A Throw of Dice (1929) **

 

Director Franz Osten’s A Throw of Dice (1929) is rather unique, in that it was filmed entirely in India and used Indian actors but it is still considered a German production. If I were judging the film strictly by its production scale, it would be a homerun.  With a cast of thousands, set amongst the vast Indian countryside and housed in beautiful palaces along the Ganges River, A Throw of Dice is on the same scale as D.W. Griffith’s Intolerance (1916).  However, I don’t judge a movie solely on the magnitude of its cast or set design.  While these things are definitely important, I also need to be enthralled by the story.  Alas, this is where A Throw of Dice falls short for me.

Based on an episode from The Mahabharata, the story centers around two Indian kings (but I expect they were really Rajas) in love with the same woman.  Sohan (Himansu Rai) is an evil king, who plots to kill his cousin and rival king, Ranjit (Charu Roy), by having his henchman/flunky shoot Ranjit with a poisonous arrow on a hunting trip.  Unfortunately for Sohan, there is healer nearby who saves Ranjit’s life.  As if things weren’t bad enough between the two kings, they both fall in love with the healer’s daughter, Sunita (Seeta Devi). When Ranjit wins Sunita’s heart, Sohan plots to unravel their happiness. And, this brings us to the title of this film: A Throw of Dice. Ranjit has a gambling problem that Sohan tries to use in his favor by playing a dice game with loaded dice—things never end well in dice games, just ask Nas.

Okay, let’s start off with what I liked about A Throw of Dice: the film score. Silent films can be difficult to watch, but fortunately the re-mastered 2006 score for A Throw of Dice is pretty darn special.  Nitin Sawhney’s score is both engaging and authentically Indian (although he is British Indian), so it fits perfectly with the film. While you don’t hear many silent scores with lyrics, Sawhney minimally uses vocals, and when he does, it always seems appropriate. 

The acting is pretty natural, too.  Histrionics and overacting, pillars of most silent movies, are not really present in A Throw of Dice, except in one scene where the henchman has an exaggerated death scene.  There is no mugging for the camera or overuse of hand gestures or facial muscles. Pretty much everyone in the cast seems at ease with allowing the camera to capture the spirit of each scene. 

Still, I was not really that impressed with the overall narrative of A Throw of Dice. I never found myself truly engaged in the story, nor did I particular connect with any of the characters.  I did, however, find Sohan to be an evil bitch, but not enough for me to care one way or another about what happened to him.  (It puzzles me why Rai would want to play the bad guy in this, as he was one of its producers.) Plus, for an 80-minute movie, the plot moved pretty slowly.  Of course, this could probably be attributed to Osten’s desire to capture the majestic beauty of the Indian countryside more than crafting a truly memorable story. 

Overall, A Throw of Dice is aided by a wonderful film score and a unique setting.  That said, I never found myself invested in the plot, nor did I really connect with any of the characters.  While it was great to see tigers, elephants, and palaces, the story never really took hold for me.  Still, it was nice to watch a silent movie with naturalistic acting, and to see what silent Indian cinema looked like.

Pandora’s Box (Die Büchse der Pandora) 1929 ***

If you are familiar with Greek mythology then you know that Pandora’s Box was a large jar that contained many terrible things about mankind within—ills, toils, sickness, and hope. What most people don’t know is that when Pandora opened that jar she unleashed other horrors, most notably any film starring Pauley Shore or Rob Schneider.

Perhaps the best silent film ever (at least in my opinion), this 1929 G.W. Pabst masterpiece stars Louise Brooks as Lulu, a beautiful temptress who has the uncanny ability of ruining men. When we first meet Lulu she is the mistress of media mogul Schon. Lulu also has some strange relationship with a man who is her father, a former pimp, or both. Either way, she gives this Schigolch money. He proposes that she go on stage with his friend Rodrigo, but Schon doesn’t like this idea. Instead he asks his son, Alwa, to make Lulu the star of his song and dance show.

You know the saying "don’t look a gift horse in the mouth", well Lulu should have heeded it. After getting her a job, Schon tells Lulu he must end their affair because he is getting married. Lulu is not pleased—not Glenn Close unpleased, but angry nonetheless. As oblivious (or callous) as most men, Schon thinks it would be a good idea to bring his fiancée to the opening night of the show. Lulu refuses to go on stage and Schon orders her to do so. She says she won’t unless he comes back to her. He weakens and gives her a kiss just as his fiancée comes backstage. The wedding is off and Schon resigns himself to marrying Lulu. Immediately following the ceremony, Schon comes to believe that only misery lies ahead. He decides to kill himself and begs Lulu to kill herself, too. They struggle over the gun and when it goes off Schon is dead.

Next thing you know, Lulu is on trial for murder. This is where the title of the film comes from. The prosecution portrays Lulu as a modern Pandora, who unleashed destruction on Schon through her sexuality. Just as she is convicted of murder Alwa sets off a fire alarm, allowing her to escape. Why? Because Alwa knows she’s not guilty and is in love with her. Lulu convinces Alwa to arrange for her and her posse, Rodrigo and Schigolch, to escape to Paris. On the train to Paris they are recognized by a man who offers them a place on his gambling ship.

Months later we find the group broke due to Alwa gambling away all their money. If this isn’t bad enough, Rodrigo starts blackmailing Lulu for money so he can start his own variety show. Oh, but the bad times aren’t over yet, because the owner of the boat decides to sell Lulu to an Egyptian brothel owner—yes, this film was made in 1929! Fortunately for Lulu her lesbian friend the Countess Geschwitz loans her money. Unfortunately she gives the money to Alwa who uses it to cheat at cards—he’s caught and the boat erupts into a melee. The group escapes in the chaos and goes to London.

