HISTORY LESSON: Man Enough? Part 1 - The Silents

In order to save his love interest (Virginia Cherrill) in City Lights, Chaplin has
to put up his dukes and "be a man."

While a lot of focus is given to interpreting the repression and liberation of women in film, that of the male archetype seems to be less thoroughly examined, at least in terms the facets of masculinity as reflections of/on society. The reason for this could very well be the lazy perception that "a man, is a man, is a man," which is a theory many may humorously, and perhaps correctly (to a certain extent), agree with. It is not the "male mystique" that continues to plague and baffle the opposite sex, yet this does not mean that the more "predictable" sex is any less complicated and nuanced than his fairer opposite. As such, his presentation on the silver screen and its metamorphosis over the years creates quite a broad portrait of just what it means to be a man. What makes a good man? A bad man? An attractive man? And what on earth is masculinity? Are the depictions of the different shades of the complex male conundrum-- the lover, the fighter, the cave man, the villain, the hero-- influenced by or influential of contemporary society? Probably a little bit of both.

Eugene Sandow gives good bicep in an early silent clip. A famous
Austrian body builder, he was Schwarzenegger before anyone
knew what a Schwarzenegger was.

During the initial stages of silent cinema, men were, quite simply, just men. They weren't polished, they weren't pristine, they weren't products. They weren't, in fact, even acting. The more studied performers of the stage rebuffed the hackneyed gimmick of the "motion picture" as it groped its fledgling way into a fully grown, full-fledged business. Thus, the gratuitous appeal of the original flicker shows, which portrayed human beings naturally, as they really were, whether the image of the man projected was sneezing, boxing, flexing his muscles, or kissing May Irwin, was the documentary style of the medium. It was simple: point and shoot. Then, point and shoot with costumes on. The storytellers on the screen were regular guys looking for work. As movies became shorts, which became features, as 1 reel lengthened to 8, as plot lines became more complicated, so too did the requirements of the leading men become more intricate. Trained actors, who had performed on the stage and in vaudeville, soon began migrating toward the cinema, less to achieve fame-- as it didn't exist yet-- then to make ends meet and take the jobs that their contemporaries still poo-pooed. Many were innovators that saw the potential others overlooked, and some were merely wooed by the opportunity its opportunists. As a result, some of the great personalities of the 20th century would present themselves on the silver screen-- Chaplin, Keaton, Chaney, Fairbanks, Reid-- and the words "movie star" would be born. 

The interesting thing about these personalities is that, while they were better trained than the initial rookie actors of cinematic minor leagues, they were still fairly regular guys, the prettiest of them belonging to the Wallace Reid (left) variety, who with his boyish good looks and overgrown child charms was both the son and lover to his leading ladies. He and Douglas Fairbanks both presented a masculine archetype that was bristling with the energy of immaturity-- Wally with his speed racing, and Doug with his nonchalant embrace of danger. In these cases, the women and romantic interests were always secondary to the major action within the story, with both men more invested in being "wild and wooly" than responsible. Meanwhile, the leading ladies performing opposite them tried their best to domesticate them, all while accepting that they never really could. "Boys will be boys..." Wally was, admittedly, much more sexual, which is why he could easily vacillate between the daredevil driver of  The Roaring Road and the smitten love interest of The Golden Chance with ease.

Doug defends all of mankind's honor with the mightiest of phalluses,
his saber! (The Black Pirate)

Doug was never "in it" for love. Ever. His heroes, like D'Artagnan of The Three Musketeers and his Robin Hood were more enthralled with the opportunity for adventure than the sentimental pull of romance. Therefore, as an unspoken "hit 'em and quit 'em type"-- however optimistically he portrayed himself-- he wasn't about putting down roots but exploring man's liberty. The message both figures presented was that men weren't meant to be chained. They must be able to exercise their need for freedom. Women just had to be ready to catch them when they wore themselves out. Most of their stories possessed a wink at the female audience of, "Yeah, we don't need you, but we really do." The little lady in an apron was always the true brains behind the operation, running the man's life, all while he thought he was indeed running wild. This perpetuated the paternal society's definitions of gender roles within a marriage: women, keep the home fires burning, men... burn rubber!

Gilbert succumbs to the succubus, Garbo, in
Flesh and the Devil.

This isn't to say that there were no men with emotive eloquence. Two Romeos with such all consuming passion were John Gilbert and Rudolph Valentino, both of whom were inhumanly handsome and intensely virile. While inheriting in some ways the fairly adolescent charisma of the aforementioned brand of man-boy, the inciting incident in their lover storylines was not that which would attract them to adventure or the fight of good over evil. The inciting incident was the appearance of Eve in their Edens. Whatever extraneous business was happening otherwise was pure background noise. Each man followed only the beating of his heart, or perhaps better yet, the compulsion of his loins. These guys were victims to their passion. However selfishly they may have behaved in the past, meeting the girl was enough to instantly change them from selfish boys to helpless fools for love, and consequently drive them insane with desire. Gilbert was most memorably paired with Garbo in his romantic career. His intoxicated devotion to her, which nearly destroyed him every time (and sometimes did), portrayed for women the man of their dreams. He gave his undivided attention to his muse, for whom he would do anything, and he would not rest until he possessed her. This was enough to leave ladies fanning themselves in their seats, if not passing out in the aisles. 

