Review - The Docks of New York

February 20, 2020

The Docks of New York – US, 1928

Ahh, the Hollywood hangout - where everyone knows your name, where boisterous crowds of cheerful partygoers dwell and revel at pitches that mere mortals could not, where you and your friends will always find a vacant couch to facilitate your witty banter. It is a place where crowds swell to hear a poet in a business suit dazzle you with a self-righteous hymn, only to be outdone a second later by a flirtatious bartender who speaks of drinks as if they are popular sexual positions. If you’re wondering, that’s Cheers, Friends, and Tom Cruise’s underwhelming 1988 film, Cocktail, but I’m sure you could come up with a number of other examples – Titanic, perhaps. It is an image of sheer absurdity, presenting us with a vision of such excitement that our favorite haunts are made to seem rather pedantic upon comparison.

Much of Josef Von Sternberg’s 1928 film, The Docks of New York, takes place in such a spot, and since Von Sternberg was famous for placing his films in settings he conjured up in his mind – even places like Shanghai and Morocco – I have to assume he didn’t have much experience in the kind of establishment that stokers went to during their brief respites between adventures at sea. Thus, Von The Docks of New York, and it would work fine, were it not for an ending that defaults to that most Hollywood of inventions, the unearned happy ending.

Sternberg creates a place where patrons have boundless energy, where employees have the physiques of bouncers and fist fights break out with uncommon frequency. It is a place of sin and unconcealed infidelity, and it is hardly where one would realistically expect to find a fairy tale involving a tarnished princess and an insincere, promiscuous knight in shining armor. But that is indeed what Von Sternbrg presents us with in

In the film, George Bancroft plays Bill Roberts, a jovial brute whom you’d be forgiven for thinking didn’t have a sincere bone in his body when it comes to the opposite sex. One night, he thwarts a young woman’s suicide attempt, and, for some reason, elects to take her back to his room to recover. The woman’s name is Mae (Betty Compson), and in a telling moment, she describes her predicament with the following revelation: “I’ve had too many good times.” Bill doesn’t inquire any further; he knows exactly what she’s implying. So, he makes the following illogical remark: “Well, you’ve never been out with [me].” Keep this in mind. This is a woman who has just been pulled out of the water and resuscitated. She’s likely deeply depressed and still contemplating suicide. And there’s George suggesting that all she needs is a good romp with him to be as good as new. I didn’t buy it, not even from a guy with the social etiquette of a gnat.

There’s another couple worth mentioning here. Early on, we see a woman partying as if she were having the time of her life. A moment later, she spots a man (Mitchell Lewis) staring at her, and her emotions turn on a dime. The man, referred as The Third Engineer in the opening credits, had previously looked as if he were about to hook up with a woman sitting at a table alone, but we soon learn that they are husband and wife. More importantly, they’ve been separated for three years. She remarks that he’s undoubtedly surprised to find her in a place like that, and indeed, there’s no evidence that he was even interested in reuniting with her while he was in town. In short, we are witnessing a land where broken dreams and unkept promises are commonplace.

Like Von Sternberg’s other films, The Docks of New York is exceptionally well-directed. Von Sternberg was a master with lights, shadows and interiors, and here he created a realistic setting for a film about regular people. We feel the grunginess of the surroundings, as well as the addictive carefree attitude of its inhabitants. In one scene, Von Sternberg bathes Compson in angelic white light, as she sits on Bill’s bed smoking a cigarette, a look of sheer indifference to life on her weary face. Later, he contrasts conversations that hint at budding love and promises of happiness with the room’s dilapidated walls, and we are made to wonder if love has a chance under these conditions. In other scenes, Von Sternberg uses quick pans to give us a glimpse of the various stories underway in the speakeasy that night. It’s rare that we’re reminded that for each character up there on the screen, there is a story in progress.

I can’t say for sure whether the ending of the film is the result of studio interference or not. However, watching it, I couldn’t escape the feeling that it is a cop out. There’s a realistic finale to the story of these two characters, and it is not the one we see on the screen. Characters like these certainly deserve happiness, but nothing in the circumstances Von Sternberg presents us with screams that this is the beginning of theirs, especially since the events in the film take place over twenty-four hours. Just watch the characters’ body language – they both know that their whirlwind romance is a performance, a long tease crafted to make a desired one-night stand a reality.

