On DVD, a delightful, 203-minute course in American film history -- THE CHAMPION: A Story of America's First Film Town

What a little treasure trove for film lovers is the new Milestone Cinematheque release of THE CHAMPION: A STORY OF AMERICA'S FIRST FILM TOWN. I may have previously heard something about Fort Lee, New Jersey, being a place where early movies were made, but nothing had prepared me for the details that spill out -- surprising, funny, and full of so many names of our early and important filmmakers, actors and eventual and/or would-be moguls -- during this 35-minute-but-too-short-by-half documentary.

It's rare for TrustMovies to wish a film were longer, but he could have easily sat through another hour or more of this one. Still, this two-disc set is more than worth its cost, as it also offers eight silent films from the heyday of Fort Lee (the early 1900s through World War I) plus another short documentary from 1935 detailing even more about movie-making in this New Jersey precursor of Hollywood that was, by the 1930s, already a movie-making ghost town.

As written and directed by Marc J. Perez (based on the book Fort Lee, the Film Town by Richard Koszarski), The Champion takes us to the spot where those famous Perils of Pauline were filmed, shows us what certainly must be one of the earliest "special effects" to be seen onscreen (in a silent movie called Rescued from an Eagle's Nest), and puts us in touch with some famous (or almost) names like Florence Lawrence (shown above), said to be the first real "movie star," as well as stand-bys like Goldwyn, Laemmle and Sennett, as well as names that ought to be better known and maybe someday will be.

In that last category would fall the first black feature filmmaker, Oscar Micheaux, and the first female filmmaker, Alice Guy-Blaché, who wrote, directed and/or produced some one thousand films and actually owned her own film studio -- all before women could even vote here in America.

The Champion concentrates most on a man named Mark Dintenfass, who came to Fort Lee in 1910 and decided it would be smart move to build a studio nearby (in Englewood Cliffs). He purchased land and built what would become the hugely successful (for awhile) Champion Studios, the mark of which is shown below.

This story, along with many others, are told briefly and well in the documentary, which ends, as I say, too soon, but then allows you to take a look at some of the silent films that came out of this era and town. Chief among these is the 31-minute version of ROBIN HOOD, made in 1912 by Eclair America, which was to become the first American-produced version of the tale. The longest of the films is THE DANGER GAME (from 1918) running one full hour.

The other short silents run from nine to eleven minutes each, and though some are in better restorative shape than others, all are great fun to watch and marvel over -- both for how far film (and now video) has come, and how much fun, even enlightening, it could be back at its near-beginning. In fact, this new set makes a lovely complement (or maybe vice versa) to one of last year's most interesting movie-history documentaries, The First Film.

From The Milestone Cinematheque, and running, in all, 203 minutes, this two-disc set features a 2K restoration of that 1935 doc on Fort Lee entitled Ghost Town. For five of the films, all produced at Champion Studio, this new release marks the first time these silents will have appeared on DVD. Special thanks are due The Fort Lee Film Commission for its work in putting together this fine set. The Champion, complete with all its extras, hits the street this coming Tuesday, October 17 -- for purchase and/or (I hope) for rental, too.

Bill Morrison's most mainstream -- yes! -- endeavor yet, DAWSON CITY: FROZEN TIME

TrustMovies has loved (to some degree) every Bill Morrison movie he's seen so far, from Decasia and The Miners' Hymn to The Great Flood and Beyond Zero: 1914-1918. But in recommending any of them, as I have always done, I've also had to place a caveat along with that recommendation that the movies require some effort on the part of the viewer. They are not your standard sit-back-and-watch-that-superhero-in-action sort of thing. Now comes DAWSON CITY: FROZEN TIME, in which Morrison's love of everything from movies to decaying film, history, oddball facts, social justice and more all come to the fore and provide -- thanks to the crackerjack tale he has to tell -- that almost anybody with minor intelligence and love of movies and history can enjoy. Yes, this film is utterly accessible.

