D.W. Griffith still looms large in film history, and although the very mention of his name is sometimes enough to launch a heated debate his work continues to draw curious crowds. When this rare feature was screened at NYC's Museum of Modern Art recently it drew a fair-sized audience, something of a surprise considering the film's obscurity. The White Rose is one of those elusive silent movies that almost never gets shown anywhere, though it's sometimes said to be one of Griffith's best works of the 1920s, so the auditorium was filled with curious film buffs hoping to see something exceptional.
Unfortunately, to my way of thinking, this is a film whose flaws outweigh its virtues, although its single greatest virtue is apparent from the very first shot: the cinematography is first rate, even in the somewhat scratched, imperfect black & white print shown at MoMA. (It's rumored that there's a surviving print somewhere with original color tints and tones, and if that's true I hope its owner is taking good care of it.) A team of three cinematographers, led by legendary cameraman Billy Bitzer, filmed The White Rose on location in the bayou country of Louisiana and Florida. Almost every sequence offers shots that are exquisitely atmospheric and beautifully composed, shots that would make great still photos; but needless to say it takes more than pretty pictures to make a satisfying movie. The central problem here lies in the casting and how the director chose to use his actors.
On the plus side of the ledger, Mae Marsh was an inspired choice to play the female lead, Bessie "Teazie" Williams. Marsh came to fame working for Griffith back at Biograph, and also appeared in some of his early features, most notably as the young mother in the modern sequence of Intolerance. At her best Marsh was an actress of great sensitivity and gravitas, with unforgettable eyes. Unfortunately, when Griffith cast her in girlish roles he encouraged her to give jumpy, hyperactive performances which provoke unintended laughter today, and something like that occurs in The White Rose. Marsh's Bessie is first seen as a teenager who has been raised in an orphanage, with a photo album as the only souvenir of her late parents. (Mae was 28 years old when this film was made, but could pass for about 15 in these scenes.) She winds up working as a waitress in a hotel restaurant, where an older, more experienced girl teaches her to apply makeup, walk like a seductress, and flirt with the male customers. Mae's "flapper" routine is cute and funny at first, rather like a Lucille Ball TV sketch of a later era. However, when we're told that a year has passed and then observe that Bessie— now known as "Teazie" —is still in overdrive, it strains our credulity and patience. The director should have reined her in, but instead it appears he urged her to pour it on.
While working as a waitress Teazie meets a solemn young fellow who is passing through town. This is leading man Ivor Novello, whose casting was a major misstep. Off screen he was a talented playwright and songwriter, best known for his anthem of the First World War "Keep the Home Fires Burning." Novello was certainly handsome but as an actor he was out of his depth, at least in this role. He plays Joseph Beaugarde, a self-righteous divinity student from a wealthy family who is traveling incognito, getting a taste of life before taking his vows. He meets Teazie and is smitten despite himself, but resists her at first. (Amusingly, he advises the girl to read the Biblical story of Jezebel!) Soon enough, however, the attraction between the two of them catches fire and they spend the night together. The next morning, ashamed of himself, Joseph slips away and returns to his life of privilege. Unbeknownst to him, Teazie is pregnant, and when she gives birth to her baby out of wedlock she loses her job and suffers rejection at every turn. Ultimately, after more complications and much suffering, the lovers are reunited in a highly unlikely, sentimental finish.
The story is reminiscent of Hawthorne's "Scarlet Letter," crossed with elements of Griffith's 1920 smash Way Down East. Early on, the exposition is carried by the wordy, flowery title cards we expect from Griffith, but as the plot unfolds they decrease in number and the visuals carry the story. Once Teazie gets in trouble Marsh's performance returns to earth and becomes poignant and effective. Novello, however, never improves, and is especially inadequate in scenes calling for high emotion. The scene where Joseph, alone in the woods, expresses his remorse after losing his virginity to this "fast" girl is downright embarrassing, an excruciating example of the eye-popping, arm-waving histrionics that non-buffs usually assume is the silent cinema's typical acting style. And speaking of embarrassing, the worst casting in this film, hands down, can be found in the "comic relief" Negro servants who staff the Beaugarde household. The three most prominent servant roles were taken by white actors wearing obvious black-face makeup, as if Black actors couldn't be trusted to play Black roles. I found it difficult to watch the scenes where these minstrel-style performers, blacked-up, interacted with actual African Americans in smaller roles. What was going through these people's minds? Griffith, the Southern gentleman who always insisted he was no racist, did his posthumous reputation no favors here.
