Moon Cake Festival

Moon cakes, laterns, dragons. The moon cake festival down in Soho, London's china town.

Fiery Skipper

I am going to share something with you about these photos. I was walking to my mailbox the other morning to put a letter in to my sweet aunt. I went right past my newly planted butterfly bush and saw to my delight that there were about six butterflies skittering around the blooms. I was so surprised that within a matter of days, my new bush had attracted such a flock of butterflies.

I immediately ran inside to get my camera, hoping that they would still be there when I got back. As I approached the bush, they flew away to the lavender that is planted in the same row. I sat down quietly almost in the flowerbed, hoping that they would come back and they did. I must have taken twenty photos of the butterflies because I wasn't sure any would come out clearly. I sat and observed these beautiful insects as they flitted from bloom to bloom and noticed so many details about them. I am finding it is easier to remember what I see if I actually say it out loud. Hairy body, small wings, orange and black, dots underneath, long legs....anyone walking by would have thought I was a little nuts. But, it did make it easier when I came inside and pulled out the field guide. I confirmed what I suspected it was by doing a search online and looking at images.

Results:
Hylephila phyleus
Fiery Skipper

The zoomed in photo of his head makes me laugh every time I see it. He looks as if he is wearing sunglasses. Can you believe the shape and size of his proboscis? Amazing creature and I will never forget the morning sitting in my lavender, waiting for the butterflies to come back so I could see them.

Barb
Harmony Art Mom

American Hover Fly

This insect was hovering over the sweet alyssum in the pot on my back deck. I just happened to catch him hovering and eating the nectar. I have been fascinated with his hovering and had always suspected he was some sort of bee. After doing some research online, I discovered in fact that he is an American Hover Fly or Metasyrphus americanus. Adults eat nectar but the larva preys on other insects such as aphids.

On page 10 in The Handbook to Nature Study, under the heading of "The Uses of Scientific Names", it says, "Disquieting problems relative to scientific nomenclature always confront the teacher of nature-study. My own practice has been to use the popular names of species, except in cases where confusion might ensue, and to use the scientific names for anatomical parts. However, this matter is of little importance if the teacher bears in mind that the purpose of nature-study is to know the subject under observation and to learn the name incidentally."

So we now have a new purpose to our nature study: To know the subject under observation and not necessarily to name it. I am assuming the author means to not necessarily know its scientific name. I am no longer satisfied to just observe, I want to identify what I am looking at. Nature study has aroused in me a great curiosity to know more deeply the creation around me. Now I have a new friend, the American Hover Fly.

Barb
Harmony Art Mom

Let's Party

Saturday night and not only do londoners like to party, they love to dress up. Think it was Cowboys and Indians tonight.

Daddy Longlegs (Harvestman):Not an Insect

I know this is a crazy photo of this daddy longlegs but he wasn't going to cooperate with me at all. He had been sitting near his web waiting but when he saw me move closer, he went like lightning down to the bottom of the deck railing to a safe place. I zoomed in as much as possible and got this shot of him hanging out.
So here is what I learned from page 295 from the Handbook of Nature Study. "The word insect is often applied incorrectly to any minute animal; but the term should be restricted to those forms possessiong six legs and belonging to the class, Hexapoda. The name Hexapoda is from two Greek words: hex, six; and pous, foot. It refers to the fact that the members of this order differ from other arthropods in the possession of only six feet. Thus spiders, which have eight legs, are not insects." So even though we are focusing on insects for the fall term, we still enjoyed seeing this creature that is really an arachnid.

What is a spider? Spiders are arachnids not insects, but both spiders and insects belong to the largest group of animals on Earth, the arthropods - animals with hard external skeletons and jointed limbs (greek arthro = joint, podos = footed). So there you have it the difference between insects and spiders. :)


Edit: Here are some more links to learn about daddy long legs.

