I was not sure at first if I would agree with the majority of critics on The Crowd. The first several minutes of the picture were kind of hokey (how could they not being set in 1900 and 1912 "All-America" region and a boy) with touches of real greatness, such as that wonderful deep-focus shot of the boy walking slowly up the hallway to his dead family member. Then when it continued on with John (James Murray in his most memorable performance) as he does off as a young man to New York City, joins up as one of *many* drones at desks working for a firm, and then right away meets his bride-to-be Mary (equally memorable in her own right Eleanor Boardman), I was feeling the same way: some hokey bits scattered among some really, really brilliant cinema (the shots of the building, particularly the one that climbs up the one and then goes with in to that long tracking shot across the desks, are iconic in any cinema time period).
But then something thankful happened: I really got wrapped up with these characters. There's something that King Vidor is able to tap into, a simple and eloquent but bittersweet resonance about that fervent humping, if you will, of the American dream. All John wants to do is "something big", but he never knows what. He's a naturally charismatic guy, when he's "on", and even funny, almost in that kind of awkward Larry David sense (watch as he tries his "broken-arm" trick on his un-amused in-laws), and he's got a lot of bright ideas and catch phrases: one of them, when he finally gets the gumption to submit it, earns him and his wife and two kids $500... but then one of those random tragedies that happen in life (and movies like this) occur, and it sets John into a tailspin, both for himself and his wife and only son. There should be something big for John, but it's the unattainable thing that he'll at the least scratch at the rest of his life.
Doesn't sound like it will be a very happy picture, and at times the Crowd can be downright mournful. But it also deepens as a work of sublime and touching art as it goes along, as Vidor finds the resonance in this story: as in Sunrise a year earlier, Vidor paints a picture of a couple that look to the city as something of happiness, and it does provide some, but there's also for this story a thing of the city, the crowd(s), moving along with only so much pity or emotion for others (one of my favorite scenes is when John, sitting vigil by his dying daughter, gets incensed by the sounds and bustling and fire-trucks in the city down below and tries in vain to stop them for just one minute). The performances make this as rich an experience as a sound film, and unlike some other silent films it holds up for an audience used to the usual "talky" stuff. They're expressive in that powerful way silent film actors can be (just watch the two stars in the middle of a rising argument that includes flipping a cabinet open and closed, but one can almost hear what they might sound like. It's not just pantomime.
By the end, The Crowd reveals itself as a stunning achievement, one that is perhaps a little more dated in some respects than a Chaplin or Murnau but has that lasting impact as an all-American story. These people got the blues, and it can only get better before it gets worse and worse. That final scene in the theater, I might add, is one of those rare bitter-sweet endings that emphasizes the latter: the shot pulls up from the laughing crowd, all these faces and people looking for something escapist, and it's like for a moment Vidor turns the camera on his own audience without condescension. You're not alone, is perhaps the sad truth, but at least there's some light moments that make things alright.
But then something thankful happened: I really got wrapped up with these characters. There's something that King Vidor is able to tap into, a simple and eloquent but bittersweet resonance about that fervent humping, if you will, of the American dream. All John wants to do is "something big", but he never knows what. He's a naturally charismatic guy, when he's "on", and even funny, almost in that kind of awkward Larry David sense (watch as he tries his "broken-arm" trick on his un-amused in-laws), and he's got a lot of bright ideas and catch phrases: one of them, when he finally gets the gumption to submit it, earns him and his wife and two kids $500... but then one of those random tragedies that happen in life (and movies like this) occur, and it sets John into a tailspin, both for himself and his wife and only son. There should be something big for John, but it's the unattainable thing that he'll at the least scratch at the rest of his life.
Doesn't sound like it will be a very happy picture, and at times the Crowd can be downright mournful. But it also deepens as a work of sublime and touching art as it goes along, as Vidor finds the resonance in this story: as in Sunrise a year earlier, Vidor paints a picture of a couple that look to the city as something of happiness, and it does provide some, but there's also for this story a thing of the city, the crowd(s), moving along with only so much pity or emotion for others (one of my favorite scenes is when John, sitting vigil by his dying daughter, gets incensed by the sounds and bustling and fire-trucks in the city down below and tries in vain to stop them for just one minute). The performances make this as rich an experience as a sound film, and unlike some other silent films it holds up for an audience used to the usual "talky" stuff. They're expressive in that powerful way silent film actors can be (just watch the two stars in the middle of a rising argument that includes flipping a cabinet open and closed, but one can almost hear what they might sound like. It's not just pantomime.
By the end, The Crowd reveals itself as a stunning achievement, one that is perhaps a little more dated in some respects than a Chaplin or Murnau but has that lasting impact as an all-American story. These people got the blues, and it can only get better before it gets worse and worse. That final scene in the theater, I might add, is one of those rare bitter-sweet endings that emphasizes the latter: the shot pulls up from the laughing crowd, all these faces and people looking for something escapist, and it's like for a moment Vidor turns the camera on his own audience without condescension. You're not alone, is perhaps the sad truth, but at least there's some light moments that make things alright.