This weekend in Wilton, N.H.: double header of all 15 chapters of 'A Woman in Grey' (1920)

Arline Pretty is in a pretty pickle in 'A Woman in Grey' (1920). But at least she's following guidance on face masks.

This weekend I'm doing music for a special cinematic event at the Town Hall Theater in Wilton, N.H.: a screening of all 15 chapters of 'A Woman in Grey' (1920). It's a century-old dramatic serial adventure of which all episodes survive complete.

That means more than four hours of film! So we'll run the first eight chapters on Saturday, Oct. 3 at 2 p.m., and then the remaining episodes (including the thrilling conclusion!) on Sunday, Oct. 4 at 2 p.m.

I'm looking forward to the chance to immerse myself in this extended story as it plays out over such a long span of time. I have some main themes in mind, but other than that, the music will grow naturally from the story as it unfolds. 

Also, I can't wait to try out this joke: "It's called 'The Woman in Grey,' but it's black-and-white film, so what choice did they have?"

Lots more detail in the press release below. Hope you can join us for some (or preferably ALL) of 'A Woman in Grey' on the occasion of its 100th anniversary.

 

Me outside the Flying Monkey in Plymouth, N.H. prior to the show.

For now, let me report on last night's screening of 'Man With A Movie Camera' (1929) up at the Flying Monkey Moviehouse in Plymouth, N.H.

Before the show, I recounted to the audience my first experience of accompanying this film about 10 years ago. It was part of a monthly series in Manchester, N.H. that was heavy on traditional Hollywood dramas starring the likes of John Gilbert, Greta Garbo, and so on.

So we ran 'Man With A Movie Camera' without explanation. Afterwards, I asked for opinions.

"That was a terrible movie," said one woman, a regular attendee. 

Wow! Turns out she was expecting, yes, a good story—exactly what filmmaker Dziga Vertov was aiming to avoid. He hoped to use film to show life as it really happens, rather than through some made-up narrative.

So I learned that for 'Man With A Movie Camera' to be understood, at least a brief explanation was in order. Silent film is unusual enough; for 'Man' to work, you need to prepare people for what Vertov was aiming for, at least as I understand it.

So I tell people: in essence, it's a celebration—of life in general, and of the potential of the motion picture camera to capture it.

I also think it helps to look at the film as a large-scale piece of music. Like a symphony, it contains movements of varying tempi, all grouped and structured in a way to create an overall effect.

One thing I've recently noticed is that often when the visual rhythm of the film is about to shift, Vertov inserts an image of a hand-operated traffic signal being changed. 

For the music, I was thinking of Franz Schubert's 'Great' C Major Symphony, with its broad melodies filled with repeated notes, and also more recent minimalist music with a harmonic structure that unfolds slowly over a long time.

Yelizaveta Svilova edits 'Man With A Movie Camera' within the movie. 

Overall, it worked. I caught all the big shifts, and kept things pretty bottled up until the final five minutes, in which a riot of fast-changing images explode on the screen.

What held it together was a steady pattern of three notes before the beat, and three notes after. (So with the accent on the fourth note.) Also, a simple line of four descending notes (down a half-step, and then a whole step and another whole step) was another key building block. 

 Those four notes could be harmonized in all manner of ways, but I found that reverting often to a simple triadic texture created a powerful "coming home" kind of feeling no matter how busy the texture.

I also kept using a non-traditional chord change that you hear a lot in contemporary tonal music such as in some scores of John Adams: going from a major chord (say Eb Major) to a minor chord up a half-step (E minor), in which all tones shift up except the third of the chord, which stays on the same note but which goes from major to minor because of context.

It's a very atmospheric move, I find, and has become part of my own toolkit and basic musical vocabulary. And it came in very useful with 'Man With A Movie Camera' because of how it creates a sense of very slight change while still moving forward. Sometimes I added other notes: the flatted 7th of the major chord becomes the leading tone of the minor, which adds richness. 

Once all this was established, there were many places where the music seemed to fall into place with ease and really helped the visuals, I felt. I was especially pleased with music I came up with for scenes of women in a gymnasium using odd exercise machines from the period, including a mechanical horse. 