Interestingly, it was Garbo who usually suffered in the end (at least in the silent era), being punished for her erotic witchcraft in Flesh and Love, for example. After escaping the soul-sucking power of the vamp, who sought only to bleed a man dry of his potent juices, the man was supposed to reclaim his soul, embrace his manhood, curse the bitch, and settle into a relationship that would place him back in a position of power. Gilbert's characters, therefore, would find solace in more dependable women who would be faithful, loyal, and submissive, and also allow him to peaceably engage in the boyish hijink's he'd temporarily forgotten while under the spell of forbidden sex. Though, it should be noted, that when Gilbert fell for a "good girl," such as Eleanor Boardman's heroine in Bardelys the Magnificent, the romance was indeed consummated. His more worldly character having already certainly experienced the ego and heart bruising of a Garbo-like woman in the past, this guy was out for an innocent wife to protect with his well-situated manliness. He had come of age before the storyline started.

Valentino's gents were very similar in their romantic addictions. Rudy had no problem becoming the putty in the hands of Alla Nazimova's Camille or Nita Naldi's vamp in Blood and Sand. The same action ensued, with the woman generally paying the price for her forbidden, unbridled sexual nature, and the man reasserting his final dominance, either shaming her in Camille's case or foolishly allowing himself to be destroyed in the vamp case, the latter being a lesson to all men. However, Valentino's heroes possessed more danger than Gilbert's. The is partially due to the scintillating allure of the foreigner-- xenophoberotica?-- and his animalistic assertion over his prey. In both Sheik films, Rudy shamelessly kidnaps Agnes Ayres and Vilma Banky until they accept their stations as his sex slaves, with him resorting to what can only be described as rape in the second film, Son of the Sheik (see right). Naturally, he feels bad for his carnal crimes afterward and learns his lesson, thereby clinging the soiled woman to his muscled chest-- again, the "good girl"-- and reforming himself into a more civilized man (undoing his foreignness) in the process. With his dark(er), Italian appeal, he also offered more fantasy, as Rudy wasn't a real American but a strange figure from a strange land. His heroes could be tamed but not domesticated, and after his capture of chosen female, it is assumed that he would take her to a fantasy world of happily monogamous "ever afters" and over-sexed oblivion. In whichever case, the macho man had to conquer to become the King of his own identity. He must be a slave to no one and the ultimate one in charge. This begets the plague of the necessarily more submissive female. 

Keaton battles the elements in Steamboat Bill, Jr.

In truth, the only true lovers of the silent era came from the fools and clowns-- sometimes literally. When looking at the selfless devotion of Chaplin or the innocent but maladministered and attracted pursuit of Keaton, one witnesses some of the greatest examples of romance in all of cinema, period. The Tramp would send himself into further despair, isolation, or poverty to rescue the woman he loved from even minor devastation (The Circus, City Lights), while Keaton's many lovable but bumbling wooers would do anything to impress a potential bride only to fail-- as in his refused enlistment in the army in The General. Neither was reaching for the moon. They just wanted nice girls to settle down with and have an ordinary life. They also always had competition: bigger men, stronger men, better looking men, and richer men. The Tramp was undeserving, because he was poor; Keaton, because he wasn't macho. The latter would only accidentally become a worthy hero when presented with the challenges of extreme circumstances, be they wartime, weather affected, or even hallucinatory. The notion was that these men were, indeed, good guys. But good guys rarely get the girl, which is why the majority of the time, these two did nothing but suffer. The image of the man as the strong provider and savior still continues to be the divisive factor in what makes a man a man. 

Chaplin continues his voyage as the loner, lovelorn loser in
The Circus-- a telling title.

Unlike Fatty Arbuckle, who was able to win the day almost totally due to his imposing size and the clever swiftness of his actions and schemes, he was a bit of the selfish prankster that Fairbank and Reid represented but in the comic genre. Contrastingly, Chaplin and Keaton were diminutive, sensitive, emotionally aware, but mostly uncomfortable with themselves. Confidence is key, and they guys didn't have it. Thus, Chaplin's victory was primarily only ever the reward of selfless love-- sending the girl of his dreams off to live with the man of hers-- while Keaton was more often allowed to end in wedded bliss because, despite his size and social ignorance, he was able to prove his masculinity through his unbelievable, life-saving acts of prowess. He had thus earned his place in man-dom. Chaplin's silent hero never received applause for the secret aid he gave to his lovers in need. These comic gems were the underdogs of society, who thus gave such equally aching, hidden Lotharios a voice. However, they were still the butt of their own jokes; not real men, but men in training. They weren't what any woman was looking for, and furthermore, they were holding the steam engine of the growing American powerhouse back by begging on street corners instead of getting "real jobs." In a capitalist society, one who isn't chasing coin or engaging in the game of business is looked upon as a chump, just another sad cog in the wheel of the money machine. Invisible heroes aren't heroes.

Lon Chaney also belongs in this category, which is further complicated by identifying these ardent, bleeding heart lovers as a fools simply for loving at all. Chaney's twisted, heartbroken soldiers were literal mutations of the male sex. The fact that he wore love on his sleeve made him a monster. "This is not what a man is supposed to be," his movies unconsciously seemed to say. This too is why he is constantly left loveless by the final reels. The Phantom of the Opera is, forgive me, "cock-blocked" by Norman Kerry's more virile Raoul when vying for Christine (Mary Philbin). The Hunchback of Notre Dame is, again, intercepted by Kerry's Phoebus when vying for the heart of Esmerelda (Patsy Ruth Miller). Even when not physically misshapen, Chaney's desire and pure-hearted emotion for the women he desired sealed his fate as one who would forever do without such love's return. His obsession with Joan Crawford in The Unknown leads him to mutilate himself. His devious fixation in The Unholy Three, his love for Mae Busch/Lila Leed, is why he fails in his caper and is punished for his crimes. He is crippled by and in love in The Shock, West of Zanzibar (left), and The Penalty. He is a dunce in love in The Trap and Mockery. And, just as Chaplin, his selflessness goes unrewarded with loneliness in Tell It to the Marines and While the City Sleeps.

