LION of HOLLYWOOD – Scott Eyman (2005) PDF

  • The Life and Legend of Louis B. Mayer

Lillian Gish had made The Scarlet Letter, La Boheme, Annie Laurie, The Enemy, and The Wind for MGM. The cumulative result for the five pictures— three financial successes and two failures (Annie Laurie and The Wind)— was $418,000 in profits. But after the successive failures of Annie Laurie and The Wind, the relationship between Gish and the studio cooled off. They had a serious argument over time off, then Thalberg asked her to cut her salary, offering her 15 percent of the gross after the studio had recouped its costs in an attempt to placate her. As always, MGM played hardball: “They all point to the harm they could do me by putting me out in bad pictures,” Gish wrote to her lawyer, “which, of course, is only too true. They also tell me that it would do them no harm, as they are so organized that they would go on just the same, but that I would suffer irreparable loss.” By October 1927, with The Wind finished but the studio postponing its release, Gish was writing that “I hardly think that I will continue with Metro. Theirs is such a large organization that I feel they haven’t the room or the time for me.” Shortly afterward, MGM let the greatest film actress of her generation go—not because her films didn’t make money, but because they didn’t make enough. Gish was “difficult” and single-minded about her work, which was more important to her than the MGM method.

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The War, the West, and the Wilderness – By Kevin Brownlow (1979) PDF Download

  • The War, The West and the Wilderness
  • By Kevin Brownlow – 1979
  • Alfred A. Knopf – New York
  • Manufactured in the United States of America – First Edition

Lars Hanson and Lillian Gish – The Wind


The wretched conditions of sand, wind, and drought that characterized the Sundown location were brilliantly evoked in bleak, Scandinavian style by Victor Seastrom in MGM’s The Wind (1927, released 1928). Although more of a psychological than a realistic study, and more impressionistic than documentary in its treatment, The Wind is filled with remarkably expressive detail. For an utterly unromantic view of life on the desert, this film is unequaled.
Lillian Gish plays a delicate Virginia girl who comes to live with her cousin and finds the life intolerable. The wind howls symbolically around the tiny shack, until nerve ends are stretched to the breaking point. Even the children, usually a sentimental high point of a silent film, are treated abrasively; Lillian Gish makes a friendly, playful gesture to her cousin s small child, and receives a slap across the face. The cowboys are equally unromantic, and expectorate on the floor Lillian struggles to keep clean. She braces herself to finding sand in the bread, sand in the water, sand in her bed. She eventually has to wash the dishes with sand. The carcass of a steer hangs in the center of the room, and her cousin’s wife, already jealous of Lillian’s presence, slices unmentionable sections of its interior while Lillian holds back her repulsion.
The picture originally ended with Lillian Gish wandering into the desert, insane, after killing a rancher. Eight exhibitors, reported Irving Thalberg, refused to run the picture with that ending, and a new sequence had to be shot showing her acceptance of her life. “It broke our hearts,” said Lillian Gish.

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Selected Film Criticism (1912 – 1920) Anthony Slide – PDF download

  • Selected Film Criticism (1912 – 1920) Anthony Slide

The extraordinary part of Griffith is that he has never ceased to be a pioneer. He continues to advance. He dares to present novelties of form and novelties of material. He does not always get away with it, but he keeps right on pioneering. He is a long ways from dead, and already the Shakespeare-Bacon controversy has crawled out of its narrow cell and taken a new form in the hexagonal debate as to who invented the close-up.

the tale (Broken Blossoms) runs as written except for the very finish, with Lucy dragging out her cowering little life by the London waterside, beaten into semi-imbecility by her accidental father, picked up, reverenced, honored and enthroned by the lonely opium- eater, and at length slain in a monstrous moment of mock-virtue by the insensate chunk that caused her to come into the world. Then the beast dies before the Chinaman’s gun, the Chinaman dies upon his own knife, and the cycle is finished. There is a satisfaction in the death of all three that is an unconscious verification of both its art and its truth. Burrows the battler should not survive the weak little thing he made and slew, and for the yellow man to go on living would have been a hideous hell.

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THE “I” OF THE CAMERA – William Rothman (1988)

  • The I of the camera : essays in film criticism, history, and aesthetics
  • Essays in Film Criticism, History, and Aesthetics
  • William Rothman
  • © Cambridge University Press – 1988

America’s experience of film is virtually unique in that in almost every other country, the impact of film cannot be separated from the process or at least the specter of Americanization, In America, film in no sense represents something external; it is simply American. But what is American about American film?

For a decade or so after the first film exhibitions in 1895, film shows presented a grab bag of travelogues, news films, filmed vaudeville acts, trick films, and gag films. The audience for film in America was disproportionately urban and was made up of recent immigrants, largely from eastern Europe. (The extent to which that was true is a subject of some contention among film historians.) In a sense, film has been involved, even in America, in a process of Americanization – “naturalizing” recent arrivals, teaching them how Americans live (and also breaking down regional differences, a process that television has taken over with a vengeance). However, following the sudden growth of nickelodeons in 1908, exhibitions were skewed to be more “upscale.” The theatrical narrative – especially adaptations of “legitimate” novels and stage plays – became the dominant form of film in America, as it has remained to this day. Griffith’s early films made for the Biograph Company were clearly intended for an audience of Americans who, like Griffith himself, could take for granted the fact, if not the meaning, of their Americanness.

Griffith Directing Battle of the Sexes

But then again, virtually all Americans either are born as non-Americans or are recent descendants of non-Americans. One might think that there could be no such thing as a specifically American culture, but that is not the case. In the nineteenth century, for example, what is called transcendentalism — the philosophy of Emerson and Thoreau, the stories and novels of Hawthorne, Poe, Melville, and Henry James, the poetry of Whitman — is quintessentially American. However, this example underscores a distinctive feature of American intellectual and cultural life. There was no nineteenth-century French philosopher approaching Emerson’s stature, but had there been, young French men and women today, as part of the experience of growing up French, would be taught his or her words by heart and learn to take them to heart. But in the process of growing up American, young men and women are not taught and do not in this way learn Emerson’s words or the value of those words. Americans, as compared with the English or French or Chinese or Japanese, are unconscious of the history of thought and artistic creation in their own country – unconscious of the sources, American and foreign, of their own ideas.

