Mabel normand
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Molly O’ “What Sam [Goldwyn] knew then, and what I didn’t know, was that Mabel’s cheeks were no longer as round as apples. She was thin. She photographed without her old time sparkle and bounce in recent pictures, not yet released which I had not seen. She was unhappy and ill and she looked it. We were amazed and upset when she reported for wardrobe tests. “All those years of neglecting herself, of fun for fun’s sake, had left a mark on a girl who was after all was very small. “She was still beautiful. Her eyes still laughed…. “Mabel was happy with the cast of Molly O’, especially happy with Dick Jones…Both Dick and I had long talks about Mabel late at night in the tower office. Mabel wasn’t the same. She was ill.”77 That “she was still beautiful” might sound like perfunctory politeness. Yet odd as it might seem, she was also still beautiful in spite of her being “unhappy and ill” -- which as well was true. Yet she is beautiful in a different way. She is even less vibrant and athletic,78 and more understated and hesitating than in the Goldwyn (let alone the Keystone) period. In addition, in Molly O’ we for the first time see the sad Mabel Normand. This is all the more startling because this transformation occurs before either the Arbuckle or Taylor scandals had even taken place. Naturally, it would seem to make sense to conclude that it was the alleged miscarriage referred to in Betty Fussell’s book that brought about this despondency. How painful it must have been to have borne such a secret, few of us can hardly guess. And perhaps her returning to Sennett was an act of contrition of sorts. As for Sennett, apparently uninformed as he was as to the “real” cause of her unhappiness, there is a certain sense in Molly O’ that he is welcoming back the prodigal, although in a respectful and affectionate way. “Molly O’ ~ I Love You” reads the title of the sheet music promoting the film; as if the once rejected lover was receiving once more in his arms the earlier lost sweetheart with whom “fast living” (presumably) had wrought havoc. Molly O’ was clearly intended to be a major effort by Sennett, and since it was the single film which in later years he wanted to re-do again, perhaps he thought of or hoped it would be his magnum opus.79 The plot is less emotionally coherent than Mickey. Yet in its parts, Molly O’ is often very touching and, albeit to a lesser extent, humorous. It has variety: light comedy, thrills, very serious drama -- everything but slapstick. Though the transition from the light comedy to serious drama is often handled awkwardly, and, much of the story fairly implausible, Molly O’, is, overall, a very rewarding film and, in moments, even powerful as a dramatic work. While its weaknesses are not to be brushed aside too casually, it, even so, it stands as a film of considerable and lasting merit. Director F. Richard Jones’ and or photographer Homer Scott’s use of camera angles, lighting, and close-ups, at the time, are usually uninspired. Yet Jones does have a knack for getting the most out of his players, and his orchestrating of scenes is often artful and imaginative. The very positive influence of D. W. Griffith, who had employed Jones just prior to Molly O’, is unmistakable, particularly in regard to the film’s highlighting of common yet visceral and timeless moral issues. Although she obviously is devoid of much of her earlier pep, Mabel and all the cast in their roles are about as much as one could ask for. George Nichols, back from Mickey, and who years earlier had also directed for Griffith (including screen versions of Ibsen and other notable authors), brings a professional intensity to his role. Lowell Sherman’s80 Fred Manchester is as suave a screen villain as one I sever likely to watch. Jack Mulhall, Eddie Gribbon, Jacqueline Logan, Albert Hackett, Anna Hernandez, Ben Deely also are aglow with verve and give appropriate support. As with her subsequent Sennett features, the story heavily relies on the Cinderella formula. Upper Class people (in a given instance rightly or wrongly) look down on poor Molly (Suzanna, or Sue Graham). Molly is in love with a young man who is someone of virtue, honor and courage. There are the usual stock characters, like the comic, tender-hearted mother figure, and the “other woman” with designs on the handsome young man. The villain pursues Molly (in this case amorously), and the well meaning but misguided, frowning father also threatens to ruin her perfect romance with the young man. But there is a fight and the film ends happily. All this, and Carl Stockdale as fairy godmother to boot!81 Molly O’ is quite different from the traditional, medieval tale (or the fairy tale as it is usually known) in that it attempts to present the ordinary life of the lower class people in its harsh and unglamorous aspects. From the outset of the film, the poverty stricken tenement area and tension filled home in which the O’Dairs live