Daddy Long legs or vibrating spiders
Daddy Long legs Myths

And I found an article that even says that daddy long legs are not even spiders. Here is an exerpt:
"Although they resemble spiders, daddy long-legs, more correctly called harvestmen, are neither spiders nor insects. Taxonomically, they are arthropods, in the same class as spiders, Arachnida, but in a different order, Phalangida. Anatomically daddy long-legs differ from spiders because their three body segments -- head, thorax and abdomen, are joined as one compact body segment. Spiders have two body segments -- the head and thorax are joined as the cephalothorax, and the abdomen is the second body segment. Insects, which are taxonomically in the class Insecta, have three distinct body segments." Found at Wisconsin Natural Resources magazine.

So now I can't even say that the daddy longlegs is even a spider! It is technically an arthropod, an Arachnida, and in the order of Phalangida. Whew! This is getting hard to keep track of but I am learning a lot.

Barb
Harmony Art Mom

Multi Cultural

A London dog walker

Red aphids

Now that we are focusing on insects, it seems we find them everywhere we look. This morning we were out on the deck looking at the flowers and look what we found right under our noses!

These little red guys are just crawling all over the chrysanthemums.

These red aphids I believe are Goldenglow aphids.
Dactynotus rudbeckiae

Here is what Anna Botsford Comstock says on page 295 about insects, "The abundance of insects makes it easy to study them. They can be found where-ever man can live, and at all seasons. This abundance is even greater than is commonly supposed. The number of individuals in a single species is beyond computation; who can count the aphids or the scale-insects in a single orchard, or the bees in a single meadow?"

Indeed, after taking a look at these aphids on my chrysanthemum, I can only agree. We are just scratching the surface in really "seeing" all the insects around us everyday.

The Handbook of Nature Study

We have tried to use The Handbook of Nature Study in our home school several times in the past, but we never felt very successful or productive. Sitting down to make a plan, I easily felt overwhelmed by the sheer number of pages and topics to cover. After many years of using other resources, I want to make a more systematic study of the natural world.

Our family has a great love for all things we see in nature. We travel quite a bit and spend lots of time in our own backyard and in our area of the world. We live at the gateway of the Sierra Nevada mountains and love to hike and camp. We are grateful to be so near Yosemite National Park and its many wonders and beauties. We also have worked for twenty years to make our backyard a habitat for wildlife and enjoy the birds and other critters that visit us every day.

I know that with added focus our family will be able to gain more insight into all the creatures and other creations around us. I hope to inspire others to take a gentle approach to nature study as outlined in Charlotte Mason's books. As a Christian, I will undoubtedly point out the design and qualities that our Creator put into each thing that we study.

So feel free to read along with us as we make our way this term through the insects section of the book. We have our eye out for new insects to add to our nature journals.

Barb-Harmony Art Mom

Gatwick Express

Express? Misnomer really. every time I have taken this express it has experienced 'line problems' consequently travelling slower than the tube! Looks nice though. Good colours, sleek design...

Somber Note

Came across these flags in the lawn at the Tower Hill Memorial. Built in recognition of the 24,000 in the merchant navy who never returned between 1939 - 1945.

John Wayne's Brand Of Comfort Western

One of those revolving door powers-that-be in home video distribution made a recent comment that the only black-and-white DVD’s that move are those with John Wayne. The absence of sales figures (are there better kept secrets than these?) prevent our knowing what truth, if any, that quote contains, but I’d venture to say this individual at least understands that John Wayne remains top man among deceased stars, possibly the only name who can still open a weekend for old movies released on DVD. I’d love to read the deal memo Wayne’s family had with Paramount for that Batjac group they released last year. What sort of revenue does Hondo and The High and The Mighty generate in 2007? Do such annuities provide sufficient cakes and ale for surviving family members? It’s one hundred years since Wayne was born and nearly thirty since he passed, yet fan following persists, and his ongoing status is closer to mainstream and wider than any niche celebrating classic era rivals. Others were bigger in their day, but none approach Wayne now. He’s certainly the only star identified with westerns that modern audiences will go near. If Randolph Scott could somehow morph into John Wayne, we’d sure enough be watching those Budd Boettichers courtesy Sony DVD by now. Hard to believe Wayne spent much of his active career broke. In that respect, he was a lot like Elvis. Neither left estates commensurate with their legend and popularity. Any time you figure on having seen Wayne’s entire deck of cards, another performance will come along, never mind that it’s one you’ve seen a dozen times, and confirm yet again the man’s remarkable grasp of what his public wanted. A hundred tributes for the hundredth dredged The Searchers and Rio Bravo, so permit me on this occasion to bypass John Ford and Howard Hawks in favor of a boilerplate special Batjac served called The War Wagon. Far from forgotten (how could it be, with virtual non-stop exposure on Encore channels?), anything but a candidate for critical rediscovery, but here is the best evidence of how well John Wayne understood us.

