{"id":1779,"date":"2007-12-28T17:26:42","date_gmt":"2007-12-28T22:26:42","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/?p=1779"},"modified":"2020-08-06T20:24:18","modified_gmt":"2020-08-07T01:24:18","slug":"happy-birthday-classical-cinema","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/2007\/12\/28\/happy-birthday-classical-cinema\/","title":{"rendered":"Happy birthday, classical cinema!, or The ten best films of … 1917"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"w-and-w-2a-250.jpg\"\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\"w-and-w-2b-250.jpg\"<\/p>\n

Wild and Woolly<\/em> (1917).<\/p>\n

KT:<\/strong><\/p>\n

Periodization is a tricky task for historians, and there are a lot of disputes about how to divide up the 110-plus years of the cinema\u2019s existence. We all have to deal with it, though, if we want to organize our studies of the past into meaningful units. How to do that?<\/p>\n

Do we divide the periods of film history according to major historical events? World War I had a huge impact on the film industry, to be sure, and we might say that one significant period for cinema is 1914-1918. Yet 1919 didn\u2019t mark the start of a new period. The major European post-war film movements didn\u2019t start then. French Impressionism arguably began in 1918, German Expressionism in 1920, and Soviet Montage in 1924 or 1925.<\/p>\n

Carving up film history partly depends on what questions the historian is asking. If you\u2019re studying wartime propaganda, 1914 and 1918 would provide significant beginning and end points. If you want to trace the development of significant film styles, it doesn\u2019t seem very useful.<\/p>\n

While historians have difficulties agreeing on periodization, just about everyone concurs that there were two amazing years during the 1910s when filmmaking practice somehow coalesced and produced a burst of creativity: 1913 and 1917.<\/p>\n

One can point to stylistically significant films made before 1913. Somehow, though, that year seemed to be when filmmakers in several countries simultaneously seized upon what they had already learned of technique and pushed their knowledge to higher levels of expressivity. \u201cLe Gionate del Cinema Muto\u201d (\u201cThe Days of Silent Cinema\u201d), the major annual festival, devoted its 1993 event to \u201cThe Year 1913.\u201d The program included The Student of Prague<\/em> (Stellan Rye), Suspense<\/em> (Phillips Smalley and Lois Weber), Atlantis<\/em> (August Blom), Raja Harischandra<\/em> (D. G. Phalke), Juve contre Fantomas<\/em> (Louis Feuillade), Quo Vadis?<\/em> (Enrico Guazzoni), Ingeborg Holm<\/em> (Victor Sj\u00f6str\u00f6m), The Mothering Heart<\/em> (D. W. Griffith), Ma l’amor mio non muore!<\/em> (Mario Caserini), L’enfant de Paris<\/em> (L\u00e9once Perret), and Twilight of a Woman’s Soul<\/em> (Yevgenii Bauer). .<\/p>\n

1917, by contrast, was primarily an American landmark. As 2007 closes, we thought it appropriate to wish happy birthday to the most powerful and pervasive approach to filmic storytelling the world has yet seen. That would be classical continuity cinema, synthesized in what was coming to be known as Hollywood.<\/p>\n

DB:<\/strong><\/p>\n

In The Classical Hollywood Cinema<\/em> and work we\u2019ve done since, we\u2019ve maintained that 1917 is the year in which we can see the consolidation of Hollywood\u2019s characteristic approach to visual storytelling. This idea was first floated by Barry Salt<\/a>, and our research confirms his claim. Over the ninety years since 1917 the style has changed, but its basic premises have remained in force.<\/p>\n

Before classical continuity emerged, the dominant approach to shooting a scene might be called the tableau technique. Action was played out in a full shot, using staging to vary the composition and express dramatic relationships. Elsewhere on this site I\u2019ve mentioned two major exponents of this approach, Feuillade and Bauer.<\/p>\n

When there was cutting within the tableau setup, it usually consisted of inserted close-ups of important details, especially printed matter, like a letter or telegram. Occasionally the close-up of an actor could be inserted, usually filmed from the same angle as the master shot. The tableau approach was more prominent in scenes taking place in interiors; filmmakers were freer about cutting action occurring outdoors.<\/p>\n

