Sally of the Sawdust
mikeg...@gmail.com
therefore I've "seen," though in reality that raises ontological
questions about whether "I" saw it (or some kid with the same name did)
and what it means to have seen something so long ago you can't remember
a thing about it.
So when my own 7-year-old said he wanted to go to the silent movie
series in Chicago and see it, well, you don't turn down your kid when
he shows enthusiasm for a silent movie. Especially since I still have
to read, or explain, many of the titles to him, however, I ended up
seeing it sort of through a kid's eyes again-- acutely aware of what he
did or didn't get, what made sense or not to him, when it was holding
his attention and when he was restless.
We all know the story, and if we didn't, we could write it ourselves.
Judge Foster throws his daughter out for marrying a circus guy (so
inconsequential to the story he only appears in the rear of a
longshot). Daughter proves to be just as inconsequential and promptly
dies of Little Nell's disease, leaving Sally in the care of Larson E.
McGarrisouse (accent on the ague), who raises her among tigers and
lecherous acrobats (Glenn Anders, years later to resurface indelibly as
the guy who wants to go for "a little tarrrrrget practice" in Lady From
Shanghai). Luckily, none of them seem to go around with their arms
strapped down as if amputated. Prof. McGargle is offered the chance to
write for the Chuckles the Chipmunk show-- wait a minute-- they take
little Jackie away from him but-- anyway, it all ends happily with her
being wooed by a rich young idiot (Harry Backstayge, in one of his few
silent roles) despite her indeterminate age (she's either 14 or 30, the
movie seems vague on that), a fairly endless car chase, an even more
endless courtroom scene, and a group hug.
The first half of this quite long film is focused on Fields and
Dempster in the circus. Since D.W. was only sleeping with one of them,
we catch frustratingly fleeting glimpses of Fields' cigar box act while
long sequences go by like freight cars in which Dempster is allowed to
demonstrate goofy clowning (showing off a heretofore unnoticed
resemblance to Harry Ritz), ballet (not since Leni Riefenstahl in The
Holy Mountain has a dancer danced so galumphingly), and ultimately the
full Gloria Swanson glamour gal treatment in glowing jewelry and
peacock headdresses, which she pulls off about half as well as Conrad
Veidt in The Indian Tomb. Nevertheless, the relationship between the
two is simple, Fields is effortlessly amusing, not just stealing every
scene from the overworked Dempster with a minimum of effort, but
fencing it and spending the boodle while she's still grimacing like
Christ in the Passion Play to show teenagerdom. My son enjoyed this
part of the movie just fine, and it had some genuine laughs even though
the movie is just barely a comedy.
The second half, alas, has to bear the heavy lifting of resolving the
plot and reuniting daughter with grandparents and their money, and does
so at a length and laboriousness which strains credulity (can anyone
explain why the courtroom is packed for a hearing to determine if a
minor should be committed to a juvie home? Or why the bailiff allows
comic characters to do their business for minutes at a stretch?)
Between the roundabout plot complications and having to introduce the
concept of class differences in the dark to my son ("they're rich and
they don't think a circus girl is fancy enough for their son-- just
watch it, I'll explain later"), it was clear my son was a bit lost and
restless. Nevertheless, Fields manages to wrap it up with some
panache, and it's not surprising that he was given his own series after
this breakthrough role (the first movie taking its title from an
oft-repeated line here, "It's the old army game").
As a movie Sally of the Sawdust falls into the watchable but
frustrating category. That Fields gets so few chances to really let
fly (yet cunningly takes every one of them all the same) is one
frustration. But the greater one, perhaps, is seeing D.W. Griffith
settle in so comfortably with such second-rate melodramatic material.
At his best in the teens Griffith is like Elia Kazan, alive to every
moment and every twitch in his actors' faces, seeking truth 24 times a
second (well, 16 to 18, anyway). But Sally is the sort of piece in
which real actors need not apply, the movie wouldn't know what to do
with a truthful moment that really got you in the heart (though the
actress who plays the grandmother looks like she'd manage a few, if the
director could be bothered to pay attention). Easily read caricatures
are the order of the day. As a character the stern Judge is no more
than the sum of his mustaches. The relationship between McGargle and
Sally is a selfless, sexless, bloodless thing with none of the
awareness of actual neediness, none of the sense of newfound purpose
and maturity, that you get in Chaplin's Tramp when suddenly he has a
Kid to look after. The legendary Alfred Lunt, playing the rich young
blood, could be any young man who looks well in an Arrow shirt-collar.
