Book Review--William Faulkner in Hollywood: Screenwriting for the Studios

William Faulkner in Hollywood: Screenwriting for the Studios
Stefan Solomon
University of Georgia Press, 2017

William Faulkner was different from literary greats like F. Scott Fitzgerald and John Steinbeck who came to Hollywood chasing a big paycheck and then struggled to adapt. The novelist not only adjusted well to studio life, but thrived. In a new book, Stefan Solomon examines Faulkner's Hollywood experience and how it colored his creative output.

While Faulkner's time writing screenplays took him away from more personally satisfying literary pursuits, it also gave him the financial resources to continue that work, in addition to providing inspiration for its development. His practicality on that front, and his adaptability and ability to understand the demands of cinema worked enormously to his benefit. He was able to write in the style of different studios, finding success at RKO, MGM and Warner Bros, collaborating on fixing and conceiving projects, looking upon the whole enterprise as a job, though it was not without its artistic inspirations.

In fact, the inspiration ran two ways when it came to Faulkner's writing during his Hollywood years. The rich world of his literature colored his screenplays and sometimes that day work inspired his novel writing in the early morning hours, before he headed to the studio. Hollywood was never the dream. Faulkner always preferred his Mississippi home, but the writer embraced the opportunities movie money offered while reaping those creative benefits.

Faulkner was unusual among novelists in his grasp of the visual and aural language of movie writing. He was adept at integrating stage direction and sound into his scripts, creating a world to accompany his dialogue. On the other hand, the power of dialogue impressed itself upon the novelist, and he would begin to insert more of it in his literary works.

As a script fixer, Faulkner had a knack for adding dramatic tension, pumping life into literary sources so that they could live on the screen. He understood the needs of the cinematic form as well as he did their differences from literature. For example, director Jean Renoir felt Faulkner's small, but significant contributions to the script of The Southerner (1945) helped to translate its literary source to the screen. When the writer created a scene about competition over catching a desired fish, it both added dramatic tension and resolved an important plot thread.

The book examines both Faulkner's credited and uncredited work, demonstrating how, as with the Renoir film, the writer could significantly affect a movie with as little as a single scene or a few lines of dialogue. These efforts include work on films as diverse as Gunga Din (1939), Mildred Pierce (1945), The Big Sleep (1946) and Drums Along the Mohawk (1939). It is interesting to note that while Faulkner was more often contributor than lead, he tended to work on films that would become classics.

This is a highly accessible academic work, appropriate for the casual reader. It goes deep into the details, and reader interest will depend on whether or not that kind of analysis is appealing. The focus is on craft, with very little personal detail. Faulkner's methods and the way he navigated Hollywood take center stage.

Perhaps William Faulkner belonged in Mississippi, writing novels and eating watermelon on his back porch, but he made the most of his time in Hollywood. William Faulkner in Hollywood captures the unusual combination of vision, industry and practicality that made that so.

Many thanks to University of Georgia Press for providing a copy of the book for review.

On Blu-ray: The Freedom of the Open Road in The Gumball Rally (1976)

A mid-seventies car race comedy is a tad out of the time range I typically cover at A Classic Movie Blog, but I was curious to see the post-code progression of films like The Great Race (1965) and It's A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World (1963). I also desperately needed a purely escapist flick, which I got. Now available on Blu-ray from Warner Archive, this loosely-arranged comedy provides eye-candy for classic car lovers and the freedom of the open road.

Led by bored businessman Michael Sarrazin, a group of speed freaks takes off on their annual cross country race, zooming from New York City to Los Angeles. The seven teams of driver and navigator are distinguished by make: Camaro, Ferrari, Porsche, Mercedes, Cobra, Rolls Royce and Dodge, with a hapless motorcycle rider (based on Charlie Chaplin's silent person) thrown in the mix for physical comedy. With trickery, CB radios and radar detectors, they elude the police, making pit stops along the way where crews wait to change tires and make adjustments. It is as if the entire country is a race track.

