The Epic of Everest (1924)

What kind of an individual looks at Mount Everest and says, “I will overcome that”? A person of rare drive, I think; a lot of courage and even more ego. And a person of means—lucky in life and in the moment. You’d need all those qualities, so that your fear of the mountain did not lead to intimidation, and then, to a hesitation to climb at all.

You’d need to check your awe, I suppose. Just enough to keep going.

The Epic of Everest is a documentary about that act: that checking of awe. It details a 1924 attempt by a team of Englishmen, aided by Tibetan men and Sherpas, to reach the summit of the world’s tallest peak. As if it were not enough for them to reach the top, the team wished to capture their ascent on camera. And so, through a tremendous mixture of planning and will, endurance and scientific experimentation, they produced the footage that would become this film. I’ve no doubt that Captain John Noel and his companions were told, many times, that it could not be done. But they did it, mostly. And we still have the record today.

Mistress Nell (1915)

There is more than one way to appreciate Mistress Nell, and it depends, I think, on how many Mary Pickford films you’ve seen in your life.

I’ve seen a lot of them. Enough to know the prototypical Pickford part when I see it: the plucky, forceful youth, the rough-mannered gem who knows herself and inspires the rest of us. And so I can say with confidence that if you like that kind of thing, and you’ve never seen a Pickford film before, Mistress Nell is a good one to start with.

The Manxman (1929)

There is no love triangle quite like this one.

I first watched The Manxman years ago, having already seen several of Alfred Hitchcock’s other silent films. None of those ones had overwhelmed. Though they showed touches of the brilliance to come, they were also the products of a youthful director still finding his footing. They were uneven and, by the standards of late-20s silent cinema, nothing to write home about.

But The Manxman? I loved it. Was transfixed by it. My heart broken by it. Could predict not one moment of it. I told people to watch it, promising they’d have a similar experience. A few did, and most of them agreed. But it remains a film few people know about, available in lousy video copies and rarely mentioned even when Hitchcock’s silent films are (rarely) mentioned.

I like to think BFI is changing that. Its 2012 restorations of the “Hitchcock 9” (the surviving nine silents that the master directed—out of a total of ten) lets these films shine as best they can—eliminating, for the most part, the wear of time, and allowing them to be judged, without qualification, on their artistic merits. Some still fall short. The Manxman, in my opinion, soars.

Blackmail (1929)

Yesterday evening marked the start of the Toronto Silent Film Festival’s Hitchcock 9 screening series—an event that will be executed over several weeks. Could you, by chance, be unfamiliar with the Hitchcock 9? You are not alone.

Alfred Hitchcock directed ten silent films at the beginning of his career, nine of which survive. They vary in genre, theme and style, and they are little known today—in part because they are silent, but also because they’ve long been available, on video, in prints of such a quality that Hitchcock could’ve sued for vandalism.

But things are looking up. In 2012, the British Film Institute (BFI) completed restorations of all nine silents, and by all accounts they look gorgeous. I can vouch for only one so far: the opening film of TSFF’s series: Blackmail.

The Wind (1928)

You can say a thing a lot of ways. That’s why we watch silent films, isn’t it? To see how, when the sound’s taken away, some great artist got his or her point across. To be reminded of all the options.

Imagine, for example, that you’re watching the story of a man and his wife, both young. They were married under pretences the male party now considers false. They’ve grown estranged. Now he is out on a job and she is home. An intruder muscles his way into the house and attempts to take her away. Realizing, finally, that she would rather stay with her husband than move on, she dispatches the intruder. As his heavy body hits the floor, two dinner plates, set askew on the table behind her, slide into an even stack.

There is no intertitle to tell us their marriage is saved. But it is. The plates said so.

The General (1926)

The General is the greatest of Buster Keaton’s features—his most inventive, ambitious, and perfectly crafted film. To say this is not simply to conjure up some scale of achievement, with The General at one end, and say, Battling Butler at the other. The General is more than a highpoint in a Keaton Continuum; it is also unique among his works. And this is thanks to a little man, Johnnie Gray, whom Keaton plays, at the centre of it all. Utterly capable, Johnnie Gray is no typical Keaton hero.

In fact, I’d trust Johnnie with my life.

The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928)

The Toronto Silent Film Festival opened last night in a big way: with a live-accompanied screening of Carl Theodor Dreyer's The Passion of Joan of Arc. Joan is a masterpiece, and the subject of one of my earliest posts.

Two days--TWO DAYS--until the start of the Toronto Silent Film Festival, 2012. I can't wait.

Well of course I can't wait. I live in Toronto, I love silent films, and I especially love seeing them on a big screen. With live accompaniment.  And if it's a mix of old and new silents I'll be seeing, that's even better. And if there are rarieties, oddities and obscurities to see, and some classics too, naturally, and...and...and...

...well, it'll be a good time then, won't it?

Below is this year's schedule. Rest assured, I'll be in attendance for as many of these screenings as I can, and will happily write about the films I see. TSFF impressario Shirley Hughes has kindly included some films I haven't seen, but have always wanted to.

Note: I'm listing only the feature presentations TSFF will be screening each evening. Several nights include short films as well, including the modern-day silents produced by various artists for the Toronto Urban Film Festival. Visit TSSF's website for full details.

See you there!

Thursday March 29
OUR DANCING DAUGHTERS (1928)
8pm (doors open at 7:30pm)
Innis Town Hall 2 Sussex Ave Toronto
Tickets $15.00

Friday March 30
TABU (1931) 
7:30pm
The Carlton Cinema
20 Carlton Street Toronto
Tickets $10.00


Saturday March 31 
BLOOD AND SAND (1922) 
4pm (doors open at 3:30)
The Revue 400 Roncesvalles Ave. Toronto
Tickets $12.00/$10.00 seniors and members
  
Sunday April 1
1000 LAFFS: PLAYMATES
(Featuring Keaton, Arbuckle, Chaplin, and various lesser-known comics) 
4pm
The Fox Theatre 2236 Queen Street East. Toronto
(Queen East between Beech and Willow)
Tickets $12.00/$10.00 Seniors and members

Monday April 2
THE ITALIAN STRAW HAT (1927) 
8pm (doors open at 7:30pm) 
Casa Loma 1 Austin Terrace, Toronto 
Tickets $20.00 

Tuesday April 3
VARIETE (1925) 
8pm (doors open 7:30pm)
Innis Town Hall
2 Sussex Ave Toronto
Tickets $15.00

How's Your April Looking?

If you live in Toronto, your April's looking slushy. But there's a reprieve. From April 6th to 15th, our fair city plays host to the inaugural Toronto Silent Film Festival. I can't wait because, as someone who's seen more silent films than, well, anyone I know, I still find several unexplored gems in this lineup. If you're a silent film newbie, be assured the selections also include big-time, accessible classics like Buster Keaton's Seven Chances (1925). Check it out, and if you see me at the concession stand, by me a cookie.

The programme is here. I will be there. There's no slush in the theatre. What more could you ask for, silent fans?