It all really held together, and 'The End' brought cheers. (And for all the right reasons, I think.) For me, it was quite a workout, just like the ladies in the gym. Best of all, no one seemed to concur with the assessment 10 years ago.

Here's more info on 'A Woman in Grey.' See you this weekend for what promises to be yet another unusual cinematic experience!

*    *    *

TUESDAY, SEPT. 22, 2020 / FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Contact Jeff Rapsis • (603) 236-9237 • jeffrapsis@gmail.com

Rare showing of all 15 chapters of 100-year-old vintage serial coming to Town Hall Theatre

'A Woman in Grey' (1920), multi-part adventure thriller, to screen with live music over Saturday & Sunday Oct. 3-4

WILTON, N.H.—It's a cliff-hanger, but each time you won't have to wait long to find out what happens next.

It's 'A Woman in Grey,' a 15-episode adventure serial produced 100 years ago, when movies were a brand new form of entertainment.

The entire run of all 15 chapters will be screened over two days at the Town Hall Theatre, 40 Main St., Wilton, N.H.

Chapters 1 through 8 of the multi-part tale will be shown on Saturday, Oct. 3 starting at 2 p.m. Remaining episodes 9 through 15, including the serial's thrilling conclusion, will be shown on Sunday, Oct. 4 at 2 p.m.

Admission is free to each screening; a donation of $10 per person is suggested to help defray expenses.

The screening, the latest in the Town Hall Theatre's silent film series, will feature live accompaniment by Jeff Rapsis, a New Hampshire-based composer who specializes in creating music for silent films.

"Seeing all episodes of this marvelous multi-part adventure over two days is a century-old form of binge-watching," Rapsis said.

"But it's also a great chance to experience early cinema the way it was intended to be shown: on a big screen, in a theater, with live music, and with an audience," Rapsis said.

The Town Hall Theatre is observing procedures to comply with all state and CDC public health guidelines, including reduced seating capacity. For complete information about the venue's safety protocols, visit www.wiltontownhalltheatre.com.

Similar to the more famous 'Perils of Pauline' serial, 'A Woman in Grey' follows the story of a mysterious woman (Arline Pretty) who may hold the secret to finding a long-lost fortune in an abandoned mansion.

Like most multi-part serials, each chapter of 'A Woman in Grey' runs about 12 minutes, and was designed to be shown one episode each week at local theaters.

Most episodes ended with a "cliffhanger" predicament designed to keep audiences coming back to find out what happens next.

Most multi-part serials from the early days of film are completely lost, or exist only partially. 'A Woman in Grey' is unusual because it survives completely intact. The total length of all 15 episodes is nearly four hours.

'A Woman in Grey' is also unusual because it was produced not in Hollywood, but in Wilkes-Barre, Penn. by Serico Motion Pictures, Inc., a short-lived independent production firm.

The company recruited local stage performers, including leading actress Arline Pretty, to fill out the large cast of 'A Woman in Grey.'

All 15 chapters were shot on location in northeastern Pennsylvania, providing a rare glimpse of the region as it looked a century ago.

Serials continued through the 1920s and into the era of sound films, but over time came to be regarded as programming for children's matinees rather than a format for serious drama. The practice faded out after World War II and the development of television.

The complete 15-chapter serial 'A Woman in Grey' (1920) will be presented over two days at the Town Hall Theatre, 40 Main St., Wilton, N.H. Episodes 1 through 8 will be shown on Saturday, Oct. 3 at 2 p.m., followed by episodes 9 through 15 the next day, on Sunday, Oct. 4 at 2 p.m.

Admission is free; a donation of $10 per person is suggested. For more information, call (603) 654-3456 of visit www.wiltontownhalltheatre.com.

Dashing across the pond tonight to accompany 'Cat and the Canary' in London tomorrow

What? I have to travel basic economy?!

Tonight I head off to London, where I'll accompany a screening of the great Paul Leni thriller 'The Cat and the Canary' (1927) tomorrow night at the Kennington Bioscope.

