The Battleship Potemkin (1925)

"Down with tsarism!"

Obviously, this is a much-admired film, largely because of the inspiring and extraordinary effective use of montage in the "Odessa Steps" sequence to manipulate our emotions. Sergei Eisenstein, like a Bolshevik Steven Spielberg, uses masterful framing and editing techniques to maximise the pathos of the (entirely fictional) massacre of the universally revolutionary population of Odessa at the hands of some nasty Cossacks. It is indeed both effective and extraordinarily both technically as cinema and as propaganda; Goebbels admired The Battleship Potemkin. Not to the point of allowing it to be shown in Nazi Germany, of course, but he admired it as propaganda. But what is left for me to say about it?

Well, the Odessa Steps sequence is but six minutes out of seventy-three. The rY pRt of the film is set entirely within the cramped confines of the eponymous battleship, a considerable contrast with the later scenes. Tension is built up, with an officer attacking a recruit, unprovoked, and maggot-riven meat being the catalyst for an uprising. The moustaches and stiff collars of the officers- this is 1905 and the time of the Sevastopol uprising and the Japanese victory over Russia- alienate them from us as much as their evil, scowling faces. This being propaganda, characterisation is simple. Vakulinchuk, the leader of the revels, is martyred and fetishised much as was being done to the recently departed Lenin shortly before the film was made. And it's tempting to see Vakulinchuk, more directly than Marx, as the I spirTion for the character of Old Major in Heorge Orwell's Animal Farm.

The Russian navy of 1905 looks positively Nelsonisn in parts, with its hammocks and maggot-infested meat. But I suppose the impression of ancient regime archaism is the point. The film is based on an event, manipulated and used to stand for the Russian Revolution in microcosm. 

This is a genuine milepost in cinematic technique on the part of the Odessa Steps sequence. I wouldn't say it's quite as affecting as its reputation- I found the sailors less than hugely sympathetic- but it's a film every film buff should see. If nothing else, it's an early triumph of direction.

The Phantom of the Opera (1925)

Right. Let's get the story out of the way before we can talk about Lon Chaney Sr, shall we? Gaston Leroux's 1910 novel is the perfect basis for a Grand Guignol melodrama, which a silent horror film necessarily has to be.

The Phantom himself is, basically, the abusive and controlling boyfriend made into the basis of a horror tale with a gothic overlay (not a bad idea). Christine is a thick peril monkey from a time before feminism. Raoul is a thick aristocrat from central casting who is too stupid to save the day without a bid of deus ex machina from, er, a secret policeman. Yep. The secret police are apparently the goodies.

Anyway, Chaney is superb, and the make-up is everything it's made up to be. Of course, health and safety would never allow such things these days, and that's a good thing, but such things are part of the joys of silent cinema.

The whole thing is well paced and well shot, with good use of tinting; I like the use of red for the less glamorous underground locations, and the highly appropriate use of grey for that posh wet drip Raoul.

Incidentally, I'm pleased to have watched a DVD including the original live score. For a film based on an opera house, and with Christine's singling being integral to the plot, the soundtrack sort of matters, silent or not, 

This is truly superb, one of the finest horror films of all time. London After Midnight may now be lost to us, but it's brilliant that this example of Chaney's genius survives.

The Lost World (1925)

Again, no quote, what with this being a silent film. Like all silent films, it's from sufficiently long ago as to come from another age entirely: this is a film in which cars have to share the London streets with horses and carts. It's an arresting thought that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle may have conceivably see this film, if he'd managed to teat himself away from all that spiritualism stuff, being fooled by little girls with their unconvincing photographs of "fairies",  and cultivating that bushy moustache. I haven't read the original novel; like many people. I've read absolutely everything Doyle wrote about Sherlock Holmes, and absolutely nothing else he wrote. He's probably turning in his grave.

I'd be surprised, though, judging by the film, if this was one of the "literary" works that Doyle was forever going on about. It's a fairly straight early twentieth century pulp adventure story, and a rather fine example, but the film, at least, gives no indications of any loftier ambitions. Essentially, we get an expedition by some explorers, some set pieces of dinosaurs fighting and doing cool stuff, and a sauropod rampaging through London. This is, of course, an extremely cool set of stuff, but that's it. There's not really any subtext. Even the love triangle, such as it exists, is very British and stiff-upper-lip. I'm reminded of Frau im Mond, a German silent film from four years later with a similar plot, but with the expedition (similarly including a token woman) being to the Moon rather than to a plateau full of dinosaurs. In that film the love triangle looms much larger in a very un-British way.

The dinosaurs are, if you consider the context, amazing. Yes, the slow-motion animation isn't exactly Ray Harryhausen. The dinosaurs look like plasticine, and move sparingly and stiffly. But this whole style of admittedly primitive animation seems to have survived in popular culture for a long, long time. The Chewits adverts I remember from my 1980s childhood didn't look too different. Mind you, I had to raise an eyebrow at the fact the only dinosaur species encountered by Professor Challenger and his motley crew were the well-known ones such as triceratops and, er "brontosaurus", most of which are not exactly native to South America. Still, best not to think too deeply about such things. After all, we also see some brief stock footage of a cheetah, a suspiciously African mammal.

Of course, this being the 1920s, there are rather a few things to raise the eyebrow. I don't think I can exactly be accused of political correctness gone mad for suggesting that the portrayal of Jacko is, er, really quite racist. I'm half-convinced that he's portrayed by a white actor in blackface. It's also interesting to see how much respect is accorded to a big game hunter, and how no one shows any regard whatsoever for conservation or the fact that these dinosaurs might be somewhat dependent on the ecological conditions that nourish them. Health and safety standards appear rather lax, too. I mean, felling a conveniently placed tree to cross a gorge and make a bridge is, you know, a bit dangerous.

But, you know what? This film is fun. I loved it. Who cares if it's never explained how they managed to get the dinosaur to London, or that the costumes for the early hominids look rubbish. This is a film in which London landmarks get trashed by a brontosaurus and, believe me, it gave me great pleasure to type that.