Review - Dr. Mabuse The Gambler (1922)

January 11, 2025
 
Dr. Mabuse, The Gambler – Germany, 1922
 

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that Fritz Lang’s 1922 film Dr. Mabuse, The Gambler started out as a one of those twelve-part serials that were shown before the main attraction in years gone by. However, knowing Lang’s habit of making episodic films that often stretched to the 180-minute mark and given that the film is presented in two parts, The Great Gambler: A Picture of the Time and Inferno: A Game for the People of Our Age, I’m inclined to believe that the film as it currently stands is the way Lang always intended it to be, which is both a blessing and a curse. More on that later. Also evident is the influence of Louis Feuilade, many of whose own works, such as Le Vampires and Fantomas, dealt with criminal masterminds and the law’s attempts to apprehend them.
 
Dr. Mabuse, The Gambler takes place in Berlin in the aftermath of World War I. Perhaps there is no other place or time for the film to take place, for 1920s Berlin was the ideal setting for a man like Dr. Mabuse to ascend. It was a time when great poverty coincided with great wealth, when, in the ruins and despair of the post-war period, powerful men could manipulate conditions to their great benefit and many people could be lulled into following a charlatan. In Dr. Mabuse, we have an amalgamation of all the great gothic German, cinematic villains of the time: the man of many disguises, the head of the criminal enterprise, the mysterious Rasputin-like hypnotist, and the madman becoming less sane by the minute. That Dr. Mabuse inspires cult-like worship from his followers only adds to his mystic.
 
Early on in the film, Mabuse (Rudolf Klein-Rogge) arranges for the murder of an ambassador to Sweden and the theft of some important trade documents he is carrying. In doing so, Mabuse helps spark a rumor of imminent retaliation, which leads to panic selling on the stock market. In a brilliant moment, we watch as Mabuse surveys his destruction while standing expressionless over the frantic sellers, their mouths agape as their once valued stock tumbles off a cliff. And then just as coolly, Mabuse proclaims himself a buyer, swooping up all of the stock before word of the documents’ recovery can reach the floor of the stock market. The stock ascends as rapidly as it fell, at which point Mabuse declares himself a seller.
 
With such a set-up, one would expect for Mabuse’s ultimate aim to be wealth, yet this does not seem to be the case, for Mabuse, in addition to all of his other pursuits, is in the business of printing counterfeit money. In fact, he has a secret room where five aging blind men sit for hours flipping through stacks of freshly-printed bills. (Just what they eat and how they relieve themselves in anyone’s guess, but I digress.) No, Mabuse, like Bane 90 years later, seems intent on watching the forest burn, on treating the wealthy as if they were his personal pawns to be shifted or removed at will. He’s a man who wants to be the kingmaker and perhaps to even wear the crown himself.
 
Of course, all super-villains need a protagonist, and Mabuse’s comes in the form of a prosecutor named Norbert von Wenk (Bernhard Goetzke), who is tasked with discovering just who is behind a series of mysterious gambling incidents. Assisting him is a well-to-do young man named Edgar Hull (Paul Richter) who is also one of the victims of Mabuse’s schemes and dating Cara Carozza (Aud Egede-Nissen), one of Mabuse’s henchman. We also meet a wealthy countess with the odd last name Told. The countess is unusual, for as much as she seems fascinated by gambling, she never partakes in it. She and the prosecutor strike up a platonic relationship which may have become more if Lang had ever made a direct sequel.
 
Much of the fun of the film comes in observing their game of cat-and-mouse, with Mabuse always a few steps ahead. Of course, we know who the mysterious gambler is, but that knowledge does not diminish the intrigue. Part of this is due to the fact that we know so little about Mabuse and each scene seems to draw us closer to achieving a complete picture of him. And if getting that knowledge means accepting Wenk’s ludicrous jack-of-all-trades persona, then so be it. After all, who’s to say that a prosecutor wouldn’t have the power to call in the military at a moment’s notice? I also found myself playing a variation of Where’s Waldo every time new characters were introduced, for he could easily be the bad doctor in disguise.
 