Chaney's depiction of the ultimate man's man in Tell It to the Marines is
pretty much the definitive portrait of masculinity. Hard-broiled, weather-
worn, and built of discipline and duty, he is the man all new enlistees
are meant to emulate. His one error is the depth and honesty of his feelings,
which is why he loses the girl to the less emotionally and more erotically
focused William Haines (boy-man). His heart is read as a flaw, yet his 
surrendering of it in the end makes him a hero. Real men don't fall for 
that love stuff. They get the job done.

The absolute torment of bearing such a full, martyred heart, one so desperate to love, made Lon's heroes immediate victims. When playing a purely sexual avenger in Victory or The Wicked Darling, he still didn't get the girl, but he represented more fully the man's man that could at least get a tramp and could make it in society, even if by the skin of his corrupt teeth. His predators with their ulterior motives and potent sex drives spoke to the beast in male viewers. He was their dark side, something immediately relatable, just as in his opposing roles he represented their good side-- strangely an even darker, dirtier secret. In either case, as the extreme in both contrasting levels of the internal, male, emotional world, he rarely walked away the winner-- literally and figuratively. His sinister villains had to be destroyed for the sake of order in society as well as in the protection of virginal women, and his hideous poets had to be eliminated in some fashion so that the virgins could be defiled by more righteous men-- less emotive, good looking, and not from the dregs of society. 

Thomas Meighan as the bored husband in Why Change Your Wife?

Perhaps the best representative of the silent movie, "regular" man would be Thomas Meighan. Handsome but not pretty, masculine but not action oriented, his characters were generally average guys, which is to say that they held down jobs, were crossed and sometimes victorious in love, and were composites of flaws and virtues. He was sexual and desirous of love but not overly emotive about it. He had feelings, but he played them close to his chest. He may have started out a con man in The Miracle Man, but he cleaned up his act and went straight by the end. When watching his performance in Male and Female, we see that he is indeed a man of character with both primal and romantic desires-- directed at Gloria Swanson-- but these qualities are only exhibited after the characters are stranded on a desert isle, and he is allowed to indulge his instincts without fear of social scrutiny. When he returns to life, so too do these instincts become buttoned up and forgotten. A real man knows how to walk a straight line, keep his romance a secret, keep sex in the bedroom, and pay his taxes. The sturdy and reliable Meighan, in all the varieties of his characterizations, provided such a portrait, still while allowing light to be cast on different aspects of man's character that the actual average man would never have allowed to be seen.

Love's a gag, something that Fatty Arbuckle showcased best-- here
alongside constant co-star Marbel Normand in Fatty's Married Life.
Fatty cared for his women, but womanhood was something he
generally had to put up with while out getting into more interesting 
trouble or making it. Marriage is a drag, but the ball and chain was
never going to stop Fatty from being Fatty!

These actors were favorites during the silent era for all that they represented, whether their stories made them winners or losers. The interesting thing to note is how intrinsically different they were from one another. No two were the same. Each had his own fashion, his own style, his own art, and each depicted his own version of masculinity, even while all portrayals may have eventually led society down the same path of acceptable male behavior-- the best version of his gender. Perhaps because screen identities were not yet firmly established, ergo there were no cliches or gender staples to adhere to, men were allowed to step before the camera in all shapes and sizes, modes and behaviors. The early days were an incredibly diverse and liberating era for the actor/performer, and viewers were consequently introduced to a wide array of talents and depictions of what it then meant to be a man in contemporary America. While the thread of necessary male dominance always held sway, never again would the characters in the male tapestry be as mixed nor as interesting as in the silent period. At the time, it would have been more fitting to say, a man is a man in any way he can...

To Be Continued in The Studio era and Method to Modern Times...

TAKE ONE, TWO, THREE: Yen's "Sin" - [Part 2]

... continued from Part 1's focus on Broken Blossoms-- an examination of the Chinese lover in classic cinema.

Some very daring poster art for the provocative classic,
The Bitter Tea of General Yen.

Everyone's favorite American sentimentalist, Frank Capra, left his small town ways to enter the big leagues when he pushed the themes of interracial romance to the brink in The Bitter Tea of General Yen (1933). The plot of this film is not too far removed from Broken Blossoms-- the white woman comes under the Chinaman's care-- though this time the woman is a passionate missionary out to rescue orphans, and the man is an uncompromising warlord who essentially orchestrates her abduction so he can make her his concubine. Despite appearances, the attraction between "Megan Davis" (Barbara Stanwyck) and "Gen. Yen" (Nils Asther) is mutual, but the racist ideologies that Megan possesses make it just as equally brutal. Her shame over her attraction to the "dirty Chinaman" is hidden behind her cutting, prejudicial denial of Yen's own scintillating desires. In his case, his insecurities are compensated for by his strange blend of stoic and sensual tyranny. The initial effect Yen s on Megan is shock. She seems utterly confused by the fact that he actually appears civilized-- aka  "white" in behavior-- when she and Yen meet by happenstance in an automotive collision that locks them fatalistically together. Under Capra's direction, the story is a near visual portrait of S&M.

Who else but "Stany" could portray a heroine with equal parts smoldering pleasure and pain? An actress of boiling intensity and sensual confidence, she gives Megan a depth and curiosity that slowly seeks to overcome her own misunderstandings coupled with an increasingly volcanic sexual appetite. An adventuress on her way to a boring life as a missionary's wife, it seems that Megan's only reason for choosing her fiancé was the proximity a life with him might bring her to danger and excitement-- foreign places, existential exposure, intense exploration. Dressed essentially as a wolf in lamb's clothing, Megan's thirst for life could easily lead her to a dangerous addiction, and her struggle becomes on of concealing her passion for propriety's sake. She would be labeled a perverse whore  and social disgrace were she to admit her fetish for her mysterious captor. Megan knows that her emotions, or more honestly her primal urges, are viewed as "wrong." It is incorrect to want a member of the other race. She has been taught this all her life, and she spouts the rules of decent behavior even as her eyes and body language communicate that she doesn't believe them.

