An Announcement

If you've visited this site recently, you'll have noticed that I haven't posted anything for a very long time. There are a variety of reasons, one of which is that I got so busy with work and other projects that I didn't have the time anymore to devote to writing posts. But I did want to alert you to one project that I'm very excited to announce: a new feature documentary on one of my favourite couples, silent screen stars Olive Thomas and Jack Pickford. So please visit us at our website and follow us on Instagram and Twitter for updates. And thank you for being such loyal readers.

Get Your Man

Clara Bow was the original “It Girl,” radiating sex appeal and epitomizing the flapper of the 1920s. What many people forget though is that she was also a fine actress. A recent screening at MoMA of a restored print of her film, Get Your Man (1927), reminded the audience of this fact.

Get Your Man opens with the betrothal between the children of two aristocratic French families (emphasis on “children”). Jump ahead 17 years and the two, now grown, are set to wed. Before they do the groom, Duke Robert Albin (Charles “Buddy” Rogers), must take a trip to Paris to pick up some family pearls to give to his bride. There he keeps bumping into the same girl—at a taxi, outside a building, in a parfumerie, and finally at a wax museum. The girl in question is Nancy Worthington (Clara Bow), a rich American on holiday. “It must be fate,” she tells him. The two tour around the museum and are accidentally locked in, resulting in their spending the night together and falling in love.

The next morning the two part after Robert confesses that he’s engaged to be married. Yet Nancy isn’t ready to give him up. She drives down to his chateau where she stages an “accident.” Taken into the house, she quickly charms everyone including Robert’s fiancée Simone de Valens (Josephine Dunn), who confides in her that she’s really in love with another man. Meanwhile Simone’s smitten father, the Marquis de Valens (Harvey Clark), proposes to Nancy who accepts on condition that he break off his daughter’s engagement to Robert, which he agrees to. Nancy’s plans almost backfire when she gets a letter from Robert stating that he’s leaving for Africa to shoot lions. Luckily some quick thinking on Nancy’s part, which involves the discovery of Robert in her room in a compromising position, soon sets everything right, and Nancy is able to get her man.

Clara Bow and Charles "Buddy" Rogers in Get Your Man (1927)

As Nancy, Clara Bow is not only attractive but smart and funny (Bow was very good at comedy). In most of her films she played working class girls but here she is wealthy and glamorous. While the film may have been just one more of Bow’s films that year for the studio (internally it was referred to as “Winter Bow”), under the direction of Dorothy Arzner, one of the first women directors in Hollywood, Bow shines. Giving her a chance to play someone different, Arzner brings out all of Bow’s best qualities in the film. Arzner was to say of Bow, “Whichever way she did it [the scene] was so right, so alive. It was like a dancing flame on the screen.”

A strong performance by Charles "Buddy" Rogers shouldn't go unacknowledged. Always charming, he may be even more beautiful than Bow in the film. There’s also some good comic timing by Harvey Clark as the besotted Marquis. And hats off to the costume designer. Bow's gowns are to die for.

The screening of the film at MoMA last month was part of their To Save and Project: The 13th MoMA International Festival of Film Preservation. Bow’s biographer David Stenn was on hand to introduce the film. It was Running Wild, his book about the actress, that helped to reintroduce Bow to film fans by debunking some persistent myths (thanks a lot Hollywood Babylon) and re-examining her as an actress.  

A still from one of the missing scenes from Get Your Man.

Unfortunately, some of the footage shows signs of nitrate burns and two of the six reels are missing so the version screened contained title cards and stills to cover the missing scenes. Restored by the Library of Congress, MoMA, and the Academy of Arts & Sciences, they did a fine job but it’s unfortunate that the missing scenes include the night at the wax museum (the footage ends before they're locked in). A still of the two stars asleep together gives a hint at what was probably a lovely scene.

