BLOOD AND SAND

Yesterday, I was thrown flailing into the deep end of silent film. I ventured out to my old neighbourhood on the west side of the city to attend my first showing in this year’s Toronto Silent Film Festival, a drama starring Rudolph Valentino called BLOOD AND SAND. My first time with silent film was a bit bumpy – as first times often are – but more on that in a bit.

BLOOD AND SAND is a Paramount film from 1922. In it, Valentino stars as Gallardo: a man who has risen to become the greatest matador in all of Spain. Along the way, he marries a childhood friend named Carmen (Lila Lee), but gets repeatedly tempted by a seductive widow named Sol (Nita Naldi).

The story the film tells is a compelling one. It deals with the unforeseen cost of fame and the violence that fills our existence. Seeing Valentino and Valdi on a big screen like this, one can’t help but get drawn in and seduced by them. So much of what they embody is written on their faces, and told with their eyes. Their magnetism comes across well enough in small still images; Taking that magnetism and projecting it larger-than-life is almost unfair. I might have found things even more unfair under better conditions.

Like several other patrons in the audience, this was my first experience watching a print of a silent film. I’ll be going back for more this afternoon, but others might have been sullied on the experience after BLOOD AND SAND. For starters, the film was introduced by Risa Shuman – a curator and producer for a local television series called Saturday Night at the Movies. Shuman is quite passionate and knowledgable on all things film related, however on this particular afternoon she seemed ill-prepared. The crowd got a bit antsy as she spoke in a stream-of-conciousness manner about everything but the film we were about to see. I’m not suggesting that a lecture that teeters towards boring deserves to get heckled (though the man sitting next to me disagreed), but a bit more preparation and awareness by Shuman would have done some good.

Happily, when Shuman was done, the animated short that began the programme did a lot to raise people’s spirits. It was a joyful little gem called KOKO AND THE CARTOON FACTORY, and for many who were getting their first dose of silent film a more inspired choice would be hard to find. However, once Koko was done, things got tricky again.

As BLOOD AND SAND began, so too did the tinkering with its projection. The film began looking a little washed out, but it was clear that adjustments were being made (possibly with a filtering system, but I’m unsure of the specifics). The adjustments continued throughout the film’s first reel – again making those around me antsy – and unfortunately settled on a contrast level too low.

This is what the image is supposed to look like:

What was projected looked more like this:

See the difference? “Black and white” is a misnomer – what’s more accurate when we see images like this is “Greyscale”, meaning that the eye can see blacks, whites, and many shades of grey in between. However, when the contrast is low, there are no true blacks or true whites – just a whole lot of muddy middle. What I learned yesterday afternoon, is that a movie projected in this manner can give me a wicked headache.

Go figure – my eyes can handle 3-D and “shakey-cam” just fine, but give me an incorrectly projected silent film and I’m paying for it all night. Not helping matters was the fact that the focus never seemed to land in the right spot. I’ll spare the technical details, but believe me when I say that focus is crucial when dealing with 16mm film (as was the case for BLOOD AND SAND).

The saving grace of the afternoon was the live piano accompaniment by Andrei Streliaev. The structure of musically interpreting a silent film was probably pointed out to me before, but I must have forgotten. What’s fascinating about it, is the way that the musician is not working off sheet music – they are watching what is happening on-screen and working along with it on the keyboard. In essence, they are putting their very own stamp on the filmgoing experience. Not only does this make things unique to the day, but watching someone play uninterrupted interpretive music for 108 minutes is a feat of prowess that has to be seen to be believed. Streliaev is truly talented, and gave particular moments a wonderful flourish.

I worry that some of the first timers might have been sullied at such a bumpy screening, but hopefully the worst is behind us. My own dose of silent drama is over, as I continue on with comedy this afternoon.