Alas, this is not the conclusion we get, and it mars what has come before. The Docks of New York is most interesting when it focuses on the envy that Andy feels when he sees someone he views as being below him getting the girl; on the complicated characters of Andy’s wife (played by Olga Baclanova), a woman whose compassion is matched only by her pessimism; and on the face of young Mae, at times resigned to fate, at others appreciative of the distraction that brief glimpses of hope can bring. We empathize with her; we wish her happiness. Von Sternberg gives us that ending, and it is a mistake. A more realistic “Bill” would have been on the ship as the film faded out. (on DVD and Blu-ray)

3 stars

*The Docks of New York is a silent film.

Review - The Last Command (1928)

January 31, 2020

The Last Command – U.S., 1928

The first Academy Awards in 1928 were pretty good to Josef Von Sternberg. His film Underworld won Ben Hecht the first statue for Original Story, a category that was discontinued in 1956. Interestingly, the only other film in contention was The Last Command, also directed by Von Sternberg. Emil Jannings took home the first Best Actor award for his performances in The Last Command and The Way of the Flesh, from which sadly only about three and a half minutes of footage survive. (1928 was the only year in which nominees could win for multiple films.) And to top all that off, The Last Command, according to John Harkness’s The Academy Award Handbook at least, was nominated for Best Picture, so all in all, a rather successful year.

Underworld is a film about a gangster and his relationship with his girlfriend, Feathers, which starts him on a downward spiral involving jealousy and distrust. In The Last Command, Von Sternberg turned his lens toward the Soviet Union and told a story of post-revolution tragedy. It is not a film that looks at Czarist Russia with regret or longing for what had been lost, nor does it present the revolutionaries as complete saints or innocent victims of state repression. Instead, it looks at these times with an objective view. There were decent people on all sides; there were unscrupulous people on all sides. For every army general we see partying as soldiers are sent off to their deaths, there’s a revolutionary whose only motivation for revolution seems to be to be able to physically abuse and verbally mock those who benefited during the Czar’s rule. In fact, the only person truly depicted as thoroughly imbecilic is the Czar himself.

The film begins in 1928 Hollywood, but most of it takes place in 1917 and the waning days of Russia’s involvement in the First World War. In 1928, we learn that a Russian director has come to Hollywood to shoot a film for which droves of extras will be needed. In a stack of head shots, he comes across one of an older gentleman who claims he used to be a Grand Duke in the Russian Army. He is of course chosen to be in the film, but the look on the director’s face is not one of mere satisfaction at having cast the part; there’s something else in his eyes – a look of recognition, perhaps? Later, the old man will add a medal to his costume, a gift, he explains to his mocking co-workers, from the Czar himself. The remark is met with derision, yet soon the film flashes back to 1917, and we see the veracity of his story and the events that led to his fall from grace.

The flashbacks can be said to comprise of two parts. In the first, the Grand Duke meets and decides to woo a woman named Natalie, who may be a revolutionary. The Grand Duke seems to be judging her with his libido, making the assessment that a woman who is that attractive couldn’t possibly be an enemy. In his defense, Natalie is suspect is being part of the Resistance, not a spy for whom seduction and murder would be a requirement of the job. Still, she doesn’t give the Grand Duke much in the way of encouragement, which renders the Grand Duke a little foolish. Exactly which signs is he misreading?

In the second part of the film, the resistance makes their move, and the Grand Duke’s fate is decided. He will leave that part of the film the broken man we see in the opening scenes of the film. These scenes are emotional, frighteningly violent, and extremely well filmed. Their closest equivalents are the climaxes of Eisenstein’s Strike and The Battleship Potempkin. Von Sternberg captures the madness of the moment, the crowds thirst for blood, and the army’s lack of concern for civilian casualties. Von Sternberg shows the Grand Duke being practically stripped of his honor and manhood, while simultaneously giving us views into the revenge-crazy eyes of the crowd shouting for the death of anyone they view as sending their countrymen into a war that is not theirs. Von Sternberg shows both sides committing what would today be viewed as war crimes. I was blown away by these scenes.

If I have a complaint about the film, it is its unsatisfying portrayal of Natalie. This is a character who begins the film vowing that the days are numbered for those who are “dragging Russia down.” Clearly, this includes the Grand Duke, but after a few dinners, gifts, and a heartfelt patriotic comment, she’s portrayed as suddenly losing her resolve. Why? I thought it was just a pick-up line, one a woman like Natalie would clearly have seen right through, yet there she is a few scenes later looking starry-eyed and melting into the Grand Duke’s big arms as he utters one of the corniest and most problematic lines I’ve heard in some time: “From now on, you are my prisoner-of-war…and my prisoner-of-love.”