is portrayed with almost documentary correctness. Not only does Molly come from a low income family, but she is the daughter of a washer-woman no less. The father, Tim O’Dair, for his part is a coarse and violent-tempered manual laborer, without the least bit of sentimentality about him. His junior work partner, Jimmy Smith, here comically played by Eddie Gribbon, is a cynical oaf he hopes to make his son-in-law without feeling it in the least necessary to consult Molly on the subject. To cap off the family portrait, her supportive younger brother, for all his good intentions, has a gambling addiction. The villain and his accomplices are meaner and more callous than in Mickey. Though serving-maid Mickey is slapped by her cousin, Elsie Drake, for her disobedience, here Molly gets slapped by her father’s friend, Jimmy Smith, even though Smith had intended to marry her. By the same token, Mickey’s fun loving Reggie Drake is almost a “nice guy” compared to the cruel and methodical Fred Manchester. This heightened atmosphere flavored with violence could be said to disturbingly reflect both the tension left over from the War and the onset of the Prohibition era. Yet for all the realistic touches, the story is still basically that of Brother’s Grimm mixed with some D.W. Griffith. Although Mickey and the Goldwyn film Joan of Plattsburg did allow her room to do some serious drama, in Molly O’, more than ever before, Mabel has the opportunity to get into a role and situations with some real tragic possibilities. And but for her sometimes not looking well, she most of the time arises admirably to the occasion. But coming into the role, there are some unavoidable difficulties. We mentioned previously her not looking well or happy. In addition to this, she is the internationally famous Mabel Normand -- 29 years -- old playing a laundry maid in her late teens or early twenties. As with Rosa, it is simply asking too much of an audiences to believe her in such a part. One clever way, and with a certain amount of success, Mabel and Jones gets around this is that there is a bit of caricature about Molly. She is somewhat surreal the way Chaplin and some of the Keystone creations were surreal: absurd, exaggerated characters in an otherwise real life world -- though, here, without the slapstick. In the opening sequences of the film, one is perhaps at first disappointed because Mabel is not all that convincing, that is, if we expect her portrayal to be realistic. Yet if we see Molly, with her wide dark eyes, wide floppy hat, and long Pickfordian girls (like Mickey), as not unlike someone out of a comic strip, then we are able to accept her within the story, and the rest of the film can proceed smoothly on this basis. Early on, Mabel has some pleasant, quiet scenes, such as one at a park bench where Molly finds herself “philosophizing” with the “silhouette man,” played by Carl Stockdale. Here, where the message “dreams come true for those who believe in them” is openly declared, Mabel charms with her usual genial warmth. Nonetheless, other than this particular scene, most of the first half of Molly O’ (or what remains of it at least) is all fairly mechanical and serves mostly to set up the remainder of the story.82 It is not nearly so effective as that portion running from the masquerade ball sequences to the end of the picture. A public masquerade ball (in those days not so unusual an occurrence) is held for charity, in which members of the different social classes come together to dance and revel. Against her father’s wishes, Molly sneaks off to attend the event dressed in a magnificent 18th century French-style court gown and wig (provided by the silhouette man.) Interestingly, the villain Manchester’s costume is of that of an effete dandy of the same period, while the hero, Dr. Bryant, by contrast, wears something more in the way of a medieval prince. At one point, Molly, stumbling in what she thinks is a back lobby, suddenly finds herself on center stage. A curtain suddenly opens up from behind, revealing her to the delight and laughter of the gathered throng of masqueraders. There follows a resounding outpouring of affectionate applause and cheers, not so much it seems for Molly (the story character) but for Mabel herself. One palpably senses and feels their effusive love for her; making this, no doubt, for many the most magic scene in the film. Perhaps what causes this sequence to be especially moving, and perhaps might also be considered one of the real themes of Molly O’ is: Mabel from her heart loves and cares for all; and all (i.e. those in the cast and production generally) in turn love Mabel. It is genuinely sweet, and not mawkish as it might sound, because the feelings of both are unmistakably sincere. Molly, being mistaken for Dr. Bryant’s fiancée (who is presently absent with her secret lover, played by Ben Deely), and Dr. Bryant are awarded as the most beautiful couple of the ball. All then are asked to unmask. In her own unmasking, Mabel