The Barnes and Noble Criterion Sale Day One

I have spoken at length here about the Criterion Collection and all the wonderful titles within it to the point where you might wonder if this blog was sponsored. It isn’t, but if you’re reading Criterion, feel free to send me a copy of everything, or a shirt, that would be nice. Anyways usually twice a year Criterion offers a 24 flash sale on their site. The last one occurred right around the time this current covid-19 shutdown began. These sales are fun, but all too often I find that they announce this right after I pay rent, credit cards, or have work done on my car. I take advantage when I can and usually wind up with a couple must have titles for my trouble.

As you might expect these flash sales are random and unpredictable, hence the name. More regular are the July and November sales that Barnes and Noble has where all Criterion titles are 50% off. This year was a little different. Imagine going to bed Christmas Eve waiting to wake up and get your presents then you wake up and then your parents tell you Christmas day has been moved to January 3. Well this essentially is what happened this year with the B&N sale. Most years I simply scroll through my Instagram and I see a post about it, then say “oh yay, guess I better hit up a store”. Due to the fact that I’m sitting at home all day and looking for any damn reason to leave the house, I was chomping at the bit like a kid on December 24 to get to it. After looking through reddit threads and other forums July 10 was the date that was floated around. By contrast in 2019 the “July” sale started June 27^th, so this was a near two week delay. I can chalk it up to pandemic related things. I certainly have no concept of how much work goes into having a nation-wide sale at hundreds or thousands of locations, so I’ll stay out of it. First world problems indeed.

Well last night when I went to bed I checked the old B&N website and saw that it was in fact on. It’s always preferred however to go to a physical store. Added bonus, it just so happens that my favorite bakery in Chicago is about two blocks from a Barnes and Noble, so twist my arm. Among the rumors I heard going into this sale was that perhaps the additional 10% discount for members would not be eligible for this sale. This made my capitalist-justice/anti-bureaucracy brain spiral out of control. I can say from personal experience that when I had my own membership I ONLY had it so I could get that extra 10% during these sales. After going and checking out I discovered that was a false alarm, I was angry over nothing, the added 10% still worked. Not to get too math heavy but the 10% is taken after the 50%, so it isn’t a full 60% discount. Long story short a $40 MSRP disc turns out to be $18 instead of $16. Sorry to make your brain hurt. I also saw on the website that for whatever reason a few titles were only showing an 8% discount, but the sale said all titles, and that is the case. I imagine the website has fixed what ails ‘em by now hopefully.

So after all of this, I got up bright and early to hit up my store, buy some stuff, and I wanted to re-cap here what I got and why I got it. For the record, the most films I bought during a month long sale was 22 different titles, so on day one I got more than half-way there.

First up, the sets:

Yojimbo/Sanjuro 2-pack - This has been on my “one of these days” lists for years upon years. I had a copy of both films on VHS, and I believe Yojimbo might have been one of the many DVDs that was stolen from me back in 2001, but I never wound up with it before. My hesitation for this set was the fact that Yojimbo was vastly superior and it seemed like I was dropping and extra $15 for a competent but forgettable sequel. Well this sale I wanted to get my Kurosawa collection up a bit so I decided long ago it’s time. This set has audio commentaries, documentaries, and all the special features I could want, time to re-visit I guess.

 
3 Films by Roberto Rossellini Starring Ingrid Bergman - Journey to Italy which I’ve always known as Voyage to Italy has long been one of my favorite films and usually is on the precipice of cracking my top 100 movies. Europe ‘51 is another damn great movie and I have no strong feelings about Stromboli either way. This is another set that I’ve always been planning on picking up but the price tag was a little off-putting. I’m also curious why the fourth Rossellini/Bergman film Fear wasn’t included here. I guess Joan at the Stake isn’t either so I’ll cease my petty complaints that a boxed set isn’t more extravagant. This does feature the alternate audio versions of all three, which in the case of Stromboli and Europe ‘51 are different lengths. So cool to see more complete versions, but I would have been happy with a solo disc of Journey/Voyage.

