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Showing posts with label Louise Brooks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Louise Brooks. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Review: Pandora's Box (1929)


* * * 1/2

Director: Georg Wilhelm Pabst
Starring: Louise Brooks

Georg Wilhelm Pabst’s Pandora’s Box is an epic, atmospheric tale that travels from the theatres of Germany to gambling dens in France and finally to the foggy streets of London, where the heroine falls into the arms of Jack the Ripper. It’s a big story, and perhaps just a touch "soapy," but it's expertly told and wonderfully entertaining.

As the title suggests, the film is about a woman who unwittingly unleashes turmoil on those around her. She is Lulu (played by the divine Louise Brooks), an impulsive and vibrant vaudeville performer and prostitute who, through the course of the film, will: marry her wealthy and much older lover and accidentally kill him at the wedding reception, be convicted of manslaughter, escape her prison sentence and run off with her stepson, almost be sold into sexual slavery… let’s just say that things keep going from bad to worse. When she finally meets Jack the Ripper, it almost seems merciful given the depths of misery and degradation to which she falls.

The film is significant for a number of reasons, not least of which is the “Lulu look” which is echoed in films such as Cabaret and Chicago. It is also credited with being the first film to feature a lesbian character, the Countess Augusta Geschwitz (Alice Roberts). Like most of the male characters in the film, the Countess falls under Lulu’s spell and then meets her doom. Roberts was apparently uncomfortable with the idea of playing a lesbian and it shows, as she never seems particularly at ease in the role, which is in sharp contrast to Brooks, who owns every moment that she’s on screen. Marlene Dietrich was the second choice to play Lulu and perhaps Pabst should have cast her as the Countess – lord knows she could work a tuxedo.

Although Lulu is condemned throughout the film, mostly by the men around her, she nevertheless seems to be a sympathetic character. There is an innocence to her, a child-like quality that ensures that her actions never seem malicious. She's the kind of character that things just sort of happen to, but the energy and life with which Brooks infuses the character allows her to seem like more than just a mere cypher. Lulu isn't stupid, though for a woman who has spent much of her life as a sex worker, she's awfully naive about the jealousy she inspires in men. On the other hand, perhaps she's just careless and self-centered. It can be hard to tell at times what's behind the mask of flirtatious innocence that Brooks wears for most of the film.

Pandora's Box is a well-crafted, well-paced film, though not without its tiny problems. I've already mentions Roberts' somewhat limp performance and aside from that there's the slight issue that the storyline sometimes goes a little too far over the top (the courtroom scenes, for example). Structurally, there's also a framing device wherein one episode transitions to another with "End of Act X, Beginning of Act Y," which gets a little irritating towards the end. These are, however, very minor flaws and the film is overall very watchable and entertaining.

Friday, November 28, 2008

Recommended Read: Lulu In Hollywood


Lulu In Hollywood
- Louise Brooks


Every year for Christmas my list includes at least one good, trashy biography that I can sink my teeth into during the post-holiday haze. Last year that book was Lulu In Hollywood, the memoir written by silent star Louise Brooks. While thoroughly entertaining – and occasionally gossipy – the book isn’t really trashy; it’s actually a very clever portrait of Hollywood in its infancy and of a woman who well and truly marched to the beat of her own drummer and refused to conform to anyone else’s standards of decorum.

Categorized as a memoir, the book is actually made up of a series of essays written by Brooks about her life in and out of Hollywood, all of them written with biting wit and incisive observations. Brooks is merciless in her depiction of the way the business worked and, in particular, the way that it treated women. One story describes a brief on location affair she had with a crew member, which was then used as a means of taking her down a peg by everyone else on set – including the girlfriend of the crew member she’d slept with, who apparently bore him no ill will. Especially interesting is her description of the transition from silent to sound films and her rejection of the idea that some actors couldn’t make the transition because they didn’t sound “right.” Brooks argues, quite convincingly, that actors who couldn’t transition owed it to sabotage by the studios, who saw it as an opportunity to rid themselves of some stars who, while profitable, had become too big and expensive to maintain.

While the book will probably be of greater appeal to people who are generally curious the silent era and its stars, it’s so well-written that I think even someone with only a passing interest in the backstage aspect of making movies would enjoy it. I would especially recommend it to fans of Humphrey Bogart, as one of the essays is all about Brooks’ relationship with him in the days before he was Bogie, when he was just another struggling actor coming out of the theatre. It’s a fascinating book from beginning to end, one that I couldn’t put down and have re-read a couple of times since.