The mystery of how Griffith, once so alive to movies and actors, could
have been so dead to them just a few years later is one of the great
mysteries of Hollywood-- forget William Desmond Taylor, what killed
David Wark Griffith?
Lloyd Fonvielle
mikeg...@gmail.com wrote:
--
=================
Nowhere Confidential:
Reel...@aol.com
In response to Mr. Gebert's latest volley in his apparently
never-ending crusade (or, if he prefers, jihad) to undermine D. W.
Griffith's reputation and serve up warmed-over Lewis Jacobs circa 1939
a la DWG's alleged decline (something which we were really supposed to
have gotten over during the sophisticated reevaluation of the director
in the 1970s), I will quote at some length from contemporary reviews of
"Sally of the Sawdust" by discerning critics:
Quinn Martin, "The New York World," August 15, 1925:
In spite of the fact that everybody who saw the show pronounced "Sally
of the Sawdust" good, it is good and exceedingly so. Time and again in
the course of a season cinema audiences run untrue to form and give
visible and audible expression of approval to something which is worth
while. . . .
Sitting beside me at the first showing of the film play was my friend,
Randal, who is neither newspaper man, motion picture man nor film fan.
He is, to be frank, sceptic, scientist, philosopher and confessed
highbrow. He looks thousands of feet down upon poor movies. He goes
with me to them occasionally because he hopes I will take him home with
me after the show and permit him to humiliate me before my wife with
his brilliant discussion and arguments over matters of great current
import to the world at large.
Said Randal as we left the theater: "There is a good motion picture.
I do not know much about them, but I should say that Griffith has taken
a long step forward in what some of you people insist upon referring to
as an art. He has pictured people with character, and there is more
character and personality in them than there is caricature. That
little girl, Miss Dempster, is a real waif of the circus. Damn it,
I think I shed a tear for her."
And so we come to Miss Carol Dempster, who is the principal feminine
player in the film. It is a little difficult to say whether this is
her best work, and, after all, the point is of scant importance. Miss
Dempster performs as the orphan Sally with a true, fine poise and with
a spirit and an ability to express emotion which are not found once in
a blue moon in the studios. She is, unless I am quite ridiculously
wrong, the outstanding dramatic actress before the camera at the
moment. And if there are those who would say me nay, let them bring on
one who could have taken this difficult and delicately shaded role and
acted it more to perfection. The two young women of the last year who
have done infinitely the finest character portrayals of the cinema are
Betty Bronson and Carol Dempster.
I remember very well a time when it seemed Miss Dempster would never
do. . . .
But "Sally of the Sawdust" could not have been anything like so
exquisite a comedy had it not been for the surprising debut of W. C.
Fields of "The Follies" into the field of the cinema. It is a big and
seemingly presumptuous order, but I think neither Chaplin nor Lloyd
possesses a drier, more penetrating and crackling wit than this droll
gentleman who is Prof. Eustace McGargle, the circus crook and con man.
Fields is hilarious. He is a pure delight. I am speaking more of a
player who, with proper guidance and a fairly good selection of
material with which to work, will become one of the funniest of the
silver screen. It is rumored already that he has been asked to sign a
contract for five years of picture work exclusively.
"Sally of the Sawdust" is a picture so satisfying that every solitary
member of the cast ought to be given some kind of a medal, but there
remains only enough space here to acknwledge the competent performance
of Erville Alderson, one of the truly gifted actors of the regular
Griffith troupe. As Judge Foster he was his usual able self, and his
work was one of the bright spots of a generally refreshing and
commanding cinema play.
On second thought, there should be no special word of kindness for
Alfred Lunt, the person who played as Sally's lover. He was, to treat
the matter fairly and with liberality, a posing bore.
