ABEL GANCE'S NAPOLEON: THE EAGLE HAS LANDED

I returned to Dallas from Oakland six days ago, and have had time now to process what can only be defined as an absolutely extraordinary experience. I was so impressed that I am currently listening to Carl Davis' magnificent score for the film as I write this. Previously I explained that I'm no expert on music, but I have admired Carl Davis for years, nonetheless. I think he's the best composer we have for silent films, and his work for Napoleon was just perfect for the movie. Seeing it performed live was an honor, and one I wish I could have experienced more than once.

For those who need a little background on what I'm talking about, please see my former post titled “The Eagle Lands on April 1”. In short, Abel Gance's five-and-a-half hour 1927 masterpiece, Napoleon, was given four special screenings at the Paramount Theater in Oakland with a 48-piece orchestra, conducted by Carl Davis himself. The last time anyone saw this movie in the U.S. with an orchestra and a theater fully equipped for its spectacular Polyvision finale was in 1981 at Radio City Music Hall. Unfortunately, that version was cut down to four hours by Francis Ford Coppola to avoid paying the orchestra overtime, it also played at the wrong frame rate (24 fps instead of the proper 20 fps), and was scored by Coppola's father, Carmine. Due to legal issues, only that inferior version exists on VHS, and no version is available on DVD or Blu-ray.

This once-in-a-lifetime experience was made possible by the San Francisco Silent Film Festival's $720,000 investment, but the person most deserving of our thanks is Mr. Kevin Brownlow. He was in attendance on this day, and more than ready to engage anyone in conversation. The man is one of my heroes; he has been the world's supreme champion of rescuing silent films from the realm of the forgotten. As a little kid in England he came across two reels of Napoleon, back when no one even remembered what it was, and came away so impressed that he made it his life's goal to restore the film to its proper form and place in cinema history. He calls Napoleon, “The most innovative film ever made, even moreso than Citizen Kane.” I have to admit, I agree with him.

When I walked into the Paramount Theater for the first time I realized the venue was going to be an integral part of the experience. Built in 1931, this art deco “movie palace” transported me to another time. A time when movies were genuine events, lines would snake around the block, and the world of the film itself greeted you as you entered the lobby. According to New York Times critic Mordaunt Hall who attended the premiere of Douglas Fairbanks' The Thief of Bagdad in 1924, the theater had, “...a thoroughly Oriental atmosphere, with drums, ululating vocal offerings, odiferous incense, perfume from Bagdad, magic carpets, and ushers in Arabian attire, who during intermission made a brave effort to bear cups of Turkish coffee to the women in the audience.” Those were the days! So, in this old fashioned movie palace environment, it was easy to imagine I was walking into the world premiere of Napoleon with three thousand like-minded individuals. The pictures I took with my iPhone do the place no justice, but believe me, it was a more than worthy compliment to the film.

The picture began promptly at 1:30 PM, and in those two hours before the first intermission I was thoroughly astounded. We first see Napoleon as a child (Vladimir Roudenko) in 1779 at the military school in Brienne-le-Chateau, orchestrating a great victory against a larger group of kids in the most epic snowball fight in cinema history. Throughout this early sequence, Gance is already taking his audience on a ride. The dynamic camera movement is but one treat, we also get rapid cutting, expressive superimpositions, and hand-held shots which all contribute to the intensity and effectiveness of the scene. It was powerful cinema, laced with some humorous bits that come as a surprise following the relatively humorless J'Accuse (1919) and La Roue (1923).

In class, Napoleon's temper reaches a boil in another funny bit as the teacher reads a rather disparaging description of Corsica and its people. The boy takes great pride in his Corsican roots, but gets picked on by other kids due to his thick accent. Napoleon's only friend at the school is his pet eagle, a gift from his uncle back home, kept in the attic of the dormitory. One evening, two kids decide to open the bird's cage, allowing its escape into the night. When Napoleon discovers his pet is missing, he flips out and rushes down to the bedroom. When none of the boys confess, Napoleon screams, “If none of you are guilty, then you're all guilty!” He starts running from bed to bed, pummeling the other boys until a full-fledged pillow fight has begun. In this sequence, Gance splits the screen into nine frames, giving us a look at the chaos from all directions. Until the instructors break it up, that is, and toss Napoleon out in the snow.

