The Dumb Girl of Portici

In 1916 Lois Weber and Phillips Smalley were the go-to pair at Universal for serious tracts and interesting experimental cinema. So when Paramount did a silent movie of Carmen with opera star Geraldine Farrar and it worked beautifully, Weber and Smalley counterpunched with a silent version of MASANIELLO with great ballet dancer Pavlova -- a much more natural-sounding bit of casting for a silent movie. Then they shot it in a far more naturalistic fashion than Weber and Smalley usually used -- despite Pavlova wandering around the beach in toe shoes -- and did enormous and expensive set decorating.

Unhappily, while it probably worked very well at the time -- at least to the extent of letting audiences see the prima ballerina of the Russian ballet and in making it clear that real artists of the real arts would do movies -- this movie has not aged well. The melodramatic plot was typical of grand opera of the period, but modern tastes in stories are less grandiose and Miss Pavlova, while she moves beautifully, is clearly a stage actress and does not know how to tone down her performance for the screen. I also find the sumptuousness of the set decoration distracting.

There is much for a fan of silent movies of the 1910s to take pleasure in: the mobility of the camera, the advanced editing of the piece all serve the film in a manner that was striking in the period. However, given that almost a century has passed, much has changed to render this movie plebeian and odd. Even the word "Dumb" in the title longer means "mute" to the modern speaker of English, but "stupid". I fear the casual modern viewer will think this movie dumb in both senses of the word.

In early 17th century Italy, Spain rules with an iron hand, imposing heavy taxes on the poor. The playboy son of Viceroy, betrothed to a noblewoman, becomes attracted to a mute peasant woman who is light and lively on her feet (Ann Pavlova). He seduces her, then ravages her out in the woods. His lust slaked, he leaves her, and to make matters worse, his father seeks to permanently remove her from the picture by having her thrown in prison, where she's flogged. Gosh, that sounds more interesting as I type it than how it seemed on the screen.

No expense appears to have been spared on costumes or set design, and the look and feel of the film is that of an epic, 1916-style. The Italian revolt that follows excessive taxation and the ill treatment of the young woman has what seems like hundreds of people swarming in the streets. Unfortunately those scenes go on for too long and are rather monotonous, though in one moment we see the heads of the Spanish on pikes in the square which was rather macabre.

Anna Pavlova, the world-renowned ballerina and future namesake of the cloyingly sweet dessert, makes her only screen appearance here, which on its own probably makes it worth taking a look. We do get some glimpses of her dancing and grace with her body, but unfortunately, the film is dominated by the big action scenes. Perhaps tightened up (it's 112 minutes long) or with more work put in on the characters it would have held my interest more.

The Dumb Girl of Portici is based on an Auber & Scribe opera, but obviously as a silent film the music isn't there to help it out. It is filmed mostly in long shots and is a long, long, long movie to watch. Pavlova's graceful movements keeps her going from one end of the frame to the other, but she is acting, not dancing. The camera is placed so far away from Pavlova that it is difficult to evaluate the quality of her performance in the title role. The sets and scenery, however, are truly impressive, though the preservation print that survives on this title is a bit dark and grainy. What is most amazing about The Dumb Girl of Portici is that director/writer Lois Weber was able to command such expensive resources to get this made, as it is both conceived and executed on an epic scale. You go girl!

Sometimes silent films show their age through deteriorated prints, or contemporary filming techniques that were less capable of visualizing detail, let alone outdated sociopolitical values. That's to say nothing of many titles of the era characterized by exaggerated facial expressions and body language, traits carried over from the stage and exercised for lack of sound and verbal dialogue; in general, only in the later years predating the advent of talkies would actors and directors begin to adopt more nuanced, natural sensibilities reflecting what we modern viewers are accustomed to. These and still other factors can make it hard for some viewers to engage with the cinema of one hundred years ago, no matter how grand a production was or how esteemed it may be in retrospect. Yet there's also a sense of artistry and wonder attached to these early years of the medium, and a reverent finesse, and these would sometimes be lost in subsequent years after sound technology developed and became the principal method of filmmaking. For all the great pictures to have been made in the sound era, it remains true that some of the best ever made hail from the silent period, and it sometimes seems that I find myself more consistently enchanted with the works of so long ago than with latter day projects that are more widely celebrated.

