igenlode: The pirate sloop 'Horizon' from "Treasures of the Indies" (Horizon)
Igenlode Wordsmith ([personal profile] igenlode) wrote2007-11-04 03:53 pm

Cars and Gangsters

I spent most of today up in London; got up before dawn to make it to Hyde Park in time to see the start of the London to Brighton Veteran Car Run, a plan slightly sabotaged by the fact that the Victoria Line turned out to be closed for the weekend! But I got there in time to see most of the cars leaving the gates and setting off around Hyde Park Corner. Two or three turned the wrong way and had to be set right by spectators, which did leave me wondering how many cars simply get lost along the way...

It was a beautiful day for it — too beautiful, really, as people were having to motor straight into the low sun — and I got an excellent position balancing on top of a seat so that I could see over the wall on the other side of the road; I'm not sure I've ever had such a good view of the entrants before. It was fascinating just listening to the different engine notes of the various vehicles as they passed (and spotting the steam-powered cars by their almost total silence!) It never ceases to amaze me that the one-cylinder engines can work at all: they are easily identifiable by the extreme slowness of the exhaust beat, as the single cylinder gives a great shove, then frantically winds round for another go while hoping that the flywheel will maintain some kind of momentum in the interval. Incredibly, in practice it works.

Most entries seemed to be carrying a fair complement of passengers (discounting the charabanc which made an appearance among the veteran cars with a full load of merrymakers, but almost certainly wasn't old enough to qualify!), but a few brave souls set out without any assistants to help in case of breakdown, emergency, or just the need for a push-start. Inevitably, there were a few 'casualties' among the hundred-year-old vehicles before or during the start, with a few sad victims being carried away by trailer, having failed to start, acquired a puncture, or broken down within the first few yards. But only a few.

Otherwise, a great time was being had by all, including the multi-national crowd of spectators: the family on one side of me were speaking German and on the other side, Italian... The 'normal' Traffic inevitably built up as time went on, and the road became more congested; but I was amused to note that the veteran cars were apparently not required to stop at the first set of lights, presumably in case their brakes proved insufficient and/or they proved unable to start again.



>
And later on this afternoon I went to the Barbican to see their screening of the silent film Underworld; I'd seen it before at the National Film Theatre in July 2004, and enjoyed it so much that I came back for a second viewing at Barbican prices. The film didn't disappoint.

This is an example of silent film-making at its height, in the era 1927-8 just before it was ended for ever, and a talented director and cast could produce a story of unbelievable subtlety and delicacy without a word's being spoken. Clive Brook is just incredible in this; he's not handsome, he's not youthful, he's not 'sexy', but he creates a character whose intelligence and integrity simply shine, and he's one brilliant actor. You can see everything he's thinking just from the way he looks and moves; from the slightest shade of intention or irresolution on his face, or from the way he sets down a glass or picks up a broom. And his co-stars Evelyn Brent (who is gorgeous) and George Bancroft equal his screen presence. The whole film is tightly focused on the shifting relationship between these three, to the extent that others only appear fleetingly on screen; and never once do they let it drop, and turn in a wooden scene or a hammy reaction.

And the camera work is both starkly shadowed and impressionistic, and inventive. A wild party takes place in an accelerating montage of flashing faces; a bully looms towards the screen and punches the camera 'in the gut', as the subjective view reels upwards in response. Intertitles brim with sharp one-liners, or pared-down, effective understatement of emotion. It's technically accomplished, psychologically acute, and a heart-twisting roller-coaster of loyalties and affections.

This film should be a classic and widely shown; the fact that it's played twice in London within three years suggests that it's no rarity, but apparently not so. It survives only in print from a battered 16mm source, and no high-prestige 'restoration' and consequent home video release has ever taken place. See it on the big screen if you can; if you can't, you'll never see it anywhere else...

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