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Four years after launching United Artists with Douglas Fairbanks, Mary Pickford, and D.W. Griffiths, Charlie Chaplin distributed his first film through the company. It was a dream project that defied expectations. After making over 50 comic shorts, all of which he starred in, Chaplin not only released a straight romantic drama with A Woman of Paris, but—as he only appeared in it in a brief cameo, and under heavy makeup—it was easy to miss him on screen.

This 1923 film delighted critics, and its narrative and visual sophistication and the highly natural performance style of the actors made it a watershed release during Hollywood’s silent era, influencing countless directors, most notably Ernst Lubitsch. But it was a commercial failure, as audiences only wanted more of the Little Tramp. Still, while neither that iconic character nor anyone like him appears in it, A Woman of Paris is distinctly Chaplinesque,...

There are obscure treasures and there are holy grails. Of the latter, none is more mythic than the original 131-minute cut of Orson Welles’s The Magnificent Ambersons, believed by many to be lost somewhere in Brazil. All others arguably belong to Erich von Stroheim. Born in Vienna in 1885 into a Jewish household, von Stroheim is mostly remembered for playing evil Germans in films like Jean Renoir’s Grand Illusion. Cinephiles, though, know him as the unluckiest auteur in the history of cinema.

Intended to run anywhere between six and 10 hours, many of von Stroheim’s films, from Greed to the Gloria Swanson vehicle Queen Kelly, were severely bastardized by studio heads upon their release. In this context, the iris shot that opens 1922’s Foolish Wives feels especially poignant. This is no ordinary “fade into” effect, but an entrancing reinforcement of the sinister, insular, and constrictive nature of the film’s milieu.