The story here -- which details the how, when, where and why of the discovery of what may very well be the largest single load of silent movies, long thought to have been destroyed, that has even been recovered -- is so terrific and well-told that it is hard to imagine Mr. Morrison (the filmmaker is shown at left) ever being able to top this film in terms of again finding a tale so filled with all the things he cares for most and is most adept at filming. His movie held me in thrall from its first frame throughout its complete two-hour running time.

Dawson City tackles everything from the Klondike Gold Rush to some great old silent movies and features everyone from Charlie Chaplin to an honest-to-god avalanche that looks more real and shocking than anything our special effects wizards have put together in recent times. We even get a sneak peek at how the Trump family's (yes, sleazy Donald's) fortune actually began -- with the combo hotel, restaurant and whorehouse shown below.

Once gold was discovered, we see how the newly minted mining town of Dawson City rose from what was formerly a perfectly lovely village of an indigenous Canadian Indian tribe that had occupied the area for ages.

Morrison dots his movie with lots of fascinating history and anecdote, along with the inter-cutting of those silent movies (as above and below) right into his film in order to demonstrate salients points along the way. This is an inspired, charming, often funny and always on-target means of reminding us of the importance of both history and film and how well they can and should complement each other.

Needless to say, almost all of these are not silent movie scenes that we've viewed previously anywhere else because, so far as any of us knew, all this had been missing or destroyed. Along the way see view footage of everything from Palestine (in 1907!) to the infamous Black Sox Baseball Scandal, as well as wonderfully detailed history of the odd up-and-down fortunes of Dawson City itself.

With the exception of the film's first few minutes, and then at around the hour-and-three-quarters point, we get something unusual from a Morrison movie: verbal narration. The remainder is, as usual, told us via visuals, music (by Alex Somers and often exceptionally beautiful) and an excellent written narration, all of which somehow seems exactly the right way to unfold this remarkable story.

Toward its end the movie even turns into to a bit of a "love story," and the finale features a montage of a host of water-damaged, decaying film that Morrison so loves and when used in this way produces its own very special "special effects." Over time, I think I am beginning to love and appreciate the strange beauty of this decay, almost as much as does Morrsion. Maybe you will, too.

Meanwhile, the movie will make you most grateful that this treasure trove of film was buried in the cold, preserving climate of the Yukon. The reason, as we learn, was that Dawson City was the last stop on the circuit of towns that played these films, and the movie companies did not want to pay the freight charges to ship their films back. Thank god that last stop was not somewhere down here in hot-weather Florida.

From Kino Lorber, Dawson City: Frozen Time opens this coming Friday, June 9, in New York City (at the IFC Center) and on June 16 in Chicago (at the Gene Siskel Film Center,) Los Angeles (at the Landmark NuArt) and San Diego (at the Digital Gym). To view all currently scheduled playdates, cities and theaters, click here and then scroll down.

Indians vs Indians in the newly rediscovered/ restored silent epic, THE DAUGHTER OF DAWN

Milestone Film & Video -- the company that has given us so many recent restorations of seemingly lost and/or classic movies, from the hugely over-rated Losing Ground to a documentary TrustMovies would not have missed to save his life, NotFilm -- has a new one releasing to home video this coming Tuesday, July 19, in its DVD and Blu-ray world premiere. THE DAUGHTER OF DAWN, a 1920 silent movie directed by Norbert Myles and using an all-Indian cast of over 300 Kiowa and Comanche people, proves a curiosity that anyone who enjoys silent film, American Indian sagas or good old-fashioned melodrama will most likely want to see.

If not the first film to tell a story of Native Americans using actual Native Americans, The Daughter of Dawn was certainly among the first. (Hell, protestors are still trying to get Hollywood to cast real Indians in movies in which Indian characters appear.) And according to two of the cast members who were interviewed some time back (in the very good Bonus Features that appear on the disc), the filmmakers went out of their way to get all the details as honestly and correctly as they could manage.