Bow notoriously dreaded the coming of sound, believing the microphone to be her enemy. Watching her in a silent film, you realize that she was right in so far as she didn’t need to speak—her face could express volumes. All you have to do is watch her eyes to know exactly what's happening and in this film, you know from the beginning that she will get her man.

Blackmail

Anny Ondra in Blackmail (1929)

A few years ago the British Film Institute (BFI) completed their largest restoration project to date, fully restoring the surviving nine silent feature films of Alfred Hitchcock (a tenth, The Mountain Eagle, is believed lost). During the process of preserving the films, additional footage was added and new musical scores were commissioned. The BFI sent the “Hitchcock 9” out on the road for viewers to enjoy and last summer I spent a weekend at the Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM) watching some of these films. My favourite of the bunch was Blackmail (1929).

Set in London, Blackmail opens with a couple of detectives capturing a wanted criminal. That evening one of the men, Detective Frank Webber (John Longden), takes Alice White (Anny Ondra) out on a date. When they get into an argument Frank leaves only to return in time to see Alice leaving with a man (Cyril Ritchard), an artist she had secretly planned to meet.

Alice allows herself to be talked into visiting the artist’s studio. After admiring a portrait of a jester, Alice creates her own painting (with some help from the artist) before she dons a model’s outfit and dances around while he plays a song for her. While changing, the artist attempts to rape Alice who ends up killing him with a knife. Frightened, she tears at the painting of the jester before putting her clothes on and fleeing, leaving her gloves behind. She walks the streets until dawn all the while seeing symbols of her crime (an extended arm, a knife) wherever she goes.

Naturally, Frank is assigned to the case and when he recognizes both the dead man and one of Alice’s gloves, he keeps quiet and goes to confront her. Still in shock over the events of the previous evening, she can’t speak. The two are together when Tracy (Donald Calthrop) arrives carrying Alice’s other glove. He apparently saw Alice enter the dead man’s flat and intends to blackmailing the couple. At first they agree to his demands but when Frank discovers that Tracy has a criminal record and is wanted for questioning in the case, he calls in the police.

The blackmailing begins. John Longden, Anny Ondra, and Donald Calthrop.

What follows is a chase that ends with Tracy falling to his death through a skylight above the Reading Room at the British Museum. The police consider the case closed but Alice, unaware of what has transpired, arrives at New Scotland Yard to confess. Before she can speak with the Chief Inspector, he gives instructions for Frank to deal with her. Alice, finally finding her voice, tells Frank that she did it but that it was a case of self-defense. The truth remains a secret between the two of them but at what cost? 

Hitchcock actually made two versions of Blackmail—one silent and one with sound. The film started out as a silent but with the growing popularity of talkies, the film’s producer asked Hitchcock to film the last reel in sound. Thinking the idea ridiculous, he filmed most of the scenes with sound and delivered two versions to the studio. This gave Blackmail the unique distinction of being both Hitchcock’s last silent and first talkie. 

There were issues with using sound though starting with the film’s Czech lead, Anny Ondra, who spoke with a heavy accent. Hitchcock solved the problem by having actress Joan Barry stand out of frame and speak her lines into a microphone while Ondra mouthed the words, the first time an actor’s voice was “dubbed” so to speak. When the two versions were released, the silent one proved to be more popular, most likely because many theatres at the time were not set up for sound. Having seen both, I have to say the silent version is superior to the talkie.

Hitchcock's cameo in Blackmail.

Even though this was only Hitchcock’s second thriller, in Blackmail we find what would become some classic Hitchcock elements: murder, a beautiful blonde, a wronged man, a chase scene involving a famous landmark, and themes of guilt and moral ambiguity. It also features one of Hitchcock’s best cameo appearances as a man being bothered by a little boy while riding the Tube.