We shouldn\u2019t think of the tableau as purely \u201ctheatrical.\u201d For one thing, the master shot was typically closer and more tightly organized than a scene on the stage would be. Moreover, for reasons I discuss in Figures Traced in Light<\/em>, the playing space of the cinematic frame is quite different from the playing area of the proscenium theatre. The filmmaker can manipulate composition, depth, and blocking in ways not available on the stage.<\/p>\n

The tableau approach was the default premise of US filmmaking through the early 1910s. You can see it at work, for example, in this shot from At the Eleventh Hour<\/em> (W. V. Ranous, 1912). Mr. and Mrs. Richards are in the study of Mr. Daley. After Richards has refused to sell his railroad bonds, Daley\u2019s wife shows off her diamond necklace to the visitors.<\/p>\n

At first the two couples are separated in depth, the men in the foreground and the women further back. In the first frame below, a new necklace has just been delivered, and a servant gives it to Mrs. Daley. Only the servant\u2019s hand is visible, as she is blocked by Richards in the foreground. In the second frame, the two women come forward. Mrs. Daley holds the necklace up and Mrs. Richards oohs and ahhs over it, while her husband glances at Daley as if to wonder how he could afford it.<\/p>\n

\"at-eleventh-hour-225.jpg\"\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\"at-eleventh-hour-2-225.jpg\"<\/p>\n

Instead of breaking the scene into closer views, spreading the characters\u2019 reactions across separate shots, Ranous squeezes all of their actions and expressions into a tight space across the center of the shot. Nor does he provide a close-up of the necklace, which will be important in the plot. (1) We might be inclined to say that this is a \u201ctheatrical\u201d shot, but on a stage the actions in depth (the women chatting, the servant handing over the parcel) wouldn\u2019t be visible to everyone in the auditorium. Likewise, on a stage the packed faces in the later phase of the scene wouldn\u2019t be visible to people sitting on the sides.<\/p>\n

As films became longer, American filmmakers were starting to organize their plots around characters with firm goals. Conflicting goals would set the characters in opposition to one another, and at a climax, usually under the pressure of a deadline, the protagonist achieves or fails to achieve the goals. The plot also tends to build up two lines of action, at least one involving romance.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s no reason this conception of narrative could not have been applied to the tableau style; in many cases it was. But hand in hand with the rise of goal-driven plotting came a new approach to filming. Sporadically before 1917, filmmakers in many countries were exploring ways to build scene out of many shots. (If you want to know the process in the US in more detail, check out Early American Cinema in Transition<\/em><\/a> by Charlie Keil.) By 1917, American filmmakers had synthesized these tactics into an overall strategy, a system for staging, shooting, and cutting dramatic action.<\/p>\n

We know the result as the 180-degree system. This encourages the filmmaker to break a scene into several shots, taken from different distances and angles, all from one side of an imaginary line slicing through the space. Around 1917, this stylistic approach comes to dominate US feature films, in the sense that every film made will tend to display all the devices at least once. The system remains in place to this day, and it came to form the basis of popular cinemas across the world. (2)<\/p>\n

Once you break a scene into several shots, some characters won\u2019t be onscreen all the time. So you need to be clear about where offscreen characters are; you need to supply cues that allow the audience to infer their positions. So 1910s filmmakers developed various ways of \u201cmatching\u201d shots.<\/p>\n

Shots can be connected by character looks, thanks to the eyeline match. Here\u2019s an instance from Victor Schertzinger\u2019s The Clodhopper<\/em> (1917). First there is a master shot of the mother and son in their farm kitchen.<\/p>\n

\"clodhopper-1-225.jpg\"<\/p>\n

This is followed by a separate shot of each one. Their bodily positions and eyelines remind us that the other is just out of frame.<\/p>\n

\"clodhopper-2-225.jpg\"\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \"clodhopper-3-225.jpg\"<\/p>\n