To whatever extent one might argue that the approach to various elements in silent fare is relatively simplistic, it's far more true that immense care and hard work went into any given piece; conversely, it sometimes comes across that there is much which modern filmmakers take for granted. Consider 'The dumb girl of Portici,' of 1916. It doesn't stand out to me in any way so much as to earn any special reverence, yet the production design and art direction are superb. Every facet of the sets was crafted with attentive consideration for the tiniest minutiae, from tiles on a floor to the wear of dirt and weather on building exteriors, while also setting the stage for big spectacle in palatial ballrooms and town squares. As one customarily expects of period features the hair and makeup, and especially the costume design, are utterly gorgeous; in this moment of watching I can't help but to think that the sartorial arrangements here best what we've seen even in award-winning dramas of more recent decades, like Michael Hoffman's 'Restoration.' From beautiful filming locations, to elaborate choreography (capitalizing on the skills of ballerina star Anna Pavlova, among others), and at times including the keen shot composition of directors Phillips Smailey and Lois Weber, there is a rich bounty of sights for us to take in here, all shrewdly considered and rendered to maximize their potential. Even the editing and tinting of frames occasion particular admiration, and the orchestration of some sequences is notably smart.

It's true, perhaps, that the plot in and of itself isn't so remarkable as Weber adapts an opera of several decades before. The tale is a familiar one as love blossoms between a peasant woman and a fancy nobleman following a chance encounter. Classic, anticipated themes emerge of class struggle, the casual indifference and cruel, prejudicial despotism of the wealthy and powerful, rebellion of the poor and oppressed, and the power of love as the narrative builds to inevitable tragedy. Yet even as the movie is shaped from a recognizable mold, the storytelling is engaging and absorbing as events progress, benefiting from Weber's strong, vivid scene writing. Given that the source material is of the stage, the theatrical bent of the direction and acting quite works in this flick's favor as each scene and passing moment is realized with dramatic emphasis; some tidbits come off especially well, and at one time or another most every actor has a little opportunity to shine. Any stunts and effects are excellent, and some odds and ends throughout are extra vibrant and impactful - more so as the length draws on. We're treated to both eye-catching spectacle and hearty drama; the tale is cut from familiar cloth, but that doesn't mean that its themes resonate any less, or are any less infuriatingly relevant all these years later. We could nitpick this and that, but any points of criticism feel decidedly minor when weighed against the substantial strength that 'The dumb girl of Portici' carries in pretty much every regard.

It's still the case that this film isn't so striking as to earn rapturous praise. Just as with any era of cinema, silent productions range from the absolutely essential to the poorly considered, with a large portion existing in the so-so middle; I believe this sits firmly on the upper end of the spectrum, but is not an outright zenith. Him and haw as we may, though, I don't think there's much room to dispute how engrossing this is, and broadly enjoyable, and very capably made according to the techniques and technology of the 1910s. Sure, scenes of violence later on may be a tad messy and brusque, yet given the more plainly dramatic tack that is most prevalent, these are able to bear more weight than countless modern movies that would aim to assault viewers with a cavalcade of action. The writing isn't always so stellar in identifying who is who among its characters, and the third act is notably less tight and focused, but in fairness, I've seen bigger titles go far more wrong. By modern standards the acting may lack subtlety, yet modern actors sometimes struggle to do much with writing that is more stale and self-congratulatory than the sturdy if tried and true saga we see here. Even the cinematography may be fairly static, typical of the early years of a burgeoning medium, yet when Dal Clawson, Allen G. Siegler, and R. W. Walter employ camera movement in later sequences, the gravity of these is only heightened. And so on, and so on - there is lasting value in this picture that far exceeds any perceived faults, and which far exceeds what some brand new releases could claim.

This may not be something that changes the mind of anyone who has a hard time engaging with the silent era, but if you're open to the style and to all that cinema has to offer, then 'The dumb girl of Portici' holds up terrifically, and remains well worth checking out if one has the chance. While I'd stop short of saying it's altogether a must-see, all told this feature is a gem, and I'm happy to give it my solid recommendation!

"The Mute Girl of Portici", would be the modern translation for the title as "dumb" is no longer used to describe someone who is mute.

Supposedly the first american epic directed by a woman. The film currently stands at a 6.5 and I believe that's an accurate rating. Its not great but its definitely a one time view for fans of silent cinema. If you find yourself disinterested in the first half, do not give up.. It gets better in the second half. Its color tinted, the majority being a greenish blue, yellow and even some red during the rioting scenes to represent the heat of the fire.

I believe the music, sets, plot and the cinematography all improved in the second half. The film is a bit stagey as another reviewer mentioned. The final dream like sequence could have been a short film of its own.