Wednesday, April 3, 2024

Constantine Giannaris | Jean Genet Is Dead / 1987

autumn dirge

by Douglas Messerli

 

Constantine Giannaris (screenwriter and director) Jean Genet Is Dead / 1987


Shifting between Super 8 and video footage, mixing images of light and color, Greek-born director, working in England in 1987* attempts to counterpose images of landscape and prisons while his child actors, Steven McLean and Rafael Penal read from the works of Jean Genet’s The Miracle of the Rose and A Thief’s Journal, discussing the prisons the youthful Genet spent his early life in, particularly Mattray Penal Colony for the reformation of delinquents.

      Children often housed with adults, by 1926-1929, when Genet was imprisoned there, it had lost its reputation for being a liberal institution and was known for its harsh treatment of both boys and men.


 


      Interspersed with his descriptions of the prisons and the landscape are Genet’s early thoughts on sex and salvation and many other themes that were seen as highly controversial still in 1987. Genet had died the year previous, and it is clear that Giannaris felt in his film’s representation of deserted places which nonetheless appear to offer refuge, it would be a forceful tribute to the dead author, while also standing as emblems for both the isolation of suffering and death by AIDS in their sense of solace and community as described in Genet’s texts.

 


      If nothing else, these forsaken locations call up Genet’s life of homosexual argument and activity, and reiterate the fact that his life of living as a thief, vagabond, vagrant, and prostitute brought him closer to comprehending the dreams and sexual obsessions of the gay community, suffering not for their sins but simply for their natural desires, refused and punished by a society that cannot embrace anything outside of its limited normative perspectives.

      If at moments Giannaris’ 35-minute movie is repetitive and even boring, it is nonetheless nearly always mesmerizing as images of architecture and males face the endless rays of the sun, which both invigorate and ravage their bodies, at times creating a sense of something close to feverish delirium.

      And finally, just as Genet describes the constant sense of the light infused with the golden colors of autumn at the Mattray Penal Colony, so too is Giannaris’ movie a kind of autumn dirge for the end of something golden and beautiful, which now lays dying and empty.

 

*IMDb lists the film as 1989, but several other sources which I see as more reliable, including Mubi and British sites, describe it as Giannaris’ first film of 1987.

 

Los Angeles, April 3, 2024

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (April 2024).

Miloš Forman | Man on the Moon / 1999

there isn’t a real you

by Douglas Messerli

 

Scott Alexander and Larry Karaszewski (screenplay), Miloš Forman (director) Man on the Moon / 1999

 

Roger Ebert was never a more intelligent film critic than he was when writing about director Miloš Forman’s wacky but loveable work about the comedian and performance artist Andy Kaufman (brilliantly performed by Jim Carrey, who won a Golden Globe for his acting); Ebert’s review begins with a near-perfect summary of Kaufman and the film:

 

“Our inner child embraces Andy Kaufman. We've been just like that. Who cannot remember boring our friends for hour after hour after hour with the same dumb comic idea, endlessly insisted on? Who hasn't refused to admit being wrong? ‘I won't give up on this,'’ we're saying, ‘until you give up first. Until you laugh, or agree, or cry 'uncle.' I can keep this up all night if necessary.’ That was Andy Kaufman's approach to the world. The difference was, he tried to make a living out of it, as a stand-up comedian. Audiences have a way of demanding to be entertained. Kaufman's act was essentially a meditation on the idea of entertainment. He would entertain you, but you had to cave in first. You had to laugh at something really dumb, or let him get away with something boring or outrageous. If you passed the test, he was like a little kid, delighted to be allowed into the living room at last. He'd entertain, all right. But you had to pass the entry exam.”


     A less-talented director than Forman might have explained away Andy’s behavior as a Freudian-like response to his father, Stanley Kaufman’s haughty disdain of his son’s behavior.

     But Forman simply shows him as a kind of bully, called home by Andy’s mother from, presumably his jewelry sales job, to correct her son’s odd behavior of performing to a wall of sports-figures behind which he imagines to be a camera. My husband’s father was also a jeweler of sorts; Howard performed plays to invisible audiences with his toy soldiers in the family garage; and he too has always had a great sense of humor, so I sympathize with Andy’s childhood imaginings.

