El dinero

It does not matter that this is adapted from Zola, and generally received then and now as a prestigious release that should be accorded a place in history. It matters because it's one of the most striking films in the transition towards a cinema that does not merely chronicle life, whose primary means of expression is no longer drama and does not aspire to emotion, but instead sculpts from space and uses the camera as a calligrapher would a brush.

There is a match-cut from the engine of a plane to a madly spinning camera looking down from a ceiling that is perhaps the most impressive in the entire 30 years of cinema until then. And there is a lot of the camera choreographed to dance, or painting with our gaze incomplete motions across rooms.

Resnais would take all this thirty years later to revitalize French cinema.

Story-wise, it is about two puppet-masters vying for the control of the same world. The film begins on the level of the stage, the stockmarket, this new temple of the modern world devoted to capital, and pulls back to reveal who holds the strings, who re-invents the broadcasted reality.

Like Zen calligraphy, this is not about the painted signs on the scroll and what they mean, but the disciplined soul revealed by the flow of ink. Watch it like you would unfold a scroll, the ink is in the image.

A masterpiece of film making, the thoughtful and observant will find much to enjoy in it. The use of camera angles and light/ shadows is astonishing at times. Then pause to consider the electrifying timing of this film - released a year before the Wall Street crash and when the National Socialism was on the rise in Germany. Then the performances - the unforgettably snake-like Baroness or the innocent beauty of Line. Then look at the expansive sets and the breathtaking - and authentic - late 20's wardrobe and art deco styling. The chessboard motif, the puppet masters inhabiting rooms behind rooms behind rooms. And the Gatsby-esque party scene against which the plot finally unravels, cutting back and forth in a giddying climax. The build-up of suspense in the radio broadcast... The intoxicating rush of the Paris crowd scene... It's easy to poke fun at a silent film and moan about its pace, which was pitched at the audience of 96 years ago; for those who have the patience to watch and appreciate it for what it is, L'Argent is a bloody brilliant film.

Marcel L'Herbier's "L'Argent" clocks in at 195 minutes. Nothing strange about that you might think but this is a silent film, made in France in 1928 and dealing, not in the epic themes of a "Ben Hur", an "Intolerance" or a "Napoleon" but in the contemporary, in the everyday, though not in the mundane. The title translates as 'Money' and money permeates every aspect of this picture which is 'inspired by' rather than based on a novel by Zola. It may not be a masterpiece but it is quite extraordinary just as it is extraordinary to think audiences ever took to this film, set largely in the world of stock exchanges and high finance, which isn't just on the long side but is also sophisticated and challenging. It requires more than patience; it requires intelligence. The plot may be melodramatic, necessary at the time perhaps to draw its audience in, but it is a film that deals in depth with unusual themes. It is also superbly acted, (the large cast includes the great Brigitte Helm, Alfred Abel and in a small part, Jules Berry), photographed and edited. Indeed, this is one of the great 'lost' silent pictures and it really needs rediscovery.

By the time this was first released in 1928 a great many things had already been innovated, developed, and advanced in cinema, each step along the way seeming more like a leap for the new medium. And still the picture absolutely dazzles with the artistry and ingenuity of its visuals alone. I'm hard-pressed to think of any other title in the silent era, or even immediately after the advent of talkies, that could claim camerawork as active, dynamic, and downright incredible as what we see here. Cinematographer Jules Kruger was having a total field day, pushing the envelope far beyond any conventions to give viewers the biggest spectacle possible even with his contribution by itself. Not to be outdone, art directors André Barsacq and Lazare Meerson shared their vision of outstanding, breathtaking sets with relatively few points of comparison in the late 20s. Marcel L'Herbier's own 'L'inhumaine' (1924) comes to mind, perhaps, or maybe Fred Niblo's 1925 rendition of 'Ben-Hur.' Or maybe Fritz Lang's momentous 'Metropolis' is a better frame of reference for the sets, for that's almost certainly the case when it comes to instances of rapid editing, and flashing imagery of the cold machinery of human invention, in this case representing the arbitrary, foul devilry of the world of finance. And with all this firmly in mind, L'Herbier demonstrates at no few points a tremendously keen eye for shot composition, arranging all the players and pieces in alignment with the camera in a wonderfully smart way that only further cements the marvelous skill and intelligence behind 'L'argent.'

