Stanwyck & Lanfield.

I’d thought the file on Sidney Lanfield had long since closed but he turns up as a reference in Ryan Murphy & Ian Brennan’s scandal raking 2021 Hollywood TV Mini Series and, then on You Tube, I discover a beautiful transfer of his hardly ever shown 1938 Barbara Stanwyck weepy Always Goodbye, which proves surprisingly involving.

Way back when I first started thinking about movies, it seemed the real criteria were not the ones I was hearing - preserving the county’s British heritage or whether they were works of art or artifacts or the contribution they made to the proletarian struggle or the employment they provided the noisy local industry lobby...

What appeared more relevant was that the same names, usually directors, kept on appearing on the films that I liked, not just the Cecil B. De Mille - Alexander Korda - John  Ford heavyweights but people who seemed to have no celebrity status. I didn’t realise it at the time but I was formulating my own crude auteur theory. Remember the auteur theory?

A few years later, I got to discuss this with some of those film makers - Jacques Tourneur, Delmer Daves, Cy Enfield - and I found that some had gone through the same process themselves a generation earlier. Andre de Toth admired Leo McCarey’s brother Ray McCarey. Michael Powell had been a fan of Roy Del Ruth.

My notion, not surprisingly, had drawn ridicule from my contemporaries, the Grierson documentary devotees, to be followed by the Sam Fuller adherents. Fuller himself threw confusion into the assembled French fan pack by stating his respect for Herbert Brennon - “Qu’est-ce que ce Herbert Brennon?”

 Lemon Drop Kid - Bob Hope & Lanfield.

To the In-Crowd, one time jazz musician and gag man Sidney Lanfield had been way beyond respectability. I’d be surprised if the more purposeful had seen any of his work but he did the best of Bob Hope’s films. (seems that I and Woddy Allen are the only  admirers of Bob Hope left) I particularly enjoyed a couple of Paramount comedies Lanfield did with Paulette Godard - Standing Room Only and The Lady Has Plans. The university film group had a palace revolution, took my suggestion and slapped on The Lady Has Plans and that one proved a hit with what passed as a sophisticated audience in nineteen fifties Australia - which I felt made a point.

Well that was then and this is now, though Sidney Lanfield’s sustained association with popular entertainment meant he did keep on popping back into view. He did the first Basil Rathbone Sherlock Holmes and had Fred Astaire and Rita Hayworth as leads. Even after he scaled down into series TV, he directed the 1960 The Man in the Pit episode of John Casavetes’ landmark Johnny Staccato, the series where the studio executive prompted “John, John, you don’t get the idea. Your program is just a twenty five minute interval between the commercials.” I handled a copy of Follow the Sun. (Glenn Ford as golfer Ben Hogan) which I’d thought of it as production line entertainment when I’d seen its first run, and was surprised to find how effective it remained.

So I dialed up Always Goodbye, which proved to be a remake of the Fanny (“Back Street”) Hurst story Gregory La Cava did as Gallant Lady with Ann Harding five years earlier - and to anticipate Now Voyager.

It also was unexpectedly touching for something so obviously synthetic. The plot is played out in studio settings that never convince us they are real streets, offices, homes or ocean liner and the support are painstakingly effaced to focus attention on Stanwyck’s noble suffering - which she manages impeccably - her performance is the film and everyone knew it.

Interestingly Cesar Romero and (surprise) Lynn Bari (“Women can’t fool women”) wouldn’t go along with the gag and manage to resist erasure.

Babs is found in the back projected N.Y. street, waiting outside city hall for her husband to be, who is promptly wiped out in an off screen traffic accident. That leaves her with the problem of the baby. Fortunately, globe trotting Herbert Marshall happens to be sitting on the pier, which she intends throwing herself off, and whisks her to a spot in Binnie Barnes’ fashion house - where she thrives.

She has followed developments with adopted out young Johnny Russel (particularly bratty) whose new mum dies (off screen again) leaving new dad Ian Hunter (the men are so nice and so British) to raise the kid.

Always Goodbye - Stanwyck

On assignment in Paris, our heroine meets the boy at the Ritz and immediately signs up to ship on the Normandy on which he’s traveling back to the ‘States with admiring Italian (!) aristocrat Romero pursuing her - comic routines in the ship’s giant no sky pool and him chatting her with “You are more beautiful tonight than you were this afternoon” lines. She reads the kid “Little Black Sambo” which appears to grate with some modern sensibilities.

Marshall has taken a lab technician spot in New York to be near her but Hunter’s ambitious fiancée Bari admits she plans to ship the kid off to military school, making way for a kind of bitter sweet ending. Babs has the stars. Let’s not ask for the moon.

The saccharine material is spaced with passable comedy and lots of good living. Lanfield runs the show deftly even with peculiar touches like Hunter, who was the only one to show up on location, cycling up on back projection before we cut to doubles distant joining his character in his park-like grounds. It's like the two Bette Davises walking side by side on the process stage in Curtis Bernhardt’s 1947 A Stolen Life. It doesn’t convince but we admire the effort that went into that.

This one plays so well I kept on wondering why it was never re-issued. It made me curious about another Lanfield-Stanwyck collaboration which had been on You Tube as long as I can remember without my investigating it - Red Salute /  Her Enlisted Man Her / Her Uncle Sam, from Edward Small (The Donat Count of Monte Cristo, T-Men). This one was on the face of it more promising with its remarkable for 1935 Hollywood premise - General Purnell Pratt’s daughter Stanwyck engaged to Hardie Albright,  a radical on a visitor’s visa (freedom of speech, get it) outraging her dad who ships her South of the border, from which she plots her return to Washington, complicated when the roulette wheel swallows her last five dollars.

Serving soldier Robert Young finds himself involved in her schemes becoming A.W.O.L. when she commandeers Cliff Edwards' over-insured jalopy and trailer and runs the American border.

Best element gets to be Edwards enjoying finding himself in a chase with the border patrol, which provides the excitement he never had in the war and gets him away from wife, surprisingly strident Ruth Donnelly. He gets to sing “I Wonder Who’s Kissing Her Now” on back projection at the wheel.

Disappointingly the political content is limited to Babs parroting a few slogans and Bob sorts out the Albright problem by turning the student rally he is addressing into the Forum Scene from “Julius Caesar” for an ending. Hollywood was jittery about depicting left wingers at this stage, though I do like He Stayed for Breakfast, made in 1940 when the political climate had shifted and Loretta Young finds Bolshevik Melvin Douglas in her bedroom, demanding how he got there to be told “I once organised the locksmiths.” The relationship between General Pratt and Young is more interesting, switching mid-scene from officer and subordinate to father and potential son in law and back.