I am not a man of words and nuance, Wayne said. The real cowboy loved, hated, had fun, was lusty. He didn’t have mental problems. This was Batjac’s philosophy in a nutshell. Wayne could rise to occasion for those strong directors who defined his screen image, but understood Ethan Edwards and Tom Dunson were not characters to man the cash register. Fans preferred to know exactly what they were getting from Wayne. Again, he shared the Elvis trap of having to deliver on rigid expectations, and with age an increasing factor, Wayne could hardly afford to frustrate these. Not that he wanted to. Sure, they’re simple, but simplicity is art was among defense tactics Wayne played against critics who wondered why his own westerns weren’t as good as those he’d done for Ford and Hawks. Too considerate of his mentor elders to mention it, but Wayne could take solace in Batjacs earnings, to wit --- The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance for Ford does 3.1 million in domestic rentals, McLintock under Wayne’s control takes 4.5. Howard Hawks’ El Dorado earns a sturdy 5.2 million, but The War Wagon bests it with 5.8 domestic. Comfort westerns were best for the long haul, and Wayne going on forty years in the business was too smart to rock that boat. Everything about The War Wagon bespeaks his total creative control. It’s shows like this that really put you inside Wayne’s skull. Memoirs and interviews have spoken to episodes in which directors, always younger and more compliant at Batjac, ceded their chair when Wayne proposed (self-described) better ideas. Few had the nerve or endurance to stand and argue with the star/producer under a boiling Durango sun. Most long-standing crew members knew well to avoid bringing Wayne himself to a boil, for his was a temper quick to rise whenever things ran at less than maximum efficiency. War Wagon cinematographer William Clothier remembered Wayne pushing Howard Keel, a formidable physical presence himself, from rock to barranca and back again. He moved actors around like chessmen on location gameboards he knew as well as the one he often played between set-ups. Stars with stature at least approaching his, such as Kirk Douglas here, could make Wayne stand down, but only just.

The War Wagon profits by a lighter touch, and shorter length, than just previous The Sons Of Katie Elder. Principal heavy is good ol’ Bruce Cabot, as narrator Wayne refers to him in the trailer, layers of paunch past King Kong and beyond capacity to engage his opponent at fisticuffs evoking memories of previous set-to’s in 1947’s Angel and The Badman. Wayne nearing sixty tumbles over saloon tables and backwards through an ocean of breakaway chairs, as epic scale, if unmotivated, brawls were de rigueur in establishment 60’s westerns headed for their own extinction. It’s ten years younger than Wayne Kirk Douglas who’s clinging to youth in The War Wagon. His leather outfit looks as sprayed on as Shirley Eaton’s gold paint, and indeed anticipates casting potential among William Friedkin’s ensemble in 1980’s Cruising. A then unexpected bare-assed gag (oddly missing from the recent DVD) was among the first I recall with a major male star, and Douglas seems intent on showing Wayne up with saddle-seating acrobatics worthy of a silent-era Tom Mix. In fact, the older man was annoyed, and observed for publicists that anyone could perform such miracles surrounding their mounts with trampolines. Douglas gigged Wayne further by calling him John instead of the preferred Duke, while the latter pointedly asked if his co-star, wearing a comical oversized ring over his gloved finger, intended on playing the part like a queer. Assuming the role of sagebrush Spartacus, Douglas tried fermenting rebellion among cast and crew against Wayne’s perceived tyranny, encouraging browbeaten director Burt Kennedy to just once defy his overbearing producer/star. That’s just how Duke is, replied Kennedy, whose better judgment negated temptation to join Kirk’s slave revolt. Friction between Wayne and Douglas was never serious, however, as they’d worked together before and knew each other’s foibles too well. Boredom on location as much as anything inspired Kirk’s mischief making. Their tension and rivalry work well for the picture in the end, as friendly enemies Wayne and Douglas execute an old west heist with borrowings from played straight noirs The Asphalt Jungle and The Killing. There’s even gold dust blown away a la Treasure Of The Sierra Madre, though ramifications of this don’t impede a welcome upbeat ending. The War Wagon’s solid boxoffice reconfirmed that action men in maturity work best in pairs. Wayne discovered this going into the sixties and seldom ventured alone onto marquees thereafter.

