Why don't we have more of these?
I discovered a wonderful action figure of Lon Chaney from the famous (and, sadly, lost) film London After Midnight. You can also get figures of him as Erik in Phantom of the Opera and as Quasimodo in The Hunchback of Notre Dame.
I did find, much to my delight, a series called Silent Screamers Action Figures. These gems include the Frankenstein monster from Edison's 1910 version of the classic tale (in which Charles Ogle played the monster) and Count Orlok from Murnau's classic Nosferatu.
These figures were all sold out at the website I checked. But they're sold all over the place.
How about some other figures?
- John Gilbert and Lillian Gish in La Boheme
- Valentino and Agnes Ayres in The Sheik
- Buster Keaton and Brown Eyes in Go West
- Harold Lloyd and Jobyna Ralston in Girl Shy
- Ronald Colman and Vilma Banky in any of their movies
- Richard Barthelmess and Lillian Gish in Way Down East
- Wallace Reid and Gloria Swanson in The Affairs of Anatol
- George O'Brien and Janet Gaynor in Sunrise
Come on, people! Get with it! Make some!
EDITED: It seems that my blog IS being read; someone has answered this post! Click on "comments" below to read it.
Showing posts with label lillian gish. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lillian gish. Show all posts
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Arthur Johnson
Johnson is another in the "forever silent" category. According to the IMDb, he made his first movie in 1905. He would die of tuberculosis eleven years later, just shy of his fortieth birthday.
I just watched a short feature he made in 1909, directed by none other than D.W. Griffith. There is some of the posturing that was a trademark of those early films - arms flung wide, fists pressed to foreheads - but the actors are all very watchable.
The story's a bit lame; violin teacher falls for his rich pupil, then almost immediately joins a group of anarchists (Down with the Rich!) when she rejects him. When he discovers he's been sent to blow up her house, he regrets his hasty action and saves the day.
In her autobiography, Lillian Gish claimed that Griffith "discovered" Johnson, which may well have been true. Bobby Harron, for one,got his start first as a message boy, then as an actor, at Biograph. Johnson, however, never reached the fame of his fellow actors - certainly not the enduring fame of Lillian Gish, not the fleeting fame (and later, constant character roles) of Henry B. Walthall, and not the fame cut short of Bobby Harron.
The IMDb lists his final films as being directed by Johnson, as well as starring him; the production company was the "Lubin Manufacturing Company", which is a new one on me.
What intrigues me about this actor is not only that he died before the advent of sound, but that he didn't achieve any type of fame - at least, nothing that has lasted. Was it his health? Possibly. Tuberculosis is a particularly nasty disease. He wasn't lacking in the looks department, and if he improved his acting style, then I can see him being a very effective leading man, as was the younger Walthall.
Maybe we'll never know.
Click here to see one of his films.
I just watched a short feature he made in 1909, directed by none other than D.W. Griffith. There is some of the posturing that was a trademark of those early films - arms flung wide, fists pressed to foreheads - but the actors are all very watchable.
The story's a bit lame; violin teacher falls for his rich pupil, then almost immediately joins a group of anarchists (Down with the Rich!) when she rejects him. When he discovers he's been sent to blow up her house, he regrets his hasty action and saves the day.
In her autobiography, Lillian Gish claimed that Griffith "discovered" Johnson, which may well have been true. Bobby Harron, for one,got his start first as a message boy, then as an actor, at Biograph. Johnson, however, never reached the fame of his fellow actors - certainly not the enduring fame of Lillian Gish, not the fleeting fame (and later, constant character roles) of Henry B. Walthall, and not the fame cut short of Bobby Harron.
The IMDb lists his final films as being directed by Johnson, as well as starring him; the production company was the "Lubin Manufacturing Company", which is a new one on me.
What intrigues me about this actor is not only that he died before the advent of sound, but that he didn't achieve any type of fame - at least, nothing that has lasted. Was it his health? Possibly. Tuberculosis is a particularly nasty disease. He wasn't lacking in the looks department, and if he improved his acting style, then I can see him being a very effective leading man, as was the younger Walthall.
Maybe we'll never know.
Click here to see one of his films.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Olive Thomas
Olive Thomas is an interesting (and sad) chapter in silent film. Lillian Gish was the consummate actress. Mary Pickford was the eternal, annoying little girl. Louise Brooks was a sex symbol. Garbo was the lady of mystery.