There may be those who would like to know what I thought of "Sally of
the Sawdust." I liked it.
Wood Soanes, "The Oakland Tribune," October 5, 1925:
Not so much of a story, perhaps, one that is often trite . . . and that
is where Griffith comes in. As he juggles the ending to please
sophisticates and hoi polloi, as he wipes away the honey of the script
with a cheerful, human laugh, so does he dominate the picture.
It is not until one sees "Sally of the Sawdust" and watches the
invisible director swing the pendulum of human emotion back and forth
with steady hand, that full realization comes of the inadequateness of
the majority of film products, the ineptness of direction to which we
have become accustomed by the failure of any standard bearer to step
forward and make possible comparison.
Griffith does not interrupt the sequence of the story. He permits
Fields to introduce his quaint personality, to inject his personal
touches into the script . . . for Carol Dempster to indulge herself in
intimate piquancy, but at no time is there any master but Griffith.
The result is that "Sally of the Sawdust" is so even, both in
production and projection, that the mind is never permitted to tire of
a scene or be forced to gymnastics to follow the sequence . . . while a
general reform sets in for the principal characters, Professor Eustace
McGargle is still a "grafter," still working "the old army game," but
substituting tracts of land for the playing cards of three-card monte.
Fields gives, barring an occasional roughness, a corking interpretation
moving easily from comic absurdities to Chaplinesque pathos and always
preserving his equilibrium as a clown. Miss Dempster is a winsome
picture of the fragile little tomboy and the balance of the cast is
almost perfect. It ought to be with Alfred Lunt as the hero, Effie
Shannon as the grandmother, and Erville Alderson, Charles Hammond and
Roy Applegate in tailor-made roles.
(After describing some entertaining live musical stage acts
accompanying the film, Soanes concluded his review:) But it is "Sally
of the Sawdust" that sends out the customers atingle.
In a syndicated review of "Sally of the Sawdust" published in a number
of newspapers, Jack Jungmeyer praised the new film as "a fine token of
the great director's matured and unerring artistic instinct."
Concerning the two leading characters portrayed by Carol Dempster and
W. C. Fields, depicting a relationship of "alternate delicacy and
earthly commonplace . . . amidst changing and incredibly fantastic
circumstances," Jungmeyer wrote further: "Throughout the battles of
these two, arrayed against the world of dupes and grasping folk, there
is a strange, unquenchable idealism, by turn comic and pathetic. Above
all there is a joyous valor that clings to the mind like a haunting
tune. Miss Dempster clearly reaches her peak in this piece--and W. C.
Fields will endear himself to audiences who will want to see him in
other pictures."
While I do not have the entire review before me, I note that the critic
of "The New York Times" wrote of this film in part: "Judging by the
mirth and tears it elicited from the audience, 'Sally of the Sawdust'
is Griffith's greatest photoplay." Whether or not one agrees with that
last estimate, sparked as it clearly was by the enthusiasm of the
moment, it is readily apparent from all of the reviews quoted above
that "Sally of the Sawdust" was yet another artistic feather in
Griffith's cap. Those I have quoted at length are, in my opinion, much
more perceptive and sensitive than Mr. Gebert's flippant dismissal. It
also reveals that Griffith continued to enjoy temendous esteem among
both audiences and a number of reviewers in the mid-20s and that the
later myth of Griffith's artistic decline really began to take root
when the majority of his films were rarely seen outside infrequent
archival screenings. As I mentioned at the start, the generation of
film critics and historians reappraising film history in the late 1960s
and 1970s performed valuable work in refuting the superficial
interpretations of Griffith and others earlier generated by Lewis
Jacobs and his ilk. Unfortunately, hoary myths never seem to die, as
we see in Mr. Gebert's seemingly indefatigable effort to resuscitate
the standard meme.
William M. Drew
mikeg...@gmail.com
Semon is funnier than Buster Keaton, too.
