Buster, Al St. John and The Fat Man in New York

The following in my entry into The Fourth Annual BUSTER KEATON Blogathon, hosted by Lea over at Silent-ology, please check out all the goodies on offer!! And thank Lea for hosting while you are about it.  

Buster Keaton's first film appearances were produced in 1917; with the first five in which he acted filmed in the New York area.  They were all directed by that near genius comic director and actor Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle, who would later be more famous for the scandal that engulfed his life, rather than the groundbreaking director that he was--never mind any remembrance for being the man who could be credibly credited with "discovering" Buster Keaton. I had seen the films, like all lovers of slapstick, dozens of times over the years, but it wasn't until I hastily wrote up a piece on Al St. John to mark his birthday last year that I went back to them. It was the first time that I really watched these films looking specifically for St. John--these were Keaton/Arbuckle films after all!  I viewed the lot--every single film through to The Garage (1920), and found myself basically "book-ending" the New York films for re-watch.  When Keaton was persuaded, and persuaded he was, to join Arbuckle's new team in NYC, Arbuckle already had his nephew St. John in tow.  It was no secret that St. John, a childhood acrobat, was no good at prat falls (Keaton makes mention of this in his book).  He was prone to injury, yet he had filled a vital role in the films that Arbuckle directed for Mack Sennett--that of the skinny fall guy who takes almost endless punishment; so it was one hell of a stroke of good luck that Keaton turned up when he did in Arbuckle's directing career!  Keaton was a veteran of vaudeville and knew how to stage stunts and take falls without injury.  Keaton's obvious place in these films, at least at first, was in parts more or less as an add on--appearing in roles mostly unfamiliar to the other characters--such as a customer or a delivery man; but this would really only last a short time.  I would like to zero in on some of these moments for a closer look at a dynamic that I had really been over looking all these years.

Keaton with Al St. John and Josephine Stevens in The Rough House (1917), Keaton is the delivery boy--a character device for his entrance in a couple of the early films in which he appeared.

The Arbuckle directed Keaton films have always been amongst my favorite slapstick performances, and Arbuckle's direction is such a pin-pointedly accurate approach to what for all the world looks like hilarious chaos. But, looking specifically for Al St. John within the films made me realize like I was viewing them basically with fresh eyes.  What had started out as simple curiosity had turned into something more solid; a different, and rather unexpected, approach to re-watching these films.  I found myself looking around for Buster constantly; noticing his parts in the films as more than a foil; seeing that his presence stood so well on it's own, right from the beginning.  He had just his vaudevillian performance expertise to draw on and bring to film acting, and it is quite amazing how much of that managed to shine through from moment one.  His interactions with the acting pair of "Fatty" and Al in no way seemed forced right from the very first scene.

Buster about to let St. John have in The Butcher Boy (1917)

I was, of course, fully aware of the trio, or roundhouse comedy dynamic, of the films; I just never thought to watch especially for St. John within the action--which seems a bit strange to me now that I think of it, since he was the partner of Arbuckle in films prior to Keaton's arrival.  In doing so, I noticed the extent to which the "choreography" left Buster's roles standing rather starkly on their own. This makes sense; as Keaton was, after all, the newcomer.  Arbuckle had acted with his nephew as a comic pair for several years before being offered the chance to form his own company in 1917; it was pure accident that Keaton came along when he did.  Arbuckle never made a film in New York for his new Comique Co. that didn't feature both his nephew and Keaton (earlier films made for Mack Sennett show St. John's place in the comedy skit as provocative foil; especially the later films that Arbuckle directed himself; examples include the Chaplin film The Rounders from 1914 and Arbuckle's 1916 The Waiters Ball [both of which are on YouTube], as well a number of "Fatty & Mabel" films--St. John had also been a Keystone Cop, along with his uncle).  

Fatty and Al from The Waiters Ball (1916)

Fatty and Al from His Wedding Night (1917)--both show St. John's rough and tumble role in the Arbuckle world of comedy.

Buster Keaton's acting career started when he was just an infant as part of the the successful vaudevillian touring family that billed themselves as "The Three Keatons."  In fact, when Keaton stumbled on the opportunity to act in films, he was set to appear in a well paid live act in New York, with no really good reasons for giving it up.  Keaton wrote in his memoir My Wonderful World Of Slapstick that newspaper mogul William Randolph Hearst had tried to lure the family act into pictures before this, with no luck at all.  Buster's father Joe would have none of it, and regarded the "flickers" as a passing fad.  The younger Keaton's film debut would have to wait several years and came (pretty famously) in The Butcher Boy  in 1917--that crazy rample rousing 2-reeler in which Buster inadvertently made cinema history by virtue of accidentally becoming the first (and I think, to this date, only) actor to film his debut scene all in one take (it is worth mentioning that Joe Keaton did finally show up in films with his son, when Comique moved west).  The story as to how this all came about is about as simple as it could have been, and equally as famous (so pardon my recounting of it).  Roscoe Arbuckle had set up shop at the studios on east 48th, after having made a break from Mack Sennett and gone to work for Joe Schenck, the then husband of screen starlet of Norma Talmadge.  The studio was set up for the newly formed company bearing her name and was the intended vehicle for the furtherance of her career--Arbuckle and company merely filled out the space and the "portfolio."  Keaton had run into an old acquaintance (Lou Anger), who was then working for Schenck, just days before beginning rehearsals on a stage act that would have netted him $250 a week.  He introduced Keaton to Arbuckle, who then suggested that he come round the studio the next day as a kind of screen test.  Keaton knew who Arbuckle was, of course, from films.  He knew "the Fat Man" to be a very competent comedian; but Keaton knew absolutely nothing about the film industry or how to actually shoot a movie.  He needed little convincing, though, to agree to show up; the atmosphere that he encountered in the studio convinced him that he was in the right place for him at that point in time.  He described it as follows in his book:

When I got there the whole place was humming with activity. Besides the Arbuckle company, Norma Talmadge's own company, her sister Constance's and a couple of others were making romantic dramas in other parts of the studio. This seemed wonderful to me.  It was like being in a great entrainment factory where different shows were being manufactured at the same time. 91-92

Keaton getting a flour bag in the face thrown by Al St. John in The Butcher Boy at the beginning of his very first shoot.

Keaton was hooked and agreed to stay as a film actor for Arbuckle for just $40 a week.  He writes that he so knew that he would love working in films that he didn't even bother to ask how much he would be paid, nor did he care.  He also writes of that history making first take:

Roscoe had brown paper bags filled with flour, tied up and ready to use. He lost no time in putting me to work. "As you come in the store," he explained, "I will be throwing some of these bags at St. John. He will duck, and you will get one right in the face." It seemed like nothing at all after the punishment I'd been taking from Pop all these years... I found out that day that he [Arbuckle] could put his whole heart and every ounce of his weight into throwing a flour bag with devastating accuracy.  There was enough force in that thing to upend me completely. It put my feet where my head had been, and with no cooperation from me whatever... Because I was new to the business, I was politely picked up and dusted off. But it was fifteen minutes before I could breathe freely again.  --92

The famous flour bag to the face in The Butcher Boy thrown by Fatty.

The first half of The Butcher Boy is the part of the story that takes place in the general store--it includes all the parts written in for Keaton by Arbuckle as soon as he realized what a talented comic actor he had on his hands.  These include that first flour to the face scene shot in one take, and all the craziness that ensues after wards with a full set food, flour & whatever fight.  It also includes Buster's character showing up for the famous molasses purchase--complete with pork pie hat. The second half of the film, which takes place in a girl's boarding school, was clearly written before Keaton's appearance at the studio.  It's a rather stark contrast to the first half, in that Buster really has little to do, save from play one of Slim's (St. John) co-horts.  Still, when Slim calls in his buddies, Keaton's presence in the action is very noticeable, taking several prat falls to the head; one--when he falls through the window of the house--obviously thrown in by Keaton himself without direction.  It was certainly more than a hint of what was to become of Buster Keaton before the camera.  

Being thrown for a loop in The Butcher Boy

In The Rough House, we see the first of Buster's bicycle stunts--and his first appearance of the character device of the delivery man (which shows up as more fully formed in His Wedding Night).  Of course, Keaton also plays the gardener at the beginning of the film, fumbling with the hose as Fatty realizes he's set his bedroom ablaze; but it is the grocery delivery boy that mixes it up in the Rough's cook (St. John).  Here, several antics that Arbuckle employed in The Waiter's Ball (1916) show back up, but Keaton's presence in these acrobatic stunts elevates them to a whole new level....and they are twice a funny. It is precisely because Keaton is so good at what he does, and therefore makes the whole seemed so less staged.  And, of course, it should be mentioned that history now tells us that Keaton not only contributed to the writing of the film, Arbuckle also allowed him to direct small portions as well.  Keaton had apparently been so interested in how things worked in the making of films, he reportedly had Roscoe take a camera apart for him to understand it better.  Indeed he said of Arbuckle, "I could not have found a better-natured man to teach me the movie business, or a more knowledgeable one."  --95

Our delivery boy has an accident...

Roundhouse in the Rough house.

The film really shows the pairing of Keaton and St. John for the first time. They cause all sorts of trouble about the house before getting arrested, ending up basically as Keystone Cops by the end.  Other than that, there was not a lot for the two of them to do throughout the bulk of the film.  The Rough House and His Wedding Night are two films that feature more of Arbuckle on his own than do any of the other three films.  These films are meant as "Fatty features," so it's worth the mention that Rough House contains one of my all time favorite Arbuckle moments in any of his films: that of Fatty making his usual "chefly" mockery in the kitchen and in the food service (including reminding anyone who has ever been around an antique metal bladed fan just how dangerous they are, by using one to slice potatoes, a la a modern food processor....).  

Buster's wedding dress delivery in His Wedding Night

The setting for His Wedding Night is basically the same as for The Butcher Boy.  A general store, with Arbuckle working as a soda jerk, rather than a butcher, who is engaged to be married to Alice who also works at the store.  St. John is again set up as the rival, but this time Keaton's character is more fully written into the film.  He serves as the delivery man/fitter for the wedding gown.  This eventually results in hilarity when Keaton, dressed in the gown for Alice to evaluate, is mistakenly kidnapped by St. John the rival and his gang of stumble-bums. The result is that Keaton's delivery boy is very nearly married not just to the rival, but also to Fatty.  Now, I will acknowledge that there are elements in this film that are very off-putting, and not just by today's standards, but also by the standards of the time when these films saw re-release.  They include (but not limited to): the kissing of the woman who is passed out from chloroform and the treatment of the African-American customer in the drugstore (who is, incidentally, played by the same actress that shows up in the very politically incorrect original, or full ending, of Coney Island--her name sadly not known as of this writing).  Still the film shows, for the first time, a character played by Buster Keaton fully incorporated into a script. Oh, and I have failed to mention that in most of these films, the great "stone-face" is really nowhere to be found.  Buster displays a full range of emotions, including--yes-some droll faces, but also: smiles, laughter, sour-faces, irony and screeches of pain.  These show up even more so in the fourth New York film Oh Doctor.