Lillian Gish in Intolerance (1916) – The Cradle Endlessly Rocking

The American and foreign roots of nineteenth-century American philosophy and literature cannot be disentangled: This is part of what makes that work so American, as is the fact that it takes the identity of America to be a central subject. What America is, where it has come from, and what its destiny may be are central themes through which American culture has continually defined itself. In the crucial period from 1908 to the country’s entrance into World War I, the period when narrative film was taking root, American film took up this question of America’s identity, culminating in The Birth of a Nation, the film that definitively demonstrated to the American public the awesome power that movies could manifest. Indeed, in the work of D. W. Griffith, the dominant figure of American film during those years, America’s destiny and the destiny of film were fatefully joined.

Griffith started out with an idealistic vision: America’s destiny was to save the world, and film’s destiny was to save America. By the time of The Birth of a Nation, however, he had drawn closer to the more ambiguous, darker vision of Hawthorne, Poe, and Melville. He had made the disquieting discovery that in affirming innocence, the camera violates innocence; however idealistic their intention, movies touch what is base as well as what is noble in our souls. This knowledge, with which he struggled his entire career, is Griffith’s most abiding — if least recognized – legacy to American film.

The Birth of a Nation – 1915 UK Programme

Griffith’s attitude toward modern ideas, especially concerning the role of women, was ambivalent. That ambivalence was most pointedly expressed in the tension between his flowery, moralistic intertitles and the dark mysteries he conjured with his camera. Griffith combined a Victorian conviction that it was proper for women to be submissive with a profound respect for the intelligence, imagination, and strength of the women in his films. And what remarkable women he had the intuition to film! As I ponder Griffith’s spellbinding visions of Lillian Gish, Mae Marsh, Blanche Sweet, and others, I am struck equally by the voraciousness of his desire for women and his uncanny capacity to identify with them.

After the war, the American film industry grew to international dominance. The postwar Hollywood in which Griffith struggled fruitlessly to reclaim his preeminence clearly allied itself with the libertarian spirit of the “Jazz Age.” But with all their glamor and spectacle, their Latin lovers, flappers, and “It” girls, Hollywood films of the twenties never really made clear what that spirit was, nor its sources, nor the grounds of its opposition to orthodox ideas, nor the identity of the orthodoxy it was opposing. Following the withdrawal or repression of Griffith’s seriousness of purpose, the years from the end of the war to the late twenties are the obscurest period in the history of American film.

Actress Lillian Gish, Richard Barthelmess, Kate Bruce, D.W. Griffith, Mrs. David Landau, Burr McIntosh, Lowell Sherman in a scene from the movie Way Down East

We are taught that that was the “Golden Age of Silent Film,” the age when film became a glorious international art and language. Yet those were also the years when Hollywood’s power over the world’s film production, and its hold on the world’s film audiences, came closest to being absolute. Strangely, except for the occasional cause celebre, such as von Stroheim’s Greed, the magnificent comedies of Chaplin and Keaton, and Murnau’s Sunrise (which, together with Chaplin’s City Lights, provided the swan song for that era), no American film of that period still has an audience (beyond a core of hardened film buffs), even among film students.

Coming at a time of creative crisis, the simultaneous traumas of the new sound technology and the Great Depression (which brought about changes in studio organization and ownership) disrupted the continuity of American film history. There was an influx of personnel — directors, actors, writers, producers – from the New York stage (and, increasingly, from abroad, as political conditions worsened in Europe). By and large, the Broadway imports (unlike the Europeans) were unlettered in film. They approached the new medium with ideas whose sources were to be found elsewhere than in the history of earlier film achievements. Then again, “the talkies” were a new medium for everyone, even for movie veterans for whom filmmaking had been their education.

When Hollywood movies began to speak, no one could foresee the new genres that would emerge. It took several years of experimentation, of testing the limits, before a new system of production was securely in place and a stable new landscape of genres and stars became discernible.

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THE SELZNICK PLAYERS – Ronald Bowers (1976)

  • Ronald Bowers (1976)
  • Editorial Assistant:
  • C. Leigh Hibbard Church
  • (C) 1976 by Ronald Bowers

In that elite circle of independent Hollywood producers, David O. Selznick was undoubtedly the most creative. He brought to his position an innate love of the motion-picture industry, a knowledge of all aspects of film making, a genius for promotion and publicity, a nose for discovering outstanding new talent, and an executive ability to hire the best technicians and oversee every aspect of his product. Selznick cannily made use of these attributes to create that unique mosaic that is the motion picture.
While much of the myth that surrounds Hollywood men such as Irving G. Thalberg and David O. Selznick is exaggeration, it cannot be denied that Selznick’s reputation as a brilliant independent producer is justified by the merits of Gone With the Wind and Rebecca, his two most accomplished productions. Selznick hated having Rebecca compared to Gone With the Wind, and once adamantly stated, “That makes me furious. I really am furious every time I hear that. And don’t think I haven’t heard it. At least fifty people have said it to me, and each time I go into a regular rage. There is nothing that infuriates me so much. It {Gone With the Wind) was such a stupendous undertaking. Anything else, no matter what we’ll ever make, will always seem insignificant after that.’’

Portrait of Jennie (1948)

(Selznick Releasing Organization, 1948). Screenplay by Paul Osborn and Peter Bemeis from the novel by Robert Nathan. Directed by William Dieterle. Cast: Jennifer Jones, Joseph Gotten, Ethel Barrymore, Cecil Kellaway, David Wayne, Albert Sharpe, Florence Bates, Lillian Gish, Henry Hull, Esther Somers, Maude Simmons, Felix Bressart, John Farrell, Clem Bevans, Robert Dudley.

*** Portrait of Jennie is a 1948 fantasy film based on the novella by Robert Nathan. The film was directed by William Dieterle and produced by David O. Selznick. It stars Jennifer Jones, Joseph Cotton, supporting cast Ethel Barrymore and Lillian Gish. At the 21st Academy Awards, it won an Academy Award for Best Special Effects (Paul Eagler, Joseph McMillan Johnson, Russell Shearman and Clarence Slifer; Special Audible Effects: Charles L. Freeman and James G. Stewart). Joseph H. August was also nominated for an Academy Award for Best Cinematography – Black and White.