It's one of the most visually spectacular silent features ever made, I think. And I hope the music I have in mind will be worthy of what Leni put on screen.

I'll also do some business in London and Amsterdam before heading back to Boston on Thursday afternoon, arriving less than 48 hours after I left. Quick trip!

And I have to think: what an age we live in when it's possible to transfer yourself across the North Atlantic in less time than it takes for me to get through an issue of the Economist.

(That's how I get to sleep by the way. No drugs for me! Just buy the current issue of the Economist, open up any page, and in 10 minutes I'm dozing off. Works every time!)

What a difference from, say, when John Adams set out to win support from France for the then-new United States, and it took weeks, and then they were chased by actual pirates, and wound up landing in Spain, and then had to ride donkeys over the Pyrenees.

What would Adams make of us jetting at high speed seven miles above the ocean, making a journey so quick that there's not enough time for a decent night's sleep? (Unless you buy the Economist.)

Speaking of which: I've done this before, and I now know that the evening after an overnight trans-Atlantic flight is not the best time to be in top form when creating live music for a demanding feature film.

So I've built in a little down time on Wednesday afternoon to help things come together later that evening. Jeffie needs his nap time!

After all, don't want to disappoint those in the audience, which will include film historian Kevin Brownlow, who's scheduled to introduce the picture. (And they're running his 35mm print of the film, which I can't wait to see.)

When I get back, mud season in New Hampshire can only mean comedy!

And so the film calendar heads into a patch of hilarity in small towns throughout the Granite State.

Buster and friend in 'Our Hospitality' (1923).

On deck: Buster Keaton's 'Our Hospitality' (1923) on Saturday, March 23 in Danbury, N.H., and then 'Seven Chances' (1925) on Sunday, March 24 in Wilton, N.H. And then Harold Lloyd in 'Safety Last' (1923) on Friday, March 29 in Richmond, N.H.

And I'm especially excited about an unusual program coming up Sunday, March 31 at the Aeronaut Brewing Co. in Somerville, Mass.

For this one, we're celebrating the 130th birthday of the Eiffel Tower (really!) with a screening of 'The Mystery of the Eiffel Tower' (1927), a comedy/thriller with a climax filmed high up among the struts and girders of the iconic structure.

The Aeronaut has done a splendid job promoting this event, so I'm pasting in the press release below in an attempt to encourage you to attend.

Unless you'd rather spend time with the Economist!

* * *

In Paris, high above it all.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 6, 2019 / FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Contact Jeff Rapsis • (603) 236-9237 • jeffrapsis@gmail.com

Celebrate 'Eiffel Tower Day' on Sunday, March 31 at Aeronaut Brewing Co.

Vintage silent thriller 'Mystery of the Eiffel Tower’ to be screened with live music on iconic structure's 130th birthday

SOMERVILLE, Mass.—When you turn 130, it's time to party.

That's the thinking behind 'Eiffel Tower Day,' celebrated every year on March 31 in honor of the iconic Paris structure, which was completed on March 31, 1889.

The Aeronaut Brewing Co. will celebrate this year's 'Eiffel Tower Day' on Sunday, March 31 with the screening of a rare silent adventure movie with a thrilling climax actually filmed on the tower.

'The Mystery of the Eiffel Tower' (1927), directed by Julien Duvivier, will be screened on Sunday, March 31 at 7:30 p.m. at the Aeronaut Brewing Co., 14 Tyler St. (near Union Square), Somerville, Mass.

Admission is $10 per person and seating is limited; for tickets and information, visit www.aeronautbrewing.com, or www.eventbrite.com at this address:

www.eventbrite.com/e/aeronaut-silent-film-club-vol-1-well-always-have-paris-tickets-58304749074

The event is also on Facebook: www.facebook.com/events/619207078520181/

The screening will feature live musical accompaniment by Jeff Rapsis, a New Hampshire-based silent film musician.

Duvivier’s late-silent adventure served as an inspiration for the original Tintin comics, and delivers much of the same charm, inventiveness, and visual delight.