Someone has to get into drag...this is a Roscoe Arbuckle film! His Wedding Night

In Oh, Doctor, Keaton plays, quite convincingly, the young son of Dr. Holepoke (Arbuckle), complete several "mama's boy" moments.  In this role, he displays a whole range of emotions, but none so funny as his expressions of pain when his father physically harangues him with vaudevillian violence.  Here the story is of Dr. Holepoke's various interactions with the Gambler and his girlfriend, in one form or another, until the conclusion of the sketch--with the Dr.'s son and wife making scant appearances throughout. What we don't get in Doctor is any real interaction between Keaton and St. John--which I miss greatly; though there is a funny bit where young Holepoke follows St. John's Gambler after he makes off with some jewels.  One thing is certainly clear, by this time, Keaton had thoroughly replaced Al St. John in the role of "foil of Fatty;" and though he may have replaced him in a role that requires acrobatic know-how, we don't get nearly as much of Keaton in the film as we do in the previous two--a shame given his wide range of physical displays of emotion his character has. However, there is some wonderful stuff on a rooftop between Arbuckle (in a police get-up that again harkens back to Keystone Cops) and St. John's Gambler who is trying hard not to fall through a sky-light.... 

Keaton with various expressions from Oh, Doctor.

For his part, Al St. John makes a pretty slick character in the film as well.  This is a departure from his clueless idiot character that show up in most of his uncle's films in which he appeared.

Another observation: that as these films progressed one to the other, there is less and less of a two act demarcation between the two reels, and more of a over-all coherent story throughout.  It is first obvious in His Wedding Night, and becomes even more so in Doctor--progressing finally to Coney Island.  Which, of course, bring me to Coney Island the last, rather famously so, film that the trio made in New York.  The film might be as well known as The Butcher Boy to people who only have a passing knowledge of Arbuckle's comedies featuring Keaton.  It is by far the most dynamic of the the early films and was shot almost entirely on location at the famous Luna Park on Coney Island itself.  It showcases Luna Park at night, because, why not?? A great deal of the camera work, especially on the rides, is groundbreaking--breath taking actually--but that is a subject for another time.  And, here it is worth mentioning, that a good deal of the plot and idea for the amusement park filming comes from an earlier film of Arbuckle's A Reckless Romeo (1917)--which, though released under the Comique name--was actually filmed in 1916 at the very end of Arbuckle's contract with Sennett.  Coney Island, can be seen as a kind of re-working of that earlier film; it is however, a much more successful film in it's comic charm and cohesiveness.* The film has Buster's character bringing a date to the now all but forgotten Mardi Gras parades at Coney; but when it comes to paying for entrance to the park, he comes up short and his girl winds up with Al instead.  This sets up his character as being rather solo for the rest of the film in one capacity or other, as he attempts to keep track of his girl with St. John, and later Fatty.  It also provides with some Keaton's more well known antics in any of Arbuckle's films, including an out or nowhere back flip.  

The film also features some of the most hilarious interactions between Fatty and Al--with Arbuckle's most well known and drop dead funny drag outfit in any of his films (not mention that famous breaking of the fourth wall in the changing room).  I admit that of all Keaton's films with Comique, this is has always been my favorite; it's part of the reason that I had not really paid very close attention to films preceeding it.  What I had not noticed prior to going back to them in the last year, was the progression of Keaton's presence in the films chronologically; how he went from more or less a walk on, to such integral part of Arbuckle's independent work as film crafter.  I'm sure that Roscoe Arbuckle's comedies would have been quite entertaining without Buster Keaton, but I cannot imagine them being nearly so clever...or so funny.

Buster was hell with that mallet!

Al and Fatty: Happy Couple....

In all, these films are just such a pleasure to watch.  They always have been. Going back to them after a pretty long period of time [years], I am pleased to have happened on a new "eye view" of them--for me they have presented as crazy fun all over again, something akin to seeing them for the first time.  I discovered, watching specifically for Al St. John, that though he was injury prone, his wiry antics are the perfect contrast to Keaton's talents at actual prat-falls and stunt coordination.  It goes without saying that he was a great foil to his rotund uncle!  Keaton went on to employ St. John in his 1937 short Love Nest on Wheels as Uncle Jed (which included some of the same jokes found in The Bell Boy), 5 years after Arbuckle's death.  As for "Fatty"--Keaton kept a smiling photo of him hanging in his home until his own death in 1966.

Mayhem on the set in The Butcher Boy.

