Jason watches HORRIBLE BOSSES

And it's really funny, does a great job of catching on to a ubiquitous fantasy (killing your awful, awful boss), blowing it up way out of proportion, and having tons of fun with it. But I'm tired and don't feel like writing more.

Running Time: 98 minutes

My Total Minutes: 243,672

Jason goes to Silentfest--Closing Night

Hard to believe it's already over. It was a weekend of total, exhausting immersion, now I'm starting to climb back into real life. But first, a full program Sunday:

We start out with Amazing Tales from the Archives II: Kevin Brownlow tells the backstory to the Cinema Event of a Lifetime (or at least next spring)--the restoration of NAPOLEON (I have my tickets, do you?). He spins a truly amazing life story of love of this one movie, searching for every copy available, becoming persona non grata at the Cinematheque, becoming good friends with Abel Gance, and finally prevailing. And it all culminates in the only 4 shows in North America currently scheduled--and they're all in Oakland. Lucky, lucky us!

Now on to the movies, starting with the orphan film TRIBUNE-AMERICAN DREAM PICTURE (1924), which I saw two years ago back in Niles. Here's what I wrote then:

A contest by the Oakland Tribune had people write in with their strange dreams for a chance at a cash prize and having their dream turned into a movie. Mabel Nicholson had a strange dream where she went on a picnic to Marin with her husband and baby. But in San Francisco, they realize the baby basket is empty so they take the ferry back to Oakland (assuming he's still in the car). He's not just in the car, he's driving away.

Damn, I was really bad at just giving away the whole film back then. Here's what I'd say today:

This film comes from a contest by the Oakland Tribune wherein people would write in stories of their strange dream for the chance to win money and have their dream turned into a movie. Mabel Nicholson won with this funny dream about a trip from Oakland to San Francisco and back, with a frantic search for her missing baby!

There, much better.

Anyway, that was the lead-in to the feature, SHOES (1916): A social issue drama by the amazing Lois Weber, America's first big female film director, and one of the best of either gender in any time. Although this film is strident and passionate in its social stance, its greatness comes from the humanity and drama of the characters and the story. Mary MacLaren stars as Eva Meyer, a poor shopgirl supporting her mother, siblings, and ne'er-do-well father on her measly wages. A cabaret singer with clearly impure intentions hangs around the shop, trying to get girls to come top the nightclub and see him. Eva resists, like a good moral woman (or like anyone who doesn't want a life of sexual servitude just to support herself). But her shoes are falling apart, and have been resoled so often they can't take another one. She treads through soaking rainstorms, and endures constant delays in her mother's promise to buy her shoes and her father's promise to get a job. Finally, she has to make a fateful and heartbreaking choice. As I said, the moralizing gets a bit thick, but it's still anchored by excellent drama and a performance that tugs the sympathies effortlessly. And it's a valuable window into the social issues of the day (not that they aren't still relevant in this day).

And of course, Dennis James was awesome on the mighty Wurlitzer organ.