Although over-the-shoulder shooting hadn\u2019t yet been developed, a conception of the reverse angle is at work here too. Schertzinger\u2019s camera doesn\u2019t shoot the actors perpendicularly, but takes up an angle on one that becomes an echo of that filming the other. Here\u2019s another example of reverse angles from The Devil\u2019s Bait<\/em> (1917, director Harry Harvey).<\/p>\n

\"devils-bait-1-225.jpg\"\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\"devils-bait-2-225.jpg\"<\/p>\n

The camera doesn\u2019t just enlarge a portion of the space, as in the inserted shot in a tableau scene. The angle of view has changed significantly.<\/p>\n

Changes of angle within the scene have become fairly complex by 1917. This strategy is apparent when the action takes place in a theatre, a courtroom, a church, or some other large-scale gathering point. The camera position changes often in this scene from The Girl without a Soul<\/em> (director John Collins).<\/p>\n

\"girl-without-a-soul-1-225.jpg\"\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\"girl-without-a-soul-2-225.jpg\"\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \"girl-without-a-soul-3-225.jpg\"<\/p>\n

The concept of matching extends to physical movement too, through the match on action. This device allows the director to highlight a new bit of space while preserving the continuity of time. In Roscoe Arbuckle\u2019s The Butcher Boy<\/em>, the cut-in to Fatty (with a change of angle) also matches his gesture of putting his hands on his hips.<\/p>\n

\"butcher-boy-1-225.jpg\"\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\"butcher-boy-2-225.jpg\"<\/p>\n

Interestingly, even this early, directors have learned to leave a little bit of overlapping action across the cut. If you move frame by frame, you\u2019ll see that Fatty\u2019s gesture is repeated a bit at the start of the second shot.<\/p>\n

When a character leaves one frame, he or she can come into another space, from the side of the frame consistent with the 180-degree premise. This is matching screen direction. A cut of this sort lets us know that the next portion of the locale that we see is more or less adjacent to the previous one. In Field of Honor<\/em> (director Allen Holuban), Wade crosses to Laura, who\u2019s waiting in a carriage. A few years earlier, the director might have presented his greeting in a single deep-space long shot. Instead, Wade exits one shot and enters the next.<\/p>\n

\"field-of-honor-1-225.jpg\"\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \"field-of-honor-2-225.jpg\"<\/p>\n

Again, the reverse-angle principle governs the camera setups. Wade moves along a diagonal toward the camera and away from it.<\/p>\n

More generally, Field of Honor<\/em> exhibits a polished handling of the new style: lots of reverse shots and eyeline matches, fades that bracket flashbacks, binocular points of view, rack-focus shots, and rapid cutting (there\u2019s even a ten-frame shot). The point is not to claim Field of Honor<\/em> as an undiscovered masterpiece but rather to indicate that by 1917 a director could handle all the devices with assurance.<\/p>\n

Match-cutting devices had been used occasionally before 1917, but by that year filmmmakers melded them into a consistent and somewhat redundant method of guiding the audience through each scene.<\/p>\n

The continuity system not only creates a basic clarity about characters\u2019 positions. It can as well generate a speed and accentuation not easily achieved within a single shot. For example, Wade\u2019s frame exit and entrance above is cut so as to skip over moments that he consumes crossing the driveway. Continuity editing enhances the rapid pace of US films, a quality immediately noted by foreign observers in the 1910s and 1920s.<\/p>\n

Two of the best films of 1917 exploit the dynamism of continuity cutting. The Doug Fairbanks comedy western, Wild and Woolly<\/em>, seems designed to prove that American films could proceed at breakneck speed. In climactic scenes, we\u2019re caught in a whirlwind of fast cutting, with the pace set by the hyperactive protagonist, a financier\u2019s son who longs to prove himself as a cowboy.<\/p>\n

John Ford\u2019s Straight Shooting<\/em> proceeds at a more measured pace, but in its final shootout we see a prototype of all the main-street gundowns that will define the Western. Ford provides alternating shots of the cowboys advancing toward each other, framing each man more tightly and concluding with suffocating close-ups of each man\u2019s face, highlighting the eyes.<\/p>\n