*** Portrait of Jennie was highly unusual for its time in that it had no opening credits as such, except for the Selznick Studio logo. All the other credits appear at the end. Before the film proper begins, the title is announced by the narrator (after delivering a spoken prologue, he says, “And now, ‘Portrait of Jennie’”). The portrait of Jennie (Jennifer Jones) was painted by artist Robert Brackman. The painting became one of Selznick’s prized possessions, and it was displayed in his home after he married Jones in 1949.

Gregory Peck — Jennifer Jones – Duel in the Sun —

Duel in the Sun (1946)

Selznick’s next project for Jennifer Jones was his much publicised, expensive ($5,255,000) production of Duel in the Sun (1946), an opulent, unrelentingly brutal, grandiose Western that took over a year and a half to make and which has been called by some a Wagnerian horse opera and a Liehestod among the cactus. Like Since You Went Away, it was another exercise in Selznick’s obsession with surpassing Gone With the Wind, and he cast his prize actress-amour as Pearl Chavez, the tempestuous half-breed who comes between two brothers (Joseph Cotten and Gregory Peck). The plot included prostitution, rape, suicide, attempted fratricide, and ended with a protracted gun duel between Pearl and the outlaw brother (Peck) in which both are killed. Duel in the Sun earned both Miss Jones and supporting actress Lillian Gish nominations for Academy Awards, and $11,300,000 at the box-office, despite its critical lambasting. Today it receives some of the critical attention it failed to garner at the time of its release when its merits were overshadowed by opposition to its violent content.

The picture’s director. King Vidor, observed that if he could talk Miss Jones into the mood of the part each day and keep her in that frame of mind all day long, the proper emotional reactions he needed in her performance registered clearly on her face. However, he was aware of her insecurities as an actress which at times caused her to do “strange tricks with her mouth.’’

Academy Award Nominations of David O. Selznick Productions

  • 1946 —Duel in the Sun
  • Best Actress — Jennifer Jones
  • Best Supporting Actress — Lillian Gish

*** Selznick directed some remaining scenes, William Dieterle handled a Reinhardtesque sequence in the vast bar which opens the film, and second-unit director Otto Brower the train wreck from which Lewt rides away singing, “I’ve Been Working On The Railroad.” Even Josef von Sternberg, hired by Selznick to supervise the costume tests and, hopefully, give Jennifer Jones some of the photographic glamour of Marlene Dietrich — Vidor used him as an assistant, having him douse the star with water in scenes requiring the appearance of sweat — directed one brief scene of a posse searching the McCanles house. So acute was Selznick’s obsession with his star that his visits to the set became embarrassing, the microphone picking up his heavy breathing as he watched her. Equally upsetting was a brief visit by D. W. Griffith. “Lionel Barrymore and Lillian Gish were incapable of speaking their script, especially Barrymore. After a moment I had to ask Mr. Griffith, ‘Would you mind leaving the set or going behind the decor?’ and he said, ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been here too long anyway, I apologize.’ And he left very politely.”

Portrait of Jennie – Lillian Gish

Duel in the Sun – Lillian Gish

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Documentary Film Classics – By William Rothman (1997)

  • Documentary Film Classics
  • By William Rothman
  • University of Miami
  • © Cambridge University Press 1997

Movies, too, may be said to bring “real life” to the screen. For example, in Griffith’s True Heart Susie, a film contemporaneous with Nanook of the North, the character Susie and the world she inhabits may be imaginary, but it is the real-life Lillian Gish who is the subject of the camera. And so-called “documentaries,” too, may be said to bring the life of the imagination to the screen, as we shall be reminded throughout this book.

Lillian Gish and Robert Harron – True Heart Susie

Griffith’s camera is capable of making no revelations about the fictional Susie that are not also revelations about the real woman who incarnates her, revelations that emerge through, that express and thus reveal, the relationship between the camera and Lillian Gish. True Heart Susie’s prevailing fiction is that it is Susie, not Lillian Gish, who is real. Or we might say that its fiction is that Lillian Gish is only acting, rather than revealing herself, when she incarnates Susie in the face of the camera, that the character Susie is only a mask she can put on or take off at will or upon direction.

What is fictional about True Heart Susie in other words, resides in its fiction that it is only fiction. What is fictional about Nanook of the North, by contrast, resides in its fiction that it is not fiction at all. Strip away what is fictional about the two films, therefore, and there is no real difference between them. Both equally exemplify Stanley Gavell’s maxim that in the medium of film the only thing that really matters is that the subject be allowed to reveal itself.

True Heart Susie

The opening titles of True Heart Susie likewise assert, at least rhetorically, the reality of the characters around whom Griffith’s story revolves. But in introducing Susie, the film’s protagonist, Griffith’s title also names the star who plays her (Lillian Gish), at once positing their identity (in the face of the camera, Susie simply is Lillian Gish; Lillian Gish is Susie incarnate) and acknowledging their separateness (Susie has no existence apart from True Heart Susie but Lillian Gish exists apart from her incarnation in this or any film, and, as a movie star, is capable of being incarnated as any number of different characters).

By contrast, when Griffith presents us with our first view of Susie in True Heart Susie – it is also our first view of Lillian Gish, of course – we are not authorized to take it as “documenting” a real encounter between camera and subject. As we have said, the film’s prevailing fiction is that it is Susie, not Lillian Gish, who is real, hence that there was no real encounter between camera and subject, for the camera that filmed Lillian Gish has no reality within Susie’s world.

True Heart Susie

To act as if she were Susie, Lillian Gish must act as if no camera were really in her presence. But how is it possible for Lillian Gish to have a real relationship with Griffith’s camera, a relationship through which Susie is capable of being revealed, if in the face of the camera she must act as if no real camera were present?

For Susie to act as if no real camera were present, there is no reality she must deny. For Lillian Gish to act as if no real camera were present, on the other hand, she must deny the reality of the camera that is in her presence, the camera that is really filming her. To deny the reality of this camera’s presence, Lillian Gish must relate to it, acknowledge its presence, in a particular way. And if the camera is to sustain the fiction that it is Susie who is real, it must relate to Lillian Gish in a particular way, too; it must be used in a way that at once acknowledges her presence and denies her reality.

Robert Harron, Clarine Seymour and Lillian Gish in True Heart Susie

What makes it possible for Griffith to use the camera in a way that acknowledges Lillian Gish’s presence even as it denies her reality is the fundamental condition of human existence that real human beings are also characters, imaginary creatures of fantasy and myth, and are also actors capable of becoming who they are imagined to be. What makes it possible, in turn, for Lillian Gish to acknowledge the presence of the camera even as she denies its reality is the equally fundamental condition of the medium of film that the reality of the camera’s presence is also the reality of its absence, the absence of its reality.