And then we got the Wild and Weird shorts program with the amazing Alloy Orchestra. Their DVD is available from Flicker Alley, and features even more than these shorts.
DREAMS OF A RAREBIT FIEND (1906): Edwin S. Porter (Edison's director, and maker of THE GREAT TRAIN ROBBERY) creates this live-action special effects piece based on the comic strip by Winsor McKay. Rarebit being a Welsh melted cheese dish, and the "rarebit fiend" being a man who loves it, even though it always gives him strange dreams (to the consternation of his wife).
RED SPECTRE (1907): a Pathé film, in the vein of Méliès, about a demonic magician who wraps up two young women in cloth and makes them disappear in a puff of smoke. But the good spirit comes and brings them back.
THE ACROBATIC FLY (1910): If you get past the animal cruelty of it, these extreme close-up shots of flies glued down by their wings and turning objects (e.g., tiny barbells) over with their feet is really, really cool.
THE THIEVING HAND (1908): A funny piece about a disembodied, kleptomaniac arm and the armless guy who gets it as a prosthetic. He's a good guy, it's just his hand that's evil. It only pre-visioned IDLE HANDS by 91 years.
PRINCESS NICOTINE (1909): The story of the two-lensed camera invented to make this short (shooting simultaneously 180 degrees apart, and superimposing the images) is as fascinating as the result. A smoker interacts with the tiny fairy that lives in his cigar box (and sometimes in a flower).
ARTHÈME SWALLOWS HIS CLARINET (1912): A pretty funny film that's exactly what it's about. Arthème is annoying everyone with his clarinet, and so some jokers drop a piano on him. He's fine, except that his clarinet is jammed into his mouth with the mouthpiece sticking out the back of his head. Yikes!
CAMERAMAN'S REVENGE (1912): An awesome story of romantic trysts, cheating spouses, and public humiliation. Oh yeah, and it's done entirely with stop-motion animated insects. Probably my favorite of the set.
DREAMS OF A RAREBIT FIEND: THE PET (1921): Another rarebit fiend dream, this one actually animated by Winsor McKay himself (by hand, the whole thing. This didn't use cel animation). The fiend dreams that his wife brought home a cute little pet, that starts eating everything until he's as big as the entire city.
FILMSTUDIE (1926): A beautiful, bizarre piece of pure dadaism. If I knew what it was about, that would miss the point. But there sure are a lot of eyes.
LIFE AND DEATH OF 9413, A HOLLYWOOD EXTRA (1928): A humorously dark story of a man dreaming of being a star, but is instead stamped with the number 9413 and is used as an extra until he dies.

Between every short were lantern slides of humorous messages (e.g., "remove your hat" or "the show is half over.") and of course the Alloy Orchestra were great doing new scores (not the ones you'll get on the DVD). After I got my DVD signed by the Alloy Orchestra and David Shepard of Flicker Alley.

The next show started with the final orphan, MADISON NEWS REEL (1932): A series of extremely brief news clips that made me wonder if this was a real newsreel, or some parody. Very odd.

And then we had our Soviet program. The Soviets did some amazing silent film work, and this pair showcased opposite extremes. First CHESS FEVER (1925) was hilarious, slapstick comedy about chess. There's a major tournament, and everyone is watching with great interest, even the kids. Meanwhile at home a man is suffering from Chess Fever, playing a game against himself (Pixar used this gag as the basis of GERI'S GAME some 72 years later). Well, he's so wrapped up in his game he forgets his date with his fiance. She loves him with all her heart, but is afraid he only loves chess. And she might be right. After all he has a few dozen chess books and mini chess sets on him at all times. When he sees a chess-patterned tile floor he walks across it in 2x1 steps (like a knight), etc. Thing is, everyone else loves chess, too. But for her, even if she has thrown him out, he can quit. Very funny.

And the other side of the spectrum is THE NAIL IN THE BOOT (1931): Made as a military film, it was censored by the Soviets and it was over eight years before Mikhail Kalatozov made another film. It was, in fact, criticized that “When making THE NAIL Kalatozov did not apply the revolutionary method of dialectical materialism to his theme, but proceeded from formalistic aestheticism.” More pedestrian criticism was that the plot confused the audience, but I don't really find that credible.

The film was made to promote the message that slipshod work is a danger to the homeland (indeed, the alternate title was THE HOMELAND IS IN DANGER), and tells the story of a soldier dispatched to march to headquarters and call for aid for an armored train under siege. On the way, he's injured by a nail sticking out of the sole of his boot, and doesn't make it in time. The second half is an absolutely fascinating courtroom inquisition where although he's found guilty on his own, he makes an impassioned and convincing plea that the guilt is shared with the workers in the factory who manufactured such a faulty boot.

Stephen Horne, of course, was masterful at both ends of the emotional spectrum.

And finally, we ended the festival with HE WHO GETS SLAPPED (1924): The incomparable Lon Chaney stars as Paul Beaumont, a young scientist working with the support of his friend, Baron Regnard (Marc McDermott). But on the day of his thesis, the Baron double-crosses him and presents Beaumont's work as his own. He objects, the baron calls him crazy and slaps him, eliciting howls of laughter from the normally stone-faced assembly of professors. Humiliated, he returns to the baron's estate to find his bride has left him for the baron. So he leaves the bitter life of scientific pursuits and joins the circus, becoming a highly celebrated clown. He calls himself HE, and his act involves all the other clowns slapping him--an act that has the audience in stitches. He finds his new life, and maybe even a new love in Consuelo (Norma Shearer), the bareback rider and daughter of Count Mancini (who has fallen on hard times). But Consuelo loves her costar Bezano (John Gilbert). And the baron reappears with eyes for Consuelo--a development that Count Mancini finds most favorable. But HE won't let that happen, and will do whatever it takes. For HE who laughs last, laughs best.