Olive was the tomboyish character, yet with style and class. Her film career was woefully short - only four years - but by the time she had made her final film, The Flapper, she was a confirmed star.
Olive had one of those rags-to-riches backgrounds. She married her first husband when she was only sixteen, divorcing him a few years later. She moved to New York City and won a beauty contest; this led to her being offered a job in the Ziegfeld Follies. (At late-night parties, Olive would appear wearing only balloons, which the rich men would pop, one by one, with their cigars.)
The film world wasn't far away in those days, with as many films being shot on the East Coast as on the West. Olive made her first film in 1916, and in October of that year, she married Mary Pickford's younger brother Jack. Jack was also in film, though he would never achieve the heights that his sister did. With Olive now a member of the industry, they often found themselves shooting on opposite coasts, putting a strain on their marriage; another problem was caused by Jack's frequent philandering.
In 1920, Olive and Jack sailed for Europe to give their marriage another try. Olive had confided to a friend, not long before this, that she didn't know if she could take being married to Jack any longer.
In the dead of night, in Paris, Olive went into the bathroom and swallowed a solution of mercury bichloride. She woke Jack to tell him what she had done; he administered first aid, and called for help. It was too late; after several days of agony, Olive died in a Paris hospital. She had been blinded by the solution, which had also burned through her vocal cords.
Jack, with Olive's body, sailed for New York. His boat was met by his sister Mary; Jack burst into tears and said, "I've never had to see anyone die before." Olive was buried in the Pickford family plot, but her name wasn't put on the stone.
Her last film, The Flapper, was a perfect showcase for her talent. She played Ginger King, a teenager from Florida who is sent to a boarding school in New York State. The character of Ginger has a real talent for getting into dramatic situations, which she milks for all that they're worth. Olive truly shines in this role, and the film gives us views of a long-gone New York City.
Much has been made of Olive's death, especially in light of the fact that her marriage was on the rocks. Was it suicide? I doubt it. Olive had thought nothing of divorcing her first husband, who, to all accounts, didn't cause her any of the problems that the irresponsible playboy Jack Pickford had. She may have felt that it was her duty to try to make things worth; this is plausible. Yet suicide by means of mercury bichloride is a rash step. (On the other hand, the "Biograph Girl", Florence Lawrence, committed suicide by eating ant paste.)
My feeling is that she got up late one night, thirsty, went into the bathroom, and drank what she thought was water. As for the solution itself, mercury bichloride was used in those days for acne; it was mixed with water and applied to the skin.
It was also used for syphilis, which, evidently, Jack had - and had passed on to Olive.
I think Olive deserves much better than to be relegated to the status of a Pickford in-law. She was very talented, certainly far more talented than the grungy-looking Jack, and I'm sure she would have been one of the greats. Timeline Films has made a very good documentary about Olive; click on the link at the bottom of this page to find out more. (One of the fascinating things about the documentary is that it contains film footage of Olive with two other actresses, sitting on some steps. One actress is Chaplin's one-time leading lady, Edna Purviance. The other is Virginia Rappe, who would die so dramatically the year after Olive did.)
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Mary Pickford
Little Mary, America's Sweetheart.
I don't like her.
This will probably prove to be an extremely unpopular statement among silent film fans, but it's true. I don't like Mary's doe-eyed expressions or her endless little-girl roles. I know that in real life, Mary was a very shrewd businesswoman, one who knew how to get paid for her work.
That doesn't mean her work was exceptional; it just meant that Mary knew how to get what she wanted. I read that most of the budget for A Romance of the Redwoods went to pay Mary's salary. And this was in 1917. Before three more years had passed, of course, she had cofounded United Artists. She was the highest-paid star in the world.
Well, so what? When I watch her, I feel as if her real-life business sense had spilled over into her screen performances. It looks to me as if she's crafting each performance with the utmost care, not to be the best she can be, but to keep the audience hooked and the money machine in top operation. She just doesn't ring true to me, particularly in her early films, when despite claims that she brought a naturalistic style of acting to the screen, she makes the common mistake of striking a dramatic pose with her arms over her head. Quite a few actresses who made far less money than Mary were doing the same thing. Years later, when she finally played her last little-girl role in Sparrows, she raises her hands over her head in horror. Didn't learn much, did she?
She's simply a neat little package, always adorable, makeup always perfect. She appears on the screen, milking the character for all she's worth. The only time I've ever seen her play an unattractive role - and unattractive it is - is in the film Stella Maris. According to the documentary I watched, most of the crew didn't even recognize her when she appeared on set, hair dull, no makeup, completely opposite to her usual look.