It wasn’t till the nineteen seventies and films like Bound for Glory and Reds that we’d see the 1930s Left treated convincingly.

Red Salute is more an It Happened One Night rip-off than serious argument and the two elements compete unsatisfactorily. Edward Small musters reasonable production values with Lanfield pushing it along relentlessly - going from something moving to something moving on the edits. A comparison with Always Goodbye shows how much Zanuck's massaging the elements before and after shooting determined the quality of Fox product. Sidney Lanfield, who associates dismissed as “a front office director” for calling the bosses for decisions, fitted into that scheme perfectly and they got superior results through collaboration. Few of his contemporaries could do that as well.

This was a model for "The Golden Years" of Hollywood and, while it was rarely going to create masterpieces, it did produce the flow of agreeable entertainment that distinguished the era. Talent more prestigious than Sidney Lanfield often fell below the standard of The Lady Has Plans and Follow the Sun. I'd enjoyed those and still do - but I'm not sure whether the Hollywood series reference was admiration or just picking out a name that was too obscure for anyone to worry about.

Wake Up and Live - Ben Bernie, Lanfield, Walter Winchell & Jack Haley.

 

Barrie Pattison 2022

 

Perverse.

Time was a movie was a story that you saw in a theater for around ninety minutes, made in or for Hollywood with a couple of recognisable stars speaking English. After more than a century, this basic film form has gone away or at least taken refuge on a streaming site - Clint Eastwood and Cry Macho.  It’s become quite a change of pace to watch a new theatrical release. I did two and both turned out to be attacks  on the traditional feature form.

Dominik (Seules les bêtes / Only The Animals) Moll’s new La nuit du 12 / The Night of the 12th. though it has familiar crime movie ingredients - a (grisly) murder followed by a police investigation, forensic examination, interrogation of suspects & disturbing revelations - aims at something more than the grown up variation on the cop movie that it appears to be. As it progresses, it becomes clear that we are  not watching even something like the apparently similar Arnaud Desplechin Roubaix, une lumière / Oh Mercy!

Capt. Bastien Bouillon’s police judiciaire move in, out ranking the small town Grenoble gendarmes, to investigate the night time burning alive of young Lula Cotton-Frapier. Catching sight of her photo with a kitten halts Bouillon in the middle of telling her parents about her death. Examining the girl’s phone and talking with friend Pauline Serieys, to whom she made her last call from the park where she died, leads to stories of promiscuity and sexual violence and tracking down old flames, several of whom end shackled in the interrogation room.

The Squad have problems of their own. They can’t keep the toilet clean and their printer keeps on breaking down. Roughing up suspects doesn’t present the expected outcomes. Bouillon works out his issues cycling on the velodrome track, like a hamster wheel as veteran Bouli Lanners, the film’s most familiar face, prompts and Lanners is sleeping on the lunch room couch after a marital break up.  Their investigations only produce shadowy figures. 

Three years later Judge Anouk Grinberg  (Bertrand Blier’s 1997 Mon homme and still looking good) digs the case out of the file-covered desk she inherited, injecting more funds, but the new stake-outs and hidden camera investigations don’t go as expected. Arab girl recruit Mouna Soualem’s dialogue with Bouillon shows an attitude that his more seasoned colleagues lack - a fascination with piecing together the facts of their investigations, more appealing to her than easy promotion.

La nuit du 12 - Grenoble memorial.

She and Grinberg are, as we might expect, the film’s most sympathetic characters. However this is not a re-run of current bloke bashing, despite indicators - “Most crimes are committed by men and most cops are men”, the squad ridiculing the young member’s belief in romance, Lanner’s disaster marriage or even Judge Grinberg’s dismissal of Bouillon’s jokey move on her - “Ne faites pas des bêtises!”  

Night of the 12th’s interrogations and cop conversations serve to illustrate  Grinberg’s assessment that current society is alarmingly distorting the way men and women relate -  violence endorsing rap songs, a lover who gets the giggles, sado-masochistic couplings and crazy idealisation. Even the loving family failed their daughter. When Grinberg’s character articulates this view, Moll is spelling it out for us - very bluntly German that - though the film is set in remote Grenoble and spoken in French.

Rather alarmingly, the published notices don’t seem to get it and they express dissatisfaction over the police procedural developments which we are shown, with deliberate emphasis, are not the point of the piece, even to the extent of a totally anti cop-movie conclusion.

Production values are modest - austere, effective film making and vivid performances. I’m not sure that Moll and his lot have completely solved the problems of going off tradition but Night of the 12 is still a class act.

The new English See How They Run is also a police investigation piece but it’s on the way to being polar opposite, jokey and with no pretense to realism. However a close reading proves it also is an attack on traditional form.

I homed in on this one because it shows the environment I shipped into. It is set in fifties London, still post war drab, where Agatha Christie’s “The Mousetrap” is celebrating its hundredth live performance.

While there, I’d been cutting room junior on an Agatha Christie movie.  Writer (the novels that produced the Juliette Greco Whirlpool and the Jack Palance Ten Seconds to Hell) & films (the Dr. Kildares), Laurence P. Bachmann was studio head. He came back from a conference with the author where she had admired the cannon mounts being used as set decoration and asked for one for her garden. Larry Bachman observed “She must be tired of firing from the hip.” I was the only one who laughed.

With See How They Run the indicators are there from the start with a voice-over that uses what sound like one of those terrible American accents, RADA actors were proud of, until we realise it’s Adrian Brody as a blacklisted Hollywood director, nailing the voice perfectly. He’s been hired to adapt the play as a movie, though they can’t go into production till six months after the end of the first theatrical run. Pretty soon we get Haris Dickinson doing a mean take on Richard Attenborough, all chummy seriousness of purpose that doesn’t quite ring true, and Reece Shearsmith as John Wolf. The’re among the murder suspects that returned WW2 veteran Inspector Sam Rockwell and constable Saoirse Ronan (particularly winning at mixing gormless and conscientious) are investigating under the personal supervision of Commissioner Tim Key. Nice to find Shirley Henderson turning up unexpectedly and is that John Cleese unbilled, as one of the on-stage cast?

See How They Run - Rockwell & Ronan.

