Review - The Flame of Love

 February 27, 2021

Flame of Love, The – 1930, UK 

You would think that a movie with a running time of 76 minutes and a plot involving a desperate race to save a condemned man would not waste a single moment. Not in 1930, apparently. That year, director Richard Eichberg and writer Monckton Hoffe, like so many others in the early days of talkies, were seemingly so giddy over the arrival of sound that they couldn’t resist inserting not just one, but five musical performances into their film The Flame of Love. And these are not the kinds of musical numbers that move the plot along or reveal characters’ inner conflicts or feelings. No, these are pure eye candy, replete with scantily-clad female performers and unintentionally laugh-inducing lyrics about how beautiful Russia “songs” are. The latter description refers to two numbers that are disappointing for another reason: They follow moments of intense emotion. Two lovers gaze into each other’s eyes and completely convey the depths of their desire. They want nothing more but to embrace and passionately lock lips, but what do Eichberg and Hoffe have one of them do? Run to the piano. Did I mention that these characters are alone?
 
Then again, they really weren’t. The higher-ups had deemed British audiences not yet ready to witness intimacy between a Caucasian and an Asian; hence, two characters who pine for each other and look at each other with intense stares that perfectly convey their collective longing are reduced to grasping each other’s hands and occasionally receiving a peck on the knuckles. It is hard to understate how disappointing this must have been for the film’s star, Anna May Wong. She had gone to the UK hoping to find better roles, only to find the same insulting restrictions that she had experienced in Hollywood. And it would be awfully hard to understate how dated scenes like these make the film seem. We are essentially watching a relic of all that was wrong with early motion pictures.
 
In The Flame of Love, Wong plays Hai-Tang, a singer in what resembles a Russian vaudeville circuit. After a brief reunion with her Russian military officer boyfriend, Boris Boriskoff (John Longden), she performs in front of a packed crowd which includes several high-ranking members of the Russian military, including the Grand Duke (Georg H. Schnell). The Grand Duke takes an immediate liking to her and sends a “request” that Hai-Tang meet him later that night. Interestingly, Boris is the one ordered to deliver the invitation. Two things are immediately apparent: Boris has no intention of granting the request, and the Grand Duke has no interest in taking no for an answer. Thus, something has to give, and only one of them has complete authority over the other.
 
Hai-Tang’s song and dance number, or as it might more correctly be called, “the bad idea that they multiplied by three,” must be seen to be believed. In it, the curtain rises on Hai-Tang. She is seated regally on an elevated pillow, decked out in the kind of flashy, skimpy attire that frequenters of red-light districts see ethnic women perform in and assume must be cultural. That she then performs a song that is much more Western than Asian only makes the scene more surreal. First, Hai-Tang sings, then young men dressed in Terra-cotta uniforms wearing men throw off their armor and impressively perform acrobatic feats for so long that what was once impressive becomes tedious. Then, for reasons truly unknown, it’s Hai-Tang’s time to bust a move, and what comes out of her is an unsightly mix of Hawaiian luaus and Isadora Duncan prancing. There’s a silver lining to this travesty of filmmaking, however: the lack of authenticity and Wong’s questionable techniques remove any doubt about the Grand Duke’s intentions. After all, there’s absolutely no way he’d want a private performance of that.
 
As for the film’s other numbers, they aren’t really an improvement. Boriskoff’s intended romantic serenade falls well short of the mark, and a brief number involving a barbershop quartet is just filler – presumably to help the film achieve feature film length. Other musical numbers take place at an after-hours club, and surprisingly they exist for a purpose, to demonstrate the difference between the kind of place officers go on official business and the ones they frequent when they’re off-duty. The latter was dirtier and much more raucous, and I got the impression that Eichberg intended the scene as a PG-version of an orgy. Alas, like he did with Wong’s first number, the director doesn’t know when the quit - the first of these debaucheries was effective; the second was pure overkill.
 