What a great way to end the festival. And of course, the Matti Bye Ensemble did an amazing job ending the festival on just the right note. And might I add that I was impressed with the cacophony of their circus scenes. Matti Bye is usually more reserved, letting the silence speak more. But they knew, of course, the right tone for a circus.

By the way, if you want to see more of Mattie Bye, they're playing with Jilly Tracy tomorrow (Tuesday) night at Disco Volante in Oakland.

Total Running Time: 296 minutes
My Total Minutes: 243,574

Jason goes to Silentfest--Day 3

This is the big, packed Saturday of the festival

But first, a quick shout-out to my new breakfast spot of the festival--Orphan Andy's. All the food is delicious, the staff is friendly and hilarious. And the pancakes are soooo freakin' fluffy!

Anyway, on to the shows.

First up was a kids (and kids of all ages) program of Walt Disney's LAUGH-O-GRAMS. Before he made it big in Los Angeles, he was working in Kansas City making these cartoons out of a garage. So here we go, all of them were pretty hilarious.

NEWMAN LAUGH-O-GRAMS (1921): This was a reel he made to pitch the idea of Laugh-o-grams to local exhibitor Newman to stick into the newsreels. Some funny lightning sketches, where his hands draw advertising sketches, and then some local topical humor mocking the corruption of the streets and the police force in Kansas City.
THE FOUR MUSICIANS OF BREMEN (1922): A quartet of animals get thrown out of every venue they play, presumably for sucking. They're starving so they try to lure fish with music, but the fish are just too slippery.
CINDERELLA (1922): Pretty cool seeing the fairy godmother turning Cinderella into a flapper girl. Awesome, that was probably my favorite part of the whole series.
GOLDIE LOCKS AND THE THREE BEARS (1922): A rediscovered classic that was hiding in plain site. Once Disney became big, his early laugh-o-grams were re-released by opportunistic distributors, but the names were changed. This one was renamed THE PEROXIDE KID, and was just recently rediscovered as the supposedly lost film.
PUSS IN BOOTS (1922): The boy is trying to get the princess, and his pet cat is trying to get the royal cat, too. So they hatch a mutually beneficial plot that depends on the cat wearing boots.
JACK THE GIANT KILLER (1922): Another renamed, supposedly lost film, this one THE KO KID. Pretty funny the story Jack tells about the giants he defeated.
ALICE'S WONDERLAND (1923): Not technically a laugh-o-gram, but the precursor to Walt's Alice films. Virginia Davis, a 4 year old charmer, walks into the laugh-o-gram studios to see how cartoons are made. After witnessing the magic of Disney and his team, she goes home and dreams herself in cartoon-land. Adorable.

Most of the films were accompanied by Donald Sosin on piano, with percussionist assisting and two amazingly talented kids playing piano for Bremen and Jack the Giant Killer.

Next up was the panel discussion Variations on a Theme: Musicians on the Craft of Composing and Performing for Silent Film. But first the orphan film MUSIC FOR THE SILENT NEWSREELS (1930): Quite a departure for the festival, this was a talkie. But still appropriate. A man at a piano explains the art of Movietone music accompanying the newsreels.

And then moderator Jill Tracy started the event with 4 different interpretations of the same scene--Louise Dresser walking down the street with her Goose, a brief scene from THE GOOSE WOMAN. Donald Sosin played it upbeat. Stephen Horne played it as a dramatic chase. Dennis James played a sorrowful score on the organ. And finally the Alloy Orchestra played it as a weird surreal slapstick scene. Each one worked, and it was a pretty efficient demonstration of how music changes a scene.

