Make a date with the 'Phantom': tonight at the Coolidge Corner Theatre in Brookline, Mass.

An original poster for 'The Phantom of the Opera' (1925).

Doing music for 'Phantom of the Opera' (1925) tonight at the Coolidge Corner Theatre in Brookline, Mass. will be a bit of a homecoming for me, as it's the first silent film I tried accompanying in front of an audience.

Tonight's screening, by the way, starts at 7 p.m. at the Coolidge, a marvelous neighborhood theater at 290 Harvard St. in Brookline, Mass., close to the Green Line, with its trolleys clanging up and down Beacon Street.

Lots more details about the screening in the press release below.

My first 'Phantom' came about in the summer of 2006, when I noticed the schedule of a large theater in Manchester, N.H. was dark on Halloween Day that year. 

I suggested something like a screening of the classic Lon Chaney version of 'Phantom,' with me possibly putting together a score for some kind of live music. To my surprise, the theater readily agreed!

Plenty of time to knock together some kind of score, right? But then July because August, which then turned into September. And then the next thing you know it's October, and then it's the week of the show, and I hadn't prepared a single cue.

So with the show a few days away, I realized I'd have no choice to wing it on my digital synthesizer, which I'd used to create the score for 'Dangerous Crosswinds' (2005), an independent feature-length drama made here in my home state of New Hampshire.

Hauling my synthesizer into the theater, I didn't know what to expect. But it only took about 10 minutes for me to realize: "Hey, this is great!"

For me, it was a revelation. I could sit down at a keyboard and come up with music that reflected what was happening on screen. Not just that, but music that could anticipate, enhance, and comment on the action—almost as if it was part of the movie itself.

Which, of course, it was, if only for that moment. Although there were tentative moments and some things didn't work out as expected, it all came out quite polished and left me wanting to do more.

Which takes us to tonight. Join me for the original silent screen adaptation of 'The Phantom of the Opera' (1925) with Lon Chaney in the title role. More info in the press release below.

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Lon Chaney's iconic transformation into the Phantom!

MONDAY, OCT. 9, 2023 / FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Contact Jeff Rapsis • (603) 236-9237 • jeffrapsis@gmail.com

'Phantom of the Opera' with live music at Coolidge Corner Theatre on Monday, Oct. 16

Just in time for Halloween: Pioneer classic silent horror flick starring Lon Chaney shown on the big screen with live music

BROOKLINE, Mass.—Get into the Halloween spirit with a timeless silent horror film!

'The Phantom of the Opera' (1925), the silent big screen adaptation of the classic thriller, will be shown with live music on Monday, Oct. 16 at 7 p.m. at the Coolidge Corner Theatre, 290 Harvard St., Brookline, Mass.

The screening will feature live accompaniment by Jeff Rapsis, a New Hampshire-based composer who specializes in creating music for silent films.

Tickets $23 per person general admission; students $20.

The show will allow audience members to experience the silent 'Phantom' the way it was intended to be seen: on the big screen, with live music, and with an audience.  

'The Phantom of the Opera,' starring legendary actor Lon Chaney in the title role, remains a landmark work of the cinematic horror genre. To modern viewers, the passage of time has made this unusual film seem even more strange and otherworldly.

It's an atmosphere that silent film accompanist Jeff Rapsis will enhance by improvising live music on the spot for the screening.

"The original 'Phantom' is a film that seems to get creepier as more time passes," said Rapsis, who frequently accompanies films throughout the nation. "It's a great way to celebrate Halloween, and also the power of silent film to transport audiences to strange and unusual places."

Lon Chaney menaces Mary Philbin in 'Phantom of the Opera' (1925).

'The Phantom of the Opera,' adapted from a 19th century novel by French author Gaston Leroux, featured Chaney as the deformed Phantom who haunts the opera house. The Phantom, seen only in the shadows, causes murder and mayhem in an attempt to force the opera's management to make the woman he loves into a star.

The film is most famous for Lon Chaney's intentionally horrific, self-applied make-up, which was kept a studio secret until the film's premiere.

Chaney transformed his face by painting his eye sockets black, creating a cadaverous skull-like visage. He also pulled the tip of his nose up and pinned it in place with wire, enlarged his nostrils with black paint, and put a set of jagged false teeth into his mouth to complete the ghastly deformed look of the Phantom.

Chaney's disfigured face is kept covered in the film until the now-famous unmasking scene, which prompted gasps of terror from the film's original audiences.

"No one had ever seen anything like this before," Rapsis said. "Chaney, with his portrayal of 'The Phantom,' really pushed the boundaries of what movies could do."

Chaney, known as the "Man of a Thousand Faces" due to his versatility with make-up, also played Quasimodo in the silent 'Hunchback of Notre Dame' (1923) and circus performer 'Alonzo the Armless' in Tod Browning's 'The Unknown' (1927).

The large cast of 'Phantom of the Opera' includes Mary Philbin as Christine Daaé, as the Phantom's love interest; character actor Snitz Edwards; and many other stars of the silent period.

'The Phantom of the Opera' proved so popular in its original release and again in a 1930 reissue that it led Universal Studios to launch a series of horror films, many of which are also regarded as true classics of the genre, including 'Dracula' (1931), 'Frankenstein' (1931), and 'The Mummy' (1932).

The silent film version of 'Phantom' also paved the way for numerous other adaptations of the story, up to and including the wildly successful Andrew Lloyd Webber musical from 1986 that continues to run on Broadway and in productions around the world.