In with the farcical complications, the film has incidentals that give it surprise conviction. The shadow of WW2 hangs over it. There’s a glimpse of Rockwell as a separated dad hobbyist turning out a home jigsaw for his children. We get plausible period detail helped by shooting in locations like the Savoy and the real theater which were empty under Covid restrictions. This gets to be a distraction - where is that back street Soho pub? How come James Wolf’s office has posters for The African Queen and Pandora and the Flying Dutchman which the real Wolf produced, next to one for the Mankiewicz No Way Out with which he had no known connection. I never met Wolf and have no idea whether he was actually doing his black P.A. but there were only a couple of balcklisted directors working in England at that stage (Edward Dmytrick had purged his guilt and Sam Wanamaker was still acting) and it’s far fetched to imagine serious minded Joe Losey or Cy Enfield showing up with a story board of a car chase and shoot out they proposed to introduce into an adaptation of “The Mousetrap”. As here, Losey did work with a West Indian writer, though.

Brody’s original exposition had him expressing contempt for the Agatha Christie conventions he’s called upon to use, the same ones we see being played out as the film progresses, in all their fake intensity - finding the body, interviewing character actor suspects, the mystery woman in Brody’s little red book, a gathering at the country house with the realisation that suspects are now potential victims.  

I’ve always been uneasy with the notion of Agatha Christie, something that is at once simple minded and deeply perverse, as suitable mass entertainment. René Clair made the only Christie adaptation I enjoy, casting comedians playing the characters straight, which gave And Then There Were None just the right note of artificiality. I don’t think any of the people I was working with had ever seen that one - maybe star, the endearing Margaret Rutherford.

 

The substance of See How They Run is that it is a critique of the Christie industry, which is still with us in the Branagh adaptations, just like The Night of the 12th, hoeing into the policier conventions. I’d like to watch See How They Run double billed with the Michael Apted 1979 Agatha, offering Vanessa Redgrave as an unbalanced version of the writer.  

I'd guess it's no accident that two substantial new theatrical releases feature passages that dismiss the films that precede them - Grinberg's analysis and Brody's voice over. Both films are saying that a twenty First Century audience needs to be fed something more aware.

Barrie Pattison 2022.

PORDENONE 2022.

This year’s Pordenone gionate del cinema muto came down the wire right on message, airing silent movie material that would have been inaccessible without them and in presentations doing justice to the materials - a big tick for that. Only part of the schedule was put out on line and on-the spot participants describe pleasures denied us fifty dollar Web viewers. That's actually a pretty good deal but I miss getting all the Norma Talmadge season, not to mention the gelato & pizza and the face to face with that informed audience a dozen of which could be glimpsed watching the live discussions without their Covid masks . 

Reports were particularly enthusiastic about the Talmadge event. I’ve been a fan for the sixty years plus since I located that nice original of Sidney Franklin’s The Safety Curtain in the local Kodascope Library and foisted it on the Sydney Film Society, which would have been much happier with something that got at least a mention in “The Film Till Now”. (“Aw, come to the previews, folks!”) 

There she was lively and teenaged with Maurice Costello among the Costermongers in the 1912 Vitagraph one reeler Mrs. 'Enry 'Awkins. Her vehicles as star/producer were a different matter. 1920’s Yes or No turned out to be a formula morality telling its target audience that the path of virtue earns rewards for women despite dastardly seducers tempting them.

Blonde 5th Avenue society hostess Norma is neglected by stock broker husband Fred Burton, facing a heart attack for all his efforts to keep her in luxury. She draws the attention of lounge lizard with black lip make up Lowell Sherman “a specialist in the art of entertaining neglected wives.”

Over on Third Avenue, brunette Norma struggles in a cramped flat while her husband Rockliffe Fellowes does overtime on the (real) factory floor. Brother in law, a young Ed Brophy, gives her kids lessons in table manners.  “Eat yer food. Don’t kiss it!” Lecherous border Gladden James eyes dark haired Norma who’s complaining “I ain't been outside for a month.” Lively (third) Talmadge sister Natalie, who married Buster Keaton, provides a link as the socialite’s maid and worker mum’s sister.

Rockliffe draws inspiration from his wife’s chores and invents a hand tumbler washing machine. Called to a sales meeting with his sister in law’s suitor Dudley Clements, he leaves Norma Mark II to James who takes the opportunity to put moves on her (inset close up of his hands turning and pocketing the door key) with Rockliffe coming home just as the screen is filling with “No” titles. He dumps the low-life over the banisters and the couple live happily ever after.

However Norma One gives in to Sherman, causing her husband to succumb to his ailment. This leaves her in her dove-infested country home, learning that Lowell will never marry her, and he foils her attempt to take him out with her boxed pistol.

The film’s big question is “Which is worse - a woman who has love but no marriage or a woman who has marriage but no love?” Well, we’ll all ponder that one. The film’s one selling point is Talmadge’s attractive and nicely differentiated double role.

I saw it as a letdown, when it’s the earliest accessible effort of director Roy William Neil, whose Sherlock Holmes and Boris Karloff movies enlivened the double features that were my first experience of the movies. Cameraman Ernie Haller (Gone With the Wind, Blues in the Night) is already on top of his game - even though that looks like back focus in one scene and the opening titles wobble.

Also starring Norma Talmadge, 1925’s The Lady just proved what a bad idea it was to turn Frank Borzage and Frances Marion loose on the same project, a Madam X rip off in the first place.

A gracefully aged Norma is recounting her hard life to forgotten Australian co-star Malcom McDermot (He Who Gets Slapped, The Torrent) in the seedy bar she owns, when drunken WW1 Tommy Walter Long (Birth of a Nation) is out to make trouble. We learn about her previous triumph in The Halls, where she spurns the top hat toffs at the stage door for upper-class suitor Wallace MacDonald, one of the first movie stars, later Buck Jones’ side kick and a producer at Columbia. His mean dad Brandon Hurst has tracked them down and disinherits Wallace after failing to buy off Norma, flourishing her little band of gold.

The Lady - Talmadge and McDonald

The young couple set off for Monte Carlo (shaky process sky) where Wallace rapidly burns his billfold of notes at the tables and encounters his former privileged class squeeze Paulette Duval. She now proves more alluring than “guttersnipe” Norma, who ends staggering round studio Marseilles, where she collapses in Emily (the Joseph Schildcraut Show Boat) Fitzroy’s sordid bar with all its multi racial vice girls. Emily takes her in to deliver her baby but disdainful Mudie arrives with a court order to remove his grandchild from this low life environment. Distraught, Norma ships the baby through the back door with adoring minister’s wife Margaret Seddon (also on show in Just Around the Corner) never to be seen again, rather than let Mudie ruin him the way he did her late husband McDonald.

Soon we find Norma become a flower lady in London (one Hansom cab, two bicycles) peering at boys who she suspects of being her lost son. Old Music Hall associates Doris Lloyd and later director Alf Goulding don’t recognise her. As years go by, she inherits Fitzroy’s bar where (is that an uncredited?) Mischa Auer’s Apache dance is the entertainment. Long gets out of hand and is shot by young British Tommy George Hackathorne. Finding his name tag, Norma recognises her lost child and takes the blame but the kid has too much backbone to let a woman pay for his actions.