At its best The Gumball Rally is alive with the thrill of speed, roaring engines and the freedom of discarding the law simply to have the wind whip through your hair. While sex plays a role, the biggest turn on is the cars, which are reason enough for automobile fanatics to watch. These are the bodies that get the most attention and while there are no truly stand-out sequences, the action is engaging in a sort of laidback, free form way.

With an enormous cast and most of the action on the road, this is not a film for character development. It has the odd feel of being only cast with supporting players, with no true stand-out performances, though Raul Julia is charismatic despite a terrible Italian accent, Gary Busey plays his Chiclet teeth and horsy laugh to great goofy effect and it is fun to see cult favorite Joanne Nail (Switchblade Sisters [1975]) as a navigator who has an interesting chemistry with her driver, and soap star Susan Flannery (Days of Our Lives, The Bold and the Beautiful). Overall though, there are so many characters in the mix that it is easy to get lost.

While of course you don't approach this genre looking for strong character development, a charismatic lead or an intriguing relationship could have elevated this to a sort of classic status. Think Burt Reynolds in Smokey and the Bandit (1975) and the genuinely touching connection he made with Sally Field in that flick. Of course, that kind of magic is rare, and taken for what it is, The Gumball Rally is a good time and a great escape from responsibility.

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review. To order, visit The Warner Archive Collection.

ClassicFlix Reviews: 5 Fascinating Flicks

For the past few years, in addition to writing reviews for A Classic Movie Blog, I have also shared my takes on the latest releases for the film rental site ClassicFlix, which has recently shifted its operations to disc sales. As there is no overlap between the titles I review there and here, I thought I'd share some edited excerpts from my reviews of some of the most intriguing films I covered for the site. It is quite an array:

L'Inhumaine (1924)

This remarkable display of 1920s creative talents gets its vibrancy via contributions from an array of artisans including painters, architects and even glass artists, juxtaposing a creaky femme fatale story with sleek avant-garde style.

The l'inhumaine (inhuman woman) of the title is Claire Lescot, a wealthy opera singer who lives in a grand temple to art deco and cubism on the outskirts of Paris. There she surrounds herself with men who adore her, though she always remains cool to their attentions. She goes too far with the young engineer Einar Norsen (Jaque Catelain), the one suitor for whom she has true feelings, causing him to plunge his car off a cliff in romantic frustration. The incident causes a scandal, but this is the least of Lescot's worries as she finds that all is not as it appears.

French opera singer Georgette Lablanc stars at the titular dangerous woman and was also a major backer for the film, providing half of the funding. At 55, Leblanc had already reached her professional peak; movie stardom was just another adventure. With a face like a head on Easter Island, she is grand, if not quite believable as a woman who inspires overwhelming lust in so many men. She's like Mae West in that she isn't as stunning as she thinks she is, but her confidence in her own appeal adds to her allure.

The style of the film provides the substance. L'Inhumaine clearly isn't a showcase for acting talent or exploring new narrative forms. Lablanc in particular doesn't seem to know how to move in front of the camera, indulging in frequent chest heaving to express her emotions. The lack of nuance in the cast works in the film's favor though, adding to the sense of unease created by L'Herbier's unpredictable camerawork. They are not so much actors as figures to be adorned and moved through the creations of the various collaborators, oddly enhancing this portrait of an exciting, but chaotic modern world.

The Chase (1946)

Film noir typically evokes sharp-witted private dicks, smooth-talking gangsters and dark city streets. Dreaminess isn't regularly used to describe the genre but that is just what The Chase (1946) is, because this languid "wrong man" drama has the heady, slightly off-center feel of the surreal world of sleep.

Robert Cummings is Chuck Scott, a scruffy veteran who is starving to death until he finds a billfold full of cash on the sidewalk. After borrowing a few bucks to buy breakfast and a cigar, he tracks down the owner of the wallet at his Florida mansion. Insisting on seeing the man himself, he is introduced to millionaire Eddie Roman (Steve Cochran), a psychopathic criminal who claims to be in the "entertainment business."

