L'Heure suprême !

Two scenes stick out in my mind.

1. Janet Gaynor walking across the plank into the apartment where Chico is waiting. She looks like an angel descending to earth.

2. The crane shot where the two lovers run up the stairs to the seventh floor (seventh heaven). This is a place where the two are isolated from the rest of the world and time stands still.

7th Heaven (1927)

Coming at the end of the silent era, we might expect a film of the highest order in that silent era sense, untainted by sound, depending on gesture and action to keep the plot going. And Seventh Heaven really is a great film. It's complex, subtle, beautiful, and not clunky, not a bit what some people picture when they think of silent films.

It also is a great love story. Janet Gaynor was becoming a big star (she won best actress for this performance among others that year) and her counterpart Charles Farrell is a convincing charming actor. It's Paris 1914 when we begin, and that's not half bad. Then there are some early versions of the war, including some scenes with flame throwers that ought to surprise everyone.

What becomes of our two leads as they struggle to stay together during all this is for you to see, but it's told with economy (even at two hours the movie never drags) and with touching honesty. The director, Frank Borzage, made a whole bunch of good films during the 1930s, in the sound era, but this shows a real mastery of the earlier basics of cinema. Credit also goes also the cinematographer Ernest Palmer, a lesser known veteran who made the most of a lot of great sets and a range of interior and exterior scenes. Keep an eye on that, especially a moment toward the beginning where the camera follows the actors up the circular stairs, floor after floor, seamlessly. This will be echoed with perfection at the end of the film, so it's not just showing off.

And keep some Kleenex handy. It'll get to you.

This movie took me completely by surprise. I had never heard of it, but got it because it's set in Paris. It turned out to be a really beautiful movie. Beautifully shot, beautifully acted. Two rather shy individuals fall in love, almost against their wills, or at least against his will. We watch the relationship grow. Never trite, very seldom over-acted. The battle scenes in World War I are remarkable for their effectiveness.

And the end, which I won't reveal, hits you right in the mid-section and knocks your breath out.

Even someone who doesn't like silents would enjoy this, very much. It makes you understand why some people thought that by the introduction of talkies in that same year, 1927, silents had developed to the point that the first sound pictures were actually something of a regression in many ways.

Much has been made of Murnau, but I'm more impressed by Borzage.

Yes, the subject matter is more lowbrow, but it is also more fully integrated into the cinematic flow, perhaps as a result.

I'm told this is his best in terms of what impresses me: the integration of space.

Nearly every shot is framed, not in two dimensions by three. There's impressive use of vertical space as well, even incorporating it into the story. Though the story is simple (love, war, return) it has certain narrative elements that bind it to space, and these aren't afterthoughts but essential elements of the story that rest easily in the big holes left by melodrama.

The love nest is literally on the seventh floor. Our hero literally starts in the sewer. He is elevated by intercession of the church, which provides him with a pair of religious medals. If the sewer-heaven dimension is vertical, these medals provide for horizontal space overlay via a sort of spiritually pure love — each day at 11.

But the space idea is carried in every frame as well. Its not layers like Kurosawa with give us. Nor a camera that would explore and define space like Hitchcock — the camera is stationary here. But its deep.

Gaynor is impressive.

Oh, and it has that most spatial of drugs: absinthe.

Ted's Evaluation -- 3 of 3: Worth watching.

There are some things in life I don't understand. Applied mathematics. Bunions. The working class persistantly voting conservative. Frank Borzage languishing in critical limbo. What is wrong with you people (I mean critics, not you, dear reader)? It can't be because he made silly women's pictures, because Ophuls, Murnau, Sirk and Minnelli have all appeared in Top 100 lists in the last two decades. I don't get it: Borzage was definitely a master: of light, space, plot, critique and emotion. His films - of which I have only seen four, not for want of trying - are among the most emotionally intense and beautiful things in cinema. They offer the straightforward weepie thrills we expect from melodrama, as well as an unexpected critical dimension.

Although I just about prefer the faded self-pity of THREE COMRADES, SEVENTH HEAVEN is probably his masterpiece. It is astonishing in so many ways: let me list some. The more I see of her, the more remarkable an actress I find Janet Gaynor. The film's progressive politics - an impoverished victim, suicidal, prostituted, heinously whipped by her sister, transforms into a loving wife, fierce protector of her home, member of the workforce, and eventual carer of her husband - owes much to her all-encompassing performance.

The use of light and shade to represent the emotional life of the characters. The (Americanised) Expressionistic use of space, which breaks up conventional point of view to provide varying levels of experience and ways of looking. The deceptively delicate poetry of the imagery. The tacit outrage at a system that forces people to live so badly. Even the movie score, uniquely, shows an intelligent perception of what Borzage was trying to do.

Diane and Chico have many obstacles thrown in their way, both individually and collectively, but the most terrifying and inexorable is that of the war. It is quite shocking to find a melodrama - by its nature domestic, local, specific, small-scale and personal - erupt into a war film, that most national of crises. The effect is wrenching, but no more so than the events of the melodrama which alternated the most radiant highs with the most despairing lows. Witness the astonishing, jerking, tracking shot as Diane flees her sister, shattering the smooth rhythm of composition and editing.

Borzage, like no other director before Kubrick, is responsive to the farce of war, as well as its horror. There are sublime scenes of comedy amidst the carnage. The battle scenes put pretenders like ALL QUIET ON THE WESTERN FRONT to shame; the sheer scale and irrationality of war bursts the screen. Points of identification become lost, the tyranny of destruction is a perversely beautiful thing.

It is in this context that the couple's transcendent love must be seen. What could have been as a desperately mushy romance with its talk of the Bon Dieu and heaven, becomes a necessary rebellion, a refusal to succumb to social pressures, war, nation's follies, domestic horrors, betrayal or death. So the ending is not preposterous, but the perfectly comprehensible hallucination of a woman who, having been raised from hell, could not possibly leave heaven now. Imperishable.