I mention this aspect of the film because I believe it is the reason the film was panned upon release. Eichberg spends so much time filming people dancing and singing that it’s hard not to get an impression of narrative shallowness. However, if one can look past these numbers, as well as the fact that the only Russian characters who actually sounds Russian speaks as if it is a foreign language to her, there is actually much to laud the film for. At its core, it is about the powerless being at the mercy of the powerful. Hai-Tang may be a famous performer, but it is important to remember just how much performers were looked down upon in the past, and requests like the Grand Duke’s were sadly routine. Plus, as a Chinese woman living in the days before the first World War, Hai-Tang is paradoxically viewed as not being marriage material, while simultaneously being seen as erotic and desirable. Interestingly, Hai-Tang recognizes this. She is under no illusion of the Grand Duke’s intent, and she also has a less than perfect view of her relationship with Boris. Early on, she tells her overly optimistic boyfriend that the future will send them down diverging roads and that “[i]t must be so.”
 
Fortunately, once the film dispenses with – or at least reduces – the musical numbers, it becomes an intriguing and emotional film about the efforts of two people to ward off danger and protect both themselves and the people they love. Both Longden and Wong began their careers in silent films, and by the time sound came along, they had learned how to express emotions through looks and expressions. Wong had learned not only how to cry on cue, but also how to simultaneously demonstrate just how deeply anguished a character could be. She needed no words to convey her character’s pain and desperation, and when she and Longden gaze into each other’s eye, they express more than could be achieved with thirty minutes of whispered sweet nothings and heartfelt exposition. They deserve credit for the fact that the second half of the film works as well as it does.
 
Perhaps The Flame of Love can best be summed up as a tale of two halves, of a poorly-conceived first half replete with far too many sideshows, and a dramatic and deeply involving second half that moves with a deliberate and desperate pace. I cared for these characters, and even though the ending is a foregone conclusion based on the casting and earlier foreshadowing, the ending was still a punch to the gut, at least until the very last image, when Boris looks at his lost love, anguish running over his face, and hides his head behind hers. The stupidity of the times didn’t allow him to kiss his beloved good-bye. (on DVD in Region 2)
 
3 stars

Review - Drifting

December 20, 2020

Drifting – US, 1923

I believe there is a tendency to give films a pass if they happen to be made by or star someone whose work we generally admire. If the director – say Hitchcock or Chaplin - is the object of approbation, the work might be labeled “lesser” or undergo a “reevaluation” by a generation much more willing to declare any of that person’s creations a masterpiece. If it’s the actor or actress who is esteemed, potential viewers are usually urged to ignore any disappointment that the direction or script may inspire and focus on a performance, the impression being that it is worth any eye-rolling or long sighs that the film inspires as a whole. I mention this because the 1923 film Drifting is likely to be praised for the wrong reasons: It was directed by Tod Browning, whose later film Freaks is often referred to as a masterpiece, and it features a young woman who went on to achieve legendary status, Anna May Wong. So, yes, the film will have its defenders from the get-go.

And yet, let’s imagine a dinner party thrown by the film’s lead characters, Cassie Cook (Priscilla Dean) and Captain Arthur Jarvis (Matt Moore), years after the events depicted in the film. Undoubtedly, one or more of the guests would be unfamiliar with the story of their pairing, and soon, attention would focus on the couple as they set the way-back machine to colonial China during the years opium had a grip on its population. I suspect the retelling would go something like this:

Cassie:           See, I was in Shanghai working… 

Guest:            (cutting her off excitedly) Oh, that’s marvelous! I have so wanted to go there. What did you do, if you don’t mind my asking?

Cassie:           Uh… (awkward pause) I was in sales. Anyway, I…

Guest:            You were a businesswoman? How intriguing! Whatever did you sell?

Cassie:           (clears her throat and lowers her voice considerably) Opium. (At regular volume) Anyway, after blowing all of my money at the tracks, I decided to go to Hang Chow.

Guest:           (still startled by the admission that Cassie used to be a drug dealer; looks at the Captain, who pours himself a drink and quickly gulps it down) Excuse me for interrupting, but how did you get there if you didn’t have any money?