The very pretty Anny Ondra is a standout in a cast that is fine if not a bit bland (John Longden as her boyfriend, for example, is totally forgettable). Hitchcock’s first “blonde,” Ondra turns Alice, who at first appears to be just a silly girl, into a sympathetic character even after she allows an innocent man to be blamed for a murder she committed. And without speaking a word, she's able to convey all the horror of being assaulted with just her eyes.

And then there is London as the setting. While many scenes were shot at the studio, some actual locations were used including the crowded Lyon’s Tea House and Piccadilly at night with all of its blinking lights. One of the most dramatic moments in the film involves the British Museum. Unfortunately, the light in the actual museum wasn't conducive for shooting so Hitchcock employed the Schüfftan process. This involved pointing the camera at a mirror tilted at 45 degrees in which was reflected a transparency of the museum. Some of the silvering was then scraped off the mirror so the camera could capture the actors who were on a set behind it, resulting in the actors appearing as if they were in the museum. 

The master of suspense always knew exactly how to heighten the tension in a story and Blackmail is no exception. When the artist attempts to rape Alice the event occurs behind a curtain, which the viewer sees moving, violently, before a hand (Alice’s) reaches out from behind it and grabs a knife off the table. When the curtain becomes still there is a pause before a lifeless arm (the artist’s) falls out. Alice, dressed only in her slip and her hair in disarray, emerges with the bloody knife in her hand, moving as if in a trance. Seeing the actual events taking place behind the curtain would have been shocking but keeping them hidden from our view makes them all the more horrid in our imaginations.

Hitchcock and Anny Ondra on the set of Blackmail.

As for the newly restored print, luckily the BFI had the original negatives to work with as well as an early print made from those negatives before any damage had occurred to them. The result is a great looking silent, far superior to the versions that were available before.

For those of you who may have missed the “Hitchcock 9” on its first American tour, Film Forum here in New York will be showing all of them along with Hitchcock’s other films (the program is called “The Complete Hitchcock”) for five weeks starting February 21, 2014 (more info here). See Blackmail if you can along with the rest of the nine. After all, Hitchcock did say that, “silent pictures were the purest form of cinema.”

The Kid

Charlie Chaplin and Jackie Coogan in The Kid (1921).

In 1914, Charlie Chaplin stepped in front of the camera wearing a bowler hat, ill-fitted suit, and small moustache, and carrying a cane. The short was Kid Auto Races at Venice and the world was introduced to the Little Tramp for the first time.

For this centennial year of the Little Tramp’s birth, Chaplin tributes are being held all over the world. Film Forum started things off on New Year’s Day with a marathon screening of Chaplin’s major features. Being a good film nerd, I was there and watched Kid Auto Races at Venice (very funny) and Chaplin’s first feature film The Kid (1921).

The Kid opens with a distraught woman (Edna Purviance) leaving a charity hospital with her newborn baby. A quick shot of a handsome artist with a copy of her photo (which ends up in the fireplace) lets the viewers know that this is the father who is not going to be marrying the mother. Out of desperation, she leaves the baby in the backseat of a car in front of large home with a note that reads, “Please love and care for this orphan child.” She soon has a change of heart but when she returns to the scene discovers that the car has been stolen and her baby is gone, forever.

Upon discovery of the baby, the car thieves dump him in the garbage where the Tramp (Charlie Chaplin) stumbles upon him. After a comic scene in which he tries to leave the baby in a woman’s stroller he decides to keep the boy and names him John. Five years later we find the two are a happy family living in a rundown, one-room apartment. The Tramp takes care of his adoptive son (Jackie Coogan), making sure his hands and ears are clean. Meanwhile the Kid helps earn his keep: he shares in the cooking and more importantly, throws rocks through the windows of houses that the Tramp can then conveniently repair.

