Liliom

Back in 1971 when I was in high school, I saw a movie still in the Lake Wales High School Library’s sole book on film (Lake Wales was a happening place). It was a posed publicity shot (see above) from Frank Borzage’s Liliom showing two very stylized trains, people in odd costumes, tons of painted clouds and lots of dry-ice mist. I was transfixed — so much so that I sought out Ferenc Molnar’s 1909 play (astonishingly in that same library), which intrigued me, though it contained no hint about those trains. I diligently waited for the movie to show up on TV or in some university film series. Nothing doing. (It took awhile for me to realize that about the hardest thing to see was an early Fox talkie.) Flash forward to 2006 and I was asked to be part of a project on a box set of early Fox films showcasing the works of F.W. Murnau and Frank Borzage that were made during the brief period when William Fox was trying to establish movies as an accepted art form. In that set was, yes, Liliom. When I was being interviewed about the film, I told producer John Cork that I’d been waiting 35 years to see it. “Was it worth waiting 35 years for?” he asked. “Well, maybe 34 years,” I responded. (This did not make the documentary.)

Long before there was the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical Carousel, there was Liliom. It was almost a film — by Michael Curtiz when he was still Mihály Kertész — in Hungary in 1919, but was never finished. Metro made a disguised version of it in 1921 as A Trip to Paradise, but its most elaborate — and successful — incarnation is the one made by Frank Borzage for Fox in 1930. It both captures Molnar’s play and credibly adds to it — the brilliantly conceived business of the trains that gather and transport the souls of the dead to their new locations is an invention of the film. But bear in mind that it is an early talkie, that the dialogue is deliberately stylized, and that while Charles Farrell makes a perfect Liliom from a physical standpoint, his speaking voice takes some getting used to. Like many early talkies, it’s mostly a matter of getting accustomed to a different style.  Also realize that the story — much rougher than the one found in Carousel — is morally dubious in that it essentially excuses spousal abuse. Even played in a stylized manner in a heavily unrealistic setting in a film made by a transcendent filmmaker like Borzage who fully believes in redemption, it’s not a comfortable stance. (Borzage comes closer to pulling it off than you might imagine.)

Reservations aside, Liliom is a remarkable work. Totally studio-created, done in the German Expressionist style (some scenes might be out of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari), it’s every inch a fascinating film that looks like no other. The photography is gorgeous, and unlike most early sound films, it has a first-rate musical score by the little-known Czech composer Richard Fall (who would die in Auschwitz in 1945). Yes, there are some awkward moments in the film — especially in scenes where the model work doesn’t quite come off. But there are also moments of jaw-dropping beauty, poetic moments of mythic power, and at least one scene — the first appearance of the heavenly train seeming to come barreling out of the amusement park — that still astonishes. And while Farrell’s performance has problems, Rose Hobart’s Julie is magnificent in its tragic sadness and unswerving devotion. H.B. Warner as heaven’s Chief Magistrate is also excellent. And then there’s the always fascinating Lee Tracy in an early role as Liliom’s would-be partner in crime, The Buzzard.

The Asheville Film Society will screen Liliom Tuesday, Aug. 12, at 8 p.m. in Theater Six at The Carolina Asheville and will be hosted by Xpress movie critics Ken Hanke and Justin Souther.