bok602

I'm not even through to the first commercial break and I can tell that this show is just another pile of faux-reality CRAP! Zawi Hawass is such a ego-maniacal, self-centered publicity whore that I wouldn't doubt for a second that he'd jump at the chance to make himself the action hero center of an alleged "reality" program -even to the point of faking this whole intern,documentary thing in and around these priceless ruins. Notice how in the first minute or two he makes a convenient "discovery" the instant he sets foot inside the tunnel beneath the pyramid? I SEVERELY question whether any serious archaeologist would just pick up such a fragile object in his bare hands and handle it so casually.

The interns and crew are clearly actors (or at least reading prepared lines) and the setup so far is obviously staged.

I have no intentions of following any further episodes and strongly advise others not to waste their time.

A heart-breaking film of incredible beauty! I was guided towards this film by Delpeut's other "found footage" masterpiece, Lyrical Nitrate. In that assemblage I was introduced to the genius of Lyda Borelli and sought out whatever titles of hers may still exist -this was the top of the list.

Anyone who has any sort of preconceived notions about silent film which involves goofy black-and-white makeup, cardboard sets, static camera setups and custard pies is in for a surprise. Anyone who thinks that silent film acting was all about waving your arms and stalking back and forth is in for an earth-shattering revelation.

True, there is a bit of monochromatic makeup (panchromatic hadn't yet been perfected), but the use is masterly and you are more readily reminded of today's "heroin chic" or Goth makeup fashion. In most instances the "back to the future" quality of the makeup actually works in its favor.

The sets glimpsed here are anything but cardboard. The entire collection of films appear to have been shot on location, in actual mansions or else on lavishly appointed sets that would rival anything DeMille or Merchant/Ivory could devise.

The direction and cinematography of the original films is quite frankly breath-taking. There was a scene in an opera house early on in which the director executed a camera move (panning the breadth of the opera house from inside one of the boxes using the actress as the pivot point) which I had never seen done in a film before. It was startling. Elsewhere there are scenes of ravishing beauty, artistic composition simply for art's sake and camera work designed simply to showcase the beauty or the expression of the actress or her movements.

Just look at the image on the box cover and you can instantly sense that our heroine is in the midst of some torment within herself. So much from just a still frame -and even there it is so carefully composed an image that it becomes art in itself. The entire film is that rare and perfect blending of art and drama so delicately balanced that one never compromises the other. Scenes are played for the maximum dramatic impact (and there are some category 10 hurricanes brewing), but at the same same time the images are composed so as to resemble Beardsley illustrations or Old Masters paintings. But again, one never outweighs or interferes with the other.

First and foremost, each actress in the several clips assembled is given license to unleash her dramatic demons and take no prisoners. This they do with all the fury or a woman scorned (Do not expect hand-wringing melodrama, or anything along the lines of a Lifetime Movie for Women, these women are Divas of the highest order, sexually liberated and may the gods help anyone who gets in their way).

Secondly the actresses are treated by their directors and cinematographers as goddesses incarnate, and are so presented in all their silver nitrate glory; faces in sublime agony become poetic landscapes of beauty, or a coquettish glance is transformed into a thunderstorm about to explode. Images of ravishing beauty accompany scenes of soul-wrenching misery. The mixture is astounding.

Forget any thoughts of banana peels or custard pie fights; there is not a single instant of slapstick comedy anywhere on screen. Quite the opposite, this film is drenched with seriousness to the point of suicide. Had there been sound these characters would be singing grand opera. The women whose lives are enacted in these all-too-brief moments were fraught with sinful passions, sorrow, anguish and -of course- high drama.

It is this last which I mean in in its best sense, not in the current flippant meaning. This is drama of the most operatic proportions; of Ophelia decking herself in silk and veils to take her last, final swim. This is of the woman, so desperate in love despite her illness (one is reminded of La Boheme and her TB) that she willingly lets herself be overdosed on morphine so she can share one moment of love. There are Salome's and Lady MacBeth's here as well -all wrenching and grasping, seething and smoldering visibly as well as below the surface.

But again, don't expect "silent movie" acting. These women, Lyda Borelli, Pina Menichelli and the others -grand dames every one- threw themselves bodily into their roles (quite literally at times) but never at any point do their agonies come across as comedic or unbelievable. Names like Streep, Close and Sarandon spring to mind immediately when watching the performances; these are women who can act with their faces, their eyes, with the simple turn of the head.

It has taken nearly a hundred years for the supreme artistry of the Dolorous Diva to come full circle and be appreciated. What a loss that so much of the output of these superstars of early film has been lost. Delpeut's film has restored at least part of them to their rightful niche of immortal performances.

Diva Dolorosa is a spectacular achievement on so many levels

Having seen Lyrical Nitrate and been hypnotized by the beauty of it and of the artistry possible to be created out of found footage (even as it disintegrates), I bought DECASIA based on the reviews and in the hope that the same creative lightening would strike twice.

I was much disappointed.

The moments of "artistic" decay are few and far between. A previous reviewer pointed out (most poetically) the highlights of the film, but the majority of the film is endless -endless -endless clips of just poor quality footage.

To make matters worse, most of the clips, which went on far too long to hold interest, were actually slowed down to make them LONGER. Case in point is the whirling dervish footage, which not only is slowed down, but also repeated several times. Then there is the procession of camels which drag across the screen in slow motion to the point that I had to fast-forward just to get past them. Neither sequence, by the way, was particularly decayed or showed any damage of note; certainly nothing to merit slowing them down to such extents.

Likewise, a procession of schoolchildren through a convent garden is slowed to such an excruciating crawl that one actually misses the fact that this sequence IS damaged until you speed it up.

My other complaint (and an artistic mis-step on the part of the film-maker) is the fact that black-and white film stock was used instead of color. As Lyrical Nitrate demonstrated, part of the artistic value of decayed nitrate (even if it was a "black & white" film) is the palette of color produced by the chemical reaction of the film stock.

Lost are the yellows, oranges, rusts, browns and reds which might have lent some genuine visual interest to this otherwise rather bland collage.

I personally would not recommend this film and would instead direct interested parties to the vastly superior Lyrical Nitrate.