The War Wagon wound up in a three-way Summer 1967 race with super-westerns El Dorado and The Way West. Thanks to release delayed over a year, Hawks’ film obliged Wayne to compete with himself, as El Dorado’s debut of 6-1-67 was followed within ten days by The War Wagon. Kirk Douglas was similarly afflicted as The Way West, also featuring Robert Mitchum and Richard Widmark, had opened on 5-24-67 and was fading fast to a disappointing tune of just 1.9 million in domestic rentals. As it was his company’s money invested in The War Wagon, Wayne took a personal interest in premiering the western where it would be best received (Dallas, then Fort Worth). His Texas contacts were of long standing. Veteran circuit men knew him on a first name basis as Wayne bear-hugged every sociable occasion while visiting the Lone Star State (as shown here). He’d wangled money from oil and cattle tycoons to finance The Alamo and hoisted many a jug among whoop-it-up modern westerners. Would but life and art commingle, we might imagine John Wayne flying up from Reita with the Benedicts to join festivities on Jett Rink Day, then attending Capt. Wade Hunnicutt’s Home From The Hill barbecue. Just following people person Wayne around on his selling junkets had makings of a compelling movie in itself. It’s an aspect of his career every bit as fascinating to me as what he put on the screen. Wayne was very much of the work hard and play harder school of movie making. Running with his crowd called for iron man constitution and at least two hollow legs, not to mention lungs impervious to toxin. Autumn years Wayne vehicles resonate with names and faces that tried to keep his pace, but couldn’t sustain the race. Grant Withers had become an alcoholic and killed himself in 1959. Ward Bond dropped dead of a heart attack in 1960 while attending a football game in Texas (age 57). He’d maintained a red meat/cigarette/bourbon regimen over three seasons of eighteen-hour workdays on Wagon Train. The War Wagon heavy (Good ol’) Bruce Cabot was indeed that, having lost a pile partnering with Wayne on a whiskey importing venture and dying at 68 of lung and throat cancer. Wayne had lately come out of his own near miss when they did The War Wagon together. Batjacs to come would be less profitable for distributors as Wayne had priced himself to a point where little pie was left for studio participants. His amazing career has only been equaled, if not eclipsed, by Clint Eastwood, a latter-day man of action who’s managed to outlast Wayne, both starring and directing, just by taking a little better care of himself.

Snapshot

Always thought those booths were too small.

Underground Ads

Entertainment is essential in London's underground given the amount of time you spend down there.

How to avoid the congestion charge

First it was electric cars, then bike lanes. I've seen a scooter that operates by body weight. Now it seems we are swimming around the city!

Tattooist, Louis Malloy (Beckham's tattooist) is promoting his new TV show London Ink (on Discovery Real Time) with this chap swimming alongside the Thames towards Tower Bridge.

Dirty Dancing

I'm looking for the tux.