     Forman simply leaves it as that, a father trying to correct his son’s somewhat bizarre imaginary conversations with non-existent audiences. He does not present us with Andy’s early performances which began at the age of 9, but rather dives right into his life as a “failed” stand-up comedian, who, instead of telling jokes, created entertainment “situations” that questioned—in a manner that Henri Bergson, author of Laughter: An Essay on the Meaning of the Comic might have approved—what humor truly is.


     Andy’s humor did not consist of one-liners but rather about existential situations. How does an audience react when a man stands upon a stage to sing only the “Here I come to save the day!” refrain from a recorded “Mighty Mouse” theme song? Is the performer still a mad child or an idiot-savant who draws the audience in by his own pretended naiveté? If you pretend that you’re an incapable stand-up comedian can your viewers still accept you as being actually funny.

     If laughter is a kind of method of degradation, a throw-back of what the audience is perceiving, why not go all the way? These were clearly the questions Andy Kaufman posed again and again, even forcing the sit-com on which he performed, Taxi, to accept the terribly bad lounge singer Tony Clifton for some performances. Latka Gravas was a fool, but not the only one that Andy had created, “thank you very much.”


     A somewhat incompetent, but nonetheless charming Elvis Presley imitator, a serious British-sounding reader of The Great Gatsby (long before The Elevator Repair Service’s Gatz took it seriously) who reveals some of the pretentiousness of the original book which he reads out entirely to his exhausted audiences,* and a stint as a gender wrestler—battling with women whom he abuses both verbally and sexually, forcing us perhaps to see the real abuse by males everyday of the opposite sex—and yet other roles follow.

     Was Andy truly a man of spiritual beliefs, following the tenants of an Indian guru, or was that just also part of the shtick? At one point the movie makes clear that “There isn’t a real you.”

      Yet Carrey takes this role in different directions while maintaining impeccably the many personalities of his character, but yet letting us see through the veneer at various moments, as, for example, when his agent, George Shapiro (ironically portrayed by his Taxi partner Danny DeVito) suddenly perceives that the course lounge singer, Tony Clifton, is only another personae of his client (American playwright Len Jenkin, author of the wonderful The Dream Express, with the terrible lounge singers Spin and Marlene Milton, and even Bill Murray have to bow to Kaufman’s early revelations), or when he truly reveals himself as a would-be lover to his wife Lynne Margulies (Courtney Love), and particularly when he contracts a rare lung disease which will eventually kill him—yet given his continual performative hoaxes few believe is real.


     In Forman’s movie the loveable Andy really does die, a frail leftover of a self so very prolific in its many disguises. 

     Who is a comedian truly? As early as Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton films we were asked to consider this question, and British playwright John Osbourne in The Entertainer more seriously asked it: isn’t in necessary that to wear the mask of humor is to carry the mask of tragedy in ones back pocket. “Make ‘em laugh,” always ends with a wall crashing in or the comic crashing out. Carrey makes us realize that it is the very same thing.

      Actors have often said it was nearly impossible to work with the Marx Brothers because of their constant antic behavior on and off the set. Carrey today—who like Kaufman studied Transcendental Meditation, suffers from depression, and today espouses political and non-vaccination views that are not entirely popular in Hollywood—has seen his own career take a dive; few directors, apparently, want to work with him. So too did Andy Kaufman’s “man on the moon” improvisations eventually alienate him from those who previously had most loved his off-brand humor.

     Laughter, as Bergson reminds us, is also a mockery of society, a kind of intense release of hate.

Punch and Judy daily violently hit one another over the head.

 

Los Angeles, March 29, 2020

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (March 2020).


Alfred Hitchcock | Stage Fright / 1950

wheels within wheels

by Douglas Messerli

 

Whitfield Cook and Ranald MacDougall (screenplay), Alma Reville and James Bridie (story adaptation, based on Man Running by Selwyn Jepson), Alfred Hitchcock (director) Stage Fright / 1950

 

Alfred Hitchcock’s 1950 film, Stage Fright, is certainly not among his best. It has an absolutely preposterous plot and stars two actresses—Jane Wyman and Marlene Dietrich—who are so radically opposite in their acting styles and stage personae that they seem, at times, to be appearing in two different movies. Much of the story seems contrived in a very old-fashioned manner, and long sections, such as the one with the wonderful Joyce Grenfell announcing her “Lovely Ducks,” represent set-pieces more common in English beer halls than in a Hitchcock film.


