A blog formerly known as Bookishness / By Charles Matthews

"Dazzled by so many and such marvelous inventions, the people of Macondo ... became indignant over the living images that the prosperous merchant Bruno Crespi projected in the theater with the lion-head ticket windows, for a character who had died and was buried in one film and for whose misfortune tears had been shed would reappear alive and transformed into an Arab in the next one. The audience, who had paid two cents apiece to share the difficulties of the actors, would not tolerate that outlandish fraud and they broke up the seats. The mayor, at the urging of Bruno Crespi, explained in a proclamation that the cinema was a machine of illusions that did not merit the emotional outbursts of the audience. With that discouraging explanation many ... decided not to return to the movies, considering that they already had too many troubles of their own to weep over the acted-out misfortunes of imaginary beings."
--Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

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Showing posts with label Anna May Wong. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Anna May Wong. Show all posts

Tuesday, August 30, 2022

Daughter of the Dragon (Lloyd Corrigan, 1931)









Cast: Anna May Wong, Warner Oland, Sessue Hayakawa, Bramwell Fletcher, Frances Dade, Holmes Herbert, Lawrence Grant, Harold Minjir, Nicholas Soussanin, E. Alyn Warren. Screenplay: Lloyd Corrigan, Monte M. Katterjohn, Sidney Buchman, based on a novel by Sax Rohmer. Cinematography: Victor Milner. Music: Rudolph G. Kopp, John Leipold.

It won’t do, of course, these sinister Asians and hapless Europeans all under the spell of Dr. Fu Manchu (Warner Oland in yellowface – his last outing in the role). But although today it’s more artifact than art and more likely to elicit guffaws than shudders, Daughter of the Dragon does give us a needed glimpse into what we are: a country always likely to fall into suspicions about the Other. The rise of Asian-bashing after the emergence of Covid, which our ineffable president persisted in calling “the China virus,” should be enough to remind us of that. Otherwise, the movie is a welcome opportunity to view the talents of Anna May Wong and Sessue Hayakawa, two of the most important Asian actors to emerge in the silent era and to continue their careers on the margins of Hollywood film in the sound era. 



 

Thursday, June 25, 2020

Piccadilly (Ewald André Dupont, 1929)

Anna May Wong in Piccadilly
Cast: Gilda Gray, Anna May Wong, Jameson Thomas, Cyril Ritchard, King Hou Chang, Hannah Jones, Gordon Begg, Harry Terry, Charles Laughton. Screenplay: Arnold Bennett. Cinematography: Werner Brandes. Art direction: Alfred Junge. Film editing: J.W. McConaughty.

I share the opinion of the contemporary reviewer of Piccadilly that Arnold Bennett's screenplay is more interesting than what its director, E.A. Dupont, made of it. Bennett was a major novelist who, like such contemporaries as John Galsworthy and H.G. Wells, fell from favor with the ascendance of modernist writers like James Joyce and Virginia Woolf. It was Woolf's riposte to Bennett, who had written an unfavorable review of her 1922 novel Jacob's Room, that severely damaged his standing among intellectuals. Her essay, "Mr. Bennett and Mrs. Brown" contained the much-quoted observation that "on or about December 1910 human character changed," Woolf's way of saying that an exhibition of Post-Impressionist art indicated a new way of approaching existence through the arts. Bennett's naturalistic fiction began to fall in critical esteem. It may simply be that Bennett was so prolific a writer, with more than 30 novels, scores of stories, a substantial number of plays, and hundreds of essays, that he simply spread himself too thin. But his script for Piccadilly shows his interest in marginalized characters, including the lowlife of Limehouse and the backstage competitiveness of the London theater. And most of all, it gave Anna May Wong one of her most prominent and interesting roles, that of a scullery maid named Shosho who becomes a night-club sensation, but falls victim to jealousy tinged with racism. Unfortunately, Dupont's direction is often a little sluggish, and his staging of Shosho's big dance scene doesn't make it clear why her finger-waving hoochie-koochie -- she's outfitted in a costume more Balinese than Chinese -- causes such a sensation. Still, the film benefits from atmospheric sets by Alfred Junge and cinematography by Werner Brandes. It's also full of watchable actors, including Gilda Gray, who rose to fame for her shimmy, as the dancer Shosho replaces in the interest of the audiences and of the club owner. We first see Gray's Mabel when she's teamed with Victor, played by Cyril Ritchard, in a dance duet modeled on Fred and Adele Astaire. Dupont seems more interested in shots of the audience than in the dancers, partly because the plot is set in motion by an unruly diner complaining about a dirty dish. The diner is played by Charles Laughton in his feature film debut. His complaint leads the club owner, Valentine Wilmot, played by Jameson Thomas, to discover that the dishwashers are goofing off and watching one of them, Shosho, dancing. Though he fires Shosho on the spot, he later takes her to his office where he watches her dance, which gives him the idea to give her a big number in the club. When she succeeds, and Mabel discovers that Valentine has fallen in love with Shosho, the plot, as they say, thickens. Although made as a silent film, Piccadilly was enough of a success that the producers decided to add some scenes with sound and a music score. TCM, however, shows a silent version with a score added in 2004 after the film was restored.

Thursday, May 31, 2018

Shanghai Express (Josef von Sternberg, 1932)

Marlene Dietrich in Shanghai Express
Shanghai Lily: Marlene Dietrich
Capt. Donald Harvey: Clive Brook
Hui Fei: Anna May Wong
Henry Chang: Warner Oland
Sam Salt: Eugene Pallette
Carmichael: Lawrence Grant
Mrs. Haggerty: Louise Closser Hale
Eric Baum: Gustav von Seyffertitz
Maj. Lenard: Emile Chautard

Director: Josef von Sternberg
Screenplay: Jules Furthman
Based on a story by Harry Hervey
Cinematography: Lee Garmes
Art direction: Hans Dreier
Film editing: Frank Sullivan
Music: W. Franke Harling

There's something claustrophobic about Shanghai Express: Its characters are always enclosed -- in train cabins, in interrogation rooms, even in crowds of other people. Even the titular train gets itself into a tight spot, navigating the narrow passage through the streets of what the film calls "Peking." Which makes it all the better for Lee Garmes's camera, tasked as it is with making the most of Marlene Dietrich's face. Garmes (with director Josef von Sternberg looking over his shoulder) always finds ways to frame that face with veils and feathers and furs, with the actress's own hands, with misted windows, and when nothing else will do, a simple shaft of light caressing those eyelids, cheekbones, and lips. Fortunately, the movie is more than glamorous poses: There's a good deal of snappy dialogue and some wily character acting from the likes of Eugene Pallette, Louise Closser Hale, and -- in a role that seems to have been a kind of audition for his most famous one, Charlie Chan -- Warner Oland. I only wish that a leading man more attractive, or less plummily British, than Clive Brook had been provided for Dietrich. The story is nonsense, of course, and it verges dangerously on colonialist poppycock in its treatment of the Chinese, though even there it pulls back somewhat by turning Anna May Wong's Hui Fei from a stereotypical dragon lady into a genuinely heroic figure. It must also be said that Shanghai Express was made at the right time: A couple of years later, the sexual adventurism of its women would have been taboo under the Production Code and Hui Fei would have been made to pay for murdering her rapist.