is splendid -- there is clearly such a grand stir towards her -- again one feels it -- and she responds radiantly. It is a strange thing to try to describe, but a good analogy would be to a folded rose bud that, in a matter of moments, suddenly and wondrously bursts forth in glory (such as one might see with time-lapse photograph.) In this instance, it is Mabel’s femininity and affectionate personality which blossom forth. The camera work, unfortunately, is rather flat. Otherwise it is one of the most memorable moments in all of her surviving films. The wonder, elation beaming from Mulhall‘s eyes, almost to tears, in reaction to her, is clearly more than mere acting. Molly is in many ways a spirited, yet somewhat worldly-wise Pickford innocent. At one point Sennett offered the script of Molly O’ to Pickford herself, who turned it down. Unlike the kind of young girl roles Mary Pickford is more commonly remembered for, Molly is to some extent allowed her sexuality; though the sexuality is suggested, without being in the least graphic or overt. It especially emerges in the form of a charming scene in which Dr. Bryant, after amorously strolling home with her from the masquerade ball, is about to depart as she ascends the threshold. As he is about to leave, she stands with her back against the door. He instantly returns and very tenderly kisses her forearm and that is bent outward upon the doorway. In sigh-filled trance, she permits the kiss; her womanhood (it could be said) having been woken within her. Just as Bryant departs, she turns aside and opens up her eyes to see her father glaring furiously at her. O’Dair then unleashes a violent tirade of anger and disgust. Nichols, as O’Dair, is more than convincing in the violence of his temper. So much so that one is tempted to wonder if his rage, almost to tears, may not, to some extent, have been inflamed by his (along with other people’s) real life displeasure with Mabel; or more specifically, disapproval of Mabel’s earlier life (of abandon) away from Sennett. Incurring the wrath of her father in this manner, Molly packs her things and leaves home. Next morning, Tim O’Dair starts off hot after Molly, correctly surmising he will find her at Bryant’s; and he is let in by the butler into Bryant’s wealthy abode. With a pistol in his pants pocket,83 and without giving notice of his presence, he finds Bryant shaving in the bathroom. Molly, dressed in bathrobe and pajamas, kicks up her legs on a nearby bed. The father approaches Bryant from behind as if to sneak up on him. But Bryant, seeing him in the shaving mirror, is able to surprise him before he can shoot. A fist-fight ensues, with Mabel as onlooker giving a Lillian Gish in distress performance, her eyes rolling upward into her head. Bryant finally knocks O’Dair flat, and it is revealed to the angry father that Molly and Bryant, after the ball, had already been married. The father, realizing that he almost just killed his son-in-law, breaks down ashamed and weeps. Molly then, in tears herself, caringly comforts him. This is a bare and sketchy description of what are some momentous, tense, and moving scenes. All are superb here, particularly George Nichols who gives a heart-wrenching performance, and director Jones’ orchestrating the trio, and the drama of a daughter’s rebelling against her father in the name of love is not a little reminiscent of the kind of moralistic and poetic “photo-plays” done at Biograph in the early teens. But wait…the film is not yet over. From the reconciliation of father, daughter and son-in-law, we are taken into a mini-serial episode, or perhaps more aptly the updated 1921 version of Barney Oldfield! If it is relevant to the main story, it is so in either a very tangential or abstract way. Otherwise it is quite out-of-the-blue, and is best taken as a kind of dessert to the main course. While these scenes with the blimp, and settling the gambling debt of Molly’s brother, are not what we would call high-art, they are, nonetheless, exciting and even laugh provoking. Jones here sets on display his talent and flair for thrilling adventure sequences such as he would also later do in movies like The Gaucho (1927), with Douglas Fairbanks, and Bulldog Drummond (1929), with Ronald Colman. Though all -- including Mabel -- play their parts very nicely, Lowell Sherman, in particular, is a treat as the urbane and calculating scoundrel. In sum, Molly O’, while certainly imperfect, is in its combining of unusual elements an imaginative and original film. We are most blessed and fortunate that it was not completely lost to us as had for many years been thought. Suzanna Suzanna is a very odd movie in a number of respects. Unlike any of Mabel’s other features, it is a historical costume drama prompted, in its style and settings, by The Mark of Zorro and The Sheik (the wild horse rides through the desert with wide skyline, for example, with respect to the latter) -- though we would never mistake the hero, Walter McGrail, agreeable