*In regards to A Reckless Romeo, there is a bit of controversy over it's completion.  While it would seem that it was merely edited after Arbuckle started his own company and Schenck signed with Paramount to distribute, there is some question as to whether a few scenes may have been added at that time as well.  It is curiously listed as the second film that Keaton appeared in within the filmography compiled for the 1982 re-release of Keaton's memoir.  The list was compiled by Raymond Rohauer and it was approved by Keaton's estate, but that doesn't necessarily mean that he actually appeared in the film.  He is sometimes listed as being the not-so-blind organ grinder--though the fellow doesn't really look like Keaton to me, and the scene appears to be pre-Colony Studio material.  It is equally possible that he may appear, fleetingly, in some other unnamed role.  Or not... The film was lost until the mid 1990's...and it is now on YouTube and available on Internet Archive. So go watch and see if you can spot Buster--can't say I've had much luck myself. 

Sources:

Keaton, Buster & Charles Samuels. 1960 My Wonderful World of Slapstick, Da Capo Press.

Sexual Innuendo In Ernst Lubitsch's Lady Windemere's Fan (1925)

This post is part of the 2nd Annual SEX! (Now That I Have Your Attention) Blogathon, hosted by Steve over at MovieMovieBlogBlog (wado/thanks for hosting!).  For other really good reads, please click here.  Wado/thank you for reading!
Spoilers ahead!

The sexual innuendos in this silent treatment of an Oscar Wilde comedic play are thick and over-laided, especially in the first two acts. Directing such a wordy writer as Oscar Wilde during the silent era posed specific challenges that often didn't pan out well in the finished product.  In many feature length films, the witty repartee and playful sexual dialog of Wilde was dealt with many, many inter-title cards, often lacking in any kind of corresponding imagery in the part of film that actually showed actors "acting."  This often made for clumsy films that taxed viewer's eyesight and just plain bored people.  In fact, an earlier film version of the play had been made in 1916 and so heavy with title cards that it was panned by the big critics of the time--and was a complete flop.  German director Lubitsch (who had come to Hollywood in 1922 at the bidding of Mary Pickford); knew of this and was determined to approach the play in film form in whole new way.  The question then became how to get across in active imagery, what actors of the stage would actually say, without the use of an intrusive number of dialogue cards.  Lubitsch masters this well!  He employed whole host of not so subtle devices, along with actual acting--he directed the actors to actually say their lines, while interacting with the stage props (many of which were written into the play's direction in the first place).  This resulted in a light-hearted melodrama, filled with fun "winks winks/nudge nudges."  It is so free of dialogue cards that the viewer almost forgets they are needed to advance the plot.  

Wilde's play is a kind of "comedy of remarriage" in the same ilk as films such as His Girl Friday and The Awful Truth, which rely on frame stories to set up perimeters in which the action can play out.  In this case, it's with a long lost mother "returning" to her native London, after reading that her daughter has married one Lord Windemere in a newspaper abroad.  Mrs. Erlynne as she is known (played deliciously by the very talented Irene Rich) is obviously a woman with a shady past; and she wastes no time summoning Lord Windemere to her lavish rooms that she's let in London, with the purpose of blackmailing him.  She's determined that her past, in this case, will no longer plague her--she sees the perfect opportunity to capitalize on it.  Almost immediately the sexual jesters start.  The first thing that Mrs. Erlynne does when she sees her son-in-law Lord Windemere (Bert Lytell), is motion him over to a sort of settee, placed under a window in her sitting room; in point of fact it looks more like what we would call a "day-bed" these days.  Windemere is incensed and insulted; he knows nothing of this woman and is recently married.  Mrs. Erlynne, on the other hand, looks as though she a cat that just swallowed the proverbial canary, but laughs it off.  She then proceeds to tell him who she really is.  Again, he is outraged--demands proof--which she provides; he then looks confused and a bit afraid.  It is at this time that we find out that he is familiar with his wife's background, including that she is obviously the product of some sort extra-marital affair.  He reminds her that her daughter had been raised to believe that her birth mother is dead.  Mrs. Erlynne demands to be let back into her daughter's life; the Lord then falls quickly into her trap.  He soon cottons on to what she is really after--his cheque book.  He sits down at her writing desk and begins to write out a check, that starts with £5....Mrs. Erlynne gets a look of slightly evil ecstasy on her face, as if she believes he is about to hand her £5000.  This look is not subtle at all, it clearly sexual excitement over successful blackmail and love of ill-gotten gains.  Clearly, she is not new to this game.  When the cheque comes out £500 instead, she gives him a look of forlorn regret; it's pure artifice, of course.  He is quickly persuaded to add a 1 in front of the 5.  Now, keep in mind that this is not a one time payment--it's a monthly "arrangement." (This comes to around £17,500 per month in today's money!)  It does not take long about for the gossip to begin!  And so the stage is set.

Fast forward several months to a horse-racing track.  The Windemere's are there with a complete party of on-lookers.  Enter Mrs. Erlynne.  It takes little time for practically the entire park to notice that she is there.  Surely she has some rich man in her bed?!  But who?  None of this is actually placed on a title card, Lubitsch needs only to have ladies hissing into each other's ears, talking behind fans and handkerchiefs, and wincing when they train their eyes on her. Caught in the middle of this soup of gossip and assumption is Lady Windemere (May McCoy), who is the only person in high-society London to have not heard the rumors.  This does not last long. The whispers get louder behind her and finally someone says something directly to her about this woman with a mysterious income.  All of this is all conveyed with actual acting, which give a depth to the resentment on the part of those engaged in gossip; gives the pangs of pain on the part of Lady Windemere's face a great deal of honesty.