Then a tremendous thing happens. The boy has been reduced to weeping in the cold dark, resting against an old cannon, alone, when suddenly the music changes. It seems to foresee a rise to greatness from these humble beginnings, and then the eagle lands in a tree above Napoleon. The boy smiles through his tears, inspired and overjoyed. The eagle responds to his voice, flying down and landing on the cannon as the music hits another crescendo. It's a magical moment, and with that we are sent off to the year 1792.

Here we join a bunch of revolutionists at a club, including historical figures like Danton, Robespierre, and Marat. It's another memorable scene as we witness the first singing of "La Marseillaise" (the French national anthem), with its composer, Lisle, leading the charge. Our first view of the twenty-three year old Napoleon (Albert Dieudonné) comes from behind, before he turns and thanks Lisle for his effort. Napoleon was of a low rank in the army on that day, but he would soon discover his purpose.

It was the night of August 10 in the same year, when a mob ran the royal family right out of Paris in violent fashion. The film, bathed in a rich red tint during this scene, depicts Danton and his gang of revolutionists hanging a man in front of a large crowd. Napoleon witnesses the event from the window of his room, and we see in his eyes that something has transformed within him. He seems to believe he can unite these disparate groups.

When Napoleon visits his family in Corsica, Gance films in the actual locations where Napoleon grew up, including his childhood home which still stands. Upon discovering that the island is about to be handed over to the British by the Corsican president, Napoleon defiantly objects, putting he and his family in great danger. On the run for his life, Napoleon eludes capture in a thrilling chase (Gance straps a camera to the back of a horse at one point!), but stops to steal the French flag from the town hall, believing these Corsican political sellouts no longer deserve to display it. When Napoleon finds himself on a boat with no sail and the president's men on his heels, he brilliantly defies them by using the enormous French flag as his sail! “I'll bring it back to you!” he sarcastically yells.

In the rightfully celebrated climax to Act One, Gance cuts dramatically between Napoleon being tossed about in the violent seas, and the chaotic atmosphere of the National Convention in Paris, where the Girondists and Montagnards (two revolutionist groups, one more radical than the other) are at each other's throats. In one shot, waves roar toward the lens, while in the next the camera seems to be on a pendulum, swinging over the heated Convention crowd.

The next day, after Napoleon is discovered alive in his boat, he saves the rest of his family, still in hiding on Corsica. In a bit that had the entire audience rolling, a British ship appears and a young Horatio Nelson asks his captain for, “permission to sink this suspicious looking vessel.” The captain declines, reasoning that the boat is far too insignificant to waste valuable powder to blow up. Those who know their history are aware that Napoleon would later make all his relatives into the kings and queens of Europe. Nelson, at least in Gance's version of the tale, had an opportunity to avoid much future stress by destroying not only Napoleon, but several soon to be kings and queens. Whoops!

Act Two deals primarily with Napoleon's actions during the Siege of Toulon. Now a captain, he leads a midnight attack through a vicious storm. Drenched soldiers do battle, bodies sink in the mud, arms reach out in desperation. Akira Kurosawa must have been inspired by this sequence when he conceived the rainy final battle in Seven Samurai (1954). After all, we know he was a fan of Gance, having said of La Roue, it was “the first film that really impressed me.”

After Act Two we had a one hour and forty-five minute dinner break. Several restaurants in the area had special menus for people attending Napoleon, and I ended up going to Picán a few blocks away. They had a fixed price, three course “La Fête de Napoleon” menu from which I selected spring garlic & new potato soup, chicken paillard “Marengo style” (with crawfish étouffée), and brandied black cherries with vanilla ice cream for dessert. It was all rather delicious and fitting for the occasion. Plus, I was in good company. At the same group table sat a fellow silent film aficionado from Florida and a history buff from San Francisco with a special affection for Napoleon. I was pleased to discover that the history buff was blown away by the movie up to that point, despite having no particular love for cinema. Anyway, after dinner I made a mad dash for the Paramount.

Despite much political intrigue, Act Three is concerned, for the most part, with Napoleon's love life as he falls for the beautiful Josephine (Gina Manès). We are treated to several funny scenes illustrating his romantic skills, or lack thereof, since clearly they are not the equal of his efforts on the battlefield. There is also a quite memorable Victim's Ball, where the editing shines and the lack of censorship is apparent. Women lose their tops and their skirts come up to reveal their backsides, but things never feel gratuitous. Heck, it feels like a French party, and these balls, intended for the relatives of those who were guillotined during the Reign of Terror, really occurred at that time in Paris.