Impressed with Chuck's honesty, Eddie immediately offers him a job as his chauffeur. The down-on-his-luck drifter is happy to take any job. Chuck is broke and appears to have been made at least somewhat emotionally numb by his war experiences. Unattached and aimless, he seems to think there is nothing in Eddie's world to which he would object, but that reserve is cracked when he meets the gangster's depressed wife Lorna (Michele Morgan).

The Chase is both a psychological and physical chase. Eddie requires absolute control: whether in business or his personal life, but along with his mania for power is a delight in deciphering the desires and needs of others and exploiting their dreams. He is dangerously clever, with an otherworldly ability to anticipate the actions of those he targets. Like a slasher movie serial killer, he moves forward with steady confidence while his victims scurry away in fear, tripping over metaphorical tree roots, their failures filling him with delight.

Cochran is the stand out here, in a performance that would doom him to typecasting as cruel villains. As his henchman, Lorre is sinister and self-amused, delighting in little tasks like subtly threatening a businessman in his boss' crosshairs, but always slightly irritated by Eddie's lack of caution.

As the morally flexible Chuck, Cummings is appropriately seedy. While Chuck is the nominal hero, he is a complicated man. There is still good left in him after his traumatic wartime experiences, but he is a damaged soul.

Morgan was not the first choice for the role of Lorna, but it is difficult to imagine any other actress pulling off the dreamy sadness and blunted joy she evokes here. She, above all the other stars, embodies the film's drifting, unreal feel.

23 Paces to Baker Street (1956)

23 Paces to Baker Street isn't necessarily a lost suspense classic, but it is entertaining and deserving of more attention. Starring Van Johnson, Vera Miles and Cecil Parker and directed by Henry Hathaway, it is a mystery that builds slowly but surely to a fascinating climax.

Van Johnson stars as Phil Hannon, a playwright who has exiled himself to London after an accident that has left him with a life-altering disability. Bitter, and with too much time on his hands, he is alert and ready for action when he overhears a conversation in a pub that seems to point to a dangerous crime on the horizon. He searches for answers with the help of his estranged love Jean (Vera Miles), who has followed him across the ocean because she refuses to give up on the depressed writer, and his butler Bob (Cecil Parker), who gradually realizes how deeply he has fallen into his employer's obsession.

The film proceeds slowly at first, but with consistent tension. While the police, and even Jean and Bob may not fully understand the danger unfolding, the audience always sees the emerging peril at hand. What that particular danger is stays unclear and here Hathaway shines, putting you in his character's shoes, making you wonder how far this should go before it becomes too dangerous. Once the threat becomes real, the action blows up and the momentum increases dramatically.

Johnson, Miles and Parker are a pleasing trio. Their chemistry, and the plot they drive forward, is reminiscent of James Stewart, Grace Kelly and Thelma Ritter in Alfred Hitchcock's Rear Window (1954). Thanks to Parker though, the humor has a drier, more British feel.

One of the great pleasures of 23 Paces to Baker Street is the glimpse it offers into 1950s London. In addition to a gorgeous opening sequence, there are fascinating scenes on the streets and in a now demolished department store. With fewer cars and people, and a slower pace of life, it is almost as if you are looking at a different city. 

Night Train to Munich (1940)

Carol Reed's Night Train to Munich evinces the terror of a dawning war in a thriller which balances laughs, romance and action with remarkable ease. At this point in his career Reed had hit a certain rhythm, producing films that were polished, well-paced and always had emotional heft beneath a highly entertaining exterior.

Margaret Lockwood is Anna Bomasch, the daughter of a wealthy Czechoslovakian scientist. While her father barely escapes the Gestapo for London in the months leading up to World War II, she is arrested and sent to a concentration camp for interrogation; she refuses to reveal where her father has gone. There she befriends Captain Karl Marsen (Paul Henreid). He presents himself to her as a passionately rebellious teacher but is actually there undercover, in an attempt to get her to lead the Nazis to her father. Rex Harrison is a soldier who helps her.

Given the relative innocence of the time, its remarkable how effectively Night Train to Munich captures the menace of what was to come. Though there were many unknowns in that year, the advance of danger was clear and Reed captures that feeling of doom in many ways, from the bullying actions of a Nazi officer, to the dawning terror in the glances between two Englishmen who realize all the dry jokes in the world can not stop the upheaval to come.

