The Dumb Girl of Portici

This silent epic should be much better known than it is. It is based on the plot of an opera of the same name, describing a real revolt in Naples in the 17th century. The title character, Fenella, is the fictional mute sister of Masaniello, one of the key historical figures in that revolt. Fenella is played by ballerina Anna Pavlova, in her only full-length film. Unfortunately, Pavlova's broad acting style is better suited to ballet or opera, playing to the crowds in the back, rather than to the more intimate medium of film. On the other hand, she was one of the most famous dancers of her day, and this film is one of the very few records left to modern audiences to see her in motion.

Despite her top billing, the film does not hinge on Pavlova, and for the most part, this is really a beautifully made film. This was a Big-Budget picture when it was made -- the ornate costumes and sets are stunning. The scenes of the revolt are chaotic, real, and compelling.

Some of the actors, including Pavlova, as well as a few of the supporting roles, are guilty of the sort of overly theatrical acting associated with early movies. For the most part however, the acting is natural. I was particularly impressed by Douglas Gerrard, playing a nobleman who seduces and abandons Fenella in favour of his aristocrat fiancée.

Surprisingly, the film also works as a "silent musical". The early part of the movie includes a number of dance numbers showing a variety of styles, and not just those featuring the film's "star", Anna Pavlova. I would recommend this film for all of its parts.

Prolific female director Lois Weber goes epic in The Dumb Girl of Portici, a sumptuously mounted production featuring the prima ballerina of her day, "the incomparable" (as billed) Anna Pavlova. Based on the opera Mansaniello, Weber tailors it for the waifish Pavlova as the sister of the title character giving her the floor most of the picture to leap about too and fro as the mute Fenella.

Spain rules over Naples in the 17th century and like most colonialist is bleeding the poor of the fishing village of Portici with crippling taxes. When the Duke arbitrarily decides to raise taxes on fruit, the people led by Fenella's brother revolt and begin to massacre the aristocracy, with lightening success but is soon betrayed by neighbor Pietro who harbors desires for Fenella. Regaining his strength Mansaniello attempts to kill a sympathetic royal, Alphonso, who has developed a thing for Fenella but she steps between them.

Director Weber wanders into DW Griffith territory with this silent epic of lush set design, opulent costuming and rousing crowd scenes of mass slaughter and beheadings with mice feasting on dead aristos. Amid all the calamity Pavlova leaps (with some cable assistance I believe) and bounds merrily about, an indefatigable innocent consumed by the joy of living, even in these circumstances.

Overlong, but worth a brief look if only for the rare footage of the dance icon and some excessive mass chaos, graphically presented.

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!

"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.

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!