‘The Phantom of the Opera’ (1925) will be shown on Monday, Oct. 16 at 7 p.m. at the Coolidge Corner Theatre, 290 Harvard St., Brookline, Mass. Tickets $23; students $20. For more information, call the box office at (617) 734-2501 or visit www.coolidge.org.
 

Checking in after a busy Halloween season; silent W.C. Fields on Wednesday night, Plymouth, N.H.

An original lobby card promoting W.C. Fields in 'So's Your Old Man' (1926).

Up next: I'll accompany a screening of 'So's Your Old Man' (1926), a terrific W.C. Fields silent comedy, on Wednesday, Nov. 16 at the Flying Monkey Moviehouse and Performance Center in Plymouth, N.H.

Showtime is 6:30 p.m. and yes, it's a silent film starring W.C. Fields. You won't hear his nasal twang and he sports a mustache, but give it a chance. I've found from experience that the Fields silents (those that survive, anyway) are great for audience response.

More about 'So's Your Old Man' in the press release below. Hope to see you in Plymouth on Wednesday night!

For now, here's a brief report of this year's Halloween marathon of silent film screenings, which reached a crescendo with three separate screenings in three states on the Saturday prior to spook day. 

It got so busy that I really didn't have time to update the blog day-by-day. Hence this attempt to catch up.

The pre-show set-up in 'The Showroom' in Keene, N.H.

Let's see...on Tuesday, Oct. 25, it was 'Nosferatu' (1922) at the new Showroom venue of the Colonial Theatre in Keene, N.H. It's called the "showroom" because it actually was originally the showroom of a car dealer!

I've been doing 'Nosferatu' pretty regularly for a long time, and everything clicked that night. Great reaction from an enthusiastic audience made of mostly first-timers for the silent film/live music experience. 

Tools of the trade: the "dingy bell" I use to match the clock chimes in 'Nosferatu.'

I got specific kudos from a young boy for the way I matched the bell chimes for the two times in 'Nosferatu' that a clock strikes midnight. It's a little tricky because both times characters on screen hear the clock before it's seen on camera. 

 If I do it just right, I can get 12 chimes exactly, and that's what happened, thus helping me build the pre-teen fan base for the silent film experience.

Pre-show poster posing at the Rex Theatre in Manchester, N.H.

On Wednesday, Oct. 26, it was 'The Cat and the Canary' (1927) at the Rex Theatre in downtown Manchester, N.H. Another strong turnout for this lesser-known but entertaining comedy-thriller—people seemed to get what director Paul Leni was going for, and reacted strongly throughout.

In introducing the film, in order to demonstrate the "fame is fleeting" principle, I asked if any members of the Laura LaPlante club were present. Two hands went up immediately!

This is another film in which a clock striking midnight is featured prominently. In this case, it's a big old grandfather clock, and when the hour comes, Leni fills the screen with a prolonged montage of hammers hitting various coils to make the sounds.

No mere dingy bell will do this justice, so instead I switch the synthesizer to a setting named 'Valerian Bells,' which sounds like something from 'The Exorcist.' Once again I won after-screening praise for my bell effects! I thought "Heck, I'm on a roll." 

But fate, and perhaps the spirit of Edgar Allen Poe, had other plans for me and my bells, bells, bells...

Loved this series poster at the Jane Pickens Theatre in Newport, R.I.

On Thursday, Oct. 27, it was down to Newport, R.I., where the Jane Pickens Theatre was running 'Nosferatu.' To everyone's surprise and delight, well over 200 people crowded into the venerable venue to take in the vampire's exploits.

Having only started doing silent films this year in Newport, there's a great sense of discovery there, even with a film as familiar (to me, anyway) as 'Nosferatu.' The majority of attendees were first-timers, not just for 'Nosferatu' but for any silent film in a theater with live music.

Another poster in Newport. The Jane Pickens Theatre does a great job promoting screenings.

And so audience reaction was intense and gratifying. They even laughed at my weak joke about preparing by means of braving the scary traffic getting through Boston on Route 128. Har!

And the music once again came together to support, I hope, what F.W. Murnau and his collaborators had put into the film so long ago. Altogether, it was one of highlights of the season: a packed house and that in-the-moment feeling that a film is really connecting, creating a shared experience by everyone present. Wow!

Pre-show inside the Jane Pickens Theatre. My little Roland speakers (seen on stage) do a great job, filling this sized house with a big sound when needed.

Alas, it was this screening in which the bells got the best of me. After a half-dozen screenings of 'Nosferatu,' I screwed up both cues! Each time, I went to hit the dingy bell button, and literally missed the bell. 

The first time, I succeeded in nearly knocking the bell off the chair, and so managed to get maybe only six dings before the movie moved on. That unnerved me enough to muff the second cue as well. It was a case of "not saved by the bell."

Friday, Oct. 28 saw me up at Warner, N.H. to accompany 'The Bells' (1926), an obscure thriller from obscure Chadwick Pictures that benefited from performances by the not-so-obscure Lionel Barrymore and Boris Karloff.

The screening, a fund-raiser for the Telephone Museum of N.H. (Yes, New Hampshire has a telephone museum. Doesn't your state?) and so 'The Bells' seemed an appropriate title. 

Not the largest turnout of the season but the hall was pretty full and the film worked in spite of my clumsy attempts to integrate some toy sleigh bells into the score when needed.