Lillian Gish trying to kiss Robert Harron (True Heart Susie)

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Mom in the Movies (TCM) by Richard Corliss (2014)

  • Mom in the movies : the iconic screen mothers you love (and a few you love to hate)
  • Mom in the Movies (TCM) by Richard Corliss (2014)
  • Copyright © 2014 by Simon & Schuster, Inc., and Turner Entertainment Networks, Inc., a Time Warner Company. All Rights Reserved.

Turner Classic Movies and film historian Richard Corliss present Mom in the Movies, the definitive, fully illustrated guide to the many ways that Hollywood has celebrated, vilified and otherwise memorialized dear old Mom. Here, you will meet the Criminal Moms, like Shelley Winters in Bloody Mama, and the eccentric Showbiz Moms, including those from Gypsy and Postcards from the Edge. You’ll also find Great American Moms, as warm and nourishing as apple pie, in movies such as J Remember Mama and Places in the Heart, along with Surrogate Moms, like Ginger Rogers in Bachelor Mother, Rosalind Russell in Auntie Mame, Dianne Wiest in Edward Scissorhands and Sandra Bullock in The Blind Side. And who can forget the baddest mothers of all? No book on movie moms would be complete without Angela Lansbury in The Manchurian Candidate. With a foreword written by Debbie Reynolds and her daughter Carrie Fisher, and sidebar essays by Eva Marie Saint, Illeana Douglas, Jane Powell, Sam Robards and Tippi Hedren, this book is packed with an incredible collection of photographs and film stills. Mom in the Movies makes a great gift for any mom— and for anyone with a mother who oughta be, in pictures.

Lillian Gish as The Eternal Mother in Griffith’s “Intolerance”

Silent Moms

If Pickford was the great female star of silent Hollywood, Lillian Gish was its greatest actress. Another child of a deserted mother who saw the theater as a way to support her family, Lillian moved in 1912 from Ohio to New York City, where Pickford introduced Lillian and her younger sister, Dorothy, to Griffith. Both Gish girls became popular performers, appearing together in Grifhth’s Orphans of the Storm (1921), but Dorothy was more the saucy soubrette, Lillian the elfin tragedian. Her wispy frame and doll face, dominated by soulful blue eyes, made Lillian ideal for demure young women who rise to heroism to battle life’s disasters. She played the female lead in The Birth of a Nation (1915), though the men carried that Civil War story to its controversial climax in the founding of the Ku Klux Klan. In Griffith’s Intolerance (1916), a film figure that interwove four stories across three millennia— think Cloud Atlas, but more wildly ambitious—Gish was the recurring figure of Eternal Motherhood, sitting next to a cradle, as Walt Whitman’s lines from Leaves of Grass (“Out of the cradle endlessly rocking . . . uniter of here and hereafter”) crept across the screen.

Richard Barthelmess and Lillian Gish – ice floe scenes (Way Down East)

Griffith’s Way Down East (1920) was famous for its climax: Richard Barthelmess running across the ice floes on a frozen river to save Gish (who spent so much time collapsed on the sheet of ice that her right hand never fully regained its feeling). But Gish is the real elemental sensation as the poor, saintly Anna, seduced into a fake marriage by the rich roué Lennox Sanderson (Lowell Sherman), who abandons her when he learns she is pregnant. Scorned as a fallen woman at the moment her own loving mother has died, Anna is left alone to tend both the ailing baby and her social shame. “Maternity—Woman’s Gethsemane” reads one of the intertitles that link Anna’s plight with Jesus on the way to Calvary. As she realizes her infant son is dying, Anna pours a lifetime of devotion and desperation into her few moments of motherhood.

Way Down East – “I baptize thee Trust Lennox …”

Like Pickford’s Tess, she baptizes the child (with the garishly ironic name Trust Lennox) and breathes on its cold hands in a futile fight to sustain its life. This is a performance of exquisitely balanced frenzy and subtlety; John Barrymore, the preeminent romantic classical actor of his day, called it “the most superlative exquisite and poignantly enchanting thing I have ever seen in my life.” Gish stayed with Griffith longer than his other top stars, leaving in 1921 for the company that would become Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, where she continued to suffer triumphantly in The White Sister, La Bohéme and The Wind. She was able to make The Scarlet Letter (1926) only after convincing balky Protestant groups that the Nathaniel Hawthorne novel, about a fiery Puritan minister who sires a child with a member of his congregation, would not give religious offense. Gish and Frances Marion, the eminent scenarist who wrote twenty Pickford films, solved or sidestepped this problem by focusing on Hester Prynne (Gish), not the Reverend Dimmesdale (Lars Hanson), and by making her another in the actress’s long line of wronged women.

Lillian’s Protegee The story of “The Scarlet Letter” gave Lillian Gish, as Hester Prynne, many scenes with little Joyce Coad, who plays Pearl. And Miss Gish believes that Joyce, who is the winner of a California baby contest, will win an esteemed place for herself on the screen. Photo Motion Picture Magazine (Aug 1926-Jan 1927)

Marked with a scarlet “A” for “adulteress,” cursed and besmirched by the sanctimonious locals, Hester is every bit as unjustly ostracized as Anna was in Way Down East. This time, the love child, Pearl, gets a proper baptism—from her father the reverend—and grows into healthy girlhood. Eight years after Pearl’s birth, Hester wants to flee to Europe with her daughter and Dimmesdale; she tears off her embroidered “A” and removes her bonnet to let her long hair flow free as a signifier of her sexual liberation. But the minister must pay for his “sin.” He denounces himself before the congregation, revealing an “A” branded on his chest. In one of many Pieta images in Gish films, he dies in Hester’s arms, asking, “Is this not a better freedom than any we have dreamed of?” Well, no, but, under Victor Sjostrom’s acute directorial hand, the ending emphasizes the silent-film law that a lover’s survival is less important than a mother’s.