Meanwhile, the Kid’s mother has become a famous opera singer and spends her free time doing charity work. One day while bringing toys to the poor she runs into the Kid and gives him a stuffed animal, not realizing he’s her boy. Soon after he falls sick and a doctor is called. Learning that the Tramp is not the Kid’s biological father, the doctor takes the note left by the Kid’s mother and notifies the authorities who arrive and take the Kid away. The Tramp manages to free him, and they hide out at a flophouse until the manager recognizes their description from a newspaper ad and takes the Kid to the police where his mother, who was shown her note by the doctor, is waiting to be reunited with her lost son.

The Tramp, after a frantic search for the Kid, returns to their old home and falls asleep on the doorstep and enters “Dreamland” where he and his neighbours, all wearing wings (including the dogs), live together in harmony until they are interrupted by a group of devils. Woken by a policeman, the Tramp is put in a car and driven to the woman’s house where he is reunited with the Kid.

The Kid may not be Chaplin’s greatest film but it is one of my favourites mainly because it is a story about love. Regardless of the circumstances of the Kid’s birth, there is no doubt that the Tramp and the Kid love each other like a father and son. The Tramp expresses his pride for the Kid when he accomplishes something and the Kid looks to the Tramp for approval. They may be poor but they have each other and when people try to separate them, the Tramp goes to any lengths to get his boy back.

There is a reason why the Little Tramp—a tragic clown with a huge heart—is one of the best-loved characters in film history. Chaplin brilliantly portrayed him with a wonderful mix of slapstick and sentiment that created a bond with moviegoers that continues to this day. There may have been other great silent screen clowns but none of them, including the amazing Buster Keaton, affected an audience's emotions like Chaplin.

As for the Kid himself, no one could have played the part better than Jackie Coogan. A skilled mimic blessed with comic timing, he was the perfect companion to Chaplin’s Tramp, able to make the viewers laugh at his antics one moment while causing them to cry the next. Chaplin thought so highly of Coogan that when filming of The Kid had to be put on hiatus so he could make a short, “A Day’s Pleasure” (1919), he cast his young co-star to play his son. It goes without saying that Coogan was also absolutely adorable, which is a bit strange when you think that he grew up to become Uncle Fester.

The most famous scene in the film is when men arrive to take the Kid away. After a big struggle, the Tramp is restrained, his eyes filled with tears while the Kid stands in the back of the orphanage wagon, his arms outstretched, crying out for his father. It’s utterly heartbreaking and never fails to make me well-up. Chaplin was inspired to write The Kid after suffering the loss of his first born, a son, and one can only imagine the personal anguish that he drew upon for this scene.

Though set in contemporary times, there are Dickensesque overtones to the film reminiscent of Chaplin’s own haphazard childhood in London. Again, love not money seems to be the answer in this film. The poverty that surrounds the Tramp and Kid are seen as livable as long as they are together. Therefore it’s not strange that when the Tramp enters “Dreamland” his heaven is not a golden palace but his own beloved poor neighbourhood.

At the beginning of The Kid there is a title card that states “A picture with a smile—and perhaps, a tear.” No better description could sum up this film.

Visiting Ollie

Olive Thomas circa 1915.

On September 29, 1920 the funeral of silent screen star Olive Thomas was held at St. Thomas Episcopal Church on Fifth Avenue in New York where hundreds of mourners crowded the church and street. The young actress had died on September 10, 1920 in Paris after accidentally ingesting poison and the news of her passing filled the newspapers. Last month, on the anniversary of the funeral, my friend Allison and I, after a quick stop at St. Thomas, travelled out to Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx to pay our respect to our darling Ollie.

Photos by Michele.

I had been to out to Woodlawn to see Ollie’s final resting place a few years before on the anniversary of her birthday (read about that visit here) but my friend, who lives in LA, had never been so it made the visit even more special.

