PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous*
MYTHICITY: *good*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTIONS: *metaphysical, psychological, sociological*
This silent film stands as not only the
first feature-length version of H. Rider Haggard’s 1886 novel SHE,
but also the only one to which Haggard himself contributed, writing
the descriptive intertitles—though the author passed away before
seeing the film released.
The original novel, long and slow-paced
with only occasional action-scenes, would be difficult to adapt to
cinema with complete fidelity. Given that Haggard had lived in Africa
for years, the trek of the main protagonists, Horace Holly and his
ward Leo Vincey, is described with considerable verisimilitude in the
novel, but obviously this must be adumbrated for a feature-length
film. The 1925 film also skirts the unspoken conflict between Holly
and Vincey, which arises from the fact that the former is a homely
old fellow and his ward is an Apollonian figure (at least in the
novel). To be sure, Holly is acted by Heinrich George, a gnarly,
bearded fellow—an intertitle even calls him “the baboon”—but
the other half of the conflict would have been doomed had the
filmmaker sought to exploit it, since Carlyle Blackwell, the actor
playing Vincey, was almost forty—eight years older than the actor
playing his “symbolic father.”
In the novel, some of the Oedipal
conflicts between Holly and Vincey are brought to the fore when they
seek out the legendary city of Kor, and find that it’s ruled by a
fabulous queen: Ayesha, She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed. Ayesha rules over a
local tribe, the Amahagger, said in the novel to “more white than
black,” and she does so because she’s literally immortal, thanks
to her encounter with a mysterious “flame of life.” Ayesha has
incredible intellect, and enjoys conversing with the intellectual
Holly, but of course most of the arcane discourse must be left out of
a movie-adaptation. But Ayesha does aspire to a more permanent union
with Vincey, whom she believes to be the teincarnation of her former
lover Kallikrates, whom she murdered in jealousy back during the
Roman era.
Though the film is only able to suggest
bits and pieces of the novel’s romantic grandeur, on the whole its
co-directors manage to suggest at least some of that grandiosity
despite the lack of dialogue. They did so by resorting to silent
cinema’s potential for suggesting more than it shows, and as a
result the city of Kor, of which we see very little, comes alive
through the bearing of the queenly Ayesha.
I speak of “bearing” rather than
beauty, because actress Betty Blythe is only fair in the looks
department, never seeming to be a truly bewitching figure. But the
script does let this version of Ayesha be a true sorceress, rather
than just a sexy white queen. For all the divergences between book
and movie, I was impressed by the fact that the script kept a vital
scene, When Ayesha curses a female rival, she does so by touching the
other woman’s hair, so that the imprint of the queen’s fingers
whitens the hair touched.
Though I checked out the resumes of the
directors and the principal actors, absolutely none of their other
works in silent cinema were familiar to me. One of the two directors
continued to act into the sound era, appearing in a couple of
serials, while Betty Blythe herself chalked up a long resume of
supporting roles throughout the sound era.
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