At Long Last Conquering The Worm

If a horror film is truly meant to create a sense of fear and dread within its onlooker, then surely one succeeded in its purpose on May 31, 1969 when I first came upon The Conqueror Worm, better known now as Witchfinder General and newly released to DVD. I’d not been, nor would I ever be again, so emotionally pummeled by a film --- undone to the point of declaring it one of the worst pictures made to its date. Certainly no Poe thriller with Vincent Price had sunk so low. The panning review shown here was my artless, if immature, expression of disapproval in our (then) local newspaper, for whom I was (inexplicably) permitted to evaluate movies at the ages of fourteen and fifteen. We attended on a Saturday. The Liberty was perhaps a third filled. Flush days were past for that venerable house. Colonel Forehand could scarcely have known that his combo of The Conqueror Worm with The Devil’s Bride would bring closure to the last great decade of British horror. It’s taken me another thirty-eight years to appreciate how lucky I was to be there that day, despite resentment I’d harbor toward Witchfinder General for long thereafter. Analysis might reveal and rid others of lesser traumas, but I self-medicated by way of damning Michael Reeves’ final film and even tossing into the attic a pressbook Colonel Forehand gave me soon after the playdate. That I would come to embrace said incubus seemed at the least unlikely, yet I’m here to declare Witchfinder General not just a great horror film, but a revolutionary one.

The director had already died (2-11-69) when we saw The Conqueror Worm. He was twenty-five. Some say Michael Reeves committed suicide. The account of what happened looks like an accidental overdose to me. He had a plenty bleak view of the world if his limited filmic output is any indication, but a lot of that may have been youthful affectation. Many of us liked to play cynical in our twenties, little anticipating forthcoming life events that might justify such attitudes. Reeves didn’t stay long enough to find out about any of that. He’d brashly barged in on Don Siegel (at his home!) to express admiration and ask for work. On that account, I’d identify with the young man, for I too invaded Siegel’s sanctum sanctorum at Universal when I was a student at USC in 1975, but that’s a story I’ll save for another post. I mention it for purposes of confirming that Siegel was exceptionally gracious to at least two of his youthful fans. Reeves left but three credits. One of them I’d encountered several years prior to Witchfinder General. That was The She-Beast, reference to which I fleetingly made in a previous story. We’d gone to see it with a dud called The Embalmer (ad shown here), our expectations lowered for having watched the latter first. Who among my cadre of thirteen-year-olds (at least five of us together) would have dreamed that The She-Beast would have a nude scene --- the first ever to be unspooled on the Liberty's screen? Like witnesses to the Hindenberg, we all still remember it.

Witchfinder General is like the evil doppelganger of A Man For All Seasons. That prestigious Best Picture winner of 1966 utilized similar English countryside. Both pictures deal with persecution and religious intolerance. You could take your grandmother to see A Man For All Seasons and she'd thank you for it. Schoolteachers undoubtedly gave extra credit for some who went. Witchfinder General was nasty and cruel, but it was history too. Reeves force-fed fact-based truths that sixties audiences weren’t prepared for. They liked civilized discourse among British pageant players, not on-screen immolation and priests being hung. Star Vincent Price came over figuring he’d walk through another AIP thriller like those he’d done for years in his sleep. Tactless but determined Reeves reshot his way through the actor’s bag of tricks until an exhausted Price finally gave the ice-cold performance he needed. They never got along. Reeves would have preferred Donald Pleasance. One look at Will Penny and you thank God that wish went unfulfilled. Both star and director had compelling arguments. Reeves didn’t want more of a too-familiar face and voice on autopilot from so many routine vehicles. Trouble was he was too impatient and perhaps inarticulate to simply explain what he did want. This was a rushed production after all, and the two men (or more accurately, a man and a boy) could hardly have had less in common on a personal level. Vincent Price reminded his director of greater experience he’d had in films, and indeed, this actor’s way had pleased for three profitable decades. For all that time, Price’s was a benign image despite sinister parts he played. Everything in fun and suitable for the family. His was the friendly face in Sears catalogs promoting art appreciation. American-International’s tenth anniversary found Price acting as genial master of ceremonies at exhibitor confabs where he introduced Beach Party singing regulars. Being told by an upstart kid to abandon every device that had won your audience would at least confuse, and probably alarm, this very set-in-his-ways actor. How would fans react? I knew from nothing about aesthetic contracts upon seeing The Conqueror Worm in 1969, but felt very definitely that Vincent Price had violated ours for making such a picture. Was my response unique, or were others as alienated?