Cassie:           (visibly flustered) Um… I’m not sure exactly. (Turning and breaking the fourth wall) That wasn’t really explained in the film, was it? (turns back to the guest) Anyway, after my arrival in Hang Chow, I was putting away my things when I heard this god-awful noise…pardon my French… outside my room. I opened the door, and there was…

Guest:           Pardon the interruption, but what made you go there? I mean, from what I hear, it is hardly a place for tourists.

Cassie:          (after another uncomfortable pause) Well, that was where my husband had been sent to try to crush the opium trade.

                        (Guest looks stunned and confused)

Cassie:           (with an understandably dry throat) See (clears her throat) I went there to put a stop to his foolish campaign. He was threatening my business and costing me money, after all. I was also asked to cozy up to him and eventually betray him. I even stole a report he wrote and made him think that a sweet young woman who ratted me out was lying.

(Guest, mouth agape, looks at the Captain, who is already on his fifth drink)

Cassie:           (trying to reassure her guest) Look, I know how it sounds, but we fell in love. Honestly, we did. (breaks the fourth wall again) I know we didn’t know each other all that long and that we never had a single scene together in which we talked to each other with our hearts. I know I put him in mortal danger and was mean to all the kids who looked up to him. I know it didn’t make sense that I was dining with my enemy or that he would also lose all the money he had in the world on the same horse. I know the final battle between the villagers, the mountain people, and the colonial army was incomprehensible and that my husband’s friend was way too old to be pursuing fifteen-year-old Rose Li, and I acknowledge that her fate fit a pattern of Asian characters conveniently stepping out of the picture so that the Caucasian leads live happily ever after. But darn it, the picture needed a happy ending and… (breaks down and sobs)

Jarvis:            (walks behind his wife and gently massages her shoulders; looks straight ahead) Don’t worry, dear. It was directed by Tod Browning and features Anna May Wong just before her star-making turn in The Thief of Bagdad.  Critics will surely give it a pass. (Drifting is on DVD and Blu-ray)

2 and a half stars (and yes, I’m being a bit generous with the extra half star, but what can I say – I like Anna May Wong)

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 - Lady From Chungking

January 12, 2018

Lady From Chungking – 1942, US

William Nigh’s Lady From Chungking is better than it has any right to be. It is first a product of its time – an awkwardly cast, convoluted piece of blatant propaganda made to encourage Americans to support China’s efforts in the Second World War. It is also a film in which the majority of its lead characters act in completely unrealistic ways – joking when they would be serious, sweet when they would aggressive, passive when they would be anything but, kissing when they should be running – and deliver speeches that are intended to be dramatic, but come across as slightly clumsy. And yet the film works. It has several extremely moving moments and a lead performance that never allows viewers to lose focus on the film’s more serious undertones and the real threat of the times in which it takes place.

In the film, Anna May Wong plays Lady Kwan Mei, a Chinese aristocrat whose life has been greatly altered by Japan’s invasion, so much so that when we first see her, she is working in the rice patties and referred to as a slave. However, even with her face dirtied and her back sore from the long work hours, she still maintains both her dignity and the respect of the villagers. She is also the leader of a clandestine group of rebels plotting the defeat of the Japanese soldiers occupying the land she grew up in and still considers home. She gets her chance when a high-ranking, somewhat alcoholic Japanese general arrives ahead of his massive infantry of soldiers.

The film is a combination of the effective and the silly. It works best when it focuses on Kwan Mei, and it reaches new heights of silliness when it zooms in on two shot down members of the Flying Tigers. The two of them act as if they were anywhere but in enemy territory and in danger. One is captured, yet can’t resist making the kinds of comments that only a prisoner in a movie makes – ones that are much more sarcastic and humorous than one would expect from someone in his situation. The other one gives a brief narration of a Brooklyn Dodgers baseball game, and I had the same reaction to it as I had to a similar one featured in The French Connection 2: I was embarrassed for the character having to listen to it.

Other characters fare much better. A Nazi-sympathizing hotel owner (Ludwig Donath) referred to as Herr Gruber is properly opportunistic and groveling, and a beautiful singer at the hotel named Lavara (Mae Clarke) has just the right combination of self-preservation and empathy. While she says her primary concern in taking care of number one, we know she’ll eventually do the right thing.