The Last Command features a stunning performance by Emil Jannings. In fact, I can’t think of a movie that Jannings is not astonishing in. Here, he starts the film out physically and emotionally broken, and he fully embodies this, from his slow pace, and shaking head to the loss apparent in his eyes. And yet watch him as he takes out a medal he was given by the Czar. Jannings doesn’t smile or stand upright in pride; doing so would put him at odds with the audience. Instead, the way he does it reveals its significance to him: It is his way of signaling that despite the toll his experiences have had on him, he has not been broken, and he is not ashamed. Also stellar in the film is Evelyn Brent as Natalie. While there are problems with the arc of the character, those are not reflected in her confident, emotional performance. In a way, she has the harder role of the two leads. She has to go from embracing violence to expressing appreciation and even love for the man who she formerly viewed as her enemy. And then there’s her turn toward the end. Look at her eyes. They pierce your soul and send you on a roller coaster of emotions. That she wasn’t nominated for Best Actress is a travesty.

The Last Command remains an unforgettable film. It contains commentary on Hollywood that is both humorous and enormously telling. Parts of it are filmed in a way that fully convey the luxury afforded to the ruling class (The Grand Duke is the Czar’s cousin.), while others bring to mind the chaos of war and revolution and remind us that often what defines heroes and villains is simply the viewpoint of the victor. Is the ending a bit too conventional? Perhaps, but it may not have been in 1928. Even now, it has the power to bring a tear to even the most hardened of moviegoers, and that says something. The Last Command is truly one for the ages. (on DVD and Blu-ray as part of Criterion’s 3 Silent Classics By Josef Von Sternberg)

4 and a half stars

*The Last Command is a silent film.

Review - Underground (1927)

January 18, 2020

Underworld – US, 1927

Josef von Sternberg’s cinematic career began with the film Underworld, a short, gritty look at the criminal world of the late 1920’s. This is a world that owed much of its existence to the colossal mistake that was Prohibition and which made celebrities out of ruthless gangsters such as Al Capone, which one Hollywood studio even entertained making a film with. (According to legend, they would have, too, had someone on the set that day not made a rather flippant remark about leaving his guns at the door.) Those gangsters, it was believed, were standing up to an oppressive government hell bent on imposing its outdated morals on a society whose only crime was that they had a thirst for alcohol, and so, it is not surprising to see the lead character in Underworld, Bull Weed (George Bancroft), portrayed in a rather pleasant light. Sure, he’s got anger issues and a slight tendency toward homicide, but other than that, he’s the kind of guy you’d have the time of your life with were you to share a booth with him at a bar or restaurant.

In fact, for much of the film, we get a pretty sanitized picture of Bull. He seems to commit robberies on his own, never appears to harm anyone in the process, and is even such a romantic fellow that he robs a jewelry store just so that he can get his hands on a necklace that his girlfriend formed in instant attachment with. I mean, if that isn’t love, what is? We also get a few scenes that reminded me of the dual nature of many of James Cagney’s gangsters. They were surely violent, but on any given day, they could have a heart of gold. In one scene which I seem to recall first seeing in a later Cagney film, Bull comes across a teenager trying to steal an apple from a fruit cart. Bull stops him cold and gives him a stern lecture on the evils of taking what isn’t yours. Then he smiles and eats the apple himself, completely aware of the contradiction. In another scene, his actions bring to mind a certain hero from Sherwood Forest, and then there’s his romantic side. When walking with his girlfriend, Feathers (Evelyn Brent), he remembers that a gentleman always walks on the side of the sidewalk closest to the traffic. At this point in the film, you’d be forgiven for thinking, What a swell guy!

Like von Sternberg does in later films with his muse Marlene Dietrich, here he creates a new and foreboding world down to the last detail. From the dark indistinct side streets to the well lit apartment he shares with Feathers, from the frequent shadows that loom large over figures in the foreground to the way von Sternberg immediately makes the audience aware of Feathers’s unique qualities and remarkable form, every detail contributes to the creation of a world in which love and brotherhood exist alongside rage and chaos. The film’s chief villain is Buck Mulligan, owner of a flower shop by day and ruthless gang leader by night, and the character provides both a contrast and a mirror to Bull. Early one, his quick temper and instant fury is juxtaposed with Bull’s calm, mocking mannerisms, and we can be forgiven for initially seeing them as polar opposites.