Like all of Lang’s films, Dr. Mabuse is a visual masterpiece, from its varying interiors to its grungy, shadowy exteriors. At one point, Lang shows one character playing cards with multiple transparent versions of himself; in another, a caravan of nomads walks off a screen and into the real world only to disappear with the snap of Mabuse’s fingers. Toward the end of the film, we watch as the objects hanging on the walls of an almost barren room suddenly become living, breathing creatures intent on toying with Mabuse’s already fragile mind. It’s impressive stuff. Lang also gets an amazing performance out of Kleine-Rogge, who adopts altogether different personas for each of his many incarnations.
 
My problem with the film – and it is not a minor one - is its interminable length, for its 270 minutes are hard to justify. Lang, who wrote the screen play with his writing partner, Thea von Harbou, includes multiple instances of Mabuse’s hypnotic skills at the card table when only two of them could really be deemed vital to the plot. Perhaps an even bigger problem is that the film does not use its length effectively. The movie seems so set on convincing viewers of Mabuse’s skills that it neglects to flesh out many of the other characters. There are no scenes in which we see what would make Cara so devoted to Mabuse, and so little time is devoted to building Wenk’s relationship with Countess Told that their sudden closeness never feels justified. Also, in giving Mabuse so many masks, the character begins to test even the most accepting viewer’s credulity. It’s one thing to accept him as a corrupt doctor and a thief, but then viewers are asked to accept that he’s a master at hypnotism and that his secret weapon, at times at least, is an unusual pair of glasses. We’re then asked to believe that a man who could hypnotize a massive audience simply by looking in their direction has no other way to ward off the police than guns blazing.
 
Much of this criticism applies to the first half of the film, for Lang indeed picks up the pace in the second. However, it does make you wonder how much more compact the story would be if the first half ran sixty minutes instead of one-hundred and fifty or if there had been any follow up to Mabuse powerful line, “Now the world will know who I am!” In truth, they never really do, for just as it seems he’s about to wreak even more havoc on the world, he announces that he’s grown tired of Berlin and intends to pack his things and leave, providing of course that the woman he’s kidnapped and proclaims as his goes with him. Once guess how that turns out. (on DVD and Blu-ray from Kino Classics)
 
3 stars
 
*Dr. Mabuse The Gambler is a silent film.

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Review - The Whales of August

 August 8, 2024
 
Whales of August, The – 1987, US
 

It’s almost a cliché to say of a movie that they don’t make them like that anymore, but in the case of The Whales of August, the saying seems perfectly appropriate, for rarely does Hollywood make serious films about people in what is likely the last stage of their lives. Far more likely is the film about elderly people having one last blast in the land of sin, for who can resist seeing Hollywood’s elderly statesmen getting drunk, taking drugs, and engaging in sex with much younger women? (If you look at the box office results of movies that match that description, the answer is apparently a lot of people, but I digress.)
 
The Whales of August brought together four living legends: Bette Davis, Lilian Gish, Vincent Price, and Ann Sothern. While Davis would make one other film before her death in 1989, The Whales of August would be the cinematic finale for both Gish and Sothern. Price would continue working until 1993, the year when both he and Gish passed away. Rounding out the cast is Harey Carey Jr., who, like Gish, has been appearing in movies since the Silent Era. Put together, those five individuals have just under 700 screen credits, a number I doubt we’ll ever see again in a single cast, especially in an age when A-Listers make far fewer movies than they used to.
 
The Whales of August, based on David Barry’s 1984 play of the same name, is about two sisters, Elizabeth “Libby” Strong (Davis) and Sarah Webber (Gish) who live in their childhood home on Cliff Island in Maine. In the film’s opening scene, we see them as young women running to the edge of a cliff to watch the annual arrival of the whales. There is joy in their expressions, and each one is anxious for her turn looking through the binoculars. The scene is short, but it perfectly exemplifies the innocence of youth and the excitement with which the young greet experiences that they will likely later regard as ordinary. There is a third lady with them. Later, she is revealed to be Tisha Doughty, a lifelong friend of Sarah’s, who later walks with a cane and many of whose actions may have an ulterior motive.
 