Ultimately, Napoleon is promoted based on the leadership he displayed at Toulon. He is wed to Josephine and on the very day of his union, he's lying in the floor of his room planning the invasion of Italy.

In the final act Napoleon heads to Italy, making a stop at the National Convention one last time before leaving Paris. It's a terrific scene; the old building lies empty, but the ghosts of the Revolution remain. Danton and Saint-Just (played by Gance himself, who received a massive applause when he first showed up in Act Three) appear before Napoleon and demand that he remain true to their ideals. The Revolution was intended to bring down the oppressive monarchy, replacing it with the personal freedoms of a democracy. Saint-Just tells Napoleon that should he waver from those principles, the ghosts of the Revolution will oppose him. Obviously, there is some powerful foreshadowing at work here. We all know Napoleon eventually got too big for his britches.

Once he arrives in Italy, an appalling sight awaits him. The French troops stationed there are starving and poorly equipped. Suddenly, the curtains at the side of the screen pull back to reveal two more full-size screens. The finale of the picture, seen on this 82-foot wide panorama, lasts a good twenty minutes. The audience, again, broke into applause for it is here we witness the cinema's first use of widescreen. When Gance created this sequence by connecting three cameras to capture a single shot, Hollywood's “Cinerama” (first seen in 1953's The Robe) was still twenty-six years away. Innovation, folks. It's a beautiful thing.

In this massive triptych that Gance called “Polyvision”, we see Napoleon up on a hill overlooking his troops. He shouts an inspirational speech, convincing this weakened rabble to find glory on the battlefield. He promises rewards beyond their wildest dreams. The troops, fired up by these words, begin to march with newfound purpose. An eagle spreads its wings eighty-two feet wide. Moved by this, a man to my right began cheering. The music soars, as we see more wide panoramas and intercutting between all three screens. For example, in a quick cut, one might see Napoleon's face at center with flames to the left and right. Eventually, the left screen is tinted blue, the right is tinted red, and the center remains “black and white”. This gives the impression of a massive French flag with images pouring out of it. When the cutting gets fast and furious, with different images on all three screens, it resembles something by Stan Brakhage or even a modern music video (only more rewarding). It's a momentous climax, indeed.

Then, alas, it was over. The audience stood up and cheered for several minutes. After five-and-a-half hours (nearly eight if including the intermissions), I still found myself wanting more. I remember wishing that I had seen the March 31 production so that I might stay and view it again on April 1. The word is that Napoleon won't be seen again until late 2013 in London. We have no reason to hope for a Blu-ray release, so there is literally no way to experience this movie again any time soon.

What made it so unforgettable? Well, the movie itself was a staggering feat, despite being eighty-five years old. It featured a plethora of gorgeous images, wonderful performances, surprising humor, and unexpected subtlety from Gance, along with stupendous camerawork and technical innovations. The Polyvision sequence can never be reproduced to full effect on the home screen, just as IMAX footage will never be the same outside of an IMAX theater. It is a rare thing to see Polyvision done properly, as it requires three specially installed screens and three film projectors.

The aforementioned score by Carl Davis, performed live by the Oakland East Bay Symphony, was nearly worth the price of admission by itself. No offense to the late Carmine Coppola, whose music worked so well in Apocalypse Now (1979), but Davis has fashioned the superior score for Napoleon. In researching the music of Napoleon's life, Davis worked in "La Marseillaise", Beethoven's Eroica Symphony (which was originally inspired by Napoleon's exploits), pieces by other Napoleon contemporaries like Mozart and Haydn, a tune from Paisiello's “Nina” (Napoleon's favorite opera), three Corsican folk tunes of the period to accompany Napoleon's return home, and some powerful original compositions. It was a dazzling accompaniment, to say the least.

As I stated, the venue was a part of the experience that will likely never be matched, and for the tinted sequences in the film, the original 1920's dye process was applied to each frame; no computer effects or colorization were added. There was just so much attention to detail, so much love and care that obviously went into this. It was truly the greatest experience I have ever had in a movie theater.

While it's a shame that Gance was only able to complete the first of a planned six films about Napoleon before he ran out of money, that one film stands far above his others as a testament to his genius. He was a man ahead of his time, and perhaps that is why his film can blow me away today more than a dozen modern Hollywood blockbusters ever could.