As for the casting, the film must be seen through the lens of the times in which it was made. The Japanese characters are not played by Japanese or Japanese-American actors. For example, Harold Huber, the son of Jewish immigrants from Russia, plays General Kaimura, and New York-born Ted Hecht has the role of Kaimura’s unfortunate subordinate, Lieutenant Shimoto. The casting of Caucasian actors in Asian roles was not uncommon in the early days of Hollywood, yet it was more pronounced during World War II, when the Japanese-Interment Camps were in operation, and xenophobia was rife. I don’t blame the actors for taking the roles, yet their presence gives the film an unfortunate sense of inauthenticity.

The film’s length is also a problem. At 63 minutes, there just isn’t enough time to develop all of its characters or present them in realistic storylines. As a result, romances are rushed, characters see the light far too quickly, and wounds heal in no time at all. Interestingly, the character we expect to rush his interactions moves rather slowly, General Kaimura. Sure, he’ll kiss a woman’s hand and tell her how beautiful she is, yet he also seems content to let the relationship progress somewhat naturally. Even stranger, his actions imply a heart quickly won and long-term commitment rapidly given. It is an interesting choice, even if it is not entirely realistic.

I have often entertained the notion that Ms. Wong was a better actress in silent films, yet I may have to re-evaluate that. Here, she simply commands the screen. Her eyes reflect her character’s deep commitment to her cause, and in a key scene in which Kwan Mei’s loyalty is questioned, Wong displays such a pained expression that I truly felt for her character. I also enjoyed watching the many layers of her performance – she is an aristocrat who has donned the role of a revolutionary pretending to be a poor worker pretending to be an aristocrat, and she makes all of these roles believable to the people encountering them. She also holds her own next to Clarke, who could steal scenes like the best of them. I found myself rather involved in Kwan Mei’s plight; I even bought the sappy nationalistic speech she delivers at the end of the film. Like I said, the film just works - somehow. (on DVD)

3 stars

*The film deserves a better DVD release. The version from Alpha Video is cropped on the sides. This is especially apparent in the opening credits.

Review - Tiger Bay (1934)

October 5, 2017

Tiger Bay – U.K., 1934

There must have been a clause in Anna May Wong’s contract stipulating that a movie starring her include at least one dance sequence, regardless of whether it made sense for her character. And it doesn’t in J. Edgar Willis’s Tiger Bay. In the film, Miss Wong plays Lui Chang, the hostess of a restaurant/dance hall on a seedy island known as Tiger Bay. Chang not only runs the place – she even cooks when the situation calls for it –but as an extra bonus, she is also the star attraction. Early on, Chang takes the stage in front of dozens of gawking customers, each of them giving the stage their rapt attention. Then the dance begins. Let me rephrase that. Then what passes for an exotic dance in an old movie made by people who knew nothing about Asian dances begins, and Miss Wong commences with the kind of dance that more closely resembles the kind performed for that teenage pervert in the video for Madonna’s "Open Your Heart," with its limited choreography, repetitive movements, and complete indifference on the part of the dancer. Having seen what comes next, I can’t say I blame her.

Tiger Bay has a running time of just 63 minutes, and it would make sense for a movie with so few minutes to focus on just two or three characters. The makers of Tiger Bay, however, opt for a wider scope. We get Lui Chang, her young ward (in a more daring movie, she would be her daughter or sister), a handsome young traveler named Michael (Victor Garland) in search of romance in the toughest of places (yes, you read that right), a patron who steals other people’s drinks and sings to birds (yes, you also read that right), a caustic and lovable employee named Fay (Margaret Yarde), and a bumbling assistant named Alf (yes, you…oh, never mind). I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the film’s chief villain, Olaf (Henry Victor), who appears to be in some country’s Navy, but spends most of his time either pursuing women or extorting protection money out of local businesses.