When we next see the two sisters, we observe that life has taken quite a toll on them. Libby is now blind, controlling, and bitter, while Sarah is sweet, yet unappreciated. She seems to be constantly at Libby’s beck and call, and her patient expressions are undercut by flashes of frustration. We learn they are both widows, Sarah’s husband having died in the Second World War, Libby’s much later. Sarah wears her emotions on her sleeve, and we feel the regret that she had so little time with her late husband. Watching her, I felt certain that she and her late husband had still been in the honeymoon stage of their relationship when he passed away. On the anniversary of their wedding, she turns a section of her house into a scene from a cinematic love story, even going so far as to fill a vase with a white rose for truth and a red rose for passion – two qualities that her husband had stressed were important in a relationship.
 
Into this domestic powder keg steps Baron Maranov (Price), a Russian emigrant with family ties to the deposed czar. Mr. Maranov is old school, chivalrous, and polite, and at several points in the film, he is referred to as the last living gentlemen. In other words, he is the kind of character who could come between two friends, especially given the loneliness we see in Sarah. He could easily be the villain of the piece, yet Barry wisely elects to make him a sympathetic character, an older man just looking for security and companionship. Consider what life has in store for him if he fails.
 
As I watched the film, I could understand the rationale for each of the characters in a way that I may not have been able to had I seen it in my twenties. I have learned over the years that there are choices we make to stave off loneliness and destitution – we may stay in unsatisfying relationships, remain at jobs we hate, reside in cities we have grown tired of, or put up with the kind of treatment that we may have walked away from in our earlier years. When we’re young, it is easier to start anew, for we’re filled with confidence and vigor. Later, there are other matters to consider, in particular, financial considerations.
 
Director Lindsay Anderson shows great patience as a director. He uses longer takes to give the cast time to flesh out their characters, and he edits conversations in a way that creates the illusion that we are watching a single take. Another important decision that both Anderson and Barry made was not to add flashbacks. We hear of marriages, deaths, and years apart, but we don’t see them. Anderson trusts that the audience will care enough about the characters to pick up the clues for themselves, and it is the right decision. All we need are close-ups of Gish, Davis, and Price to understand what has been lost and what they need to go on.
 
The Whales of August is an insightful film that I expect to remain relevant in the years to come because at some point we will all be one or all of these characters. Sadly, time spares no one. What Anderson has shown us though is that there is dignity in perseverance and that people deserve empathy on this journey. It is telling then that the film ends with Libby and Sarah looking out at the sea for the whales that have not been absent for years. There is still hope, and they will find a way to persevere. (on DVD and Blu-ray)
 
4 stars

Miscellaneous Musings

July 20, 2024
 
On a Missed Opportunity in a “Classic”
 

From 1973 to 1974, the divorce rate in Sweden rose from 2% to 3.3%, a bump many people have attributed to Scenes from a Marriage, Ingrid Bergman’s searing portrait of a failing couple. This is unsurprising. After all, throughout history, movies have cause a rise in the adoption of certain breeds of dogs, the purchase of clownfish, trips to the farthest regions of the globe, and increased sales of previously underselling candy and drinks. It seems logical then that movies would have the power to make viewers reflect on their own lives and question both their place in it and the views they have long held, one of which was that marriage was literally till death do us part.
 
So, what was it that so stirred and disturbed viewers about it? First, a little history. Scenes from a Marriage started out as a six-part miniseries for Swedish television, with each part representing a stage in the re-evaluation of a marriage. When writing it, Bergman is said to have drawn from his own marriages, as well as that of his parents, whom he said he witnessed violently clashing on at least one occasion. The series weekly ran from April 11, 1973 to May 1, 1973, and its audience was said to be mainly woman. The series was then condensed into a film that runs just under three hours, and it is that version that received overwhelming international acclaim in 1974.
 