This is where the bells got the best of me—fittingly in a film called 'The Bells.' 

The bells referred to in the title are not telephone bells, but sleigh bells, the sound of which symbolize a murder that's committed during the picture.  

Well, the best I could do in advance of this screening was to find a set of toy bells glued to felt that we found in my basement with a lot of old Christmas stuff. 

I didn't have a chance to really test them out, and it turned out they were not even close to being up to the job. As I tried to shake them while playing keyboard with the other, they made virtually no sound. Instead of menacing, they sounded pathetic, at least to my ears.

Finally, one shake too many caused them to fly out of my hand and hit the floor, where I left them, getting my sleigh bell effects from the keyboard from then on. Strangely, a woman afterwards complimented me on how effective that was!

Dear Santa: please bring me a set of real sleigh bells. Also, while we're on the subject, a real boxing bell would be nice as well.

Saturday, Oct. 29 was the true one-day marathon: another 'Nosferatu,' this time a matinee at the newly opened Park Theatre in Jaffrey, N.H., then an evening screening of 'Der Golem' (1920) at the Leavitt Theatre in Ogunquit, Maine, followed then by a midnight screening of the reconstructed 'London After Midnight' (1927) at the Coolidge Corner Cinema in Brookline, Mass., just over the line from Boston. 

The Leavitt Theatre, like all of Ogunquit, does not do Halloween halfway.

Three states, three screenings, in 12 hours! And I had time for a piping hot bowl of bibimbap (see below) at the Korean Restaurant around the corner from the Coolidge, which thankfully stays open late on Saturday nights.

During this steeplechase, as far as the music goes, I was in kind of a trance. Sitting at the keyboard, it just flowed out of me. For 'Nosferatu,' it was a synthesis of all the material I'd been developing at the six previous screenings of the film I'd accompanied in the previous two weeks. 

For 'Der Golem,' it was largely a riff on the theme from Bach's "Little Fugue in G minor." And 'London After Midnight' was total seat-of-the-pants improv based on three descending notes, which I have to say became thrillingly effective as the film progressed.

Risky selfie of me and the distinctive Coolidge marquee, obtained by stepping into Harvard Street in front of the theater.

Besides the Korean food, it was powered by the adrenaline rush from seeing so many people in costume lined up for the Coolidge's annual Halloween overnight marathon, for which 'London After Midnight' was the opening film. 

Adding to that was the sight of several large rats outside my car! Really—after the crowd had filed in, the rats came out of a dumpster area in an alley behind the theater and were apparently scavenging spilled popcorn and soda.

Me with the line of Coolidge marathon attendees stretching back into the alley, the end of which is where I later encountered rats guarding my car.

This happened to be right where I parked my car for the load-in. Rather than be alarmed, my reaction was: "How cool to see this at Halloween!" Still, I had the presence of mind to make hissing noises to scare them off before moving the car out of there. 

It was well past 1 a.m., but I couldn't miss the Coolidge Corner's costume contest! 

And then Sunday, Oct. 29 saw me accompanying a non-Halloween program at a new venue: the Gloucester Meetinghouse in Gloucester, Mass., an imposing structure that rises majestically out of the seaport's crowded old center. 

The venue's silent film programs are usually accompanied by celebrated Boston-based organist Peter Krasinski, a good friend and colleague. But Peter was out of town and recommended me to fill in (thanks, Peter!) for a program of comedies: shorts by Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton, and then Chaplin's feature 'The Kid' (1921).

A beautiful fall afternoon with the Gloucester Meetinghouse in Gloucester, Mass.

Weatherwise, it was a spectacular late October Sunday, but attendance was strong. One odd thing was that the church interior was noticeably warmer than it was outside. This was the result of a group using the building the night before accidentally leaving the heat cranked up to 85 all night long!

But the accidental combo of silent film and bikram-style yoga didn't stop the audience from enjoying the program, with many people afterwards praising 'The Kid' for its powerful emotional impact. Nice!

I perhaps lingered a bit too long, because I then found myself high-tailing it on Route 128 back to New Hampshire, where I just barely made it to the Town Hall Theatre in Wilton, N.H. for a 7:30 p.m. screening of Alfred Hitchcock's 'The Lodger' (1927).

For this one, I know the film somewhat, but hadn't done it in a long time. And coming at the end of a long series of screenings, there just wasn't an opportunity to view it or a chance to prepare anything in advance.

But at the same time, I'd been doing films nearly every day for the past three weeks. So in my favor was a state of unusual fluency, I'd have to say, that comes from sitting at a keyboard and creating music several hours in a row day after day.

And with 'The Lodger,' I just plunged in with a kind of aggressively syncopated jazz motif that turned out to be remarkably versatile in catching the various ups and downs of Hitchcock's first real 'Hitchcock' film: a tale of murder, false leads, misdirection, blonde women, and all the other Hitchcockian tropes we cherish.  

It worked, and became one of the most satisfying accompaniment experiences of a busy stretch. No bells in this picture, but something similar: a cuckoo clock sounds twice, in close-up, at key moments, and both times I was ready. 

I think overall, this spooky steeplechase reaffirmed one of the basic principles of silent film accompaniment, at least the way I do it. For me, the only way to develop and maintain fluency at improv-based accompaniment is to do it a lot. 