Interestingly, much of the film’s drama comes not from the rivalry between Bull and Buck, but from that of Bull and a former lawyer/current drunk nicknamed Rolls Royce (Clive Brook). In an early scene, a variation of which was repeated in the great Rio Bravo, Buck entices Rolls with a ten dollar bill, only to throw it in a spit bowl. His reaction is perfect. Even though he could surely use the money, he just picks up his broom and resumes sweeping the floor. Dignity supersedes financial need. The action perfectly establishes his character, and it provides the impetus for Feathers’s first inquisitive look. Sure, Bull would have done something similar, but he is in a much better financial position. Bull does it out of principle, and that means just a little bit more to her. And thus the flirtation begins.

I wish the film had spent more time developing the connection between Feathers and Rolls Royce. It seemed to me that more was needed that a scene in which she exposes her shoulder and he grins like a freshman seeing flesh for the first time, but in truth movies have rarely been good at establishing bonds that go beyond mutual physical attraction. Perhaps this is why ones that do, such as Before Sunrise, It Happened One Night, and Casablanca, resonate as much as they do. We appreciate a film that takes the time to make a relationship understandable. We root for these couples; we simply tolerate the rest. Alas, the romance in Underworld is a case of the latter, and the film is marginally weaker as a result.

Still, the film impresses and resonates, and its impact on the genre is plain to see. In the film, we see the beginnings of Hollywood’s love-hate relationship with gangsters, the need to make them both personally likeable and professionally despicable. One need look no further than The Sopranos for proof that that dilemma continues to dominate the gangster genre, and while Underworld does not end with the protagonist having been exposed as a failure for not having preserved his morals or protected his family from the hazards of his career choice, it does end in a way that will remind viewers of other films from Hollywood’s early years, ones in which a gangster is never truly without honorable attributes. He just has to find something more valuable than his own life. Once Underground get going, there’s little doubt just what that will be, but what a ride getting there, and what incredible performances. Underground is the kind of film that you marvel at, knowing full well that you are witnessing the arrival of a true master of cinema. (on DVD and Blu-ray as part of Criterion’s box set 3 Silent Classics By Josef von Sternberg, now thankfully back in print)

3 and a half stars

*Underworld is a silent film.

*Writer Ben Hecht won an Oscar for his screenplay at the first Academy Awards.

Review - Shanghai Express

February 7, 2018

Shanghai Express – U.S., 1932

Were I asked to picture a romantic hero, I would likely picture someone vastly different than Captain Donald Harvey. Stoic and emotionally restrained regardless of the scenario presented in front of him, the only clue that he is in love is the watch he carries with him, a gift from the love that got away five years earlier. There is no pause when he is reunited with her by chance, no look in his eyes that betrays the long-restrained emotional pining going on in his heart, no clasp of her hand or shudder at an incidental touch. No, I imagine that, were we to see them, his conversations with his superior officers would bear a striking resemblance to those he has with the woman who broke his heart. Is this off-putting? Slightly, but combined with the slow, milky, somewhat monotone delivery of his great love, it’s more than a little peculiar.  

To be fair, the relationship just referred to is actually one of the least interesting of the many plotlines that run through Josef von Sternberg’s impressively shot monster hit Shanghai Express. Theirs, after all, is a love that must only overcome the stigma that comes with a woman having had what society deemed an unacceptable number of lovers, which I believe at the time was any number above one. Vastly more interesting is the case of Henry Chang (Warner Oland), a pessimistic traveler whose feelings about his parentage are both startling and intriguing. Even more involving is the character of Hui Fei (Anna May Wong), a mysterious young woman who is anything but traditional, yet seems to have a better understanding of both politics and humankind than anyone else on board, with the possible exception of the lady unaffectionately referred to as “Shanghai Lily” (Marlene Dietrich) Fortunately, Chang is given the screen time the character deserves; Hui Fei, unfortunately, is relegated to a scene here and there, speaks little, and, while playing an important role in the film’s climax, remains an enigma till the end.