Seated right behind Lady Windemere, next to her husband, is one Lord Augustus Lorton (Edward Martindale).  One of the scarce title cards announces that he is the most eligible bachelor in town.  On the other side of Lord Darlington sits another member of the gentry, Lord Darlington (Ronald Colman).  It is clear that he has some sort of design on Lady Windemere; he stares intensely at her, especially after the gossip stings her ears, to see how she is reacting.  There is not one doubt that his gazes are penetrating; and the he has some plan forming in his mind when it comes to this young married, and upstanding, woman.  Again Lubitsch manages to get great performances from his actors, and their performances relay all the feelings, be they:  hurt, embarrassed, stung, exposed, designing, completely.

Darlington, clearly not happy with the married couple in mid-kiss!

What happens next is surprising, only because the viewer doesn't see it coming.  Amongst the antics of the gossips and harpies, we barely notice Lord Lorton admiring the visage that is Mrs. Erlynne.  When she leaves the track early, out of embarrassment, he follows her.  This is the part of the film where Lubitsch employs his most clever special effects to be seriously suggestive.  We see Lord Lorton following her, catching up to her a little more with each step; and then screen begins to blacken out from right to left--at first just a little, then more and finally complete fade to black.  The viewer is left to think "okay, what are those two about to get up to??"

As it turns out, he is only attempting to discover her place of residence.  He reaches her door and hesitates, we have a witty title card, throwing in some actual Wilde on the nature of gentlemen ringing a lady's doorbell; and finally, his stiff extended fore-finger (another suggestive) and the pushing of the bell.  He gains admittance and is shown into the same sitting room as Lord Windemere had reluctantly became the victim of blackmail.  Again Mrs. Erlynne waves toward the window settee--this time Lord Lorton accepts quickly; well for it's day, that would have been shocking to audiences.  What happens next, would have only intensified that shock.  When sitting down, Lord Lorton offers her a cigarette (though Lubitsch updates the timeline of the story to the 1920's, it was still frowned upon for women to smoke, especially in mixed company), she accepts and begins to tease the end of the cigarette with mouth, all the while staring at the Lord sitting next to her.  After this, we get one of those rare title cards, that reads "But when the relation becomes more friendly___"--clearly we are meant to speculate on what exactly is meant by "friendly"--and what is with that dash??

Lord Augustus Lorton

The next live action that we see is Lord Lorton frantically ringing Mrs. Erlynne's bell with impatience; walking in quickly and hanging his hat, cane, and over coat inside her residence with extreme familiarity.  Upon his easy entrance (almost as if he were in his own residence) to her sitting room, we see her puffing away on a cigarette in a very "un-ladylike" manner.  He takes the cigarette from her and puts it out in her ash tray; there he sees a barely smoked cigar and gives her a surprised and disappointed look.  Now the cigar becomes immediately suggestive because it hasn't be cut for smoking (what some cigar smokers call "circumcising" of the role).  As Lorton gets more and more jealous and, she becomes desperate to stem his anger and stave off his leaving her, she retrieves a band from his own brand of cigar and gently slips it over the cigar--another strikingly suggestive visual moment.  She then saunters over to him, to take a cigar from his own pocket holder-again this is done easy and suggestive familiarity.  He becomes convinced and accepts her explanation. From here the film shifts gears significantly. It follows from the fast paced "swinging" woman about town, to the arena domesticity in the Windemere household.

Suddenly, it is the morning of Lady Windemere's birthday, the first of her married life.  Her husband escorts her to a room full of gifts, which included all manner of expensive gifts of jewelry; but the gift that he saves for last is a fancy, but still simple, fan.  She is delighted with it.  Lord Darlington then arrives; not fearing anything, her husband then leaves his wife alone with his old friend.  The playful sexual props may have disappeared, but the domestic drama that takes over is no less thin on sexual matters. We now have a marriage at stake, and this finally puts a mother's instincts into play for the first time since a now grown and wedded child was born.  

Lord Darlington and Lady Windemere

The title of the film would lead one to think that the fan would be a major sexual innuendo of the story, but it shows up past the half way point in the film.  It's not that the film leaves off being interesting after the fast and furious sexual suggestions in props earlier on; quite the contrary, it then moves on from an arena playfulness, into one of real peril for the heroine of the film. Lord Darlington sees Lady Windemere's birthday as the pivotal moment to make his move.  It becomes obvious that he has been slinking around; spying on Lord Windemere.  Having been left alone with her in her own sitting room filled with morning light and gleaming with presents, talk turns to a party being thrown for her that night.  Darlington, sitting with her, gives her the same look that we saw at the racetrack.  We know something coming.  He pounces on this chance and asks to show her something outside and guides her the window.  Outside we see Lord Windemere dismiss his own car, cross the street and get in a cab, which soon pulls away.  There, he's done it--he asks her what kind of man dismisses his own car?!  He then "sets the hook" by suggesting that she check her husband's writing desk, which is suspiciously locked.  Having gotten the drawer open, it contains many cashed cheques made out to Lady Erlynne.  She is devastated.

