     |
 |
|
|
Movies,
unlike the arts that came before it, have always been for So many of the films from the Golden Era of silent cinema are lost to history, and of the ones that are left – many of them classics and masterpieces – video cassette or DVD viewings just can’t measure up to the experience of watching these movies the way they were meant to be seen: on the big screen. More than that – for many art house cinemas and cinematheques and venues like MoMA do screen classics on a regular basis – there are precious few opportunities to hear movies the way they were meant to be heard. In actuality, even the silent classics that prevailed until the advent of synchronized sound were never really silent. A regular feature of going to the movies was live orchestral accompaniment; musicians were regularly employed to provide not only the musical score to films, but to add the very first known “sound effects” with their instruments.
The Merry Widow, one of the last masterpieces to be made in the silent era, was a success upon its release and remains, to this day, an acknowledged classic worldwide - probably increasingly so with passing years. But one of the most remarkable aspects of the film is that it was made at all; a little insight into von Stroheim’s life and career will shed some light on the miracle that is this film and the ease with which it was completed and subsequently viewed by so many.
It was also during these formative years that von Stroheim established a reputation for being an obsessive and controlling artist. Not only did he conceive the stories for his films himself - a rare quality - but he designed his sets, took over all aspects of production, and even acted in many of his own works. His diligence paid off – these films are still widely considered ahead of their time in sophistication and film artistry – but his efforts proved very taxing to Stroheim, who didn’t want his vision interfered with by studio honchos. He left Universal for Goldwyn Films, which was merging with Metro Pictures to become MGM, and was assigned Greed, MGM’s first major release. While this is the film Stroheim is most often associated with - many think it one of cinema’s great masterpieces - it was actually a notorious fiasco that all but ended his career as a director. He shot 42 reels and made an eight hour film that the studio inevitably wrested from him and drastically cut, to under two hours. No one went to see the movie and critics panned it. Strangely enough, Stroheim was sill hired by MGM to direct The Merry Widow. Although he was still surly, controlling and unpleasant - I noted in my biography of star Mae Murray that during the shoot she would refer to him as “the dirty Hun” - he managed to shoot the film on schedule, within budget, and with many of his ingenious personal touches. Still, he was dismissed from MGM, and was fired from his next film, Queen Kelly (1928); the star of that film, Gloria Swanson, couldn’t stand working with him, and she evidently had more clout than he did. He made a few more films, but they all floundered, and Stroheim resumed acting now and then, notably in Jean Renoir’s Grand Illusion (1937) and Billy Wilder’s Sunset Boulevard (1950).
The Merry Widow is distinctively von Stroheim, while remaining palatable to a wide audience always hungry for a lurid love story with their favorite actors - John Gilbert and Mae Murray (“The Girl With The Bee-Stung Lips”) were major attractions at the time, and at the peak of their careers). It is a stylish film with its modern use of geometric compositions and baroque mise-en-scene, and, like his earlier works, it also showcases von Stroheim’s fascination with overt lascivious sexual references and, most obviously in this film, an almost pagan philosophy of life-as-art. It is daring, it is original, it is dark and lavish while also offering unabashed sentiment and the decadent adornments of a period in history that inevitably waltzed itself into oblivion - with panache until the very end. The film holds
up well today, which can’t be said of a lot of cinema’s early product, wholly
due to von Stroheim’s authentic, hard-fought for ideas about cinema as art.
Watching The Merry Widow today is a feast for the eyes and a treat in
almost every way. The chance to watch it on a big screen in a space reminiscent
of the splendor of old movie palaces is hard to pass up. The once in a lifetime
opportunity to see it with a packed house and a live orchestra, featuring some
of Toronto’s finest musicians and conducted by Berndt Heller, cannot be missed.
For a couple of hours, the past will be ours. For more information about 2003's Toronto International Film Festival®, please visit the website, http://www.e.bell.ca/filmfest/2003/default.asp.
#
Receive profiles such as this in your e-mail inbox every two weeks! Just
send a blank e-mail to: |
|
everyone, and modern technology made moving images the fastest spreading form of
entertainment in history. This is why early film enthusiasts, in addition to
dubbing cinema the Seventh Art, also acknowledged it as the most democratic one.
With so many people flocking to the movies, a revolution was born: mere
entertainers became stars with previously unimaginable levels of popularity;
books, plays and operas that few ever got around to familiarizing themselves
with became the inspiration for moving image works projected to millions;
authors, because they now had to work with whole teams of film producers and
crews, became notorious figures; and best of all, the success of cinema led to
more and more movies made, and more and more stories told.
Erich
von Stroheim - otherwise known as “The Man You Love to Hate” - emigrated to the
United States from Vienna, Austria, and moved to Hollywood by 1914. He quickly
squeezed himself into all the important places, landing the plum role of
assistant director and military advisor to famed film pioneer D.W. Griffith (the
military angle stems from von Stroheim’s brief stint in the Austro-Hungarian
Army). He also acted, and played several Prussian officers once the U.S. entered
World War I in 1917. He began what would be a short tenure at Universal, where
he directed Blind Husbands (1919), The Devil’s Pass Key (1920) and
Foolish Wives (1922). This was the era prior to the Production Code
(1934), which banned many forms of sexual explicitness on screen, and von
Stroheim was particularly adept at depicting bawdy sexual subject matter.