When I do it a lot, I notice a difference. I'm able to get inside (and stay ahead) of a film in a way that seems almost effortless. The music just comes, and I find if I'm in that "zone" I can shape it to fit what the film seems to need at any given time.

But you can't keep this pace up indefinitely. So after 'The Lodger'—nothing! A whole note rest! The next week, including the weekend, I had no screenings—the first time since Labor Day. 

Now, two weeks later, I'm back at it: I accompanied a benefit screening of 'Wings' last Thursday for the Aviation Museum of N.H. (of which I'm director), and this past Sunday did music for the silent version of 'All Quiet on the Western Front' (1930) at the Town Hall Theatre in Wilton, N.H.

The screening, in honor of Veterans Day, was well attended and the music came together in spectacular fashion. It was one of those shows where you're just in synch with everything—where an accompanist can feel the rhythm of the scenes and the editing and can anticipate, say, when there's a shell blast and can capture it as a big scene unfolds.

I had never scored the filim and had only previewed it once. But that was enough to be ready for a couple of big moments where the music seemed to really work well. One example: the scene where Raymond Griffith plays a dying French soldier.

Once he perishes, a character continues speaking to him, saying with increasing desperation he should have died instead. While that was going on, I kept to a moody ostinato in E minor.

But every so often, the camera cuts to Griffith's immobile face, just staring blankly ahead. And each time, I hit a C minor chord about an octave above, and held it for the duration of the shot. 

It happens three times, and each time I pushed the volume a bit, and also added notes to the top of the chord. (It ended up being C minor with G Major on top.) I have to say, it made my hair stand on end, and I knew what was coming. I hope it had a similar affect on the audience. 

And that's it for catching up. During the holiday season, the performance schedule often thins out, but not this year—I'm booked at venues pretty regularly into the next year, including two more gigs at the Coolidge in December and January. (No costumes, but more Korean food!)

But next up: it's W.C. Fields in 'So's Your Old Man' tomorrow night at the Flying Monkey. Press release is below. Hope to see you there!

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A production still from 'So's Your Old Man' (1926).

TUESDAY, NOV. 8, 2022 / FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Contact Jeff Rapsis • (603) 236-9237 • jeffrapsis@gmail.com

Flying Monkey to screen rare silent film starring comic icon W.C. Fields

'So's Your Old Man' shows legendary performer as younger man; program on Wednesday, Nov. 16 accompanied by live music

PLYMOUTH, N.H.—He was a performer who could be recognized by just the nasal twang of his voice.

But prior to reaching iconic fame in talking pictures, W.C. Fields successfully starred in a popular series of silent feature films for Paramount Pictures and other studios in the 1920s.

Rediscover the non-talking W.C. Fields in 'So's Your Old Man' (1926) one of his best silent pictures, in a screening on Wednesday, Nov. 16 at 6:30 p.m. at the Flying Monkey Moviehouse and Performance Center, 39 Main St., Plymouth, N.H.

General admission is $10 per person, general seating. Live musical scoring will be provided by silent film accompanist Jeff Rapsis.

In 'So's Your Old Man' (1926), Fields plays Sam Bisbee, inventor of a new shatter-proof windshield glass and regarded as a crackpot by the townsfolk.

After a demonstration of his glass to auto executives goes awry, he faces ridicule and shame. On the way home, Bisbee encounters a woman he thinks is trying to commit suicide, and so prevents her.

The woman is really Princess Lescaboura, member of a family of European royalty, who later arrives in Bisbee's home town to thank him, upending Bisbee's life and setting the small town aflame with gossip. The film includes a version of Fields' famous "golf" routine.

The film was remade as a talkie in 1934, with W.C. Fields again starring, under the title 'You're Telling Me!' In 2008, 'So's Your Old Man' was added to the U.S. National Film Registry.

W.C. Fields remains famous today for his comic persona as a misanthropic and hard-drinking egotist with a snarling contempt for dogs, children and women.

Although Fields achieved lasting fame as a movie star in talking pictures of the 1930s, his long career encompassed decades on the vaudeville stage as well as a series of silent film roles in the 1920s.

"People find it hard to think of W.C. Fields in silent films, but he was actually quite successful," Rapsis said. "As a vaudeville performer and juggler, Fields cultivated a form of visual comedy and pantomime that transferred well to the silent screen.

"Also, as a middle-aged man during the silent film era, he was able to play a family father figure—the kind of role that wasn't open to younger comic stars such as Charlie Chaplin or Buster Keaton," Rapsis said.

In all, Fields starred in 10 silent features in the mid-1920s. Several are lost; in those that survive, Fields sports a thick mustache, part of his vaudeville costume as a "vagabond juggler" which he dropped in later years.

The film was made not in Hollywood, but at the Paramount studios in Astoria, Queens, a popular production facility for New York-based stage performers who also appeared in film.

For the music, Rapsis improvises in real time, while the film is running, using a digital synthesizer that allow him to recreate the "movie score" texture of a full orchestra.

"Improvising a score live is a bit of a high-wire act, but it allows me to follow and support the film a lot more effectively than if I was buried in sheet music," Rapsis said.

"Instead, I'm free to follow the film right in the moment. Each time it's different, which lends a certain energy and immediacy and excitement to the experience."

'So's Your Old Man,' a silent comedy starring W.C. Fields, will be screened with live music on Wednesday, Nov. 16 at 6:30 p.m. at the Flying Monkey Moviehouse and Performance Center, 39 Main St., Plymouth, N.H.

