Eldorado

"El Dorado" is generally linked to the cinematographic movement of the French impressionists, a branch of the more famous pictorial current. But L'Herbier's masterpiece is not to be confined in this label. Actually, the label itself is the only flaw I perceived in the movie: the special effects boasting the power and possibilities of cinema, while innovative, sure, seem somewhat out of place sometimes and lessen the impact of a few frames, yet still improving others. What should really emerge from this film, though, is the poetic power L'Herbier is able to infuse into an average melodramatic plot: every scene has a peculiar delicacy and taste for style uncommon at the time and today. A big merit to the success of the process has to be granted to the lead star, Eve Francis, an incredibly powerful and intense actress who clouds entirely the other performances, that are still above the average of the time (which is not much). It felt strange for me to feel something real about a character in a '20s movie, the only other one being "The Painted Lady", which is from the '10s, and that is a clear signal for me of the exceptional nature of this masterpiece of the early age of cinema. It breaks my heart that, not having been released worldwide at the time, "El Dorado" has become famous only in France, because it should be known as a true gem both in artistry and in innovation by any film scholar and lover all around the globe.

I'll speak plainly: this is outstanding. The story takes its time to build its strength, yet as it unfolds it goes from unassuming to thunderous; esteemed filmmaker Marcel L'Herbier penned a tale of drama and indeed tragedy that's worthy of the grandest opera houses. One can't help but wonder if he wasn't genuinely influenced by the works of Georges Bizet, Gaetano Donizetti, or other such composers. As the full power of the narrative reveals itself over time, in the meanwhile we're treated to some wonderful film-making that unquestionably illustrates L'Herbier to have been an early master of the new medium. Much has been made in contemporary criticism and in retrospective celebration of some of the tricks employed here, a credit to the man as director, cinematographers Georges Lucas and Georges Specht, and the editing. From tinting and other subtle manipulation of the developed film stock, to distorting, blurring, and other effects in the camerawork; from some ingenious transitions, to moments of stupendous, artful shot composition and framing - there's a great deal to love about 'Eldorado' even in the fundamentals of its construction, before one meaningfully considers the substance of the imagery or the plot. Why, even many of the intertitles are cleverly designed with a clear bent for visual flair, and even a poetic flourish in their language. Frankly, I don't know how anyone could watch this and not simply love it.

The same boundless skill and intelligence is remarked in every component part of the production. The filming locations are gorgeous; the sets are sharp and rich in detail. The costume design is beautiful, and the hair and makeup work is notably striking. While acting in much of the silent era was characterized by distinctly exaggerated facial expressions and body language, a holdover from the stage and compensation for lack of sound, over time a more nuanced, natural comportment found favor and took precedence - and I'm pleased to say that this picture tends to be defined by the latter. My commendations to the cast for what I feel are terrific performances; with Ève Francis, Jaque Catelain, Marcelle Pradot, and Georges Paulais being most prominent in their chief roles, I think their contributions handily demonstrate why they were given such high billing. There's gratifying refinement and emotional depth in the acting, even among those in supporting parts, and surely more than had been observed elsewhere in the silent era or even in some cases in all the years following the advent of talkies. Truly, I couldn't be more pleased with just how excellent everyone is here; there's not one element of the feature that's anything less than superb.

I assumed I'd enjoy this, not just because I tend to find things to appreciate in most movies but because it's generally hard to go wrong with cinema's earliest years. And still I'm impressed. From top to bottom 'Eldorado' is strongly compelling, absorbing, and even downright brilliant; beyond the broad thrust of the story, some splendid attention to minutiae rounds out the telling to make it resonate all the more. In every capacity this soars, with the writing, direction, acting, and every effort of those behind the scenes resulting in a fabulously satisfying viewing experience. I can understand why some modern viewers have a harder time engaging with older films, yet the supreme quality of some titles exceeds the consideration for personal preference, and I think this is one such title. Moreover, I can only reflect how unfortunate it is that this perhaps wasn't widely known outside France, for I think this is as marvelous and deserving a picture as pretty much any of its contemporaries. If I had any notes at all I might say that some moments linger a smidgen too long, and the overall pacing suffers in turn. Yet if this is the worst criticism one has to impart about a film, I'd say it's done rather well for itself. By and large I totally adore 'Eldorado,' and as far as I'm concerned it's woefully underappreciated, and deserves significantly more recognition; this is a classic that's worth going out of one's way to see.

An ethereal creature from a dream like only L'Herbier knew how to make at the time, painted with light and shadow. Elegant with motions, like a calligrapher's hand drawing from the beauty of enlightened heart. The man was one of the first visual masters of the medium, well above Murnau and the likes but sadly forgotten.

Yet a visual prowess, and this is what's so important for me, that understands the double perspective that gives shape and size to life around us, with the ability to restore it back in its proper dimensions. There, from outside the cabaret stage, the woman performing on stage for an indifferent world of organized cruelties, itself operating from behind the norm of social appearances. Here behind the stage, more pertinently for us, closer, the distraught mother tending to her sick child, seeking absolutions.

From our end we get to reconcile both sides of the mirror, soft inner life funneled into compromised performance for a public.

There is a painter involved, looking to capture evanescent beauty. At first she flees from him in the maze of Islamic architecture, but soon he finds her. As it turns out, love dawns on him from his painting the image of that beauty.

Eventually she has to let go a part of her heart to be mended again, and return to the mixed blessing of that stage where suffering can be sublimated into dance.

It is a small film but precious. It's recommended you seek it out.