A declaration of love

A finally it comes, his out and out declaration of love.  What he means by "love" is still unclear however.  What is clear, is that Lady Windemere is put in a really delicate situation and, he pesters her further over why she would want to stay with a cheating husband.  With her birthday party looming, she is left to wonder how she will go forward in life.  Meanwhile, the scene suddenly shifts back to Mrs. Erlynne's sitting room.  Lord Windemere is there handing off the monthly money; she ambushes him with a request, really more of a demand, to attend her daughter's party.  He at first resists, but soon gives in.  He returns home, unbeknownst to him, to a very upset wife.  He tells her that he's invited Mrs. Erlynne to her party, insisting that she is indeed of woman of quality.  There is no way that he can know that this is the LAST thing he should be saying, or indeed, doing.  Understandably his mortified wife explodes and demands that the invitation never be sent.

Cut to the party.  Lady Windemere seems to have calmed down and is enjoying her evening with friends and family.  Meanwhile Mrs. Erlynne is growing inpatient at her residence waiting for an invitation that will never come.  Fed up, she decides to crash her daughter's party, sure that some mistake kept the invitation from arriving.  However, upon her entry to the Windemere house, she is told she is not on the invitation list.  She is at first mortified and then sad.  At this point, who should enter, but Lord Lorton, who is late for the party  He is brimming with joviality and is genuinely happy to see her there.  He then, on the quality of his name, secures her entry to the party.  

When she is announced, Lady Windemere is shocked.  May McAvoy who plays the Lady, does a good job of pulling off a look as if she had actually been hit with a real electric shock.  Lord Windemere seeing and hearing a hush spread across the room, springs to action and begins to introduce Mrs. Erlynne around the room.  Before long she is introduced even to gossip harpies, who, one by one, sit down with a chat with her; they each find her to be perfectly pleasant.  Things seems to calm.  Lady Windemere, however, decides she needs some air and steals out into the garden.  While there Lord Darlington ambushes her and repeats his declarations of love and adoration to her. The suggestive moment here comes when he takes her fan in one hand, while touching her hand with his other, while pleading his love for her.

She rebuffs him and moves out into the garden itself.  Darlington shrinks away.  Mrs. Erlynne, now being this close to her child, cannot help but step out to admire her from afar as she paces around in he garden.  Lord Lorton cannot help but follow her out there to woo her actually for a marriage proposal.  Unfortunately, he does this from behind a large bush; so when Lady Windemere looks up, she sees to her shock Mrs. Erlynne staring at her, with the arm outstretched to an unseen admirer, the Lady assumes that the man behind the bush is, in fact, her husband.  She's had enough.  She makes for Lord Darlington house, with the intent to stay the night with him.  She soon gains admittance.  Unknown to her, Mrs. Erlynne has discovered the note she has left for her husband informing him that she is leaving him for Darlington.  She then confiscates the note and plays up a sham that Lady Windemere is not feeling well and has gone to bed.  She then makes for Darlington's house and soon let in.  At this point one does have to wonder what sort gentlemen Lord Darlington really is; if women can be so easily admitted to his house while he is away, what must say something about his prior behaviors and activities....

When the young lady sees the woman she has no idea is her mother in Lord Darlington's house she is at first insensed and dismissive.  The viewer expects Mrs. Erlynne to blurt out who she is; and she does struggle to keep the words from passing her lips.  Biting her lip, she thinks the better of it and falls to entreating the young lady to flee and return home to her husband.  It is at this point that she does blurt out that she had done the very same thing and that it ruined her life.  So, now we know the whole story of the conception of Lady Windemere and why she was brought to believe her mother was dead.  Of course, the young lady has no idea that this is what she is being told, only the viewer is in the know.  But, the story does impact her and she allows Mrs. Erlynne to assist her out of the situation.  Before they can make good their escape, however, the men from the party have decided to have an after-party at Darlington's house, with Lord Lorton amongst them.  They flood his sitting room, leaving the two women trapped in the back of the house.  

Seeing the men arriviving for after-party

The only problem with fleeing out the back....Lady Windemere has accidentally left her fan on Lord Darlington's couch!  What to do now?  Mrs. Erlynne tells her daughter that she will take the blame; she knows her reputation precedes her--though she now has everything to lose--having been proposed to earlier in the evening.  She sends the young woman out and steels herself to confront the men.  Meanwhile, the fan has been discovered.

Facing the men

Mrs. Erlynne then confronts the men and claims that she took Lady Windemere's fan by mistake.  Lord Lorton stares at her, confounded and wounded.  Everyone else, including, and especially, Darlington looks confused and embarrassed. She is crest-fallen as she glances at Lorton and then leaves.  The young Lady Windemere has been saved; still believing that her mother is dead, but in debt to the woman she believed had been carrying on an affair with her husband.  She never discovers the real reason her husband was paying Mrs. Erlynne.  For her part, the very next day, Mrs. Erlynne has decided that she should continue her "adventures" and is packed up and planning to leave the city.  On her way out, she encounters Lord Lorton, who is on his way to her place of residence.  Being the woman wit and character that she truly is, she informs him that "no I don't think I will marry you!"  She then gets in her packed car, but Lorton follows, gets in with her, and they drive off together.  The implication is that they will indeed be getting hitched, but that is mearly an assumption.