The movie itself -- six reels lasting 80 minutes -- is no great shakes as a piece of art or even entertainment, yet it's appearance is definitely worth a shout-out. Thought to have been lost, along with so many other silent films, especially independents, the movie suddenly re-surfaced after nearly a century. (The story of how it was found and then restored is one of the highlights of the disc's Bonus Features.)

The tale told by The Daughter of Dawn is awash in, well, cliche, each one as obvious as the next. "From time immemorial: the eternal triangle," notes one of the early inter-titles. This is actually an "eternal triangle" plus-one, as our heroine -- that titular daughter (above, left), named because she was born as the sun rose -- is desired by two men, White Eagle and Black Wolf (guess the good guy via his color), the latter of whom is loved by a very sad Indian woman named Red Wing.

As the plot unfolds, we are privy to everything from a Buffalo hunt (filmed in Oklahoma, where actual Buffalo were relatively plentiful back then) to a Comanche raid on the Kiowa in which the women are abducted Sabine-style, a death-defying leap from atop a bluff (above), a dance of Thanksgiving, followed by a dance of War. There's kidnapping, betrayal, and a Romeo/Juliet-like conclusion, which is more than wasted on a real rat-fink of a Romeo.

The acting is stolid, rather than solid, and yellow/sepia filters are used for day-time shots and blue ones for night. Despite all of the above (probably because of it), the film manages a considerable amount of charm and sweetness. And since we have almost no filmed record of our Indian heritage, the movie takes its place as pretty much one-of-a-kind. You won't see another film like this one anytime soon.

The musical score on the sound track was created especially for the film's current release, and we learn much of how this was handled in those Bonus Features. With an old-fashioned aspect ratio of  1.33: 1, the restoration is a joint venture of the Oklahoma Historical Society and Milestone Film & Video and will hit the street this coming Tuesday, July 19, on Blu-ray and DVD -- for purchase and, I hope, rental. You can learn how to order it by clicking here, and to read the very interesting press information about the movie and its re-discovery, simply click here.

That great original, Harold Lloyd, debuts on iTunes with 100 YEARS OF HAROLD LLOYD

Most film-goers know Charlie Chaplin. Maybe a few less are familiar with Buster Keaton. But I wager that even less know the work of another of comedy's "greats," Harold Lloyd (1893-1971). Now, thanks to Random Media and Harold Lloyd Entertainment, some of the comedian's best work is available via iTunes in 100 YEARS OF HAROLD LLOYD.

Here come fifteen works from the library of this legendary silent film star: seven features and eight shorts, available for rental or download-to-own on iTunes beginning December 15th in the US and around the world. Lloyd's motion picture career actually spanned 34 years and included more than 200 films and shorts.

100 Years of Harold Lloyd will be available in three packages: The Films: a package of seven features; The Shorts Vol. 1, a package of three shorts; and The Shorts Vol. 2, a package of five shorts. The films will be released in various languages in over fifteen countries, arriving in many of these for the first time.

The feature films included in the package are: Dr. Jack (1922), Why Worry? (1923), Safety Last! (1923), The Freshman (1925), For Heaven's Sake (1926), The Kid Brother (1927), Speedy (1928). The shorts included are: An Eastern Westerner (1920), High and Dizzy (1920), Never Weaken (1921) in the first, and Take a Chance (1918), Young Mr. Jazz (1919) The Marathon (1919), Bumping into Broadway (1919), His Royal Slyness (1920), in the second.

Each feature film and collections of shorts will be available to own for $14.99 HD / $11.99 SD or to rent for $3.99 HD / $2.99 SD. TrustMovies is not quite sure just how the "100 years" collection title figures into the picture, however, as neither this year nor next are the 100th anniversary of Lloyd's birth, death, or of his first or last films (his career actually began back in 1913).

For more information on 100 Years of Harold Lloyd (info which actually seems in very short supply), you can try clicking on the links following for iTunes, Random Media, Harold Lloyd Entertainment, or Alchemy (which acts as distributor for Random Media here in the USA). I tried my best but could only find mention of same on the Harold Lloyd site; on iTunes I could only come up with the first volume of short films. 

