Never Mind Voices When We Had Such Interesting Faces
Has home viewing become a laziest of recreations? I choose flatness that
lets Ann and I kibitz through Murder, She Wrote where a driverless car
chases Stuart Whitman, Van Johnson and June Allyson, spam rather than red meat
that is King of Kings just in from Flicker Alley, last Blu-Ray word for
DeMille’s voiceless epic. Why Murder, She Wrote rather than a roadshow Passion
Play? Hint lies in K of K’s silence, meaning you work at reading
faces that convey everything short of words, paying close enough attention to know how un-essential speaking is. We divine what characters feel short of
being told like in talkies, a concept alien to spoon-fed culture, but don’t we understand
each other best from looks and body language? Speech is for most a least reliable
gauge of everyday interaction. They say first impressions come in an instant, often
before either party talks, so why not silent movies as most sophisticated indicator
of human behavior we have? No one need “adjust” to voiceless film. We already
have it in us to comprehend just fine. I blame baby food served over all our
present lifetimes. Not that I underestimate babies. They take cues largely from
sight and look how quick they learn to manipulate grown-ups. If a child was
shown nothing but silent films for its first five years of life, we’d have a
society fueling talkless disc releases. To screen silents seems a gone art for other
stuff we do while “watching,” which really is every activity but what’s on a
screen, Law and Order episodes as backdrop to clacking keyboards, replying to
texts on inaptly named Smartphones, OK because we’ve seen most L&O’s three/four
times (helps that most are easy to forget). |
| Blanche Sweet Tells It All Sans Talk |
What became of dark rooms in which to watch? Such were called theatres. You
ate in them, talked at risk of being shushed. They say in nickel days folks
were entranced, nay hypnotized, by vital visuals. No lower of heads, looking at
each other, or juggle of popcorn lest you miss something, and yes, there was much
to miss where frames were filled and everybody acted at once. I see shorts at
You Tube and come away wrung by interaction with a 1912 Vitagraph, a 1908
Nordisk, folk emoting, reacting, conflicting all over places, cameras not yet fixed on what we’re supposed to see. With multiples engaged at business of life, you
choose which to follow, hefty load with priorities differing what with one crowd
studying another crowd on a crowded screen, this before installation of a star
system where eyes were naturally directed at the personality we’ve paid to see.
Stars went a long way toward making films predictable, formulas then applied to
seal the deal. Nickel drama found its level according to who looked. Like with
plays, which earliest films mostly were, each from an audience could exit with his/her
own impression of what they just saw, and I wonder if any two were alike. Single-reel
fables offer alternatives as to who we’ll observe closest, not a little like
video games where eyes fasten to one or other corner before sudden, maybe
urgent shift back, early squared frames a busy landscape. I tire of moderns
always directing me where to look. And by modern, I mean everything for the
last hundred years. A good Edison, Thanhauser, or Biograph leaves it all to yours
and my judgment, knowing conclusions can, likely will, differ. I’ll hone on
Henry Walthall while a next seat focuses on Blanche Sweet, neither of us right
or wrong for doing so. Others roaming onto or out of the frame keeps it busy always. |
| They Came, They Saw, and Silent Movies Conquered |
There was no place for popcorn in such charged environment, part
reason for not offering it, nor Goobers, let alone nachos or hot dogs, in
movies’ maiden years. Was patronage really a lot of unwashed imports? I claim they
were more alert than films would play to again, engaged far beyond latter-day
insta-watchers never more than seconds from changing screen partners, barely comprehending
any the while, let alone retaining what they see. Say early viewers were
stopped by titles in English because they couldn’t read the language or read at
all? Some one or several amidst a crowd could translate aloud, or have a
narrator up front to shout needed words. Imagine mosaic of languages to meet nickelodeon
ears. Here’s where depth of melting pots was measured for viewership quickly
learning because they wanted to learn, in fact had paid their ways in to do
just that. How many such sits were needed to get them past a nickelodeon’s comprehension
curve? I bet not many. You could call at-a-start watchers “illiterate” in terms
of our language and habits, but movies taught quick, your neighbor in a crowd
often able and generally willing to fill gaps where needed. Imagine the
community movies engendered, crowd generated barn raisings all day or night. Remember
also song slides where everyone joined in. What faster or friendlier path to
varied and useful knowledge, a popular culture buffet for single coin
admission. Present cinema serves all senses save smell and touch. Are these
next to be overcome, or have they been already and I’m not aware of it? Possibly
I don’t have the right software yet. Who today could enjoy, even comprehend,
radio drama? Plenty did, millions in fact, once upon a distant time. There they
had the hearing, but not the sight. Again, as with silent movies, imagination
was summoned to fill gaps. Are none of us today able to apply our imaginations?