Photo: The Night of The Hunter (Die Nacht des Jägers), Billy Chapin, Lillian Gish, Sally Jane Bruce, Promotional – 1955


“It’s a hard world for little things,” says Rachel Cooper (Lillian Gish) in The Night of the Hunter (1955), the miracle of mood, depredation and redemption directed by Charles Laughton and scripted by James Agee from Davis Grubb’s novel. In the West Virginia swamps of the 1930s, Rachel has no government approval, only a selfless impulse to collect unwanted children. John Harper (Billy Chapin) and his younger sister, Pearl (Sally Jane Bruce), need her intervention.

lillian gish, cheryl callaway, bill chapin, mary ellen clemons, sally jane bruce – 1955 – the night of the hunter

Their father has been hanged, after first hiding his stolen money; their mother, Willa (Shelley Winters), has fallen for the Reverend Harry Powell (Robert Mitchum), who wants that money and will threaten the children or marry Willa—and worse—to get it. As seductively malevolent as Powell is, with his baritone parables and the words L-O-V-E and H-A-T-E tattooed on his knuckles, so beatifically empowered is Rachel, describing herself as “a strong tree with branches for many birds.”

Lillian Gish and Gloria Castillo – The Night of the Hunter 1955

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The Quarterly Journal of the Library of Congress Vol. 37 1980 – INTOLERANCE

  • The Quarterly Journal of the Library of Congress Summer-Fall 1980: Vol 37 Iss 3-4
  • Intolerance

Intolerance is a long motion picture—on fourteen reels of film, it lasts over two hours. Audiences tend to find it bewildering and exhausting and are confused by the constant intercutting of the four stories representing four different time periods, each with its own set of characters: “The Modern Story” (or The Mother and the Law), “The Babylonian Story,” “The Medieval French Story (or the St. Bartholomew Massacre),” and “The Judean (or Crucifixion) Story.” Intercuts of a woman rocking a cradle are used to tie the stories together. The film grew out of a five-reel melodrama entitled The Mother and the Law that Griffith had almost completed before the release of The Birth of a Nation. After the financial success and critical acclaim of The Birth of a Nation, Griffith feared that audiences would consider The Mother and the Law disappointing. Anxious to live up to his reputation as the greatest genius of the cinema, he iook The Mother and the Law and intercut it with three other stories to create the epic Intolerance.* The Mother and the Law, set in a modern time period, deals mainly with social intolerance, the miscarriage of justice, and class hatred, bleakly revealing the wrongs inflicted by a pious factory owner on his employees and the events that ensue. The Babylonian episode illustrates the intolerance of one people for another and the intolerance of a priest for the beliefs of a different religion. The medieval French story deals with the massacre of French Protestants by Catholics in 1572.


The Judean story uses incidents from the life of Christ—Christ and the Pharisees, the marriage of Cana, and the Crucifixion. In each of the stories intolerance is the initial theme but the topic is not expanded or reinforced by the action. As a result, the film turns into a melodrama. Despite its length and complexity, Griffith created the entire film without a written script. It was all in his head.*? The film took almost two years to make and cost two million dollars to produce.* G. W. “Billy” Bitzer, the principal cameraman, was assisted by Karl Brown in shooting the film. Many of the scenes were tinted red, green, blue, and yellow. Unless fading has changed the originals, Griffith used varying intensities and combinations for these tints, which differ on various frames of the film. His use of color was unrealistic and contributes immeasurably to the emotional intensity of the film.° Music for full orchestra accompaniment was arranged by Joseph Carl Breil under Griffith’s supervision. The cast included sixty credits and hundreds of uncredited extras. Crowd and battle scenes used thousands of actors and actresses.


Some fifteen thousand persons and two hundred and fifty chariots were used for the filming of the “Fall of Babylon” sequence. Griffith drew on the talents of the regular members of the stock company as well as many relative newcomers who went on to become important actors, actresses, and directors.® The giant sets for the film were built without architectural plans on the corner lot of Sunset and Hollywood Boulevards. The structures rose to towering heights, growing from day to day as Griffith had new ideas and told his carpenters what he wanted.’ It was perhaps the greatest set ever constructed. Gigantic walls, painted to simulate stone, were built under the supervision of Huck Wortman. The walls rose to a height of one hundred feet and were adorned with reliefs of winged creatures and elephants. Towers reached much higher.*® The waiis were wide and strong enough to hold the weight of racing horses, chariots, and the throngs of soldiers used in battle scenes. Huge heavy gates, built like those of ancient Babylon, were opened by actors portraying slaves pushing big iron wheels on either side of the gates. Sets were also constructed to resemble ancient Judea and the Paris of Louis IX.


Thousands of pieces of furniture, decorative items, swords, guns, and other objects were built or collected. Although the Los Angeles fire department ordered the sets dismantled in 1916, Griffith managed to delay the destruction until 1917. They were so solidly built that parts of them survived on back lots for many years. Previewed in a theater in Riverside, California, on August 6, 1916, Intolerance opened at the Liberty Theatre in New York City on September 4, 1916. As was his custom, Griffith accompanied the film on its first showing in major cities, Cutting the prints at the theaters in an effort to improve it. In 1919 he cut into the original negative—somewhere between 13,500 and 13,700 feet in length—without making a duplicate in order to make new films from two of the stories in Intolerance: The Fall of Babylon and The Mother and the Law. Consequently, it has never been possible to restore the Intolerance negative to its original state. The master print in the collections of the Museum of Modern Art is missing two reels and measures only 11,811 feet.!° Some critical reviews after the New York opening acclaimed Griffith’s genius and declared the film a spectacle. Other reviews were generally favorable to Griffith but expressed some reservations about the film itself, which was a box office failure. Although attempts have been made from time to time to revive the film, especially in Europe, Intolerance has never been a popular success. But the film has had a lasting impact on the art of filmmaking and holds an important place in film history.

IntoleranceIntolerance – set

The Intolerance Theme

Intolerance cannot be discussed without reference to its predecessor, The Birth of a Nation, released the previous year. Some silent film scholars feel Intolerance was Griffith’s apologia for the racial bigotry portrayed in The Birth of a Nation and demonstrated his penitence for the violence the first film engendered wherever it was shown. Others believe that Intolerance was strictly a commercial enterprise and in no way reflected any change in Griffith’s attitude. Although Lillian Gish, Karl Brown, Miriam Cooper, Joseph Henabery, and Anita Loos all have differing views on Griffith’s purpose and accomplishments in both films, they seem to agree that Griffith fought all of his life for the right of freedom of speech and creative expression.

