Fight the French Revolution tonight in 'Scaramouche' (1923) at the Flying Monkey in Plymouth, N.H.

A scene from 'Scaramouche' (1923).

Tonight: Join me for two hours spent fighting the French Revolution! 

That's what you'll get with 'Scaramouche' (1923), a big Rex Ingram-directed swashbuckler that I've never accompanied before, but will this evening.

The show starts at 6:30 p.m. Lots more detail in the press release pasted in below.

Meanwhile, a report from this past weekend: I had a great time accompanying 'The Freshman' (1925) on Saturday night up in Brandon, Vt. (they cheered at the end!), and then 'The Fire Brigade' (1926) on Sunday at the Somerville Theatre in Somerville, Mass.

Top billing on the Somerville Theatre's marquee! 

'The Fire Brigade' was eventful in that to simulate the sound of a large fire bell being struck by a hammer (seen on-screen multiple times during the film), I borrowed a big mounted boxing bell from fellow silent film musician Ken Winokur, who happens to live not far from the Somerville Theatre.

The bell came with a little hammer for hitting it, which was attached to the base by a length of twine to keep the bell and hammer from ever separating. What could go wrong?

Well, during the film, the first time I went to strike the bell, the hammer's metal head flew off the handle (hey, is that where that expression comes from?) and landed out into the darkness somewhere in front of me.

So there went that plan! For the rest of 'The Fire Brigade,' the bell tolled for no one, for lack of a hammer. The now bell-free score, however, went fine, and afterwards I found the hammer head, reattached it to the handle, and packed the whole thing up to return to Ken via a box on his porch.

Well, the next day, Ken pinged me to ask about the hammer's little metal head, which somehow didn't make it back with the bell after all! 

So I checked and found it still in the back of my car. It had apparently fallen off (and out of the bag) during transit. 

 Well, yesterday I mailed the hammer head to Ken—but not before using it to knock some sense into my own head for this whole sorry escapade.

But that's all in the past. Let's now look ahead to the future, in the form of a 1923 film with a story set during the French Revolution. 

Wait—let me rephrase that...

*     *     *

An original lobby card promoting 'Scaramouche' (1923).

TUESDAY, AUG. 29, 2023 / FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Contact: Jeff Rapsis • (603) 236-9237 • jeffrapsis@gmail.com

Silent swashbuckler 'Scaramouche' with live music at Flying Monkey on Wednesday, Sept. 13

Ramon Novarro stars in big budget adaptation of sprawling novel set during the French Revolution

PLYMOUTH, N.H.— It was a big story filmed on a big scale—a movie with a big budget and featuring a big star.

It was 'Scaramouche' (1923), a swashbuckler set during the French Revolution. Starring heartthrob Ramon Novarro, the picture ran into big problems during production, but went on to be one of the year's box office hits.

See for yourself with a screening of 'Scaramouche' on Wednesday, Sept. 13 at 6:30 p.m. at the Flying Monkey Moviehouse and Performance Center, 39 Main St., Plymouth, N.H.

The screening will feature live music for the movie by silent film accompanist Jeff Rapsis. General admission is $10 per person.

The show is the latest in the Flying Monkey's silent film series, which gives audiences the opportunity to experience early cinema as it was intended: on the big screen, with live music, and with an audience.

Alice Terry and Ramon Novarro in 'Scaramouche' (1923).

Based on a 1921 novel by Rafael Sabatini, 'Scaramouche' tells the story of Andre-Louis Moreau (Novarro), a young lawyer whose close friend is killed by a prominent and powerful aristocrat.

Vowing revenge, Moureau disguises himself and joins a theater troupe, where he plays the title role of Scaramouche while working to avenge his friend's untimely death.

Along the way, there are swordfights, plot twists, and scenes of French Revolution rioting staged on a massive scale. The film co-start Alice Terry and Lewis Stone.

Director Rex Ingram pioneered movie adaptations of large-scale stories, creating some of the first true Hollywood epics in the early 1920s while employed by Metro Studios, which later became part of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer.

Prior to 'Scaramouche,' Ingram directed megahits 'Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse' (1921) starring Rudolph Valentino and 'The Prisoner of Zenda' (1922) which also featured Novarro and Stone.

'Scaramouche' was an elaborate and unwieldy production that suffered from delays and cost overruns.

Ingram had secured the rights to Sabatini's novel in September 1922, and worked on the project for seven months before the cameras rolled.

Extensive outdoor sets, representing 18th-century Paris, were built both on the Metro lot and at a separate site in the San Fernando Valley, and 1,500 extras were used.