The plot is unalloyed weepy and the distinguished participants can’t make it fly. William Cameron Menzies was a regular on producer Schenck’s films but his best effort here is one Marseilles street with curved steps. Tony Gaudio will later film the Errol Flynn Robin Hood and Editor Hal C. Kern will cut Rebecca. The film does show Talmadge doing her glamorous but tormented act impeccably and give a glimpse of all this big league Hollywood talent running up to speed but I’m left nostalgic for The Safety Curtain.

 

Frances Marion is always touted as an example of female success in silent Hollywood, a high priced screen writer who also directed two movies. With the current interest in that profile, her little-seen 1921 William Randolph Hearst production of Fanny (“Back Street”) Hurst’s Just Around the Corner was offered.

“What bitter cruelty, what deep tenderness are hidden in the depths of a great city” Marion’s title assures us. Established by shots of those familiar New York street markets, we are shown that just around the corner, over a Chinese restaurant, single mother Margaret Seddon has raised her now adult children, bouncy uniformed messenger Lewis Sargent and his sister - Sigrid Holmquist, “the Swedish Mary Pickford" in her first US role. Her health failing, Seddon is tended by the children giving her castor oil.

Holmquist slaves away in a sweat shop turning out artificial flowers (close up of a real worker’s practiced hands) with take-home assignments to avoid labor laws. Sargent gets into an argument with the mean boss but Holmquist finds a new job with friend Peggy Parr as an usher at the Appollo Theatre - pity we don’t see more of that. This brings her into contact with Ticket Scalper Eddie Phillips, who takes her to a “Swell Sixty Cent Restaurant” but refuses to meet mother Seddon, causing alarm at the prospect that the pair might kiss before setting a date for the wedding. 

In the winter night, it seems that Seddon will breathe her last and her one wish is to meet her daughter’s beau but Phillips claims an important business meeting. He can’t be dislodged from the pool hall. Struggling with no coat through the snow Holmquist attracts the attention of a passing stranger who is stirred by her plight and impersonates the missing boy friend.

It’s hard to relate this treacly effort to Marion’s great, realist The Big House script. It’s more like her tear jerking The Champ. Just Around the Corner could plausibly have been attributed to that film’s director, King Vidor with its polished handling and intense feel for setting. It has the location exteriors that Yes or No needed - market stalls, deep snow in the streets that a tram plows through, the siblings peering into the window of the flap jack cafe where the chef is at work while pavement activity continues behind them. There’s also a dance marathon. Marion had mastered the craft aspects of direction.

While this appears to be an unfamiliar cast piece, we can find Eddie Phillips in Lonesome, neighbor Rosa Rosanova in Frank Capra’s The Younger Generation and Lewis Sargent was a 1920 Huckleberry Finn. The benevolent stranger is no less than lay preacher Fred Thompson who Marion married and made over into one of the last great silent cowboy stars. This curiously is the one time I’ve seen him in a movie.

The copy was attractively tinted and Stephen Horne did a sterling job of syncing to the on-screen restaurant piano player.

 

The event’s other program theme,  Ruritanian films, threw up Ubaldo Maria Del Colle’s 1912 Sui gradini del trono / On the Steps of the Throne with elements of frock coat melo, Prizoner of Zenda, Man in the Iron Mask  & Mayerling mashed up.

Heir to the throne of Silistria (read Ruritania) Prince Wadimiro / Alberto Capozzi has eyes for Countess Olga but the evil Regent wants the Royal to marry his daughter and, when that doesn’t work out, he dispatches Wadamiro to Paris. There he attends the cabaret where “the little dancer” Taïs, gets his attention with her Hall of Mirrors number. The regent’s Top Hat and black frock coat agent, given to silent movie gestures, locates the Crown Prince lookalike in the Tango outfit and lures Wadimiro into the room with the trap door trap under the mat, dropping him into the cellar where the mustachioed guard is to dispatch him with a barrel of gun powder. However Taïs relents and cuts our hero loose to overpower the guard and drop the villainous agent through the trap door into the blast.

Back in Silistria, the double is getting to enjoy the Prince part, shuns Countess Olga and disposes of her fencing master dad. The impostor is about to celebrate marriage to the Regent’s daughter when Wadimiro shows up and overcomes the dastard with the aid of loyal troops, claiming Olga. What happens to Taïs?

Film form is creeping into this mainly wide shot staging - the (one) foreground doorway, a few close ups - the photo of Olga, the giveaway scar on the wrist. Mainly however it’s over-decorated studio interior wide shots. Portly Capozzi is at first a rather unappealing leading man but he differentiates the doubles nicely and has the striking quick change act where he exits the frame with the co-star left to strike attitudes while he changes outfit and comes back as his second self from the other side. Reasonable ambition for its day, it all manages to hold attention. The tinted copy had frame line problems.

The baggy uniforms are notably less imposing than the ones for MGM’s Ruritanians, looking more like the outfits the real military wear in the 1912 Montenegrorian parade short Dalla Villa Reale DI Rjeka which accompanied the Pordenone showing and were probably turned out by the same military tailors.

I certainly more enjoyed inventive Hal Roach two reeler Rupert of Hee Haw burlesquing “Prisoner of Zender”, joke-credited to “The Prisoner of Zebra.”  

In the court, prince Stan Laurel borrows a sentry’s musket to shoot the bird in the cuckoo clock. When he sneezes the retainer’s hat lifts, comic uneven sword fight, the Our Gang kids line up to cheer his appearance and commoner Stan (no split screen) menaces his domination. Mrs. Stan is a Princess.

Drab settings, good pace. Clever gags keep coming at a faster rate than the later films with Oliver Hardy.

Profanazione, Eugenio Perego’s dis-spiriting 1924 weepy, goes some way towards filling the gap in our knowledge of Italian film in the mid twenties. Star Leda Gys otherwise got to play the Virgin Mary and marry producer Gustavo Lombardo. Here she suffers through implausible disasters in a variety of unbecoming hair styles.

Capozzi

Traveling for an overseas commitment, her diplomat husband Luciano, (Alberto Capozzi now back from On the Steps of the Throne mature) leaves Gys in the care of her brother, locking the money borrowed from the diner suit wearing financier in a box. Alberto however discovers that his creditor hungers after Gys and sends instructions that the debt be immediately repaid. However, his brother in law has gambled the money away. Selling Gys’ jewels will not raise the sum required.