1968 was several years after Roger Corman’s Edgar Allan Poe series limped into closure. Domestic rentals for these had fallen from million plus highs to a piddling $348,000 for Tomb Of Ligeia. Continuation with other directors was worse. War-Gods Of The Deep under Jacques Tournear delivered just $338,000. Admission prices had gone up since these, and AIP was getting better bookings thanks to the runaway success of The Wild Angels. Domestic rentals for The Conqueror Worm approached early Corman standards (but how with a one-sheet as ugly as the one shown here?). Its 1.1 million was fourth highest among the Poes, trailing Pit and The Pendulum (1.474), House Of Usher (1.414), and The Raven (1.2). You could say critics ignored it, but trade reviews were generally okay, that dismissive air of condescension toward all horror films being a customary factor. Perhaps AIP was misguided in selling it as such, but how else? Vincent Price guaranteed business as usual (was this another reason Reeves objected to his casting?), so looking at it from AIP’s viewpoint, the Poe tie-in was a simple economic expediency --- and it worked. In fact, The Conqueror Worm gave new impetus to the company’s ongoing Vincent Price franchise. Too bad for us that Michael Reeves didn’t get to direct The Oblong Box, but it’s unlikely AIP shed tears, for this lazy and perfunctory thriller rode The Conqueror Worm coattails to even greater numbers --- 1.4 million in domestic rentals, despite fewer bookings (8,188) than Worm had (8,766). Retro camp delivered Price from a row of weak sisters he’d done after Worm. The Abominable Dr. Phibes was sold in that backhanded way companies had embraced since Warners struck gold with Dracula Has Risen From The Grave (You Can’t Keep A Good Man Down!). Phibes depicted its star in tender embrace with a rib-tickling poster legend --- Love Means Never Having To Say You’re Ugly. The happy result was 1.8 million in domestic rentals and the best money they’d ever seen for a horror picture. Had Michael Reeves lived to become house director, what might he have done with a property like this?

Anyone with doubts as to Reeves’ contribution with regards Witchfinder General need only refer to what Gordon Hessler delivered with The Oblong Box, Scream and Scream Again, and Cry Of The Banshee (all with Price), or what undistinguished work he did with 1972’s Murders In The Rue Morgue, the sort of listless product that would pretty much kill off AIP horrors for good. The newly released Witchfinder General on DVD rescues the film after decades of neglect. Others tell that story better than I could. Suffice to say we now have something worth looking at (and listening to --- the original musical score is finally back). Reeves’ devotion to Don Siegel was not misplaced. That great action director emphasized movement and tempo in the same way Reeves would in Witchfinder General. This is one lean (and mean!) chiller, and yet there are moments of formal beauty; I’ve seldom seen outdoor locations evoke time and setting as effectively (lots of impressive riding inserts as well). The fact it was done so quickly and at such a low budget makes one regret all the more that Reeves didn’t live longer to stage bigger pictures (but would he have risen to greater challenges?). Boyhood friend Ian Ogilvy played in all three features Reeves directed, yet they seem to have known little of each other outside the work environment. Based on evidence here at hand (Ogilvy with his sports car), the young actor at least appears to have gotten more fun out of working in movies than Reeves ever did. The director boosted sex and violence no more than what his employers sought. American-International arranged for nudity beyond what Reeves had filmed (bringing in another director to shoot footage of topless tavern wenches), as stateside markets were poised as of 1968 to embrace much more explicit on-screen content. The face of horror really was changing. Hammer imports would be henceforth seasoned with nudity as well, and finally The Exorcist would show what fantastic commercial pay-off could flow from hard "R" sensation and all that implied. Witchfinder General was at the vanguard of these. It’s lost none of its capacity to shock. I wonder how jaded viewers of latter-day Saws and Hostels would react to Michael Reeves’ charnel house. Has anyone out there road tested Witchfinder General among younger audiences?