Harrison, Lockwood and Henreid (here credited by his real name von Henreid) star in early roles, each similarly perched on the edge of their eventual greatness. Compared to his most famous parts, Harrison is almost pretty here, looking young, thin and much more mischievous. Two years after an equally nervy performance as the heroine in The Lady Vanishes, Lockwood once again possesses the perfect mix of elegance and grit, making it plausible that this daughter of wealth could manage such a great upheaval of her plush life. Henreid also ably manages a contradictory persona, exuding matinee idol eroticism while also projecting an aura of menace.

Destiny (1921)


Destiny is German director Fritz Lang's first major production and a worthy companion to his other silent era triumphs, the Die Nibelungen (1924) films and Metropolis (1927). It awakened filmmakers Luis Bunuel and Alfred Hitchcock to the thrills and artistic beauty of film and its special effects so impressed Douglas Fairbanks that he bought the rights in order to hold back the release of the film in the United States until he could imitate them for The Thief of Bagdad (1924).

In a dark tale that foreshadows the tone of Lang's work, Destiny is the story of a woman (Lil Dagover) who goes head-to-head with death (Bernhard Goetzke) in an attempt to win back her fiance (Walter Janssen), who he has taken as they enjoy a romantic afternoon at a pub. As the title suggests, Death is rather weary of claiming souls and he gives the grieving woman three chances to win back her lover. In a trio of scenarios, she is tasked with saving one of the lives on the Grim Reaper's list for imminent disposal. If she outwits Death one time, she gets her man back.

These three elaborate scenarios are the central action of the film. In each of them actors from the framing story join the two lovers and Death in what unfolds as a series of parallel worlds where the power of love is continually tested. With elaborate settings, and what the opening credits claim to be authentic costumes and artifacts, Lang stages his stories in an Arabian Nights-style Persia, Venice during the Renaissance and ancient China. In these tales the players enact highly exoticized and caricatured versions of the people of these cultures, often playing them for laughs, but these amusements do little to mask the darkness, violence and doom at the core of the action.

With his gaunt cheeks and oddly blank eyes, which give off the appearance of lacking pupils, Death looks frightening, but entirely over it all. Weary Death is the perfect title for this scenario. In his lair, surrounded by flickering candles which symbolize with eerie simplicity the living souls he will someday claim, he is motionless and emotionless, with a rigid expression of disillusionment that looks carved into his skull. He finds no joy in extinguishing lives, as he demonstrates in a chilling scene; a candle flame turns into a baby which he briefly holds with a jaded expression before it vanishes into the after world.

The special effects are among Destiny's most spellbinding elements, and still enchant nearly one hundred years later. You can see the bits Fairbanks borrowed for his own epic, including the way a flying carpet is approached and a flying scroll that looks much like a similarly lively rope in The Thief of Baghdad. Other effects were already fairly common at the time; creating transparent figures and making people appear out of thin air are elegantly executed and used to satisfyingly unsettling effect.

On Blu-ray: March, Lancaster, Douglas and Gardner in Seven Days in May (1964)

Seven Days in May (1964) was director John Frankenheimer's follow-up to The Manchurian Candidate (1962), meant to be another unsettling portrait of power and politics. Given today's political climate though, it is striking how relatively sane everyone seems in this story of an attempted military takeover of the US government. While there are dark forces in the mix, for the most part the players here are intellectual, sober-minded and determined to act with honor. It feels like a fantasy. Now available on Blu-ray from Warner Archive, this engrossing, underseen film is a fascinating comment on its own times and a timeless story of the eternal truth that everyone thinks they are the good guy.

Fredric March is embattled U.S. President Jordan Lyman, an increasingly unpopular leader who is under fire for signing a nuclear disarmament treaty with the Soviet Union in the midst of the cold war. In fear for the safety of the nation, Air Force General James Mattoon Scott (Burt Lancaster) has been working undercover to overthrow the president and create a government which satisfies his concept of defense. When Colonel Martin "Jiggs" Casey learns of the imminent takeover, he rushes to inform the president and preserve the union.