When a messenger comes to collect, Gys goes to the lustful financier and, out of frame with implausible speed and no undressing, he has his way of her. The family doctor assures her that she is pregnant. She produces two girls, one  by Capozzi and one by “l’uomo odiato”(?) who is tortured by the need to see his child.

Returning husband Capozzi is unaware of the situation. We however get some ham fisted symbolism when the children’s pet bird returns to the open cage with a companion which the daughters can’t tell apart. Capozzi councils “By loving both you will certainly love your own.” (get it!)

Gys

Gys sets out to prevent the dastard’s visit and we cut to the two girls playing with a toy car which falls off the table at the moment their mum and her partner in shame crash down a slope. They are laid out in a cow shed with little hope that the seducer will regain consciousness. He however recovers and, with the encouragement of the attending nurse-nun (“Parla!”), misleads Luciano as to the parentages of the two girls, to ensure sympathetic treatment of his own offspring. The father swallows it and rejects his own daughter while Gys fakes amnesia. The child throws a tantrum, screaming “Volio babbino!” His rejection will kill her. Luciano takes the lesson of the two birds and all ends well.

This thin narrative is played out by the drab, middle aged cast in realistic rich home decors. It’s hard to understand how Signora Gys, got up in twenties fashions with a fish net veil, inspires such passion. The cuts sometimes don’t quite match and the technique is basic - one iris fade. Cameraman Victor Arménise later did Raoul Walsh’s Jump for Glory and Sascha Guitry’s Ils etaient neuf celibataires.

If you grew up with this one and its companion pieces, Ossessione must have seemed realistic and raunchy. The specter still hovers over the Italian Yvonne Sanson - Amedeo Nazzari fifties weepies.

The Profanazione copy was a sharp restoration from a black and white print showing some wear. It was run marginally too fast.

It must have seemed like a nice idea to repeat the one silent film shown at the first Venice Film Festival, Karel Plicka’s documentary Po horach, po dolach / Over Mountains, Over Valleys but this proved a heavy sledding travelogue, kids games and National Dress, not enhanced by showing it had been reproduced through the wrong aperture at one stage.

 

Britain’s Anthony Asquith was privileged, charming and talented and his quarter century collaboration with Terence Rattigan made him the most respected figure in their film industry, as his competitors faded or shipped out in search of the Hollywood dollar. He even headed up the feared technician’s union but business dynamics meant he was continually slogging away on time fillers. He liked The Woman in Question but hated The Net - which I rather enjoyed.

This was happening as early as 1929’s The Runaway Princess, a film which I assumed had vanished. I didn’t catch it in the London NFT Asquith season or a Paris Cinémathèque tribute to British cinema, the pair of which incidentally both provided viewings on his Dance Pretty Lady, now allowed to vanish in the way Hindle Wakes had, though the films were their makers’ best work.

      Christians

A jerky tilt reveals a riverside castle where Princess Mady Christians (Ein Walzertraum, Letter from an Unknown Woman)  is celebrated by an all-girls choir. Her bicycle careers down hill in the woods and she has to be rescued by a tweedy Paul Cavanaugh.

 Determined to escape a planned royal marriage, Mady flees with aged advisor Fred Rains (better trains in The Flying Scot and Manolescu) and sets up in bustling London, determined to get work. A misunderstanding has her doing a brief turn as a fashion model. However court life has left her unprepared for dealing with the outside world and she is soon scooped up in the forgery ring headed by Nora Baring (Cottage on Dartmore, Murder) who remain one step ahead of cop Claude Beerbohm. It’s Cavanaugh to the resue again before we get to the formula happy ending. 

Despite a split director credit, Pordenone’s researches indicated the film was in Asquith’s hands. He pushes it along briskly but we sit there waiting for the jokes which, when they arrive - Mady as a fashion mannequin on roller skates - are pretty feeble.

The film’s one real asset is the winning turn by Christians, with Baring’s contrasting fraudster the only other one to register as more than stock British support.    

 

Swindler George Manolescu’s memoirs seem to have proven irresistible to filmmakers with Conrad Veidt appearing in a 1920 Richard Oswald version, Iván Petrovich in a 1933 George Klaren - Willi Wolf film and Hans Quest's 1972 Manolescu - Die fast wahre Biographie eines Gauners. A couple of the scams we see perpetrated in Viktor Tourjansky’s 1929 Manolescu - Der König der Hochstapler on view here are genuinely ingenious.

This is a movie milestone, the one teaming of Ivan Mozjoukine and Brigitte Helm, both at the pinnacle of their star luster. The scenes where they get physical are arresting though the only nudity is Briggitte discretely revealed in her bath. It’s the last full silent for both, (we can spot the light-up sign for the Vitaphone Noah’s Ark in its London night street shooting) and one of the first films to use process back projection, here ingeniously in a negative trial dream where only a panel with Mozjoukine is positive.

We kick off with the Eiffel Tower fog bound, while the gendarmes roust a clochard trying to sleep on a bench and top-hatted Ivan is introduced casually among the revelers exiting a night club. But it’s “Adieu Paris” now that our hero’s Blvd. Haussmann sports club has banned him for not repaying their loan.

Manolescu - Mozjoukine & Helm.

On the same train platform, Brigitte is farewelling her low-life lover Heinrich George (Metropolis’ spanner waving foreman), who climbs into her carriage, when he spots the police waiting for him, but exits trackside, as the train pulls out. The cops institute a compartment search, which will reveal Brigitte who has already caught Ivan’s attention, though she gives him the cold (but glamorous) shoulder. To escape their interest, she shelters in Ivan’s sleeping compartment - putting the forces of the law off but leading to a reluctant coupling.

At the Monte Carlo platform, she sends our hero off to get the umbrella she left on the train but scarpers while he goes back for it. It's mix from the wheels of the cab to the roulette table and Ivan spots her in the foyer of the hotel where she plans on meeting Heinrich. Ivan buys an umbrella from the concession and offers it. Banished to the room's balcony, he notices the woman in the next suite, hiding her cash box in the dresser.

Brigitte tells our hero that he will not be able to support her in the manner to which she has become accustomed and he remembers the cash box, starting their troubled life of crime in European capitals, while her would-be admirers like Harry Hardt accumulate in luxury cafes or the theater where girls in baskets are lowered among streamers onto the stage.

The Paris police have collected a dossier of Ivan’s false identities - the photos happen to be characters from other Mozjoukine films.

Heinrich comes out of The Joint, where the warder patrols in the corridor between the prisoners & visitors. The former lover tries to reclaim his interest, leading to a “Canaille” exchange of insults and a soso punch out. Recovering in hospital, Ivan attracts attention from Sister Dita Parlo no less! Brigitte takes a dim view of this and, when nurse and patient do a blissful alpine recuperation, Brigitte sends a couple of menacing pursuers, flashing the police badges under their lapels, to the chalet where the pair are celebrating Xmas. The stern faces soften when the representatives of the law see them and they allow Ivan a tearful final drink before carrying him off into the nocturnal blizzard with Dita following under cranked, swearing to wait for him.