With such a wide focus, very little is developed enough to elicit much in the way of empathy from the audience. Only Miss Wong is given enough screen time for us to understand what makes her tick and what brought her, a woman that Michael declares does not match his stereotypes of Chinese women, to a place like Tiger Bay. After all, from what we see of the place – gambling, prostitution, violence out in the open, indifference all around – it is hardly a place for a lady. The scene in which she explains her beginnings is probably the best one in the film, and yet it is also the first sign of the influence of what were then common practices in movies with non-White leads. In the scene, Michael confesses to being fascinated by Chang, yet apparently “fascination” is plutonic. A second later, he’s professing love for Chang’s ward, Letty.

The film’s main story line involves Olaf’s attempts to get money from Chang, and had this been given more time, Tiger Bay would likely have been a much better film. Sadly, it is poorly developed, and Olaf comes across as more of a clumsy oaf than a homicidal monster. At one point, he attempts to scare people by pounding a fork and knife on a table and demanding food. It’s more comical than threatening. Also hurting the film is its inconsistency when it comes to the authorities on the island. They first give the impression of being lazy and ineffective, which would make sense if they were on the take, yet by the end of the movie, there they are rushing to stop Olaf’s criminal activities. Just where they were when he stabbed Michael during a fist fight we’ll never know. And then there’s the film’s problematic ending. If you’ve seen Miss Wong’s movies before, you know what I’m getting at. The film has to find a reason to have her die, and the one they come up with is so out of left field that you’d swear the film’s five writers just drew it out a hat.

It all makes for a frustrating experience, yet one that is not without a few moments of charm. Miss Wong has a knack for playing strong, resilient characters, and she does well in the film despite the substandard material she is given. I also got a real kick out of Fay. During an early scene, Michael takes her for Letty’s mother, and when told that Fay is single and respectable, he is quick to apologize. Without missing a beat, Fay replies, “Sorry I’m single, or sorry I’m respectable?” It’s a great pre-code moment in an otherwise forgettable film. (on DVD)

2 and a half stars    

Review - Daughter of the Dragon

September 14, 2017

Daughter of the Dragon – US, 1931

I’ll be honest, I didn’t have very high hopes for Lloyd Corrigan's 1931 film Daughter of the Dragon. After all, the film was made at a time when American and European movies were not known for giving Asian and Asian-American actors much in the way of quality roles. When good roles did come along, it was common practice for them to be played by Caucasians and for Asian actors to be relegated to supporting roles. It is a situation that made the star of Daughter of the Dragon, Anna May Wong, Hollywood’s first real Asian-American female star, set off for the greener pastures of Britain, where she’d hoped to find meatier roles. Also appearing in the film is Japanese actor Sessue Hayakawa, at one time one of the most popular actors in the United States, yet one unfortunately typecast as either the villain or a man who must make the ultimate sacrifice so that another couple can find true happiness. Playing these kinds of roles couldn’t have been fun for either of them, and it is a credit to them both that they seem to have approached even the most stereotypical of roles professionally.

Daughter of the Dragon is everything you’d think it would be, and this is not a compliment. The film begins with someone’s idea of traditional Asian music and images of both Buddha and a large red dragon. From there, viewers receive a history of the infamous Fu Manchu, a man thought to be dead after plotting his revenge on those he blamed for the deaths of his wife and son during the Boxer Rebellion. We also learn that he had a daughter, a “celebrated Oriental dancer” curiously referred to as Princess Ling Moy, who appears to be both famous and extremely wealthy. (I’m still a little hazy on what she is actually “princess” of, though.)

Fu Manchu is, of course, still among the living and, more importantly, still seeking revenge for his perceived injustices. Having already killed two generations of men in the Petrei family, he has his sights set on the remaining two, and despite his twenty year absence, he has somehow retained all of his henchman, as well as the assistance of evil architects, who have managed to connect Ling Moy’s house to the Petrei’s without anyone noticing. It reminded me of the many underground lairs of Spectre, all of them amazing feats of architecture that would have taken years to complete and could not possibly have gone undetected.