Set in France of the 1920s, 'The Mystery of the Eiffel Tower' follows a carnival performer who is half of The Mironton Brothers, a supposed Siamese twin act.

The performer sees a chance to claim a massive inheritance by pretending to be a missing heir.

The scheme makes him fabulously wealthy. He leaves the circus, but also crosses a secretive cabal which has its own plans for the fortune.

Harried by mysterious threats, the imposter uses his identical partner from the old carnival act to suffer in his place.

Lots of laughs and exciting close calls follow as the unsuspecting double is drawn into a struggle with the secret organization.

The climax is a death-defying chase up through the skeleton of the Eiffel Tower that anticipates the later work of director Alfred Hitchcock.

"This is an astounding film with sequences shot high up on the Eiffel Tower and without trick photography," said Rapsis, a silent film accompanist who will improvise a musical score for the movie.

"This vintage film, like a fine champagne, is a great way to celebrate the 130th birthday of this landmark, one of the world's most recognizable structures," Rapsis said.

The Eiffel Tower was constructed in 1889 for the International Exhibition of Paris, during the 100th anniversary of the French Revolution, and was named after the principal engineer, Gustave Eiffel.

‘The Mystery of the Eiffel Tower’ (1927) will be shown on Sunday, March 31 at 7:30 p.m. at the Aeronaut Brewing Co., 14 Tyler St. (near Union Square), Somerville, Mass. Admission is $10 per person and seating is limited; for tickets and information, visit www.aeronautbrewing.com or www.eventbrite.com at this address:

www.eventbrite.com/e/aeronaut-silent-film-club-vol-1-well-always-have-paris-tickets-58304749074

The event is also on Facebook: www.facebook.com/events/619207078520181/

Preparing for the last Cinefest in Syracuse, N.Y. and other thoughts about creativity

A lifetime of inspiration from a single box of crayons. See below.

This week I'm driving out to Syracuse, N.Y. for the last-ever Cinefest, a four-day gathering of vintage film buffs and collectors.

A fair amount of silent film is run at this event, for which three pianists are usually brought in to provide accompaniment.

I've had the privilege of being in the mix for the past three years, during which I've played alongside phenomenal musicians such as Phil Carli, Jon Mirsalis, and many others. It's been quite an education for me.

Now, for the final year, they're bringing in no less than eight accompanists as a kind of last hurrah.

The roster includes Phil and Jon, but also Ben Model, Andrew Simpson, Makia Matsumura, Judy Rosenberg, Gabriel Thibaudeau—and me.

We'll get together on Wednesday night and decide who plays what. Simple math says each of us will play no more than two features at most, rather than the usual five or six.

I'm really looking forward it, and not because of the lighter workload. For me, it's a great chance to hear how other accompanists bring films to life. I always come away inspired and eager to push myself in new directions. (Instead of just the refrigerator.)

Why is this the last Cinefest? After 35 years, organizers felt it was time to pack up shop in the face of looming changes in the vintage film field: an aging fan base, the shift to digital, the easy availability of once-rare titles.

I'm heading to Syracuse in a pretty good state of mind, I think.

This past Sunday, on the way to accompany a screening of 'Grandma's Boy' (1922) at the public library in Townsend, Mass., I got to reflecting on how music still can really move me.

As someone caring for an elderly parent in poor health, I can't help but sometimes wonder what the aging process will be like for me.

I wonder if and when music will someday cease to inspire or excite me, or prompt me to feel anything.

Will it fade? Will it falter? Will it happen gradually? Or will the music just one day stop?

Well, the good news is that in recent days I've experienced several waves of affirmation that have me believing that music will continue to be an important part of my life no matter what.

On the way to Townsend, Mass., I was planning to listen to a CD with a series of lectures on the historical origins of Christianity, believe it or not. Hey, I try to keep up.

But when leaving the house, I couldn't find the CD. So instead, I just grabbed another disc at random. It turned out to be a recording of music by John Adams—not the president, but the California-based composer who grew up right here in New Hampshire. (That's him below, on the left.)