Babs draws her silken robe closer to her body in Yen's presence, but
she also always looks like she's 3 seconds from ripping it off.

Nils Asther brings an interesting twist to his take on Yen. In his career, he was often chosen to play the "other" foreigner, because of his exotic, almost androgynous features and Swedish accent, which I suppose sounded Asian to  studio producers (???). He played the part of the tempting Indonesian with fellow Swede Greta Garbo in Wild Orchids (1929) and the Turkish police chief "Kadar-Pasha" in Abdul the Damned (1935) to name but two examples. His slithers into his role as the sadistic Yen well, who uses his poise and confidence to cover his learned feelings of inferiority to the white race. However, through  his over-eagerness to please Megan, Yen occasionally shows his hand, his vulnerabilities, and equally masochistic tendencies. These breadcrumbs leading to the torrent of his desire emerge in moments of desperation. Still, Yen is a mystery-- a man difficult to make out. He is part calculating, emotional strategist and part little boy who has just had his hand slapped. He is secretly intimidated by Megan just as much as he is drawn to her, thus he presents himself as an unapologetic, compassionless, and sinister beast, utterly confident in the fact that he will conquer her without having to force himself upon her. This, in turn, arouses the suppressed sex-kitten in Megan, just as her superiority and refusals arouse him.

Yen's still waters are kept calculatingly cool in order to camouflage the intensity
of his underlying passions. He appears as the token "dragon man," but he has
incredible class and patience. His mind games are traps that are impossible
to escape, because one doesn't realize she's in one until it's too late.

The sexual chess game of clean, white beauty vs. dark foreigner is one of worthless resistance. Both players refuse to be the submissive victim, and both are too tough to admit their true desire for each other. It is becomes a taut "wait out the clock" situation to see who will break first; who will first kneel to kiss the foot of the victor. As compared to Lillian Gish, Stanwyck is no girl; she's a woman, and a tough one. She may not be totally aware that her unconscious decisions have led her here, to the place of her unspoken pleasure, but she's not a fool. While she feels her fortifications falling to Yen's curious hold over her, she too knows the repercussions such an affair would bring her, and as a worldly dame she's not about to surrender her reputation for one night of objectification. With a piece of the bigotry chip on her shoulder, she is also a bit disgusted by Yen, but his strange spiritualism and mind-boggling philosophies-- which both adhere to and contradict his actions-- slowly reveal the flesh and blood man beneath the fetish. He is the dark knight of fairy tales, and it is by touching her mind and exposing it to the open world she craves as a human being that he starts winding his way around her heart.

The win of Megan's desire over her prejudice is brilliantly evidenced in the infamous dream sequence. Yen approaches her as a hideous creature of racist stereotypes-- a rat-like face, long nails, a hunched walk-- creating a terrifying, nightmarish blend of xenophobic horror. Moving like a twitching insect, he comes to her bed and puts his claw-like hands upon her. She shrinks away, but she is just as sexually fueled by the indefinite polluting of her body as she is disturbed. Her acceptance of what has been described to her as utterly filthy will actually be her ticket out of the life she finds so bland and constraining.  She partially wants to destroy herself. But, before this happens, a savior arrives as if on the apocryphal white horse to save her. Indeed, he is even dressed in white-- the pure color. The masked hero defeats the Yen sub-creature and then tosses off his own mask, which reveals Yen the man. Truth has defeated stereotype. In her fantasy, Megan abolishes all bigotry, enfolds herself in Yen's arms, and thus acknowledges the fact that He is Man, She is Woman, and the only line between them is that which she draws herself.

The Yen creature accosts Megan in her bed, a representative of all her disgusting
prejudices about the "yellow" sexual villain.

The duo are never permitted to kiss, but thanks to the films release prior to the 1934 production code, the implications of this scene are pretty damn bold and certainly made contemporary audiences of the time... uncomfortable. Though Asther is a Caucasian in make-up, stating a blatant message that a biracial relationship was A-Ok was not yet to be. Thus, the total fusion of these two very representative characters-- the Yen and the Yang (bad pun)-- had to be halted. The road block to their union is, of course, death. After Megan's eventual supplication before Yen, the reality of the game hits home. She comes to him dressed as one of his heavily make-uped and bejeweled concubines, and Stanwyck's tearfully broken performance as she applies these goods to her body, as opposed to washing herself clean, delivers perhaps the most obvious message of all. Yen, at the end of the day, is still a thing, whose touch will contaminate and make her a thing. Megan gives herself up to this. Yen, surprisingly, does not. He fixes himself the titled 'bitter' cocktail that takes his life and ends his beloved's suffering.

In truth, the story never really feels like one of love. This could be because the chemistry between Stanwyck and Asther does not have much fire, the source of the heat coming only from the independent tortures that both are suffering alone. (Hate and love are very closely linked). More particularly, it is a story about man's sexual nature. It is a tale of primal eroticism and pure lust, not romance. Human affection and human desire are too very different things, which is perhaps why Yen sacrifices himself to keep from damaging the girl he respects but who he can't be certain will ever give him her heart.

Yen drinks a toast to his 'bitter' end.

