Saturday May 27, 4:00pm The Egyptian
Film bears no responsibility to literature beyond its acknowledgment as a source. There have however, been more than a few great works utterly destroyed by terrible screen adaptations. MGM's 1926 film, The Scarlet Letter is not among those casualties. This great film is a shining example of all the principle elements, screenplay, direction, performance and production coming together with phenomenal results.
Lillian Gish suggested Nathaniel Hawthorne's novel, a monument of American literature, for her next picture after completing La Boheme with John Gilbert earlier in 1926. The book was included on a 'blacklist' under the aegis of several religious organizations. Miss Gish made a personal plea and consent was granted. Louis Mayer recommended the popular Swedish actor Lars Hanson for the role of Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale and a fellow Swede, the great director Victor Sjöström (Metro anglicized it to Seastrom)) was brought to Hollywood for the production. The task of adapting the novel was entrusted to Hollywood veteran Francis Marion, whose legendary screen writing career ranged from The Champ and Camille to Son of the Sheik and Zander the Great. The resulting film was not only a masterpiece, it is also one of the greatest literary adaptations in all of film, supporting one of the most profoundly emotional performances of the silent era. Seastrom brought the sensibilities of Swedish cinema, repression, guilt and Puritanism, combined with the integration of beauty in the natural world, to Hawthorne's tale of colonial persecution more successfully than any American director possibly could have. Gish also demonstrates a far greater range than the waif of Griffith's films in her sensitive and overwrought portrayal of Hester Prynne, nearly equaled two years later again with Seastrom and Hanson in The Wind. None of the powerful religious symbolism from the novel seems to be lost in this film. The most significant alterations include an extended prologue showing what led to Hester's condemnation, and the absence of any relationship between Dimmesdale and Roger Chillingworth prior to the sudden, seismic revelation of who they actually are. Seastrom made full use of Hendrik Sartov (a Griffith veteran) and his beautiful camera work to create a mystical, dreamlike vision of Hawthorne's Puritan village. The opening scene of worshipers walking to church in a sweeping shot that slowly pulls back in its arc to reveal the heart of the village, and several additional tracking shots that seem to float above the characters as they travel the country lanes are extraordinary. Seastrom was able to convey huge amounts of the story with nothing more than the movement and reactions of the cast. When Dimmesdale returns, he learns of Hester's punishment. His reactions and her implicit needs are powerfully conveyed almost entirely without the use of titles. The brooding specter of Chillingworth in the forest scene, one of the most beautiful in the film, and his constant, smothering presence is as palpable as any demonic symbol ever devised in German cinema. Seastrom presents image after image (An ominous group of men with lanterns, Hester running in the woods with her long hair flowing behind her, the interior of her house lit by the fire with shadows of a spinning wheel cast against the door, the kinetic and beautifully contrasting crowd scenes) throughout the film, achieving a degree of artistry possibly equaled only by Murnau. The final climactic scene with it's shattering revelation, devastating sorrow etched in the faces of the crowd, and withering emotional intensity, is masterfully executed and has no equal.
Film bears no responsibility to literature beyond its acknowledgment as a source. There have however, been more than a few great works utterly destroyed by terrible screen adaptations. MGM's 1926 film, The Scarlet Letter is not among those casualties. This great film is a shining example of all the principle elements, screenplay, direction, performance and production coming together with phenomenal results.
Lillian Gish suggested Nathaniel Hawthorne's novel, a monument of American literature, for her next picture after completing La Boheme with John Gilbert earlier in 1926. The book was included on a 'blacklist' under the aegis of several religious organizations. Miss Gish made a personal plea and consent was granted. Louis Mayer recommended the popular Swedish actor Lars Hanson for the role of Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale and a fellow Swede, the great director Victor Sjöström (Metro anglicized it to Seastrom)) was brought to Hollywood for the production. The task of adapting the novel was entrusted to Hollywood veteran Francis Marion, whose legendary screen writing career ranged from The Champ and Camille to Son of the Sheik and Zander the Great. The resulting film was not only a masterpiece, it is also one of the greatest literary adaptations in all of film, supporting one of the most profoundly emotional performances of the silent era. Seastrom brought the sensibilities of Swedish cinema, repression, guilt and Puritanism, combined with the integration of beauty in the natural world, to Hawthorne's tale of colonial persecution more successfully than any American director possibly could have. Gish also demonstrates a far greater range than the waif of Griffith's films in her sensitive and overwrought portrayal of Hester Prynne, nearly equaled two years later again with Seastrom and Hanson in The Wind. None of the powerful religious symbolism from the novel seems to be lost in this film. The most significant alterations include an extended prologue showing what led to Hester's condemnation, and the absence of any relationship between Dimmesdale and Roger Chillingworth prior to the sudden, seismic revelation of who they actually are. Seastrom made full use of Hendrik Sartov (a Griffith veteran) and his beautiful camera work to create a mystical, dreamlike vision of Hawthorne's Puritan village. The opening scene of worshipers walking to church in a sweeping shot that slowly pulls back in its arc to reveal the heart of the village, and several additional tracking shots that seem to float above the characters as they travel the country lanes are extraordinary. Seastrom was able to convey huge amounts of the story with nothing more than the movement and reactions of the cast. When Dimmesdale returns, he learns of Hester's punishment. His reactions and her implicit needs are powerfully conveyed almost entirely without the use of titles. The brooding specter of Chillingworth in the forest scene, one of the most beautiful in the film, and his constant, smothering presence is as palpable as any demonic symbol ever devised in German cinema. Seastrom presents image after image (An ominous group of men with lanterns, Hester running in the woods with her long hair flowing behind her, the interior of her house lit by the fire with shadows of a spinning wheel cast against the door, the kinetic and beautifully contrasting crowd scenes) throughout the film, achieving a degree of artistry possibly equaled only by Murnau. The final climactic scene with it's shattering revelation, devastating sorrow etched in the faces of the crowd, and withering emotional intensity, is masterfully executed and has no equal.