Pablo Berger's Snow White bull fight opens: BLANCANIEVES proves a real Spainish silent film, and TM has a short Q&A with Berger

TrustMovies has seen BLANCANIEVES twice already (a third watch is not out of the question), so he stands by his earlier assessment of this rich-in-so-many-ways movie. The below is an extended version of what he published when the film opened last year's Spanish Cinema Now series from the FSLC. What we have here is a much more genuine "silent film" (if that's what you're looking for) than last year's Oscar-winning Best Picture.

In fact, Spain's entry into the Best Foreign Language Film "Oscar" race is the real thing, all right, succeeding both as an homage to "silents" and -- because of its ambition and insight, not to mention what movies are capable of technically these days -- a truly new creation all its own. (The fact that Blancanieves was not even short-listed for the "Oscar" says less about its quality than about the inability of the Academy to distinguish art from enjoyable, if self-reverential, kitsch -- particularly where certain other "silent films" are concerned.)

Retelling the Snow White fairy-tale while giving it a decidedly Spanish spin, writer/
director Pablo Berger (who, nearly a decade ago offered up his only other full-length feature,
the great Torremolinos 73), combines the customs of Spain (bullfighting, anyone?) with the story's own identifying objects (a wicked stepmother gloriously played by Maribel Verdú, above, who seems even better on that second viewing) into a Grimm stew of dark and delightful variations on the original (and already dark) fairy tale's themes.

Senor Berger, shown at right, has stocked his film with so many ideas, all at the service of his story, that his film -- if it were more in-your-face and he were not such a sleight-of-hand director -- becomes, if not exactly a critique then more a gentle reminder of things like Capitalism, child abuse, the Spanish heritage of everything from dance to bullfighting, the power of media and the utter gullibility of the populace, among its many subjects. The filmmaker also gives us "the other" in the form of those famous dwarfs, below, who here appear as a coalition/family of mini bullfighters. The way that Berger weaves together themes from the old story, along with those that are new and distinctly Spanish, is a treat.

By the way, you can indeed take the kids to see this film -- so long as they can read the subtitles. While the movie occasionally goes into "adult" areas (Wicked Stepmom's into S&M!), it does so fleetingly and "tastefully," as becomes a silent movie. And it is consistently suggestive rather than coarse in its visuals (the gorgeous black-and-white cinematography is by Kiko de la Rica of The Last Circus) -- never more so than in its amazingly beautiful, sad and mysterious final scene.

Here, Berger takes a magnificent leap, and what has heretofore been a lovely retelling of an old tale transforms into... oh, god, so many possibilities that I must see the film again to re-discover. (That's what I said before I saw the film a second time. Now that I have, damned if even more possibilities haven't opened up  -- which I ask the writer/director about in the Q&A below.)  You're going to have to open up a discussion with your kids about this final scene and what it means. But it'll be worth it. You'll all learn and grow and be made aware again (maybe for the first time for those kids) of what movies are only very occasionally capable.

Blancanieves, from Cohen Media Group and running 104 minutes, opens this Friday, March 29, in new York (and the Angelika Film Center and the Paris Theatre) and in the Los Angeles area (at Laemmle's Royal and Sundance Sunset Cinema. I believe there will be a further rollout, but these are the only playdates I could find, as of now....

