant Line Noro- Balin was fine, but Noro carried a huge part of the emotional weight of movie, and she pretty specifically had the kind of face interesting enough to bear the camera's scrutiny.

[matrixschmatrix]

Wow, The Return of Dr. X is awful, weird Bogart role notwithstanding. On the plus side, I'm pretty sure all anything else I watch from that set is going to be way, way better.

[knives]

I actually enjoy it a great deal, but I'm a sucker for that sort of story so my opinion shouldn't be trusted. Dr.X the first is the only stinker in the set for me, but the already mentioned Mad Love and The Devil-Doll are the high points of the set for me.

[matrixschmatrix]

Lord, if Doctor X is worse, maybe I should go ahead and skip that one. Mad Love was amazing, that movie would grace any set, but of the rest I'm perversely looking forward to The Mask of Fu Manchu- sometimes I just want to watch something in appallingly bad taste, and I used to read the Fu Manchu books as a kid (hand before God I thought you were supposed to hate the Englishmen.)