as he is, with either Fairbanks or Valentino. But, of course, this is not intended. Suzanna is, after all, Mabel’s picture -- not the leading man’s. Also, in doing a film with an early Californian/Mexican theme, it seems not implausible that Sennett was attempting to revive Mabel’s memories of those merry days when together they made shorts like A Spanish Dilemma84 and The Fickle Spaniard. We are at even more of a disadvantage with Suzanna then with Molly O’ in assessing its merits, as the present and only known available version of the film is missing at least two whole reels; and it may well be that these two reels contain some of the film’s best sequences, as some of the stills might seem to indicate. As is typical of F. Richard Jones’ work, it is at least mostly a pleasurable film. Yet because of her off screen troubles, it at times takes on a seriousness not at all implied in the original conception. This will continue to be the case with a number of Mabel’s subsequent films. Although as a comedy-melodrama, Suzanna doesn’t fully succeed at being either -- at least in the conventional sense of these terms. Filmed at the time the Taylor scandal broke, it was presumably made under no little strain; and in viewing it, one senses that there were moments, such as the chaotic bride rescue and horseback chases, when Jones himself may have been as distressed during that later stage of production as herself. 85 On the incidental side, the film suffers from some poor make-up. The wigs and beards of the male actors, particularly George Nichols’ eyebrows in close up, are embarrassingly bad. Similarly, in the horse chase scene at the end of film, Mabel is seen riding on a concealed auto (or trailer to a vehicle) that does not look at all as if she were riding on a horse (as she is supposed to be.) These production defects, while worth mentioning, fortunately occur only in a few spots. Despite this, it is puzzling why things so obvious were not corrected. Another problem with a film, in this case relating to its Spanish setting, is that there are no Latins in any of the main roles. This is all the more strange given the then rising popularity of the likes of Ramon Navarro, Antonio Moreno, and Valentino as leads. On the plus side though, the photography of Homer Scott, whom incidentally William Desmond Taylor himself had first recommended to Mabel, is resolute and clear as one could wish and much better done than in Molly O’. With the exception of Molly O’, wild animals, both small and large, feature prominently in all of Mabel’s Sennett features. Animals in film early silent films were always popular. Yet a further reason for Sennett’s bringing them in is to add a certain earthy realism to the films, necessary, as was deemed, to give balance to the fairy-tale like plots (in Molly O’ it is the unadorned poverty of the O’Dair’s which serves this function). Suzanna has more animals in it than any of Mabel’s pictures: with cocks, donkeys, bears, bulls, as well as horses. In addition to their simple color and charm, the animals are also used as symbols of the action and characters -- such as cocks fighting and bulls locking horns. This invoking of brutish violence, while not always the most welcome imagery, is exactly the effect Sennett apparently wanted to achieve, again, to atone for the story’s too flighty romance. 86 Mabel in Suzanna looks even less well than in her earlier films, yet the assassination of William Desmond Taylor had not taken place until at least half way through shooting! What had caused this further decline in her happiness and vigor, we don’t really know. The Arbuckle scandal, continuing to live under the pressure of keeping the miscarriage a secret, other physical health problems, naturally are possible considerations. Right after Taylor’s death, there followed a two-week break in the shooting of the film in order that Mabel could better absorb and contain the trauma. Given all the enormous pressures she was already under, her success in achieving this was understandably indifferent. Robert E. Sherwood, later a Pulitzer Prize winner, named Mabel’s performance in Suzanna as one of the best of 1922. Yet he could hardly have awarded this for her performance as Suzanna, so much as he did for her effort to try to put on a good show, indeed make others laugh -- though the world was crashing in on her. As Suzanna the cheerful orphan, Mabel is obviously too unhappy underneath to be very convincing in the role. Yet despite the heavy weights she was bearing, she gives it her best, and remains as ever the stalwart trouper. In place then of Suzanna of the fable, we get instead a more meaningful performance of real life courage and forbearance in the face of excruciating duress, and it is this, not so much Mabel’s portrayal of the story’s fictional character, that Sherwood evidently most admired. The opening shots are not terribly auspicious. There is a rather vapid comic sequence in which she tries to sneakily grab at a ranch