In Shanghai Express, we follow the passengers of a train bound for Shanghai from modern-day Beijing. It is 1932, and China is in the midst of a Civil War, meaning that even a ride between those two relatively close cities is fraught with peril. In early scenes, we are introduced to a number a passengers – an elderly woman who smuggles a dog onto the train, a French officer who doesn’t speak a word of English, a missionary who refuses to share a cabin with a woman he deems sinful, and the aforementioned captain (Clive Brook), Shanghai Lily, and Chang, among others. Almost immediately, the doctor is reunited with Shanghai Lily. At the same time, we begin to get clues that Henry Chang is more than he lets on. This becomes even more apparent after Chinese soldiers stop the train, search the passengers, and detain one, presumably a member of the resistance. It is then that we see Chang sending a telegram in code - the message: for the recipient to detain the train at all costs.

It could be argued that Shanghai Express is a tale told in three unequal parts. The first part introduces the characters and spends a great deal of time reacquainting the doctor with his former lover. The middle of the film deviates slightly, as the chaos of China’s Civil War comes into focus and it becomes clear just how perilous the journey unfolding onscreen actually is. Like many war zones, location determines the soldiers you have to look out for, and there are frequent skirmishes between armies that seem to have no qualms about putting bystanders in harm’s way. There are frightening interrogations, as well as the ever-present threat of death, and the tension is quite palpable in this part of the film. In the end, however, the film feels compelled to return to the story of separated lovers and answer that infernal question, Will they or won’t they? Well, of course, they will. However, just because we know this doesn’t mean that characters will hasten their own realization of it, and therefore the scene goes on a bit long. As for me, I was more interested in the fate of Hui Fei. Alas, that, like so much else about her, remains untold.

Like many films of the time, it was deemed necessary to sprinkle bits and pieces of comedy throughout, and many of these moments are simply distracting. Just what are we to make of the wealthy elderly woman who shouts for the attendant to take care of her dog, or, for that matter, of the passenger with a penchant for making bets on even the most morbid of possibilities? To me, these moments of intended joviality fell flat, and the quirkiness of the characters seemed unearned. It was almost as if the writers were compensating for the lack of brevity in the middle of the film. But ask yourself this question: Would you laugh if a woman were concerned about the safety of a beloved pet or proposed a bet on whether you’d make it to Shanghai alive? I know I wouldn’t were I in the characters’ situation, so why would I as a member of the audience?

There are, of course, parts of the film that have not dated particularly well. The film opens with a gong and a few questionable images intended to get viewers ready for a film set in China. There’s also the doctor who both smokes himself and sees nothing wrong with a man of medicine dispensing cigarettes. And then there’s the film’s depiction of both China and the Chinese. In one scene, Chang tells one of his traveling companions that in China “time and life have no value,” and in another, we see a Chinese man happily smiling as his cow blocks the train track. In fact, as I reflect on the film, it seems that the only two Chinese characters presented as being intelligent or multidimensional were Chang and Hui Fei, and in the case of Hui Fei, even this is problematic, for it is implied that only women of a certain lowly profession could ever afford expensive clothes and a first-class train ticket. And of course, there’s the film’s politics and the fact that the side of the Civil War that the characters seem to be rooting for is no longer seen in the same light by historians.

But I digress. Despite all its faults - and the focus on the relationship is the most egregious - Shanghai Express remains a compelling film. I was drawn into the characters’ plight and riveted by the events that unfolded as they tried to get themselves out of a very dangerous situation. I grew to admire Dietrich’s character and to empathize with Hui Fei. I also watched Chang with a sense of foreboding, at every minute expecting his soft words to sentence our heroes to their tragic deaths. And while I wasn’t terrible moved by the romance, I admit to being a bit choked up when Shanghai Lily’s first steps into free Peking find her replacing something that the love of her life has lost. She just can’t help herself, and, in fairness, neither could I. Despite my difficulties with the hero’s icy demeanor and Dietrich’s occasionally off-beat delivery, I still found myself invested enough in their storyline to experience a sense of relief when they finally find themselves in each other’s arms. It didn’t make me believe that the captain would pine for her for five years, but maybe that doesn’t matter. After all, if a movie can satisfy the heart with a simple embrace, then it has done its job. Still, 5 years? (on DVD and Blu-ray as part of Criterion’s box set Dietrich & Von Sternberg in Hollywood)

3 and a half stars

*Shanghai Express was the top-grossing film of 1932, raking in $3.7 million at the box office.