Fu Manchu is unsuccessful in his quest for revenge, and he soon reveals himself to his daughter. She, being the dutiful Chinese daughter that she is despite having been abandoned twenty years earlier, promises to finish the job for him. This solemn oath is taken in front of the dragon emblem with serves as a kind of family insignia and at one point even allows Fu Manchu to speak from the grave. However, before this, we get to hear Fu Manchu’s views on women, and they are stereotypically sexist. At one point, Ling Moy vows to complete the task as her father’s son. I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean, but it seems to please her father quite a lot. There are only two obstacles to her completing her mission: a crafty Chinese officer named Ah Kee (Hayakawa) and her growing love for Ronald Petrie (Bramwell Fletcher) the man she has to kill.

Regrettably, the film operates on the impression that it has no time for character development or for casual conversation. There’s barely a moment that goes by without dialogue that is so direct that it literally forces the movie forward against its will. Without established characters, people change personalities whenever it suits the script. One minute a character can be in love with one person and in the very next scene be professing love for someone else. In addition, despite ample opportunities, the villains of the picture never seem willing to actual kill the person they are tasked with putting an end to. They are more likely to wait a month, insist on his death occurring in a specific location, or demand to first prove where his heart lies. It’s enough to make one long for the silliness of Bond’s enemies and their collective habit of asking him to dine with them.

The film wins some points for its frank discussion of race and the walls that society erected to prevent interracial romances from occurring. During one of these moments, Petrei confesses his attraction to Ling Moy, and she reminds him just how different her physical features are from those of the women he normally dates, as if to say, “This probably isn’t possible.” Such scenes would not have been possible a few years later, when the Hayes Code was more rigorously enforced. It’s also interesting to note the proposal that Ah Kee makes to Ling Moy, not just of marriage but of relocation. He seems to be suggesting that the best place for them is China.

It is a testament to Wong and Hayakawa that they survived the film with their reputations intact. They indeed tried hard to breathe life into a stale script that depicted the majority of Asian characters as both sinister and ruthless. Their efforts are commendable, even if they are not entirely successful. In fact, of all of the actors in the film, the one I’ll remember most fondly is Harold Minjir, who plays the role of Roger, the Petrei family’s butler. Sure, the character exists solely to provide comic relief in a film that has no reason to present it, but his bumbling nature and pursuit of an opportunity to prove his bravery were quite a joy to behold.    

Having read both Anna May Wong’s and Sessue Hayakawa’s biographies, I knew they had made a film together prior to seeing Daughter of the Dragon, but there is nothing in either book that suggests that it was the highlight of their careers. The film is a product of its time, and a good reminder of this is a kiss that Ling Moy and Petrei almost share, as well as the character whose voice stops it. Films like this couldn’t be made today, and for good reason. However, go on Amazon and you’ll find a head-scratching five-star review for Daughter of the Dragon. As they say, there’s no accounting for taste. (on DVD)

2 stars

Review – Piccadilly

November 14, 2008

Piccadilly – Great Britain, 1929

There are moments that have the power to make or break films, concepts that an audience either buys into or doesn’t. Ewald Andre Dupont’s film Piccadilly contains one of these moments. The film asks you to believe that a woman named Shosho (Anna May Wong) is such a superb dancer that she can single-handedly save a famous, fancy club from financial ruin. This is not an uncommon element in films. In 1927, Al Jolson’s rendition of Mamie at the end of The Jazz Singer was portrayed as making or breaking a lavish musical in spite of the fact that the rest of the cast looked pretty impressive in the few moments we saw them rehearsing. More recently, Ray Charles was depicted in the film Ray as instantaneously revitalizing a fading club by simply sitting at a piano and playing a Nate King Cole tune. However, there is a world of difference between those two scenes and two in Piccadilly. Al Jolson and Ray Charles were unbelievably talented, and therefore I could accept –albeit slightly grudgingly – the power their performances were presented as having. The same cannot be said of Shosho, as least not of her talents as a dancer. Simply put, what should be an astonishing, star-turning number is instead a graceless, odd mix of puzzling shakes, twitches, and twists, certainly nothing that would ensure my continued patronage of the Piccadilly Club. The movie though has a different perspective, as it shows the audience giving her a rapturous standing ovation; later newspapers publish rave reviews proclaiming Shosho as both a dancing wonder and a sensation. It made me wonder if we had seen the same performance. Luckily, Piccadilly recovers from this gaffe and evolves into a film of surprising power.

