Interference

Not a great film, or even a very good one, the main point of interest in watching Interference is its place in history.

In 1928, most film theaters were either owned by a film studio or "block" booked so that a patron of that venue would always see a Fox Film (if it was a "Fox" theater), a Paramount film (if it was a Paramount theater) and so on. Indeed, to this day, many old palaces still bear these logos though the practice ended mid-century. For a large chunk of filmgoers, this was the birth of a new art form. And for this reason, for me, watching "Interference" was irresistable.

I viewed an old MCA TV 16mm print (on tape) that had been transferred using the 1:16 Movietone matte. This matte normally obscures the soundtrack which intruded the left side of the picture until 1931. Films of this period were usually sent to theaters according to the sound system that particular theater used: sound-on-film or Vitaphone disc. [Also very confusing for directors struggling for decent photographic composition] This print had sound on disc and consequently the titles and action got cropped on the left side.

Our story concerns a war veteran (Powell) attending a memorial service. As he had been erroneously reported as killed in action, an old girlfriend (Brent)is shocked to see him. She gives chase, and it is revealed his wife has married and English lord. The girlfriend threatens to tell and the 'interference' begins.

William Powell is very watchable, until he does his drunk scene. Unfortunately, I've seen all the 'Thin Man' films and have seen him take 'tipsy' to new heights. His hand movements, here, are smooth and precise. Evelyn Brent is even better, giving a real star performance of a confused, vengeful mistress. Mr. Brook 's just fine, adequately uppity. The thing just falls apart with Doris Kenyon's scenes. She's lost and I fault the director, J. Roy Pomeroy. It's just so obvious, all of her lines are delivered like questions, with the inflection tailing up at the end.

Now, J. Roy Pomeroy had never directed a film before. In a perfect example of being in the right place at the right time, Pomeroy was head of the special effects department at Paramount when a committee to study the sound "fad" was formed. He was named technical advisor to study which sound system (Vitaphone disc, RCA or Western Electric sound-on-film) was superior for Paramount, MGM, Universal, First National and Producer's Distributing Organization. His decree was each were perfectly satisfactory, the confusion began. A quote given to Variety in 1928: "One year will be required to photograph a feature picture accompanied by a complete dialogue duly recorded by a soundtrack." The 'expert' went on to point out that in a dialogue, silence must follow each character's speech lest the audience become lost. Pomeroy worked on the post-synchronized "Warming Up", a Richard Dix baseball comedy. First hand accounts sound hilarious.

Then, as an expert in a field of one, he was assigned to direct Paramount's first talker. He demanded his $250 per week salary be increased to $2,500. Henry Hathaway recalled he spat on you as he talked, "you'd get all wet." But he couldn't direct. "Interference" is the proof.

So enjoy the Lothar Mendes production touches and plot twists. I enjoyed imagining myself at a theater in 1928, seeing what all the fuss is about. Evelyn Brent fans should consider this a must-see.

This film is Paramount's first full talkie and it was highly thought of at the time of it's release. Alas, it doesn't wear well today. Directed by special-effects golden boy Roy Pomeroy, this film is possibly slower paced than Warner's first all-talking effort, The Lights of New York, released a few months earlier. Evelyn Brent easily takes the acting honors here, although the entire cast suffers under Pomeroy's leaden direction. Legend has it that Pomeroy, full of himself after conquering some of the technical problems of early sound filming, demanded a raise from $250.00 per week to $2,500.00 per week. He got that, but upon completion of Interference asked for $3,500.00. By that time some of Pomeroy's "secrets" were becoming more well-known to the other directors. Pomeroy was shown the door. Watching this early production directed by a technician, we can be thankful that clearer heads prevailed and good direction was just around the corner from this effort. This film is of interest to film buffs, but you won't need to take a sleeping pill before going beddy-bye if you sit through all of this.

Paramount's first talkie sees most of the cast enunciating their lines in typically somnolent fashion, and takes twice as long as it should to tell it's tale, but still just about manages to entertain. Remarkable how sickly William Powell looks with a couple of dark circles painted under his eyes. He at least seems at ease acting instead of miming.

Roy Pomeroy was Paramount Pictures most highly respected specialist in his field. He had won the Academy Award for Engineering Effects for his work in 1927's "Wings." He made the parting of the Red Sea possible in Cecil B. DeMille's 1923 "The Ten Commandments." He was a wizard when it came to working with new technology. Pomeroy's value was recognized when the studio appointed him as head of its research department.

Paramount was the first film studio to promise after October 1927's "The Jazz Singer" was released that it would produce only audible movies from now on. The studio aimed to make "All-Talkies," meaning the entire movie would be from beginning to end synchronized with dialogue and music with no inter titles. Since Pomeroy had visited the RCA and Western Electric labs to study their sound systems, he had an understanding of microphone placements and how dialogue could be captured onto film. As studio co-owner Jesse Lasky noted, "We couldn't have treated him with more awe and homage if he had been Edison himself."