An experimental sequence was shot in Technicolor, with the Technicolor company picking up the tab; the sequence proved unsatisfactory and was ultimately discarded.

Despite production problems and cost overruns, 'Scaramouche' went on to rank as one of the top-grossing films of 1923, earning more than $1 million at the box office—a phenomenal sum for the day.

Modern viewers find much to admire about 'Scaramouche.'

"Scaramouche is easily one of Rex Ingram’s best films," wrote reviewer Fritzi Kramer of 'Movies Silently' in 2013.

"It is big, bold and beautiful yet it never loses sight of its characters. Their hopes, dreams and hatreds work in tandem with history to drive the plot steadily onward.

"And, unlike some of Ingram’s works, it is never slow-moving. This is historical spectacle done right. You owe it to yourself to check this film out."

Accompanist Jeff Rapsis will improvise an original musical score for 'Scaramouche' live as the movie is shown, as was done during the silent film era.

"When the score gets made up on the spot, it creates a special energy that's an important part of the silent film experience," said Rapsis, who uses a digital synthesizer to recreate the texture of a full orchestra for the accompaniment.

With the Flying Monkey's screening of 'Scaramouche,' audiences will get a chance to experience silent film as it was meant to be seen—in a high quality print, on a large screen, with live music, and with an audience.

"All those elements are important parts of the silent film experience," Rapsis said. "Recreate those conditions, and the classics of early Hollywood leap back to life in ways that can still move audiences today."

‘Scaramouche’ (1923) starring Ramon Novarro will be shown with live music on Wednesday, Sept. 13 at 6:30 p.m. at the Flying Monkey Moviehouse and Performance Center, 39 Main St., Plymouth, N.H.

General admission tickets are $10 at door or in advance by calling the box office at (603) 536-2551 or online at www.flyingmonkeynh.com.

Ben and Ken and Marvin and Bob and Bill and me and the Talking Heads, too: Music at this year's Kansas Silent Film Festival

Ken and Ben: The Alloy Orchestra's Ken Winokur and silent film accompanist Ben Model embrace backstage at this year's Kansas Silent Film Festival.

This year's Kansas Silent Film Festival was highlighted by some great films, special guests, and also a personal milestone.

For me, the 2019 gathering marked 20 consecutive years of attending this event, which is held each February at Washburn University in Topeka, Kansas.

Twenty years? Other than being married, and breathing, I haven't done anything for 20 years. Heck, it's a run nearly as long as the silent film era itself.

More below. But about this year's festival..

Ben Model and festival music director Marvin Faulwell at the organ console at Washburn University's White Concert Hall.

It was a special privilege to hear and collaborate with fellow silent film musicians, including regulars Marvin Faulwell, Bob Keckeisen, and Bill Beningfield, and guests Ben Model and members of the Alloy Orchestra: Ken Winokur, Terry Donahue, and Roger Miller.

Highlights included the Alloy Orchestra's pounding accompaniment for 'Metropolis' (1927); Marvin and Bob's controlled and evocative score for 'The Daughter of the Dawn' (1920); and Ben Model doing his music for 'When Knighthood was in Flower' (1922), a film he reissued on DVD on his Undercrank label.

Ben also gave a slightly abbreviated edition of his talk on undercranking and film speeds in use during the silent era. Below is an underexposed photo of his uncranking talk, but I liked it because of how Ben's pose mirrors the action on screen.

Film speed is just one of many issues that can prove troublesome when presenting films from the silent era to modern audiences. It's hard for people to grasp that in early cinema, for many years there was no standard film speed, either for photographing action (called "taking speed") or projecting it in a theater.

But Ben's presentation shows this aspect of silent cinema was well-known by filmmakers, who would deliberately incorporate various taking speeds into what they did.

I remember reading about this practice in books such as Walter Kerr's 'The Silent Clowns.' But Ben has really gone into the archives and sussed out hard evidence of how extensive the practice was, how filmmakers made use of it, and what a difference it made.

Most amazing are statements from silent-era stars such as Milton Sills, who wrote in detail how an actor had to gauge his or her movements to allow for the way they would appear on screen, which was almost always at a slightly brisker pace than reality.

So film speed, and specifically undercranking, is one of the foundations of early filmmaking technique. Bravo to Ben for helping us all understand its impact!

As the festival's utility musician (I'm listed in the program as "staff pianist"), this time around I was asked to provide scores for five movies: three short films and two features.

All went well, generally. I was most pleased with an unusual film, 'Venus of the South Seas' (1924) starring Australian swimming champion Annette Kellerman in her only surviving film.

For this very lightweight drama, percussionist Bob Keckeisen and I collaborated on a score that tried to stay on the shimmery side, just like the sparkling water that appears throughout the film.