After a bit of a hunt for her mausoleum we found it, looking as tiny and downtrodden as I remembered, adorned with the single word Pickford (the mausoleum was built for two but Ollie remains alone as her husband, Jack Pickford, was buried with the rest of the Pickford clan in California). Hanging from the door was a single dried rose and a glow-stick (left over from a Halloween tour last year, we later found out). We both brought flowers for Ollie and just coincidentally chose pink and white (great minds); I had looked in vain for lilac-coloured flowers but no luck (Ollie's coffin had been covered with purple orchids). After the requisite photo taking (including having our driver take some photos of us), we sat on the step of the mausoleum and talked about Ollie and Jack before being surprised by the arrival of a tour group, which turned into an Annie Hall moment with us correcting the guide. Still, a wonderful day spent with lovely company.

For more about Ollie and why I'm such a fan, read my prior post here.

Pickford Found

Mary Pickford in a scene from Their First Misunderstanding (1911)

It’s believed that ninety percent of all silent films are lost, a fact that breaks my heart to think about. So you can imagine how elated this silent film fan was to hear of the discovery of a missing Mary Pickford film.

Their First Misunderstanding, a ten-minute film produced by Carl Laemmle’s Independent Moving Picture Company (IMP) in 1911 and starring Mary Pickford, was found seven years ago in a barn in Nelson, New Hampshire. Contractor Peter Massie, who had been hired to tear down the barn, made the discovery— seven reels of nitrate film in total along with an old projector. He turned the items over to film professor Larry Benaquist at Keene State College who helped get the film identified.

Just 18 at the time she wrote and starred in the short comedy, Pickford along with her then husband, Owen Moore, play a married couple who have their first argument. Thomas Ince, the films director, and Ben Turpin also have minor roles. Pickford, who had already made more than 100 shorts by this point, runs through a gamut of emotions in one scene, which you can watch here.

Not only was this Pickford's first film for IMP (she had been with Biograph previously) but it also marked the first time that Pickford received screen billing (most studio heads thought that acknowledging the actors would cause them to demand higher salaries; they weren't wrong). Prior to this film Pickford was known as the “girl with the curls.” Mary Pickford would go to become a huge star and for a while, the most famous person in the world.

The film’s restoration was funded by the Library of Congress, which houses not only the largest collection of Pickford films but her personal collection as well. On October 11, the film will see its second “premiere” at a special screening at Keene State College. For more information about the event, visit here.

The Love Trap

Laura La Plante and Neil Hamilton in The Love Trap.

A dear friend of mine with whom I share a love of old movies gave me a load of pre-code and silent films earlier this year for my birthday (I really am a lucky girl). Included was William Wyler’s The Love Trap (1929).

Evelyn Todd (Laura La Plante) is a young wannabe chorine in the big city who gets fired from the chorus. Her friend Bunny (Jocelyn Lee) tells her she can make $50 "just for looking pretty" if she comes to a party being hosted by Guy Emory (Robert Ellis). She agrees and there meets the pompous Judge Harrington (Norman Trevor) before receiving the unwanted advances of Emory. She rejects him and returns home only to discover she’s been evicted, her belongings thrown out on the street. Broke and alone, Evelyn begins to cry (did I mention it also starts raining?) but all is not lost. A knight in shining armor arrives in the form of a young man named Peter (Neil Hamilton, who would go on to play Comissioner Gordon on TV's Batman) who immediately falls for Evelyn’s damsel in distress. He grabs Evelyn and loads her belongings into a series of taxis and takes her away to get married. Later, when Evelyn meets his snobbish family, she’s horrified to discover that Peter’s uncle is none other than the disapproving Judge from the party. So it’s up to Evelyn to prove that she truly loves her husband.

The Love Trap is a charming rags to riches story with a strong cast including the especially impressive La Plante. She proves to be quite likeable and seems at ease moving between lighthearted scenes and moments of heartbreak. I also love her clothes, especially her dance costume. Speaking of which, my favourite scene is the opening when Evelyn gets fired (watch it here). The director is hilarious and her reaction priceless.