*It was nominated for Best Film, Best Director, and Best Cinematography. It won in the latter category.

Review - Morocco

August 16, 2018

Morocco – US, 1930

I suspect that for many film aficionados the name Morocco conjures up a single scene, one moment of bold cinematic imagery the likes of which would not be seen for quite some time once the Hayes Code began to be enforced. I’m referring, of course, the one in which Marlene Dietrich makes her singing debut at a somewhat seedy club frequented by a number of spoiled wealthy patrons, as well as some rough and uncivil members of the Foreign Legion, men whose own sergeant opens the film by declaring, “This time you’re going to behave yourself.” Fat chance of that happening. But I digress. So out steps Dietrich dressed in a fine gentleman’s suit and a top hat, a cigarette dangling from her mouth. Soon she begins to sing; it is a German song, one that apparently has so little connection to the film that no one deemed it necessary to provide a translation. But I digress again. Soon Dietrich is strolling among the crowd, so alluringly that some men can resist reaching out to touch her. She gently defies their advances and finds herself at a table with two men and one woman. She takes the woman’s flower and then plants a passionate kiss onto her surprised lips. In slight embarrassment, the woman hides her head in the palms of her hands, while the rest of the crowd roars with rapturous approval.

Chances are that if Dietrich is ever referenced at the Academy Awards, it is while showing this scene, for it is both risqué and reveals quite a lot about the lengths the actress would go to for a film. The scene was also included in the documentary The Celluloid Closet, which proclaimed it to be an early example of homosexuality in film, an interpretation I believe to be erroneous. The scene’s longevity may also be due to the fact that Dietrich was a contralto, which according to Wikipedia is the “lowest female voice type,” as well as being “fairly rare.” It is perhaps this quality that made her rendition of “Falling in Love Again” so well received in the 1930s. I know, another digression, but bear with me, I’m getting to the point.

So, the scene is a rather famous one. The problem is that it accomplishes nothing narratively. It is the only scene in which Dietrich’s character dresses or acts that way in the entire film, so one has to assume that it was shot this way just to be memorable. This was Dietrich’s American film debut after all, and by filming it this way, the makers of the film assured that the audience had something to talk about while leaving the theater. Well, mission accomplished. If only the rest of the film worked.

In Morocco, we get one of those film in which a cabaret singer named Amy Jolly meets and is pursued by two men. The first one, Kennington La Bessiere (played memorably by Adolphe Menjou), is, of course, a gentleman, and while his initial interest in Amy may be based more on physical attraction than real love, it soon morphs into something both stronger and more genuine. The second man is Tom Brown, a member of the Foreign Legion who has made a habit of loving and leaving women every place he’s gone. He’s bombastic, rarely says the right thing, and has likely left a rather long trail of tears in his wake. In other words, he’s the kind of jerk that women always seem to go for in movies, even when there is a better option right in front of them. The film compounds this error by giving Amy and Tom so little time to develop the kind of bond that the film insists they have.

Tom is played by the legendary Gary Cooper, yet it is immediately clear that Cooper was still finding his way as an actor. He seems unsure of his character and has surprisingly little rapport with Dietrich. Their conversations are littered with awkward pauses, and at key points they seem to talking past each other. I never sensed anything close to the deep-seeded connection that the film insists they establish in their early scenes together.

Just three years earlier, Cooper had appeared briefly in William Wellman’s Oscar-winner Wings. In a key scene, Cooper had caught the audience’s attention with his depiction of a pilot about to embark on a deadly mission. While facing the camera, Cooper began what looked like a military salute, only to give it a slight flip toward the end. It was the mark of a character unwilling to give in to despair, yet also conscious that the impending flight could be his last. If this was indeed his final dogfight, he was going to depart with his head held high and with no evidence of fear or hesitation. The moment was truly memorable and endeared him to audiences all over the United States. I mention this because Cooper makes the same gesture repeatedly throughout the film, and immediately it is diluted of all relevance. Instead of being a show of Tom’s resolve, it eventually becomes a personality quirk, something done out of habit and instinct, yet with nothing behind it. At one point, Amy even does it to him, and by the middle of the film, it’s practically a joke.