Admission is $10 per person. For more info, call (603) 536-2551 or visit www.flyingmonkeynh.com.

 

Wednesday, June 22: Live music for Lloyd's 'The Kid Brother' (1927) at Coolidge Corner Theatre

The interior of the Leavitt Theatre in Ogunquit, Maine, which will be 100 years old next year.

Back at the blog after a busy stretch that included screenings of Harold Lloyd's comedy 'For Heaven's Sake' (1926) at the Leavitt Theater in Ogunquit, Maine and Mabel Normand in 'Mickey' (1918) at the Town Hall Theater in Wilton, N.H. 

If you've ever wondered what the interior of the Leavitt Theatre looks like, the above picture tells the story. (My new iPhone camera is pretty good in low light; before this, photos never really turned out well.)

The interior, shown here as the audience for 'For Heaven's Sake' begins filtering in, hasn't changed much since 1923. The wooden floor is raked at a steep angle, and many of the seats are original, with thick wire loops underneath so gentlemen can stow their hats!

One difference: originally, back in the era of 1:1.33 aspect ratio and carbon arc projection, the proscenium would have been filled by a giant, brilliant image! However, nowadays the theater is configured for wide screen ratios, so only the bottom 3/5 of the screen area is used. Pity.

This week it's more Harold Lloyd, as I'll be accompanying 'The Kid Brother' (1927) on Wednesday, June 22 at the Coolidge Corner Theatre in Brookline, Mass.

Showtime is 7 p.m. Lots more info in the press release below:

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Harold Lloyd hangs on in 'The Kid Brother' (1927).

MONDAY, JUNE 13, 2022 / FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Contact Jeff Rapsis • (603) 236-9237 • jeffrapsis@gmail.com

Coolidge Corner to screen silent comedy masterpiece 'The Kid Brother' with live music on Wednesday, June 22

Harold Lloyd program latest in theater's popular 'Sounds of Silence' series spotlighting silent films with live accompaniment

BROOKLINE, Mass.—He was the most popular film star of the 1920s, routinely outpacing comic rivals Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton at the box office.

He was Harold Lloyd, the boy next door who could wind up hanging from the hands of a clock high atop a skyscraper. Audiences loved Lloyd's mix of visual comedy and thrilling adventures, making him one of the most recognized icons of early Hollywood.

See for yourself when 'The Kid Brother' (1927), a feature-length film regarded as Lloyd's masterpiece, is screened on Wednesday, June 22 at 7 p.m. at the Coolidge Corner Theatre, 290 Harvard St., Brookline, Mass.

The screening will feature live music for the movie by silent film accompanist Jeff Rapsis. General admission is $23 per person.

The show is the latest in the Coolidge Corner's acclaimed 'Sounds of Silents' 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.

In 'The Kid Brother,' meek country boy Harold Hickory (Lloyd) looks up to his tough father, but is overshadowed by two burly older brothers. When a traveling circus and medicine show brings trouble to town and possible disgrace to the Hickory clan, can Harold save the family name?

From that simple situation, Lloyd weaves a roller coaster of a tale that critics and film historians say show him at the height of his powers as a filmmaker and comedian.

"The first silent film I ever saw that made me actually stand up and cheer," wrote critic Steven D. Greydanus of The Decent Films Guide. "As a first introduction to silent film, I would pick 'The Kid Brother' over the best of Chaplin or Keaton every time."

"Unlike Chaplin’s Little Tramp, who was as much defined by his bizarre eccentricities as his bowler and cane, Lloyd’s character, with his trademark spectacles, was an instantly likable, sympathetic boy-next-door type, a figure as winsome and approachable as Jimmy Stewart or Tom Hanks," Greydanus wrote.

Jobyna Ralston and Harold Lloyd in 'The Kid Brother.'

The film co-stars Jobyna Ralston, Walter James, Eddie Boland, and Constantine Romanoff.

Harold Lloyd, along with Chaplin and Keaton, stands as one of the three masters of silent comedy. Though Lloyd's reputation later faded due to unavailability of his movies, the recent re-release of most of his major films on home media has spurred a reawakening of interest in his work and a renewed interest in theatrical screenings.

"Seeing a Harold Lloyd film in a theater with live music and an audience is one of the great experiences of the cinema of any era," said Jeff Rapsis, a New Hampshire-based silent film musician who will accompany the film.

"Films such as 'The Kid Brother' were designed for a specific environment. If you can put those conditions together again, you can get a sense of why people first fell in love with the movies," Rapsis said.

'The Kid Brother' will be screened with live music on Wednesday, June 22 at 7 p.m. at the Coolidge Corner Theatre, 290 Harvard St., Brookline, Mass. as part of the theater's 'Sounds of Silents' series.

The screening will feature live music for the movie by silent film accompanist Jeff Rapsis. General admission is $23 per person.

For more info and to buy tickets, visit www.coolidge.org or call (617) 734-2500.

Keaton's 'The General' at Coolidge Corner on Wednesday, 4/13, plus a question of volume

Buster and co-star in 'The General' (1926).

Coming up: I'll be doing live music for a screening of Buster Keaton's 'The General' (1926) at the Coolidge Corner Theatre on Wednesday, April 13. 

It's a special occasion because Slate film critic Dana Stevens, author of a new book on Keaton, will be on hand for a Q & A after the show. It'll be moderated by local film guru Ty Burr.