Brigitte tells Heirich she has betrayed her lover - her shadow on the wall doubling her gestures.

Helm and Mozjoukine are right on top of their game, expressions and body language conveying a barrage of emotions. Even the lustrous Dita Parlo is eclipsed. The playing and late silent film technique are so accomplished that we are left wishing for a stronger plot to house all these busy city-scapes, shadows & mirrors, conspicuous consumption and Brigitte flinging herself about in her cloche hats and sleeveless René Hubert outfits, as Karl Hoffman’s camera glides among the convincing Herlth & Röhrig studio constructions - even if they do have trouble keeping focus in the track-ins. A presentable copy did this justice.

My unreliable forty year old memory of being one of the single figure three o’clock midweek afternoon viewers at Langlois' Cinémathèque, is of a less physical train sequence playing the leads unedited in wide shot - the best thing in the production.

 

Ragnar Hyltén-Cavallius’ Swedish 1928 Majestät schneidet Bubiköpfe / Hans Kungl. Höghet shinglar / His Majesty the Barber started like it will be another Lubitsch rip-off. The treatment of Maria Paudler being bobbed, shingled and cropped to get barber Enrique Rivero’s attention is as cruel as the routines in Trouble in Paradise and That Uncertain Feeling. However this one develops into an original and rather winning rom com.

Newly graduated from Upsala-U, Enrique Rivero comes back to the small town, where his foster dad Hans Junkermann is the barber, in time for Midsummer’s Eve Festival. Count Julius Falkenstein is being pushed as a suitable suitor for young Brita Appelgren by her rich, overbearing mother Karin Swanström. The girl is dismissive, saying she won’t settle for anyone less than a king and is actually interested in Rivero though they keep on having comic misunderstandings - getting stranded when his row boat drifts away or her bogus ‘phone call to the Count exposed.

However a three master, from Tirania the old country, arrives sending coded lamp signals to Junkermann now believing his ward is their rightful king, who he has been sheltering since childhood, when there was a revolution among those scimitar waving guys in white skirts, the types we used to see dancing round trees in Greek movies. The ship brings operatives who promise a revolution to restore Rivero to the Thousand Year Iron Crown of Tirania. The trouble is that it takes one thing, “Pengar, pengar, pengar” and who has that kind of money but Swanström.

This looks like working out in the best musical comedy manner, except there’s no music. The design impresses with the locals dancing in circles for the festival, the windjammer where they have continuity problems on the sails unfurling or Swanström’s imposing German studio-built staircase. The development is clever and the touch is light. His Majesty the Barber is a nice example of that superior twilight period of the silent film and leaves you wondering about the dismissed Swedish product of its day. It was generally considered a highlight of the event.

Majestät schneidet Bubiköpfe - Brita Appelgren

Rivero was the lead in Cocteau’s Sang d’un poét and Renoir’s Le bled and just about keeps up with the deft European comic players recruited to back him. Hans Junkermann was Polonius to Asta Neilsen‘s Hamlet. Albert Steinrück featured in Der golem and Asphalt. Cameraman Alex Linblom co-directed Den starkaste, Alf Sjöberg’s first movie. Spot Curt (Casablanca) Bois as a pretender to the Iron Crown.

Pordenone wound up nicely with director E. Mason Hopper’s long lost 1926 film of the once notorious Up in Mabel's Room. This starts, opened out for no particular reason, with the men passengers clustering round the steamer cabin of glamorous Marie Prevost, after a misunderstanding has made her divorce her architect husband Harrison Ford  (the original, refuse all imitations).

 Up in Mabel's Room - Ford and Prevost.

She determines to get him back despite his resolution never to divorce the same woman twice. After what suggests the remains of a first act set in Ford's city office, they find themselves invited to one of those week end parties like the one in Midnight, along with friends Harry Myers, Phyllis Haver, Paul Nicholson and Australia’s own Silvia Breamer (with William S. Hart in The Narrow Trail) and their retainers. Merry japes ensue as Ford attempts to recover the sentiment-embroidered camisole he gave Prevost, which could compromise his engagement to Haver, now wearing the glittery ring Ford borrowed from rejected Mason, to stall Prevost.

Don’t expect any of this to make much sense as the characters in stages of undress scramble through windows, hide in a trunk, behind a screen or under a bed, all variously finding themselves ending up in Mabel’s room. Some of this is agilely staged with aged butler William Orlamond particularly doing routines which got him attention in the original reviews.

Prevost.

In a pattern that persists to the present, the women are chic and jazz-era appealing, while the men work at being dorky. The thick theatrical makeup doesn’t help them. Production is quite drab, even with a lively night club interlude where musician Günter A. Buchwald tried to convince us the band was endlessly recycling “Alexander’s Ragtime Band.” All the effort has gone into showcasing the glamour leads and staging farcical developments at top speed and that works out pretty well.

This must have rocked 1926 audiences, coming after the hit theater run, where I suspect the unfamiliar support perfected their timing. It was followed by the De Mille/Erle C. Kenton rip-off Girl in the Pullman (same plot and leads on a train) and Alan Dwan’s forties re-make, which I always enjoyed. Now- forgotten director E. Mason Hoppper was back to the well with the leads in his version of Getting Gertie’s Garter in 1927.

Well, I sat there reflecting on the fact that I was quite likely the only person in the country trying to psych myself into the frame of mind of the audience that fell about watching this one-time success from scandal. The memory of The ABC’s Television program came back. They'd sent in one of the Willesees to do an item on my archive and he concluded that being interested in past its use-by-date entertainment was ridiculous and put a hatchet job to air. I thought it was dim then but I begin to feel how, without a serious movie community, that can get to be the default position. That's quite disturbing.

Barrie Pattison 2022.

 MORE ITALIAN FILM FESTIVAL 2022.

After a career in documentaries, director Leonardo Di Costanzo has made three fiction feature films, each centering on people with criminal backgrounds which separate them. Ariaferma / The Inner Cage  is more ambitious and more impressive than his 2017 l’intrus / The Intruder which I previously singled out. The new film is more stylistically daring and fields Italy’s two most noted character actors, Tony Servillo and Silvio Orlandi.

We get the 19th century Sardinian San Sebastiano di Sassari building standing in for  the film’s Mortana prison. The shot of the galleries empty and the cell doors open immediately gets attention.