Some UPDATES: Check previous Greenbriar posts for new info recently acquired --- Sunset Boulevard, Ace In The Hole, Brides Of Dracula, and Val Lewton --- Part Two.

And Many Thanks to Lee Pfeiffer and his fabulous Cinema Retro website and magazine (have you subscribed yet? --- it's the greatest!) for the Italian poster image from Witchfinder General.

Rugby News

Found this poster in a tube station.
Guess the love/hate relationship between the French and English is alive and kicking!

Wellington Arch

An amazing blue sky in London! If you want to know more about Wellington Arch check it out here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wellington_Arch

Early Talkers On The Ropes

There’s a feeling one gets in the company of a truly ancient talkie. You feel as though you’re the only person left on the face of the earth watching such a relic. One Romantic Night was that kind of experience for me. With seemingly everything coming out on DVD, why choose this (other than its availability HERE)? More to the point, just what is it that makes Lillian Gish’s talking debut so compelling? According to United Artists ledgers, the May 1930 release lost money. A negative cost of $608,000 was pretty big money at the time. Getting that back with just $399,000 in domestic rental was unlikely. I checked the feature films sourcebook for television and it doesn’t look as though anyone bothered with distribution there. Could it be ownership issues? MGM remade One Romantic Night under the original title of Frederic Molnar's play from which it was adapted --- The Swan. That featured Grace Kelly, Alec Guiness, and Louis Jourdon. These 1956 players stood in for the original’s Lillian Gish, Rod La Rocque, and Conrad Nagel. You know you’re plowing transition from silents ground with this trio. Every awkward device of primitive sound production is here --- and then some. Orchestra music threatens to drown out dialogue. Fabric rustles as it would when Lina Lamont and Don Lockwood played love scenes years later in Singin’ In The Rain. The authenticity of all this --- we’re witnessing the real struggle between silence and incoming sound --- is what I liked best about One Romantic Night. Lillian Gish recalled being talked into the project by consort George Jean Nathan. She knew there was trouble when an untried director showed up representing himself as schooled in the ways of dialogue. They’d record miles of that. Gish knew it was a slow and dull picture before they were finished. What a trial to continue along a filmmaking path you realize leads nowhere --- smelling disaster at the beginning and knowing there’s little you can do to extricate yourself from it. By all means, check out One Romantic Night and feel the ghosts of 1930 patrons abandoning the auditorium en masse.

Had I been around that year, I’d not have been surprised to read of Lillian Gish giving up movies and entering a nunnery. One Romantic Night demonstrates the unliklihood of a future for her in talking leads. The title itself is an oxymoron with Gish’s name preceding it. Great though she was, this was not a woman disposed toward on-screen lovemaking. There was a story of how she’d persuaded director King Vidor to omit kissing scenes when they shot La Boheme a few years earlier --- and her co-star was John Gilbert! Pairing Gilbert with a touch-me-not leading lady was like putting a muzzle on Rin-Tin-Tin. It seemed with Gish that passionate gestures were at the least a breach of decorum. Unlike Sleeping Beauty, a kiss would be more likely to put Gish into the comatose state rather than bringing her out of it. Millions are Waiting To Hear Lillian Gish in Her First Talking Picture, says the poster, but were they? Talking or no, by 1930 audiences may have had their fill. Gish’s last five had been for Metro. The first two of these were hits --- La Boheme scored $377,000 in profits and The Scarlet Letter $296,000. After that came the fall. Annie Laurie lost $264,000 and The Enemy posted minimal profits of $96,000 (about what better Tim McCoy MGM historicals were getting). The Wind broke the back of her Metro contract with $87,000 gone. Gish said she left there after Irving Thalberg suggested a manufactured off-screen scandal to feature her, the idea being to chip away a little of that patrician veneer. Not a bad idea when you think about it. Who knows but what it might have led to new career opportunities. Lillian Gish as The Divorcee? --- pre-code liaisons with Adolphe Menjou, Ricardo Cortez, or even Warren William? Thalberg’s idea got no further than the exit gate at Metro. One can only imagine Gish’s indignant reply when he floated it.