The Koker Trilogy - Kiarostami is a bit of a mixed bag as a director. Some of his work is painfully boring, yet some of it is sublime perfection. His Koker trilogy is definitely closer to the latter. Through the Olive Trees in particular is probably my favorite film of his, and Where is the Friend’s House? is everything wonderful about Iranian cinema. I have very few memories of the middle film in this “trilogy”. None of these movies are related in a typical trilogy sense, more thematically. Perhaps the best part about this release is it features the incredibly hard to find 1989 documentary Homework made by Kiarostami. With Taste of Cherry getting re-released later this month it’s a good time to explore his best work.

Now the individual titles by spine number:

Shock Corridor - Samuel Fuller is a cult favorite of nearly every critic and fan of classic cinema. He achieved legendary status thanks to Cahiers du Cinema crew who constantly referenced his films and in the case of Godard even put him in his own movies (the unfortunately out of print Pierrot le Fou). Shock Corridor is one of the best places to start with his work, and it was the 19^th Criterion title released. This is another title I only had on VHS and the lack of audio commentary seemed to keep me from ever picking it up. They’ve added at least one new interview to the blu-ray edition. I meant to pick up this and The Naked Kiss (Spine number 18), but the store I went to was out of that, or I just didn’t quite register because as I said earlier I found plenty else.

 
High and Low - This is another classic Kurosawa/Mifune collaboration that I never had a proper DVD of. In 2001 I ordered 8 Kurosawa films that were imports with subtitles. A few of these were stolen and nearly all have been replaced. This features the It is Wonderful to Create episode about it as well as a commentary track from Stephen Prince. Like a lot of Kurosawa films this was also eventually remade by Hollywood as the Ron Howard film Ransom. I loved it when I first watched it, but literally haven’t seen it for about 18-19 years.

The Cranes are Flying - Someone happens to get advanced copies of Criterion titles and sells them to Half Price Books in Niles, sometimes. Before this was even officially released I saw it there during one of those classic 20% off sales right before the apocalypse. I was very jazzed until I saw the case was cracked. I asked if there was a replacement, there wasn’t, so I figured next sale. This is possibly my favorite cinematography in any movie ever made. Mikhail Kalatozov was a nutcase when it came to setting up shots, and he would go even more over the top in I am Cuba, but story and style blend perfectly here. Another older title I had on VHS years ago, but the blu-ray added some extra features to spark an upgrade.

Army of Shadows - When I first got around to picking up titles on blu-ray this was one of the earlier releases I wanted to snag. I saw it initially in theaters during it’s 2006 release. I wanted to give it another shot, and seeing all the cool extras made me think this was a must-have. The only problem it was one of several titles that went out of print. I looked high and low for it (get it) and contented myself to watching it on the Criterion Channel, as well as every other Melville film. Well then they announced it was getting put out again, and I knew if I let it fall out of print again I’d kick myself indefinitely. This has rightfully earned it’s status as Melville’s masterpiece. Here’s hoping Leon Morin, Priest is also resurrected from the dead soon.

Medium Cool - This and the next film are both from cinematographers turned directors. In the case of Wexler however this was his only major work as a director, and it’s a masterpiece. Shot around the 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago, it’s part fiction and documentary and one of the best films about what the hell was happening in the 60s. Like many of these films I never owned this, but because it is Wexler’s only film that I know of it was typically forgotten whenever sales came around.

Don’t Look Now - Unfortunately whenever someone dies I think it’s a reminder to revisit their work. When Nicholas Roeg passed away I grabbed my DVD copy of The Man Who Fell to Earth (which is sadly out of print) and I realized I never owned Don’t Look Now (sensing a pattern here). Considering my VHS collection has been sitting in my mother’s attic for 12 years now and I don’t even own a VCR, it is certainly high time to upgrade that literal garbage. I remember trying to find this streaming after his death and couldn’t find it then (since may have changed). It has long considered to be one of the great “serious” horror films. Also who doesn’t want to see some naked Donald Sutherland?

The Breakfast Club - Sometimes when Criterion announces an upcoming title I say “don’t mind if I do” then I play the long waiting game for it to get released, then the longer game of waiting for the next sale. The Breakfast Club was always on the “next sale” list of titles. It got to the point where I had to actually check my collection to make sure I hadn’t picked this up already. This is one of those films everyone seems to love, and part of what made John Hughes so iconic for a generation. Much more mainstream than the typical title, it is nevertheless a welcome addition.