By a total coincidence, the disc had a performance of Adams' 'Chamber Symphony' from 1993. It's a work that I'll hear played live next month by the San Francisco Symphony when I go out there to do a program at the Niles Essanay Silent Film Museum on Saturday, April 11.

But here it was now, in my car. And I found myself carried away by the energetic lines and the propulsive rhythms. I find the music of Adams tremendously exciting, not just because of the music itself, but because of the possibilities it represents.

Think of it! After more than a half-century of dead-end atonalism, Adams (and other composers) developed a tonal language all his own that was unlike past music, and in fact sounded like it belonged to my age. And his music, in all its variety, shows how much untapped potential exists with the materials of music.

And it made me think of crayons, of all things. When I was young, the classic box of 64 Crayola crayons was the gold standard for creativity.

I remember starting with the basic eight, and then graduating to 16—a set that included combos such as "red orange" and "blue green."

But it was the big box of 64, with all the basics but also exotic shades such as Periwinkle and Burnt Sienna, that really fired my imagination. To me, the box of 64 represented unending possibilities. It was the symphony orchestra of crayons!

I eventually grafted some of the excitement about 64 crayons to the 12 notes of music. And I think I've maintained that sense of excitement, even now, far into adulthood. To me, the notes also represent endless possibilities.

And as I let the music of John Adams' 'Grand Pianola Music' (next on the disc) wash over me, I felt confident that music must remain a lifelong passion. There's still a lot of life left in that box of crayons, for me and anyone else who wants to use them.

After that, I turned on the radio, and heard different music. I recognized it immediately: the end of the first movement of the great Symphony No. 3 (the "organ" symphony) by Camille Saint-Saëns. (That's him at right.)

This was music I discovered while in junior high school, by means of a library LP of Eugene Ormandy leading the Philadelphia Orchestra. I found it thrilling and exhilarating stuff—so much so that I wore out the library's recording.

And now here I was, nearly four decades later, and the music was having the same effect on me. The tunes, the harmonies, the rhythmic energy—and all of it suffused with a sense of fresh and unending possibilities.

So I head to Syracuse, and my own musical future, feeling confident that music will continue to offer as much to me as it always has. Familiar music will continue to move me, and new discoveries will continue to inspire me.

I guess what I'm saying is that I don't think I'm ready to put away the crayons anytime soon.

Thanksgiving in N.H.: Chaplin in Concord, Keaton in Wilton, and 'Prince' in Manchester; also, thoughts on 'Klinghoffer' at the Met

Wait—Prince in Manchester?

No, not that Prince. I mean MGM's frothy adaptation of 'The Student Prince in Old Heidelberg' (1927), which I'm accompanying on Tuesday, Nov. 25 at the Manchester City Library in downtown Manchester, N.H.

So more like this:

The fun, directed by Ernst Lubitsch, starts at 6 p.m. and the price is right: FREE! So hope to see you there.

I must confess that I'm not a great fan of Lubitsch's silent work. To me, it all comes across as fuzzy—the stories, the characters, the focus.

But I've never scored 'Student Prince,' so I'm prepared to be proven wrong. We'll see how it does in a theater and with an audience. So yes, I need you there.

Also, this weekend sees the return of two silent comedy icons to the big screen: Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton.

Buster checks the time in 'Seven Chances' (1925). Yes, Sunday's screening starts at 4:30 p.m.

On Saturday, Nov. 29, I'm doing music for an evening of Chaplin short comedies at Red River Theatres in Concord, N.H. The show starts at 7 p.m.; admission is $10 per person.

On Sunday, Nov. 30, it's Buster Keaton in 'Seven Chances' (1925) at the Wilton (N.H.) Town Hall Theatre. Starting time is 4:30 p.m. with free admission; a $5 donation per person is suggested.

In past years, I've found Thanksgiving is a good time to uncork classic comedies that for many of us formed the "gateway drug" into silent film.

By the end of a long holiday weekend filled with turkey, football, and shopping, families are hankering for something different.

So taking in a silent film serves as something like a cultural dessert: a cinematic chocolate cream pie. It's a great chance to introduce people to the silent film experience.

