BRONCHO BILLY AND THE ESSANAY FILM COMPANY
RFCSAC627N
$32.50
By Richard Schickel, Richard Schickel is the author of several books, including
"Woody Allen: A Life in Film," and reviews movies for Time. His latest volume
is "Charlie: The Life and Art of Charles Chaplin."
For close to a decade in the early years of the 20th century, a man calling
himself G.M. Anderson was one of the luckiest guys in America. From 1907 to
1916, he produced something like 400 movies for a company of which he was the
co-owner. Well over 100 of these little films — most just one reel in length
— starred Anderson himself as Broncho Billy, which made him one of the first
movie stars and certainly the very first western star. In this period his
salary sometimes reached as much as $120,000 annually. In today's dollars, that
means he occasionally made as much as a million dollars annually.
Not bad for a man who was born Max Aaronson in Little Rock, Ark., gave up
clerking in St. Louis for the lower reaches of show biz and found himself one
day perched uneasily atop a horse in the American screen's first narrative
film, "The Great Train Robbery," in 1903. The success of that film — it was
also the first blockbuster — imbued Anderson, as he started calling himself
around that time, with one of the two large visions that marked his now almost
forgotten life. It was that the movies could be, must be, a storytelling
medium. He immediately began making such films, and in 1907 he and a
distributor named George K. Spoor formed the Essanay Film Manufacturing Co.,
which, with two studios running — one at its Chicago headquarters, the other
at Anderson's West Coast lot in Niles, Calif., about an hour outside San
Francisco — was capable of turning out a one-reel picture every working day
of the week.
Then, one day in the winter of 1916, it all suddenly stopped. Anderson hastily
sold out his interest to Spoor, the Niles studio immediately ceased production
and Broncho Billy was no more. Anderson tried to make a few more pictures, but
essentially he ran through his small fortune in a few years, though he himself
lived on until 1970, when he died, destitute, in the motion picture home at the
age of 90. His story is not quite an American tragedy. But it is not quite an
American irrelevance either. It still has something to teach us about the need
for sharpness and adaptability at moments (not unlike our own) when
technological and social change interact to destabilize the entertainment
environment.
That, unfortunately, is the kind of analytical intelligence that David Kiehn
doesn't quite muster in his account of Broncho Billy's life and times. He's too
much the film geek, preoccupied with filmographies of movies we'll never see,
biographies of the scarcely noted, long forgotten players who drifted through
Anderson's orbit in his glory years. The most he manages in the way of
controlling ideas is a generalized nostalgia — greatly enhanced by a generous
selection of stiff but somehow touching photographs — for a long lost way of
doing business.
It's not an entirely useless notion. It's just not the only or most important
one this story suggests. But still, looking back on Essanay from our moment,
it's comfortable to see Broncho Billy's brief career as near to idyllic.
Anderson was a footloose sort of man who wandered about the Western United
States for a few years, looking for a perfect locale in which to make his
pictures. He seems to have settled on Niles because of its isolation — it
offered few distractions from work — and because of its easy access to sylvan
Niles Canyon, which the posses could ride up and down endlessly without the
background becoming repetitive and tiresome to the audience.
The rest was easy: You could filch a story from one of the pulp magazines
(Billy's scenario department consisted of a lone woman, whom he paid $25 a
week) and shoot it in a day or two for a cost of perhaps $5,000. If you didn't
have a pinto pony, you could paint a few splotches on a white horse and start
cranking. It was all terribly innocent, and it left Anderson, who seems to have
been a fairly grim worker, plenty of time for his avocations — his Niles
baseball team, the boxers he managed and the theater he owned in San Francisco.
He did, however, pay a price for his isolation from the movie mainstream. In
particular, and with one notable exception, he didn't notice the growing power
of the star system, the huge salaries and acclaim people like Mary Pickford
began to accumulate starting around 1912. That's at least partially
understandable. Maybe Anderson was not much of a looker — he was heavyset,
with a big nose and a broad jaw, though the late Edward Wagenknecht notes in
his lovely memoir about early filmgoing ("Movies in the Age of Innocence") his
"amazing, white-gleaming eyes" — and no more than a stolid actor. But he
projected a simple moral clarity that people liked, trusted and returned to. He
might have gone on competing with the next great Western star, William S. Hart,
whose manner was equally plain (and whose career was equally short-lived),
except for one other factor.