Now, if Mary had done this more often, I might have more respect for her. As it is, I don't feel that acting was her life's passion. Unlike Lillian Gish, who went to great lengths to make her performances the best she could make them, Mary strikes me as someone who viewed acting as a means to an end, said end being financial security. She knew she was in the right profession, and rather than working for it, she made it work for her.
I don't like her.
This will probably prove to be an extremely unpopular statement among silent film fans, but it's true. I don't like Mary's doe-eyed expressions or her endless little-girl roles. I know that in real life, Mary was a very shrewd businesswoman, one who knew how to get paid for her work.
That doesn't mean her work was exceptional; it just meant that Mary knew how to get what she wanted. I read that most of the budget for A Romance of the Redwoods went to pay Mary's salary. And this was in 1917. Before three more years had passed, of course, she had cofounded United Artists. She was the highest-paid star in the world.
Well, so what? When I watch her, I feel as if her real-life business sense had spilled over into her screen performances. It looks to me as if she's crafting each performance with the utmost care, not to be the best she can be, but to keep the audience hooked and the money machine in top operation. She just doesn't ring true to me, particularly in her early films, when despite claims that she brought a naturalistic style of acting to the screen, she makes the common mistake of striking a dramatic pose with her arms over her head. Quite a few actresses who made far less money than Mary were doing the same thing. Years later, when she finally played her last little-girl role in Sparrows, she raises her hands over her head in horror. Didn't learn much, did she?
She's simply a neat little package, always adorable, makeup always perfect. She appears on the screen, milking the character for all she's worth. The only time I've ever seen her play an unattractive role - and unattractive it is - is in the film Stella Maris. According to the documentary I watched, most of the crew didn't even recognize her when she appeared on set, hair dull, no makeup, completely opposite to her usual look.
Now, if Mary had done this more often, I might have more respect for her. As it is, I don't feel that acting was her life's passion. Unlike Lillian Gish, who went to great lengths to make her performances the best she could make them, Mary strikes me as someone who viewed acting as a means to an end, said end being financial security. She knew she was in the right profession, and rather than working for it, she made it work for her.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Lost
One of the saddest things about the silent era; so many films from that time no longer exist. I read somewhere that the guesstimate is 80 - 90%.
That is one GRIM statistic. For all of the great films that still exist, how many more are gone? No wonder we get excited at the news that the missing footage of Metropolis has been found. I wouldn't mind taking a tour of screening rooms, old movie theaters, and the houses of theater owners, in the hope of finding even one reel of a missing film. I'm that intent.
I know that the AFI has a list of "Most Wanted" of the lost films, but I couldn't find it online; I found many mentions of it, but not the list itself.
Here are some of mine:
The Miracle Man
The Greatest Thing in Life
London After Midnight (I've seen this referred to as perhaps the most famous lost film of them all)
Remodeling Her Husband (starring Dorothy Gish and directed by none other than her sister, Lillian; her only film behind the camera)
Cleopatra
The entire epic of Greed
The Boy in Blue
Number 13
Chaney! Gish! Murnau! Hitchcock!
That is one GRIM statistic. For all of the great films that still exist, how many more are gone? No wonder we get excited at the news that the missing footage of Metropolis has been found. I wouldn't mind taking a tour of screening rooms, old movie theaters, and the houses of theater owners, in the hope of finding even one reel of a missing film. I'm that intent.
I know that the AFI has a list of "Most Wanted" of the lost films, but I couldn't find it online; I found many mentions of it, but not the list itself.
Here are some of mine:
The Miracle Man
The Greatest Thing in Life
London After Midnight (I've seen this referred to as perhaps the most famous lost film of them all)
Remodeling Her Husband (starring Dorothy Gish and directed by none other than her sister, Lillian; her only film behind the camera)
Cleopatra
The entire epic of Greed
The Boy in Blue
Number 13
Chaney! Gish! Murnau! Hitchcock!
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
The Wind
Evidently, the original ending was tragic. The ending we have now is happy.
Of course, that all depends on your point of view.
We have the incomparable Lillian Gish coming to a place that must be roughly in the center of hell; desert, no water to be seen, and with a constant windstorm that often kicks into overdrive and does its best to blow the little settlement off the map (no loss, in my opinion).