All that's to say nothing of the many, many extras on hand, nor those fetching facets like costume design, hair, and makeup that tend to be overlooked. It's just as impressive that the feature manages to do all this with tale set in contemporary France, rather than a period piece or a work of fantasy or sci-fi; it's certainly more infrequent that cinematic storytelling of a more realistic nature is able to conjure such visual wizardry - but here we are. And then there's the plot: a vortex of greed, manipulation, corruption, deceit, and the destruction that follows in the wake of such iniquities, as infuriatingly relevant in 2023 as it was ninety-five years ago, or decades prior when Émile Zola's novel was written, or further back still when it was set. There are no surprises here, for wealth, power, and the pursuit or promise of either only ever bring out the worst in people; there are no singular lightning bolts of brilliance in the screenplay, as all the best creativity the film boasts is found in its craftsmanship. Nonetheless the story is absorbing and compelling, and ably keeps us engaged from start to finish, and as scenes are both written and directed we get no few moments that are especially potent. It helps that the cast is terrific across the board, with Pierre Alcover, Brigitte Helm, and Marie Glory particularly standing out not just for the amount of time they have on-screen, or their prominence in the story as we see it, but definitely too for the strength of their vibrant acting of range and nuance.

I don't think it's unfair to say that the building blocks of the movie kind of outshine the tale it imparts. This isn't to say that the writing is weak, but for as excellent as it may be, the title's construction is altogether extraordinary. Then again, I'm inclined to think that the plot is better about conveying major ideas rather than minute details, and also advances somewhat gradually given the length of over two and one-half hours - with a fair amount of story reserved for just the last twenty minutes. In fairness, should one read up on the history of 'L'argent' even the slightest bit it's clear that the version that now exists is not what L'Herbier originally envisioned, so one can reasonably assume that some elements were lost over time. In any event, however much one wishes to him and haw about This and That, by and large the fact remains that this is a superb, fabulously well made silent classic that continues to hold up all too well. What excitement it may not wholly, immediately foster with its narrative, it more than makes up for with the genius of the work behind the scenes, and the result all around is unquestionably grand. As a matter of personal preference some of its contemporaries may stand taller still, but one way or another 'L'argent' is fantastic, highly deserving of recognition and remembrance, and it earns a solid recommendation for anyone who appreciates older cinema.

Nowhere is the constant struggle between art and commerce so apparent as in the world of Film and in this distinctly loose and updated adaptation of Emile Zola's novel depicting the evils of financial speculation, director Marcel L'Herbier is pointing the finger at the money men who feel that their profit-driven investment gives them the divine right to meddle in the creative process. Ironically, L'Herbier would have been unable to make the film without its being financed to the tune of five million francs!

The tug of war between director and producer resulted in the latter excising thirty minutes from the film and not until its restoration half a century later were the lost scenes restored. Indeed it was not until the restoration that the film's acclaim finally matched its reputation and it has belatedly been acknowledged as one of the true masterpieces of silent cinema. As a bonus this same restoration has gifted us a highly charged score for piano composed and played by Jean-Francois Zygels.

The technical virtuosity of this film is simply stunning with the sweeping camerawork of Jules Kruger, low and high angle shots and Eisensteinian montage. L'Herbier's love of Art Deco is again evident in the magnificent sets designed by Lazare Meerson and André Barsacq. We are also treated to spectacular scenes in the Bourse, the fictitious World Bank, the Place de l'Opéra and the piéce de resistance, the financier Saccard's evening party.

L'Herbier has made sure that his film's immensity does not diminish the characters. This is surely Pierre Alcover's finest hour as Saccard, a monster of greed and rapacity who is also a pitiful creature. By arrangement with UFA the film also stars Brigitte Helm and Alfred Abel, both fresh from 'Metropolis'. Miss Helm as Baroness Sandorf has never been quite as sinuous and sensuous as she slithers around encased in Jacques Manuel's fabulous costumes. As she writhes on the sofa she epitomises the sheer carnality of wealth. The slight frame of Alfred Abel as Gunderman is in striking contrast to the corpulence of Alcover as his arch rival and his reptilian-like portrayal makes one think what a marvellous Professor Moriarty he would have made. As a contrast to the slinky Baroness we have the full-figured Marie Glory who is at her most appealing here in probably her finest role as Line Hamelin who is intoxicated by the lifestyle offered by Saccard's money but is not prepared to pay the price required. Dramatically effective is a rare appearance on film of Yvette Guilbert, former cabaret artiste immortalised by Toulouse-Lautrec, as a figure of Doom whose presence has always haunted Saccard and is there to witness his downfall.

This monumental piece is L'Herbier's greatest achievement and in his own words, 'the summit of my silent career'. No true cinéfile I am sure would disagree.