A Clouded Name

Even as the silent era explored and innovated more and more, and otherwise advanced heading toward the advent of talkies, some titles retained a distinct simplicity compared to growing numbers of their kin. This is no inherent mark against features like 'A clouded name,' whose direction, cinematography, and otherwise craft is as relatively straightforward and unsophisticated as its storytelling; there is a time and place for most all pictures, even if they're just a mild diversion for a quiet day. Still, I can understand how some modern viewers have a harder time engaging with older films, and this isn't an example of something to change anyone's mind in that regard. Yet, though modest, it remains duly enjoyable and worthwhile on its own merits, and certainly deserving of recognition and remembrance as a surviving relic of a past age in film-making.

Perhaps it's a reflection more on the condition of surviving prints, and efforts at preservation, more than the editing that put this together in the first place, but one way or another it's notable that the presentation is marked by a decided brusqueness even in the dispensation of intertitles, let alone somewhat choppy sequencing. Likewise, there seem to be rough edges in many regards - unnatural, stilted, possibly rushed - in not just the editing but the direction, acting, and maybe the pacing at large. None of this is to say that these facets are altogether bad, but I don't think it's unreasonable to say that this movie has considerable upper limits placed on it just from the standpoint of its craft. Though more subjective, one might also say that the expression here at times of old-fashioned values is also more than the patient soul can bear, infusing kitsch into the storytelling of drama that's flattened to some degree by the treatment it receives through the picture's construction. Mind you, I do think the tale is suitably compelling in and of itself, and there's no disputing the earnest intent; I just think the narrative would have benefited from a more delicate hand in how it was realized, not to mention more detail from writer Tom Bret to flesh it out and above all to solidify the connections between its various threads. This is to say nothing of how it doesn't just follow a tried and true tenor, but in some measure is outright predictable. In fairness, we're at least given a strong finish, as the plot is most actively engrossing in the last reel.

I can't help but wonder if Logan Productions was limited by a low budget, for some instances of the work provided by the crew is arguably less convincing than others. The filming locations are splendid; the sets seem less sure-footed, and sometimes the hair and makeup even less so. Once again: this isn't an abject criticism, but it is an issue that denotes 'A clouded name' as a creation that's a tad Lesser than no few of its contemporaries. Be all that as it may, one can him and haw about the particulars all they like, including a narrative that feels a little unfocused: when all is said and done this only wanted to give its audience a good time. It may not be a revelation, and it may in fact be far from perfect, but even such as it is, I think that purpose of light entertainment was achieved on a level that's baseline satisfactory. No, there's no specific reason for this to be recalled with especial esteem in the annals of cinema history; it's an example of the medium from another time, and that might well be the best way to consider it. It's gently charming in its own right, however, and passably worthwhile for those who appreciate the silent era. Don't go out of your way for it, but if you do happen upon it, this is a decent enough way to spend an hour.

Gladden James would be a rich doctor married to Norma Shearer, except his father had been squeezed out of the salt mines around their homes, apparently shot Miss Shearer's mother and disappeared. James had come home and gone to work for the local newspaper. After unwillingly interviewing Miss Shearer, he takes a vacation at a friend's vacation camp, only to find Miss Shearer staying at the mansion on one side, calling on him constantly because of one medical problem or another, while her current beau, Richard Neill, tries to persuade her to marry him. He also encounters and makes friends with little Yvonne Logan and her half-crazed father, Frederick Eckhart. James tries to avoid the former group, find out more about the latter, and gradually....

In many ways this feature reminds me of several Poverty Row silents from the likes of Chesterfield, trying to merge melodrama tropes with more grounded story-telling techniques. The editing by Tom Bret is rambling (there are a couple of shots of a house cat that serve no purpose I can think of, and there's at least one character, Martha Langford's, who serves no function) and the titles are more discursive than suits good film-making.

As a result of these issues, I find this movie's obscurity understandable, as well as its survival: Miss Shearer, after all, would soon wind up at MGM, married to Irving Thalberg, and Queen of the Company -- after her husband's death, she would remain as one of the largest shareholders of Loew's Corporation through her death.

This is indeed a curious film which seems to have been made by the Logan family to promote the distinctly unfetching little Yvonne Logan as a child-star (her father,Jean Logan, wields the camera).

It is a perfect example of "the classical realistic" style and the other reviewer's useful cut-count is an important reminder that films are only as good as the material they contain and the imaginative power of the film-maker and has nothing necessarily whatever to do with the style of the film-making and the use of editing to create continuity (often in practice a remedial process to repair the effects of poor mise en scène and inadequate cinematography).

If we were to believe the "editomaniacs" among the critics and if the quality of films could genuinely be judged by a simple matter of "cinemetrics", then this film would rank up with Griffith's Intolerance. In fact it is a poor piece of work and survives as nothing more than a curiosity.