Manslaughter

By 1922, with the jazz age in full swing, DeMille's po-faced preaching was at the point of self-parody. It was probably more his lavish and indulgent depiction of "sin" than his stern condemnation of it that kept the public coming back to the box office. Manslaughter is the archetypal DeMillean prohibition-era morality tale, and one of his last contemporary-set pieces before he moved almost exclusively into the realm of epic, historical fables.

But let's first take a look at how DeMille's formal style is at work here. It's a style he perfected early on in his career and which he never lost no matter how ridiculous his pictures became. What stands out most about Manslaughter is its incredibly precise pacing of the action, with each scene having its own rhythm. We open with a dynamic burst of quick cutting and constant motion. Things become more complex in the following party scene, with the movements of different characters in consecutive shots mimicking each other rhythmically to keep a continuous pace. DeMille uses similar techniques to step up the pulse of the picture within a single sequence. For example in the central court scene there is a quick shot of all the spectators rising to their feet, followed by the shot in which the Drummond's mother tears off Leatrice Joy's veil, the first shot giving impetus to the second. DeMille also makes strong use of space and lighting to give an emotional tone to each moment.

DeMille is unusual among directors with such a showy visual style, in that he always aims, through framing and lighting, to focus us on the actors. And like everything in DeMille's cinema, the performances tend to tread the line between naturalism and theatricality. Unfortunately Leatrice Joy is a little average, especially when compared to Gloria Swanson who had just completed a successful run of pictures with DeMille. Thomas Meighan too is a bit below par, his performance only being good in the meagre context that he is playing a stony-faced killjoy. Nevertheless the language of gesture and expression, always important in DeMille's pictures, adequately conveys their characters' intentions. This effect is spoiled only by the lengthy and over-abundant title cards. Having said that, you've got to love Jeanie Macpherson's way with words, with such gems as "Doesn't this doughnut remind you of a life preserver?" The storyline is of the highest grade DeMille-Macpherson moralist nonsense. It begins by railing against such scandalous transgressions as female boxing and pogo-stick racing, then follows up by making the point that such goings-on can be a gateway to even greater sins, such as accidentally killing a traffic cop. This daft righteousness is all pretty harmless, but what really makes Manslaughter a difficult story to relate to is the implausible motivations of its characters, in particular Thomas Meighan's. It seems bizarre that someone so uptight would even show his face at a jazz 'n' liquor party in the first place, let alone fall in love with one of the flappers "for what she might have been". Unless it's purely a sexual thing, like the minister in Sadie Thompson, but this is never implied and wouldn't really fit any better with the story arc.

It's no wonder that DeMille would soon begin making his points with large-scale spectacles. The stories he was now handling were too silly to have any real dramatic weight, and the most engaging moments of Manslaughter are the frenzied flashbacks of a decadent Rome. It also looks as if those were the scenes DeMille had the most fun staging. As it is, Manslaughter is a decidedly mediocre effort, nicely directed but with the wrong material for small-scale drama.

The plot, even if a little dragged out, would be allright; we just can no longer stand seeing - especially in the scenes of ancient Rome (which are by the by perfectly unnecessary) - everyone waving their arms like madmen, and - not all through the film, I must say, but in a consistent part of it - the actors too often resorting to those stereotyped gestures that characterize many films of the first (and last) silent cinema: gestures probably taken from contemporary theatre, but - since in silent cinema, by definition, no words could be uttered - exaggeratedly amplified to be sure of getting the message across.

Other powerful means were also available to early cinema: just think of close-ups, or the expression of a face... Similar cinematic tricks were not possible in the theatre: they were some of the tools of cinema as a new means of expression, or - in rare cases - art.

Among the filmmakers, some realized it earlier, some later...

Pretentious, preachy, magazine-style "sob story" film delivers on all its basic promises, which are few. There's the obligatory "Roman Orgy" scene, of course. Well, the "hero" is, although he's the D.A., inexplicably hanging out at a "bootlegger" party, and he starts spouting off about how awful it all is -- girls racing on pogo sticks!!! -- just like ancient Rome. He comes off as self-righteous and boring. Later on in the film, he becomes a self-righteous, boring drunk, and the girl he sent to prison for manslaughter "saves" him (!). Best scene: the cop on the bike flipping over a car.

Thomas Meighan (as Daniel J. O'Bannon) is a district attorney in love with "speed-mad" Leatrice Joy (as Lydia Thorne). Mr. Meighan loves Ms. Joy, "for the girl he thinks she could be," but not the geared up speed freak she is. One day, Joy takes her sporty car out to race a locomotive, and wins! Later, cop Jack Mower (as Jim Drummond) stops her; but, Ms. Joy drops him a diamond necklace, and speeds off to party. Lois Wilson (as Evans) is Joy's maid; to save her ailing son, she steals a jeweled ring from Joy. After Ms. Wilson is sent to the pokey, Joy commits manslaughter. Will D.A. Meighan let her get off?

Bacchannalian parties, which alternate between present and ancient Roman debauches, is a sure sign Cecil B. DeMille is directing. The O'Bannon character's flashbacks to ancient Rome are ludicrous DeMille indulgences. The better indulgence is the generous time DeMille's camera spends in a prison for women; his female prisoners are a lively bunch! The performances are sometimes entertaining, especially Joy and Wilson. Meighan starts off slow, but eventually succumbs to degradation. While fun is spots, this is NOT a great film. The love between Meighan and Joy is not particularly convincing; he shows more interest in Wilson, and might have been wise to run off with her. The story is sometimes inexplicable.

Symbolism likens a doughnut to a life preserver - so, why not a wheel? Coin collectors might enjoy the change in Meighan's pocket when he's down and out - two buffalo nickels and a standing liberty quarter.

***** Manslaughter (1922) Cecil B. DeMille ~ Thomas Meighan, Leatrice Joy, Lois Wilson

The greatest pleasure of this fun DeMille classic is the sublime performance of the radiant Leatrice Joy. From the great opening shot, of her speeding along in her roadster, to the final clinch, she eats up the screen with her energy and, dare I say it, joy of living! Joy was more than just a substitute for Gloria Swanson in DeMille's films - she brought a different sort of vigour to her roles, a true Jazz Age energy that Clara Bow would later build upon. She is certainly an actress that deserves to be re-discovered.

The story, of a shallow fun-loving rich girl discovering that the true meaning of life is service to others, is rather too moral to be taken seriously - especially as DeMille can't help creating two completely gratuitous, but highly enjoyable, "flash-backs" to Ancient Rome, featuring wild orgies (and even a lesbian kiss!!). It's the usual clash between DeMille's fascination with sex and sado-masochism and his need to moralise against such things.

It all adds up to a visually stunning entertainment. Don't miss it!