The end is complicated, however. Yen may decide to destroy himself to release his lover, but he may also do so because he has conquered her willpower by earning her submission, and the mental destruction of her is more important than the physical. This could have been the entire goal: to prove through this victory that his manhood is just as potent and effective, if not more so, than a white man's. Therefor, he has justified himself above his level as an 'other' and can now die a man. Still, one is unsettled, as if this film is an incomplete thought whose true fulfillment is not hampered by the director nor the actors but by the time within which it was made. In the end, whether he chooses to or not, Yen must die because he must not touch a white woman. Death is his punishment. for even considering the idea. The fact that he is the one to drink from the well of death is loaded with the implications of his own lingering feelings of inferiority over his heritage. Megan, meanwhile, returns to life as if waking from a dream and entering a nightmare-- forever haunted by a lost and unfulfilled passage to ecstasy.

~     ~     ~

Anna May Wong dances dangerously close to the edge of acceptable, interracial
behavior in Piccadilly.

The final chapter of this (overly long) analysis is a bit different, for in Piccadilly (1929), the punished, exotic Chinese character is a female. Anna May Wong herself could represent the Asian prototype in American cinema, both in terms of her onscreen presence and the way she endured and overcame the constraints of the industry as implied by her race. A Chinese laundryman's daughter, Wong was very much the modern, "American girl" in every way-- minus her parents' heritage. Rebellious, ambitious, sexual, prone to slang, and thrilled by the invigorating changes enjoyed by young men and women of the roaring twenties, had Anna been born white, she could have been one of the biggest leading ladies in film. Being of Chinese descent, her triumph of reaching stardom is not only remarkably impressive, it was unprecedented. This is a testament to her talent and charisma, which broke barriers in the industry. Unfortunately, successes like The Toll of the Sea and Shanghai Express are evenly matched by the never-ending slaps in the face she was to receives. Caucasians actresses were consistently given the roles that should have gone to her. Her place in cinema was that of the perpetual, exotic harlot-- always the concubine, never the bride.

Hence, Anna May's escape to Europe, where life and art were a little more liberal and accepting of varying cultures, perhaps because so many diverse peoples were and are more closely clumped together on the continent. Piccadilly was an incredible success for Anna in Britain. The unarguable star of the film, the story that could very well have revolved around the Piccadilly Club owner "Valentine Wilmot" (Jameson Thomas) and his dancer lover "Mabel Greenfield" (Gilda Gray), is totally usurped by and overshadowed by Anna's performance as "Shosho." A washerwoman at Piccadilly, Shosho is witnessed dancing on a tabletop in the kitchen and entertaining her friends when Valentine walks in and sees her. It is perhaps one of the most beautiful character reveals of all time. Valentine is immediately smitten by Shosho-- the graceful movements of her body seem to glide through the air like the literal steam surrounding her. She instantly intoxicates both him and the audience. 




Valentine selects Shosho as his next concubine, but she will prove to be much
more than the complacent, delicate flower he expected. It will be he
who is tamed by her. 

Naturally, after firing her, Valentine makes her a conquest. This time, however, the shame of the affair will all be on him. While a man is more generally forgiven for his sexual deviances, the idea that Valentine has totally fallen under the spell of a member of an "inferior race" is humiliating to him. Thus, he keeps it a secret, particularly from his public paramour, Mabel. Had Mabel merely been replaced by a new, white lover, Valentine would have easily cast her off; however, as Shosho is the living embodiment of the ultimate sin, his attraction to her is dehumanizing to him. She is his dark side, his 'other,' other lover, so Mabel will be kept on as the dutiful beard of sorts for his social self while he indulges his fantasies otherwise.

 

The dangerous but desired perception Valentine has of Shosho is at first the product of his own superficial invention, but later Shosho adopts this false characterization and wears it as armor to both conquer him and trump Mabel. The instigation behind Shosho's transference to a villainess is a both financial and vengeful. She is poor and wants the financial support of Valentine, and she is also aware of her inferior standing in society. Her early efforts to rise above both her situation and the social stigma attached to her are later become insufficient. She later craves more than equality-- she wants domination. Thus, when Valentine offers her a chance to perform at the club, Shosho doesn't foolishly grab at the offer nor fall into his sexual trap. She sets one of her own. Before she surrenders to him bodily, she must possess his soul. Longevity will give her a stranglehold over him, and she does not want to be brushed aside as any of the many previous women he has surely gone through like cigarettes.

Shosho takes a fatal swing at the mass of salivating men around her and
makes them her willing suppliants. 

Her winning play is her initial performance, for which she has managed to custom order a gorgeous, expensive outfit for the show, already revealing the power she has gained over her patron. The dance sequence itself is a breathtaking number in which Shosho acknowledges the power of her sexuality and uses it to her advantage. In this moment on stage, with her entrancing, ghostlike movements, she doesn't just own Valentine; she owns all of London. As Shosho continues to spin Valentine into her seductive web, Mabel inevitably catches on and confronts her enemy with a gun. To steal a man from a white woman, the same one who once looked down on her as a mere peasant, is the true jewel in Shosho's crown. Unfortunately, her scandalous ladder-climb ends the only place it can: in death. When she is shot, it is assumed that jealous lover Mabel pulled the trigger, however-- shocker of shockers-- Shosho's friend "Jim" (King Hou Chang) steps up to admit his own guilt and saves Mabel from blame.

Jim's heroism in this act of defending Mabel is also the ultimate insult to his race, as he chooses the protection not only of the white woman but the white race's superiority over the life of Shosho, the woman he loves. However, his murder of her-- a disturbing and gloriously shot sequence-- was one committed less out of jealousy and more as that ever necessary racial punishment. Using the white man to "get by" is something he for which he could forgive Shosho, but she became too greedy. She tried to escape her place in the caste system. Had she become but another one of Valentine's submissive whores, her actions could have been forgiven, but her refusal to obey the laws of alleged modest Asian attitude and social acquiescence was not to be borne. She dared to cross racial lines, and even her brain-washed brethren believed that she had to be stopped. 