And then the conversation began. Like last year, the big contentious issue is new compositions vs. Dennis James' purist historical sentiment that if it's available he'll play the original score and anything else is a departure from that. It's not a question that playing the original score or composing a new score is a stylistic choice. They aren't on the same level--really it should be the choice to play the original score or many different stylistic choices of departure from that. Dennis made the analogy of graffiti. People will talk about the "art" of graffiti, and oftentimes that is completely legitimate art. But they're no longer talking about the building. In the same way (if I understood his analogy correctly), a new score when the original is available isn't an enhancement to the filmmaker's vision--it's a violation and departure from the original vision, and that's true no matter how artistic that is. If you want new silent film scores so badly, why don't you just make new silent films? (To which I answer, I'd love to see new silent films made, and played at this festival. After all it's a silent film festival, not an antique film festival)

The counterpoint is essentially that doing whatever you want with the score is valid, so long as it complements instead of distracting from the film. In honesty, that's my opinion, and I still count myself as one of Dennis James' biggest fans. (By the way, every other Friday at the Stanford Theatre this summer you can see him accompanying Buster Keaton double features.)

It wasn't too surprising to see the discussion between James and Ken Winokur from Alloy Orchestra get heated. That happened last year, too, but was even more tense this year. What was surprising to see Dennis James and Giovanni Spinelli get along so well. Spinelli, of course, did the electric guitar soundtrack to SUNRISE on Thursday, and I don't even have to ask James to know he hated it. But Spinelli made several good points:

1. He knew when he was commissioned to do this score (and solo electric guitar was not his idea, it came from a very well respected archivist) that it would be controversial. In his words, perhaps less of a SUNRISE to his career and more of a HE WHO GETS SLAPPED.
2. His score does not destroy the original score. In that way the graffiti analogy is wrong--graffiti is difficult to remove. His score has existed once so far, and may never be played again. It's incredibly easy to forget it and see SUNRISE with the original score.
3. Maybe he brought some new young people in with the promise of the score, and they got exposed to SUNRISE and now want to see it with the original score as well. In that way

Spinelli nailed it. And by giving James respect, he got respect back. You could've made millions betting on Dennis James + Giovanni Spinelli as the love connection of the festival.

Now more movies, starting with the orphan THE TRIBAL LAW (1912): Really just a fragment of a film. Pretty action packed, I wish the rest existed.

Then we moved to Sweden for THE BLIZZARD (1923): Also known as the Gunnar Hedes Saga, it's a wild romantic melodrama. Growing up, little Gunnar was intrigued by the painting of his grandfather. A poor violinist, he made a fortune herding reindeer and that's how they have the grand estate they do today. But that estate is in trouble, so grown up Gunnar goes herding reindeer to raise money just like his grandfather did. But things go horribly wrong, and he's dragged for miles by a reindeer (in a really impressive, kinda traumatic scene). And although they didn't have the term at the time, he's got a bad case of post traumatic stress disorder. Every animal looks like a reindeer and scares the hell out of him (even cats and dogs). He doesn't even recognize his mother. But maybe true love, and violin music, will bring him back. Ultimately it was the perfect thing to play after the Variations on a Theme program, since it was all about the power of music to move you.

And speaking of music moving you, The Matti Bye Ensemble (quickly becoming my favorite accompanists of the festival) absolutely blew me away with their score again.

Next up was THE GOOSE WOMAN (1925), which I realized a few minutes in I had scene before at Niles. Here's what I said at the time:

Louise Dresser stars as Marie de Nardi aka Mary Holmes aka The Goose Woman. In her youth, she was a famous and beloved opera singer. However, when her son was born she lost her voice. Missing the spotlight, she drowns her sorrows in alcohol, which makes her a pretty terrible mother to her now grown son (that and she doesn't hide the fact that she blames him for destroying her fame). But she sees an opportunity to get back in the spotlight when a murder occurs near her home and the police and the news converge on the neighborhood. She decides to become an important witness, but it turns out her story ends up implicating her son. Eventually (finally) maternal instincts do take over. A pretty wild melodrama.

Well, that's all true. But there's something missing in that. Like the comedy of the reporters, cops, and prosecutor. Or her son's love interest and how the victim was after the same woman. Or how great Stephen Horne's accompaniment was. Okay, that last one is new to this experience, and it was great.

The next show started with the orphan film CHUMMING WITH CHIPMUNKS (1921): Adorable footage of training chipmunks to take nuts from a string. Not much plot, but cute as a pile of cute cuties dipped in cuteness (shut up, it's late at night!)

