I love silent films. Some of the best pictures ever made hail from the silent era, and even setting aside the classics, such works are a critical part of our cultural heritage that deserve to be appreciated and remembered. Not all such early titles are made equally, however. The chief trouble that I have with this one is its very weak start to the narrative; the first several minutes are written so poorly, and executed so messily, that it's a struggle to even take at face value. Sadly, much the same glaring issue rears its head again at the most inopportune time, during major revelations for the characters, at about T-12 minutes, that complement those earliest beats. Thankfully the storytelling is more mindful for the majority of the length (also recovering for the very end), with a disparity that only highlights how shoddy its most deficient points are - yet still it's distinctly uneven. The plot and its development, and the scene writing, occasionally proceed with an oversimplified brusqueness that not only in some measure quashes some of the desired tactfulness and subtlety, but also strips away connective tissue such that the screenplay at times feels like a mere outline, and not a finished product. Tod Browning's esteemed career in film-making was far better than not, though not flawless, and co-writer Charles Kenyon has plentiful credits to his name, but among their contributions to cinema I'm not fully convinced that 'White tiger' was a faultless gem in anyone's crown.
Mind you, while it has problems that dampen one's first and last impressions, it's hardly all bad. More than not, in fact, it's quite well done. It's in the details of the writing that the title is thusly troubled, but as the story advances, Browning and Kenyon do find their feet over time. The broad strokes of the tale are just fine, worthwhile and enjoyable despite familiar underpinnings in early cinema of crime, and people who are led into it. Meanwhile, the mechanical chess player is a novelty that helps a recognizable narrative thrust to feel a little more fresh. The production design and art direction are quite lovely, as is the costume design, and hair and makeup work. While surviving prints weren't wholly pristine before being digitally preserved, still there's sufficient quality in the image to admire the work that went into the picture from behind the scenes. And I should say in front of the camera, too, as the cast give solid performances - Matt Moore, Wallace Beery, Raymond Griffith, and especially Browning regular Priscilla Dean. It's a pleasure just to watch them all ply their trade. While the writing is imperfect, the man's direction isn't in question, and neither is the cinematography.
It feels strange to say for a silent movie, but there are times in the second half when 'White tiger' seems to lag a little bit, times when the compelling drama and excitement temporarily taper off. During such times the weaknesses in the writing again become more evident, and hearty suspension of disbelief is required to accept the tale as it presents. This is unfortunate, for when the feature is at its best it's reliably engaging and entertaining, and the strengths of everyone's contributions are apparent. Had the screenplay been tightened the end result would have been still more robust - why, if even just the early portions of the narrative weren't so thin, and specifically story beats revolving around the characters' identities and relationships, then this would have surely been elevated to another level. For all that, however, warts and all, the movie succeeds more than it doesn't. The crew's work, and the cast's, pair with technical craft to bolster the sturdier aspects of the writing, mostly outweighing the deficiencies. All things considered this might not be a must-see, and it won't do anything to change the minds of anyone who has a hard time engaging with early cinema. When all is said and done, however, 'White tiger' remains a classic, enjoyable early feature that's worth exploring, just so long as one is willing to abide its imperfections.