The film also marked the American debut of German director Josef Von Sternberg, who had made a splash earlier in the year with the German film The Blue Angel, also starring Dietrich. I won’t say that he was finding his way, but it seems clear that his choices were limited somewhat. He seems to be working on a small set and without the means to present the story in the way he probably wanted. For example, in one key scene, an unseen enemy keeps opening fire on a squad of advancing Legionaries, yet Von Sternberg is never able to establish just how real the threat to the men is. There are a few sound effects of bullets firing, but no one reacts in a way that makes us understand the peril they are in. One of them even cracks a joke about some money that Tom owes him. The insertion of comedy into serious moments was an all-too-common aspect of many early films, and the end product is a scene that doesn’t seem to respect the situation it is trying desperately to depict.

There’s a somewhat interesting subplot involving the repercussions of an earlier affair that Tom had with a married woman, yet its conclusion is telegraphed too far in advance, thereby draining it of much of its emotion. By the end of the film, I didn’t care whether Amy and Tom ever saw each other again. In fact, had the filmmakers had any guts whatsoever, the film would have ended with Amy living out her days in Morocco in wealthy bliss. Alas, it cannot. After all, what’s the point of von Sternberg focusing so much camera time on the local Moroccan women who follow their Foreign Legion boyfriends into the punishing desert if not to teach Amy what someone in love really does? Luckily, her French boyfriend has so much affect for her that he’ll do the very things that lead to his own heartbreak. I don’t know about you, but to me that sounds like the actions of someone who deserves a happy ending. (on DVD and Blu-ray as part of Criterion’s Dietrich & Von Sternberg in Hollywood box set)

2 and a half stars

*Somehow Morocco was nominated for four Academy Awards, including Best Actress and Best Director. Even more surprising, the Library of Congress selected the film for preservation in the United States National Film Registry in 1992. It was deemed “culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant.” Go figure. 

Review – The Scarlet Empress

November 28, 2008

The Scarlet Empress – U.S., 1934

There’s a moment in Josef von Sternberg’s The Scarlet Empress when everything seems possible for Sophia Frederica. Alone in her room, she appears giddy and claps excitedly. When her bedroom door opens, she dances joyfully out the door and speeds her way down the staircase. Once down, she proceeds to kiss every hand that is presented to her. It’s not hard to understand her euphoria. After all, it’s not every day that a young woman receives official notice that she is to become the wife of the heir to the throne of Russia. Now compare this young woman – awestruck by naïve visions of a life of wonder and romance – to the one we see later – hard, calculating, manipulative. By this time the young girl who yearned to be a dancer has long since disappeared. Gone is her belief in fairy tale concepts of romantic princes who fill their princesses’ days with fun and gaiety, In its place stands the knowledge that deception can appear in any form, that princes are not always dashing or stoic, and that love and respect can sometimes be conditional.

The transformation is startling, but fully understandable. Just look at what Sophia endures just to make it safely to her new home: a mother who seems more interested in her place in the world than her daughter’s contentment; the crude advances of Count Alexi, the man in whom her physical care has been entrusted; and the frigid bitter temperatures of a harsh Russian winter. Having survived these hurdles, imagine her surprise at being addressed in the most matter-of-fact manner possible by the woman who hand-picked her to join the Imperial Family, not to mention the public molesting she endures at the hands of the royal physician. Having to then come to grips with the fact that the man she was led to believe was the spitting image of a Roman gladiator is an odd, slow-witted man who plays with toys and smiles while speaking of executions must have completely shattered whatever remnants were left of even her most unimaginative visions of the idyllic life of a princess.

The Scarlet Empress details three parts of Sophia Frederica’s life. The first part I detailed above. In the second part, we see Sophia, now known as Catherine II, attempting to endure her new life. We see her playing childhood games with her attendants and becoming drawn to Count Alexi, only to become so nervous about her own feelings that she has to run away. We see her throw a necklace out a window in anger, only to rush outside to retrieve it a moment later. However, life is not a bed or roses for Catherine, especially with her mother-in-law expecting Catherine and her son to act like “love birds” until a son is born. It is in this stage of her life that Catherine learns the kind of person she has to become in order to survive. By the film’s final act, Catherine has indeed become much more like her mother-in-law than she would ever have thought possible, and while this is a far cry from the person she had wanted to become, it is actually exactly the person that she had to become.