That was his stubborn refusal to embrace longer films. Star power made these
more complex and expensive productions economically feasible, and one can't
help but think Broncho Billy might still have had enough juice to power his own
transition to features. But Spoor was tightfisted, and Anderson was far away.
He did, however, notice a rising young comedian named Charlie Chaplin — this
was his second big good idea — and when Chaplin's contract at Keystone
expired, Anderson talked a reluctant Spoor into signing him for $1,250 a week
and a $10,000 bonus. It turned out to be an excellent deal: Essanay made money,
and his year with the company made Chaplin. He used it to more fully develop
his tramp character and to hone his directorial skills. And he seems to have
enjoyed an amiable relationship with Anderson. What he didn't like were the
working conditions in either Chicago or Niles. Chaplin in those days loved his
newfound celebrity, and Niles did not offer him a stage wide enough to strut
his stuff. The little community returned his contempt; it resented his showoff
ways, and soon enough Chaplin decamped for Los Angeles, where he could preen
and pose off screen as well as on.
Put simply, Chaplin represented the onrushing future of the movies; Anderson
represented their doubtless charming, but fast-receding, past. He tried his
best to renew Chaplin's contract, but his asking price was now north of a
half-million annually, and when tightfisted, narrow-minded George Spoor balked,
their partnership ended. Within two years the company was out of business and
so, essentially, was Anderson. He tried to form a partnership with Chaplin,
failed, then drifted down the historical page, to the place where the footnotes
lurk.
His faintly risible screen name lingers on — especially as the title of Clint
Eastwood's lovely little 1980 movie about the clueless proprietor of a
near-moribund Wild West show, wandering the back roads to nowhere, but
faithfully, comically, touchingly upholding old-fashioned, rural American
values. Bronco Billy is not Broncho Billy(note the missing consonant), but he
has something of that historical figure's sturdy simplicity of outlook.
Not long after G.M. Anderson drifted out of history, Willa Cather had one of
her characters reflect on a slightly different but analogous era: "It was
already gone, that age; nothing could ever bring it back," but "the taste and
smell and song of it, the visions these men had seen in the air and followed
— these he had caught in a kind of afterglow in their own faces — and this
would always be his." I wonder if, in a time when our movie memories grow ever
shorter, we can imagine ourselves back in Niles Canyon, with the dew still
fresh on the ground, the sweat beginning to break on the horses, and catch the
afterglow of the movies' brave, slightly silly beginnings. I don't know quite
why, but somehow it seems important to me that we make the effort. There
remains something necessary to be found on this pretty, overgrown trail. •
copyright 2003 Los Angeles Times
Richard M Roberts
>
>
> That, unfortunately, is the kind of analytical intelligence that David Kiehn
> doesn't quite muster in his account of Broncho Billy's life and times. He's too
> much the film geek, preoccupied with filmographies of movies we'll never see,
> biographies of the scarcely noted, long forgotten players who drifted through
> Anderson's orbit in his glory years. The most he manages in the way of
> controlling ideas is a generalized nostalgia — greatly enhanced by a generous
> selection of stiff but somehow touching photographs — for a long lost way of
> doing business.
>
Typical Schickel. Snotty, better than thou attitude, dismissive of
research, which sometimes appears to me a bit thin in his own books.
Then he creates a long, rambling review with all the facts taken from
Kiehn's book that he probably learned from reading it. Preoccupied with
filmographies of movies we'll never see indeed, and he calls himself a
film historian! Speak for yourself Schick, a lot of those films are out
there to look at if one bothers to make the effort.
BRONCHO BILLY AND THE ESSANAY FILM COMPANY is a better and more
inportant film history book than anything Richard Schickel has ever
written. I triple dog dare him to take on a subject that requires
nothing but the digging of first hand and unpublished research and come
up with as much new information unknown to any other film historian. I
still say it's the film book of the year.