The unresolved issues within the story is pure Wilde.  Ever the social satarist, he was never going to let the English gentry off with a straight forward happy ending, with all the parts reconciled, and all the secrets discovered and explained.  To convey the complicated nature of this through the lens of proper and improper sex, Lubitsch needed a clear vision as to how to approach the visual effects to have them forward the narrative. Because, again this is silent cinema.  This led to a masterful handling with a number of sexual props.  Even the sets themselves seem to convey this; they a comically over-sized.  Of course, there are practical reasons for the sets to be so over-large, from the point of shooting the film entirely (mostly) on a sound stage.  Still one cannot watch the film without having a sense that the especially large doors are meant to be constantly suggestive.  What I have come to love about this film, is it's play on the suggestive; the creative way in which Lubitsch approached it's production.  It has been said that he is the real star of the film, since none of the players were particularly famous.  His direction of the actors is impeccable, during an era when directors approached the job more with fussing over dialogue cards, rather than on directing the actual people in their film.  I feel I don't need the closure of all being known.  We see that one marriage was saved, and another, possibly, is produced.  The comedic and melodramatic sexual misunderstandings provide for a kind of re-marriage at the end.  That is enough for me.  Nice neat bows on packages not needed!

My Dark Obsession With Cesare (Reel Infatuations Blogathon)

WARNING: SPOILERS

The character of Cesare (Conrad Veidt) , the somnambulist in Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari (known better here in the U.S. of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari) might seem like a strange character that a crush like obsession might develop on the part of any cinephile.  But I simply can't seem to help myself.  He is the hapless the victim of the insane hypnotist Dr. Caligari (Werner Krauss).  His character is meant to represent the equally hapless soldier of war, conditioned to kill, by the insanity of government hell bent on waging war.  The film's conception as an allegory came from two German pacifists during the first world war, Hans Janowitz and Carl Mayer--who wrote the film.  Though the allegory can quickly get lost in the pure strangeness of the sets (designed by Herman Warm), and the odd manner of the way the characters move around in them.  It was Cesare's movement that first caught my attention as a child.  Over time, this grew into a pathos that lead to a crush in my teens.  Over the years, that obsession only deepened every time a viewed the film.  He is presented as utterly pathetic; a side-show freak that is the embodiment of the helpless human automaton, doing the bidding of a man that displays demonic motivations.  That's when the pathos started.

Cesare Awakes!

In his side show at the local fair, the "good" Dr. presents Cesare in a coffin like box, propped up on stage. He informs his audience that he is the only person who can rouse Cesare, and that when he does this, Cesare answers questions about the future with truthful predictions.  Cesare, he tells them, has been asleep for 23 years.  The rousing process is frightening, only because Cesare does in no way looks as though he faking a thing.  At Caligari's commandment, Cesare twitches, his mouth opens slightly and finally his eyes open.  After this his hands come up (think Frankenstein's monster) and he is commanded to walk out of his "cabinet."  He is now able to speak.  Amongst the audience are two young men, best friends, both of them sweet on the same young woman .  One of them, against the advice of the other, asks Cesare how long he will live; in an unflinching, but still slightly pathetic expression, he answers "until dawn."  The audience reacts with complete fear and revulsion--the young men flee.  The film presents Cesare as an almost supernatural slave--a man caught not just in nightmare state, unable to wake on his own, and equally unable to stop the predictions that come as answers--only to be returned to his zombie like existence and sealed up in his "pine box."  It's a powerful image that can easily turn into allure on the part of the viewer.  It's the classic, "I need to save him."

Later, during the dead of night, shown in deepest hues of blue, we see the shadow of a figure wielding a knife, who then kills the young man whose death was predicted by Cesare.  The shadow appears to resemble Cesare, but this certainly cannot be the case, as Dr. Caligari has put his hapless somnambulist back in his "cabinet."  Eventually, another member of the village is detained by police for the murder; though it is clear his visage bears no resemblance to the shadow seen murdering the young man.  The viewer then begins to think, "is the evil Dr. using Cesare as murder weapon against Cesare's will?"  If so, what sort of hell must Cesare live in for the brief periods that Caligari allows him consciousness??  The police wonder this as well and have questions.  Again, with me, that only increased my sense of slightly erotic sympathies toward Cesare.  How did this hapless soul come to be in such a state?

Cesare being examined by the police.

When next we see Cesare, Dr. Caligari opens up the casket like cabinet, sits the unconscious Cesare up, and feeds him.  He then lays him back down and closes him back up.  If there were any doubts about the true state that Cesare is in, any suspicions that he is in on any sort of trick or fraud, this scene puts them all to bed, so to speak.  Just after this, the police show up and demand that they be allowed to examine the somnambulist.  Caligari is at first uncooperative, but eventually allows them to into his caravan.  The Dr. opens the cabinet again and the police sit Cesare up; they then proceed to poke and prod him in a very unprofessional manner--demanding that Caligari wake him up--which he successfully refuses to do.  Again, the sympathy for Cesare, the helpless automaton, trapped in what must surely be a nightmare world, from which he cannot wake, wells up.  How much is he aware of his surroundings when in this state?