And then the feature MR. FIX-IT (1918): Douglas Fairbanks! Fairbanks is my homie! And this is one from his pre-swashbuckling career in comedy. He plays Remington, a free-spirited university student in England. His roommate Reginald is American, but his family sent him to England because America is too democratic. Now he has a girlfriend whom he intends to marry, but his parents call him home to get married to the girl they found for him. But seeing as they haven't seen him in 15 years, Remington has a plan to fix it. He'll pretend to be Reginald and go to America, and using his powerful charisma he'll fix everything. And that's what I love about Douglas Fairbanks--he's always confident, in control, charming and athletic as hell. I love they throw in random stunts just to show off his agility (somersault into a bathtub? Jumping down a stairwell?) I love that he fixes not just his roommates dilemma, he fixes everyone's romantic dilemmas, saves a family of children, and pulls the giant stick out of Reginald's family's collective ass. He can fix anything but his own romantic life.

As if that wasn't great enough, Dennis James rocked the Mighty Wurlitzer the whole time.

And finally, the last show of the night, starting with Czar of Noir Eddie Mueller's introduction. He had a lot to say about the star of the last film, Marlene Dietrich. But I'll just leave it at the new word he learned and taught us all--'intrigante.' Meaning one (with the e at the end, specifically a woman) who intrigues. As opposed to a femme fatale who knowingly and intentionally uses her sexuality to destroy men, an intrigante is alluring whether she wants to be or not. And that's Marlene Dietrich...or would be, if her allure wasn't pretty intentional her whole life.
She is, after all, THE WOMAN MEN YEARN FOR (1929): Henry LeBlanc just got married. Not for love, for strategic money interests (i.e., to avoid family bankruptcy). On the train to their honeymoon, he catches a glimpse of Stascha (Dietrich) through a window. She's with an older male companion, but has a look of longing that intrigues Henry. And so he pursues her, even leaving his bride and entering a world of unknown danger. Excellent precursor to noir--hell, it is silent noir. And who really cares what the plot is as long as Marlene Dietrich is the object of men's desires. Just beautiful.

And beautiful as well was the score by The Mont Alto Motion Picture Ochestra.

And that was Saturday. I entered the Castro Theater at about 9:30 in the morning, and didn't leave until 10:30 at night. Not even briefly stepping outside. Instead I was in the mezzanine shopping. And if you're around for the final day of the festival, you should be in the mezzanine shopping, too!

Total Running Time: 378 minutes
My Total Minutes: 243,278

Jason goes to Silentfest--Day 2

For the first time ever, I took a day off to see everything on Friday. So this will actually be my first time seeing absolutely everything at SFSFF (as if it wasn't exhausting enough already). Here we go with Friday.

But first, some additional thoughts on SUNRISE with the electric guitar score. It's been the talk of the festival today, in a heated, controversial way. And I'll go on record as saying I love that it's so controversial. What I'm not so enamored with is I've been held up as an example of someone who liked that score, and I've been drawn to defend it. I thought I gave a pretty conflicted, complex account of my reaction (which was, itself, conflicted and complex). But because I said I liked my new interpretation that it's a succubus story, I've been drawn in as the "pro" side of the debate. So let me be very clear. Even without having actually heard the original score, if I had to choose between the original score and Spinelli's electric guitar score, I'd choose the original. But more importantly, that's a false choice! The existence of this score doesn't overwrite the original score and blot it from history. If actually given that choice, I'd prefer to watch SUNRISE twice back to back, once with each score, so I can accurately judge them. But I will say it's a personal tragedy that I did not hear the original score first. I have that DVD ordered now.

Okay, on to Friday's programs.

First up, Amazing Tales From the Archives, Program I: The Archivist as Detective. A series of archivists presented some of their work in entertaining slide shows with some short movie clips (with accompaniment by the inimitable Stephen Horne). UCLA Film and Television archivist Jan-Christopher Horak, George Eastman House's Anthony L'Abbate and The Academy Film Archive's Melissa Levesque all spoke. We learned about tracking down typeface to recreate period accurate intertitles. We got a crash course in film identification--from reading edge codes to recognizing company logos to the vagaries of changing street light styles in New York City. And we learned of the impressive number of films from Lobster Films collection that the Academy has identified...and how they did it...and how many are still unidentified. Very cool.