The first part of both the film and the series begins with a celebration of the type of marriage that it was assumed both men and women wanted. A local reporter is interviewing Marianne and Johan, who have been married for ten years, about…well, it’s not actually clear why they’re being interviewed. Sure, they’re successful and attractive, but they do not seem particularly important to society. Marianne is a divorce lawyer, but so little of the film focuses on that aspect of her life that you could be forgiven for thinking that it’s just another nine-to-five job. The interview focuses on their apparent marital bliss, yet if you watch closely, there are signs of a façade. The body language is tense – when the camera stops clicking, the hand-holding ceases immediately, and while Marianne struggles to express herself, Johan seems more interested in talking about himself than the family. Their children appear briefly for photos, but disappear the moment they have finished playing their roles. Curiously, in the miniseries, after the interview, the interviewer peeks into another room and sees clothes and toys strewn everywhere, a symbolic lifting of the veil.
 
After a long scene involving a dinner with some married friends for whom the term on the rocks seems an understatement, the film begins to explicitly reveal the tension that exists in Marianne and Johan’s relationship and how the marriage has survived partially by sweeping disagreements under the carpet and pretending that doing so makes them go away for good. This segment of the film, the second, exposes universal truths about the impact of childbirth on intimacy and the difficulty of rising in your career after family obligations multiply. In the third part, the affair hinted at in the first two parts is revealed, and we see just how devastating the revelation is to Marianne. We also understand for the first time just how eager Johan is to get out of the marriage.
 
Scenes from a Marriage has been called one of the greatest films of all time by a number of critics. It is a sentiment I do not share, and the reasons for this all have to do with the second half of the film/series. In the fourth part, Johan returns after a year’s absence. At dinner at his old home, he flirts with Marianne while also talking about the problems with his present girlfriend – an age-old, only partially successful seduction technique. For her part, Marianne (in a relationship in the miniseries, but not in the movie) flirts back, but more importantly brings up the issue of divorce. In the end, they sleep together, but neglect to advance the divorce. In other words, he gets what he wants, and she is once again abandoned.
 
The problem with the fourth section is that it begins to make the couple less relatable. Neither of them appears to have any qualms about cheating on someone, and there is little to explain why their bond is as strong as it is after a full year of growth, self-evaluation, and separation. At least it ends as it should, with the re-exposure of Johan as the lying cheat he is, and as Johan drives away, I imagine viewers will find themselves thinking that Marianne has finally learned her lesson. Sadly, this does not turn out to be the case, for in the fifth section of the film, Marianne makes decisions that are not just completely out of character, but that continue the film’s drive to strip her of her likeability. Think about this: Marianne apparently goes to Johan’s office with two things in mind: signing their divorce papers and sleeping with him again to prove to herself that she is over him. And once again, she is in a relationship with someone else when she does this. He goes along with it of course, and afterwards Marianne returns to the issue at hand, divorce. Thus begins the darkest part of the film, a sequence in which Johan’s sudden hesitance leads to violence. The escalation shocks them both, and at the end of the segment, the documents are signed, and every flicker of love has been extinguished.
 
This is where the film should end. The marriage is over. We have seen how ignoring a partner’s needs, not being truthful about marital problems, and not doing what is necessary to keep connections strong can lead to estrangement, loneliness, and even brutality. We have seen how hate can build and aggressiveness can become more likely. And we have seen the final moments of their marriage. Here is where Bergman could have had the movie fade to black and the credits roll.
 
Only that’s not what happens. Instead, we get the final segment. Years have passed, and each member of the former couple has remarried. But here’s the kicker. At some point, they bumped into each other in a movie theater and began what we learn is a rather imperfect and not-entirely satisfying affair. Now imagine that you were watching this on television back in 1973. You would have had a week to digest the jarring conclusion of the fifth part, and you would have been more likely to accept the image of Marianne running behind a tree to steal a kiss with the man who had roughed her up the previous week. In the theatrical version, the viewer is given just seconds – seconds to go from thank goodness that’s over to what? I hope they work it out this time?
 
