The Cast: Louise Fazenda (A Flower Girl); Ford Sterling (A Leader of Men); Phyllis Haver (A Magnate's Daughter); Billy Armstrong (An Indignant Nobleman); Jack Ackroyd (A Child of Destiny).

Sennett's post-Triangle comedies, made when he (like Ince, Fairbanks, Hart and of course Griffith) had moved over to Paramount, are comparative rarities today. As with his earlier Keystone, and later Pathe, comedies, the quality was very variable. Hearts and Flowers is hardly one of his best at Paramount, but as one of the very few pre-1920, but non-Keystone, Sennetts available today, it is well worth revival by this society. Some of it is very funny indeed; a good deal of it is awkward and clumsy. Its plot seems to have its roots in the earlier Tillie's Punctured Romance. Ford Sterling here plays the sophisticated rogue, a role that he was to specialise in later, but which had thus far been soft-pedaled in favor of heartier slapstick knockabout. Possibly the most enjoyable single aspect of Hearts and Flowers is the wonderful footage devoted to the Sennett Bathing Beauties. The film contains some of the best shots we've ever seen of these lovely ladies, headed, very capably in this case, by sprightly Phyllis Haver. The print by the way, is quite flaw, being taken off the original negative.

The Cast:

Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt (HELEN GARDNER); Iras, an attendant (Pearl Sindelair); Charmian, an attendant (Miss Fielding); Octavia, wife of Antony (Miss Robson); Nicola, a child (Miss Helene); Antony, a triumvir and general (Harry Sindelair); Pharon, a Greek slave and fisherman (Mr. Howard); Ventidius, a Roman soldier (Mr. Waite); Diomedes, a rich Egyptian (Mr. Osborn); Kephren, Captain of the Queen's Guards (Mr. Knowles); Octavius, A triumvir and general, (Mr. Paul); Serapion, an Egyptian priest (Mr. Brady); Ixias, servant to Ventidius (Mr. Corker).

- - - - -

Cleopatra, which was produced by Helen Gardner's own company after she left Vitagraph, is one of the rarest films we have over shown --- and one of the most primitive. As an early feature (copyrighted at six reels, but released in five,* as the original main titles testify) it again exposes as a myth DeMille's oft-repeated claim that the later The Squaw Man was actually America's first feature. Important as an example of early feature production, it is also very revealing as an example of what you could get away with in those when the motion picture per se still generated such excitement that the public was either unwilling or unable to discriminate.

Cleopatra is perhaps the stagiest film we've ever soon. Nothing takes place in it that could not take place in a theatre. Genuine exteriors are almost non-existent, and even simple exteriors, requiring only a field and a tree or two, are duplicated with backdrops. This of course was in an era when the theatre still commanded a good deal more respect than did the cinema; if the intention was to stick rigidly to theatrical traditions, and to frown on the use of the camera, one could well understand the modus operandi behind it all. But an introductory title announces that the film is a free adaptation from the stage, deliberately without those rigid traditions. Thus Cleopatra must be judged as a film, rather than as a filmed play, and frankly it is quite astonishing. Helen Gardner's own experience at Vitagraph (her Vanity Fair was quite cinematic in 1911) seers to have been jettisoned entirely. All the lessons of cutting, editing and camerawork that had been taught by Griffith since 1908, and more spectacularly since 1911, were so obviously repudiated that one can only assume that Griffith's methods were thought to be completely wrong by the Gardner company. It is incredible to realise that both Cleopatra and The Musketeers of Pig Alley belong to the same year. If one explains that away by saying "Ah, but at that stage in the history of cinema it must have been difficult to expand the creativity of a one-reeler into a five-reeler!" one has only to look (as a lucky few did, at the Museum of Modern Art on a recent Saturday morning) at the eminently cinematic and wonderfully creative L'Enfant de Paris -- a French film of 1912 that ran to EIGHT reels.

Some of Cleopatra is quite incredible. A backdrop representing the Nile shows wooded hills, and looks more like a scene along the Hudson. The costumes are elegant, but their wearers often seem ill-at-ease in costumes and helmets that don't quite fit. The "battle" scenes are staged with an "economy" that is beyond belief, and that we'll leave you to discover. There is not a single close-up in the entire film; once or twice Miss Gardner seems to realise this, and moves herself as close to the camera as possible. At one point towards the end the camera does pan; but it comes to a rather jerky halt, and is followed by a couple of cuts which indicate that other camera movements may have been present and were cut out prior to release.* (They are negative cuts, not print cuts).