Shosho's single eye communicates her sheer shock and terror at witnessing her
friend take aim. One can see how Anna May's performance as a sexual
infection influenced the Asian horror villainesses to come in later films
like Ju-on, Audition, and Ringu.

Despite the dismal ending, this film is spectacular. Beyond the resonating thematic questions it poses, the photography by Werner Brandes and smooth direction by filmmaker/producer Ewald Andre Dupont, are still impressive and transcend the majority of the over-packaged visual stimuli that we're met with on the modern screen. (There is also a surprise Charles Laughton appearance-- never anything to sniff at). Best of all, the film is all Anna, and even as the moderately innocent girl metamorphoses into the Tiger Woman she becomes, you don't blame her. You empathize. In fact, you envy. The success of Piccadilly rests on the fact that the audience is rooting for the villainess because, beneath it all, the villainess is the true victim of the scenario.

~     ~     ~

Lon Chaney as "Yen Sen" in Shadows. The plot of the film concerned the
Christianizing "the heathen," yet Chaney's depiction of the moral and
strong-hearted laundryman did more to reveal the prejudice and
cruelty of the white race and their unjust, uncivilized natures.

All three films depict the societal imposed fate of the Chinese race to be one of inescapable servitude. The culture of the times in which these films were made, particularly the silents, were pleased with and un-intimidated by the people whom they viewed as automatically inferior. The Caucasian majority treasured this minority's modest ways, strict customs, and unobtrusiveness. They did not want these images to change in reality, so they made films perpetuating and perhaps even enforcing them, however subconsciously. Unlike other racial groups, Chinese characters in film were often allowed certain liberties, despite the derogatory way in which they were portrayed. In part, these films project our fascination with them and their beliefs, which we find strange and unusual, yet we simultaneously envy. They are seen as a "simple people" in touch with another, purer level of existence, and they also seem to know something that we do not. Perhaps for this reason alone-- for the questions they raise about our own morality, our values, and our own idols (from movie stars to Jesus Christ)-- the Caucasian ruled industry punished them cinematically. The line in the sand was therefore drawn, and the warning given. While we may live in an multi-racial world, at least in the old days of cinema, there was no room for interracial romance.

GARBO... DREAMS?!?!

Greta Garbo: eternal screen Goddess and subject of the
upcoming live streaming event "Garbo Dreams."

There has been lot of love spilling forth recently from the cup of cinema past, particularly with regard to our female pioneers. First there was the triumphant campaign to fund the documentary Be Natural, which will cover the life and work of unsung filmmaker Alice Guy-Blache. Now, the public eye is being redirected at a much more prominent silent screen personage.

Throughout her life, whether purposely projecting into the camera or being publicly caught off guard in a candid moment, Greta Garbo has seduced, swooned, sacrificed, hypnotized, bewildered, bewitched, invaded, evaded, and yes, talked. What Garbo never did-- at least not where anyone could see-- was be "herself." It seems that even her closest friends knew a different version of her, all thinking that they alone had uncovered the true woman. Eventually, whether John Gilbert, Salka Viertel, or Mauritz Stiller, each compatriot would be confronted by yet another one of Greta's chameleon faces from her shifting inner walls, and whatever confident hypotheses had been formed about her would be toppled to dust yet again.

It's possible that Garbo never really knew Garbo, which is why pages and pages of historical research into the chasms of her fiercely-guarded private self are always up for debate, revision, and reinterpretation. Yet, the more she teases with her aloof withdrawal, the more we seek her out. What is found is generally up to the viewer. Garbo was and still somehow is living art, and the broad strokes of her enigma tell each spectator's story more than her own. But who was she really???

Lauren LoGiudice as Greta Garbo.



 This seemingly impossible question has a very simple answer: she was human. This is a fact boldly communicated in the upcoming play "Garbo Dreams," by Lauren LoGiudice:

Greta Garbo doesn’t know it yet, but she is in her final year on earth. Lonely, she spends most of her time secluded in her home, cracking jokes and telling stories to her imaginary friends in the form of two toy troll dolls, a plastic snowman, and a painting. Greta is confronted with her final task: to destroy a small box, which contains mementos of her life and loves. Will she have the courage to burn them -- or will she have to face the part of herself that hides from the world? In this hilariously poignant portrayal, Greta finds that although her life is aflame her heart it still intact.

As depicted in this play, Greta has been off the screen for decades and has become the urban legend of New York, her sightings as rare, as yearned for, and as heckled as those of Big foot. Living a hermetic existence, she is left to entertain, condemn, and console herself-- just as she seemed to have wanted it. How does this incredible woman balance the acclaimed star she once was with the aged and dying recluse she has become? How does she qualify the diverse images of herself? How does she see herself, her past, and her remaining hours? Does she live with regret, or does she merely scoff at the world that was never able to claim her soul? And when she dreams, does she dream in color or in the liquid black and white of her poetic, glory days?

Garbo at 46.

It appears that an actress, and an impassioned one at that, never stops acting, and this "hidden camera" experience creates a window into the life of the Sphinx of Celluloid when at her most unguarded, natural, and vulnerable. The one-woman show hopes to bring down the walls of shadow and illusion, illuminating the shades of Garbo as heretofore unseen, as well as paying homage to the culture of Hollywood which she both lived in, enjoyed, feared, and survived. Greta was never Garbo. She was a mysterious and compelling woman at once easily hurt, surprisingly spontaneous, consumed with self-doubt, and occasionally an impromptu ham. Garbo wore a man's armor to fight off the uncertainties of life, yet she too was a little girl who sometimes irreverently blew raspberries at her own reflection-- the same image society saw as the pinnacle of beauty. She was Garbo sharp as a tack, and Garbo as vulnerable as a newborn. She was a universe unto herself, just as we.