By continuing the story, the film becomes less about the dissolution of a marriage than an expose on weak individuals whom fate seems intent to keep bringing together in an effort to deprive them of happiness. When the film ended, I did not feel relieved they were together again. Instead, I was filled with disappointment, not just for the characters who seem to have something against joy, but for the weakening of a film whose message had been so strong. It is simply true that some marriage falls apart and cannot be reconciled, but by continuing Marianne and Johan’s story, the divorce loses its power. It does not set anyone free, and any new love or discovery in an inconvenience, a mistake that can be rectified easily with infidelity. It also sends an odd message about domestic violence, seemingly suggesting that time can change a brute into a romantic if you’re just willing to give him a second chance. It’s a terrible message, and it severely weakens an otherwise powerful film. It did enable Bergman to make a sequel, though, so there’s that I guess.

Miscellaneous Musings - June 7, 2024

 June 7, 2024
 
On One of the Strangest (and Most Pointless) Debates in Movie History
 

1997 was a fairly good one for films. The year saw the release of around 246 movies, and it started off rather strong, with Beverly Hills Ninja, Fierce Creatures, and Waiting for Guffman to name just of few of its earliest releases. February was no slouch either, heralding such releases as Absolute Power, Fools Rush In, Vegas Vacation, Rosewood, Hard Eight, and Donnie Darko. And the year didn’t let up after that. Just check out this partial list of movies that hit cinemas over the next ten months: The Game, Tomorrow Never Dies, Love Jones, Ponette, Jim Carrey in Liar Liar, Selena, Chasing Amy, Grosse Point Blank, Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion, the first Austin Powers movie, The Fifth Element, Night Falls of Manhattan, the second Jurassic Park film, Con Air, Temptress Moon, My Best Friend’s Wedding, Face Off, Disney’s Hercules, Men in Black, and Spike Lee’s 4 Little Girls. There was also Contact, George of the Jungle, Air Force One, In the Company of Men, Cop Land, The Full Monty, Event Horizon, G.I. Jane, Two Girls and a Guy, L.A. Confidential, In & Out, The Ice Storm, Boogie Nights, Gattaca, Eve’s Bayou, Starship Troopers, The Wings of a Dove, The Rainmakers, The Sweet Hereafter, Good Will Hunting, Amistad, Scream 2, The Apostle, As Good As It Gets, Titanic, Jackie Brown, Kundun, Wag the Dog, and The Boxer. The beginning of the year also brought with it the re-releases of the original Star Wars trilogy, the popularity of which demonstrated once again just how much those films continued to resonate with audience.
 
Were there controversies? Sure. The special edition of Star Wars initiated an unnecessary debate over whether Han or Greedo shot first and a number of people let out a collective sigh when the alien at the end of Contact turned out to be in the form of Ellie’s father. Donnie Darko divided viewers, and Wag the Dog has such an impact on American politics that when President Clinton took military action in Iraq, he was asked, “Sir, is this just Wag the Dog?” (Strangely, few people batted an eye when it came out that Air Force One does not really have an escape pod.) However, none of those debates has had the lasting power as one involving a remnant of a once mighty ship.
 
Back in 1997, I took my girlfriend to see James Cameron’s epically long film Titanic, and while my ex bawled her eyes out, I let out a hefty sigh. Suffice to say, I was not a fan of the film. In fact, I even went on to create a skit in which I highlighted all of my grievances with the film and even performed it in one of my Chinese classes. So, in the spirit on Shakespeare, Oh, Titanic, how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways. The greedy relic hunter. The old woman who you just know will warm his heart. Everyone sitting in front of said 100-year-old woman so that she can take them back to the Titanic. “I can’t still smell the paint.” The presence of Billy Zane means he’s the villain. His evil henchman-servant. “That water looks pretty cold.” The spitting scene. Of course, she notices there aren’t enough lifeboats on board. “I’m flying!” “I thought you would come to me last night.” (based on what exactly?) We didn’t see the iceberg because we were watching two young lovers kiss. Whose narrating this story again because Rose couldn’t possible know what happened on the other side of the ship. The blatant plagiarism of half of A Night to Remember. And finally, the Titanic as heaven, where Rose spends eternity with a guy she knew for a week and not a guy she met and married over the next eighty years of her life.
 
