D.W. Griffith, quite possibly the man most associated with silent film as a dramatic artform, certainly the one that most comes to mind when limited to director-only (ruling out do-it-all auteurs like Chaplin and Keaton), and he is a creator of much of the universal language as well as the collective consciousness of silent film, the epic lengths, the recognizable intertitles, and of course, the glorious, copious melodrama, and there are few films that pack more melodrama into one over-the-top package than Way Down East.
Way Down East follows the exploits of naive country girl Anna (Lillian Gish), who, after falling in even harder times, decides to come into contact with distant associates of wealth. One of these, cynical womanizer playboy Lennox (Lowell Sherman) attempts to court her, in an attempt to know her biblically. She, being a respectable young woman, of course refuses to indulge until she is married, so Lennox stages a sham marriage, does his business, and leaves her. Oh, but of course, he has also left her with, you guessed it, a CHILD! Once he got his way, Lennox refuses to have anything to do with her, and she is forced to raise the child on her own. She moves into a slummy apartment and is forced to claim that her husband has died, but those inquisitive patricians cannot let it lie, and discovers she was never officially married! Then, right on cue, the baby dies (or as the titles so sensationally put it, "a cold hand on her breast"). Once she is finally outed as a hussy harlot tramp have-not wench by the 'have's, she is forced to admit to her new beau that she is not only a virgin, but a hussy harlot tramp have-not wench, and is thus obliged to out her baby's daddy, and then, all hell breaks lose.
Is there anyone else more perfect or practiced at this sort of histrionic theatricality than Lillian Gish? She had eyes to kill, a brittle delicacy that looks like you could shatter her with a sneeze, and the fact that everyone was always threatening to beat her up. Most of the rest of the cast are unremarkable silent veterans like Richard Barthelmess and Burr McIntosh, although Lowell Sherman plays affluent prick so well I'm convinced it was his own vocation.
At 145 minutes, the film is way too long, including far too many characters and a lot of plot strands that don't really go anywhere, but this is really all part of the bloated indulgence of pure, undiluted melodrama, and although the film isn't 'great' in the objective sense, there's certainly a lot to be entertained by here.
{Grade: 6/10 (C+) / #2 (of 2) of 1920}
Way Down East follows the exploits of naive country girl Anna (Lillian Gish), who, after falling in even harder times, decides to come into contact with distant associates of wealth. One of these, cynical womanizer playboy Lennox (Lowell Sherman) attempts to court her, in an attempt to know her biblically. She, being a respectable young woman, of course refuses to indulge until she is married, so Lennox stages a sham marriage, does his business, and leaves her. Oh, but of course, he has also left her with, you guessed it, a CHILD! Once he got his way, Lennox refuses to have anything to do with her, and she is forced to raise the child on her own. She moves into a slummy apartment and is forced to claim that her husband has died, but those inquisitive patricians cannot let it lie, and discovers she was never officially married! Then, right on cue, the baby dies (or as the titles so sensationally put it, "a cold hand on her breast"). Once she is finally outed as a hussy harlot tramp have-not wench by the 'have's, she is forced to admit to her new beau that she is not only a virgin, but a hussy harlot tramp have-not wench, and is thus obliged to out her baby's daddy, and then, all hell breaks lose.
Is there anyone else more perfect or practiced at this sort of histrionic theatricality than Lillian Gish? She had eyes to kill, a brittle delicacy that looks like you could shatter her with a sneeze, and the fact that everyone was always threatening to beat her up. Most of the rest of the cast are unremarkable silent veterans like Richard Barthelmess and Burr McIntosh, although Lowell Sherman plays affluent prick so well I'm convinced it was his own vocation.
At 145 minutes, the film is way too long, including far too many characters and a lot of plot strands that don't really go anywhere, but this is really all part of the bloated indulgence of pure, undiluted melodrama, and although the film isn't 'great' in the objective sense, there's certainly a lot to be entertained by here.
{Grade: 6/10 (C+) / #2 (of 2) of 1920}