The Birth of a Nation, released in 1915, was a tremendous success for Griffith and established a place for him in film history. The film has been considered by some to be the single most important motion picture ever made. Iris Barry has stated that the picture established the film genre as the “most persuasive of entertainments and compelled the acceptance of the film as art.””

First shown as The Clansman in Los Angeles on February 8, 1915, and as The Birth of a Nation at the Liberty Theatre in New York on March 3, 1915, the film was twelve reels long. It was based on The Clansman and The Leopard’s Spots, both written by the Reverend Thomas Dixon, Jr. Public response to it was overwhelming, but from the beginning the film was met with extraordinary protests and demands for censorship. Even today it stirs up controversy. Although portions of the film are deemed racist and inflammatory, few have considered Griffith himself as being a racist. Iris Barry states that the film was “a Southerner’s honest effort to portray events still very close to the experience of the community in which he grew up.”!? She goes on to say that Much of the film’s early success can be attributed to the controversy it aroused. Demonstrations and violence flared when the film was sl.own in Boston, Philadelphia, and other cities across the country. The protests and demands for censure may have angered Griffith, but they also created profits—the more protests, the more publicity, the bigger the crowds, and the larger the take at the box office.

Griffith’s public response to the bigotry charges leveled at him was couched in terms of censorship and guaranteed freedoms. The protests and demands to censure The Birth of a Nation seemed outrageous to him. He consistently defended the right of the motion picture to share with literature the privilege of free speech. In 1916, he published a pamphlet, The Rise and Fail of Free Speech in America, in which he condemned all censorship and defended the extension of the First Amendment to film. The word “intolerance” appears frequently throughout this declaration and lends credence to the notion that the title of Griffith’s next film was no coincidence. One paragraph in particular points to a defense of his integrity and challenges his detractors to criticize his second answer to their intolerance—his film Intolerance:

The reason for the slapstick and the worst that is in pictures is censorship. Let those who tell us to uplift our art, invest money in the production of an historic play of the time of Christ. They will find this cannot be staged without incurring the wrath of a certain part of our people. The Massacre of St. Bartholomew, if produced, will tread upon the toes of another part of our people.”

Opinions of the interviewees vary as to how they thought public response to The Birth of a Nation affected Griffith’s decisions on the production of Intolerance. Lillian Gish disclaims that Intolerance was a response to reactions to The Birth of a Nation. Miriam Cooper, on the other hand, claims that it was. Anita Loos states that there was nothing original in Intolerance as a theme. Karl Brown and Joseph Henabery both look on the film as a business enterprise and as Griffith’s attempt to capitalize on an opportunity.


In her autobiography Lillian Gish tries to dispel the theory that Griffith produced Intolerance as an apology for The Birth of a Nation. She suggests that Griffith in The Birth of a Nation showed on film what he had heard as a boy and believed to be true about the Civil War. Believing that Griffith had no reason to apologize for his film, Gish contends that Intolerance “was his way of answering those who, in his view, were the bigots.””*

Miriam Cooper states that Intolerance was a part of Griffith’s crusade against intolerance.

“He wanted to show intolerance throughout the world through the ages through thousands of years of intolerance.” She believes Griffith produced Intolerance because of the riots connected with the showing of The Birth of a Nation and because “people were so incensed at other people.”?®

In her interview, Anita Loos’s reaction to intolerance as a theme for the film is somewhat negative. She does not see anything particularly creative or new about Griffith’s idea that intolerance was the cause of everyone’s troubles.’”

Karl Brown agrees with Lillian Gish that Griffith portrayed the Civil War and Reconstruction in The Birth of a Nation as he thought the events had taken place. Moreover, he feels that Griffith, a showman and a businessman, produced his pictures to sell. Brown considers the reaction to the film and the riots around the country as “very good business. … Every riot meant another million dollars.” He says that Griffith gave no indication at the time of filming Intolerance that it was in any way a reaction to The Birth of a Nation. Rather, Griffith was “just making another film.” Although it was a bigger film than Griffith was used to making, Griffith himself, Brown believes, did not have the “faintest conception of what it was going to be like or what the reaction was going to be.” Brown further states that Griffith did not care particularly about intolerance as such but had the impression that “everybody else did” and chose the theme because he thought it was popular.’®

Tha famous baloon from where Griffith tried to shoot – thus inventing the crane concept

Joseph Henabery states that Griffith created Intolerance out of necessity. His impression is that Griffith found himself in an extremely awkward situation after the great popularity of The Birth of a Nation because nothing equal to it was ready for release. According to Henabery, Griffith felt the public would expect an even more spectacular film from him. Henabery has difficulty accepting the idea that intolerance is the overall theme of the film. He comments on his feeling in the interview:

Naturally, people were looking forward to the next work of this great artist who had made The Birth of a Nation. What did he have to show? A lousy, old, stinking “quickie.” I suppose like most directors he didn’t want to show a bum picture. He began to look for ways that he could improve Intolerance or The Mother and the Law, as it was called. That’s where he thought he was being treated unfairly. Intolerably, he said. So he got the idea of making a bigger picture by embellishing it with a few added scenes for the modern period but adding the St. Bartholomew episode, the Crucifixion, and the Babylonian episodes. I would say that first of all the kind of intolerance suffered in The Mother and the Law was not religious. But two of the things that he picked were religious intolerance—St. Bartholomew and the Crucifixion. He showed priests who were traitors but the major part of the picture was not devoted to that. Now, what was intolerance? God knows.’®

One may conclude that after the tremendous reception of The Birth of a Nation, Griffith must have had second thoughts about releasing The Mother and the Law and decided to enlarge upon it and to expand the intolerance theme with three additional stories.

The Production of Intolerance Griffith rarely discussed his scripts, production plans, or financial affairs with anyone except Frank Woods, his business manager. The production plans for Intolerance were no exception.

Intolerance – Babylon

They remained one of Griffith’s better kept secrets. Anita Loos calls Intolerance the studio mystery. She indicates that no one knew what the film was about except Griffith and Frank Woods. It was a complete mystery to the actors playing in it. The filming went on for month after month, and the constant shifting of sequences from modern to ancient was confusing. The sets became enormous.

She says, “We used to say, ‘What is D. W. doing?’ We never had the nerve to ask him.”?°

When Miriam Cooper was asked if she had any idea while the film was being made what Griffith had in mind, she responded, “He never told us. He never told my anything. [We did] what we were told. He wouldn’t describe anything.”

