Silent wonders

The 7th International Silent Film Festival was such a blessing. It worked wonders for us contemporary viewers in many ways. First, it was humbling to be able to go back to the roots of cinema, the kind lovingly pioneered by the Lumiere brothers' Cinematographe nearly at the end of the 19th century. And then, it was such a marvel to behold cinema's lost era coming to life on modern big screen once again, even for only a short period of time. And still, it was a one-of-a-kind viewing experience for us to be able to watch these silent classics while a Filipino live band (comprising different genres - pop, classical, rock) accompanied each of them - it was both a visual and aural feast! On hindsight, with a unique film festival like this, we once again come to terms with the realization of how far - really far - the art of cinema has come since its humble inception more than a hundred years ago.

This film junkie was able to see 5 of the 6 silent films shown, coming from different countries and comprising various genres. Each had their own beauty and charm, strengths and flaws. But each one stood out in its own way. And of course, there would always be a favorite among these.

''The Grace'' (1929, Italy) by Aldo de Benedetti

Rich man meets poor woman, and then they fall in love with each other. Rich man leaves poor woman, and then he never comes back. Poor woman gives birth to a child, but the father is not around. Rich man gets seduced by a femme fatale. After a long time, rich man returns, entirely clueless as to what happened to his family during his absence, but this time the woman's family only wants an eye for an eye for their daughter's dishonor. These are sure recipes for a melodrama. And the Italian silent film is no doubt of such a kind. But the director somehow counterbalances that tendency with the film's religious evocations (the shepherdess' countenance is at times no different from that of the Virgin Mary and there are images that smack of Catholic iconography, like the Pieta and the Crucifixion) and a conclusion that could have influenced the kind found in Carl Th. Dreyer's "Ordet" and Carlos Reygadas' "Silent Light". It's like grace comes to those who have unwavering faith.

"I Don't Want To Be A Man" (1918, Germany) by Ernst Lubitsch

Lubitsch was one of cinema's leading comic provocateurs, circa World War I and II. And this silent film (comprising of 3 acts and running for just about less than an hour) shows that kind of sensibility. As early as 1918, just at the heels of the first world war and when Germany's image was still badly shaken by that cataclysmic event, the country, by way of Lubitsch's above-mentioned film, already started to grapple with "gender-bending" issues - and to treat such with comic flair and mastery (take a look at the ballroom set-piece). How one could be so provocative at that time!

"The Phantom of the Opera" (1925, USA) by Rupert Julian

This was my first-ever encounter with the "Phantom". Yes, that's right. I had not seen any of its filmic and stage adaptations. I have not even read yet the source material - Gaston Leroux's novel. But my first taste of the "Phantom" was an intriguing and fascinating one, as Julian's silent movie (the very first film adaptation!) is tinged with the best works of German Expressionist cinema (notably, Robert Wiene's "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" and F.W. Murnau's "Nosferatu, A Symphony of Terror"), with its emphasis on the macabre and gothic horror, angular and devious settings, and sinister shadows. Plus, it has Lon Chaney, cinema's undisputed "Man of a Thousand Faces", at its center. As the titular Phantom, Chaney is by turns horrifying and heartbreaking. Moreover, the central theme of a beautiful lady being hounded by a ghoulish creature is an archetypal theme that has seen its fair share of filmic and literary interpretations for a long span of time. It is probably important to note, however, that whereas German Expressionism attempted to probe as well into the psychological and the subconscious, Julian's film has no tendencies toward such, as it is an outright visual creepfest, with a striking "color" sequence that was groundbreaking in its own way during its time.

''The Grandfather'' (1925, Spain) by Jose Buchs

Spain's entry to this year's edition of the fest is an elegant soap opera. In its elucidation of the grand and the noble in human emotions, of the nobility's downfall, and of an ensemble of lively supporting characters (whether good or bad), one is reminded of the great works of the Italian filmmaker Luchino Visconti (''The Leopard'', ''The Damned'') and the English playwright William Shakespeare (''Julius Caesar'', ''King Lear''), with the story unfolding as if from the pages of a classic novel and being punctuated towards the end by a timeless morale. At the center of this maelstrom of the follies and foibles of humanity is the commanding presence of Modesto Rivas, who plays the titular character, by turns authoritative and haughty, broken and downtrodden, enlightened and confused. Several decades later, Jose Luis Garci's Oscar-nominated adaptation would bring more complexity and nuance to Benito Perez Galdos' novel, but still Jose Buchs' silent version (the first adaptation) is no less rewarding. This is my second favorite among the silent films shown.

''The Policeman'' (1933, Japan) by Tomu Uchida

The opening film of the festival is this film junkie's top favorite. Said to be the director's only surviving silent film -or, for that matter, only surviving film- "The Policeman" could very well be a film made without a "sound", instead of being a silent movie in the strict sense of the term. Unlike the other silents shown, this Japanese film noir exhibits almost none of the their acting mannerisms, has stylish framings, long takes, and expressive and extreme close-ups. This is the kind of cinematic art that some contemporary Japanese maverick filmmakers would have done as well (for example, Ishii Sogo's "Labyrinth of Dreams"). And along the way, viewers may be caught off-guard by an intriguing and surprising "subtext" involving the two lead male characters, who were once close pals but are now both on the opposite sides of the law (the hunter vs. the hunted). I don't know if I was just over-reading it, but I was sensing something "special" whenever the policeman and the gangster were together in a scene, with all their facial expressions and bodily gestures. Such a "subtext" may have worked to the advantage of the relationship dynamics between the two men, because when the final confrontation came, the effect was more poignant than cathartic. 

Too bad that "The Policeman" is what only remains of Uchida's whole body of works, because we have here a silent film director who may have been well ahead of his time. 

Cineastes should really be thankful that the different cultural organizations and embassies have made it upon themselves to annually put up this unique festival of silent classics here in our country. We are looking forward to more fascinating works from cinema's lost golden age in years to come. (As a side note, the unassuming Raymond Red showed his being a disciple of silent films by dutifully attending the screenings. His own "silent", "Kamera Obskura", was the festival's closing film. I wish I could say a few good things about our own country's entry in the fest. Because while the film was ingenious, it was ultimately tedious and underwhelming. But plus points for Red's attendance in the event!)