The Vagabond Lover

Let's face it, as a movie, this is not persuasive. The principles of enunciating for the stage simply overwhelm the intimate sonics that even this incredibly early talkie were capable of producing. Almost immediately, subsequent movie directors understood the difference between stage and screen and made the corrections. Still, it's hard to believe that some of these scenes could not have been re-shot with more natural acting, once they saw the rushes. (I'm thinking they simply didn't think the delivery of lines would be that important in talkies. "Hey, they're talking! Ain't that enough?")

The music is another matter. Yes, this is not jazz as the revisionist historians would have us understand it (i.e., a largely black phenomenon, with only the most perceptive whites getting it). But it's a mere 30 years from the Gay 90s (that's 1890's) song revolution, and the tug of the sentimental ditty still reached out to 1929 the way early rock still has its effect on rock in the new millennium. Don't judge it harshly. Music like this was an important bridge to the wider American public's tolerance, then acceptance, and finally love of what we now think of as a more pure form of jazz.

Marie Dressler, born 5 years after the end of the Civil War, turns in a stunning performance. All the faces she makes while pushing away the maid's efforts to use smelling salts on her -- pure virtuosity, all done in the blink of an eye. But she can't save the movie entirely. All those shots of wooden Rudy and his entourage -- I've seen more life in the Petrified Forest.