 
The Cremator - If forced at gun-point to say what my favorite film from Czechoslovakia was, The Cremator wins. It did make my last top 100 list, and watching it again with Caroline I have no regrets with my selection. Criterion has put out plenty of Czech films over the years (and there is even a nice retrospective on the channel right now), but the blu-ray offerings have been limited. Some of the early DVD releases were also borderline pointless in terms of extras. These were better suited to an Eclipse release, and there even was one for Czech films. I know I will watch this again, and I will never not recommend this movie to everyone who will listen.

Husbands - Might be a good time to say I love the design of Criterion. Their branding is flawless and their titles look excellent. I got a kick out of the fact that the Cassavetes films released after that initial 5 film boxed set (which I have on DVD) have a similar design. Lord knows I like matching spines, so I was particularly tickled when Husbands was announced with a consistent look. I nearly picked up his final film Love Streams as well, and I will probably go back for it later this month. Husbands however is my favorite film he made and another entry into my personal top 100. I understand this film and his work in general is not for everyone, but damned if this didn’t speak to me on some gut level. It has all the things I want for extras, and look forward to revisited it with Marshall Fine’s commentary track.

Come and See - I believe this is the most recent Criterion release at the time of this writing. Elem Klimov’s WWII masterpiece is one of the most widely seen foreign films around. I’ve always been a little surprised by it’s status as one of those international classics well loved by people who think Shawshank Redemption is the greatest movie ever made. It is great, but like so many other films in this haul, I haven’t seen it for ages. I don’t even think I revisited it during my last movie list research. When you’ve gone 20 years without watching a movie you know you’re overdue, especially when it’s one you know is great. Looking forward to sitting through this again.

Talking about these movies has made me itching to get to Old Orchard and see their selections. So many brick and mortar stores are disappearing and even a few of the existing Barnes and Noble’s in my vicinity don’t have any Criterions. Next week the Bruce Lee boxed set and The Lady Eve are set to release, so I’m not done with this sale yet. So feel free to let me know what you’re planning on snagging. Also can’t believe I forgot Silence of the Lambs again.   

Luis Bunuel’s L’age d’or and That Obscure Object of Desire

I would reckon over the past decade I seem to post one blog for every three I write in my head beforehand. Sometimes it’s a matter of an idea slipping away, often it requires more research that I never get around to doing, and occasionally it just seems like the wrong time. I revisited Luis Bunuel’s first and last feature films over a week ago with the idea to write this here blog but with the world on fire I wondered if it wasn’t a little tone deaf. People have different methods of coping with external strife. Some people want to silence all voices not directly helping the cause, and some people just go silent so they don’t add any of their own noise to a crowded discussion. I personally have to wrestle with the double-edged sword of realizing that as a boring old white guy, I don’t need to chime in on how disenfranchised people are feeling. On the other hand, too many people are accusing others like me of being complicit in white supremacy by not actively posting things. Well damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

A lot of people within the film world are using this time to draw some attention to black filmmakers and their grossly under-represented stories. This is another reason why celebrating two surrealist gems from a Spaniard might seem a little out of touch. There are numerous resources to watch some important works from black filmmakers and nearly every streaming service is making it a little easier to spotlight some of these titles. I have been told that Criterion has made a number of titles free to stream for people who don’t yet have their channel. I would like to point out that removing Gone with the Wind from HBO Max shortly after launch seems to be missing the point, but kudos to them getting ahead of things.

I have never been a fan of blocking out films that are problematic. In fact I think it’s far more important to watch those films and learn from them. You should know what anti-Jewish propaganda looked like in 1930’s Germany. If there’s a film with white people in black face, take it in, take a good look at it, get angry, don’t pretend these things don’t exist. Are you watching a British film set in India with white actors in makeup donning an accent? Let that soak in and try to breathe in just how racist and tone deaf many film industries have been for decades. You should also take note of how things have changed, ask yourself if certain movies could be made today, and why things have changed to avoid it. I think it’s important to view cinema’s shameful past so that we can hopefully learn from it. Should we be “canceling” classics of cinema because modern audiences have evolved? Maybe, but pretending these films weren’t made is not the answer.