I realize that is quite a long list of complaints, but notice what is missing. In all my playful critiquing of the film, I never once mentioned whether there was enough space on the door for both Jack and Rose, and the reason is simple - the scene is perfectly logical.
 
Think back for a moment. Jack and Rose has just survived the sinking of the Titanic. To their great relief, they see a detached door floating on the water and feverishly swim over. Rose gets on first because, as adult Rose explains, Jack is a gentleman. Then it’s Jack’s turn. Only his hopes are dashed when the door appears to begin sinking into the abyss. Now remember Jack’s personal code – respect and chivalry. This is a young man who appears willing to jump into the sea after a suicidal stranger, a young man who is as respectful to a group of wealthy individuals just looking for a reason to mock him as he is the jovial inhabitants of the lower deck. Given the possibility of the door not being able to support both of them, his response is instantaneous - he slides into the water and assures her that he’ll be all right. Why should we expect any less?
 
As for Rose, she has fallen in love with a young man who is the polar opposite of her fiancé, and through her encounters with him, her faith in romantic love, chivalry, and destiny have all been restored. Bear in mind, this is a young man who somehow was aware of techniques that enabled them to survive a sinking ship. Why wouldn’t she allow herself to believe that he could also handle the cold water of the Atlantic Ocean until someone came to their rescue, a rescue, I might add, that she likely thinks is imminent.
 
See, the scene makes sense; the controversy, however, has its roots in something else entirely. As with many Oscar winners, time has a way of eroding past support. Titanic, at one time, was the most successful movie in the history of film (not adjusting for inflation, of course), and success like that often breeds contempt. The film also included a career-defining hit for Celine Dion, one that, unfortunately, many people got tired of hearing long before its accolades ceased. In such a situation, it is not unheard of for critics to search for something – anything – that confirms their belief that a “masterpiece” does not live up to its reputation. Star Wars has the location of the control panel for the tractor beam, Citizen Kane has its sled, and, in the eyes of many people, Titanic has its door. And that door has been used to mock and diminish the film ever since the first detractor stood up and exclaimed, “Just move over!” It’s unfortunate really because there’s just so much more to complain about.

Review - The Falls

February 12, 2024
 
The Falls – Taiwan, 2021
 

While watching Chung Mong-hung’s 2021 film, The Falls, I was reminded of something one of my child development teachers remarked, that tears and anger are often the result of an accumulation of frustrating experiences – tough mornings, disagreements with friends, difficulty at work or school – not just the result of what has recently happened. However, there are times in history when the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back is so powerful and unexpected that it has the potential to send people spiraling into the abyss. For some people, Covid-19 was such an event, and The Falls is the first film I’ve seen that attempts to show the impact of the pandemic on both people’s personal and psychological states.
 
The Falls begins with a scene of dysfunction, one that I’m sure many people are unfortunately familiar with. It is a school day, and for Lo Pin Wen (Alyssa Chia), just getting her daughter up and out the door is a momentous task. It should be easier, of course. Her daughter, Xiao-Jing (Gingle Wang), is 18 and a senior in high school, yet their morning is filled with a string of unfeeling inquiries and caustic backtalk. And it only gets worse as the day goes on.
 
At work, Pin Wen receives a double whammy. First, there’s a rather heartless email requesting that all staff members decide how much of a “voluntary” pay cut they receive. Then, as if that weren’t enough, she is informed that one of her daughter’s classmates has tested positive for Covid, automatically triggering home quarantine for the entire class. Pin Wen offers to keep working, but her boss tells her to take some time off. It’s an understandable decision, but it deprives Pin Wen of the one thing that she needs to feel in control of the chaos surrounding her, and without it, her descent is rapid and severe.
 