Not surprisingly, Gish's character, Letty, can't handle the wind. Every time it starts up, her face turns fearful and fearsome; you just wait for her to break. It isn't just the wind, though. There is absolutely nothing of beauty anywhere in the landscape. The people are hard-working and, by the look of them, filled with despair. Some genius has decided to raise cattle in this No Man's Land (with what water? What grass?) and the local men are desperate to keep the operation going.
Rather than throwing in the towel and moving on, they continue to try eking out a living in this area. Letty finds herself stranded in the settlement, penniless, with her friend's ragingly jealous wife having thrown her out of their house. What the friend thinks of this, isn't recorded.
Letty, desperate, marries one of two men who proposed to her on the same night; not surprisingly, she chooses the one who is younger and more attractive, Lige (played by Lars Hanson). A fascinating scene follows, in which Lige takes Letty to his cabin and tries to bed her. When she rebuffs him, you see more of the person he really is. The realization that she has married him for convenience, not love, shatters him and he promises to earn the money to send her away as soon as he can.
The "happy" ending comes after Lige returns from an attempt to capture a band of wild horses to sell to the government, as a way of earning the money to send Letty home. In the meantime, Letty has been raped by another man, who took advantage of a raging windstorm to assault her in the knowledge that Lige could not return for several hours. Letty, in turn, has shot and killed the man, and buried him outside, or rather, let the wind bury him by covering him with the ever-present sand.
At the end, Letty tells Lige that she is in love with him, and that she can stand anything as long as they're together.
Wait. She no longer fears the wind, which almost drove her to a breakdown? She doesn't mind living in the middle of a barren, ugly landscape? She doesn't mind the constant sand drifts? She doesn't mind the very real threat that the whole cabin might blow away, with them in it? She doesn't mind that they'll die poor?
Furthermore, didn't he corral any of the horses, as he set out to do? If he did, he has some money, maybe even enough for both of them to leave the area and find a more hospitable location to live.
I don't see this as a happy ending. Deluded, certainly, but not happy.
Of course, that all depends on your point of view.
We have the incomparable Lillian Gish coming to a place that must be roughly in the center of hell; desert, no water to be seen, and with a constant windstorm that often kicks into overdrive and does its best to blow the little settlement off the map (no loss, in my opinion).
Not surprisingly, Gish's character, Letty, can't handle the wind. Every time it starts up, her face turns fearful and fearsome; you just wait for her to break. It isn't just the wind, though. There is absolutely nothing of beauty anywhere in the landscape. The people are hard-working and, by the look of them, filled with despair. Some genius has decided to raise cattle in this No Man's Land (with what water? What grass?) and the local men are desperate to keep the operation going.
Rather than throwing in the towel and moving on, they continue to try eking out a living in this area. Letty finds herself stranded in the settlement, penniless, with her friend's ragingly jealous wife having thrown her out of their house. What the friend thinks of this, isn't recorded.
Letty, desperate, marries one of two men who proposed to her on the same night; not surprisingly, she chooses the one who is younger and more attractive, Lige (played by Lars Hanson). A fascinating scene follows, in which Lige takes Letty to his cabin and tries to bed her. When she rebuffs him, you see more of the person he really is. The realization that she has married him for convenience, not love, shatters him and he promises to earn the money to send her away as soon as he can.
The "happy" ending comes after Lige returns from an attempt to capture a band of wild horses to sell to the government, as a way of earning the money to send Letty home. In the meantime, Letty has been raped by another man, who took advantage of a raging windstorm to assault her in the knowledge that Lige could not return for several hours. Letty, in turn, has shot and killed the man, and buried him outside, or rather, let the wind bury him by covering him with the ever-present sand.
At the end, Letty tells Lige that she is in love with him, and that she can stand anything as long as they're together.
Wait. She no longer fears the wind, which almost drove her to a breakdown? She doesn't mind living in the middle of a barren, ugly landscape? She doesn't mind the constant sand drifts? She doesn't mind the very real threat that the whole cabin might blow away, with them in it? She doesn't mind that they'll die poor?
Furthermore, didn't he corral any of the horses, as he set out to do? If he did, he has some money, maybe even enough for both of them to leave the area and find a more hospitable location to live.
I don't see this as a happy ending. Deluded, certainly, but not happy.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Another dream couple
This may raise quite a few eyebrows.
I was thinking about dream couples (see my previous post by that title), and I came up with one that may seem ridiculous, but it works for me:
Lillian Gish and Buster Keaton.
