Sennett/Pathé, 1924. Director: Harry Edwards. Story: Vernon Smith and Hal Conklin. Camera: William Williams and Lee Davis (special photography: Ernie Crockett). Film editor: William Hornbeck. Cast: Harry Langdon, Vernon Dent, Natalie Kingston, Fanny Kelly.
Once again it’s October, the month of Le Giornate del Cinema Muto—the essential silent-film festival, held annually in Pordenone, Italy—and once again the Giornate program is packed with cinematic riches. One of the highlights is a special Chaplin retrospective, curated by my friends Steve Massa and Ulrich Ruedel, that goes beyond Chaplin’s own films to explore the great comedian’s larger impact on contemporary film culture: his imitators, his influence on other artists, and references in other films that reflect Chaplin-consciousness in society at large. The program includes Soldier Man, produced in 1926 and starring Harry Langdon, a comedian with a persona distinctly his own, but one who was unquestionably influenced by Chaplin.
Steve and Uli are the experts here, and at this writing I haven’t seen their notes on Soldier Man, so I will not presume in this column to infringe on their project. Instead, as a sort of supplement to their efforts, I’m highlighting a separate but related Langdon comedy, produced two years earlier: All Night Long (1924). This short is more or less complementary to Soldier Man, since both films are set during World War I, both were produced at the Mack Sennett studio, both filmed by essentially the same crew, and both prominently featuring Vernon Dent and Natalie Kingston in the supporting cast.
As I’ve written in an earlier edition of this column, Harry Langdon occupies a unique and sometimes fragile place in the pantheon of silent-film comedians. His character’s shy, infantile, hesitant personality, like that of a toddler stuffed into adult’s clothing, makes some viewers uneasy—but when Langdon’s talent is deployed in a congenial story, supported by able writers and directors, it produces some irreplaceable nuggets of screen comedy. The idea of casting little Harry as a soldier is natural comedy fodder, since no other comedian seems less likely as a military fighting man. In All Night Long we see him first as a hapless doughboy, stuck on K.P. duty and peeling a mountain of potatoes. His sergeant, played by frequent costar Vernon Dent, simply has no other tasks that Harry can handle. As the story progresses, however, the tables begin to turn. Little Harry, through no active effort of his own, wins the heart of Dent’s French girlfriend, then bumbles into an act of accidental heroism that wins him a promotion to an officer’s rank.
The French girlfriend in question is played by lovely, exotic Natalie Kingston, here in her first appearance opposite Langdon, and Harry is plainly taken with her.
It’s not hard to see why: Natalie manifests an electric presence on the screen, and evinces a strong instant attraction to Harry, for reasons that are as much a mystery to the audience as to Harry himself. Kingston was just getting established at the Sennett studio in 1924, and would continue to reinforce her vivid first impression there in further comedies. In 1926 she would graduate to a brief but colorful career in features (including Kid Boots, recently featured in this space), a career that would extend well into the sound era.
Like any number of other comedians, Harry Langdon had served an apprenticeship on the vaudeville stage before coming to the movies. Even so, his screen persona evolved slowly during his time at the Sennett studio. There’s general consensus among silent-comedy scholars that All Night Long was a key film in that process, one of the first times that the familiar Langdon character emerged fully formed on the screen. Happily, that development goes hand in hand with story material tailor-made for the new character. Over and over this film gives us a charming episode of vintage Langdon comedy: Harry, overhearing that a dinner invitation may be in the offing, desperately trying to catch Dent’s attention and volunteer for the date; Harry’s childlike ignorance of table manners when he does dine with the French family; Harry, under the spell of a kiss from Natalie, meandering in a slow-motion stupor and repeatedly running into a wall.
The film also offers a peculiarly constructed story: the entire body of the World War I action is presented as a flashback. The framing story, set in the “present” (that is, 1924), has an odd and somewhat dark cast of its own. It begins with Harry sitting alone in an otherwise empty theater, having fallen asleep during the presentation. Awakening and trying to find his way through the darkened theater to the exit, Harry hears noises: the theater office is being robbed. The robbers confront Harry, and then the surprise: the leader of the robbers is none other than Vernon Dent, Harry’s former sergeant. The flashback ensues. At film’s end, as we return to the present, it’s clear that Dent remembers wartime events all too well, and this is anything but a joyous reunion!
I’m looking forward to Steve and Uli’s presentation at the Giornate, framing Soldier Man (and numerous other films) in the context of the Chaplin phenomenon in the 1910s and ’20s. I’m also thankful for the opportunity to review the developmental path that led Langdon’s creative team to the premise of that film. In the world of silent film history, one road always leads to another.
