By Alan Scherstuhl
By Charles Taylor
By Melissa Anderson
By Inkoo Kang
By Amy Nicholson
By Sam Weisberg
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Chuck Wilson
For major-league posing, there are few movies to top Salomé,the 1922 feature produced and financed by silent-movie diva Alla Nazimova as a vehicle for herself. Inspired by Oscar Wilde's scandalous play and Aubrey Beardsley's decadent illustrations, this intimation of an alternative Hollywood fits into American film history somewhere between the "Fall of Babylon" episode from D.W. Griffith's 1916 Intolerance and the lysergic Sunset Boulevard dress-up Kenneth Anger concocted some four decades later in Inauguration of the Pleasure Dome.
Written and directed by Tony Gatlif
September 7 through 13
Edgy Movies: Roots and Branches
More than a relic, Saloméis showingin a beautifully tinted 35mm printon a bill with Fernand Léger and Dudley Murphy's 1924 Ballet Mecanique as part of "Unseen Cinema," the ambitious series devoted to pre-World War II American avant-garde cinema that, having been featured at the Whitney Museum all summer, will be reprised this fall at Anthology Film Archives. In a general sense, Saloméis a manifestation of the pop orientalism that set itself against more puritanical mores in the decades before and after World War I. The wanton teenager who danced for the head of St. John the Baptist had recently been painted as a modern woman by Robert Henri, played in the movies by Theda Bara, parodied as a Lower East Side Jewish girl in a song by Irving Berlin, and memorialized as a cigarette brand name before Nazimova took on the material.
A lithe 40-plus, Nazimova plays the 14-year-old Princess of Judea as a saucy flapper. Men kill themselves for her, and she barely notices, having become fixated on a desert prophet in a fur loincloth. "The mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death," the opening title explains. Most of the movie is a big buildup to Salomé's dance, basically an absurd little gavotte despite the presence of a clownishly excited Herod and a squad of capering dwarfs. What's remarkable about the movie is its brazenly languid pacingthe combination of single-shot scenes and rapturous close-ups. In its own day, this 68-minute feature would have seemed avant-garde in the spirit of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligariit's set in a world of total artifice.
Outrageous would not be too strong a word: The bare-chested boys, blond Nubian slaves, metallic potted palms, art nouveau floral patterns, and birdcage dungeons of Natacha Rambova's design anticipate everything from Jean Cocteau and Josef von Sternberg to Flash Gordon, although Nazimova's hairdo is unique. (As Kenneth Anger explains in the "Unseen Cinema" catalog, Rambova used "masses of giant pearlseach about the size of moth ballseach individually wired on black tightly-wound springs that quiver tremulously with each petulant gesture of the Spoiled Princess. It is by far the objet in the picture.")
Salomé is brilliantly counterpointed, under the rubric "Edgy Movies: Roots and Branches," by Ballet Mecanique, which is having its world premiere as accompanied by the original George Antheil music. According to Antheil, the movie was created to accompany the music. Be that as it may, the percussive jangling of Antheil's pounding piano and occasional siren blast accentuate the movie's piston-gear motion and make this venerable avant-garde piece seem nearly new.
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