The film is unique in that it's one of those rare half silent/half talkie films made during the transition in Hollywood to sound. The first half of the film is silent with a musical score and sound effects (a tapping foot, the clicking of a door) while the last 25 minutes turn into a talkie with full-on dialogue. The changeover begins with the delivery of two short lines followed by a long sequence of silence, which is effective in merging the two formats. Wyler handles it well and the sound is pretty good although I would have been just as content if it had remained silent throughout. Regardless, it's worth checking out.

Sherlock Jr.

While I'm a big fan of Charlie Chaplin and Harold Lloyd, I simply adore Buster Keaton. I think it's that great stone face of his (nothing is sadder than Keaton's eyes after he's been rejected) and those amazing athletic feats of daring that he makes look effortless. And while some will wax on about how The General is his greatest film, I prefer Sherlock Jr. (1924).

In Sherlock Jr. the Boy (Buster Keaton) is a moving picture operator who dreams of becoming a famous detective. He's in love with the Girl (Kathryn McGuire) but has a rival for her affections, the Local Sheik (Ward Crane). The Boy purchases a box of chocolates from a salesgirl (Ruth Holly) at the confectionery shop (who, if we’re being honest, looks like she’s probably a lot more fun than the Girl), which he gives to his love along with a tiny engagement ring (he hands her his detective magnifying glass to see the diamond). The Sheik, wanting to outdo the Boy, steals a watch belonging to the Girl’s father (played by Keaton’s real life father, Joe) and pawns it in order to buy an even bigger box of chocolates. When the father notices that the watch is missing, the Boy consults his detective book, which tells him to search everyone. The plan backfires when the pawn ticket, which the Sheik has slipped into the Boy’s pocket, is discovered. The Girl returns his ring, and the Boy is ejected from the house.

At first the Boy attempts to trail the Sheik but he winds up on top of a moving train and grabs onto a spout from the water tower to escape only to get doused with water. Keaton was famous for doing all of his own stunts and rarely suffered any injuries but in this scene he nearly got himself killed. While hanging from the spout, the pressure from the water knocked him down onto the tracks. Keaton complained of headaches for days. Years later a doctor discovered that he had in fact fractured his neck that day.

The boy returns to work and begins the first reel of Hearts & Pearls, a movie about the theft of a pearl necklace. He soon becomes drowsy and falls asleep. Suddenly a “dream” version of the Boy steps away from the sleeping Boy and takes his “dream” hat off a peg. On the screen, the actors in Hearts & Pearls are replaced by people in the Boy’s life, including the Girl and the Sheik. Walking down the aisle, the Boy stops to sit for a moment and then steps up onto the stage and into the movie itself. Thus begins a movie within a movie, the first time this device was employed.

Keaton accomplished this fantastical scene by first filming the Hearts & Pearls scene with the actors and then replicating the set on a stage. When it came time to film the Boy stepping through the screen, Keaton had the film cut from the movie to the projection booth and then back to the stage where the actors from the movie were now standing on the set. He then simply went up on the stage and walked onto the set.

Once in the movie, he confronts the Sheik (now portraying the villain) who literally kicks him out of the picture (we see the real Boy asleep in the projection booth twitch). He tries again and succeeds, this time sneaking in from the side of the frame. The Boy walks up the steps of a house and knocks but no one answers. He turns to walk away and suddenly he's falling into a garden from a stonewall. What follows are a series of jumps in which his every action lands him in a different location. At one point he's surrounded by lions and when he turns to walk away he steps out of a pit in the desert.

One can view the scene as the movie literally trying to reject the intruder. The Sheik kicked him out of the movie because the Boy didn’t belong. The entire sequence is also a commentary on film making itself with its quick edits that move from one scene to the next. Yet while the surroundings change, Keaton always appears to be in the same spot. There was no green screen for Keaton. Instead he and his photographer used surveying tools to ensure that Keaton kept the same pose for the following shot. So when Keaton goes to dive into the ocean and winds up in a snowbank, the jump appears flawless.