*************

TM's recent talk with Blancanieves' writer/director Pablo Berger (shown just right of center, above) took place at the offices of Cohen Media Group, when the filmmaker was in town. Berger seems a very gentle and intelligent family man (he's married with kids -- I think he told me two), whose prematurely grey hair offsets his quite youthful and unlined face. In addition to being a filmmaker who doesn't film that often (two full-length movies and one short in 25 years!), he has a Ph.D. and has taught here in NYC as a professor of management, as well as having successive careers in a publicist and music producer. A kind of Spanish Renaissance man, he could undoubtedly handle a number of other jobs, too. But we're glad he's made his movies. If you're unfamiliar with his sensational Torremolinos 73, stick it on your must-see list for an amazingly funny, real, surprising look at Spain toward the end of the Franco regime. (The link above is to my talk with actor Javier Cámara about the film)

In person, Berger is gracious and accessible, and this little round-up would be longer than it is, had TM not forgotten, in one of his increasing senior moments, to bring his pocket recorder with him. So, instead, he scribbles away as Berger speaks. TM first explains to the filmmaker how much he loves Blancanieves, and particularly the way in which it sort of leaves, at the finale, the more regular world of storytelling, to becomes something quite else. He then tells Berger that he has watched the film twice and is still wondering about/musing on that strange ending. (I have taken the liberty of quoting as best as my notes would let me, below, even though I did not have my recorder. In the short conversation that follows, TM appears in boldface and Berger in standard type. )

Your ending seemed to includes ideas on everything from capitalism -- That sleazy character of the bullfight manager (played by José María Pou, above) to whom our heroine signs away her life, so why would not someone as famous as this lady bullfighter end up as an attraction in a carny show -- as a kind of Lola Montès? Boy, I wish Andrew Sarris could have seen this movie! -- to feminism: Does that tear indicate that the girl is saddened not to have found her prince, or sad because the prince turns out to be only the most handsome of the dwarfs? Or maybe she is realizing that this carny show, and only this, will be here new role/career in life?)

(Berger smiles.) You have understood things. But the meaning here is open to interpretation. It's up to you. To each viewer.

Hmmm...  Some viewers, I think -- and I am sometimes among them, though not so much here, with your film -- want more guidance.

I always feel that, in addition to everything else in the movie, there must be something mysterious to make it special: some sort of surprise. To me, movies are an act of love. A kind of time travel.  They include a thick layer of emotion, plus humor and surprise. They are like your children.

That's how many artists feel about their creations.

Really: I believe they are like your children because they have the same DNA!

(We laugh.)  Well put. I can hardly think of two films more dissimilar than Toremolinos 73 -- which shows us a slice of Spain toward the end of the Franco regime, in which you used, in addition to Javier Cámara and Candela Peña, that great actor Mads Mikkelsen -- 

He is a fine actor. And so very versatile.

-- and now Blancanieves. How did you come to this one?

I always loved fairy tales as a kid, so that led naturally to this film. My father was a ship's captain, and he was a great story-teller. He always told us stories that would begin in reality but then he always added his own fictional elements to them. All this inspired me.

Yes, and now you have inspired us. This may be a little soon to ask, since you don't make movies all that often: Do you have any idea -- movie-wise -- what you might do next?

Well, I have now two different scripts ready to go ahead.

What are they about, and which do you think you'll do first?

I don't want to go into detail about either of them, as everything is so uncertain at this point. But for me, the test always is this: Would you be happy if this one were your final film?

Wow. That notion certainly separates the men from the boys.

(We get the word from the publicist that our brief time is up, 
and so I thank Señor Berger for his time -- and his 
two very different and very fine films.)

Quad Cinema launches Quad Classics with three great silent films: Metropolis, Battleship Potemkin and The General

 

Beginning this Friday, May 25, New York’s renowned art house Quad Cinema launches a new series, the first program of which should be a cinematic treat for silent film lovers.

When Elliott Kanbar, the President of New York City's Quad Cinema, first approached Isil Bagdadi (independent film producer, publicist, distributor, and the co-founder of NY-based CAVU Pictures), about helping him launch a new film series highlighting classic films, she jumped at the opportunity. "As someone involved in so many aspects of independent film, it was a natural progression for me to want to move into programming the kinds of iconic films that I grew up watching and admiring as a kid, and later as a film student," explains Isil.