If we won’t abide silents, or radio drama, well ... there's your answer. Will future
generations look back and wonder why we accepted such obsolete format as
feature-length films? Judging by what’s happened to theatre attendance of late, we could ask how far off such future actually is.
 |
| Doug Spoke to Us All, But Wished He Didn't Have To |
Fun of silents was formerly in the getting. I’ve talked to Columbus collectors
and each point out how “they” (moderns) need not drive/fly to preserves when
click on a bid button will win or lose whatever it is you want. We feel
superior for having long ago earned bounty our searches yielded, to which
latters might answer, who cares how you get it so long as you got it. There
used to be collector meets all over the map. New York had paper shows most
weekends. Meadowland Sundays were plane in, frenzy buy, then wing out. Syracuse
had its March blowout, plus there was “Cinecon” at a different Labor Day
location until finally settling in Hollywood, now minus a dealer’s room. These
ran rarities to a gathered audience, being an only place one could see The Bat Whispers for instance. Now we can saunter into dens and drop it on a Blu-Ray tray,
a sinfully simple option you’d not imagine before. Silent days lasted
(thirty years plus) till 1929 saw moving farewell, even if tempered by great-to-have-known-you but
don’t come back (note ad above for Douglas Fairbanks in a "sound hit"). Elegiac end for The Iron Mask sent a differing message, not what merchandising intended but playing as such now and maybe did in '29 to
sensitive enough viewers. Doug and his musketeers die in a third act, necessary
conclusion to this story, but what they really do is usher out voiceless times
by literally ascending from prospect of sound to Heaven that is
forever silence, paradise for them if not for a public that must embrace talker ways or loosen embrace of movies altogether. It is one of the loveliest wraps in all of film and
good arguing beyond its immediate effect for reality of an afterlife.
10 Comments:
If needed, Latin teacher/speaker available!
Do you ever hear from people you introduced to silents or other vintage cinema? I became a low-grade buff thanks largely to an old 8mm projector, Robert Youngson features on TV, and the plentiful campus screenings at UCSC (plus the Sash Mill revival house downtown). Greenbriar got me thinking more and more about context: Where and how films were shown, how they were received, moviegoing habits, etc.
Random idea: a society of old movie re-enactors. Not re-enacting the movies themselves, but spending an evening approximating the dress, food, and amusements of the show's original audience. "Hard times party" used to be a thing; possibly a suitable entr'acte for escapist depression fare.
Richard M. Roberts recalls an encounter with a collector who got that way by attending one of Richard's screenings:
John,
In answer to Mr. Benson's question as to whether we ever hear from folk we have introduced to vintage film, I can tell one story about how you never know what or where you can make a difference in regards to these things.
I was once approached by a guy at one of these festivals who asked me if I was Richard M Roberts, warily I answered in the affirmative, and he shook my hand and thanked me for getting him into this area of interest. I was intrigued, wondering if he had read one of my articles or bought a DVD I'd done or whatever, so I asked him what I had done to send him down this road.
His response: "You ran THE GREAT TRAIN ROBBERY in our seventh grade class & "Show and Tell"; I thought it was great and immediately started hunting down old westerns and vintage film. I've been a collector ever since."
I stared at him, unsure of what to say, but finally responded, "Gee, if it hadn't been for me, you could have had a normal life."
RICHARD M ROBERTS
We had a larger attendance in Columbus this year than we've had in at least the last several years. It was a good crowd, with good movies and a good dealers room. I'm proud of the fact that we're still a hold-out of how these events used to be, resistant as much as we can to pressure to change or update.
I loved to watch Filmoteca streamed online from Argentina, from which I managed to save a couple of films available nowhere else. The show ended abruptly first during the COVID outbreak (when they moved to YouTube, where it should have remained) and then it returned later, but it wasn't as good because the offerings felt more conventional. With the current administration, they were ousted from television, which they sincerely deserved it because of their stupidity, to return to YouTube until they ended it altogether. At least, the things that they uploaded are still in there.
"Hint lies in K of K’s silence, meaning you work at reading faces that convey everything short of words, paying close enough attention to know how un-essential speaking is." Yes. Fans approach silent movies as silent movies. Ordinary folks approach them as movies. Once people stopped giving the screen their full 100% attention the movies began to lose their audience. Few would dream of talking during a live performance because the immediacy of the moment demands full attention. I say few because there will always be those few. I learned early that my job is always to surpass the expectations of the audience. Mere meeting them is not enough. People say, "I expected more." One thing that I always do is watch the faces of people as they leave. There is a look on those faces if I've done my job that says what words can't. Richard M. Roberts experience is one I have often not just for the films I've shown but also for the talks I give. One day getting change at a bank my server said, "Are you Reg Hartt?" I said, "Yes." He then said he had heard a talk I had given before a movie that I had thought so off the wall it could not be measured. He said, "That talk changed my life."
