Paradise for cinephiles: Max Ophul’s “Komedie on Geld” (1936), part of the Cinema and the 1929 Crisis series, at 9:30 a.m., set in the corrupt and currently apposite banking and real estate development world of Amsterdam. Typically fluid, in the restless Ophuls style, and with several Brechtian interludes of a “Cabaret”-style nightclub emcee or carnival barker introducing and commenting on the action that made one think of “Lola Montez,” so many years later. Pure pleasure.
At 11:30 a.m., an early Raoul Walsh melodrama, “Kindred of the Dust” (1922) starring his then-wife Miriam Cooper as an unwed mother whose childhood sweetheart persists in his affections despite the disapproval of his wealthy family. With stylish, realistic sets designed by William Cameron Menzies (later, and more typically, to design “The Thief of Bagdad” for Walsh). Piano accompaniment by the gifted Donald Sosin, based on the U.S. east coast (who had contributed imaginative interpretive mosquito singing night before last while playing for a Winsor McKay short, “How a Mosquito Operates” (1912), before “Point Blank”).
Lunch al fresco in an outdoor café set in the courtyard of the Cineteca Bologna, in a setting more charming than the food, with editor/director Jackie Raynal, now based in Paris, programming for a festival in Trieste, among other places, after decades of running two repertory art houses in New York, and London-based Iranian film critic/blogger Ehsan Khoshbakht.
At 2:30, standing at the back of the Sala Mastroianni, to catch the first short of one of the 13 programs devoted to films of 1912, a 4-minute effort by Louis Feuillade entitled “Bébé juge,” in which much chocolate is consumed. This serves as a curtain raiser for the 2:45 screening of “Skazanie O Zemle Sibirskoj” (“La canzone della terra siberienne”), by Ivan Pyr’ev, “enigma of Mosfilm.” This time I’m indeed seeing a color musical of sorts, in which the blonde machine-gun-wielding lady soldier of yesterday’s fast-paced WW II story is a singer who reconnects with a lover of her youth after WW II, embittered because he’s injured his left hand and no longer feels the need to compose and perform music. A return to his homeland of Siberia, where people seem to sing folk songs all the live long day, perks him up again, and she decides to forsake Moscow to join him in Siberia, which looks a lot warmer and more picturesque than we’ve been led to believe. Again the simultaneous translation is annoying (if essential); I don’t think I feel the need to see much more of Ivan Pyr’ev.