Sergio Leone, eat your heart out.<\/p>\n

Propelled by goal-driven characters and a linear arc of action, films like Wild and Woolly<\/em> and Straight Shooting<\/em> are completely understandable and enjoyable today. (But when will we have them on DVD?) Their stories are engrossing and their performances are engaging, but just as important their storytelling technique has become second nature to us. The narrative strategies that coalesced in 1917 remain fundamental to mainstream cinema.(2)<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Mystery of the Belgian Print<\/strong><\/p>\n

KT:<\/p>\n

For decades now we have been visiting Brussels and working at the Cin\u00e9math\u00e8que Royale de Belgique\/Koninklijk Belgisch Filmarchief. Sometimes I feel that we would know half as much about the cinema were it not for the unfailing hospitality we have been shown, initially by the great archivist Jacques Ledoux and now by his successor Gabrielle Claes. Our indebtedness to this institution and its staff are reflected in David\u2019s named professorship; he is the Jacques Ledoux Professor of Film Studies. We dedicated our Film History: An Introduction<\/em>, to Gabrielle.<\/p>\n

We do whatever favors we can in return for such wonderful help. David lectures regularly at the biannual summer school run by the Flemish Service for Film Culture in partnership with the Royal Film Archive. (David wrote about the 2007 event in an earlier entry.) I try to identify silent films. I am not always successful, but I suppose over the years I have been able to put names to thirty-some mystery prints.<\/p>\n

Silent films are more likely to be unidentified than sound ones because it was standard practice to splice in intertitles in the local language. Sometimes too the film\u2019s title was changed. The film\u2019s actors may be forgotten today, or the print may be incomplete, lacking the opening title and credits. Sometimes even the country of origin is unknown.<\/p>\n

Back in the early 1990s I was asked to identify a five-reel nitrate print with the title P\u00e8re et fils<\/em>. It was an original distribution copy from the silent era. The information on the archival record card listed some possible identifications: Father and Son<\/em>, a 1913 Vitagraph film or Father and Son<\/em>, produced by Mica in 1915. It was tentatively thought to be American.<\/p>\n

As I watched the film, it quickly became apparent that it was indeed American. It centered on the rivalry between a small dime store owned by the heroine\u2019s father and a modern dime store being built in the same town. The hero is charged with the mission of driving the older store out of business.<\/p>\n

So we had our typical goal-driven plot. The style was what David has described as typical of 1917, so that was my tentative dating. I felt almost certain that the reels I was watching were not from a 1913 or 1915 movie. The film was a fairly modest item, done on a relatively low budget and not starring any actors that would be familiar to most modern viewers. I had seen the actor playing the hero before, however, and I thought he might be Herbert Rawlinson. By the time I finished the film, those were my clues: a medium-budget American film of c. 1917 concerning dime stores and perhaps starring Rawlinson.<\/p>\n

My task turned out to be fairly simple. A little research after we returned home confirmed the Rawlinson guess. In preparing the write The Classical Hollywood Cinema<\/em>, I had seen him in The Coming of Columbus<\/em> (a 1912 Selig film) and in Damon and Pythias<\/em> (Universal, 1914).<\/p>\n

My next step was to consult the monumental, indispensible reference book, The American Film Institute Catalog<\/em>. This multi-volume set, many years in the making, was originally published as books. It is now online, but available only to AFI members or through libraries. The catalogues were published by decade\u2014thus obviating the problem of periodization. Each decade gets two volumes, one of entries on all the films, listed in alphabetical order. Credits, production companies, release dates, plot synopses, and other information are included. A second volume indexes the films by chronology, personal names, corporate names, subject, genre, and geography (i.e., where the films were shot).<\/p>\n

Until now I had found little use for the subject index, but now it came to my aid. I turned to the Ds to see if there was an entry for dime stores<\/em>. The AFI indexers were thorough, and sure enough, there was one entry: Like Wildfire<\/em>. A check of the personal names index under Rawlinson, Herbert revealed that he had acted in a film called Like Wildfire<\/em>, made in 1917 by Universal. Once I had the title, I checked its catalog entry and found that its plot description matched the film I had seen. Case closed.<\/p>\n