Piccadilly is the story of an unwise, slightly obsessive attraction and the young woman who sees it as a chance for something better. It’s not her fault really. Who wouldn’t trade the life of a scullery for one of wealth, passion, and fame? The film’s protagonist is Valentine Wilmot (Jameson Thomas), the owner of the Piccadilly Club. He is a man of steadfast principles, refusing to stand for substandard work from his kitchen staff and unwilling to subject one of his employees to the continued harassment of her co-worker, even if doing so leaves him vulnerable financially. The recipient of this act of chivalry is Mabel Greenfield (Gilda Gray), one half of a very famous dancing team and possibly the object of Valentine’s affection. Her partner Victor Smiles (Cyril Ritchard) is infatuated with Mabel and seems on the verge of completely losing control of those faculties that prevent one from accepting that no means no. One day after they have completed their long impressive dance number and are being drowned in applause, he grabs her arm and kisses it. He continues up the arm and onto the area just below her left shoulder. All of this happens under the watchful eye of Valentine, who determines to put a stop to it. Doing so however leaves him without a strong headlining act, despite Mabel’s tireless diligence and incredible talent.

Into this equation steps Shosho. An employee in the Piccadilly Club’s scullery, Shosho is guilty of distracting the dishwashing staff by dancing on top of a table. When she dances, some of her female co-workers applaud enthusiastically, while the men around her watch her enthusiastically as if mesmerized by her beauty and swaying movements. This is witness by Valentine, who immediately fires her. In addition, he appears to share none of his employee’s fascination with her. Why then is he at the bottom of the stairs seemingly waiting for her to leave that night? Why do the two of them then go back up the stairs together after smiling and acting sweetly toward each other? And why is Valentine suddenly interested in making Shosho part of the act? The answers are not quite what you’d expect.

Piccadilly resonates for several reasons. First, the performances in the film are unlike those in many of the silent films made in the United States. Instead of using exaggerated physical movements to convey emotions, the actors in Piccadilly are more reserved. Their emotions for the most part are kept inside them and feelings are exposed realistically, revealed in blank stares, slight smiles, looks of anger and bewilderment. In addition, Dupont uses longer close-ups to allow his actors to fully realize these feelings. At times, I felt I was watching a talking picture with the sound off. The second aspect of Piccadilly that astonishes is its subtle exploration of issues of race. While the film never explicitly discusses the obstacles standing in the way of Valentine’s relationship with Shosho, it does so by showing their reaction to a clear case of discrimination in a club. In the scene, a Caucasian woman is berated after dancing with a Black patron. To her credit, the woman stands her ground and tries to argue down her antagonist. As the argument get louder, the club’s other patrons make their opinions known, and they are unfortunately not on the young woman’s side. Seeing this, Valentine, who had only moments before boldly displayed his affection in public by gently holding Shosho’s hand, can only say, “I think we’d better go, Miss Shosho.”

At its core, Piccadilly is a love story, and yet it’s difficult to say who’s in love with whom. Does Valentine truly adore Shosho, or is his attraction to her simply lust? Does Shosho love Valentine, or is he simply her ticket to a better life? And what about Mabel, the person Valentine cherished so much that she risked everything he owned for? Are his feelings for her gone? Have her feeling for him vanished? And just who is the moody, angry young man that Shosho spends so much time with, and why is the target of his ill-feelings Valentine? I have to admit I was intrigued by each of these questions, so much so that I was able to look past my inability to accept Shosho as an icon on the dance floor.