RICHARD M ROBERTS
Frederica
"Richard M Roberts" <repro...@earthlink.net> wrote in message
news:3F646A...@earthlink.net...
> RFCSAC627N wrote:
> Typical Schickel. Snotty, better than thou attitude, dismissive of
> research, which sometimes appears to me a bit thin in his own books.
> Then he creates a long, rambling review with all the facts taken from
> Kiehn's book that he probably learned from reading it. Preoccupied with
> filmographies of movies we'll never see indeed, and he calls himself a
> film historian! Speak for yourself Schick, a lot of those films are out
> there to look at if one bothers to make the effort.
Yes, I'm reading the book now, and I say to Richard Schickel "HUH??" Did
you read the same book I'm reading? It's not only well researched, it's
extremely well written, a ripping yarn in fact. I'm actually anxious to see
some Broncho Billy films now and believe me I'm almost never anxious to see
westerns.
Frederica
Bob Birchard
> Broncho Billy and the Essanay Film Company David Kiehn Farwell Books: 448 pp.,
> $32.50
>
> By Richard Schickel, Richard Schickel is the author of several books, including
> "Woody Allen: A Life in Film," and reviews movies for Time. His latest volume
> is "Charlie: The Life and Art of Charles Chaplin."
[snip]
Ultimately this is not a bad review, although he slams David there in the
middle. The fascinating thing is that Schickel (who can be pleasant but who is
mostly an arrogant asshole unwilling to consider anyone's critical viewpoint but
his own of any value) cannot resist the temptation to turn his review of David's
book into sly adverts for Schickel's own books about Clint Eastwood and Charlie
Chaplin (as well as his Chaplin doc).
The book of his own that Schickel does not reference (and the one that is most
closely akin to the Broncho Billy book) is his book on D. W. Griffith. At least
Schickel is consistent, he certainly didn't bother to do any original research on
the Biograph pictures that we're unlikely to see. He simply regurgitated
inaccurate outlines by earlier "historians" who had been unable (or unwilling) to
put in the effort to really document Griffith's early film career. Although the
later parts of Schickel's Griffith biography have some value, his unwillingness (or
inability) to really research the Biograph years (and all the material was there
for him to do so) ultimately made the book a not very valuable contribution to
film history.
Ultimately nearly everything that ever happens becomes but a "footnote" in
history. It is the historian's job to recapture the moment in time when these
incidents were considered vital and important. David Kiehn does an admirable job
of doing this with "Broncho Billy and the Essanay Film Company." Schickel could do
worse than learn from someone like David who clearly cares for his subject and who
avoids wrapping himself in his own self-importance as Schickel so often does.
--
Bob Birchard
Coming from the University Press of Kentucky in 2004
“Cecil B. DeMille’s Hollywood”
by Robert S. Birchard
Sally Dumaux
"Bob Birchard" <bbir...@earthlink.net> wrote in message
news:3F64E069...@earthlink.net...
How sad. David Keine took years to do the real work necerssary to explore
and make available to future film historians the story of this great film
pioneer. He produced an important work. David, wear that dismissive remark
"film geek" as a badge of honor. We "geeks" are doing the really hard work
that writers like Schickel obviously can't begin to understand, or want to
do - nor do I think that they really care. For so many of them it's about
personal fame and as much money as possible.
Sally Dumaux
>
Sally Dumaux
How typical of Richard Schickel! He damned Emily Leider's book "Dark Lover"
about Rudolph Valentino with the same faint praise. Someone should stop
giving him sound scholarly books to review. David Kiehn spent years to get
Broncho Billy's story right and he did it to set the record straight and to
help film historians for the future. Not only that, but it is beautifully
written. David, wear that dismissive remark about being a "film geek" like
a badge of honor. Writers like him don't get their hands dirty by doing the
kind of hard grueling work it takes to document the lives of real film
pioneers. They are clueless and don't really care about much except
personal fame and making as much money as possible. The real film community
thanks you and we are proud of you and what you have accomplished.