       All said, the film is much better than I remember having long ago evaluated it. First of all, there is a lovely false flash back, wherein the camera says one thing which we later discover is not all the truth. It’s rather remarkable that in such a realist medium the director felt comfortable enough to present an alternative truth. But then, this is a film all about “acting,” about characters performing as figures who have little to do with themselves. Wyman as Eve Gill, an acting student at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts, is inexplicably in love with fellow actor Jonathan Cooper (Richard Todd), despite the fact that he only uses her as a way to escape the police for a murder of man, singer Charlotte Inwood’s (Dietrich) husband, which he insists he did not commit; it is he who recounts what we see in the flash back. Cooper, it appears, has been having a secret affair with Inwood, who, he assures Eve, is the real murderer, having killed her husband during a marital spat.

      Eve is only too ready to help the man she thinks she loves, rushing him out of town to her father’s (Alastair Sim) seaside cottage, having apparently left Eve’s daffy city-living mother (Sybil Thorndike).


    Dumping off Cooper at her father’s house, Eve rushes back to town, where she witnesses the discovery of murder victim by the police, poses as an overwhelmed passerby to get information from the detective investigating the case, Wilfred “Ordinary” Smith (Michael Wilding), and pretends to be a journalist in order to bribe Inwood’s maid and dresser to allow her to play the country cousin temporary replacement for those roles, Doris Tinsdale. Before she knows it, she is falling in love with the detective and beginning to perceive some rather contradictory information about Cooper, all the while trying to keep her two lives separate and secret.

    Meanwhile, the perfectly evil chanteuse, Dietrich, sings a hilariously sultry version of Cole Porter’s "The Laziest Gal in Town," and struts the stage as if she were in an English version of The Blue Angel. And that’s all in the movie’s first half!

 

      Obviously, it’s difficult keeping up two vastly different lives simultaneously, particularly when you’re a shy good girl like Eve. Hitchcock uses wonderful character actors such as Sims, Thorndike, and the aforementioned Greenfell to keep the movie’s “wheels within wheels” running smoothly. Hitchcock, himself, even shows up late in his film to visually comment on Eve’s attempt to learn her lines for her role as the country maid.

      It may not make for brilliant filmmaking but keeps up the good fun of the murder mystery, culminating with a young boy presenting a doll with a bloody dress—like the one Inwood wore in our early flash back—to the singer mid-performance. The actress breaks down, but later does her best acting with Doris/Eve for an unknown audience of policemen and the detective via the theater’s microphones.

 

      Cooper admits that he was the real killer, but that he was made to do it by Inwood before he attempts to make a run for it. Hitchcock saves the day in grand Grand Guignol fashion by dropping the front stage’s iron curtain, presumably severing the murderer’s head. Eve goes off hand in hand with “Ordinary” Smith, the piano-playing detective, to live happily ever after.

      Nobody is quite who he seems in this film, as Hitchcock quite joyfully forces all to play so many different roles that by the end of his film we’re not quite sure any longer who any of them really are, a question the director will force us to ask the next year in one of his greatest films, Strangers on a Train, in 1954’s The Trouble with Harry and 1958’s Vertigo, as well as several others of his works.

 

Los Angeles, August 18, 2017

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (August 2017).     


Caio Scovino and Gustavo Koncht | Sobretudo Amor (Love Above All, aka Especially Love) / 2022

a tear for love

by Douglas Messerli

 

Caio Scovino and Gustavo Koncht (screenwriters and directors) Sobretudo Amor (Love Above All, aka Especially Love) / 2022

 

Broadcast in 6 episodes on Brazilian TV Telemundo in 2023, directors Caio Scovino and Gustavo Koncht’s Love Above All is a somewhat typical LGBTQ soap opera of the kind which have become quite popular throughout South America and Asia, particularly when it describes itself as featuring “boy love.” It is hard to see the central characters of this work, Italo (Victor Bueno) and Daniel (Gustavo Aguiar), however, as what the Asians signify as “boys,” since these young men are 20-some year-old college students, neither of them being “twink”-cute the way “boy love” is usually represented. If nothing else, neither of these boys are innocents in the manner that we usually perceive boylove works.