Yes, I know Lillian was noted for tragedy, and Buster for comedy. Some of you may be shrieking, "No! Dorothy was the comedy player, not Lillian!" I know Dorothy was the comedienne of the family, and a good one, but as far as I'm concerned, there wasn't a single thing Lillian couldn't do, on screen or stage. The same is true for Buster.
They both had an amazing ability to do whatever it took to make the scene - and the film - as effective as possible. They both took enormous risks. They were both completely dedicated to their craft. Lillian subjected herself to hypothermia (Way Down East), intense heat and wind (The Wind), and starvation (La Boheme). Buster came within a hair's breadth of drowning (Our Hospitality), stood still while the front of a house fell around him (Steamboat Bill, Jr.), and ran a wild ride on the handlebars of a riderless motorcycle (Sherlock, Jr.).
Buster has an edge here, having suffered a serious injury on the set of Sherlock, Jr. without realizing it, and only discovering more than a decade later that he had broken his neck (the scene where he is dangling from the chain of a water tower, and the flood of water throws him onto the railroad tracks).
Both were perfectionists; both gave it their all.
So, you may ask, in what sort of film could they have costarred?
Answer: I don't know. Light comedy, perhaps; Lillian was noted for her deeply tragic roles, and it would be nice to see a change of pace. One of Buster's misfortunes on film was that his leading ladies - with the exception of Sybil Seely - simply didn't register much; they were there, and they went through the motions. Lillian would never have been one of the bland, faceless crowd; she'd have given as good as she got, and I think they'd have been marvelous together.
I was thinking about dream couples (see my previous post by that title), and I came up with one that may seem ridiculous, but it works for me:
Lillian Gish and Buster Keaton.
Yes, I know Lillian was noted for tragedy, and Buster for comedy. Some of you may be shrieking, "No! Dorothy was the comedy player, not Lillian!" I know Dorothy was the comedienne of the family, and a good one, but as far as I'm concerned, there wasn't a single thing Lillian couldn't do, on screen or stage. The same is true for Buster.
They both had an amazing ability to do whatever it took to make the scene - and the film - as effective as possible. They both took enormous risks. They were both completely dedicated to their craft. Lillian subjected herself to hypothermia (Way Down East), intense heat and wind (The Wind), and starvation (La Boheme). Buster came within a hair's breadth of drowning (Our Hospitality), stood still while the front of a house fell around him (Steamboat Bill, Jr.), and ran a wild ride on the handlebars of a riderless motorcycle (Sherlock, Jr.).
Buster has an edge here, having suffered a serious injury on the set of Sherlock, Jr. without realizing it, and only discovering more than a decade later that he had broken his neck (the scene where he is dangling from the chain of a water tower, and the flood of water throws him onto the railroad tracks).
Both were perfectionists; both gave it their all.
So, you may ask, in what sort of film could they have costarred?
Answer: I don't know. Light comedy, perhaps; Lillian was noted for her deeply tragic roles, and it would be nice to see a change of pace. One of Buster's misfortunes on film was that his leading ladies - with the exception of Sybil Seely - simply didn't register much; they were there, and they went through the motions. Lillian would never have been one of the bland, faceless crowd; she'd have given as good as she got, and I think they'd have been marvelous together.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Performances
Here is a list of some of my favorite performances in silent film. Yes, I'm sure I'll be returning to this topic, too.
Lillian Gish. Well. Is there anything Lillian couldn't do? I doubt it. I don't have just one favorite performance; here are some of them:
Lucy in Broken Blossoms. Pushing up the corners of her mouth in a rictus rather than a smile, while her eyes overflow with terror; regarding a doll with wonder and quiet joy.
Anna in Way Down East. The baptism scene is my favorite in the movie. She gently applies water to the baby's head, then looks heavenward with an expression of pleading on her face. Lillian claimed that the baby's father, who was watching the filming of this scene, fainted while it was being filmed. She heard a thump as he slid to the floor.
Mimi in La Boheme. Starving herself for three days to make her death scene more realistic. Holding the back of a cart and letting it drag her along a street. Throwing herself at John Gilbert as he attempts to storm out of the room. Everything works in this performance.
Okay, on to other performers.
John Gilbert in The Show. God, what a triumph it was for him, and what a great talent was dimmed so soon. He's the ultimate anti-hero; someone you simply can't stand, with no redeeming qualities whatsoever, but Gilbert makes you watch him. You can't take your eyes away.