co-worker’s lunch (the idea of which, by the way, reminds us of something from Chaplin.) Then follows a cock-fighting scene – Suzanna’s plucky midget bantam takes on a grand rooster and is victorious. It is rather tasteless bit of would-be comedy; though this is no fault of Mabel’s. No less silly, yet much, much better is the segment in which Suzanna tells the Indian Black Hawk that she wants to do the “tomahawk dance.” Here she dons a great Indian chiefs headdress, and undertakes a war dance, much the way a child might -- indeed exactly like a child would do it. She looks like a toddler, palming her mouth repeatedly as she gives the war whoop, stomping back and forth. Meanwhile, Black Hawk, kicks up an actual and authentic Indian dance (as if to show her how it is done); while Minnie Ha Ha (Minnie Devereaux) and another in the background join in. Black Hawk’s dance, taken in and of itself, is valuable as a record of native American culture; otherwise the scene is pretty pointless as far as the story goes. Yet Mabel’s antics are at least funny and cute in their way, intended, as they no doubt were, for the audience’s children. We come to something with more substance when, in order to keep her away from his son, Francisco, Don Fernando sends Suzanna to a convent, and she will have to traverse on foot a long trek through the grim and arid desert in order to attain her destination. Here real life and story merge nicely, which is Jones’ purpose. The harsh journey symbolizes the tribulations in Mabel’s real life as film star, including the cruel lambasting and grilling by some of the press with respect to the Taylor case. At the same time sinner and innocent,87 hers is a hard road of penance as she confronts the inimical and barren waste. Her attitude is one of “don’t dwell on the obstacles, put them behind you.” This is partly reflected in a little walk she uses. It appeared earlier in Molly O’, and would be used again in The Extra Girl. What she does is stride with a focused determination. Her arms swing at her side, but otherwise and aside from the legs her body is almost completely rigid. She looks straight ahead as she goes, without once moving her orientation from forward. Yet at the same time, she looks not unlike a wind-up doll; which gives the stride its comic quality. Along her hot, weary path, Suzanna spots a “good luck” horseshoe on the ground that she picks up. After looking skeptically and suspiciously, she flings it away. This is clearly a bit of joke to the audience about Mabel’s own troubles (including her numerous reported accidents and illnesses, as well as her connection to the Taylor case.) Finally and reaching towards the end of the long, pitiless trail, Suzanna arrives at a pond-size puddle. Nearby lie the bones of a cow who had not made it so far. Sighing both in wary foreboding of the bones and in view of the relief the large puddle’s water offers, she then drinks, and at the same time is refreshed in a kind of baptism (not inappropriate given the Spanish setting.) With the worst of the gauntlet past, onward she goes confident and renewed. It is a humorous as well as moving statement of repentance and courage – again, rendered more affecting by its commenting on not so easily ignored events in real life. The last of the surviving of Mabel’s scenes in Suzanna that can be specifically mentioned here is a cheery Mexican hat dance with Walter McGrail. It is mete to point out, that, except for The Nickel-Hopper, there is no other extended dance sequence like this in any of her known feature films. True, the film’s having been sped up is partly what makes it funny. However, there’s no denying Mabel and McGrail’s grace and breathless verve. In the case of Mabel, a comparison to a capering elf is not inappropriate. Contemporaries sometimes spoke of her as being quite a dancer, and here is proof of it for all to see. Of what follows thereafter in Suzanna, there isn’t all that much for her to do, and, she is essentially tossed about by the men as a helpless protagonist, with the inevitable happy marriage to the hero constituting the conclusion. Yet all in all, Suzanna, while winning in moments, is regrettably a disappointing film. The problem is simple. Mabel was suffering from too much personal unhappiness to consistently be the chipper, Mickey-like girl called for by the tale. Yet if we are willing to see Mabel’s performance as Sherwood did, namely, a real life portrayal of an honest heart under immense strain attempting to shine amid great darkness, it is something of a triumph. As inspiration and example, it perhaps gives the film a value well beyond what it might have been as mere conventional entertainment (even had it been successful in that wise.) Instead of Mark Twain, we (inadvertently) get Epictetus. Instead of Mickey, we get Magdalene. Instead of laughter, tears -- yet tears filled with hope as well as sadness. That things only continued to get worse makes the effort here all the more poignant and remarkable. |