The Falls could easily have focused solely on the ensuing two weeks, detailing what quarantine is like and how these characters deal with their unwanted joint confinement. Instead, it elects to pivot in a way that allows for Pin Wen and Xiao-Jing to switch roles. Covid gives way to mental illness, and Xiao-Jing must now effectively become the head of the household. Unfortunately, the change is too abrupt, and Xiao-Jing’s sudden maturity seems unexplained. This is a character who, while possibly infected, was so spiteful as to take off her mask while standing close to her mother and tell her to keep away, a move that can only be seen as an aggressive attempt to create both emotional and physical distance. To see her acting kind and responsible so quickly was more than a bit jarring.
 
Hurting the film more is its apparent desire for its characters to resolve problems with very little effort. Need your mother’s financial information? Just make an emotional plea to a bank employee. Have money problems? Just sell your house. Never mind that by your own admission the market is bad. Have low savings? Perhaps you too can live off of NT $40,000 (about US $1,300) a month. Writers Chung and Chang Yao-sheng seem to think that there are easy solutions to everything, and that they can be discovered and dealt with in less than ten minutes of screen time. The result is less a journey of discovery than a series of simple steps.
 
Perhaps the most egregious of these “simple steps” is the notion that people with mental illness can, with enough introspection and awareness, eventually diagnose the source of their problems themselves. Twice in the film characters detail sudden flashes of awareness when developments like those are much more likely to be the result of therapy and strenuous reflection. It is as if the spectre of A Beautiful Mind had somehow taken possession of the writers as they looked for another rapid resolution and made them make the following erroneous calculation, Well, if worked in A Beautiful Mind, it will work here. Fortunately, the scenes in which these revelations are divulged are quite moving, and like Nash, one of the characters has developed a somewhat realistic method of coping with something that she knows is not really there.
 
Other aspects of the film also ring true. Many of the companies most directly affected by the pandemic did in fact either reduce their staff or ask them to take pay cuts, despite already having what can only be considered extremely low salaries, and yes, many workers were indeed asked to choose how much of their salaries they would lose. Given that they were told that the alternative was job loss, was it really a choice, though? More importantly, periods of quarantine were not always times when families came together. Those that were already dysfunctional did not magically come together – For many people, there were more arguments, more drinking, more friction, and even suicidal thoughts. Thus, it is not surprising that Pin Wen and her daughter do not come together during their quarantine. Realistically, their journey takes much longer. Also, I admired the way the film slowly puts the pieces of the mother’s condition together. As a result, we get a remarkable understanding of what leads to Pin Wen’s decline.
 
Still, I can’t help thinking of The Falls as a compromised film. The idea behind it is a promising one, and the two lead characters are fascinating to watch. However, the film’s frequent shortcuts undercut the drama, robbing it of much needed momentum. A better film would have left difficulties unresolved for a time, adding them to other conflicts and raising the stakes for its characters. This one does not. A better film would also not have to rely on a shock ending to make its point, for in a family drama, what resonates is the final state of the family, and that point had already been made. In the end, The Falls is a good film, one about sympathetic characters coping with tragic circumstances. It had the potential to be great, though; it just lacked to attention span to pull it off. (on DVD in Region 3; on Netflix)
 
3 stars
 
*The Falls is in Taiwanese and Chinese with English subtitles.
*The Falls won Best Narrative Film at the 58^th Golden Horse Awards in 2021.

Review - Wild and Woolly

December 3, 2023
 
Wild and Woolly – U.S., 1917
 

It seems strange to admit this, but for most of my time spent watching movies, the career of Douglas Fairbanks had been a blind spot. Sure, I had seen The Thief of Bagdad, but that had been as an avid fan of Anna May Wong, not as one eager to discover one of film’s first superstars, and subsequently, I did not pursue Fairbanks’ other films. My curiosity was eventually piqued by a plot summary of his film The Half-Breed and by Bosley Crowther’s inclusion of Fairbanks’ Robin Hood in his 1967 book The Great Films: Fifty Golden Years of Motion Pictures. While neither of those films earned rave reviews from me, his performances in them were enough to rope me in.
 