Karl Brown concurs:

No [we didn’t know what the film was about], and to compound the felony, we didn’t care. That’s what he wanted. That’s what we gave him. He was happy. So were we. We were all being paid.”

Brown recalls that Griffith had no plan or shooting schedule and that Griffith filmed “whatever came next. Whatever was ready next.”

No, there was no straight plan. The only time he was ever stuck with a plan was during the biblical sequences when he had to. He had no choice there. He could put his own interpretation on it, but he had to follow the letter of the Book. That’s the one place where he was really tied down.”

Lillian Gish believes that even though her role in Intolerance took less than an hour to film, she was closer to Intolerance than anyone else except Billy Bitzer and Jimmy Smith, the cutter. She feels there was more of her in the picture than any other in which she had ever played. She describes her feelings in her autobiography:

Perhaps because I wasn’t acting a long role, Mr. Griffith took me into his confidence as never before, talking over scenes before he filmed them, having me watch all the rushes, even accepting some of my ideas with the cutting. At night, as I watched the day’s rushes, I saw the film take shape and marveled at what Mr. Griffith was creating.”

Joseph Henabery describes himself as equally close to Griffith. Besides doing research and assisting in production, he acted in two roles in the film. He says he “very definitely” knew what Griffith had in mind:

I did ninety-five percent or more of the research work in the picture. I assisted him for over a year. I ran around at his heels or at his side for over a year and I believe I’m safe in saying that nobody is alive today that was as close to him as | was. But there are lots of things that I don’t know—that I don’t claim to know. I don’t know what his business arrangements were or a lot of interesting things. It wasn’t part of my job.

Henabery haunted local bookstores and spent hours pouring over materials in researching the film. He particularly liked one bookstore where the owner allowed him to come in on Sunday mornings and “systematically go underneath the counters, pull out … and look through everything.”


He found and purchased many items. For instance, the marriage market scene in Jntolerance was a replication of a picture he discovered. He found a photograph of a painting which served as a reference source for parts of the Belshazzar episode. He also picked up “bits of fiction about Old Babylon.” One he remembered as the Fall of Ishtar by a woman author named Porter. Another was called Semiramas, he believed. Henabery looked at many Bibles in researching the “Jewish period.” He settled on the Tissot Bible as a reference because he believed “Tissot gave the detail of the costumes and the phylactery and all the rituals and all that sort of stuff. Most of the [other] Bibles were illustrated like Doré, which are wonderful drawings, but not authentic.”®

In his autobiography Brown corroborates Henabery’s statement. Henabery, he writes,

“became our one-man research department,” collecting books, cutting out significant pictures and mounting them in scrapbooks for ready reference. In further support of Henabery, Brown states that Tissot’s illustrated Bible was set aside as a standard reference because the illustrations appeared to be more realistic, whereas the Old Masters’ paintings presented too many discrepancies to be of much help.?”

Henabery describes his relationship with Griffith in the day-to-day production of the film:

I was with him all the time. At the end of the day he would tell me about what he wanted to shoot and I’d get some rough idea of what he wanted. If it was to be a very big day I’d stop my work at noon the preceding day and start in on the logistics. [I would] see that everything that was needed was available. But I had to use my memory more than anything. Nowadays they have production departments where they have it all broken down and everybody takes his whack at it. [The director] knows how many people are needed, what horses are needed, how many chariots are needed, and so on. Well, I didn’t, you see.”*


Lillian Gish, however, presents another story of how research was done for the film in her autobiography, stating that “once again everyone became absorbed in history….Rabbi Meyers helped with the biblical research. Mr. Griffith knew the Bible well but it was his habit to use people as a sounding board. He talked to all of us, and we often came up with sound ideas.” She implies that she too had a part in the research when she continues, “research was no chore for me.”*®

Karl Brown’s autobiographical account supports Lillian Gish’s statement that Rabbi Meyers participated in the research for the biblical wedding scene. He adds that “the equally highly respected Father Dodd, Episcopalian, stood by to make sure no Christian beliefs would be shaken by this purely Jewish ceremony.”*°

Lillian Gish states in an interview with Anthony Slide that Griffith had all of Intolerance in his mind. She says that Griffith wrote every bit of it and designed every set and every costume.

He did not go on the set not knowing what to do. He did not improvise.*! Nevertheless, in the more than one and onehalf years that it took to film Intolerance, Joseph Henabery says “miles of film” were shot and many episodes were not used. He describes one of the scenes: [Griffith] had one episode that wasn’t shown about the courts of Hammurabi—the law courts—and he used to laugh himself to death. He had me playing this part and I’d improvise and build it up, you know. I was telling the story. I was a Babylonian soldier. I was walking along and I heard somebody whistle and there was a gal up there. So I went upstairs and I told this. I’m in a law court. I’ve been arrested. Just a poor dumb fool. I used to tell this story in pantomime and he’d laugh and laugh and laugh. And, I’d say to myself, “Well, what in the world? Why is he so interested in this bit? There’s no room for it in the story.” Well, that was true of so many things. I don’t think many others realized where we were going because they didn’t attend all of the rehearsals. When asked about her involvement in the editing of Griffith’s films, particularly The Birth of a Nation and Intolerance, Lillian Gish replies: Oh, I always sat in on all of the pictures because Griffith would make me. He would say, “You go in there and pick your takes, my eyes get tired. Don’t discard what you’ve taken out, but you pick the best ones.” So that if I hadn’t he would have run the others. No, I helped. I knew cutting. At the time of the filming of Intolerance, Karl Brown had been promoted to second-unit camera. He shot many of the scenes that did not involve principals.