Admittedly, in this instance the date wasn\u2019t a crucial clue. Still, determining a film\u2019s year of release can narrow down the possibilities. Thanks as well to the development of classical cutting, a close view of an actor helps in identifying him.<\/p>\n

\"like-wildfire-300.jpg\"<\/p>\n

The Best of 1917<\/strong><\/p>\n

DB:<\/p>\n

This is the season when everybody makes a list of best pictures. We have stopped playing that game. For one thing, we haven\u2019t seen all the films that deserve to be included. For another, the excellence of a film often dawns gradually, after you\u2019ve had years to reflect on it. And critical tastes are as shifting as the sirocco. Never forget that in 1965 the Cannes palme d\u2019or<\/em> was won by The Knack . . . and How to Get It<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Still, enough time has elapsed to make us feel confident of this, our list of the best (surviving) films of 1917, both US and \u201cforeign-language.\u201d Titles are in alphabetical order.<\/p>\n

\n

The Clown<\/em> (Denmark, A. W. Sandberg)<\/p>\n

Easy Street<\/em> (U.S., Charles Chaplin)<\/p>\n

The Girl from Stormycroft<\/em> (Sweden, Victor Sj\u00f6str\u00f6m)<\/p>\n

The Immigrant<\/em> (U.S., Charles Chaplin)<\/p>\n

Judex<\/em> (France, Louis Feuillade)<\/p>\n

The Mysterious Night of the 25th<\/sup><\/em> (Sweden, Georg af Klercker)<\/p>\n

The Narrow Trail<\/em> (U.S., Lambert Hillyer)<\/p>\n

The Revolutionary<\/em> (Russia, Yevgenii Bauer)<\/p>\n

Romance of the Redwoods<\/em> (U.S., Cecil B. De Mille)<\/p>\n

Terje Vigen<\/em> (Sweden, Victor Sj\u00f6str\u00f6m)<\/p>\n

Straight Shooting<\/em> (US, John Ford)<\/p>\n

Thomas Graal\u2019s Best Film<\/em> (Sweden, Mauritz Stiller)<\/p>\n

Wild and Woolly<\/em> (US, John Emerson)<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

Next year, maybe we\u2019ll draw up our list for 1918.<\/p>\n

\n

(1) For more on this scene and the film as a whole, see Kristin Thompson, \u201cNarration Early in the Transition to Classical Filmmaking: Three Vitagraph Shorts,\u201d Film History<\/em> 9, 4 (1997), 410-434.<\/p>\n

(2) Beyond The Classical Hollywood Cinema<\/em>, see Kristin\u2019s Herr Lubitsch Goes to Hollywood<\/em> and Storytelling in the New Hollywood<\/em>. I\u2019ve talked about these issues in On the History of Film Style<\/em>, Planet Hong Kong<\/em>, Figures Traced in Light<\/em>, The Way Hollywood Tells It<\/em>, and essays included in Poetics of Cinema<\/em>. The basics of classical continuity are presented in Chapter 6 of Film Art: An Introduction<\/em>, and we trace some historical implications of it in Film History: An Introduction<\/em>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Wild and Woolly (1917). KT: Periodization is a tricky task for historians, and there are a lot of disputes about how to divide up the 110-plus years of the cinema\u2019s existence. We all have to deal with it, though, if we want to organize our studies of the past into meaningful units. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[268,156,2,12,14,5,58,59,57,54,11,68,294],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1779","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-1910s-cinema","category-actors-fairbanks","category-film-art","category-film-history","category-film-scholarship","category-film-technique","category-technique-editing","category-technique-staging","category-hollywood-aesthetic-traditions","category-narrative-strategies","category-readers-favorite-entries","category-silent-film","category-the-ten-best-films-of"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1779","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1779"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1779\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":45277,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1779\/revisions\/45277"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1779"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1779"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1779"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}