Again I should point out I’m a film historian and a straight white man, so take that under consideration when deciding if I have a valid point. I’ve always set out from the start to let this blog be exclusively about cinema. For that reason I tend to filter whatever might be happening in the world through the prism of my area of expertise. One of the most difficult things I’ve had to learn is when to just shut up and listen. So I’ll leave it at that and we can discuss Bunuel’s respective alpha and omega.

When I was a younger man getting into cinema I’d usually check out ten films at a time. I’d often do this 3 times a week, maybe taking a break if I had any time left over to watch things I recorded off of TV or dig into the ever increasing pile of DVDs I had. Being as systematic as I could, I would usually watch movies in the order of length, so longest movie first, shortest movie last. If I got more than one film from a director I’d watch those chronologically. Well three directors always got me a little more excited than others:  Michelangelo Antonioni, Jean-Luc Godard, and Luis Bunuel. For Antonioni there was something about the existential dread of the bored and privileged that resonated with my disillusioned younger self. I wasn’t as aware that subconsciously his elaborate long takes hit the right nerve centers in my brain. For Godard he was the wild-card. He threw out all conventional notions of filmmaking, and I wasn’t sure what I would get from movie to movie. Bunuel’s surrealism appealed to me greatly, but I think he was in many ways the synthesis of those two other directors. Bunuel’s films often lacked closure like Antonioni, his characters were often bored and rich, but he played with the language of cinema in some of the same ways Godard did. 

L’age d’or (1930) is not Bunuel’s first film. He collaborated with Salvador Dali on Un Chien Andalou, but that was clearly a short. Although L’age is barely over an hour, it still counts as a feature. Bunuel would follow it up with Land Without Bread (another short, this time a documentary) and wouldn’t make a proper feature film until 1947. So for the intellectual artists who dabbled in surrealism, L’age d’or stood as a great but singular offering. Cocteau also made his directorial debut in 1930 with Blood of a Poet, and instead of a grand wave of talking surrealist films, these proved to be aberrations. Perhaps it was due to complicated funding, technical limitations (both films were shot silent), but surrealism in film was soon relegated to experimental shorts (Meshes of the Afternoon) or the occasional dream sequence (Spellbound).

Dali’s contribution to L’age d’or has been the subject of debate for decades. His involvement is typically acknowledged as minimal to non-existent here. The collaboration had already soured before production began so many film historians cite this as Bunuel’s first solo work. Un Chien Andalou was deliberately conceived to have no plot, simply surrealist imagery and some loose dream logic. In an early film history class I was pointed out for being “no fun” when my teacher asked us to interpret the film and I mentioned it had no meaning. L’age d’or by contrast has some sort of story, one that links in many ways to his final film That Obscure Object of Desire. If you can boil the plot down, you can simply say a couple are trying to have sex, and religion, society, and nature keep getting in their way. Sexual frustration was deeply rooted in Bunuel’s work, and it became a lifelong obsession, which can be blamed on his Catholic upbringing, even if that is a potential over-simplification.

I often argue that Bunuel’s best work doesn’t rely on story, sure sometimes he can construct a great narrative to go with his imagery (Los Olvidados, Viridiana, Bell du Jour), but more often he takes a premise and works from there. The Exterminating Angel and Simon of the Desert are two works that align well with L’age d’or. You can describe the films with a single sentence, but that doesn’t begin to explain why they are great. That Obscure Object of Desire (1977) falls somewhat in between the two. It lacks much of the overt surrealistic imagery of some of his best work, but from a plot standpoint it is incredibly simple and straight forward. Essentially a wealthy middle-aged man is trying to have sex with a girl who does nothing but tease and torment him.

Sexual frustration might have been the overarching thesis in Bunuel’s work but it has never been so overtly the point as it is in his final film. Some directors seem to wrap up what they’re about with their final film (Ozu, Bergman), but with Bunuel it seems more happenstance. That Obscure Object of Desire isn’t a penultimate summation of a lengthy career, it just happens to explicitly hammer home a predominant theme. Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie feels more like that last grand statement, and perhaps Bunuel conceived it as such, churning out two additional films that in different ways were echoes of the past. That Obscure Object was one of Bunuel’s greatest hits, it earned him a pair of Oscar nominations and hit a pretty large international audience.