Mae Marsh, Billy Bitzer and DW Griffith – Intolerance

He assisted Billy Bitzer on the major scenes. He contends that the big shots—the crowd and battle scenes—were easy to film compared to the close-ups of the Christ character protrayed by Howard Gaye: The hardest thing were the close-ups of the Christ—to make him to look at all Christian, not like Howard Gaye with a lot of whiskers sticking on his face. The rest of it—those big shots—was easy. There’s absolutely no question about that. I shot with fifteen hundred, two thousand people in a good crosslight somewhere. You just set up your scenes. That’s all there is to it. There are no reflectors to handle. Nothing. You just take a picture of it. It’s the only way you can get into a close-up that big and it calls for some skill.* The Babylonian scene was one of the more extravagant in Intolerance. Griffith first tried to film it from a balloon suspended over the action, but the basket rocked too badly. Griffith then constructed a huge dolly with an elevator, which Billy Bitzer describes as being fifteen feet high, about six feet square at the top, and sixty feet wide at the bottom. It was mounted on six sets of four-wheel railroad car trucks and had an elevator in the center. Men pushed the dolly backward and forward on tracks while other workers operated the elevator, which had to descend at a regular rhythm as the railroad car moved. The entire scene was filmed in one continuous shot, in focus at every level, with a single hand-cranked Pathe camera. Bitzer did the tilt and pan cranks while focusing. Karl Brown, seated underneath the camera, did the cranking through a flexible shaft.** Anita Loos was an established writer for Griffith by the time Intolerance was released. It was logical that he called on her to assist with its titles. She relates that when Intolerance was almost complete Griffith sent for her and asked her to stay late to view a rough cut of the film with him alone in the projection room.


She thought the film was “terrible” and that Griffith “had gone out of his mind” with all of “these scrambled sequences.” And, then, he told me what he wanted to do and I realized that the titles he wanted would more or less pull it together and so I went to work and wrote a full set of titles. He told me where they were needed for time lapses and to connect for bridges between episodes. But he said, “If you see any places where you can put in a laugh, don’t hold back.” Griffith himself contributed to the writing of titles, also, and the stylized prose of Intolerance titles is typical of his films. The caption “A love blossoms from the prince stricken by her beauty as though struck by white lightning” Loos quickly acknowledges as Griffith’s. She says, “That is Griffith. That is D. W. himself. He fancied himself as a poet and his poetry was like his stage writing. It’s pretty banal.” Another specific title, “The loom of fate weaves death for the young boy’s father,” she also attributes to Griffith, saying,“ Oh, those are pure Griffith.”*” Loos liked to quote from Voltaire and recalls that her paraphrase of Voltaire, “When women cease to attract men, they often turn to reform as a second choice,” particularly pleased Griffith. She explains that she did not do research for titles: No, I never did any research for anything. I’m deadly against research. I think it bogs you down. I mean if you’re a humorist. I don’t think you should know the facts too well [because you can’t be funny if you do.]** Joseph Henabery also contributed to the titles. He relates to Kevin Brownlow that at the preview ofJ ntolerance he particularly objected to the titles and told Griffith the next day that the worst feature of the film was that it had so many titles that meant absolutely nothing to the audience. That afternoon Griffith asked Henabery to view the film with him and for about three hours they discussed the titles and reworked a number of them: I sat in there for about three hours. I hit the titles I particularly objected to. I made suggestions and they worked my ideas over and revamped the titles. In a way, this was very flattering to me. I’m human and I’m susceptible to flattery.*

Intolerance – set

Success or Failure?

At the grand openings Intolerance was acclaimed by the critics as wonderful, gigantic in spectacle, and novel in presentation. Audiences applauded the brilliant images but found the four concurrent stories confusing and difficult to follow. Theaters were filled for about five months and then attendance fell off to nothing. The film was withdrawn. Intolerance was one of the few pictures never to have a second run in neighborhood theaters. The timing of ihe film’s release was poor. In 1916 the American public was emotionally stirred up for war, but the film was a sermon on peace. As the country became more war conscious the film was censored and barred in many cities. It therefore had little chance for sustained success. The film had a similar reception in Great Britain. It was enthusiastically received in London by the critics and the public but ran only eight weeks before closing. During the filming of Intolerance, none of the interviewees fully comprehended the total scope of the picture or the full significance of the techniques Griffith employed in the production. All were incredulous at their first viewing, but in later years they realized the magnitude of what they had helped create. They attribute part of the ultimate box office failure to the unfortunate timing of the release of the film when the country was preparing to go to war. They all feel the film was too advanced technically for the average moviegoer to appreciate. Griffith typically previewed his films at towns in the Los Angeles area. Henabery went with Griffith and several others to the preview of Intolerance at Pomona.

INTOLERANCE Alfred Paget – Belshazzar

Henabery was “terribly disappointed—more so than I thought I would be.” He thought the picture was “Griffith’s biggest flop” and “failed in so many respects.” He criticized the film as “too confused for an ordinary audience.” They didn’t know what it was about. They were stunned.  They didn’t know what to make of these flashes that were that long [indicating a short distance]. They’d just about get their eyes open and [it was] gone.*” Henabery also criticizes the idea that the stories in the film run parallel: A parallel means that a similar thing happened at these different times. They were not similar things. They were usually quite different things. They talk about the wonderful parallel in the action at the end, but the train ride, the automobile race with the train, and the chariot race in Babylon, and all this. What similarity is there between a run to the rescue and a traitorous opening of the gates to let the invaders in? [And the Crucifixion]. Where is the parallelism? None. To begin with the whole Crucifixion period lacked movement. To me, it was, as I said, his biggest flop.” Brown did not share Henabery’s deep disappointment. He describes the reception of the Los Angeles opening as “tremendous because they were looking for something big and they got it.”** He saw the “picture more than once, mostly to try to find out what all these various critics were talking about.”**

During the shooting of the film he had not been able to make out the stories, “but once assembled and once its theme had been clearly stated in tones of brass from Breil’s great orchestra, everything fit together. Griffith had succeeded brilliantly.”** He disagrees with Henabery’s statement that the film does not use parallelism: Because [Griffith] had been doing it so long. He had been doing it over and over and over again. In his earlier pictures he’d have three or four stories running parallel or closely related, so finally when he came to this one he decided he’d go all the way—the same story in four different parallels—in four different settings.*® Brown believes that Intolerance was a big picture in every possible respect. It was designed to be shown as a great theatrical spectacle in fullsized theaters at advanced prices. It required a full orchestra of symphonic proportions and a backstage crew of sound effects men to build up the hullabaloo and clamor of battle. But it did not attract the crowds necessary to pay the cost of its screening. Brown admits that the film was a failure at the box office. “It was,” he said, “in short, a flop.”*” Griffith had succeeded “with the wrong thing at the wrong time for the world had changed.”** Griffith could not foresee the war. “I think it was badly timed.” Brown states that a little understood fact about Intolerance is that compared to The Birth of a Nation, Intolerance made more money during the first several months after being released.

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