Before I get to the next program, I forgot to mention the "orphaned film" that played before SUNRISE last night. Before several films the festival is playing orphaned films, short films or clips where the copyright has expired or the owner is unknown. Before SUNRISE we saw a 3 minute clip of F. W. Murnau and George O'brien getting in an airplane, leaving Paris for Berlin (from 1927).

Before the next program, there were two very short films:

MRS HARDING, "CAMERAMAN?" (1922), and COOLIDGE TRAPSHOOTING (1928), both of which are exactly what they sound like.

And then the feature, HUCKLEBERRY FINN (1920): A fairly faithful retelling of Mark Twain's famous story, made just a decade after his death. In fact, it's framed with an actor playing Mark Twain coming up with the idea and writing "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn." Great, naturalistic acting, especially by star Lewis Sargent as Huck. It's also nice to see an integrated cast, with George Reed as Jim in a time when black roles were often played by white actors in blackface. The faithfulness of the script is only betrayed at the end, when a happier Hollywood ending is tacked on. But you know what, it's still a heck of a lot of fun. Oh yeah, and the Duke and the King were excellent, too.

Donald Sosin, as always, did a fantastic job on the piano.

The next program started with another orphan film, ST. LOUIS TO CHICAGO AIRMAIL (1926), which is notable for the pilot, a then unknown Charles Lindbergh.

Then the feature, I WAS BORN, BUT… (1932): Ozu's adorable story of Japanese children. A family has moved into town, and the two brothers are the target of bullies. What unfolds is not so much a linear story as a slice of life movie. It touches on bullying, brotherhood, school, social status, and fatherhood. In fact, it does more than touch on it, it delves deeply into all of those subjects and more with a careful eye and affection for his characters (even the dog).

Stephen Horne accompanied, and for my money there's no one better if you want both flute and piano music from one guy.

Next up is my hit of the festival so far, THE GREAT WHITE SILENCE (1924): A documentary account of Captain Robert F. Scott's fateful expedition to the south pole in 1911-1912. Shot by the expedition's official photographer/cinematographer Herbert Ponting. Knowing the fateful end of that trip takes some of the suspense away, but it was still a total delight (and there was still some surprise in the very end). What's really interesting is that in the 106 minute running time, only about the last 30 minutes is spent on the race to the pole. Before that, they spent and entire winter and spring on the coast of Antarctica. But even before then we see them load the Terra Nova, steam around icebergs, break through an ice floe, and finally reach the continent. And then we get the penguins, and the seals. Lots of absolutely adorable wildlife footage. The scenes of penguins are cool, but the scenes of seals cutting the ice with their teeth to climb out of the water are totally worth the price of admission alone. And there are scenes of play, like dancing on the ship and a football (soccer) game on the ice. When the expedition actually takes off for the south pole there's a distinct change in tone. The hardships are intense, and when their ponies meet their "predestined fate" they're left hauling the sledges by themselves. Of course, they make the south pole, only to see Amundsen's Norwegian flag already planted. And on the trip back, they succumb to exhaustion and the elements. What I didn't know was they travelled 800 miles in, turned back and made it about halfway back and perished in a blizzard a scant 11 miles from the supply depot that would have saved them. Amazing movie, very moving, and absolutely beautiful cinematography.

Matti Bye Ensemble did a magnificent job accompanying the film. In fact, I'd be inclined to say their soundtrack is a huge part of making this my favorite film of the festival so far.

And finally, the last program started with the orphan ORIGIN OF BEETHOVEN'S "MOONLIGHT SONATA" (1909): Edison's recreation (complete with a cheesy backdrop of a painted Vienna street) of the story behind Beethoven's composition. That he did it for a blind friend, to let her see the beauty of the moonlight. Sweet, and Beethoven was cool, but as I mentioned the sets were pretty cheesy.