Both films take wildly different approaches to telling a similar story. L’age d’or is much more chaotic. Gaston Modot is the thwarted male lead, who appeared in a number of surrealist films as well as Rules of the Game in 1939. Over the past several years I’ve grown to love Rules of the Game a lot, but I never connected the dots before. He also appeared in Children of Paradise and Grand Illusion for what it’s worth. Lya Lys, his German co-star had a slightly less distinguished career who was out of the industry by 1940. Well known artists Max Ernst and Josep Llorens Artigas have small parts as well.

L’age d’or is the result of an amateur to put it plainly. It might be something of a masterpiece, but it betrays Bunuel’s youth. After the sensation of Un Chien Andalou this has the feeling of trying to top the previous film. It is somewhat sacrilegious, but also just absurd. Our “hero” is anything but, he assaults a blind man, kicks a dog, emphatically steps on a beetle, and is openly hostile. He even finds some time for some light sexual assault. This has the air of a story told by a young man who wants to piss people off. It was successful in that aim. The film was denounced by most church groups and sadly went unseen for decades in some places. Even the surviving print is in rough shape. Bunuel in an effort to conserve funds used nearly every foot of film he had for the 63 minutes. Essentially meaning there is an improvisational feel to the picture. There wasn’t the luxury for multiple takes and extra coverage, so there are some moments that feel like they were making it up as they went along. The charm works though, and it’s still a very fun film to watch. The running time certainly helps it’s cause.   

That Obscure Object of Desire has some source material. The Woman and the Puppet was an 1898 novel by Pierre Louys that was supposedly adapted several other times. Fernando Rey was often considered Bunuel’s surrogate in his later films, as Mastroianni was for Fellini. They first worked together in Viridiana back in 1961, and collaborated on three more pictures. Rey is perfect for this role as a man slightly out of touch with all the money and half the patience necessary for this task. He is just oblivious enough to not realize what is happening to him, vain to the point of blindness. For the female lead, Bunuel had an interesting idea. Although he didn’t name her specifically, it was believed that Maria Schneider was his first choice who had to drop out. After a few drinks Bunuel and producer Serge Silberman decided to use two actresses for the same role. This was hardly the first time someone had the idea to use one person in the same role, but instead of having different actresses play a role in different stages of their life, Bunuel used them interchangeably, sometimes even within the same scene. Although Carole Bouquet and Angela Molina look slightly similar they are clearly two different people.

That Obscure Object of Desire is less openly surrealist than most of Bunuel’s late work. It hearkens back more to his straightforward Mexican films. However those movies were always tinted with surrealism, slightly odd touches that made the film feel anything but normal. Here we have a chorus of left-wing terrorists committing random acts of terrorism as a backdrop throughout the film. Rarely are they commented on, but frequently seen in the background and usually offer no more than a line on turning around to avoid the traffic jam they caused. In Bunuel’s world political unrest exist but his characters are oblivious to it and often just roll their eyes at the inconvenience of it all.

This is arguably the central theme of Bunuel’s work. In Belle de Jour, Marcel is something of a gangster, but it’s more an object of fascination or excitement for Severine than any cause she needs to adopt. In this way Bunuel’s films always seem to show you how less popular people may be thinking. Let’s face it, as much as change needs to happen in this world, a lot of people are probably more concerned about blocking off streets or interrupting their shows with news conferences than actively dismantling white supremacy. Bunuel understood this and made a point of showing his main characters as oblivious to the serious issues around them. It makes them seem more petty and easier to laugh at. Rey’s Mathieu seems to be the only one not in on the joke. We all know that Conchita will perpetually tease him and lead him on, but Mathieu still thinks of himself as a worthy virile mate. His money and position allow him to think he’s worthy of a woman half his age, who despite having no money of her own, is in no way beholden to him. She knows she’ll survive and seems to only reconcile long enough to torment him some more. To quote Krusty the Klown, it's only funny when he's "a sap with dignity".