In short, Cleopatra is not a film likely to endear itself to students of film art. It is a film that will be of tremendous value - and interest - to students of film history. There are many gaps in film history - important, serious gaps - and it is necessary that we should know not only that films like Cleopatra were made, but also that they were popular and even critically well received. Even the trade publication Moving Picture World (now Motion Picture Herald) was most impressed with Cleopatra, and gave it a most enthusiastic review. By the same token, many films that were dismissed as worthless then (usually because of complexities of plot or techniques that made them "confusing") might today seem advanced and creditable. Who knows, perhaps Cleopatra is as "typical" of 1912 as is Musketeers of Pig Alley -- although we hope not. The only way one can ever be sure is by finding more film, and screening as much of it as possible. That is perhaps more the job of the individual film student than the film society, but certainly we will continue to show anything that - like Cleopatra - sheds new light on a period none-too-well represented.

With all its cinematic flaws, Cleopatra is not a dull or uninteresting film. Miss Gardner plays well, and the plot itself sustains interest well. With all its stage background and origin however, it seems to be a curiously hurried and under-rehearsed production. And there Is one priceless moment when a decidedly un-Egyptian little poodle all but ruins Miss Gardner's big scene! It is the biggest set in the film, and all of the players and extras are carefully in place. Miss Gardner advances regally towards the camera. Then, suddenly, the poodle appears from nowhere, plants himself firmly in her path, glares at the camera, and refuses to budge! Retakes? A cutaway while the dog is removed? A change of camera angle? Not on your life. Miss Gardner rises to the occasion magnificently. Seeing that she can expect no help from the director, she launches into a magnificent tirade of shouting that has the desired effect -- the obstinate poodle, scared cut of its wits, runs from the scene and stays in hiding for the rest of the picture!

The Cast: Haghi (RUDOLPH KLEINE-ROGGE) ; No.326 (Willi Fritsch); Sonja (Gerda Maurus); Kitty (Lien Deyers); Morrier (Louis Ralph); Jason, chief of police (Craighall Sherry); Franz, the chauffeur (Paul Horbiger); Masimoto (Lupu Pick); Oberst Jullusic (Fritz Rasp); Lady Leslane (Hertha V. Walther).

Spy melodramas, alas, are now as much a part of the past as Mary Pickford's "Pollyana", and, in view of today's political climate, about as divorced from reality. The spy thriller was at its apex between the two world wars, when the world was, comparatively speaking, peaceful and reasonably contented. The most serious upheavals seemed to be in Russia, and thus, not unnaturally, Russian spies seemed to predominate in movie espionage. But it was espionage on an adventurous, rather than a political, level. Great master spy - and crime - organisations dealt in secret treaties and kidnapped diplomats on a plane so high that the individual was never effected. It was a game as much as it was a crime - a game played on an international level - and the consequences were never serious. When one faction lost out, the defeated spy was usually enough of a gentleman to doff his hat to his opponent and wish him "Jolly good luck" -- as indeed Paul Lukas did, in Hitchcock's The Lady Vanishes. Spying became more serious after World War II, and became so inextricably entangled with the politicians and the military (viz Night People, Diplomatic Courier) that it was no longer fun. Now the happy days of secret treaties, and "complications" in the Balkans, have gone for ever -- with nuclear weapons the items at stake, the consequences can be very serious, and the individual is very much involved.