Meanwhile back in the movie, the theft of the pearl necklace has been noticed and the world’s greatest detective is called in, Sherlock Jr. Enter the Boy as Sherlock Jr, living out the Boy’s fantasy and now with a reason to be in the movie—he has a part to play. Dressed in a nice suit and hat, Sherlock Jr. is everything the real Boy is not—sophisticated, wise, and in charge. 

After an attempt by the Sheik and his hired man to kill Sherlock (a pool ball loaded with explosives is employed among other things), the detective follows the Sheik and discovers the pearls only to be grabbed by a gang of thugs. He escapes but when he learns that the Girl has been kidnapped, Sherlock is off to her rescue. 

The movie within a movie is filled with elements of surrealism, a reminder that it's all a dream. The Boy walks into a movie and seems to jump from one location into another. He opens the large door of a safe only to reveal a busy city street. He opens another door to find a man trapped in a tight cage, practically spinning around the room. Is it any wonder that the surrealists were Keaton fans?

Keaton also includes some Vaudeville stunts. When Sherlock escapes from a house, he jumps through a suitcase of clothes that is propping open a window. When he lands, he's dressed like a woman. Keaton has the side of the house “disappear” so the audience can see that it's a gag and not a camera trick. Later, he appears to jump through the stomach of an old woman but this time the gag is not revealed.

The chase that ends the movie illustrates one of the more daring stunts in the film. Sherlock hitches a ride on the handles of a motorbike driven by his Gillette his valet (Ford West). Gillette soon falls off the bike but the bike keeps going, with Sherlock on it. Only after avoiding multiple disasters (a train, broken bridge) does Sherlock realize the dire situation he's in; seconds later the bike crashes through the cabin where the Girl is being held. Rescuing her, he steals a car and drives them accidentally into a lake where they sail for a while courtesy of the car’s convertible top, before sinking, forcing them to swim for shore.

Back in the projection booth, the Boy wakes up and the movie returns to normal. Disappointed it was all a dream, he turns to find the Girl who apologizes; the truth about the Sheik's deception has been uncovered. The innocent Boy then does what so many people do, he looks to the movies for inspiration. Turning the girl so they mimic the stance of the couple on the screen, the Boy proceeds to copy the male lead’s moves. He kisses her hand, puts the ring back on her finger, and kisses her quickly on the mouth before scratching his head at the last shot—the movie couple bouncing a pair of babies.

I've seen this film multiple times and yet I never fail to be impressed by Keaton's ingenuity or moved by the sweetness of the Boy's courtship of the Girl. Sherlock Jr. is a compact 44 minutes of pure comedic genius. Oh, Buster. You're the best.

Mary Gets a Bob

Everyone knows I’m a fan of the bobbed haircut (I sport one myself). So I was of course intrigued when I came across this image of silent screen star Mary Thurman. Especially when I discovered that she was a Sennett bathing beauty who normally wore curls.

She was born Mary Mervonian Christiansen (nickname Von) on April 27, 1893 in Richfield, Utah. College educated (a rarity for actresses), she received a degree from the University of Utah and became a schoolteacher. She also became a wife, marrying Victor Thurman, the son of Utah Supreme Court Justice S. R. Thurman (they would later divorce in 1919). 

A trip to California in 1915 changed her career and life when her good looks got her the attention of a talent scout. She had two uncredited parts in the Douglas Fairbanks vehicles The Lamb and Double Trouble but it was the approval of Mack Sennett that was her real break.

Mary Thurman, Charlie Murray, Wayland Trask, and Erle C. Kenton in Friend Husband (1918)

Mary became one of Sennett’s famed bathing beauties, primping for the camera along side other lovelies usually at the seaside. For the next three years she also stared in a series of Sennett produced comedy shorts, often with Sennett stalwart Charles Murray.