What follows is a muted, but intense race to thwart the uprising in the seven days before it is to begin. Jiggs struggles to find his way through the conflict, a situation in which he does not agree with the actions of his president, but is determined to uphold the constitution. He is unsettled by the wrong he must do to protect his leader, and particularly that he must betray Scott's former mistress, and his friend, Eleanor Holbrook (Ava Gardner) to obtain potential ammunition.

I don't know how much Rod Serling's script draws from the Fletcher Knebel and Charles Bailey II book, but it bears his mark: a plea for reason, belief in honor, but little faith that humans can act in their own best interest. While the film makes protagonists of Jiggs and Lyman, it doesn't necessarily celebrate them. Perhaps they have the constitution behind them, but in some ways they can't claim moral superiority to Scott.

The General is a threat, but he isn't a monster either. Made during the Cuban missile crisis, many Americans agreed with General Scott's belief in a strong military offensive. Frankenheimer didn't, but he wanted to portray Lancaster's character as sane and level-headed.

Frankenheimer recorded commentary for the film, included in this release, in which says that he doesn't believe that this movie could be made today, because he doesn't think audiences would accept a president with the morals of March's Lyman. He believes the office has been debased. I don't know when he made those comments, but it is worth noting that this feeling about the highest office in the land has existed in varying degrees of passion since Kennedy's assassination.

Due to political tensions at the time, co-producer Kirk Douglas recalled getting pushback from several directions when he wanted to film the story. It was only when President Kennedy not only gave his approval, but encouraged the producers to continue that the production could continue. JFK had had his own experiences with a dangerously influential general and seemed to want the public to understand how fragile democracy can be.

Here that fragility is revealed quietly, behind doors, coming to the edge of crumbling without a hint to the public. In some ways it is insidiously subtle; Jiggs knows the threat is real, but in fighting to be heard, you sense his self-doubt. It isn't so much that he doesn't believe in his end goal, but rather that the forces against him are so relentless that he struggles to keep his focus and moral grounding.

While these major players drive the action, they make victims of their foot soldiers. The emotionally exhausted Holbrook is already down when Jiggs further betrays her trust. In their quest for truth presidential advisor Paul Girard (Martin Balsam) and Senator Raymond Clark (Edmond O'Brien) become casualties of their own patriotism. It is a trio of moving performances, all of them pawns in different ways.

March and Lancaster communicate their entitlement smoothly.Their characters are more alike than they'd care to admit, both of them in power because of their ability to ask for sacrifice and their ferocity in standing by their beliefs. It was interesting to see two actors with such bold personas playing low-key roles. Still, though they are more subtle, but you can see the confidence surging beneath the surface.

A fascinating commentary by John Frankenheimer is the sole Special Feature on the Blu-ray.

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review. To order, visit The Warner Archive Collection.

5 Fascinating Film Podcasts

After months of subscribing to podcasts that I never listened to on my PocketCast app, I finally settled in to listen to a few. Now I'm addicted! I love the personal, intimate feel of a great podcast and of course I have been especially interested in shows focused on movies.

I thought it would be fun to share some of the shows that I've been enjoying lately. This is by no means a "best of" list. I'm just getting started and have plenty of other shows to try. I plan to share more favorites in future posts. All podcast titles link to information about the show, including how to listen. If you'd like to spread the word about your own movie podcast, or tell me about a favorite show, please share in the comments!

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Noir Talk

The official podcast of the Film Noir Foundation is only a few episodes old, but I've already found it to be a great source of information about the foundation's Noir City festival and the world of noir. Get your feet wet with the first episode, which features an interview with noir czar Eddie Muller.

Pure Cinema Podcast

I've long been an admirer of Brian Saur's film recommendation blog Rupert Pupkin Speaks (to which I have contributed!), so I was excited to hear he had started a podcast with Elric Kane (Shock Waves podcast). It's a fun show because these two seem to have seen everything. It's almost difficult to listen to while doing the dishes or whatever, because I have to keep stopping to write down new titles I want to see. A favorite: episode 9 in which they match classic noir titles with newer flicks.