In sum, this movie serves to reinforce the notion that as American popular culture began to undergo rapid change after the Great War, D.W. Griffith was unable to adapt. The White Rose, which was modestly successful at the box office in 1923, looks like a product of an earlier era, already old-fashioned the day it was released.
Unfortunately, to my way of thinking, this is a film whose flaws outweigh its virtues, although its single greatest virtue is apparent from the very first shot: the cinematography is first rate, even in the somewhat scratched, imperfect black & white print shown at MoMA. (It's rumored that there's a surviving print somewhere with original color tints and tones, and if that's true I hope its owner is taking good care of it.) A team of three cinematographers, led by legendary cameraman Billy Bitzer, filmed The White Rose on location in the bayou country of Louisiana and Florida. Almost every sequence offers shots that are exquisitely atmospheric and beautifully composed, shots that would make great still photos; but needless to say it takes more than pretty pictures to make a satisfying movie. The central problem here lies in the casting and how the director chose to use his actors.
On the plus side of the ledger, Mae Marsh was an inspired choice to play the female lead, Bessie "Teazie" Williams. Marsh came to fame working for Griffith back at Biograph, and also appeared in some of his early features, most notably as the young mother in the modern sequence of Intolerance. At her best Marsh was an actress of great sensitivity and gravitas, with unforgettable eyes. Unfortunately, when Griffith cast her in girlish roles he encouraged her to give jumpy, hyperactive performances which provoke unintended laughter today, and something like that occurs in The White Rose. Marsh's Bessie is first seen as a teenager who has been raised in an orphanage, with a photo album as the only souvenir of her late parents. (Mae was 28 years old when this film was made, but could pass for about 15 in these scenes.) She winds up working as a waitress in a hotel restaurant, where an older, more experienced girl teaches her to apply makeup, walk like a seductress, and flirt with the male customers. Mae's "flapper" routine is cute and funny at first, rather like a Lucille Ball TV sketch of a later era. However, when we're told that a year has passed and then observe that Bessie— now known as "Teazie" —is still in overdrive, it strains our credulity and patience. The director should have reined her in, but instead it appears he urged her to pour it on.
While working as a waitress Teazie meets a solemn young fellow who is passing through town. This is leading man Ivor Novello, whose casting was a major misstep. Off screen he was a talented playwright and songwriter, best known for his anthem of the First World War "Keep the Home Fires Burning." Novello was certainly handsome but as an actor he was out of his depth, at least in this role. He plays Joseph Beaugarde, a self-righteous divinity student from a wealthy family who is traveling incognito, getting a taste of life before taking his vows. He meets Teazie and is smitten despite himself, but resists her at first. (Amusingly, he advises the girl to read the Biblical story of Jezebel!) Soon enough, however, the attraction between the two of them catches fire and they spend the night together. The next morning, ashamed of himself, Joseph slips away and returns to his life of privilege. Unbeknownst to him, Teazie is pregnant, and when she gives birth to her baby out of wedlock she loses her job and suffers rejection at every turn. Ultimately, after more complications and much suffering, the lovers are reunited in a highly unlikely, sentimental finish.
The story is reminiscent of Hawthorne's "Scarlet Letter," crossed with elements of Griffith's 1920 smash Way Down East. Early on, the exposition is carried by the wordy, flowery title cards we expect from Griffith, but as the plot unfolds they decrease in number and the visuals carry the story. Once Teazie gets in trouble Marsh's performance returns to earth and becomes poignant and effective. Novello, however, never improves, and is especially inadequate in scenes calling for high emotion. The scene where Joseph, alone in the woods, expresses his remorse after losing his virginity to this "fast" girl is downright embarrassing, an excruciating example of the eye-popping, arm-waving histrionics that non-buffs usually assume is the silent cinema's typical acting style. And speaking of embarrassing, the worst casting in this film, hands down, can be found in the "comic relief" Negro servants who staff the Beaugarde household. The three most prominent servant roles were taken by white actors wearing obvious black-face makeup, as if Black actors couldn't be trusted to play Black roles. I found it difficult to watch the scenes where these minstrel-style performers, blacked-up, interacted with actual African Americans in smaller roles. What was going through these people's minds? Griffith, the Southern gentleman who always insisted he was no racist, did his posthumous reputation no favors here.
In sum, this movie serves to reinforce the notion that as American popular culture began to undergo rapid change after the Great War, D.W. Griffith was unable to adapt. The White Rose, which was modestly successful at the box office in 1923, looks like a product of an earlier era, already old-fashioned the day it was released.