   In the first episode Italo is seen breaking up with his selfish boyfriend Bernardo, who has evidently lied to him on several occasions about having sex with others, even though it is clear that Bernardo is still in love with Italo and Italo still feels some feeling for him.

     What we also soon discover is that Italo, who is a law student at the local university, is almost completely under his mother Angela’s (Luisa Lagoeiro) thumb, thoroughly disliking his studies but afraid of telling her after two years of tuition, payments which obviously aren’t easy for this middle class family of two.

     When we meet the Italo’s mother, in fact, she is in an uproar over the newest gossip that an inmate was moved into the complex, a man who has evidently just been freed from prison. And she is already on the phone seeking a new place to live in a nearby apartment complex that, as her son points out, is perhaps far too expensive for their financial situation. But her goal, as she explains it time and again throughout the series, is to protect her son from bad influences and, in the case, from outright danger, her logic being that even if he merely stole an ice cream cone that doesn’t mean it won’t lead to major robbery and even murder.

      Angela, the mother’s name, is not only a kind of hysteric but totally prejudiced in numerous respects. Although she has come to accept her son’s homosexuality, she is still determined that he pick a nice boy like Bernardo, who comes from a good family with money. Having herself married—we later learn quite unhappily—out of just such concerns, she is equally determined to make sure her son finds somewhat he might be able to financially support him, and Bernardo seems to come from a rather wealthy family.

 

     In some respects, Italo’s best female friend Marisa (Jula Maracela)—you know the kind of girl all gay boys in movies have (formerly described derisively as a “fag hag”)—in this case is in agreement with Italo’s mother, and becomes particularly adamant with Italo, soon after, when she discovers that by accident Italo has already met up with Daniel in a situation whenin he mislaid his apartment keys, and has grown fond of him. Daniel now works as a janitor at Italo’s college.

      In a matter of two episodes, Italo and Daniel hook up on various occasions—one clearly just a cooked-up event by Daniel to get Italo to return to his apartment supposedly to help him as he attempts to fix his shower, both boys inevitably ending up playing in the shower fully clothed—and begin to fall in love.

     Even Marisa’s discovery that Daniel’s imprisonment was the result of having murdered his father, doesn’t dissuade Italo, who by this time has fallen in love with his neighbor after a gentle kissing session in a corner of the college campus where he’s never been before, but which has become Daniel’s favorite silent spot.

 

     Despite family objections, and a great deal of anger when his mother discovers that he has been seeing the “criminal,” Italo and Daniel are moving toward a deep relationship. And even Marisa—who discovers herself in a strange situation, when she finds herself pregnant from one of the partners of a homosexual couple who are both delighted with the news of her pregnancy—no

longer in a position of giving advice about love, still insists he needs to have Daniel admit his criminal record.

 

     Pressured by family, Italo finally admits to Daniel that he knows he was in prison, without telling him that he also has heard about the crime. He hopes that Daniel might explain the situation and open up to him, but it is clear that the boy is fearful that if he does so he might lose Italo’s love. He demands a kind of hiatus, and within that period, Italo’s mother visits Daniel convincing him, as only a manipulative mother can, that her son is not the right match for him. Lying about the relationship between Italo and Bernardo, she insists that he is still very much in love with the boyfriend and that Daniel is merely a fetish. Bernardo, from a good family, can provide everything for her son, while Daniel has a past which will surely haunt them both. By the time she is finished, Daniel will not even take a call from his lover, feeling that he must push his love—and apparently his only friend—out of his heart in order to truly demonstrate his love for Italo. A tear drops from his eyes to end the conversation between the conspirator and her victim.



     Meanwhile, Angela arranges for Bernardo to show up with Italo’s lost cat, claiming to have found it in the garage. Meeting his old friend again for the first time in months, and now feeling as if he has been dumped by Daniel, Italo reluctantly has sex with Bernardo and even, with some strong mental resistance, agrees to announce their engagement the very next Saturday.