Book vs. Movie

I collect books which were the basis for classic films, so this podcast was a perfect fit for me. Two ladies named Margo dish about a book and the movie it influenced in a casual, coffeehouse chat style which is deceptively frothy; they always offer thought-provoking, incisive analysis. They cover a wide range of time periods, but there is plenty to keep classic film fans happy. Start with the Psycho episode, in which the Margos are rightly horrified by both the book and the movie.

New Yorker: The Front Row

This is a great podcast for people who don't think they have the time for podcasts. New Yorker critic Richard Brody gets right to business, usually taking less than four minutes to give thoughtful analysis of his film of the week, and in his delightfully soothing voice which gives the reviews a bedtime story vibe. Most episodes are videocasts, though they can be appreciated without the images. Brody covers every conceivable time period, genre and nation in his review of cinema. I have learned so much from these brief episodes.  Just listen to all of them.

You Must Remember This

I feel silly mentioning Karina Longworth's incredibly popular podcast; who doesn't know about her by now? However, I can't leave her out either, because she is the reason I became interested in searching out more  movie-themed podcasts. I like how Longworth has varied her show, sometimes doing a one-off on an actress, other times embarking on a multi-episode arc. She does her research and she knows how to share these stories in an engaging way. There are so many good places to start with this show; one of my favorite arcs is the six episodes dedicated to Joan Crawford.

On Blu-ray: Robert Morse and a Crazy Cast of Cameos in The Loved One (1965)

The Loved One takes a look at the superficial rot in society and gleefully flashes a pair of fangs. This satire of Hollywood, the funeral industry and grand gestures hiding devious acts jabs at corruption and greed. It's full of cameos, some performed by actors who for the most part have glossy, uncomplicated personas, and all seem to relish getting a chance to show a little edge. Now available on Blu-ray from Warner Archive, this is an unusual, rebellious film.

Robert Morse stars as Dennis Barlow, a young, plagiarist poet who travels from the UK to Hollywood and takes up residence with his Uncle Francis (John Gielgud). When his elderly relative hangs himself after losing his longtime job at a move studio, the leader of the local British colony (Robert Morley) insists that their compatriot have a grand funeral.

Barlow goes to the luxurious Whispering Glades cemetery and mortuary, where movie star glamorous ladies in veils and low-cut dresses wear elegant smiles, but attend to their customers with vicious efficiency. They quietly turn away Jews and gently shame acceptable applicants into choosing the most luxurious and expensive accommodations for their loved ones.

Obsessed with the tragically naïve cosmetician Aimée Thanatogenos (Anjanette Comer), Dennis begins to spend a lot of time at Whispering Glades, where he meets the corrupt owner, the Reverend Wilbur Glenworthy (Jonathan Winters) and the unhinged, but professional head embalmer Mr. Joyboy (Rod Steiger), who also lusts after Aimée, imagining her as an addition to his bizarre life with his gluttonous bedridden mother.

Left with little inheritance, Dennis goes to work at the local pet cemetery, owned by Reverend Glenworthy's twin brother Henry (Winters), where he also meets the genius teen rocket builder Gunther Fry (a remarkable early performance by 23-year-old Paul Williams). While Joyboy and Dennis pressure Aimée for marriage, the Reverend plots to improve his profits by any means necessary. It is not a healthy atmosphere for anyone with a hint of morals.

The Loved One seems to have irritated many upon its release. Source novel author Evelyn Waugh didn't want to be associated with the film, but was days from his death upon its release. Several offended studio executives marched out of an early screening, which delighted director Tony Richardson who seems to have felt the arrow hit the right spot. While the sensual and cynical elements of this dark comedy do not have the same power to offend that they did upon the film's release, it is easy to see how the executive types could have been annoyed and the moral types clutching their pearls. You could apply the monsters here to any time; the message is evergreen.