And finally, the night ended with IL FUOCO (1915): An Italian story of the fire of love--told in three sections: The Spark, The Blaze, and The Ashes. She's a famous poet, he's an unknown painter. They meet, and there's a spark, but pretty clearly she's in charge. She tells him that his love is like a lamp that burns slowly and faintly, but lasts a long time. But if she breaks the lamp the fire will burn bright and burn out quickly, like her love. But he's game, "Burn me! Burn me!" he implores. And boy does she. Briefly they're happy, and he paints a masterpiece of her reclining, barely clad figure. And then we learn she's not just a poet, she's a Duchess, and the Duke is coming back to town. Affair over. Early in the show, my friend Phil, knowing full well my take on SUNRISE, leaned over to me and said she's the real succubus. At the end, I turned back to him and said, "She's not a succubus, she's just a bitch."

Stephen Horne accompanied, and was excellent always. And in a last minute addition, Jill Tracy provided voice accompaniment as a Siren song. And there's no one better for that.

Total Running Time: 345 minutes
My Total Minutes: 242,900

Jason goes to Silentfest--Opening Night

The most intense 4 days for a Bay Area cinephile have begun--Silentfest, or the San Francisco Silent Film Festival, or SFSFF, or (SF)^2 Fest. Whatever you call it, I expect my eyeballs to be exhausted by the end of Sunday.

After a few opening words about preserving the opening films from an archive in New Zealand (with help from Peter Jackson's lab), we launched right into the first program.

WHY HUSBANDS CHEAT (1918): We start with a short by Al Christie, starring Dorothy Dane and Bobby Vernon. They're newlyweds, just six months. But it's hard for him to settle down after being such a "gay boy" so he feels the call of the wild and goes out looking for a good time. Too bad he finds his wife's old college chum, and wacky hijinx ensue. Pretty funny, and not just for the anachronistic usage of "gay boy," although that did get the biggest life.

UPSTREAM (1927): William Fox's cavalcade of wacky hijinx, set in theatrical boarding house. If life is a stage, a theatrical boarding house is positively burlesque. The house is full of zany, colorful, and constantly broke characters. But the main conflict is between knife thrower Juan Rodriguez (nee Jack Rogers) and young Brashingham, latest (and least) of a famous acting family. See, they both have their eye on the same girl, Rodriguez's partner in the knife act, but she's got eyes for Brashingham. A great stroke of luck comes in the form of an agent who is specifically looking for Brashingham. See, a company in London wants him his name to play Hamlet, and it doesn't matter that he's a terrible actor. But with a little help from an elder in the house, he actually does a good job and becomes a star. And is away building his fame just long enough to lose the girl and come back as a total insufferable jerk. Good story, nicely framed moral (that's an inside joke for those who know the final scene), and a wild cast of zany characters (especially Callahan and Callahan). And a great and humorous accompaniment by the Donald Sosin Ensemble.

After the show, there was a big announcement by Kevin Brownlow (a superhero in the silent film world) about a fantastic upcoming screening of Abel Gance's NAPOLEAN (1927) at the Paramount in Oakland next March 24, 25, 31, and April 1 (4 shows only). Restoring this film has been Kevin Brownlow's life work, and he'll be talking about it Sunday morning in the free Amazing Tales From The Archives program at 10 am. This screening will include a full orchestra score, and is described as the Cinema Event of a Lifetime, and I wouldn't disagree. I might just try to make all 4 screenings.

And then the second show of the night was SUNRISE (1927). I've seen this before, at the SF International years ago with a live soundtrack by Lambchop. Well, this time it couldn't be more different. In fact, no one has seen it like this before. Giovanni Spinelli was commissioned to write a score...a score that would consist of him, solo, on electric guitar. Purists may leave now.

So I'm not going to recap the plot of SUNRISE. I'll assume you've seen it, and if that's not true this won't interest you much anyway. Instead my review has to be about the soundtrack experience. I will start by saying that it took at least 10-20 minutes for it to not be distracting all the time. And even then it was always eerie, highlighting the supernatural, uneasy elements of what is essentially a very simple plot about a man torn between two loves. In fact, I have to take a bit of a detour now.