Most Hollywood directors were afraid to step forward and handle their studios' first sound production. Paramount turned to Pomeroy, who had never directed a movie in his life, to be the primary director for its first all-talkie film. Sensing a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get rich, he demanded his $250 per week salary be raised ten-fold to $2,500. "He threw his weight around,'" noticed propman Joe Youngerman, "He claimed he knew all about it." And he actually did. He was comfortable with the new audio gear, making suggestions on where to place the mics and advised his inexperienced technical crew on all the aspects of sound recording. The only problem for Pomeroy was his lack of creativity in camera shot selections. But that didn't stop the sound version of November 1928's "Interference" to become a rousing success at the box office.

The plot, based on a popular Broadway play, involves a World War One soldier, Philip Voaze (William Powell) returning to England without telling his wife Faith (Doris Kenyon). His wife had received notification from the War Department that her husband had been killed, and proceeded to marry Dr. John Marlay (Clive Brook). Conniving Deborah Kane (Evelyn Brent) sees Philip at a war memorial service and decides to blackmail Faith for bigamy. A murder takes place and the story becomes a who-done-it for the police to find out the perpetrator.

"Interference" began a cascade of talking pictures. The Film Spectator reviewer predicted "not only will all-talking pictures completely supplant silent pictures within a year, but in less than five years, they will supplant stage productions." "Interference's" competition that night in New York City was Al Jolson's part-singing, part-talkie 'The Singing Fool,' as well as the courtroom all-talkie (now lost) 'On Trial." The later was criticized for its sound quality and its actors looking uncomfortable gathering around hidden microphones.

"Interference," the second oldest all-talkie film to have survived, was released five months after the earliest one, June 1928's "The Lights of New York." Both movies' enormous financial successes are attributed to viewers' curiosity with the new format. By early spring of 1929 when studio personnel gained more experience working with the audio equipment, the quality of the all-talkies improved drastically. As one film historian wrote, "As others mastered talkie mystery, geniuses of a year before seemed not so ingenious anymore." Pomeroy, so cocky at his audio expertise on the set, demanded a further raise to $3,500 a week when Paramount offered him another directing assignment. The studio thought he was good, but not that good. Paramount let him walk by giving William DeMille, Cecil's brother, the director's chair instead. Pomeroy directed only two more films, 1930's 'Inside The Lines' and 1934's 'Shock,' an ignominious conclusion to an illustrious career.

Of course, this film is going to be of interest primarily to film history buffs and fans of early sound film, but it is not so static and halting in speech as many early talkies were.

Paramount's high production values are in full bloom here, and William Powell, in his first talking role, does a pretty good job of playing the dissolute playboy, Philip Voaze, presumed killed in action during World War I. Evelyn Brent plays Deborah Kane, the rejected girlfriend who spots Philip at his own memorial service. It's hard to believe such an attractive woman would still be carrying a torch for someone who threw her over so many years before. After tracking Philip down, Deborah still evokes no emotion from him - he wants no part of her. However, Deborah is a vengeful woman and she blames Faith, the girl that Philip dumped her for and married before the war began, for her troubles.

Deborah also realizes that she has a blackmail worthy scandal in the fact that Faith is now married to a prominent surgeon, Sir John Marlay (Clive Brook). This makes Faith a bigamist. What I could never figure out is why the letters written between Faith and Philip were such hot items in this blackmail scheme. They were written before Philip went to war and before she ever met and married Dr. Marlay and ,after all, Philip had been pronounced legally dead years before.

At any rate, Faith is shortly thereafter confronted by the seething rejected mistress who delights in tormenting her, and Deborah requests the sum of five hundred pounds at frequent intervals or else she will sell her letters and story to the newspapers. At first Faith comes up with the money, but when she winds up short she finally tells everything to her husband. Philip also finds out about the blackmail. 24 hours later Deborah is discovered dead from poison found almost exclusively in a doctor's possession. Faith, Sir John, and Philip have all had access to this concoction. The question is, who did it? The story is pretty good and well acted by all of the players. There are a few gestures that appear to be hold-overs from the silents such as someone giving a speech, waiting a few seconds, and then burying their head in their hands. However, all in all, this is a worthy first effort at sound film by Paramount. The cinematography was very well done with frequent cross-cutting between static scenes that give the illusion of movement. The video is in pretty good shape for a 1928 film, but the sound is rather poor through the first third of the film. One aspect that was really rather poorly done was William Powell's makeup. He plays a man with a degenerative heart condition that is slowly killing him. To make him appear increasingly sick, makeup is applied that has more of the effect of making him look like some kind of silent film villain than someone who is desperately ill. By the film's conclusion his face is almost completely white and he has dark circles painted on under his eyes.

Recommended for students of early sound film and fans of William Powell, of which I am both.