Perhaps it's a difference of working with an American crew, including U. S. cinematographer John Arnold, rather than his fellow Swedes and specifically regular collaborator Julius Jaenzon. One way or another it's safe to say that this picture looks a smidgen different from some of Victor Sjöström's earlier works like 'A man there was' or 'The outlaw and his wife.' There's a slight warm haze to the fundamental image that notably contrasts with the cold clarity of the man's other titles, and at that, it bears an appearance that's right in line with contemporary Hollywood fare. Yet if on some level the artistry we expect from Sjöström is adjoined with a tinge of commonness, by and large 'The wind' fits in neatly with those other pictures of his we know and love. There's significant emphasis on the surrounding environs here, and unyielding nature, just as the wilderness itself, or the sea, took on extraordinary life of their own in films preceding this one. In this case the effects (special or visual) of fierce, blowing wind in a rather desolate setting provide a particularly dour, unwelcoming tone, conjuring dire atmosphere and thriller vibes as protagonist Letty finds adjustment to Texan life difficult, as some individuals notably bear mixed or less than neighborly feelings about the newcomer, and as she struggles more and more in her surroundings. To whatever extent Sjöström explored human complexity elsewhere in his oeuvre, the treatment here feels extra harsh, more than a little gritty, and possibly outright bleak - and wholly delicious as a viewer as the tale gradually becomes altogether unnerving. I definitely expected to enjoy this, but that five letter word ultimately feels wildly insufficient; frankly, as the picture goes on it proves itself to be one of the greatest movies ever made.
If some of the filmmaker's other features come off with a certain poetic sensibility, 'The wind' recalls stark prose from the likes of Cormac McCarthy, where the setting is an echo of the drama to unfold. Furthermore, as was very much true in the above noted works, the near-constant howling tempest quite becomes a character unto itself with palpable, terrible presence throughout the course of events. These notions are rather reflected across the board in many facets of the production, not least Sjöström's calculated direction that's fixed with an air of dark vibrancy as he orchestrates shots and scenes. Why, there are select instances peppered throughout - precise shot composition, and or guidance of the cast - that are so incredibly brilliant that they alone elevate the title to new heights of excellence. Together with Conrad A. Nervig's tight editing, sometimes meticulous use of lighting, some extra smart camerawork, and the effects, as the length stretches on and such singularly stellar moments occur more often, I rather feel as if 'The wind' handily cements itself as one of the utmost exemplars of cinema. With all that said, at the same time Sjöström also leaves ample room to let his cast really explore their characters and each moment as they will. For example, the severity Dorothy Cumming bears as Cora almost a little shocking, especially compared to the more varied comportment of her costars and other characters. At the same time, in his prominent part as Lige, Lars Hanson dances on a needlepoint of hurt, hope, and hardness that distinctly resonates. Montagu Love also easily stands out for the underhanded smarm with which he carries himself as Wirt, and as if everyone before the camera wasn't already giving a fine performance one to the next, he almost upstages the star.
Still, by all means it's titanic icon Lillian Gish who earns her reputation in the spotlight as Letty. I can't claim to have seen a great many of her movies to date, yet there's no question in my mind that her acting here is surely one of the best shows she had ever given. In a little more than one hour she demonstrates outstanding range and personality, the type of unremitting strength that has defined some of the best players and performances to which audiences have ever been treated. More than has often been true elsewhere in the silent era, with merely the subtlety of her gaze, facial expressions, or body language Gish communicates a universe of emotion and humanity that's quite easy to get lost in. (This is indisputably the case not least of all in those cases mentioned above when Sjöström's direction achieves a huge spark of potency; Gish emphatically has a hand in that, too.) In fact, between how Letty is written, the overall tenor of 'The wind,' and Gish's acting, there's a robust element of psychological drama laid over top of the feature. While not every such title is guaranteed to go well, there's no quicker way to earn my favor, and the endeavor here is simply phenomenal. Gish alone carries the lion's share of the effort, but she is further bolstered by marvelous hair and makeup work, and deliberate costume design, that augments the power of her performance and amplifies the profundity of Letty's experiences. If the same is any less true of the production design, art direction, and stunts and other effects, it's only because they do not center Gish in the exact same way. All the same, with our leading lady at the forefront, the end result of all this is a romantic drama that feels less romantic and more visceral and deeply, intimately impactful.
As if to accentuate the matter, there is a genuinely happy ending to the proceedings. Yet on account of the overall grim ambience projected throughout, the delicate artistic touches of direction, editing, and cinematography that lend to that ambience, and above all the core performance that makes it flesh and blood, it doesn't necessarily feel like a happy ending. The first comparison to come to mind is Darren Aronofsky's 2010 masterpiece 'Black Swan'; all seems to end well, more or less, but the question hangs ponderously and ominously in the air of the state Letty is in after the entirety of her harrowing journey to this point. If indeed this is the more lighthearted conclusion that neither Gish nor Sjöström intended or preferred, I can scarcely imagine how 'The wind' would have looked if the true ending had been filmed.