The institution has been closed before the film begins. However the one female character, departing governor Francesca Ventriglia, advises that that accommodation for a dozen of the prisoners is not available and remaining staff will have to look after those, without parcels or visits, until the situation is resolved. The  induction area rotunda is pressed into service - unease all round.

The characters are from stock. Menacing inmates and hard-assed guards, without giving them any special characteristics. They are differentiated by costumes more than plot or mannerisms. However, subtly, uniformed Polizia Penitenzi Officer Servillo and bespectacled Orlandi, coming to the end of his sentence for his never specified crime, assert as the leaders of the two factions.

The crunch point comes with the meals freighted in foil packs from outside. The prisoners reject them and they and the staff watch the situation uneasily - a prison revolt will impact the circumstances of both groups. Orlandi volunteers to use the deactivated kitchen. Servillo will supervise him unescorted.  Silvio’s mushroom dish proves a hit - guards served first - and the one close up I can recall in the film is his appetising meatballs bubbling in tomato sauce.

Ariaferma / The Inner Cage - Tony Servillo & Silvio Orlandi.

Conversation between the two leads has Orlandi suggesting their community which Servillo rejects. “I can sleep at night without regret.” Tensions ratchet up on the return to custody of a young mugger and bringing the elderly child molester out of solitary. A supply problem sends Orlandi and Servillo into the institution’s already overgrown garden, where finally they talk informally and provide the film’s one revelation.

Then for an action climax, the power supply gives out and the disapproving deputy calls in the riot cops from the local caserna to wait in full gear in the corridor outside. The prisoners have to move the tables from the cells for the meal to be served in darkness illuminated only by pressure lamps. Servillo allows the tables to be put together to form a common dining and serving area and the guards and prisoners join a song. This creates a formidable high point.

There’s no doubt that The Inner Cage is an achievement, a peak in the career of leads and director. The tension both from the characters’ apprehensive behavior and our experience of other prison movies has the audience expecting violence and confrontation - a cotello missing from the locked cupboard that Servillo checks each session, with the hanging knife shapes outlined in white paint?

A different movie would have traded in that. What we do get is superior to most of what is in this event or available on the festival circuit. The film making is remarkable with the expert Luca Bigazzi’s images drained of colour. The guards’ black and white outfits mesh with this. Throw in the intimidating historic building and the distinctive regional score and we are half way to a substantial piece before we even get started.

Another of Francesca Archibugi’s twisted family relationship pieces, Il colibrì / The Hummingbird was complex to the point of being hard to follow, as we shift between generations and locations. Clues like a fifties VW Beetle or vintage top ten hits (include “I’ll Be Seing You”) don’t clarify the structure sufficiently.

Il colibrì / The Hummingbird - Bejo & Favino

One more time Pierfrancesco Favino’s character emerges as central at each stage, being thrown off a proving-to-be-doomed aircraft because his teen-aged friend is spooked by the presence of boy scouts, seeking out air line employee erratic Kasia Smutniak believing she missed the same plane over a bone marrow transplant treatment, though his real passion is for the ever appealing Bérénice Bejo, a neighbor become his Paris rendez-vous.

Unethically, Smuniak’s shrink Nanni Moretti shows up in Dr. Favino’s surgery with a warning, about the time we get an unexplained insert of a body hanging on a rock face from an alpinist’s line. We think we’re going to be disappointed when Moretti doesn’t come back but he shows up again and his “La vita” monologue is the film’s highlight. Compare the psychiatrist in Archibugi’s L’albero delle pere. The generation structure of her Marcelo Mastroianni film Verso sera also throws a shadow to this one.

Favino ends raising a mixed blood grand daughter, after his own child, with a thing about being tied to the wall by an invisible line compared to the alpinist’s, drops out. A vindictive colleague plans Pierfrancesco’s ruin at a Chalet Poker game, but that ends reintroducing his own mother’s architectural photo collection and we work round to great aging make ups and assisted suicide.

If that description sounds incoherent, you’ve pretty well got my take on the film. Strong cast and production occasionally command respect.

Not dissimilarly, Supereroi / Superheroes turned out to be an A feature Italian romance from the director of the much cloned Perfect Strangers. We start with mathematician  Alessandro Borghi rescuing strip cartoonist Jasmine Trinca (both in Fortunata) in a down pour. He’s calculated the random odds of them meeting again and helps chance by writing his ‘phone number on the umbrella he gives her but the rain blurs it. Needless to say they become your classic movie romance (“I need her madness”)  despite him having a heart attack attended by his ex, Dr. Greta Scarano, and Trinka’s fling with a colleague.

The novelty is her drawings, her girl character Druscilla cartoons moving to her "Supereroi" comic books where she has sold publisher Beppe Severgnini the idea of  an ordinary couple, represented by drawings of  herself and Borghi  as super heroes, because they deal with the challenges of real life - add touches like showing them simultaneously becoming pregnant (prosthetic bellies feature in the credits). There’s more sparing use of animation, as with her explaining outfitting the new flat as drawn furniture appears in the live action photography. That’s quite nice.

More irritating, the piece is full bottle on a couple of current trends  - dim images and out of sequence time structure, neither of which make it easier to follow. We get a few clues from Borghi, disconcerting the lecture class where he had demonstrated molecular attraction with a giant rubber band, telling them what he’s said about the randomness of the universe is wrong -  and with references to Love Actually!

The cast are all over this one and location filming in Milan and Ponza is attractive but the piece is finally suds classed up.

If you’re actually looking for soggy, there’s Davide Minnella’s La cena perfetta / The Perfect Dinner which the festival organisers pushed vigorously. The foodie subject matter recalls Minella’s  2010 Come si deve.

Pizzeria man Salvatore Esposito (TV Gomorrah) is a lower echelon Naples Camora
soldier, who Don Gianfranco Gallo, "Pasquale the  Knife", doesn’t trust, even before
Esposito lets his boyhood friend  do a runner with the syndicate’s cash, when he
should have brought down the hammer on him.

As a punishment, Esposito’s moved to Rome to run The Blue Woodpecker, an up-market restaurant taken over as “a laundry” to legitimise mob funds - passively complicit like Tony Sevillo in  Le conseguenze dell'amore.  Turns out abrasive Argentinian cook Greta Scarano again was ousted from the place. A couple of things are obvious. The pair are going to become an item and we are in for “food porn” with the meals filmed more sensuously than the sex. There’s even a line of dialogue about the carnality of eating.