In fact, in being evasive, Garbo may have been one of our most honest sisters. She was human, after all. She wasn't one image, one thing, one easily categorized product to be plopped into one tight, little box.She was a woman. She was alive. She breathed, she lived, she loved, she hurt, and she died. And she knew. She knew that the world didn't want the real Great Gustafson. They wanted only the incandescent movie star of the silver screen-- glowing like an angel and both reflecting and exposing the hidden parts of her audience. In the end, Garbo let the world have the image, and kept herself.

To voyage into the realm of rediscovery-- or to discover for the first time-- the paradox that is Greta Garbo, I humbly beseech you to draw attention to this commendable play about one of our most beloved players. A humorous and touching Portrait of the Artist as an Aged Woman, this slice of life performance promises film references and homages for the staunchest students of the golden era of silent, while offering new treasures to those who are just beginning to indulge their fascination. I encourage you to share this article, the following website, and invite as many film lovers as possible to tune into tonight's LIVE STREAMING of GARBO DREAMS.

!!!Please spread the word and watch a new chapter of curiosity unfold. Let us continue our celebration of our creative heritage and cultural diagnoses of our very humanity-- which always seems easier to comprehend when viewed through a trusted (and in this case gorgeous) face.!!!

To learn more about the play, go to Garbo Dreams: http://www.garbodreams.com/

To tune in tonight to see the live streaming of the play!

Wednesday, Sept. 18th @ 6pm EDT / 3pm PDT on UStream:

http://www.ustream.tv/channel/garbo-dreams

"Your joys and sorrows. You can never tell them. You cheapen the inside of yourself if you do tell them."-- Greta Garbo

STAR OF THE MONTH: Ingrid Bergman - Part One

Ingrid Bergman

Over the years, after multiple movie viewings and adventures in cinematic history, it has become difficult for me to decide who should top the list of the "Best." How could I? This industry, though often malicious, has also birthed and introduced countless amazing artists, craftsmen, and masterpieces to the world. Clearly, based on my Label list alone, Lon Chaney can be singled out as my favorite actor, but the cluster of men that keep company with him as my top favorites is always expanding and changing-- sometimes Clift is there, sometimes Holden... Strangely, the women on said list have never changed, and with this blog (and my former home at MySpace), I have tried to give my top five divas-- including Katharine Hepburn, Jean Harlow, Barbara Stanwyck, and Carole Lombard-- what I consider to be the proper attention they deserve The last Lady (in no particular order) on that list, is a woman for whom I have sincere respect and who grows more impressive every time I watch her work. It seems appropriate that I make her June's "Star of the Month" and, coincidentally, the last official member of the L.A. La Land club to bear that title. Dear Readers, I give you Ingrid Bergman:

*     *     *

Ingrid followed in the footsteps of another very important Swede: Greta Garbo. Indeed, Sweden was home to many cinema greats who physically or artistically crossed the Atlantic to make an impact on Hollywood. Victor Seastrom (Sjostrom), Ingmar Bergman (no relation), and even the ultimate 60s pin-up Ann-Margret (Olsson), have done more than their share to contribute to the world of film. Like her predecessor Garbo and other fellow countrymen, Ingrid was passionate yet realistic. She loved America, but she was not taken in by its garish extremities nor the world of luxury and glamour it offered her as a film star. She was a gracious and grateful swan among cockeyed cockatoos who made few friends in the entertainment industry aside from Alfred Hitchcock, Cary Grant, and Katharine Brown. Thus, similar to Garbo, she was a private and practical person who possessed a fiery inner life bursting with creativity and the desire for artistic release. Yet, unlike Garbo, her public persona was not that of ice and mystery but of wholesome warmth, fragile beauty, and a light and welcoming demeanor. 

Ingrid's bright, genuine presence was like a breath of
fresh air to worldwide audiences. She was real from
her head to her toes, both in life and on the screen.

Ingrid did not play hide and seek with the public. She would participate in the publicity needs that naturally coincided with the acting business while masterfully keeping her own head. To her, the film was the thing. The film was what mattered. Due to her dedication to her work and the all-driving energy she put into it, she is not remembered as a distant Goddess like Garbo, nor is she referred to as a typical "star" at all. She remains outside that category of celebrities. She was an "actress" who was famous. The integrity of her work and the public's response to her beauty and depth made her something beyond the general perception of a Movie Star. She was idolized not for her extravagant lifestyle, or wealth, or the mythological existence most celebrities are given. She was genuinely worshipped for her talent. You hear Ingrid Bergman, and you don't think "Oh, she was a HUGE star!" You think, "Oh my God, was she good..." 'Good' and decent was also her projection. As a person, people saw her as good. Until they didn't... And then they decided that she was good again. Yet, over the years while the public's perception of Ingrid changed, came, went, and returned, Ingrid never changed. Ingrid was always honest. This is why she is still revered: an artist you can trust.

The dual impact of Ingrid's work is composed of both her intensity and her vulnerability. A versatile actress who didn't even know the definition of "vanity," Ingrid gave her soul to her work, resulting in her complicated and nuanced performances of both sexual hunger and vulnerable innocence. She was both a woman and a little girl. In truth, there was a part of her that never did grow up; a part of her that escaped the uncertainties of life by hiding in characters that she could absorb, meld with, and release. To Ingrid, her characters are akin to her children. She would approach them with utter sincerity and lack of judgment, and when she found a role she adored, she had a compulsion to rip the amorphous being from the page and exorcize it from oblivion with her own voice and body. Acting was her religion. Her devotion was inherited from her Swedish father, Justis Bergman, who was an artist and aspiring Opera singer. His dreams were put on hold when he fell in love and consequently adjusted his bohemian ways to support his straight-as-an-arrow, level-headed, German wife Frieda Adler. As a young girl, Ingrid remembered her father running a camera shop and bringing home the latest invention, which she loved mugging for.