What apparently does not occur to him is that I do indeed have an
agenda-- to keep seeing Griffith films in hope of discovering the
elusive excellence rumored to occur outside Griffith's two or three
acknowledged masterworks-- which I suppose would be Birth, Intolerance
and Broken Blossoms. I have no problem with the latter two at least,
and it may greatly surprise Mr. Drew to learn that I liked The Struggle
a lot. But against those we must set:
· True-Heart Susie, a film I once found charming but now find
inferior to other films of its time for reasons stated here
· America, a tedious historical spectacle
· The Greatest Question, a broad and loud melodrama with garish
characters, multiple improbable deus ex machinae-- and one hauntingly
powerful sequence
· Isn't Life Wonderful, a film which misses the reality of Weimar
Germany in order to peddle the standard Griffith sentimental love story
straight out of True-Heart Susie
· Sally of the Sawdust, a synthetic melodrama redeemed only by a
great star's breakthrough role
(If you're wondering about Way Down East and Orphans of the Storm, it's
too long since I've seen them to fairly say what I think about them.)
Those are my honest reactions. They may not be yours. But they
satisfy me as what I have come to honestly-- and with no animus toward
Griffith other than the increasing doubt that I will find any post-1920
silent of his that I find worthy of his pre-1920 work.
kino eye
> satisfy me as what I have come to honestly-- and with no animus toward
> Griffith other than the increasing doubt that I will find any post-1920
> silent of his that I find worthy of his pre-1920 work.
Mike, one of the pleasures of going to Pordenone about eight years in a
row was to see the Griffith Project, a massive attempt to show
Griffith's films from beginning to end, starting with Rescued from the
Eagle's Nest, to currently around Broken Blossums.
So I have seen most of Griiffith's surviving films in a chronological
way. It was a wonderful experience. Here are my thoughts about your
question:
Griffith was no flash and rapid insight man. I think what he learned,
he learned slowly and painfully, often in an intuitive way that he in
many ways didn't understand clearly enough to put in words. A lot of
visual artists have this problem, but this would give Griffith
increasing problems as film became more corporate in the late teens.
What you see in almost every year of Griffith: 1907, 1908, etc. is that
his films are very "watchable." Once you get the hang of the limited
panto that Griffith's players used, you quickly see that his films are
consistently better than anyone else. The main reason for this is that
you see "people" up there, people you can root for and hate, not the
cardboard figures found in many dramas from that time. One of the
interesting things that Pordenone did was to screen rival or films made
the same time...and wow, the difference is usually impressive. Not to
say there wasn't other good work done, but Griffith's stuff is head and
shoulders above most other directors for every year..And every year he
gets better up to about 1911, 1912, when Griffith begins his transition
to feature-length films.
So he rewrites all the rules and makes a couple amazing feature films.
But by 1918, most of his great films are behind him. What happened?
The main thing that happens is WW I. The world changes, thinks of
melodrama as dated, leaving Griffith behind in the one genre he really
understands.
At some point the alcoholism must have interfered with his ability to
keep up with things.Or perhaps it most interfered with his abliity to
discern things like talent vs infatuation.
A lot of creative people can go so far, then get stopped by age,
stubborness, or fatigue. The Wright Brothers did wonders for about ten
years, but once again, by WW I the avation world has zoomed past them.
But here's a thought...despite his early success with features, after
seeing all the Biograph shorts, I firmly believe that most of his best
work is in short film. He was never really able to come to terms,
except more than say three or four times, with being able to structure
a story 100 minutes long. It's much harder to do that "in your head"
than with a short film.
So, after watching all these Griffith films, strange as it is to say
it, I think the no-nothing producers at Biograph were right to tell
D.W. to stay with the short film. Of course, that wasn't going to
happen, but I think Griffith was more a sprinter than a long distance
runner. After doing Intolerance, he was never the same again.
Eric Stott
<mikeg...@gmail.com> wrote in message
news:1156654531.6...@b28g2000cwb.googlegroups.com...
Those are my honest reactions. They may not be yours. But they
satisfy me as what I have come to honestly-- and with no animus toward
Griffith other than the increasing doubt that I will find any post-1920
silent of his that I find worthy of his pre-1920 work.
I thought Battle of the Sexes was a very good film, but admittedly it's not
a "Griffith" picture. It's a commercial hollywood programmer that Griffith
just happened to make.