So, it's good to look back at one of Fritz Lang's best films, with a master-mind criminal, backed by a huge secret organisation. (Lang's super-criminals somewhat resembled Sax Rohmer's Fu Manchu in their cleverness and international scope, but while Fu always triumphed in the end, Lang's heavies -- despite being far more colorful than the rather dull officials who opposed them -- always came to a sticky, and usually an insane, end). Haghi is an obvious outgrowth of Dr. Mabuse, and like Mabuse glories in evil and crime for its own sake, rather than for the financial gain involved. (Both Haghi and Mabuse could have been men of power and wealth by legal means -- if it hadn't been too dull for them!) The film too, has much of the structure and even many of the sequences of the two Mabuse films. The slow, ominous opening ... the automobile chase, with the bizarre shots of the trees overhead ... the heroine trapped, and awaiting certain death at a given hour ... and finally the spectacular roundup, with insanity overtaking the mastermind (Rudolph Klein-Rogge in every case, of course) ... all of these elements were common to Doctor Mabuse, Spies and The Last Will of Dr. Mabuse, magnificent thrillers all of them, with the last couple of reels of Last Will of Dr. Mabuse standing out (in my mind, at least) as probably the greatest thing Lang ever did. (Last Will, issued in a French version too, has also been known as Testament of... and most recently as Crimes of Dr. Mabuse).

It's typical of Lang (in his best period at least) that some of the most striking passages in his films were also the most extraneous -- from a point of view of simple story telling. Thus in Metropolis, it wasn't enough for Lang to give us the macabre sequence of the machine room explosion -- he had to give us the nightmare vision of Moloch too. Another great sequence - the coming to life of the Seven Deadly Sins - was equally "extraneous"" - and equally wonderful. Spione has such touches too, one of the best being the nightmarish appearance of the murdered couriers, each still "wearing" the weapon that killed him!

This print, of course, running only an hour, is far from complete. The version that the Museum of Modern Art will run shortly is considerably longer, but still has many reels missing. (The American print, as released by MGM, was cut down to a little over seven reels). Although we dislike playing such drastically shortened prints, the film - even in its present form - is so vastly enjoyable, that we're sure you'll agree with our decision. Too, by seeing it and the different Museum print, you'll be able to got a much better idea of what the original was like.

Our print is a blow-up from an English 9.5mm print, and considering the lab work involved, the quality is really remarkable. We've seen many far worse prints duped from 35mm material. English 9.5mm prints were designed for home use primarily, and thus considerably condensed -- as were many of' the Kodascope 16mm prints in this country. However, while the Kodascopes were often arbitrarily hacked in a thoughtless fashion, the British prints seem to have been condensed with a certain love and affection. The care that went into retaining a cohesive story line is obvious. Striking individual shots that could easily have been eliminated have been retained, even though the additional editing work involved to keep an even balance, must have been quite considerable. Obviously the film is but a shadow of the original -- but it's still a lively and fascinating shadow.

Incidentally, it's a matter for conjecture whether the actual impact of the train crash was ever filmed. Certainly, if that footage ever existed, a carefully done condensation like this would (one would think) contain it. The crash in this version does seem a trifle abrupt, but that may be due to the excision of more "build-up" and "atmosphere" than to the cutting of the actual crash. It'll be interesting to see how the Museum's print fares in this respect. John Adams tells me that the character of the clown (presumably a complete sub-plot in the original) is also brought in only at the end in the
Museum print, as in ours. In neither print is it explained that the nurse who is with Haghi eventually is revealed as his mother!

Rudolph Klein-Rogge dominates the whole proceedings of course as the fiendish master-spy. With a little of Karlofft and a little of Chaney, in his overall character, he remains one of the best of the silent screen villains -- and certainly the best of all the movie madmen. Other top roles for Lang included Kreimhild's Revenge (a wonderful Attila!) and Metropolis (as Rotwang, the scientist). Many of Lang's other confreres worked on Spies of course, including the late Thea Von Harbou, then his wife. Vollbrecht (sets) also worked on Metropolis and Die Nibelungen, while Fritz Arno Wagner shot Destiny, Testament of Dr. Mabuse, as well as Robison's Warning Shadows and Pabst's Love of Jeanne Ney. Lupu Pick, playing a prominent supporting role, was also of course a foremost German director.

In The Tattler (a London publication) of September 26, 1928, James Agate wrote:

Spione...moves at an enormous speed and is immensely exciting. It demands and gets from us what the severer art has called "the willing suspension of belief"...with the reservation that the simple may have difficulty in grasping the whole of it, Spy is an admirable entertainment.

We think you'll enjoy what Graham Greene once termed "Lang's simplest, purest thriller."

* A final word on Cleopatra; a further study subsequent to writing these notes shows that there are actually four or five - not just one - pan shots in the film, although all within one sequence. It's worth noting too that all five reels are exceptionally full ones, so that this could be considered a 6-reeler.