What awaits in the City of Fog is abject poverty, complete misery, and Jack the Ripper. On Christmas Eve, Schigolch decides he must have Christmas pudding. But how to pay for it? Lulu must hit the streets and find some customers. She picks up Jack the Ripper—so lucky is Lulu! Evidently Lulu can even tame serial killers because just as he’s about to kill her he drops his hidden knife. Run, Lulu, run! Nope. They go back to his room and Jack can’t resist the urge to use the knife—no more Lulu.

What makes this film so great is Brooks’ performance. When most people think of this film they don’t remember it as being a silent. This is due to the very natural and powerful way that Brooks acts in the film. She oozes sensuality and confidence. When Lulu wants something or someone she uses this very intense gaze that somehow gets her what she wants. She is the perfect fit to the overall theme of the film: woman as the victim of male sexuality. When she is the kept woman of a millionaire things seem great—she has nice clothes, a swanky apartment. But because she’s not the type of woman you marry she gets a consolation prize: a theater career. Then, when Schon can’t give her up and marries her she gets the blame when he kills himself. Due to this she has to take Alwa as her protector. Because he is a complete incompetent she finds herself up for sale to a brothel and making deals with lesbians. Next thing you know she’s reduced to common streetwalking to meet the needs of Alwa and Schigolch. This of course results in her death by a man driven by pathological sexual urges. I would rate Brooks’ performance in this film as the greatest in silent film history and one of the all-time greatest female performances in the 100+ years of cinema.

It is difficult to believe this film was made in 1929 because of its daring storyline. Fortunately the film was made a few years prior to the Hay’s Code because it would have never been approved for viewing in the USA. Another reason it’s hard to believe this was made in 1929 is because it doesn’t seem dated at all. The story seems relevant and believable by today’s standards.

This is a must see for all silent film fans, but anyone who loves intense cinematic storytelling should also watch it. A true cinematic gem.

The Man with the Movie Camera (Chelovek s kino-apparatom) 1929 *1/2

No, I don’t mean the one who asked you to do a screen test in the San Fernando Valley.

Dziga Vertov directs this experimental 1929 silent documentary (and Soviet propagandistic) film. There is no linear plot or narrative and there are no actors in this 80 min. film. There are many people who like this film because of the many cinematic techniques used by Vertov. I am not what you would call an “arty” person, so films like this one just don’t interest me—they just give me a headache. I just don’t like to watch footage played backward or fast motion shots.
The life of the common Soviet citizen is on display here. Machines, and how people interact with them, are somewhat glorified in many shots. In addition, the omnipresence of the camera is strongly stressed by Vertov. The best example I can think of from this film is the shot of a baby emerging from between a mother’s legs.

Vertov belonged to a group of filmmakers known as the Kino-glaz (Cine-Eye), who wanted to rid the world of fiction in film—to them the documentary was the only valid film style. To say that many filmmakers of the time hated this group would be an understatement. Before watching this film audiences had to read a statement from Vertov that said the film was “directed towards the creation of an authentically international absolute language of cinema – ABSOLUTE KINOGRAPHY – on the basis of its complete separation from the language of theatre and literature." In my opinion, if you need a warning like this in the beginning of your film there might be a problem.

This is the second of the 1001 movies I had to see before I died that I wish I hadn’t.

Blackmail (1929) **

Hitchcock would have hated CSI.

Although originally begun as a silent, this 1929 Hitchcock classic became the first British “all-talkie” after Hitch convinced producers that he could make great use of the new innovation. One problem though—the leading lady, Anny Ondra, was a Czech who spoke limited English. Oh, that tricky Hitch! To overcome this difficulty Hitchcock had Ondra mouth her lines while an off-camera Joan Barry spoke the lines. Sound familiar? Think Lina Lamont in Singing in the Rain.

The story revolves around Detective Frank Webber (John Longden) and his girlfriend Alice White (Ondra). After instigating an argument with Frank in order to meet up with an artist (Cyril Ritchard), Alice goes to the artist’s flat and shamelessly flirts with him. Showing immense gullibility, Alice agrees to try on a dress for him. While she’s doing this he’s hiding her dress. When she comes out he attempts to rape her. Alice grabs a knife and stabs him to death. As the girlfriend of a detective she knows she needs to cover her tracks, so she tries to erase any traces of her presence. Oops…she leaves a glove. Yet another good reason not to wear gloves anymore!

One of the more memorable scenes takes place at Alice’s breakfast table the next morning. In a textbook Hitchcock scene, Alice nearly has a breakdown as she stares at a knife on the breakfast table while her family obliviously jabbers on. Most of the words in this conversation are inaudible, but when the word “knife” is said it comes out crystal clear.

As coincidence would have it, Frank is assigned to the artist murder case. He finds Alice’s glove and decides to hide it. After confronting Alice with this information, the couple is shocked to learn that someone saw Alice at the flat. Tracey (Donald Calthrop), a petty thief, attempts to blackmail the couple. Too bad for Tracy he is identified by someone else as having been at the flat. He becomes the main suspect and is chased onto the roof of the British Museum, where he is killed. A guilty Alice goes to Scotland Yard to confess, but Frank prevents her. You know this film was made before the Hays Code, because they had some pesky rule that said people couldn’t get away with crimes—think The Letter. Not that I’m saying what Alice did was a crime, because that letch got what was coming to him. But, I suspect if this film had been made in 1935 Alice would have confessed and everything would have worked out in the end.

I like this film, but it isn’t my favorite Hitchcock film. It is suspenseful and has a number of trademark Hitchcock elements—specifically the breakfast and phone booth scenes. The story is gripping and the acting is pretty good, too. While he took a risk by making a talkie, the way Hitchcock uses dialogue, sometimes audible sometimes inaudible, was very clever.

An entertaining introduction (along with The Lodger) to Hitchcock.