Stott
Frederica
Eric Stott wrote:
> I thought Battle of the Sexes was a very good film, but admittedly it's not
> a "Griffith" picture. It's a commercial hollywood programmer that Griffith
> just happened to make.
>
> Stott
I find I often like Griffith in spite of his stories, Way Down East
being a good example. It was a hoary old chestnut when he made it, but
he manages to bring a spark of life to it--it wasn't until after it
ended that I thought "jeez, what a meller." I think I agree with Lokke
though, about Griffith not being able to adjust to the changes that
occurred after WWI. He wasn't alone in that. Personally, I have a
"gag reflex" problem whenever one of Griffith's fluttery heroines
appears, so I always start watching his films at a disadvantage.
Frederica
miller robert m
than Griffith's position of reduced independence (working for Joe Schenck)
at first glance suggests.
Of the innumerable studies of Griffith's career now in print, I suspect
that more than one author has sought to find resonance between the
humiliatingly foolish, painful to view, mid-life crisis behavior of the
Jean Hersholt character and what D.W. by 1928 realized he had done to his
own career, via his obsession with the now-departed Miss Dempster.
With so many more prominent earlier films on his vita to remake (if
indeed he was set on trying to revisit a prior personal success in
1928) Griffith's reasons for choosing (and convincing Schenck to license
the Daniel C. Goodman source novel) the second BATTLE OF THE SEXES may
have been more cathartic/redemptive than commercial.
Of course, maybe Griffith already owned the old novel (from a
rights-in-perpetuity purchase when he was his own boss) and filming it
again was mainly a crass, commercial scheme to give himself two paychecks!
It still is an entertaining and dramatically effective, late-career
picture nevertheless, and one whose long unavailability
(unlike SALLY OF THE SAWDUST) previously led to plenty of
offhand, sight-unseen dismissals (by early-Grifith-only purists) until the
film's very welcome revival.
So, what's the latest word on LADY OF THE PAVEMENTS making it to TCM and
DVD???
Lloyd Fonvielle
> The 1928 BATLE OF THE SEXES may actually be more of a personal project
> than Griffith's position of reduced independence (working for Joe Schenck)
> at first glance suggests.
>
> Of the innumerable studies of Griffith's career now in print, I suspect
> that more than one author has sought to find resonance between the
> humiliatingly foolish, painful to view, mid-life crisis behavior of the
> Jean Hersholt character and what D.W. by 1928 realized he had done to his
> own career, via his obsession with the now-departed Miss Dempster.
>
> With so many more prominent earlier films on his vita to remake (if
> indeed he was set on trying to revisit a prior personal success in
> 1928) Griffith's reasons for choosing (and convincing Schenck to license
> the Daniel C. Goodman source novel) the second BATTLE OF THE SEXES may
> have been more cathartic/redemptive than commercial.
>
> Of course, maybe Griffith already owned the old novel (from a
> rights-in-perpetuity purchase when he was his own boss) and filming it
> again was mainly a crass, commercial scheme to give himself two paychecks!
>
> It still is an entertaining and dramatically effective, late-career
> picture nevertheless, and one whose long unavailability
> (unlike SALLY OF THE SAWDUST) previously led to plenty of
> offhand, sight-unseen dismissals (by early-Grifith-only purists) until the
> film's very welcome revival.
In the film I think Griffith solved, or tried to solve, his dilemma
after WWI -- as a man attracted to stories of pure Victorian sentiment
in a world that wanted its melodrama delivered with more attitude.
Melodrama and sentiment didn't go out of fashion -- but they needed to
be tricked out with a bit more sensational cynicism in a world that had
experienced the horrors of the Great War. (Hence the great popularity
of Von Stroheim's brand of sentimental melodrama.)
"Battle Of the Sexes" gives the appeal of the flapper its full due
before convicting the erring husband of his foolishness and reasserting
a Victorian respect for marriage. It isn't just a tacked on sentiment,
either, but has real dramatic weight in the story. It would become
rarer and rarer for straying men to get their comeuppance in such a
thorough, emotionally convincing way in Hollywood.