So I developed material that mirrored early minimalism that first started being heard in the 1970s. I was running through some of it in a practice room, and I'm told someone on the piano faculty wanted to know who was playing the Philip Glass music!

Not to get too technical, but this was very much a "sharped 4th" score: one in which all melodies are built on a scale in which the fourth note is the one between "fa" and "so". I guess you could say it's "fo."

But that one little note makes all the difference, as it lends a shimmering quality to any run of notes. So that's what I played with throughout the film, while Bob contributed sounds ranging from the sawing of a metal file to calls on an underwater horn.

It all fell together quite effectively, I thought, considering that Bob and I spoke about 'Venus of the South Seas' for all of about a half-hour the day before.

But it was enough to work in some good cues. Most impressive was a quick scene in London, which saw Bob ringing out the "Big Ben" chimes in C major. (A tribute to Ben Model, too!) It worked and sounded pretty good, I thought.

For any water or swimming scenes, I had a riff of repeated notes that I'd play for as long as it made sense to do so. Occasionally I'd vary the harmony, but mostly it was a nice steady tapping that fit the on-screen action and helped it move along.

So it was most satisfying when I landed on just the right moment near the end to start this up again and slowly build to a nice finish. And Bob K. caught this wave as well, hitting the suspended cymbal softly at first but then growing as I pushed the volume on my repeating chord.

And we both built to a nice level as 'The End' appeared on screen, and kept it there for what felt just the right amount of time before going out on one final bump up.

Wow! Few accompaniment experiences have been as satisfying as that!

So thanks to Bill Shaffer and everyone (too numerous to name, but you know who you are) who make this festival work.

And by work, I mean they work year-round, and thus make it easy for an out-of-towner like me to just show up on the big weekend and do my thing.

It's been enough to keep me coming back for 20 years, and was a big influence in getting me to start pursuing silent film accompaniment myself.

And after 20 years, I find myself thinking about the Talking Heads, one of the few pop music groups I know anything about.

"You may find yourself at the Kansas Silent Film Festival for the 20th year in a row. And you may yourself, how did I get here?"

How? It wasn't letting the days go by. It was getting placed on leave from a job teaching middle school English. (Yes, I washed out in my attempt to teach middle school kids.)

This led to a plan to write a book about silent film, and this led to the idea of going somewhere so I could recover the magic of this art form.

Recover? Yes! As a teenager, I had a passionate interest in the silent film era. But it faded due to a misguided attempt to behave and act like an adult. (Big mistake!)

In March 2000, I wanted to reconnect and see if anything was there. So I used this new thing called the Internet to see if any festivals were happening soon.

There was: something called the Kansas Silent Film Festival. And a pair of Delta Airlines 'Friends and Family' passes would get me there and back.

Next thing I knew, I was sitting in the White Concert Hall at Washburn University, with the Mont Alto orchestra doing live music to Keaton's 'The Cameraman' (1928).

The distinctive "bio-hazard" design of the White Concert Hall's carpeting, which last year I was told would be replaced. Returning this year, I was thrilled to see it still there.

I was reminded of what I loved about silent film. But as I watched that magical "dolly back" in 'The Cameraman' that reveals the monkey to be cranking the newsreel camera, I immediately sensed something was going on that would be a big part of my future.

(I had seen the picture before, but not since college. Seeing it again, I recall feeling excited at how much fresh creative energy Keaton was finding in the silent cinema even as it was ending. It was as if he was saying, "Look at what we can still do with this!")

It took awhile for me to figure out that silent film would lead not to a book, but to silent film accompaniment, would eventually become the main outlet for my creative energy.

But back at that first-for-me Kansas Silent Film Festival, I found more than just silent film. Visiting from the far-off East, I found myself welcomed by friendly people who by rights I never should have met. But I'm glad I did.

Next thing I knew, I was putting 16mm prints in the trunk of my rental car and getting directions to the afterglow at the old Holidome on Fairlawn Boulevard. And there we were, enjoying drinks and eating Doritos as Rodney Sauer of Mont Alto played ragtime on the lounge piano while a few bemused barflies looked on.

I came to that festival uncertain of what was next for me. Unexpectedly, I came away with a renewed sense that anything was still possible: that I could start a business (which I did), that I could find a creative outlet (I have), that I still had a lot to do and give and experience in this life.

So I returned the next year, and the year after, and every year since. Each time, I'm reminded of that same feeling I got the first time: that life continues to offer possibilities as rich as those shown by Keaton in 'The Cameraman.'

And so, at last night's 'Cinema Dinner,' when festival director Bill Shaffer asked if anyone had attended 20 years in a row, I thought to myself: "I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. Shaffer!"