Perhaps it is the actors who came out best here, simply because they seem to be enjoying their roles so much. In the leads Morse, Comer and Winters commit in a way that is palpable, you feel their belief in their characters. It was also fun to see the way Liberace, Tab Hunter and Milton Berle snagged the opportunity to play against type in a trio of bitter cameos. Other standout bit roles include Lionel Stander, Roddy McDowell and Barbara Nichols, all thoroughly understanding the spirit of the project. And then there is Steiger, clearly having the time of his life in a creepy, kooky and outrageous performance that was reportedly his favorite.

For a film about corruption, deception and losing faith, The Loved One is a lot of fun. Perverse in a way the times call for.

The picture looks amazing, mostly due to the work of producer and cinematographer Haskell Wexler, though the disc quality is also good.

Special features on the Blu-ray include a theatrical trailer and the featurette Trying to Offend Everyone, which features interesting interviews with Comer, Morse and Williams. I always like to hear Williams speak in particular; he's got a great sense of humor.

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review. To order, visit The Warner Archive Collection.

Flicker Alley--7 Great Flicks From Early Women Filmmakers: An International Anthology

In the weeks since I participated in the Flicker Alley giveaway for the three disc DVD/Blu-ray set Early Women Filmmakers: An International Anthology, I've spent a lot of time watching and rewatching the films in this set. Considering there are twenty-five varied entries here, from full-length films and shorts to one legendary outburst from a Dorothy Arzner flick, it's impressive to me how many of them I appreciate not just objectively, but on a personal level.

The overall message here: women do not have a single unifying characteristic as filmmakers except their sex. Their contributions to cinema have been diverse, sometimes pioneering and often worthy of celebration. They created magic in the early years of the industry and they should have been able to do so in larger numbers in the years to follow. Hopefully that will eventually be corrected in our current industry, though it cannot happen fast enough. In the meantime, there are these films to remind us of the great talents in our cinematic past.

There's a lot to unpack in this set, so I thought I'd share some of the titles that stood out for me in this amazing anthology:

Une Histoire Roulante (1906), Alice Guy-Blaché

This short consists of about two minutes of a man inside a barrel, rolling out of control over people, a high railway bridge and anything else unfortunate enough to be in his path. It feels like the birth of screen slapstick.

Suspense (1913), Lois Weber

If Guy-Blaché can be given credit for bringing physical comedy to the screen, Weber should get her laurels for creating a cinematic language for suspense films. This tensely-paced short about a young mother who is terrorized by a home-invading tramp is still terrifying over one hundred years after its debut.

La Souriante Mme. Beaudet (1922), Germaine Dulac

Combining the brutal slap of reality with a dream world of fevered speculation, this tale of a woman who despises her crude, controlling husband is both harsh and beautiful. Presenting feminist before there was a word for it, Dulac bravely presents a vision of female defiance.

The Peasant Women of Ryazan (1927), Olga Preobrazhenskaia

A devastating film of heartbreaking labor, physical abuse, loyalty and lack thereof, among a group of rural women. This Soviet drama is also visually beautiful, with magically composed location photography and an intimate eye on the customs and social life of these hard living people.

The Stolen Heart (1934), Lotte Reiniger

Reiniger specialized in silhouette animation, using stop motion and cut-outs to give life to fairy tales, fables and operas. I've always been amazed how much emotion she can illicit from these cut outs, using the simplest motion and designs. Here a village is terrorized by a sort of demon who steals their musical instruments. The instruments have their own ideas though and do not accept captivity away from their owners.

A Night on Bald Mountain (1933), Claire Parker and Alexandre Alexeieff

Set to Modest Mussorgsky's menacing titular composition, this animated short was made using pinscreen animation. This method, for which Parker became celebrated, uses a screen in which movable pins are inserted to make different patterns. The designs, and the way they are filmed to capture different shadow effects, are unlike any other form of film animation. Here the effect is creepy and fantastical, fitting perfectly with the score.

Meshes of the Afternoon (1943), Maya Deren

In her most famous work, experimental filmmaker Maya Deren creates a work of beauty and haunting uncertainty. She stars in this exploration of the power of a definitive moment and how it can expand into an obsession.


Many thanks to Flicker Alley for providing a copy of the collection for review.