Sally Dumaux
>
>
ChaneyFan
film history book than anything Richard Schickel has ever
written.
You can say that again!
===============================
Jon Mirsalis
e-mail: Chan...@aol.com
Lon Chaney Home Page: http://members.aol.com/ChaneyFan
Jon's Film Sites: http://members.aol.com/ChaneyFan/jonfilm.htm
Philip
"Richard M Roberts" <repro...@earthlink.net> wrote in message
news:3F646A...@earthlink.net...
> RFCSAC627N wrote:
> >
>
> >
>
> research, which sometimes appears to me a bit thin in his own books.
> Then he creates a long, rambling review with all the facts taken from
> Kiehn's book that he probably learned from reading it.
Obviously not too well, given he gets GMA's year of death wrong. It was
1971, not 1970.
Brent Walker
It's been obvious to me for the last few years that the only reason
Schickel took the position of book reviewer for the Times was so he
could slag all the "upstarts" who dare come along and outdo him
handily on "his turf." However, he never bothered to spend much time
tilling, sodding and watering his "turf" so it has always consisted of
a couple blades of grass and a lot of weeds. As a result, he feels
compelled to blast people like David Kiehn, whose work looks like the
18th green at Pebble Beach.
Really, to look on the bright side, regardless of Schickel's misguided
criticisms the fact that David's book got reviewed on page 2 of the
Sunday Times Book Review section is a major coup! For an independent
book to make it to a spot usually reserved only for major publishers
is a great thing, and I hope David's book sells many more copies
because of this exposure.
He's produced the definitive book on the subject of G.M. Anderson and
the western Essanay company. I can't think of any Richard Schickel
books that are the definitive anything.
Brent Walker
Christopher Snowden
> $32.50
>
> By Richard Schickel, Richard Schickel is the author of several books, including
> "Woody Allen: A Life in Film," and reviews movies for Time. His latest volume
> is "Charlie: The Life and Art of Charles Chaplin."
>
>
>
> American irrelevance either. It still has something to teach us about the need
> for sharpness and adaptability at moments (not unlike our own) when
> technological and social change interact to destabilize the entertainment
> environment.
>
> That, unfortunately, is the kind of analytical intelligence that David Kiehn
> doesn't quite muster in his account of Broncho Billy's life and times.
That's because Kiehn's mission was to uncover the facts about a
neglected part of film history. He wasn't interested in rhetorical
tangents, or in making declarations about what lessons we ought to be
learning from this history. I'm glad he limited himself to the facts
in the case, telling the story as it really was, letting us draw our
own conclusions.
There ARE themes that emerge in the book, though perhaps they're
too subtle for Schickel to notice them: the role of entrepreneurialism
in the early film industry, for one. Community, for another. Kiehn
doesn't wax philosophic about them, but that's fine. He's an
historian, not a commentator.
> He's too
> much the film geek, preoccupied with filmographies of movies we'll never see,
> biographies of the scarcely noted, long forgotten players who drifted through
> Anderson's orbit in his glory years.
Incredible.
Criticizing a film historian for providing a comprehensive
filmography is simply ridiculous. And that biographical appendix
complements and enhances the body of the book, helping us realize that
the people who made those films were real PEOPLE, not just names on a
page.
> (Anderson) seems to have settled on Niles because of its isolation (it
> offered few distractions from work) and because of its easy access to sylvan
> Niles Canyon, which the posses could ride up and down endlessly without the
> background becoming repetitive and tiresome to the audience.
No, he settled on Niles because it wasn't isolated at all: it was
only an hour from San Francisco, where he was already pursuing other
business interests. And, unlike other Bay Area towns like Los Gatos
and San Rafael, where his film company had been frustrated by bad
weather, Niles was far enough inland to be largely free of the fog,
clouds and rain.
> He
> might have gone on competing with the next great Western star, William S. Hart,
> whose manner was equally plain (and whose career was equally short-lived),
> except for one other factor.
>
> That was his stubborn refusal to embrace longer films.