I might hesitate to call That Obscure Object of Desire a masterpiece. L’age d’or is, albeit a flawed one, and in some people’s estimates a masterpiece can’t be flawed. That Obscure Object of Desire is a more mature film clearly, as it was made by a man 47 years older than the director of L’age d’or. Bunuel’s sense of humor got a little more subtle, and he loved poking fun at the absurdity of high society, illustrated most succinctly in The Exterminating Angel and Discreet Charm. If for some reason you bemoan Bunuel’s surrealist tendencies and long for a more conventional narrative that’s just a little off kilter, this would be right up your alley. There’s a reason Bunuel was always among my top 10 favorite directors, he was great from the first to the last. He never got a chance to make another film although he lived for 6 more years after this.


  

HBO Max and the Early Films of Carl Theodor Dreyer

 

Before we dig into the exciting world of Carl Theodor Dreyer’s early films, I’d like to take a moment to discuss yet ANOTHER new streaming service, HBO Max. This debuted a couple of days ago and does anyone care? The answer should be no, but there are some good things about this service so I might as well get into it here.

The good news is if you have HBO Go or HBO Now you automatically have HBO Max. From what the fine print says I also believe that if you have a subscription to HBO via that good old fashioned cable, then you too have access, but I can’t swear on that.So other than the annoyance of having another app/service to browse I can’t really complain about “free” access. As a plus side this means I can probably ditch HBO Go, so essentially we’re just trading one for another. I don’t however know if updates for new shows will be instantaneous or not.

One of the supposed awful drawbacks of HBO Go and Now was the fact that you needed a subscription to HBO, which defeats the purpose of dealing with cable. Now there are add-on’s via YouTube TV, Hulu, Amazon Prime, and others, but the idea was to have access to HBO shows independent of cable. I’m not 100% sure that HBO Max has corrected this error, but if so that alone would be a huge plus.

Now for the service itself. The interface isn’t too different from HBO Go, which is slightly unfortunate. They still haven’t quite figured out the pace to binge shows, which honestly was perfected by Netflix. I’m not sure why other streaming services haven’t directly copied this process, and god bless skipping introductions. That said the only show I’ve watched on HBO Max thus far is Doctor Who, and I don’t plan on ever skipping that intro, because that theme song is a banger. You might also notice that Doctor Who isn’t an HBO show. This is the exclusive streaming home of it, and apparently if you’re into garbage, they are also streaming Friends and The Big Bang Theory. This is the carrot to dangle, offering things beyond the scope of just HBO. Sadly I thought the Max was for Cinemax and there’d be an endless library of softcore boobie pictures, but that does not seem to be the case. Also annoying is the fact that they have not yet made the app available on Roku, so we’re only able to access it through my Playstation 4, but I assume that will change soon.

The promos for this claim access to the Warner library of classic films, and logging on the first time you might get distracted seeing Gone with the Wind, Casablanca, and Citizen Kane available for streaming. This is undoubtedly good, but for the people who missed out on the short-lived Filmstruck, you might wonder where the rest of that catalogue is. The majority of the classic films listed under the TCM umbrella are actually Criterion titles. Since I have the Criterion Channel, this is largely superfluous, but if you don’t it’s a nice bonus. I hope in future months they add more random offerings from the MGM, Warner, RKO backlog, but that remains to be seen.

Exclusive streaming rights are arbitrary, but original content is clearly the biggest selling point for any new show. Unfortunately most people are at the point where it’s better to illegally download the one or two exclusive shows you’re interested in rather than subscribe to another useless streaming site (please don’t pay for Picard). The only original program I’m interested in is Doom Patrol, which might have started on HBO Now. Anna Kendrick has some show I’ll probably never watch on there, so not sure what gets to be on HBO and what is relegated to HBO Max. Overall I’d say it’s fine if you already get it for free, otherwise do a 7 day trial, binge Doctor Who and Doom Patrol then sign off.

Now onto some silent films

Carl Theodor Dreyer is in rare company among filmmakers. He’s one of a small handful of directors that had two entries on my last top 100 film list (The Passion of Joan of Arc, Ordet). He also spent the last several decades of his career as a reverse Terence Malick, averaging a film a decade. For his first decade though he was significantly more active. After a brief period as a screenwriter (which also included writing intertitles) he made his directorial debut in 1919. He made 8 films over the next 7 years, which surpassed his output from the last four decades of his life.