I was particularly impressed by some of the techniques that Sternberg used to shoot the film. In one scene, he pans slowly around a cathedral to show us Catherine and Peter’s wedding ceremony, which is replete with candle-holding guests, operatic singing, and fashionable attire. One is tempted to believe that this is indeed a fairy tale, if not for Sternberg’s close-up of Catherine. I can best describe her expression as a mix of sorrow and reservation. Sternberg intersperses shots of Catherine’s misery with those of Count Alexi, shown brooding in the corner, and Catherine’s soon-to-be husband grinning in such a way that you would think he were the inspiration for the Joker. I also admired the film’s shots of soldiers riding through castles and shadowy figures being ushered into bedrooms from hidden passages, as well as its montages showing the tragic plight of the oppressed. In addition, the cast is simply stellar, especially Sam Jaffe, who played Grand Duke Peter. It would have been easy to overplay him, but Jaffe gives him the right balance of madness, instability, and cunning. Equally impressive were John Lodge (Count Alexi) and Louis Dresser (the Empress). The film, however, belongs to Marlene Dietrich, who gives a performance worthy of multiple awards. Simple put, Dietrich astounds, playing first an inexperienced, young woman, then a woman learning to make her way in the world, and finally a woman ready to seize the world and make it hers.

If there is a fault with the film, it is that it is too short to adequately explain the loyalty that certain officers have for Catherine. While we see Catherine playfully prancing around blindfolded as her attendants and several soldiers follow cheerfully, we do not see her making any sort of connection with them that would explain why they or the local priest would back her militarily. I admit to feeling rather surprised that they would do so, so completely, even going so far as to commit murder. However wanting a film to have been longer is not a sign of a bad film. Rather, it is the sign of a film that intrigues and mystifies, which The Scarlet Empress surely does. (on DVD from Criterion Collection)

*4 stars

Review – The Blue Angel

September 17, 2007

The Blue Angel - Germany, 1930

It is hard to say what kind of person Professor Immanuel Rath is. His home is messy and filled with cigar butts; his bird has died and he did not even notice. He also has an odd habit of blowing his nose and wiping his brow with the same handkerchief. It’s equally difficult to say what kind of teacher he is, for his students call him garbage and write insults in his books and on his blackboard. Furthermore, his method of teaching seems to involve simply calling on students to recite something they’ve learn and when that fails, to have them write a paper. At no point in the film does the audience ever see even a shred of quality teaching from him, and yet everyday he dutifully reports to work and expects to be able to inspire. He seems to have won the respect of only one of his students, and that student pays a heavy price for that respect.

Maybe the professor is a quality teacher, and it’s his students’ fault they can’t learn. They are, with the exception of one of them, too distracted looking at cards of Lola Lola, a singer at the Blue Angel, a club in a very seedy part of town. One of the cards shows Lola dancing. On the card is glued a mini-hula skirt, and if one blows it, the skirts lifts up to reveal Lola’s legs and undergarment. Even the professor is fascinated by this, and in private, does his fair share of blowing at the card.

However, Immanuel is still a professor, and like all good movie professors will stop at nothing to help his students escape the evil influences of vice. Therefore, he goes to the Blue Angel to find his students. When he happens upon Lola herself, he tells her to leave his students alone. Lola senses an opportunity to have fun at a fragile man’s expense, and she lures him in with kindness and then punishes him with cruelty, at one point blowing facial powder into his face after telling him how sweet he is. On their second meeting, she begins to view him differently after he defends her honor when a customer tries to molest her. Immanuel even slaps her boss for allowing it to happen. Moments later, Lola is singing “Falling in Love Again” as Immanuel watches with a love-struck gaze in his eyes.

The Blue Angel is the kind of film in which the audience can see the train wreck well before the characters can. The film’s central theme seems to be emasculation. First, Immanuel is robbed of his dignity as a teacher by his students and what’s left of him is slowly sucked away by Lola, whom he is forced to live off of for five years. By the end of the film, Immanuel has gone from teaching Hamlet to warming up Lola’s hair curler and selling her photos to playing the assistant to a magician and getting eggs cracked on his head in front of his former coworkers and students. He is a broken man, and his last act is one of sheer rage. It is well worth watching.

The Blue Angel stars Emil Jannings and Marlene Dietrich. It is in German and has white boxed English subtitles.

3 and a half stars

There are two versions of The Blue Angel, one in German and the other in English. They were filmed simultaneously using the same cast and are essentially the same film with only minor changes in the English version, perhaps to reduce the amount of English dialogue spoken by actors with thick German accents. It doesn’t help. One would be wise to watch the German version.