Are You Lonesome Tonight?

One of the primary benefits—for a movie buff, anyway—of living in a city like New York is getting the chance to see cinematic rarities that one just doesn’t have the opportunity to view in, say, Oklahoma City or Toledo or Salt Lake City.

Some years ago, we were delighted by our first viewing of Pál Fejös‘ mostly silent (two or three scenes with dialogue were added as an afterthought) 1928 effort, Lonesome. It was rarely screened, we were led to understand, because few copies were known to exist; the print we saw was from the collection of the George Eastman House in Rochester, New York.

Eastman House wasn’t stingy with the print, exactly, but neither did they blithely send that one extant copy bouncing around the country for multiple screenings. We caught the picture every time it was screened in NYC, so we managed to see it perhaps four or five times over the years, but we wondered all the while why it wasn’t restored and released on DVD.

We need wonder no more, as the Criterion Collection, bless their hearts, have stepped up to the plate and arranged a DVD/Blu-Ray release that debuted in late August.

Lonesome could not be more charming. Its appeal is based in large part on the fact that much of it was filmed on Coney Island, and any glimpse of that magical setting as it was in the 1920s is to be treasured.

But the plot of the picture is engaging, too. It tells the tale of two lonely Manhattanites, played by Glenn Tryon and Barbara Kent, who experience a chance meeting at Coney and go on to spend a magical day together before getting separated that evening, with neither having learned the other’s last name. In a city of millions, will they ever manage to find each other? (If you think we’re going to tell you how it turns out, you can think again. No blabbermouths, we.)

Lonesome was originally released as a silent picture, but with all the fuss over the new sound technology, it was decided to bring back all involved parties to film three scenes with synchronized music and dialogue. So it’s not quite a silent and not quite a talkie.

But it’s certainly delightful, and we encourage you to, at the very least, rent the Criterion release (really, you should be buy it, as such adventurous releases should be encouraged—and besides, there are two other Fejös’ pictures included in the package, The Last Performance (1927) and Broadway (1929). That’s three rarities for the price of one, a deal that’s hard to beat.

Fejös wasn’t in the movie business terribly long, but he left his mark with audaciously daring camerawork, a sample of which we’re sharing below. These few minutes of video are from the opening scenes of Lonesome and show our young protagonists striving to make it to work on time.

It’s Free Roscoe Friday

For this week’s Free Roscoe Friday offering, we’re sharing the second half of Coney island, starring Roscoe Arbuckle and Buster Keaton. (If you missed last week’s posting of the first half, it’s here.)

Remember that we’re marking tomorrow’s 125th anniversary of Roscoe’s birth by giving away three copies of The Forgotten Films of Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle. It’s a four-disc DVD set that features 32 restored comedy classics, one of which is, as you may have guessed, Coney Island.

And as always, you can enter for your chance to win in a myriad of ways (and on a daily basis). Follow the link to your left to enter; retweet one of our “Free Roscoe” tweets on Twitter. Like and/or share one of our “Free Roscoe” posts on Facebook. Like or reblog one of our Arbuckle-themed posts on Tumblr. Heck, you can even share a Free Roscoe post on Google+, if you like.

You’ve got till March 31st to load up on entries and improve your chances to be one of the lucky winners, so make the most of it!

It’s Free Roscoe Friday

For this week’s Free Roscoe Friday offering, we’re sharing the first half of Coney island, a film starring Roscoe Arbuckle and Buster Keaton.

We love old footage of Coney Island and we’re crazy about Buster, so this is one of our favorites among the extant examples of Arbuckle’s work.

It’s interesting to see Keaton’s early cinematic performances; he’s not yet the stoic onscreen figure he would soon become.

Remember that we’re marking the 125th anniversary of Roscoe’s birth by giving away three copies of The Forgotten Films of Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle. It’s a four-disc DVD set that features 32 restored comedy classics, one of which is, as you may have guessed, “Coney Island” (you may rest assured it looks better on the DVD than in the YouTube clip shared above).

And you can enter for your chance to win in a myriad of ways (and on a daily basis). Follow the link to your left to enter; retweet one of our “Free Roscoe” tweets on Twitter. Like and/or share one of our “Free Roscoe” posts on Facebook. Like or reblog one of our Arbuckle-themed posts on Tumblr. Heck, you can even share a Free Roscoe post on Google+, if you like.

You’ve got till March 31st to load up on entries and improve your chances to be one of the lucky winners, so make the most of it!

Times Square Tintypes: Times Square

In this chapter from his 1932 book, Times Square Tintypes, Broadway columnist Sidney Skolsky profiles not a person, but the Crossroads of the World, the area that gave Skolsky’s book its name—Times Square.

MY STREET

FORTY-SECOND Street and Seventh Avenue . . . Everybody calls it Broadway. The Rialto Theatre. A hanging says it is “The House of Hits”. . . . But the big line is at the Paramount . . . Sightseeing buses . . . Old women sitting in them . . . Making a living as decoys . . . See the Bowery . . . A lecture through Chinatown . . . Why, all the Chinks own restaurants on Broadway . . . There ain’t no Chinamen in Chinatown . . . The chap who is shouting that he is going to point out the historic places . . . Did you know he only arrived here from Portland last week? . . . See the old man selling The Birth Control Review . . . He’s doing it for the wife and kiddies. . . .

“A million horns from motor cars,
A million lights that dim the stars. . .”

The Astor Hotel . . . Must have been nice when it was a big farm . . . More people live outside than in . . . That drug store diagonally opposite . . . Gray’s . . . You know, that’s where you buy theatre tickets at half-price . . . Best seats for all the “hits” in town . . . Isn’t that a well-dressed man? . . . Tuxedo . . . High hat . . . He’s got class . . . Sure has poise . . . Must be some big society fellow . . . Wait a moment and his shirt will light up, advertising a brand of cigar . . .