'Camera Man,' which came out a few months ago, has been rapturously received, and has led to a host of Keaton screenings this year. (I had the privilege of doing an earlier one with Stevens in Newport, R.I. this past February.)

So march on down to the Coolidge Corner to see Keaton's masterpiece on the big screen, and meet the author of a brand new book that puts Keaton's work in the context of his early-20th-century times.

More details in the press release below. 

For now, a few thoughts about volume inspired by yesterday's screening of 'Ben Hur' (1925) at the new Showroom venue of the Colonial Theatre in Keene, N.H.

This is a surprisingly touchy subject, as there's apparently a vast range of perceptions of what's appropriate volume for silent film accompaniment.

Yesterday, I arrived early to set up and work with the house tech to set the sound levels. Each house is different, and the Showroom is a venue I've only played once before, so it's important to take time to set up the audio.

Keeping my keyboard volume output at mid-range, we worked out the levels, checking each of my synth settings to make sure everything was acceptable in the house. I felt it sounded a bit dry, so just a touch of reverb was added to the main orchestral setting I planned to use. Great!

(The reason to keep my synth output at mid-range is because I need that level to make use of the various volume levels the touch-sensitive keyboard is capable of producing. I find I can't do that effectively if the output is below mid-range: level 5 out of 10.)

We also have to account for the fact that in most places with house sound (such as the Showroom), a good amount of sound volume passes over my head (down at front) and so audiences can sometimes receive significantly more volume than I hear.

Okay, fine. Because I work primarily in improv and create the accompaniment live and in the moment, it's my preference to sit at the keyboard for at least a half-hour before a show: warming up, working through material, and just getting into the zone. For me, it's hard to start a film just cold—it's not like pressing a button.

But because people are filing into the theater, during this time I've found it's helpful to temporarily take my volume output down to about 2 out of 10 as a courtesy. That way people can hear each other talking, while I can still do my thing, even though it's not the volume I'll be working with for the film.

The Colonial Theatre's new "Showroom" venue, set up for silent film.

So this is what I was doing yesterday when I noticed it was 10 minutes to showtime, and I hadn't thought to yet use the bathroom. (Very important in advance of a 2½-hour film.) So I switched to some synth-generated pattern music and got up to take care of business.

That's when someone from the theater came up to me with a concerned look on her face. People were complaining, she said, that the music was much too loud and that we needed to take the volume down somewhat.

Really? I've gotta tell you, I like to think I'm easy-going and welcome feedback and would do whatever it takes to accommodate an audience. But right in front of creating live music for a challenging and marathon-length film, this is not the thing to hear. 

(Even worse: a few years ago, someone came down to the keyboard in the middle of a show in progress at the Leavitt Theatre in Ogunquit, Maine and placed a folded-up note on the keyboard, for Pete's sake. Using one hand, I opened it to read "MUSIC TOO LOUD!")

Maybe it's a weakness on my part, but I find this kind of thing really throws me when it comes right before I'm about to commit to an improv accompaniment journey of some length, and which will require some concentration—especially after we've taken time to set levels that everyone agreed were acceptable. 

And it's especially discouraging when I've deliberately been playing at a quiet level as a courtesy, and then to be told it's still too loud? 

Would people stop a tightrope walker just before he or she steps out on the wire above Niagara Falls to tell them they don't approve of the type of wood being used in the balance pole?

I strive not to be the temperamental artist type, but jeez. This is me, baring my soul in music in hopes of bringing to life a worthy cinematic experience, and I'm being told to keep it down lest it interfere with someone's enjoyment of the film?

Well, why don't I just stop playing altogether? Maybe then everyone will be happy? 

Of course I didn't speak those words. I told the theater woman we'd see what we could do. In introducing the film, I addressed it openly: we'd had some complaints, but here's the situation. This is a BIG film, I said, and at times the music will be BIG as well. 

However, it's still a new venue to me, I said, so I'll do my best to keep things at a level we can all find generally acceptable. But people have to understand: this is not background music. At its best (if I'm doing it effectively) it's a crucial part of the experience.

I think I run into trouble when people new to the experience expect the accompaniment to be background music, or (even worse) something that's optional or just decoration.

Well, no. In silent film, although music generally shouldn't be noticed on its own, it's often a full player in the overall experience. That was true then, and it's still true now. 

So while it shouldn't gratuitously call attention to itself, the music should have a presence. And in some cases, it really should be pretty darned big and bold.

Take 'Ben Hur.' You really can't play quiet stuff during the sea battle scene or the famous chariot race. So if I'm at the keyboard, it's going to be loud, exciting, dramatic, and all that.

In the end, I was able to pull it together yesterday. No one covered their ears or walked out that I'm aware of, anyway. When it was over, we had nice comments and good questions. I made my usual joke about checking with the Diocese of Manchester to confirm that attending a screening of 'Ben Hur' did not count as attending Mass. Thank you and have a good night!

I don't know. Maybe I'm looking at this wrong way. Maybe I should really amp up the volume, and then supplement my income by selling over-priced ear plugs. Or possibly sell stationery so people can write me letters to be delivered in the middle of a performance.

Even if I go ahead with those ideas, they won't be ready in time for Wednesday's screening of 'The General' at the Coolidge Corner. Here's the promised press release with all the details!

*   *   *

Buster Keaton in 'The General.' 