But I didn't say anything. Instead, I just stood and took a bow.

Thanks to everyone at the Kansas Silent Film Festival for keeping it going all these years.

Only 52 weeks and five days until the next one. Next year's festival, already on the calendar, is Feb. 28-29.

So get ready to celebrate Leap Day in Topeka.

And the burning question is: will they program the Fatty Arbuckle feature 'Leap Year' (1920)?

Brush with silent film fame: a few thoughts on meeting Ken Winokur of Alloy Orchestra

Alloy in action: that's Ken Winokur back behind the bedpan, playing percussion, with colleagues Terry Donahue on accordion and Roger Miller on keyboard.

Just prior to yesterday's screening of two silent W.C. Fields features, I was introduced to one of the big names in silent film music: Ken Winokur of the Alloy Orchestra!

The night before, Ken's group had done their new score for 'Son of the Sheik' (1926) at the Somerville Theatre, where I was doing my program the next afternoon.

Imagine that—a commercial movie theater running separate and big silent film programs on Saturday night and Sunday afternoon! Geez, we're fortunate to have the Somerville Theatre in our area.

I was thrilled to meet Ken, who with colleagues Terry Donahue and Roger Miller has been attracting big audiences to silent films for many years now.

(How big? I understand they had 600 people at the Somerville on Saturday night, way more than what we get for the Sunday afternoon shows. And at a higher ticket price, too!)

He was there to take in the Fields films, which he said he hadn't seen before. Turns out he lives not far from the Somerville, so I guess it was only a matter of time before our paths crossed.

Ken was a pleasure to talk to. We shared a few thoughts about synthesizers and how much gear Alloy has to move in and out of theaters. But that's about all we had time for before the lights went down.

And yes, knowing that a silent film music guy of Ken's stature is in the audience is enough to make me a little self-conscious when sitting down at the keyboard.

But I think of it as good experience in pushing myself into that "silent film accompaniment" zone, where the film takes over and I find I stop being nervous no matter who's in the room.

Luckily, that happened pretty quickly yesterday afternoon with 'Sally of the Sawdust.' And Ken sent me a note this morning with some nice comments about the music. Thanks, Ken!

I first heard Alloy back in the mid-1990s when they did music for Keaton's 'Steamboat Bill Jr.' (1928) at the Portsmouth (N.H.) Music Hall.

This was before I was doing accompaniment. But at the time, it made a huge impression, and it helped steer me back into the field. (I had collected vintage film way back as a teenager, but had moved on to other interests after college. Besides the opposite sex, that is.)

Later, I went to a couple of programs Alloy did in Northhampton, Mass. One of my best memories from that time was taking a retired (and recently widowed) newspaper colleague in his 80s down there for a screening of Harold Lloyd's 'Speedy' (1928), which he remembered seeing as a boy. Alloy did a magnificent job, and it was a great night!

Over the years, Winokur's group has drawn criticism from some film buffs who don't favor Alloy's approach to scoring silents.

That's unfortunate, as I feel there's room for a lot of different approaches. And in many cases, new music is what brings many first-timers to a silent film screening.

In my case, I like to think Winokur and his colleagues helped "loosen my ears" regarding silent film music. They helped me understand the value of coming up with new (and not necessarily period authentic) music to help bring these timeless works of art alive for contemporary audiences.

Yes, there are some very talented musicians who specialize in recreating the musical cues played when the films were first released. And there's tremendous value in that, too.

But there's also a lot to be said for creating new music that connects with people and, again, helps bring other audiences into the silent film tent.

That's what Alloy has been doing for the past quarter century, and I hope they continue for a long time to come.

After all, the chance for each era to create new music for these movies is one of the great glories of the silent film art—one that will help keep interest strong, and these films before the public, as years and decades continue to pass, I think.

If you're interested in learning more about the Alloy Orchestra, check out their Web site. They tour all over the country, and even internationally, so at some point there should be a show near you.

Next up for me is a presentation to the New Hampshire Creative Club this Wednesday, and then a screening of 'Tarzan and the Golden Lion' (1927), one of the best surviving Tarzan silents, on Thursday, March 12 at the Flying Monkey Moviehouse and Performance Center in Plymouth, N.H. More on that in a separate post.

A Sunday afternoon screening of 'Grandma's Boy' (1922) follows at the Townsend (Mass.) Public Library, and then it's off to the last-ever Cinefest gathering in Syracuse, N.Y., where I'll be one of eight accompanists on hand for this four-day event.

Having that many accompanists in one place has gotta be some kind of a record. Perhaps we'll play musical chairs!