Henry B. Walthall in The Birth of a Nation. Such a shame the film took the slant that it did. Walthall effortlessly takes control of his scenes, matched only by Lillian Gish as his love interest. His best scenes, for me, are the battle scenes where Ben Cameron is ducking bullets; the scenes in the hospital, when he is recovering from his wounds; and the love story with Elsie Stoneman.
Conrad Veidt in The Man Who Laughs. Having the corners of his mouth wired in a permanent smile, able to show his feelings only through his eyes. How many other actors could do it?
Lon Chaney. Here's another one with a string of excellent performances. Among them:
Tito in Laugh, Clown, Laugh. Portraying a middle-aged man who has fallen in love with his foster daughter, to whom he can only ever be her father. The look of pain on his face when interacting with her near the end of the film is heartrending.
The Miracle Man. I know, I know - only a few minutes of footage still exist. Even so, it's enough to show Chaney's incredible ability to work with his body, as his character is "healed" by faith.
The Penalty. He was brutal in that film, and it works perfectly. His physical stunts were no less impressive; hauling his whole body upwards by means of pegs inserted into holes in the wall never ceases to amaze me.
Buster Keaton. Everything Buster did, was uniquely his. That ability he had to convey a wide range of emotions without laughing or smiling is one that nobody will ever be able to do again. All of his performances are my favorites, even if not all of the films are.
Harold Lloyd in Girl Shy. Harold's "glasses" character can get on my nerves, but here, rather than being the typically brash young man, he's shy, withdrawn, and has a stutter. I was most impressed by the scene where he is pretending to his girlfriend that she never meant anything to him, and begins to laugh. In the midst of his laughter, you see an expression of deep disgust on his face that makes the scene even more poignant.
More later.
Lillian Gish. Well. Is there anything Lillian couldn't do? I doubt it. I don't have just one favorite performance; here are some of them:
Lucy in Broken Blossoms. Pushing up the corners of her mouth in a rictus rather than a smile, while her eyes overflow with terror; regarding a doll with wonder and quiet joy.
Anna in Way Down East. The baptism scene is my favorite in the movie. She gently applies water to the baby's head, then looks heavenward with an expression of pleading on her face. Lillian claimed that the baby's father, who was watching the filming of this scene, fainted while it was being filmed. She heard a thump as he slid to the floor.
Mimi in La Boheme. Starving herself for three days to make her death scene more realistic. Holding the back of a cart and letting it drag her along a street. Throwing herself at John Gilbert as he attempts to storm out of the room. Everything works in this performance.
Okay, on to other performers.
John Gilbert in The Show. God, what a triumph it was for him, and what a great talent was dimmed so soon. He's the ultimate anti-hero; someone you simply can't stand, with no redeeming qualities whatsoever, but Gilbert makes you watch him. You can't take your eyes away.
Henry B. Walthall in The Birth of a Nation. Such a shame the film took the slant that it did. Walthall effortlessly takes control of his scenes, matched only by Lillian Gish as his love interest. His best scenes, for me, are the battle scenes where Ben Cameron is ducking bullets; the scenes in the hospital, when he is recovering from his wounds; and the love story with Elsie Stoneman.
Conrad Veidt in The Man Who Laughs. Having the corners of his mouth wired in a permanent smile, able to show his feelings only through his eyes. How many other actors could do it?
Lon Chaney. Here's another one with a string of excellent performances. Among them:
Tito in Laugh, Clown, Laugh. Portraying a middle-aged man who has fallen in love with his foster daughter, to whom he can only ever be her father. The look of pain on his face when interacting with her near the end of the film is heartrending.
The Miracle Man. I know, I know - only a few minutes of footage still exist. Even so, it's enough to show Chaney's incredible ability to work with his body, as his character is "healed" by faith.
The Penalty. He was brutal in that film, and it works perfectly. His physical stunts were no less impressive; hauling his whole body upwards by means of pegs inserted into holes in the wall never ceases to amaze me.
Buster Keaton. Everything Buster did, was uniquely his. That ability he had to convey a wide range of emotions without laughing or smiling is one that nobody will ever be able to do again. All of his performances are my favorites, even if not all of the films are.
Harold Lloyd in Girl Shy. Harold's "glasses" character can get on my nerves, but here, rather than being the typically brash young man, he's shy, withdrawn, and has a stutter. I was most impressed by the scene where he is pretending to his girlfriend that she never meant anything to him, and begins to laugh. In the midst of his laughter, you see an expression of deep disgust on his face that makes the scene even more poignant.
More later.
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