What more is there to say? Is there anything here that is not perfect? To whatever marginal extent one might look at this and see a characteristic Hollywood film in the fundamentals of its construction, any wisps of commonness are quite forgotten well before the ending rolls around. In whatever proportions credit for the writing belongs to author Dorothy Scarborough or screenwriter Frances Marion, either way the product is exceptional in the details of the intertitles, the very real, believable, complex characterizations, the haunting scene writing, and the raptly compelling, enormously satisfying narrative. As much as I've enjoyed Sjöström's direction elsewhere, his contribution here might somehow be the best I've seen yet. While Gish stands out well above her co-stars, every performance herein is wholly unimpeachable. All the contributions of those behind the scenes - every one, in every way - is exquisite. In totality 'The wind' is both momentously artistic, and staggering and vicious in its storytelling on a major, personal level. As a full-length feature of Sjöström, of the U. S. film industry, or of any genre whose label one wishes to apply, this is not just superior but roundly superlative, among the very best of the very best. Once more, I anticipated I'd like this, but I cannot overstate just how terrific a movie it really is. There are precious few titles I could ever recommend as highly: 'The wind' is a must-see classic for one and all.
If some of the filmmaker's other features come off with a certain poetic sensibility, 'The wind' recalls stark prose from the likes of Cormac McCarthy, where the setting is an echo of the drama to unfold. Furthermore, as was very much true in the above noted works, the near-constant howling tempest quite becomes a character unto itself with palpable, terrible presence throughout the course of events. These notions are rather reflected across the board in many facets of the production, not least Sjöström's calculated direction that's fixed with an air of dark vibrancy as he orchestrates shots and scenes. Why, there are select instances peppered throughout - precise shot composition, and or guidance of the cast - that are so incredibly brilliant that they alone elevate the title to new heights of excellence. Together with Conrad A. Nervig's tight editing, sometimes meticulous use of lighting, some extra smart camerawork, and the effects, as the length stretches on and such singularly stellar moments occur more often, I rather feel as if 'The wind' handily cements itself as one of the utmost exemplars of cinema. With all that said, at the same time Sjöström also leaves ample room to let his cast really explore their characters and each moment as they will. For example, the severity Dorothy Cumming bears as Cora almost a little shocking, especially compared to the more varied comportment of her costars and other characters. At the same time, in his prominent part as Lige, Lars Hanson dances on a needlepoint of hurt, hope, and hardness that distinctly resonates. Montagu Love also easily stands out for the underhanded smarm with which he carries himself as Wirt, and as if everyone before the camera wasn't already giving a fine performance one to the next, he almost upstages the star.
Still, by all means it's titanic icon Lillian Gish who earns her reputation in the spotlight as Letty. I can't claim to have seen a great many of her movies to date, yet there's no question in my mind that her acting here is surely one of the best shows she had ever given. In a little more than one hour she demonstrates outstanding range and personality, the type of unremitting strength that has defined some of the best players and performances to which audiences have ever been treated. More than has often been true elsewhere in the silent era, with merely the subtlety of her gaze, facial expressions, or body language Gish communicates a universe of emotion and humanity that's quite easy to get lost in. (This is indisputably the case not least of all in those cases mentioned above when Sjöström's direction achieves a huge spark of potency; Gish emphatically has a hand in that, too.) In fact, between how Letty is written, the overall tenor of 'The wind,' and Gish's acting, there's a robust element of psychological drama laid over top of the feature. While not every such title is guaranteed to go well, there's no quicker way to earn my favor, and the endeavor here is simply phenomenal. Gish alone carries the lion's share of the effort, but she is further bolstered by marvelous hair and makeup work, and deliberate costume design, that augments the power of her performance and amplifies the profundity of Letty's experiences. If the same is any less true of the production design, art direction, and stunts and other effects, it's only because they do not center Gish in the exact same way. All the same, with our leading lady at the forefront, the end result of all this is a romantic drama that feels less romantic and more visceral and deeply, intimately impactful.
As if to accentuate the matter, there is a genuinely happy ending to the proceedings. Yet on account of the overall grim ambience projected throughout, the delicate artistic touches of direction, editing, and cinematography that lend to that ambience, and above all the core performance that makes it flesh and blood, it doesn't necessarily feel like a happy ending. The first comparison to come to mind is Darren Aronofsky's 2010 masterpiece 'Black Swan'; all seems to end well, more or less, but the question hangs ponderously and ominously in the air of the state Letty is in after the entirety of her harrowing journey to this point. If indeed this is the more lighthearted conclusion that neither Gish nor Sjöström intended or preferred, I can scarcely imagine how 'The wind' would have looked if the true ending had been filmed.
What more is there to say? Is there anything here that is not perfect? To whatever marginal extent one might look at this and see a characteristic Hollywood film in the fundamentals of its construction, any wisps of commonness are quite forgotten well before the ending rolls around. In whatever proportions credit for the writing belongs to author Dorothy Scarborough or screenwriter Frances Marion, either way the product is exceptional in the details of the intertitles, the very real, believable, complex characterizations, the haunting scene writing, and the raptly compelling, enormously satisfying narrative. As much as I've enjoyed Sjöström's direction elsewhere, his contribution here might somehow be the best I've seen yet. While Gish stands out well above her co-stars, every performance herein is wholly unimpeachable. All the contributions of those behind the scenes - every one, in every way - is exquisite. In totality 'The wind' is both momentously artistic, and staggering and vicious in its storytelling on a major, personal level. As a full-length feature of Sjöström, of the U. S. film industry, or of any genre whose label one wishes to apply, this is not just superior but roundly superlative, among the very best of the very best. Once more, I anticipated I'd like this, but I cannot overstate just how terrific a movie it really is. There are precious few titles I could ever recommend as highly: 'The wind' is a must-see classic for one and all.