And if you're an old hand, I hope you'll consider attending, too. Even if you know Chaplin and Keaton's work better than some of your relatives at the Thanksgiving table, there's nothing quite like seeing these films in a theater with live music and with an audience.

So come one, come all! This Thanksgiving weekend, see for yourself why people first fell in love with the movies.

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The Met seen from the balcony during intermission at 'The Death of Klinghoffer' on Saturday, Nov. 15. Look at the size of that pit!

The cynic in me wants to credit the Metropolitan Opera with ingenious marketing savvy.

I was really looking forward to taking in the simulcast of their recent production of 'The Death of Klinghoffer' until the broadcast was cancelled due to controversy.

So instead, I hauled myself all the way down to Lincoln Center and paid five times as much to see it in person. Nicely played, Peter Gelb!

The performance was a matinee on Saturday, Nov. 15, the final one in the Met's 'Klinghoffer' run, and also the one that would have been broadcast.

But I'm glad I saw it in person. For one thing, it allowed me to ponder this ad in the program book:

Let's see: an opera about the hijacking of a cruise liner in the Mediterranean Sea in which a wheelchair-bound man is killed and tossed overboard. Is this really the best place to promote this kind of excursion?

It's either tremendous guile or tremendous stupidity. Or possibly both. Either way, the mind reels.

About the opera: the mind also reels. I find myself completely inarticulate about 'Klinghoffer,' but for the best of reasons, I think.

For one thing, I am flat-out bowled over by the musical style that composer John Adams has forged during his career. (That's a recent headshot at left. Amazingly, he grew up right here, in the area of New Hampshire I call home, although he escaped early, first to Harvard and then to California.)

Simply put, I respond to it. It speaks to me in the same way that silent film does: I recognize something in it that reflects the world as I experience it.

Also, it gives me hope that there is music being created today, and tomorrow, that can embody the spirit of the life and times in which we live.

What's more, the music that Adams creates really connects with audiences even upon first hearing, I think. In fact, I know this from personal experience.

Consider: about 10 years ago, I attended a New Hampshire Symphony Orchestra concert at the Palace Theatre in downtown Manchester, N.H.

At intermission, I strolled outside onto Hanover Street, where I encountered a young couple wandering aimlessly on a Saturday night.

They asked me what was going on at the Palace, so I impulsively invited them in to check it out. They didn't have tickets, but not to worry: it was after intermission and there were plenty of empty seats where I was sitting in the balcony. (Alas, that's one reason the New Hampshire Symphony is no longer with us.) Just walk in with me like you belong, I said.

They agreed. The fact that my new friends both sported multi-colored hair, ample facial piercings, and were dressed in leather from head to toe didn't seem to faze anyone as we walked past the ushers and made our way up to the balcony.

The piece right after intermission was 'The Chairman Dances,' adapted by John Adams from his 1987 opera 'Nixon in China.' Conducted by Ken Kiesler, the music was mesmerizing right from the downbeat.

Really! It had a presence that riveted the attention of everyone in that auditorium for the duration of the piece, all the way to the final petering out of the piano/percussion combo.

During the applause that followed, one of my new friends asked: "It is always like this?"

Well, not always. But Kiesler and the NHSO followed the Adams with a performance of Respighi's 'The Pines of Rome' that, as David Letterman might have put it, blew the roof off the dump.

Fast forward to now. For the past five years or so, I've been making so much of my own music in live performance that I've neglected exploring music of others.

But seeing 'Klinghoffer' prompted me reconnect with Adams. Prior to 'Klinghoffer,' I ordered a few used CDs online and was surprised to get one actually signed by the composer:

An omen? Time to start taking my own style and start committing it to paper?

Well, could be. 'Klinghoffer' got me all excited about making music beyond the limits of my current improv-based silent film scoring.

For instance: I still think an opera based on the Pam Smart saga could really be something. So we'll see.

I'm reminded of that part of Vonnegut's 'Breakfast of Champions' where Kilgore Trout awakens to the possibilities of attending the arts festival in far-off Midland City, Ohio.

As he mutters to his parakeet Bill: "There's work to be done."