      In the interim he once more encounters Daniel, only discover that he knows of Bernardo’s existence. Wondering how he might know his name, he gradually discovers how his mother has intruded upon his sex life, and along with his deep resentment for the way she has already attempted to determine his career, he becomes furious with the situation, explaining to Daniel the truth, that he still loves him and is not at all interested in the selfish Bernardo, with whom over the years he has broken up time and again because of his lies.

      Daniel also painfully recounts how the murder of his father happened. His father was a violent alcoholic who used to regularly beat his mother when he got drunk. One night, when he was more drunk than usual, he began to pummel Daniel’s mother so severely that the young man pushed his father down the stairs, whereupon his father died. For that Daniel served two years in prison.

      To get his revenge on both his mother and former boyfriend, Italo asks Daniel to the engagement party, which will be attended by friends of both families, including Italo’s equally “crazy” aunts.

      But things don’t quite turn out as he expected. First of all, Marisa reveals that after a second test, she discovered that she is not pregnant, and is disappointed, as are who homosexual friends, that she will not be a mother. Although Italo does declare at the party that he loves Daniel, not Bernardo, his mother storming out of the room, he also becomes embarrassed for having made a scene in front of Bernardo’s family and friends and apologizes; his attempt, he explains, was not to hurt anyone.

      Daniel also insists that his lover attempt to make it up with his mother. In a moving conversation, Italo discovers that when she was young, his mother loved someone who fell outside of parameters set up for her, a poor artist. She was convinced by her family that he wasn’t the right match for her because he could not support her. And despite her love for the boy, she took the advice of her mother and father, and married another man, a man who she soon discovered she truly hated. But when Italo was born, she turned all her attentions toward him, replacing him, in part, as the lover she no longer had. She has sacrificed and, accordingly, has expected her son to do so as well. But his declaration of love has not made her now comprehend where perhaps she was wrong. That love is more important that everything else in order to live a full life in the present as opposed to some dreamed of future.

      The film’s transformation of the formerly narrow-minded mother comes far too easily, and is not truly believable. And the fact that Italo (not at all a handsome boy) would be able to attract a straight boy who, despite his prison time, evidently has never before kissed a male, is also rather hard to swallow. And it is equally unbelievable that a traditionally-minded girl like Marisa would have agreed to have sex with two homosexual boys living in a deeply loving relationship.

      Brazilian TV gay soap operas are not realist dramas, however, but rather serve as explications of moral dilemmas, offering up rather predictable and normative solutions for even the most outrageous and outré sorts of behavior. In this somehow still charming movie, the producers can now check off a gay boy-former prison inmate relationship, as well as a good girl willing to go to bed with two married gays, from their never-ending list of predicaments, explaining simply that things are not always what they seem to be, and that people don’t fit easily into boxes. I can’t wait to see what next year brings.

 

Los Angeles, March 3, 2023

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (March 2023).

Oscar Apfel | Phil-for-Short / 1919

loving sappho

by Douglas Messerli

 

Clara Beranger and Forrest Halsey, Oscar Apfel (director) Phil-for-Short / 1919

 

I have to admit, unlike so very many of the gay men of my generation I have never worshipped female actresses, nor I have I generally sought such divas out as gay icons, Judy Garland perhaps being the only exception: how else can anyone with a shred of gay pride respond to such a gorgeously vulnerable voice? Well, I have to admit Jean Arthur’s crackly vocal-chords sent shivers down my spine, with immediate love following close behind. And, really, who could not respond to the absolute beauty of Ingrid Bergman, Loretta Young, or Grace Kelley. And, one of our own, bisexual Katherine Hepburn continues to intrigue me for her intelligence. The cinematic tomboy beauties Audrey Hepburn, Jean Seberg, and Jeanne Moreau, moreover, were always intriguing. All right, I didn’t have a wall in my basement bedroom on which to post these Hollywood actresses in order to confuse my witless parents.

     I have, however, just fallen in gay love with silent actress Evelyn Greeley, known in her time as the “most-proposed to” Hollywood star, who reminds me mostly of Irene Dunne playing across from Cary Grant, with a soupçon of Katherine Hepburn and maybe a dash of Myrna Loy tossed in. She’s a knowledgeable innocent with a boyish manner with clever female instincts in her 1919 film Phil-for-Short. And don’t let that title fool you.