“That’s Broadway, Broadway
Heart of the World . . .”

Loew’s New York Roof . . . It’s called the old men’s club . . . They go there to sleep . . . Did you know it once had an elegant French name and house the first Ziegfeld Follies? There’s a nut embarrassing couples by trying to make the girl take a rose and make the guy pay for it . . . Another Nedick thirst station . . . Hungry, have a hot dog, too . . . Just like Coney Island . . . A shabby, fate-beaten old man . . . Once was a great architect and built many theaters . . . He now haunts the lobbies of those theaters . . .

“A painted smile, a hard-luck tale,
A helping hand—they’re all for sale,
On Broadway, Broadway. . . .

A Lucky Strike display situation . . . Try to edge your way near the window . . . The blonde is worth seeing . . . Better than most chorus girls . . . Don’t have to pay $5.50 either . . . The fight at Madison Square Garden round for round in the doorway of a sheet music shop . . . And if you’re interested in art, you can look at the picture postal cards also . . . Childs . . . See them tossing buckwheat cakes . . . This is their Broadway place . . . Only the best performers work here . . . No newcomers . . . The crowd is too large and critical . . . Newcomers always get stage fright . . . Another United Cigar store . . . Say, if they prohibited smoking where would we find telephone booths? . . . The Palace across the street . . . It used to be the dream of all vaudevillians to play there . . . Now if the movie houses don’t get them, they’re there . . .

“And there’s a crowd there lauding you and applauding you
When you’re on top;
Same crowd hissing you and dismissing you
If you should flop . . .

The photomatic . . . You can take you picture . . . Eight for a quarter . . . They’re all ready to take home in five minutes . . . Say, isn’t this a wonderful age? . . . Let’s get tomorrow’s paper today and see what has happened tomorrow . . . This sure is great . . .

“But those who fail must learn to say
Tomorrow is another day . . .

Here we are at Fifty-second Street . . . Just ten blocks . . . It’s dull from here up . . . Broadway’s a small place, isn’t it? . . . Just ten blocks . . . Ten blocks for all the world to get famous in . . .

“That’s Broadway, Broadway,
The Heart of the World. . . .”

Goodbye to another glorious gal: Barbara Kent

Some years ago, we had the pleasure of viewing Lonesome, a silent-talkie hybrid that was released in 1928. It’s not an easy movie to catch; as far as we know, the George Eastman House in Rochester, New York, has one of the few extant prints. (Someone seems to have loaded Lonesome up on YouTube, and we suppose that’s better than not seeing it at all, but just barely.)

Lonesome could not be more charming. Its appeal is based in large part on the fact that much of it was filmed on Coney Island, and any glimpse of that magical setting as it was in the 1920s is to be treasured.

But the plot of the picture is engaging, too. It tells the tale of two lonely Manhattanites who experience a chance meeting at Coney Island and go on to spend a magical day together before getting separated that evening, with neither having learned the other’s last name. In a city of millions, will they ever manage to find each other? (If you think we’re going to tell you how it turns out, you can think again. No blabbermouths, we.)

Lonesome was originally released as a silent picture, but with all the fuss over the new sound technology, it was decided to bring back all involved parties to film three scenes with synchronized music and dialogue. So it’s not quite a silent and not quite a talkie.

But it’s certainly delightful, in our opinion, and we encourage you, if you ever have the opportunity, to see it (in a theatre and not streaming online, if at all possible).

But you might well be wondering why we’re mentioning what is today a rather obscure picture now? Well, we’re sad to report that it’s because the movie’s leading lady, Barbara Kent, one of Universal Studios’ original contract stars and the final surviving WAMPAS Baby Star of 1927, died a week ago yesterday at the age of 103.

The Canadian-born Kent (her birthname was Barbara Cloutman) was not, admittedly, the biggest of names, even at the height of her career, but she made her mark, making eight or nine silents before successfully navigating the switch to talking pictures. She made 25 sound movies following her appearance in Lonesome, but retired from acting in 1935.

Among Kent’s most notable films were her screen debut in Flesh and the Devil (1926), with John Gilbert and Greta Garbo; a pair of starring roles opposite Harold Lloyd, in 1929’s Welcome Danger and Feet First a year later; a supporting role in Indiscreet (1931), which starred Gloria Swanson; and Emma, which featured Myrna Loy and Marie Dressler.

In the course of her nine-year career, Kent also worked alongside Douglas Fairbanks Jr., Richard Barthelmess, Edward G. Robinson, Charles “Buddy” Rogers, Andy Devine, James Gleason, Ben Lyon, Gilbert Roland, Noah Beery, Victor Jory, Dickie Moore, Monte Blue, Wallace Ford, Ward Bond, Arthur Lake, and Rex the Wonder Horse. That may not qualify as a Hall of Fame roster of co-stars, but many an actress has done worse.

After retiring, Kent refused virtually all interviews about her years in Hollywood—one notable exception was the time she afforded author Michael G. Ankerich, who profiled Kent in The Sound of Silence: Conversations with 16 Film and Stage Personalities Who Bridged the Gap Between Silents and Talkies—as she settled into a successive pair of happy marriages—first to Harry Edington, a Hollywood agent, whom she wed in 1932, and then, some years after Edington’s death in 1949, she married Jack Monroe, a Lockheed engineer. Aside from evading would-be interviewers, Kent reportedly spent her free time in her golden years as a golfer and a pilot.

For more on Kent’s life and career, give this New York Times obit a look.