Anderson DID make multi-reel films, but Spoor was opposed to the
production of features at the Niles studio. Anderson made one anyway,
in defiance of Spoor, and took it with him when he left the company.
How carefully did Schickel read this book, anyway?
Chris Snowden
Precode
> >
>
> >
> > That, unfortunately, is the kind of analytical intelligence that David Kiehn
> > doesn't quite muster in his account of Broncho Billy's life and times. He's too
> > much the film geek, preoccupied with filmographies of movies we'll never see,
> > biographies of the scarcely noted, long forgotten players who drifted through
> > Anderson's orbit in his glory years. The most he manages in the way of
> > selection of stiff but somehow touching photographs â?? for a long lost way of
> > doing business.
> >
>
>
> Typical Schickel. Snotty, better than thou attitude, dismissive of
> research, which sometimes appears to me a bit thin in his own books.
> Then he creates a long, rambling review with all the facts taken from
> Kiehn's book that he probably learned from reading it. Preoccupied with
> filmographies of movies we'll never see indeed, and he calls himself a
> film historian! Speak for yourself Schick, a lot of those films are out
> there to look at if one bothers to make the effort.
>
>
> BRONCHO BILLY AND THE ESSANAY FILM COMPANY is a better and more
> inportant film history book than anything Richard Schickel has ever
> written. I triple dog dare him to take on a subject that requires
> nothing but the digging of first hand and unpublished research and come
> up with as much new information unknown to any other film historian. I
> still say it's the film book of the year.
>
>
>
> RICHARD M ROBERTS
About a month ago, Schickel reviewed POSITIF 50 YEARS, an impressive
collection of reviews and essays from that seminal French magazine. He
spends--and this is not an exaggeration--HALF the review trashing the
French for loving Jerry Lewis (and THE NUTTY PROFESSOR in particular)
on the basis of ONE piece in this 300-page book. It is as appalling a
review as I've ever read, and would have utterly destroyed any belief
I had in Schickel's abilities if I hadn't already lost them decades
ago.
Mike S.
"To me, carbon dioxide has...always been a gas."--JL in TNP
David Totheroh
Not to mention the significant and direct connection via rail to his
Chicago base. Yet another factual 'insight' aparently lost on
Schickel.
>
>
> > He
> > might have gone on competing with the next great Western star, William S. Hart,
> > whose manner was equally plain (and whose career was equally short-lived),
> > except for one other factor.
> >
> > That was his stubborn refusal to embrace longer films.
>
>
> Anderson DID make multi-reel films, but Spoor was opposed to the
> production of features at the Niles studio. Anderson made one anyway,
> in defiance of Spoor, and took it with him when he left the company.
>
> How carefully did Schickel read this book, anyway?
Thanks, Chris, for so articulately expressing my own reactions on
reading Schickel's review in Sunday's paper. Knowing what actually
happened on the ground and who was involved, which is exactly what
David has given his readers, is far more important than knowing what
someone like Schickel 'thinks' is important about those events. At
least that's what I think.
Frederica
"David Totheroh" <dtot...@aol.com> wrote in message
news:31dd3eaa.03091...@posting.google.com...
> unk...@yahoo.com (Christopher Snowden) wrote in message
news:<216855b2.03091...@posting.google.com>...
> reading Schickel's review in Sunday's paper. Knowing what actually
> happened on the ground and who was involved, which is exactly what
> David has given his readers, is far more important than knowing what
> someone like Schickel 'thinks' is important about those events. At
> least that's what I think.
Of course, the problem here is that Schickel's review is in a major paper
and will reach people who *might* have purchased the book, but now will not.
And by the way, David, your granddad was a HOTTIE.
Frederica
Brent Walker
Hopefully there will be a lot more people who read it and say "wow,
there's a book about Broncho Billy and the Essanay Company?" then
there are people who read it and say "well, there's a book about
Broncho Billy and the Essanay Company, but if it doesn't probe the mis
en scene and the deux ex machina of man vs. his one-reel cowboy movie
environment, then I don't want to read it."
Brent Walker