As a Swedish ingenue, Ingrid captivated with her soft, doe-
like beauty and uninhibited, instinctual performances.

It was Ingrid's father with whom she would most identify and emulate in her later life, not because she did not love her mother, but because Frieda died far too young to pass on her own orderly and constructive influence. Frieda had fought and lost a grueling battle with a violent fever when Ingrid was but three-years-old. Due to her painful loss, Ingrid would grow up sharing only the dream world of her father, whom she adored, which was both beneficial to her creativity but stifling in terms of personal growth. She missed the impact in her early years of learning what a mother was, as well as the general facts of life. For a time, she worked through her depression with her father, performing her skits and impressions for him, while he taught her to sing. When Justus too suddenly passed away, Ingrid was abruptly robbed of the two pillars that were meant to establish the foundation of her very being. For a time, she became very introverted, disappearing in her mind perhaps to a place of fantasy that she had dreamed up with her father-- a place where she could see a mother she barely knew. She would live a large portion of her life in this safe place, cloistered from the world, where she knew she could depend on nothing and no one but herself for salvation. Eventually, she would find a way to bring this imaginary realm to life by becoming an actress.

Ingrid lived with extended family through her adolescence, being sent to whatever Aunt or Uncle was available to take her in, while attending the Lyceum School for Girls. Ingrid was an awkward girl by the age of thirteen, having already reached her maximum height-- 5'9",  which was tall for any woman, let alone a young girl. Yet, she won her classmates over with her friendly, helpful nature and surprising sense of humor, often asking the other girls to join her in an impromptu performance. Still, she generally spoke very little in class, considering school to be boring if not an altogether horrible experience. When the time came to settle down and look for a simple job to hold until she could find a supportive husband, Ingrid opted for a different path. She had always known what she wanted on the inside, but it wasn't until she found herself performing as an extra in the film Landskamp that she knew that she had received her calling. She was accepted at the Royal Dramatic Theatre School (alma mater to Garbo, Lars Hanson, and later Max von Sydow) wherein she went to work impressing her teachers and classmates. 

Ingrid's performance in Intermezzo with her childhood idol, Gosta Ekman,
was the first major turning point in her career. Overnight, she became
a lauded actress and local celebrity.

Insecure about her body, tall stature, and long arms and legs, she was aware that she didn't look like the typical leading lady, and certainly, people agreed with that idea when they first saw her. Her golden hair and bright blue eyes won her some points back, of course, as did her amiable personality. The review of her audition piece had been the following: "While she has too much the appearance of a country girl, she is very natural and is the type that does not need makeup on her face or on her mind."  As indicated, Ingrid's full charm and beauty was easily made clear to those who saw her as little more than a lovely young woman only when she acted. Any second-guessing would fade away once she exposed those around her to her unexpected and affecting presence on the stage. Her talent carried her quickly from the school's curriculum, to roles in the legitimate theater-- a fact over which the other students were not so happy. Allegedly, after one of her castings, a jealous schoolmate tossed a book at her head! Ingrid did not let this sway her, for she possessed, as another more appreciative classmate would recall, an "iron willpower." Ingrid decided to leave school after she had adventured into the world of motion pictures. Her first role was a bit part in Monkbrogreven, during which she eagerly observed the entire process of filmmaking-- even if she weren't on call for the day. She went on to peform opposite her idol Gosta Ekman in both Swiedenhelms and her later coup Intermezzo. Her charisma and hypnotizing performances quickly made her a a sensation! 

Petter Lindstrom and Ingrid Bergman on their
wedding day in 1937.

In the midst of this, Ingrid had fallen in love, ironically with a man whose pragmatism mirrored her mother's. Petter Lindstrom was a handsome and intelligent dentist who would eventually work his way up to being a neurosurgeon. Naturally, Ingrid was attracted to his intelligence and stability. He was a man who took action, made decisions, and was the imaginative but unromantic yin to her rational but whimsical yang. Thus, she found in him both the father figure she had been searching for as well as the ostensible opposite that would make her complete. Attracted to men older and more experienced than she and equally reliant on their worldly knowledge, Ingrid had taken her (alleged) first lover at the age of eighteen: Edvin Adolphson, with whom she had worked in various plays and films. Yet, as adoring as she initially was of the gifted (and philandering) actor, she also knew that her only true love would ever be acting. A famous and temperamental performer, therefore, was not someone she wanted to bind herself to. She needed someone as focused and devoted to his own life as she, who needed little mothering or coddling, and would thus allow her the independence of her own career. She believed that Petter fit the bill. After all, he was as ambitious about science and medicine as she was about acting. They were married in 1937.

Ingrid had no inhibitions about playing the mutated leading lady in
A Woman's Face, a dark film which showcased her as the female
Lon Chaney (and you ask why I love her). The film was
re-made in America with Joan Crawford, but it possessed
 the usual Hollywood-ized errors and flaws.

Ingrid's career would continue to thrive, as would her reputation as a powerhouse actress as she collaborated with director Gustav Molander in Dollar, Only One Night, and A Woman's Face, playing every type of woman throughout-- bitter, broken, reborn, martyred, comedic, frigid, erotic, vengeful, and outcast. With Petter increasingly navigating the course of her career, Ingrid soon was looking for better contractual opportunities. She signed with Germany's UFA Studios while simultaneously discovering that she was pregnant. Additionally, the increasingly threatening nature of Nazi politics was starting to take over Europe. Fortunately for Ingrid, Kay Brown, David O. Selznick's talent scout extraordinaire, had just seen the American debut of Intermezzo, and she subsequently badgered her boss to sign the amazing ingenue to his roster of talents. What better time to move West?

To Be Continued...