Less convincingly, we get the abrasive master chef cliché along with the notion that her superior technique lacks the heart of Esposito’s dead granny’s cooking, something the celebrity critic commented before the mob closed The Blue Woodpecker (cf. Edward Andrews even more implausible podium pronouncements in Youngblood Hawke). Esposito’s teddy bear charm softens Scarano’s rough edges - winning back the offended market fishmonger and finding a spot for the former “chef” whose job was to load frozen meals into the microwaves. We get an appreciative audience gasp when she steps smartly across the room to kiss Salvatore.

There's more detail, like the fact that it takes years of loss-making before top level restaurants earn a Michelin star and go into profit or the nice scene where Rome’s great chefs gather, behind the rolled down shutter after closing, to try one another’s specialties and Esposito’s pasta with potatoes is a hit.

By the time we get to the implausibly happy ending, belief has been suspended in favor of feel good. The film offers one remarkable comic-tense scene (“You’re making a meal for the people who have come to kill you”) with the murderous heavy waving his pistol in front of Gallo, who still insists on tasting the traditional desert he remembers from his childhood. Balancing rom-com and Mafia thriller is a delicate operation which La cena perfetta doesn’t always get right but it is finally winning.

 

Fabio De Luigi registered with the 2011 The Worst Week of My Life cycle as another sad sack Italian funny man. Last time I saw him was in a remake of an Alberto Sordi film, so it's a surprise to find him a few years older fronting the original and stylish E noi come stronzi rimanemmo a guardare / On Our Watch, a kind of grim science fiction comedy.

This one kicks off with De Luigi and the fetching Valeria Solarino  (the I Can Quit Whenever I Want films) getting Hitler mustaches dabbed on so they can join the Nazi choreography at the dance party. This is actually bad taste funny. Of course it telegraphs the downfall awaiting Fabio, when facial recognition rejects him at  the gates to his workplace. He developed the App that has now identified him as redundant, in front of stairs full of his co-workers, and his office space is required to put the coffee machine.

On Our Watch - De Luigi and Pastorelli

Already living beyond his means, Fabio has to go flat share on the apartment he bought to tempt Solarino -  less funny sequence of him and the film’s director Pif (The Mafia Only Kill in the Summer) locating one another by satnav when they are standing a yard apart. Professor of Romance Philology Pif moonlights as a professional phone abuser.

In desperation, Fabio signs up with the Fuuber (get it!) bike messenger service created by an English speaking Billionaire who operates out of a tower in Mumbai. Our hero comes to terms with the impossible schedules his mobile gives him as a penalty for not keeping up and he proves inventive, eating the egg plant the customer doesn’t want on her pizza out of her sight to return with it as a replacement. Battered and light up  back packed, he even finds himself delivering to a party with Solarino. However the harness on his rucksack stops opening and, as a replacement costs more than he’s making, he spends the body of the film strapped into it - sleeping and biking. The one consolation is the free trial of a Fuuber Friend hologram projected by his phone. This turns out to be Ilenia Pastorelli, the star of the new Dario Argento movie Dark Glasses. There’s a really nice scene where he has her fly over Roman landmarks.

Comes a moment of truth (and an amusingly relevant citation of  Bicycle Thieves) and Fabio revolts, joins choreographed high rise window washers and attempts a rescue, downing turbaned bouncers, but in his penthouse John Fuuber is all knowing.

This one curiously extends the line of rage against the machines movies like Metropolis, Modern Times and Videodrome and is not outclassed. There’s disturbing plausibility to Pif’s vision of the near future and it’s delivered in a series of striking, manufactured city scape tableaux which lodge in the mind. The cast are similarly superior. Spot still active Maurizio Nichetti (1989’s Ladri di saponette) as a fellow rider.

The director and de Luigi are doing their most mature work and I’m waiting for their next efforts with considerable interest.

Like a lot of fiction film makers turning to documentary, in his affectionate Ennio - The Glance of Music, Giuseppe Tornatore misjudges how much information his audience can absorb and it would take a couple of viewings and some musical training to follow his two hour thirty six minute study of the now late Ennio Morricone. The film asserts that he is the most important film composer of  all time and, while comparisons are odorous, the only one I could back against him would be the long lasting Max Steiner.

Tornatore, who had Morricone score his break through Cinema Paradiso, traces his subject’s home life with a band trumpet playing father and his academic training where he came under the influence of John Cage and started dismantling musical instruments to produce the unfamiliar sounds that we see as a signature.

In a formidable effort, Tornatorre (with his subject on right) has been able to lever his own celebrity status to round up most of  Morricone’s big time associates for interviews - Clint Eastwood and the Leones, Montaldo and Joan Baez, Quentin Tarantino, Roberto Faenza, Dario Argento, David Putnam, Carlo Verdone - the end roller goes on forever.

The most lasting impression comes from incidentals - Petri and Ruggero Mastoianni wanting to track Investigation of a Citizen with the score from Franco Mondo Carne Prosperi’s (“terrible” Morricone incorrectly says) Tecinco de unomicidia / The Hired Gun and they show the scene in B&W, with that music fitting nicely. I hadn’t noticed how Corbucci’s superior Il Grande Silencio is organised round the absence of sound - Trintignant as a mute, the horses’ hoof beats noiseless in the snow. We get Morricone playing trumpet on the church steps at the celebrity wedding.

In a curious way this one became not a film about Morricone but one about my own life, as each of the films cited evoked my encountering it. I'd had my students study Moviola by fitting footage to the Investigation of a Citizen theme. I tracked a showing of the Murnau Tartuffe with Alonsanfan and I still remember walking back across Paris to the the Gare du Nord at three in the morning, after watching the late showing on Sacco and Vanzetti, which got even later because, before starting, the staff had to take time check for O.A.S. bombs in the auditorium, where they’d just played La battaglia di Algeri. Morricone’s “Here’s To You Nicola and Bart” theme was still ringing between my ears. Richard Shickel’s 1973The Men Who Made the Movies Vincente Minnelli portrait was the only other movie that ever did that for me.

Ennio deserves more detailed consideration than it gets in a survey like this. Palace did their best with Peter Dasent’s five musician group playing a live introduction that didn’t sound all that much thinner than the sound the Maestro used a symphony orchestra to produce.

Lord of the Ants - Germano & Lo Cascio.

So the 2022 Italian Film Festival didn’t suggest a great year, even if it did come up with a couple of exceptional films in Lord of the Ants and The Inner Cage. They fielded twenty seven movies of which I managed to get to a dozen. Running it level with Pordenone on line didn’t help. Pasolini bawdy they can keep and I’m also a bit puzzled about how Casanova’s Return, a film about coming back to Venice, made it into their Neapolitan tribute.  While not everything on show was perfect, the event did offer a range of subject matter, setting and talent which it would be hard to match from another source. Subtract these and our experience of cinema would be notably less complete, less satisfying.    

Barrie Pattison - 2022