Quick flashcard. Who had a longer career in motion pictures than Lillian Gish? Anyone? I can’t think of a runner up, though there is Mickey Rooney. He’s passed her with eighty years performing on screen, but that, of course, has been since she died. I think Gish held the record during her lifetime with seventy-five years active in movies, and consider this --- she played a lead in her final (1987) feature, The Whales Of August. Co-stars in One Romantic Night endured less well. Variety was harsh in its assessment of Conrad Nagel and Rod La Rocque. Recitational, voice-conscious, always-studied read the trade paper’s dismissal of Nagel, an actor so overused in early talkies as to become a one-man epidemic (and this was Nagel’s own assessment). He’d become a running joke among industry wags. I even recall Johnny Carson making a Conrad Nagel joke in the late eighties, years after the man had died. Stolid, stuffy, forever losing the girl or sacrificing her to the arms of another, Nagel still gets a raw deal in screen history books. Interviewed for a wonderful collection entitled The Real Tinsel (published in 1970 --- used copies at $1.29!), the actor lamented the fact he’d made thirty-one talking pictures within the space of two transitional years between the silent and talking eras. One night he and his wife drove all over LA in a vain effort to find one theatre not showing a Conrad Nagel movie. They finally gave the whole thing up as a bad job. Sometimes he’d work thirty-six hours straight without a break, taking time out for a necessary shave before moving to the next set-up. Juggling four pictures at once became a commonplace. It’s remarkable he was so (consistently) good amidst this undoubted state of confusion. Both Nagel and Rod La Rocque spent years in stock companies before and (in La Rocque’s case) during careers in silent film. Neither would maintain success in talkies. Once other screen voices caught up to Nagel, he’d go back to the stage and supporting parts. La Rocque’s romantic idol status gained in DeMille silents was cut short when microphones picked up a nasal drawl he couldn’t rid himself of, despite intense voice training. I couldn’t carry all that corned beef and cabbage, said the long retired star on the topic of stardom’s grind. One Romantic Night would thus come to represent everything a newly articulate cinema wanted to rid itself of.

The worst shellacking from a flop like this would be borne by exhibitors. Despite the low cost of paper (and here’s the order form for One Romantic Night), depression-era showmen had to be very careful how much they spent on advertising. Going overboard with posters and accessories could wipe out what little profit you might realize for the week. Pressbooks encouraged heavy promotion. Cover every window and billboard in town, they’d say, but pay us on delivery. Note the staggering choice of materials for One Romantic Night. Metropolitan and circuit houses could routinely buy this stuff and canvas the town with it. For a small-town independent, heavy promotion for a single attraction meant gambling the mortgage, but since pictures in pre-TV saturation days were largely advertised at the local level, you had to generate eye appeal for pedestrians on your street. Warnings from neighboring towns as to dogs on the loose saved many an exhibitor from beatings he’d otherwise get on pictures like One Romantic Night, but in the end, you had to rely on instinct. Patrons looked to a showman’s word as to whether a picture was any good. You’d not stay in business long betraying that trust. Exhibitors writing in to trade magazines complained loudly and often of how they’d been snookered on a promised "special’ by distributor salesmen. Seasoned theatre men ignored much of what was suggested and/or promised in pressbooks and product annuals. Art such as that shown here of an exhibitor beaming as throngs enter his venue to see One Romantic Night provoked knowing laughter from showmen in the business long enough to know better. Never-ending shell games played by producers and distributors would lead to anti-trust complaints and the end of studio oligopolies. Such actions and changes they brought would begin with small and independent exhibitors.