Based on the success of this year’s Academy Award-winning film The Artist, this team of film mavens felt it was fitting to start off the first series with a theme: The Great Era of Silent Films. So -- beginning this Friday, May 25, and running thru May 31 -- the Quad Cinema will offer three masterpieces of the Silent Era: the 2010 restoration of Fritz Lang’s amazing sci-fi epic METROPOLIS (1927), Sergei Eisenstein’s unforgettable 1905 Russian Revolution drama BATTLESHIP POTEMKIN (1925), and Buster Keaton’s Civil War comedy THE GENERAL (1926).

Discussions with New York-based film critics and scholars will follow select screenings on the opening weekend. "Our hope," notes the Quad's Kanbar, "is to re-introduce New Yorkers to these great classic works of art, which have now all been immaculately restored by Kino Lorber. These post-screening conver-sations are meant to create a film class atmosphere where audiences, along with film-makers, film profes-sors, critics, distributors, and other industry professionals can dis-cuss these legendary films and their impact on world cinema today."

In an additional plus for New York-area film buffs, all three movies will be projected in full High Definition Blu Ray using a high-end Eiki LC-X85 projector and OPPO BDP-93 player. Really, folk: You can't get this at home!

For complete information on this new series, its performances, and which critics and scholars will be introducing which films, simply click here and keep scrolling down. For more information on the films themsevles, simply check out the Kino Lorber web site.

Ozu's I WAS BORN, BUT... gets restoration (new subtitles & score) and theatrical play

As someone who only knows some of Yasujiro Ozu's post-WWII work, sitting down to watch I WAS BORN, BUT..., a film of his from 1932, came as something of a surprise. America had already been making "talkies" for five years when this Ozu film appeared, and not bothering to read the press release (I usually save these for after the screening so that more of the element of  surprise enters the viewing experience), I simply sat down and watched. How charming, I thought, early on: He's beginning with a nod to the old silent films!  Uh... yeah.  This is a silent film.  According to the IMDB, it turns out that the Japanese master (shown below) made around 30 silents (which outnumber his "talking pictures" by a long shot), both short and full-length, over his 35-year film-making career.  (The writer/director was born in 1903 and died in 1963 on the same date, December 12.)

Once I got over my surprise, no matter. To begin with I Was Born, But... is remarkably well acted for a silent film, featuring much less "indication" on the part of its actors.  Usually, in silent movies, the players appear to have felt that they must make up for the lack of soundtrack by hitting us over the head with their intentions.  Not here. These performances are subtle and rich. As usual with the Ozu that I have seen, the conception is also rich.  While the film appears to be about the adjustment of the two young boys, below, in a family that moves, due to the father's employment, to a new town where the boys must attend a new school and make new friends (including a couple of bullies), Ozu is actually dealing with the inevitable event that often -- quietly or not -- rocks a family somewhere along the way: the point at which children come to terms with the fact that their parents are not saints or heroes but simply flawed people, and further, what happens to the parents when they realize that this has occurred.

When you think about it, many American films never show us anything like this event.  Father (and Mother) knows best, and when they finally go to their reward, well, gee, weren't they just wonderful, sublime folk?  Ozu helps us all grow up.  If  this description makes the movie sounds heavy, it's not.  There's plenty of delightful comedy along the way; laughs occur even in the heat of the big event.  And the film's look at prewar Japanese society proves fascinating -- something quite different from what I might have expected.

The restored print is lovely, and the subtitles, new with this restoration, are fine.  Only the recorded score -- that usual, silent-movie piano music -- finally begins to grate.  Maybe this won't bother you, but it's a problem I have always encountered while watching a full-length silent film: There's too little variation along the way in that tinkling Joplin-esque score.  (Why can't they, during the quieter moments, play Debussy or Satie?)  A minor grumble: This Ozu restoration is worth a hurrah.

I Was Born, But... opens in New York for a two-week run at the IFC Center on Friday, June 25, and will kick off IFC's Ozu retrospective, presented in the theater's ongoing Weekend Classics programs, staring this summer. (More information, the Center promises, will be forthcoming....)