At a university where I had been invited to speak when the teacher asked a question I said, "I don't answer questions. I speak."
The class was shocked.
When I finished the teacher said, "Would you like a coffee or a tea?"
I said, "Yes."
She then said, "You do answer questions. You are using the classic style of the oracle."
I said, "Yes, I know."
When an Oracle speaks only those meant to hear hear.
To those not meant to hear it sounds like nonsense.
The movies at their best which was in the silent era when theatres sat thousands who had paid legit theatre prices were Oracles.
In Britain when Chaplin's THE GOLD RUSH premiered at The Albert Hall the BBC ran live on the radio the sound of thousands laughing themselves silly that is that film's last half hour.
Everyone who heard that had to see it.
The movies as a theatre going experience have lost their cachet.
If they are going to be resurrected it will only happen when they get it back.
Film makers need to design their pictures so that the audience is so riveted that not one piece of popcorn goes into their mouth from the moment the picture starts.
When I did my programs in bars staff said, "No one drinks while you talk."
They thought that was bad.
Dan Mercer speaks to silent movies:
"An immersive, dreamlike experience" is such an evocative way of describing the pleasure found in watching silent films. As with dreams, there is an emphasis upon the image and the strange logic that accompanies them. There is a difference, though, in that dreams come unbidden while the silent film offers an invitation. We must accept it to enter upon this world.
To an extent this is true of motion pictures in general, since the moving image is its essence, but sound, especially spoken dialog, tends to fix things in place and gives them a particular meaning. Without sound and dialog, the silent picture is incomplete, as compared to our experience of the waking world. It finds fulfillment only through our willingness to imaginatively invest ourselves in the experience. In this way we are both audience and collaborator. While this is true, again, for any motion picture, it achieves a finer degree of realization for the silent film's essential quality of silence.
When a story or experience is conveyed through images, the images become more expressive, assuming the qualities or an allegory or metaphor, thus reaching out from the appearance of the moment to something else which transcends it. The acting, too, becomes more visually expressive, as facial expression and body language substitute for spoken words. As in life, these tend to be truer than words for being more revelatory of the inner life of a person.
A caveat is that the silent film was never meant to be shown in silence, as such, though purists might object to this, but with music. Some have referred to it as "illustrated music," as the visual rhythms of the images are complemented by those of the music. In this way, the music affirms or comments upon what the image conveys and creates an emotional resonance with that of the visual presentation.
Radio drama would seem to be the other side of the same coin, where spoken dialog, music, and sound substitute for the images of the motion picture. Again there is a certain incompleteness which finds fulfillment only when we imaginatively invest ourselves in the experience.
Perhaps the difference between the silent picture and what passes for many modern entertainments is that the latter require only an audience and not participants. They give what they give, but only that, while the silent picture, in requiring us to give of ourselves, provides much more.
Dan Mercer follows up with a few more thoughts on silent film:
Another thought, but it occurred to me that silent film has its own kind of dialog, but one which exemplifies the special charm of the medium. People are shown talking to one another, but we really cannot know what they're saying until a title card is displayed. In between, we anticipate what they've said and there is a certain suspense. This is repeated again and again, the suspense with its denouement and, again and again, we are drawn into the experience, always investing ourselves in it, imaginatively and emotionally. There, too, is found its reward.
Dan Mercer looks for one silent film book and encounters another:
I stopped by a Barnes & Noble to see if they had the Ben Model book in stock. Not surprisingly, given the subject matter, they did not. I did see David Thompson's new book, however, "The Fatal Alliance: A Century of War on Film." I picked up a copy and it fell open to a chapter beginning thusly:
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1924) is not a good film. A century later, it seems content with inane high-mindedness; its gloom is gloss, really.
Not a promising beginning. Perhaps he simply watched a bad print or one with an inadequate score. Otherwise, he might ask himself why the audience of the time, with the wounds of a terrible war still so fresh, would have found it powerful and compelling. Obviously, it spoke to them with words he couldn't hear.
But, to each his own.
"The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1924) is not a good film." Remember when reading that this is one person's opinion only. People walk out after seeing the film when I show it deeply and positively impressed. He probably saw the Thames version. I personally am not keen on the music in that version.I believe the picture was run at a faster fps rate. For myself the picture is excellent.
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