 

    Phil is really named Damophilia Ilington (Greeley), who was one of Sappho’s dearest friends, a moniker picked out by her Greek scholar father (Charles Walcott). Phil has shortened her name, quite innocently, from her job of farming her father’s backyard fields in order to help her poverty-stricken family, herself, and their loyal servant Pat Mehan (James A. Furey) survive, while dressed as a boy—to the scandal of the neighborhood societal correctionists, brother and sister Eliza MacWrath (Ann Eggleston)—the latter of whom was surely the model for Elvira Gulch in The Wizard of Oz—and the local preacher Donald MacWrath (Jack Drumier).

    Phil, who argues against Miss MacWrath that her chosen nickname is certainly a better name than “Damn,” is a natural born feminist, who has been encouraged by her free-thinking father to think for herself. In her spare time, she dons a white Greek gown and practices original variations of dances that had already become popular with early US dancers Ruth St. Denis, Ted Shawn, and Isadora Duncan, perhaps an even greater offense to local community morals.


     And as her father dies, she pleads to not have to marry the old hypocrite MacWrath simply so that she will be “looked after.” She escapes the marriage, but MacWrath has himself appointed her guardian nonetheless. And when he and his sister Eliza insist she wear black to her father’s funeral, she resists so severely that they lock her in her room.

     Dressing up as a boy, with the help of Pat who the MacWrath’s have just dismissed, she escapes, going on the road with the servant who fiddles in his spare time.

     Inevitably, as in all films that believe fully in the coincidence of fate, she encounters the one other devoted Greek scholar in the state, John Alden (Hugh Thompson), also a student of Sappho, but equally a man who has never been married and, in this case, hates the company of women. As a boy, however, Phil quickly worms his way into Alden’s heart, and for a while it appears that the film will take an odd direction straight to man/boy love. In fact, it persists as a quiet sub-theme throughout the movie, as the major plot of the film turns its attentions to the more conventional conundrum of how a woman might win the love of a man who detests her gender.

 

    In various guises, the story was later played out by Gary Grant in Bringing Up Baby (any man who convinced himself to marry Alice Swallow [Virginia Walker] doesn’t truly love women); by Grant again as the woman-hating writer Mortimer Brewster who nonetheless marries Elaine whom he immediately abandons when he discovers his aunt’s several murders of unsuspecting male visitors; and in the play, movie, and musical versions of Pygmalion, where Eliza Doolittle must convince Professor Henry Higgins that he truly loves her instead seeing her merely as a kind of pretty doll to dress up and conquer his male competitors. Even Ernst Lubitsch’s The Doll, which I describe above, might be perceived as a variation on the theme.

      Hugh Thomson, as Alden, however, is clearly no Cary Grant—he’s far more like Elliot Gould, for whose attraction to another gay female icon, Barbra Streisand, might be explained, in part, by this movie—and, although Phil seems almost certain she can win her man over, his conversion to normative heterosexuality is an arduous task. She visits his classroom as a girl only to discover that he is so disgusted by his female students that he nearly ready to resign his college teaching post. She convinces the dean to hire her as the teacher of the female students, and almost immediately wins their favor by teaching them her Greek dances, while attracting Alden’s boys simply by being a lovely woman.


      Disgusted by what he describes as her flirtations, Alden remains unconvinced of the teaching arrangement until Phil cleverly begs his help in teaching her how not to be flirtatious, which gives her full liberty, of course, to try out her wiles on him.

       But once more the MacWrath’s seek her out, demand that she be fired, and insist on bringing her home, which temporarily throws her back into the role of pretending to be a boy, permitting us to believe she can fool Alden by stealing his glasses. Eventually, the MacWrath’s and the police discover her pretending to be a boy in his house and being as conventional as the MacWrath’s, Alden declares he has no choice now but to marry her.

      But even their marriage remains a sham, the two sleeping in separate rooms, with him displaying no signs of sexual or even affectionate love. It takes a trip back to his Boston parents, the meaningless attentions of lecherous violinist, and a trick Phil cooks up to make Alden think she is spending the night with the fiddler before he finally realizes that she is his Sappho and the young boy he seeks to protect and influence all rolled into one.