John Emerson's Wild and Woolly was Fairbanks’ seventeenth film, and while already a star, he had yet to make the swashbuckling, heroic films that would ultimately make him a legend. However, he was well on his way to establishing himself as a romantic superhero. Just a year earlier, in The Matrimaniac, he (and a reluctant priest) had gone through a series of physical challenges just to be able to marry the love of his life over the objection of her traditional father (a common theme in early silents), and his role in Flirting with Fate had audiences awe-struck upon seeing his physically challenging attempts to elude a hit man he’d regrettably hired to whack him. It may not always have made sense that his characters were suddenly able to do such acrobatic moves, but there’s no denying their impressiveness.
 
In Wild and Woolly, he plays Jeff Hillington, the son of Collis J. Hillington, who, in this film at least, was responsible for taming the Wild West with the railroad. In fact, the film begins with a series of comparisons between the West as it was in the olden days – replete with cowboys, shoot-ups, and wagons - and as it is today – “ruined” by technology. Jeff, we soon learn, has a massive obsession with the Wild West and his room is practically a shrine to the days he idolizes. It is here where he practices the “cowboy” skills he has so often seen romanticized in Hollywood movies (using real bullets!). At one point, he lassos the family butler and later offers some modern businessmen some of his tobacco block. He even looks at an actress on a poster for the latest Hollywood western and proclaims her the kind of woman he wants to marry. All of this gets him the reputation of being a nut.
 
Early scenes are fun, even though they make Jeff more akin to the kind of man-child that Harry Langdon played so often in his career than a full-fledged character who just happens to have an unusual interest. The film further stretches believability when it shows Jeff playing in his room alone atop a life-size toy horse with the same amount of energy as a genuine cowboy likely showed during an actual competition or stampede. As for how he acquired the impressive horseback-riding skills he later displays, we can only surmise that it has something to do with the fact that his father is extremely wealthy and that he appears to have a lot of free time on his hands.
 
The film kicks into high gear upon the introduction of two plot threads. The first involves a mine in a small Arizonan town that comes to the attention of Jeff’s father (Walter Bytell) and his decision to send Jeff to investigate it. The second has to do with the greedy schemes of a Caucasian Indian Agent named Steve Shelby (Sam De Grasse), whose nefarious activities have made him rich but wary about hanging around dodge too much longer. When word of Jeff’s impending arrival and his fascination with the West reaches the mining town, the residents decide to recreate those special times in an attempt to win his support for the mine (which, curiously, he never actually visits), while Shelby decides to use Jeff’s visit to pull off a final heist and then skedaddle out of town with a young lady named Nell (well played by Eileen Percy) who couldn’t care less about him, thus setting the stage for an actual western adventure. This part of the film is highly entertaining, as Jeff is an unsuspecting participant in a series of staged events right out of a movie screenplay, including a train robbery and the rescuing of a damsel in distress.
 
The film is of course a product of its time, and some contemporary viewers will likely object to what could be interpreted as stereotypical portrayals of nameless antagonistic Native Americans. However, I chose to see their role as the result of the unique circumstances of this particular tribe. It isn’t a stretch to conceive of their alcoholism and eagerness to attack the town as being the results of Shelby’s efforts to enrich himself at all costs, for what better way to bend people to one’s will than to deprive them of basic necessities and make them dependent on an addictive substance? Seen in this light, the only real villains are Shelby and his partner in crime, Pedro (Charles Stevens). Much less explainable is the exaggerated fractured English in the intertitles, again an unfortunate and distracting product of their time.
 
Still, as with many silent films, Wild and Woolly remains charming and entertaining, despite such elements. Fairbanks plays naiveté and innocence rather well, and his stunt work remains impressive. The cast seems to be having a ball in the scene in which the town stages events from the past, and Fairbanks and Percy are convincing as a pair of young people falling in love steadily. It is said that many silent films had musicians near the set playing music designed to help actors express emotions more clearly. For this film, I’ll bet it was Elger’s “Salut d’Amour.”  (on DVD as part of Flicker Alley’s box set Douglas Fairbanks: A Modern Musketeer)
 
3 and a half stars
 
*Wild and Woolly is a silent film.
*Eileen Percy appeared in 72 films from 1917 – 1943. I look forward to seeing more of her performances.