With all of the buzz around this year's The Artist, perhaps there is renewed interest in silent era film; that is, films that by virtue of being films, were silent. Of course, even this definition of "silent era" is problematic: 1927 was not only the year of Buster Keaton's The General, but also The Jazz Singer, which was the first "talkie."
New interest in silent film is a good thing, but the Academy Award imprimatur feels hypocritical. Though the Oscars started in 1929, silent films were still being made. Keaton only received an honorary award from the Academy, long after his best and most enduring works. Likewise, Chaplin only took an honorary award and award for musical score by the time he died. Maybe it is because the Academy began in an era of talking pictures, silent films felt outdated, and not yet classic. But a silent film these days can satisfy the Academy's Olympian-like wavering between novelty and nostalgia; a process that tries to pass itself off as being "contemporary." Thus the award to a silent film this year feels like a rewriting of Academy history; as if to say, we have always appreciated silent film.
What is worth considering about silent film both today and in a bygone era, is how the films are not bound to any particular language. There are stylistic differences from one country to the next and between one director and the next, but in a way that does not happen today. Language is hardly a barrier for silent films. Silent film is also a good reminder of how often language is taken for granted, if not wasted in contemporary film: e.g."Go ahead, make my day." Just think how these lines detract from other artistic elements (how any art improves within limitations). The best scenes with Clint Eastwood can be captured in his complicated glare, not the one liners that diffuse his presence.
In the context of watching a silent film in 2012 where the danger of appreciating it can readily degrade into mere novelty, trendiness, or nostalgia, The General is still worth noting. The film's formula is simple: a man with two loves, his train and a woman, and he wants both. He gets both and more by the end, but what makes the film compelling is how every obstacle is met with what feels like an unstoppable force. The majority of the movie pushes forward quite literally, whether by foot, bicycle, horse, or train. (It is additionally worth noting that Keaton is doing all of his own stunts, some of which are really dangerous.)
But why watch such a film in 2012, beside being a reminder of how much is taken for granted in film dialogue, and beside the film's seemingly "universal" and enduring qualities (not exactly universal since there are easily identifiable Americanisms)? The General is a meditation on living life forward. It is as if Keaton lives his character, a character who persists through the hang-ups, but is honest enough to acknowledge the role of luck in the end (and not masking the success of his outcome with "God helps those who help themselves"-a subtle way of saying God awards industriousness). The defaults in cinema are often wish-fulfillment or fate alone. Even in some of the better films, the choice between will and luck degrades into a tie breaker in double overtime, not a perfect both. Seldom does a film take desire and luck as equals and make it work. The distinction is that we do not see greatness and humility enough, or in one word, what can only be termed grace.
IMDb rates this film 8.4 out of 10
Film 101 rates this film 5 stars out of 5 (not red stars)
Roger Ebert includes it in his Great Films list
IMDb rates this film 8.4 out of 10
Film 101 rates this film 5 stars out of 5 (not red stars)
Roger Ebert includes it in his Great Films list