MONDAY, APRIL 4, 2022 / FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Contact Jeff Rapsis • (603) 236-9237 • jeffrapsis@gmail.com

Buster Keaton's 'The General' with live music at Coolidge Corner on Wednesday, April 13

Civil War railroading comedy/adventure film lauded as stone-faced comic moviemaker's masterpiece

Screening includes Q & A with Dana Stevens, author of 'Camera Man,' newly published Keaton book.

BROOKLINE, Mass.— He never smiled on camera, earning him the nickname of "the Great Stone Face." But Buster Keaton's comedies rocked Hollywood's silent era with laughter throughout the 1920s.

See for yourself with a screening of 'The General' (1926), one of Keaton's landmark feature films, on Wednesday, April 13 at 7 p.m. at the Coolidge Corner Theatre, 290 Harvard St., Brookline, Mass.

The screening will feature live music for the movie by silent film accompanist Jeff Rapsis. General admission is $23 per person.

The show is the latest in the Coolidge Corner's acclaimed 'Sounds of Silents' 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.

The screening will be followed by a Q & A with Slate film critic Dana Stevens, author of 'Camera Man,' a newly published book exploring Keaton's work in the context of 20th century history.

Stevens’s book will be for sale after the screening, courtesy of Brookline Booksmith. The Q & A will be moderated by Boston-based critic Ty Burr.

'The General,' set during the U.S. Civil War, tells the story of a southern locomotive engineer (Keaton) whose engine (named 'The General') is hijacked by Northern spies with his girlfriend onboard.

Keaton, commandeering another train, races north in pursuit behind enemy lines. Can he rescue his girl? And can he recapture his locomotive and make it back to warn of a coming Northern attack?

Critics call 'The General' Keaton's masterpiece, praising its authentic period detail, ambitious action and battle sequences, and its overall integration of story, drama, and comedy.

It's also regarded as one of Hollywood's great railroad films, with much of the action occurring on or around moving steam locomotives.

Accompanist Jeff Rapsis will improvise an original musical score for 'The General' live as the film is shown.

"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 Center for the Art's screening of 'The General,' 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."

Rapsis performs on a digital keyboard that reproduces the texture of the full orchestra and creates a traditional "movie score" sound.

Keaton, along with Charlie Chaplin and Harold Lloyd, stands today as one of the silent screen's three great clowns. Some critics regard Keaton as the best of all; Roger Ebert wrote in 2002 that "in an extraordinary period from 1920 to 1929, (Keaton) worked without interruption on a series of films that make him, arguably, the greatest actor-director in the history of the movies."

A remarkable pantomime artist, Keaton naturally used his whole body to communicate emotions from sadness to surprise. And in an era with no post-production special effects, Keaton's acrobatic talents enabled him to perform all his own stunts.

Critics review 'The General':

"The most insistently moving picture ever made, its climax is the most stunning visual event ever arranged for a film comedy."
—Walter Kerr, author of 'The Silent Clowns'

"An almost perfect entertainment!"
—Dave Kehr, Chicago Reader

"What makes the film so special is the way the timing, audacity and elegant choreography of its sight gags, acrobatics, pratfalls and dramatic incidents is matched by Buster's directorial artistry, his acute observational skills working alongside the physical élan and sweet subtlety of his own performance."
—Time Out (London)

‘The General’ (1926) starring Buster Keaton will be shown with live music on Wednesday, April 13 at 7 p.m. at the Coolidge Corner Theatre, 290 Harvard St., Brookline, Mass. as part of the theater's 'Sounds of Silents' series. Admission is $23 per person. For more info and to buy tickets, visit www.coolidge.org or call (617) 734-2500. For more about the music, visit www.jeffrapsis.com.

Playing 'Name That Tune' at the Coolidge, and other tales from 'The City Without Jews'

A scene from 'The City Without Jews (1924).

Last week I had the privilege of creating live music for 'The City Without Jews' (1924), an Austrian film about anti-Semitism. This put me in front of a totally new audience, and led to some surprising conversations.

About the film: it's a wild fantasy about a European nation whose leaders vote to expel all Jews, with unexpected consequences. Long thought lost, it's been kicking around in mutilated form in a partial print for a few decades now.

But a complete and pristine nitrate copy turned up in a Paris flea market in 2015. (These things happen!) Newly restored and available, it was included in this year's Boston Jewish Film Festival, a multi-week affair that takes place in venues all over Beantown each November.

I was thrilled to be asked to do music for 'The City Without Jews,' and also delighted to find that it would be screened at the Coolidge Corner Theatre in Brookline, Mass., just over the Boston city line.

The Coolidge is justly famous for the depth and breadth of its cinematic programming, including a long-running "Sounds of Silence" series with live music accompaniment for silent films. It's very popular.

The interior of the Coolidge Corner's main theater.

It's also kind of a classy place, and run a certain way, it seems, which makes it unlikely that a lone wolf such as me (independent, no agent) would get invited to perform there. Which is just the way it works: some venues have their regulars, or prefer to work only through booking agents, just have certain ways of operating.

So as a local musician who specializes in silent film accompaniment, it was a real honor to be asked to do my thing at the Coolidge for 'The City Without Jews." I also regarded it as kind of a breakthrough—an exciting chance to accompany an important film in front of a new group of cinema-goers.

Working with the staff of the Boston Jewish Film Festival and the Coolidge was a dream! Everyone couldn't do enough for me. I was pampered and fussed over as we plugged my keyboard into the house sound system and adjusted levels. They even asked to get me coffee!