Throughout various points in the film, scenes depicting the young woman--that object of affection of the two young men--one of them now dead, are woven into the story.  Her domestic life, her learning of the death of the young man and that he died by murder, and finally a her frantic search for her missing father.  This draws her ever closer to the Dr.  She shows up at Caligari's fair tent inquiring if he's seen her father.  Caligari has other plans.... He has Cesare set up for yet another show, he then opens the cabinet to reveal the sleeping man to young Jane.  She looks confused, then scared.  He commands Cesare to wake, which he does.  Cesare takes long and genuinely chilling stare at her, culminating in a face to face stare.  She becomes so livid with fear that she runs.  What Caligari thinks he's up to here, is unclear; but Cesare seems to have shown his first act of thinking for himself.  He notices her on his own terms, not Caligari's.  This further complicates the state that Cesare "lives" in.  Clearly he is a kind of zombie, but not one that couldn't be rescued.  He shows some of his own personality, if even for a fleeting second.

What happens next makes it crystal clear that Caligari is using Cesare as a murder weapon--though what the Doctor's motives are never come to light.  He wakes Cesare and sends him off to murder Jane, just as he obviously had with her young suitor.  Cesare sneaks into her bedroom, knife in hand, having been instructed to kill her.  He raises the knife, but then stops, suddenly having another moment of a kind of lucidity.  He sees that this is the same person that he had come face to face with earlier in the day.  He is clearly struck by her, perhaps even attracted to her.  What he does next looks truly horrifying to the viewer, but it is the first time that poor Cesare acts on his own motivation.  He violently grabs her, waking her in a state of terror, and drags her from her house, through the maze of blue streets, into the dark woods.  It looks every bit the horror film that it is, yet Cesare seems to only be motivated to save her.  In the process, the burden of her weight gets the better of him and he collapses, allowing the young woman to escape back into the safety of the village, to villagers that are searching for her.  Seeing his game is up, Dr. Caligari flees, but not before being chased by the surviving young suitor.

Later films like Tim Burton's Edward Scissorhands, draw some direct inspiration from Cesare's behavior; though, of course, Edward is not bidded to murder anyone and is obviously mostly a re-working of Frankenstein.  Still it's hard not to have a similar progression with Edward, starting with the pathos, and eventually ending in falling for him.  Dr. Caligari, though, unlike "The Inventor" (Vincent Price) in Edward Scissorhands, presents Cesare as a constantly sleeping individual, completely under his power. Only Carligari (who is a repulsive as Cesare is alluring, despite the deep markings around his eyes) claims the ultimate power to wake him and command him to speak.  Still the comparison in look, progression of helplessness and ultimate tragedy the similarlities between Cesare and Edward are stark.

The film takes a turn for the truly bizarre at this point.  We, the viewer, are left not knowing what has become of poor Cesare.  The young man chasing Caligari follows him to what turns out be an insane asylum.  He inquires within if they have a patient named Caligari, never asking about Cesare.  The staff look confused and say "no." He is then told that he should consult the director of the asylum.  On entering the director's office he sees that director and "Dr. Caligari" are the same person.  He flees.  He manages to convince the authorities that they should check the director of the asylum while searching for Caligari.  Sneaking into the director's office at night while he sleeps, they pour over his books, eventually finding an old Italian tome entitled "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" about a hypnotist and his somnambulist in a box.  Suspecting that the Cesare from the book was the invention of the director and the Cesare that they saw in his cabinet, might be an inmate of the asylum, they search the woods. At this point in the film my sense of affection for "Cesare," as we must now put his name in quotation marks--since his actual name is unknown--only increases.  What has become of this poor, exploited individual??  The next morning, they confront the director with the lifeless body of "Cesare" and he goes completely mad, screaming that his own personal obsession is now gone.  It turns out I am not alone in my obsession with Cesare.  But now, this poor soul is lost--there will be now saving him; and empathy and allure turn to grief.  

But how can this be?  How is a director of a prominent insane asylum so stricken the mental illness himself?  Is it all in his imagination?  He he driven himself mad with obsession to plumb the dark depths of an ancient form of hypnotism?  Or is something else going on all together?  The answer is, unfortunately, the later.  The film suddenly, very abruptly (!), changes--we see everyone that was in the village are actually inmates of the asylum, even Jane.  That the story teller, the young man that chased Caligari to the institution, is in fact the one that is deeply delusional.  The director, having realized that the young man has taken him for the mythical Italian Dr. Caligari, has just provided him with a means to treat the delusional man; to release from his nightmare world peopled with friends that are not friend, women who don't actually love him, and zombies that predict the future.  As to "Cesare," as the viewer follows the movement of the babbling young man amongst his fellow inmates, there is the poor tortured soul, standing picking flowers against a wall.  He is clearly deeply ill and possibly mute.  We never learn his name, we never know his malady, we only see that he is harmless and helpless.  It's enough to bring a viewer who cares to tears.

All the credit here goes to Conrad Veidt, who plays Cesare/Unnamed Mental Patient.  He hits every facial feature needed to heightened both horror and helplessness, sometimes at the same time.  It is a far cry from The Joker character that he would inhabit some eight years later in Paul Leni's The Man Who Laughed!  Veidt was an actor with considerable talent and range; the sort of thespian who could just fall into character and one has trouble seeing that it the same person from role to role.  In this case, his portrayal, even in a silent film, of a character(s) that basically has no lines is masterful.  Enough to cause viewers to become lovingly obsessed.