As unique and singular as his later films were, whose status has only become more legendary over time, his earlier films are much less distinguished offerings. Always conscious of the high art of the cinema, Dreyer was yet to develop a unique voice in his early work, and many of those films seem either derivative or right in line with contemporary cinema.That doesn’t mean they are bad, in fact all of them are worth checking out, they just aren’t the radical and transcendent films he would be known for afterwards. There is none of the radical compositions of Joan of Arc or the dreamlike surrealism of Vampyr. The long takes that got more extreme as he went on were also nowhere near as noticeable in these films. Even though many silent films shot in longer tableau shots, this is more typical than the mark of a revolutionary filmmaker.

You might be wondering the reason why I’m digging into all of these films. Well for starters I tracked down David Bordwell’s long out of print book The Films of Carl-Theodor Dreyer, and read through the first several chapters. It is a very academic read that is a little unnecessarily obtuse, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t some great points to be gleamed. Bordwell himself has lamented some of his musings in the book, but there is still a great deal of insight to be found. The other main reason is that thanks to the wonder of YouTube, all of his early silent films are available to watch for free. So over the course of a day I re-visited Master of the House, then watched The President, Once Upon a Time, Love One Another, and The Bride of Glomdal.

Admittedly it’s been years since I watched The Parson’s Widow, Leaves From Satan’s Book, and Michael so my memory of these is largely based on Bordwell’s chapters. Michael has gotten some more attention in recent decades for being one of the earliest depiction of a homosexual relationship, even if it is subtle. Leaves From Satan’s Book was a Scandinavian answer to Griffith’s Intolerance and an attempt to re-capture markets lost to American encroachment after the first World War. I have no thoughts on The Parson’s Widow, but as I said before it is on YouTube, so go nuts.

As for the films I did watch let’s review those individually:

The President (1919)

Dreyer’s first film is one of the more solid debut features of the silent era. Many filmmakers learned more or less on the job, but because of Dreyer’s years as a writer he had plenty of time to think about how he would make a film if given the chance to direct. Dreyer believed that cinema should lean into the traditions of literature and the stage, so like Welles and Kubrick, all of Dreyer’s scripts were adaptations. What is interesting is how mediocre some of his source material was, despite it’s popularity of the day. There was something of a robust Danish stage scene of the day, however all of Dreyer’s sources have faded into obscurity.

The President, which should more accurately be titled the Magistrate, has a rather novel construction for the period. There are multiple flash-backs and time shifts in the story with several principle characters. Many silent films and early dramas have plots that rely on conflict that is obsolete today. Things like infidelity, unmarried women having children, people being shunned socially, parents/guardians disapproving of a suitor, etc. This is one reason why most of the best regarded silent films either have more violent/supernatural premises or some avant-garde techniques. Dreyer’s own Joan of Arc hits both of those marks. The President essentially tells of two generations of upper class men who abandoned common women they loved to fend for themselves. In the process the illegitimate daughter of the title character winds up accidentally killing her own illegitimate child and has to face his trial. Dreyer himself was an orphan, so it stands to reason he would have an interest in a story of this kind.

Very sordid stuff, the film is most fascinating to watch because of its order. It begins with the father’s cautionary tale and flashback, then the present revelation, and eventually the story of the daughter’s woe. There is a prison break and some redemption but nothing ever gets too convoluted. It’s not hard to follow who is who and what time period we’re in, and Dreyer can also join Kubrick’s The Killing, and Welles’ Kane in telling non-linear plots in early films. This might be the best executed of his earlier films, but be warned the version of YouTube has a few letters on screen that are nearly impossible to read.

Love One Another (1922)

This film has several titles, but I’m going with the one used on Wikipedia. This to me was probably the most interesting film of Dreyer’s early period mainly because the story line is so much bigger than mere societal drama. It certainly appears early on that our main heroine would be the victim of village gossip and that would turn out to be the central conflict. However this quickly becomes moot when you throw in anti-semitism and the Bolshevik revolution. If anyone ever wondered what a Soviet film would be like if it focused on an individual rather than the collective and was also edited in a more conventional manner, this would be the film. It was Dreyer’s first film made in Germany with a cast of many displaced Russian jews.

