Sometimes various strands converge to lead me down rabbit holes that are hard to get out of. This happened when I stumbled upon a quote from author Saul Bellow where he allegedly said – he later denied it – “Who is the Tolstoy of the Zulus? The Proust of the Papuans? I‘d be glad to read them.” The quote is cited as a defense of the Western canon of literature, and a comment on the supposed dearth of literary art in the third world. In reply to this quote a writer named Ralph Wiley retorted “Tolstoy is the Tolstoy of the Zulus.”
The obvious question in considering Bellow’s statement is “Can we dismiss other cultures because they have not produced denizens of the fine arts internationally recognized?”. The answer is, of course, a resounding no. Given the chance, writers such as Chinua Achebe, Ngugi was Thiong’o and Yaa Gyasi have proven they are every bit as talented and profound as their Western counterparts.
But Wiley’s response troubled me as well. Is it true that Zulus can read and appreciate Anna Karinina, or is the cultural gap too wide? Can I fathom the art of a society as different from mine as that of Papua New Guinea? Does my failure to understand their art make it any less important? The authors cited above make clear that many themes are global, but still there are no doubt nuances that are untranslatable.
As I was pondering this debate, I came across a statement by Neil Gabler in his book, “An Empire of Their Own”, which explores the founding years of Hollywood. While discussing the transition from silents to talkies, he posited, in essence, that film is the most accessible artistic expression and is at its most accessible when a story is told through pictures alone, without the interference of dialogue. As such, silent movies were the ultimate universal art form.
I have always had a fascination with silent movies, those odd flickering dinosaurs best known for over-expressive acting, outrageous physical comedy and people moving about at a speed that doesn’t look quite human. They seem like a time machine transporting us back to a long-gone age. The aspects that can render them unwatchable for many, I find captivating.
There is no doubt something was lost when the talkies hit the theaters. Silent directors had become masters at conveying plot with image alone. The visual was more than sufficient to convey their intent. To the extent title cards were used, they were supplemental. That simplicity of storytelling was somewhat lost when sound became the norm, as anyone who has had to suffer through a voiceover can tell you. Even today, the best filmmakers understand that a striking image is worth more than 10 minutes of chatter.
Gabler’s comments sent me down another path, one already partially occupied by the Bellow/Wiley exchange. Were silent films a medium that could be appreciated both in remote Africa and Paris? Could cultural differences be overcome through moving images in a way they could not by other artistic mediums?
There is an argument to be made. Silents eliminate the need to struggle through extensive descriptive prose, find a museum to roam through or differentiate between doric and ionic columns. It is easy to inhale the power of an image. Fritz Lang’s vision of the future in “Metropolis” can be immediately consumed in a way that Issac Asimov’s intricate “Foundation” world cannot. That does not mean it’s better, just that it can reach a wider audience.
However, silents do express a sensibility that reflects the culture which produced them, just as talkies do. “Birth of a Nation” is a uniquely American film, unfortunately. Similarly, the silents of Mikio Naruse and Jasujiro Ozu highlight tensions rooted in Japanese society. To suggest that anyone, anywhere can grasp these films is questionable. Can a rural society that has never even conceived of a robot, let alone struggle with issues of capitalism, get “Metropolis”?
As I internally debated the universality of silent movies, I started reading the book “Radiance” by Catherynne Valente. Valente creates an alternative history in which the Edison family ruthlessly enforces patents on film technology so as to make the production of sound films so expensive that silents continued to reign. Audiences had become so used to silents that they rejected those few films where sound is used. (Note: I cannot recommend Valente’s book, as creative as it is. If you want to read novels on a secret film history, I would suggest “The Book of Illusions” by Paul Auster or “Flicker” by Theodore Roszak).
In Valente’s world, Gabler’s argument is ascendant. Silent films have become an art form that binds not only nations, but worlds (she has space exploration and colonization beginning in the 19th century). While history’s path as laid out by Valente seems unlikely, it is based on some fact. Thomas Edison did try and ruthlessly enforce his motion picture patents in the early 1900’s, until he lost an antitrust suit in 1915. Regardless, I cannot fathom a sole diet of silents.
Amid this canoodling, I needed to watch a film from the 1920’s for my Criterion Challenge (a topic for another post). I chose the G.W. Pabst film, “Pandora’s Box”, starring Louisa Brooks. Released in 1929, this German production, this story of a femme fatale who leads men to their doom, is considered among the greatest in silent cinema.
“Pandora’s Box” both validated and refuted Gabler’s arguments. The storyline is likely universal (I assume that men everywhere blame women for their failings). The images were sufficiently evocative that the few title cards were almost extraneous. The direction was superb, wonderfully capturing the locales from elegant to seedy. Even the acting was sufficiently understated so as not to convey the characters’ emotions without eliciting laughter.
Yet, lurking in this movie, fairly near the surface, is an antisemitism that is particularly chilling considering the time and country in which the film originated. The lead character, Lulu, is identified as Jewish by a menorah prominently displayed in her apartment. Her “father” – the exact nature of the relationship is unclear – is named Schilogh!!! With that genealogy established she is explicitly compared to the mythical Pandora, who introduced all evil into the world.
No doubt someone unfamiliar with German history could watch this movie and simply enjoy it as the misogynistic romp it is, assuming you like that kind of thing. However, to fully “appreciate” it, the context is essential. The film would play much different in Tibet than it would in Berlin. (I am sad to say that, based on Letterbox reviews, and the Wikipedia article on this film, its problematic nature goes by most Americans as well).
Not surprisingly all this pondering has led nowhere. The questions remain unanswered. That may be for the best. We cannot avoid the culture that shaped us, but we can also open ourselves up to other cultures as well, even if the understanding is not exact. No one art form can fully bridge that gap, but, if it’s well done, each can bring to the table a universality that can open up worlds. That’s enough for me.