I suppose that under close examination the part of Shosho is very similar to some of the other roles that Anna May Wong played in the United States, roles that she had gone to Great Britain to avoid playing. However, just as the best actors are able to, Anna May Wong takes the role and creates something amazing out of it. As played by Miss Wong, Shosho is powerful and manipulative while also being warm-hearted and likable. She is sympathetic while now being completely above suspicion. It is easy to see why many regard Shosho as one of the best roles Anna May Wong ever played. (on DVD from Image-Entertainment and Milestone Films)

3 stars

Review – Ali Baba Nights/Chu Chin Chow

September 21, 2007

Ali Baba Nights/Chu Chin Chow – Britain, 1934

Sometimes a movie has to be accepted for what it is; after all, not every movie aspires to be a masterpiece. Ali Baba Nights is such a film. Even though, the film is silly, poorly written at times, and has some very questionable casting, it still provides what can only be described as cult-film-fun. In the film, a king who seems more interested in acquiring wealth that providing for his people is planning a banquet for a representative from China named Chu Chin Chow, whom the king has never seen. Hearing that, one of the king's wife's slaves sends a message to her "master" Abu Hassan, informing him of Chu Chin Chow's journey. Abu Hassan then leads his men to find Chu Chin Chow, kill him, and assume his identity.

The king has a cousin named Ali Baba (George Robey) who seems to have fallen out of the king's favor, so much so that the king sends him into what is called the "dark forest" to look for food for the banquet. It is during this errand that Ali Baba comes upon Abu Hassan's hideout, a cave that opens and closes when Abu Hassan says Open o'Sesame and Close o'Sesame (I'm not kidding.) Ali Baba, knowing a good thing when he sees it, steals a large amount of gold and jewels, becoming a millionaire instantly. Ali Baba has a son named Nur al-Din who is in love with a slave named Marjanah. He views his family's newfound wealth as a means to perhaps marry the love of his life.

Ali Baba Nights contains classic fight scenes, a strange magic water dance, some very short costumes, and a musical number in which someone sings about slaves being for sale as slaves smile and try to look their best, almost as if the slaves are happy about being sold. In another absurd yet humorous moment, Abu Hassan's plan is discovered, and before the authorities grab him, he shouts to his men, “Loot for you lives!”

Films like these do not ask too much of the audience, and perhaps it is best not to expect too much of them. This is not to say that Ali Baba Nights is a good film, but maybe it's not as bad as it's supposed to be.

The makers of Ali Baba Nights gave third-billing to Anna May Wong, who plays the traitorous slave Nahrat. To call this an Anna May Wong film would be misleading, for it is indeed Fritz Kortner (Abu Hassan) who has the most screen time. In addition, Anna May Wong's American accent does seem out of place at times, as the movie is set in the Middle East. However, Anna May Wong has an astonishing ability to express raw emotion physically, and the scenes in which she reacts to being betrayed and begins her quest for revenge are extremely impressive. It is easy to see why she found work in silent films, the kind of film in which that level of physical expression was highly valued.

In 1934, the Gaumont-British Picture Corp. released a film called Chu Chin Chow. Ali Baba Nights is the name given to the film for its release in America. Chu Chin Chow has a running time of about an hour and forty minutes and has several musical numbers. Ali Baba Nights is about twenty-three minutes shorter than Chu Chin Chow, and while it still maintains a compact story, Ali Baba Nights is a very different film than Chu Chin Chow. Cut from Chu Chin Chow were most of the scenes and musical numbers between Nur al-Din and Marjanah, a nice duet between Ali Baba and his wife, and a scene in which Abu Hassan's men stab the king, which was perhaps deemed too violent for a musical. These cuts may also have been made in order to speed up the action, but while they do accomplish that, they also remove much of the film’s emotion. The viewer has less invested in Nur al-Din and Marjanah's love, and their union is almost an afterthought. The cuts also removed much of George Robey's screen time, which is unfortunate because he is rather humorous in this film.

Ali Baba Nights (2 and a half stars)
Chu Chin Chow (3 stars)

*In 2005, VCI released a three-disc set that contains both the British and American releases. The set also includes Abdul the Damned starring Fritz Kortner. VCI's release has several moments in which the dialogue is hard to understand, which may frustrate some viewers.