I had what I thought was some good material for the film, which is a challenge to score because it keeps shifting tone, often quite abruptly. It's a drama, now it's a comedy, now it's a romance, now it's a comedy again, etc.

To help it all hang together and to smooth it all out (and also to keep from overdoing the music), I used a "strings only" soundscape that turned out to be a good move, I thought. Definitely a case of less is more.

Among the audience members who approached me afterwards was a woman who wanted to congratulate me for doing such a great job incorporating an obscure Israeli folk song into the music.

This was news to me, because the improvised score was completely original. I had improvised it, meaning I didn't plan anything ahead of time, other than to select a pair of melodies I'd invented earlier and thought would be a good base to work from.

Hence my reaction: "huh?"

She then named the tune, which I forget, and said she was surprised I knew it because it was a melody from her childhood and isn't well known today.

I suppose I could have just said "Thank you" and told her I appreciate her kind words. But no—I had to find out what tune she was referring to. So I asked her which tune was the Israeli folk song?

And so she sang part of one of the melodies I had used, and sure enough, the way she rendered it, it did sound like a Jewish folk song.

Well, we only have 12 notes, and sometimes the sequences and rhythmic patterns are bound to be similar.

But this was topped by a gentleman I met later. During the screening, he'd been running an app on his phone that analyzes audio and matches it with a database of known melodies.

He had no idea the score was being improvised and was live. But when he learned I was responsible for the music, he said he was glad to meet me, because he wanted to ask how I was able to quote so many different tunes in putting together the score.

"Er, how many different tunes?" I asked.

"Well, it got up to 23, but that was only in the first half-hour. After that, I turned off my phone."

He showed me the results: a Bach fugue, Peruvian flute music, and a roster of incredible artists and music I had never heard of. And I was using all of it, according to his app!

Let me emphasize that this was news to me. What I had just done was my own music, original to me. Improvising music in real time is my creative outlet and mode of artistic expression and also my therapy, I think.

But here was technology telling me that what I had just done had already been done in some way, although in little pieces here and there. Wow weird! It's enough to make one shake one's head, which is what I did.

And even after an introduction in which it was explained that I would improvise the music, and then after talking with him for 10 minutes, it was clear from his questions and our conversation that he didn't grasp the idea that I was playing a keyboard right there and making the music happen right then.

He just didn't get it. His brain didn't allow for this possibility. To him, it was all sound files and downloads and I don't know what else.

Here's the thing with technology: it's great. It powers my synthesizer and helps me get to theaters when I don't know the way and is responsible for the films I accompany and allows this blog to be posted and read all over the world. I'm grateful for it!

But I think too much technology risks crowding out where the music comes from, which depends on a very old and fragile technology: my brain working in a certain way. And I've found that requires what Hemingway referred to as a "clean, well-lighted space" to focus on creating music that works in real time.

So...can you imagine trying to compile a score by actually drawing music files from the vast storehouse of sound files out there? And trying to make it work in real time to effectively support a film as it plays on a screen? And never mind taking into account the mood of the room, the reaction of the audience, and so many other factors that make each screening an individual and unique experience?

With me, silent film accompaniment is a way for me to produce original music, and having to harness it to support a film is a great way for me to manage and organize this creative impulse. It's what I do.

So once the technology is in place (synthesizer set up, projector loaded, etc.), I prefer to focus on the keyboard and the sounds and the chords and the melodies as I react to the film and the audience around me. I don't want to change settings or download files or worry about any of it.

I write all this here because people such as the gentlemen with the app seem to think that all music exists as sound files to be downloaded, and must be made somewhere else, but not by real people in real time right in front of them.

But it is! It has to come from somewhere, after all. It's not magic. But some people seem to think that it's some kind of black art to create music on the spot (without sheet music!) and that all film music has to be recorded and mixed and processed in advance.

Well...

Such was my big night at the Coolidge. It really was an honor to work in this theater and to meet such cool people, both at the venue and with the Boston Jewish Film Festival.

I hope to work with them all again soon!

And I followed that up on Friday night with a crackerjack screening at the Flying Monkey up in Plymouth, N.H.: a Buster Keaton double feature of 'Sherlock Jr.' (1924) and 'The Cameraman' (1928).

This may sound more like a weather announcement, but I'm pleased to report we experienced gales of laughter throughout!

And with the music...sometimes everything just falls into place. You have the right stuff at your fingertips when its needed, and you hit every mark, and it just works like a dream. Friday night was one of those nights!

Looking forward to returning to the Flying Monkey again on Saturday, Dec. 1 for a holiday program of silent films.

But before that happens: a Thanksgiving road trip this week to a family get-together in Chicago provides a chance to drop in again at Cinema Detroit, where I accompanied a Marion Davies film this past summer—their first-ever program of silent film with live music.

Well, I'll be darned if Paula and Tim Guthat haven't gone and booked some more silent film programs for exactly when I'll be passing through. This month they're running a "Pioneers: First Women Filmmakers" series (with material from the recently compiled DVD of the same title), and so I'll accompany a Mabel Normand program on Friday, Nov. 23 at 5 p.m.

So after you recover from your turkey-induced trance, head over to Detroit and digest some very interesting early cinema. Hope to see you there!

And then Charlie Chaplin takes the screen on Sunday, Nov. 25 at 4:30 p.m. at the Wilton Town Hall Theatre, but more on that later.

And it's a month to go before Christmas!?