I love F.W. Murnau's NOSFERATU. Always have, as long as I can remember, from well before I was generally a silent film fan. So when SFIFF played SUNRISE and called it Murnau's masterpiece, I was intrigued--I knew him as the guy who made this amazing supernatural horror movie, and this simple story about a man tempted by a sinister love before he returns to his wife is his masterpiece? I recognized the amazing cinematography and set design (which still amazes), but I liked the supernatural horror more. Well, what I realized watching and listening to Spinelli's score is this: SUNRISE is a supernatural horror film. It's not a love triangle, it's a succubus story. At least, it was with this soundtrack, and I loved that. And realizing that, it suddenly seems obvious. When ghost images of the city girl haunt the man, that's not his memory or desire metaphorically haunting him, that's a sex demon literally haunting him. It's suddenly much more meaningful to me that his full recovery from the succubus comes in a church, watching a wedding. And there are a dozen other moments that fit the succubus story. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to watch this again and not see it as supernatural horror.

I just have to end by saying that I've now seen SUNRISE twice. Both times at the Castro theater with a live score, and to purists I've never seen it the "right" way (which I'd like to do). That's weird.

Total Running Time: 165 minutes
My Total Minutes: 242,555

Jason sees SPACEBALLS at Starlight Cinema

Back at Starlight Cinema for some free outdoor movies.

And this time, they actually played a Cinequest short--TIME FREAK, part of the Comedy Favorites from this year. A guy invents a time machine, but gets hung up on trying to use it to perfect every moment of his life. That's exhausting!

And then the feature, SPACEBALLS. This was one of my favorite movies as a kid. And now, seeing it as a grown up, I still love it. Sure, the humor is juvenile, and it's really, really cheesy, but it still works for me. In fact, I was surprised to see how many of the lines I still knew by heart. Lots of fun.

Oh, and the projection was somewhat better than last week's THE BIG LEBOWSKI. The wavy artifact was gone, and it looked at least close to the right aspect ratio, although it was slightly cropped on the edges. That mostly didn't matter, except during the plastic surgery scene--the comparison picture of her old nose was just barely off screen. Oh, well.

Next week, THE BIRDS (although I won't be there, I'll be at the Quakes game).

Total Running Time: 106 minutes

My Total Minutes: 242,390

Jason goes to the Black Hole Cinematheque to see some Surreal Slavic Strangeness

Last Monday night I checked out a new (well, new to me, apparently they've been around about a year) underground film hangout in Oakland, the Black Hole (no affiliation with the Raiders fans). Nice place, and although there were a few technical glitches, they have a 16 mm projector and a very nice digital projector. They're active Mondays or Tuesdays all month, so I'm sure I'll be back.

One note, 8:00 really meant 9:00 (they host punk shows there, too, and never expect anyone to show up until at least an hour after the posted start time. Movie fans are different). Besides, with the long summer days they do have to wait until there's no light coming through the skylights (they don't put a thick blanket over it like the Vortex does).

But while we waited, they had some clips to entertain the people who were there. A WWII Newsreel, an animated song about the ridiculous of the arms race, and a lightning-quick slide show through the history of art in the short GALLERY. (note, these are not included in the total running time).

Then the program proper, starting with the cartoon ROMEO I JULIA (1984) from the former Yugoslavia. With apologies to Shakespeare (who appears in a cameo and blows his brains out), the Montagues are two-headed green dragons and the Capulets are white monsters with red polka dots. But Romeo and Juliet still find each other, despite everything. Pretty funny.

And then the feature BARON PRASIL (1962), Czech auteur Karel Zeman's whimsical retelling of the Baron Munchausen story combining live-action and animation (and at least in part inspiring Terry Gilliam to make his own Baron Munchausen movie years later). The Baron, along with the travelers from Voyage to the Moon, and Cyrano de Bergerac hang out on the moon, where they meet an actual moon man--who just happens to look exactly like a human being wearing a space suit. And in fact he claims to be from Earth, but the Baron instead takes him to Earth to show him a good time. They go to Turkey (very thoughtful of the baron--the land of the crescent moon), where they rescue the princess and escape from the army, only to be pursued and the baron has to defeat the entire Turkish army on his own (by riding a cannonball, in a scene that's repeated in Gilliam's THE ADVENTURES OF BARON MUNCHAUSEN). But still, the princess favors the moon man over the baron, how odd.

A beautiful and weird little adventure, and a good time was had by all.

Total Running Time: 94 minutes

My Total Minutes: 242,284