In 1919 she moved up to features, starring in the unfortunately titled The Poor Boob for Famous Players-Lasky. She would go on to make 35 more films and work with the likes of Mae Murray, Gloria Swanson, Betty Compson, Richard Barthelmess, Tyrone Power Sr., and Harrison Ford.

William S. Hart and Mary Thurman in Sand (1920)

One of her better films was Sand (1920) with legendary cowboy William S. Hart who chose the script personally. In it Mary plays the love interest of Hart, a railroad station agent who after being falsely fired by his rival for her affection must capture a gang of bandits to redeem himself. The film is pretty good including some strong performances and great on-location shots. You can watch the entire film here.

Fatty Arbuckle is smitten with Mary Thurman in Leap Year (1921) 

Another important film of Mary's was one that her fans at the time never saw. Leap Year (1921) stared the popular comedian Fatty Arbuckle who plays the heir to a large fortune, which draws the attention of attractive women who distract him from the woman he’s in love with, his uncle's nurse played by Thurman. Unfortunately, filming finished right before Arbuckle’s infamous trip to San Francisco that resulted in the comedian being charged with the rape and murder of actress Virginia Rappe (he was later acquitted). Leap Year was subsequently banned and didn't see a release until 1981.

One of the other noteworthy tidbits about this film is that Mary appears in it with a sleek, straight bob, a look normally associated with Louise Brooks. In an interview with Adela Rogers St. Johns, Mary explained her new look saying that she had gotten her hair wet at the beach, which flattening her curls, and that her friends had told her it looked good and she should wear it that way. Normally pictured with a head of chestnut curls the new hairstyle, which Mary added bangs to, altered her appearance (her face even looks different) and gave her a classic flapper look.

The hairstyle made a big impact. One illustrator was inspired to capture the new look with a result that screams 1920s, right down to the bee-stung lips, while famed photographer Alfred Cheney Johnson saw her as the French Dauphin (or maybe he had Joan of Arc on the mind). 

Mary continued to work steadily, proving to be at home in both comedies and dramas. In 1925 she travelled to Florida to film Down Upon the Suwanee River. In it she plays a young woman who faces condemnation for giving birth out of wedlock although she really is married to a man who has been run out of town for espousing Atheism. All is well though when he finds God and returns home to wife and baby.

But all was not well for Mary. During filming she contracted malaria. She became deathly ill and retreated to New York where her friend and former Sennett Bathing Beauty, Juanita Hansen, took care of her. Mary never recovered though and after contracting pneumonia died on December 22, 1925. She is buried in Utah.

I'd like to find out more about Mary and watch some of her other films like Leap Year. And all because of a picture of a woman with a bob that caught my attention.

The Daughter of Dawn

The Daughter of Dawn (1920), a silent film long thought lost, was recently screened at the deadCENTER Film Festival in Oklahoma City, fully restored and with a new score.

Directed by Norbert Myles and produced by the Texas Film Company, The Daughter of Dawn is a love story that includes some standard movie fare—a chase scene, displays of bravery, a celebration, and, of course, a happy ending. But what makes this film so special is its all-Native American cast, uncommon today and unheard of during the silent era. Filmed in the Wichita Mountains in Oklahoma, the film features a cast of 300 Comanches and Kiowas including White Parker, the son of the Comanche leader Quanah Parker, as the lead, and tells the story of Native Americans with nary a cowboy or soldier in sight.

Like many stories about rediscovered silent films, this one has an intriguing back-story. In 2005, the Oklahoma City Museum of Art received a phone call from a private investigator in North Carolina claiming to own a silver nitrate copy of The Daughter of Dawn. Apparently a client had given it to him as part of his payment. The Oklahoma Historical Society was informed and set about obtaining and restoring the film with the help of a grant from the National Film Preservation Foundation.

Plans are under way to release the film on DVD and Blu-ray but for now here are the first ten minutes of the film—a fascinating glimpse of a true American story.

For more information, visit the Historical Society’s website here.