My only complaint is the more half-baked melodrama in the earlier part of the film. A rumor gets a girl kicked out of school right before graduation. Not saying there weren’t pearl clutching harpies back in the day, but as a motivating incident to send our heroine to St. Petersberg, it just seems weak. Her brother’s adoption of Christianity and rejecting his Yiddish heritage are a much more compelling subplot. However once you bring the revolutionaries in the mix things get interesting. The final climatic riot is still a great sequence, and worth the price of admission. Even among the more obscure early Dreyer titles, this film seems to get very little attention. It’s a shame for it might be the best of his early work. There are apparently only four known prints of this film in existence, but it is on YouTube.

Once Upon a Time (1922)

This film was thought lost for a time, and frankly the version in existence is still a little incomplete. The current version circulating used a few production stills and an existing script to try and patch it together. The title would certainly suggest it’s a fairy tale, and it is of sorts, complete with the somewhat arbitrary handling of death so common in stories of this sort. There is a general lack of supernatural or fantastic elements, save one magic lamp that can glimpse into the future ever so slightly.

The problem with the film itself is that it doesn’t seem to lean far enough into the fairy tale elements while not making the more grounded sequences believable. As a result it seems awkwardly perched between two contrasting tones and it doesn’t mesh. This is strictly a historical curiosity for people digging deep into Dreyer’s work so I can’t in good faith recommend it except for the completionist.

Master of the House (1925)

Long known as Thou Shalt Honor Thy Wife, Master of the House is the only of Dreyer’s pre-Joan films to be given the Criterion treatment. For that reason I took a break from YouTube to watch this on The Criterion Channel. It is frequently cited as the closest thing to a comedy Dreyer made. For those expecting a silent comedy you will be sorely let down, and despite a somewhat lighter tone than most of his other films it’s not exactly a laugh riot. Dreyer was known to take exceptional care when designing sets for his films, and he built a completely enclosed apartment for this movie. There is a sort of claustrophobia and the oppressive nature of the housework is easily conveyed by the numerous obstacles throughout the house.

It is a domestic satire if you will about one husband taking his wife for granted. When she leaves to rest, he has to assume the household duties and learns the true meaning of Christmas or some shit. This isn’t pure misogynistic Mr. Mom stuff, but it does indicate that we could all be a little kinder to each other. Each member of the house is doing their part to keep things together. I’m not sure what the feminist take on this film is, if anything it could serve as a curious oddity to modern viewers. It is noteworthy more for what it points to in later films. Dreyer would return to the closed in set with longer shots in Ordet, but the claustrophobia would be much more pronounced in The Passion of Joan of Arc. There is a lot more information on this via the Criterion blu-ray so feel free to check that out. Overall though I would say the film is merely ok.

The Bride of Glomdal (1926)

Made in Norway, this was Dreyer’s last film before the international triumph of Joan of Arc. This film was barely a blip on the radar and honestly I wasn’t even aware of it’s existence. There are several versions of it ranging from about 70 minutes to 115, so no idea which still exists. It was made in Norway from an instantly forgotten novel by Jacob Breda Bull. As much as I wanted to believe that Dreyer’s final film of his early period would be leading to the culmination of everything before it, this is a boring mess.

The story is about two people on neighboring farms who essentially are in love. Another man asks to marry the girl, the father approves, and she runs off. She is disowned by her father, and with the help of the town priest, the families are reconciled and they get married. On the way to the wedding the jilted former fiance sabotages their transportation and a very boring sequence of the groom trying to cross the river on horse and trying extremely slowly to catch some logs so he doesn’t drown rounds it out. The climax reminds you of Griffith’s Way Down East, but without the breaking ice. No doubt the ending was meant as a showstopper and it certainly feels like it compared to the rest of the incredibly boring and pointless film. I would definitely pass on this one for anyone other than pure completionists.

So there it is, Dreyer’s early work. Passion of Joan of Arc was next, and it remains one of the greatest films of all time. I would recommend investigating some of his earlier work especially if you are relatively ignorant of what was once a very dominant Scandinavian film industry. A couple would be completely forgotten if it weren’t for the fact that Dreyer was attached. It is something of a miracle that all of his output as director survives, a fate that wouldn’t be as kind to others like Sjostrom, Murnau, Lubitsch, Ozu, and countless others. Are any of these films better than his later triumphs, that’s debatable, but find out for yourself.