      Even though the second part of the film will certainly disappoint the gay audience who might have hoped that this rather sophisticated film might actually explore a world where an independent young woman chooses a transsexual solution finding himself in a relationship with an older gay man, the more predictable heterosexual ending is still filled with hints of Greek expressions of love.

 

    At one point at a party given for the newlyweds, Phil is taken aback by watching the young and women dancing together and declares that her vision of dance is a woman-only sacred and spiritual event; the differences between her and Alden, we suddenly realize, are not as vast as one might think. Phil and Alden are equally influenced by the works of Sappho. And both see love more in terms of philia, agape, and even ludus, more than in terms of eros or mania. What he hates about women is what he perceives as their inconstancy, and what she dislikes about men is their violence and attempt to control. Both offer each other another version of their gender that is far more compatible than the stereotypes in which they are usually signified.


     One must also note that the writer of this film, Clara Beranger, was an extremely powerful female figure in Hollywood whose story hasn’t yet been sufficiently told. Beranger began her career as a journalist, but quickly moved into the fledgling new industry of motion pictures. She started out by contributing stories for Edison’s one-reelers, and soon after worked as a writer for Fox Film Corporation and Pathé. Moving on to World Film Corporation, Beranger saw the industry as having great potential for women writers like herself. As she commented in 1918, the year before she wrote the script for Phil-for-Short:

 

“It needs no cursory glance at the current releases and those of even six months ago to prove that there are more writers among the feminine sex than the male persuasion. The heart throb, the human interest note, child life, domestic scenes and even the eternal triangle is more ably handled by women than men because of the thorough understanding our sex has of these matters.”

 

    The years of 1919 to 1926 were particularly fruitful ones for Beranger as she became a major screenwriter for William deMille, brother to one of that organization’s major directors Cecile, who together with the director of Phil-for-Short, Oscar Apfel, would define the adventurous filming techniques for the Famous Players-Lasky company, which would later become Paramount Pictures.

      Lori Rossiter, writing in the “Women Film Pioneers Project,” observes:

 

“According to the biography of deMille’s daughter, the dancer and choreographer Agnes deMille, which cites letters from deMille to his wife, Agnes’s parents’ marriage had faltered. In 1921, deMille fathered an out-of-wedlock child by his mistress, the screenwriter Lorna Moon. When the child was adopted by deMille’s brother Cecil and his wife, the secret was kept from nearly everyone. But four months after the birth of his son, deMille became romantically involved with his new collaborator, Clara Beranger. At some point Beranger separated from her husband of thirteen years, Albert B. Berwanger, with whom she had had a daughter, Frances, born in 1909. When deMille’s wife learned that her husband was seeing Beranger, she forced her husband to make a choice. William attempted to have it both ways, but, in 1927, deMille and his first wife divorced. DeMille married Beranger a year later.”

 

      When William lost everything in the Depression market crash, Beranger became his full support, convincing his brother Cecil to employ him to write scenarios with her. Working as a team, Beranger and deMille wrote over 23 films during the next few years, works less extravagant than Cecile B. DeMille’s achievements, but highly respected by reviewers and audiences alike. Beranger continued to collaborate even with the advent of the talkies, scripting Craig’s Wife (which I also review in these volumes) in 1928.

     After retiring from writing for the movies, Beranger became one of the original faculty members of the University of Southern California School of Cinematic Arts, which began as a collaboration between the University and the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. Among the original faculty members were actors and directors such as Douglas Fairbanks, Mary Pickford, D. W. Griffith, and Ernst Lubitsch, along with producers Irving Thalberg and Darryl Zanuck. William deMille was appointed as director of the Drama Department, while Beranger became one of the loudest supporters of the idea that it was necessary for Hollywood to teach a new generation of artists. She wrote one of the most popular text books, Writing for the Screen in 1950.

     One source lists the innovative director of this film, Oscar Apfel, as being bisexual, but I can find no evidence to support this claim, although most biographies suggest that he never married, not, as we know from studies such as William J. Mann’s Behind the Screen, that it necessarily reveals one’s sexuality. Plenty of married men and women in Hollywood were also homosexuals and lesbians.

 

Los Angeles, July 3, 2023

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (July 2023).

Index [listed alphabetically by director]

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