A long trip to accompany short films at the Niles (Calif.) Essanay Silent Film Museum

On this weekend's California-style menu: short comedies, including Chaplin's 'The Cure' (1917).

Before we talk film, let's hear it for frequent flier miles!

And also for cutthroat competition in the Boston-to-San Francisco market, where no less than four airlines are duking it out. Delta, United, JetBlue, Alaska. And I might be leaving one out.

That means something like 15 daily non-stops each way (I'm not kidding) between the two cities. And that in turn means low fares.

But who actually pays cash? Instead, I cross the continent with a paltry outlay of frequent flier miles. Take that, Lewis & Clark!

And this confluence of competition and machines that travel at 550 mph enables me to occupy a semi-regular schedule at the Niles Essanay Silent Film Museum, across the bay from San Francisco.

Why Niles? Well, it's the only theater I can think of that runs a different full-evening program of silent films (shorts and features) each and every week all year round. And they've kept that pace going for more than a decade!

So just as religious pilgrims follow Spain's Camino de Santiago, as a silent film accompanist eager to practice the craft, I make my own pilgrimage to silent film holy ground. Plus, they often run William S. Hart features than never get shown anywhere else.

I love sitting in the dark and getting absorbed by an obscure drama that might have thrilled my great-grandparents.

By semi-regular, my visits work out to twice a year: usually May and then November. But this year, a scheduling quirk has enabled me to also be at Niles for their annual "Chaplin Days" festival in June.

But first up: Saturday, May 18, where I'll sit in for a program of comedy shorts starring many of the big names: Chaplin's 'The Cure'; Keaton's 'Neighbors'; Laurel & Hardy's 'Second Hundred Years,' and Charley Chase in 'Dog Shy.'

It's an honor to do music for these pictures, which for me and so many others were the gateway drug that got us into silent film. I love to think that the audience for Saturday night's show might be a few folks who will make their own discovery of this unusual art form.

That's important to remember. The films may be familiar, or even old hat, to long-time silent film fans (although I don't think I've ever accompanied the Chase comedy), but not to most other people. So a key part of accompanying them, I think, is to remember the spirit of surprise and delight that often also accompanies seeing them for the first time.

Well, if you're in the Bay Area, please stop in for a visit. And if you miss this weekend, I'll be back on Friday, June 28 to accompany Chaplin's 'Shoulder Arms' (1918) as part of the Museum's annual "Chaplin Days" celebration.

See, while under contract with the Essanay Film Co., everyone's favorite tramp filmed several comedies (including 'The Tramp') at the firm's studio in Niles, in and around the neighborhood. (Hence the "Holy Ground" reference above.

It's really quite a connection to Chaplin's early years, and the museum makes the most of it. And I'm delighted to be helping out with this year's edition.

For more info on the Niles Essanay museum, visit http://nilesfilmmuseum.org/. And for an idea of what "Chaplin Days" is like in Niles, check out the photo below:

Accompanying 'The Square Deal Man' at ... wait, where is this place again?

Show yer cards, stranger!

Had a great time out in Niles, Calif. this weekend doing music for 'The Square Deal Man' (1917), a typically grim William S. Hart western.

The show was Saturday, May 7 at the venerable Niles Essanay Silent Film Museum.

That afternoon, I stopped by the museum to find myself pressed into service manning the front counter while a tour was given to a visiting group.

I was there long enough to give a phone caller bad info about using public transportation to reach the Museum. But he called back later, and all was sorted out.

I usually confine my damage to the keyboard, thank you very much.

As is often the case at Niles, the evening program opened with a pair of short comedies.

First up was 'Two-Gun Gussie' (1918), an early Lloyd "glasses character" one-reeler notable for its beginning.

The film opens with a close-up of hands on a piano keyboard in the midst of playing something devilishly complicated.

We discover it's Harold, a concert pianist. In full Paderewski mode, he wows the ladies by flinging himself at the keyboard, pausing for drama, and displaying a technique worthy of Chico Marx.

Harold tickles the ivories in 'Two-Gun Gussie.'

For this, I basically improvised a dissonant farrago on the opening theme of Beethoven's 5th Symphony, doing my best to match Lloyd's flamboyant gestures.

But I have to wonder how musicians handled this when the film was brand new, almost a century ago now. Probably the same way: not so much music but some kind of concert-hall sonic chaos to help the humor come across.

More challenging was 'Curses' (1925) a two-reel Al St. John parody of dramatic serials that even then were seen as full of clichés and conventions.

In scoring a film, I usually steer clear of what the general public might think of as "silent film music"—you know, that over-dramatic jangly piano sound.

But in this case, the goofy satire cried out for exactly that. So off I went, channeling all the Dudley Do-right music I recall absorbing as a child.

The best thing about this frantic parody (directed by no less than Roscoe 'Fatty' Arbuckle under the pseudonym William Goodrich) is how it's broken into several chapters, just like a real serial.

Although instead of waiting until next week, we just have to wait a few seconds for the film to resume. It's very well done and lends a meta-air to the film that comes across as knowing and snarky even today.

I'm familiar with this film in a DVD version produced by Paul Gierucki, which comes with intertitles that really punch up the comedy, I think.

However, Niles showed an older 16mm print with intertitles that lacked the same impact, I felt.

I don't believe either set of intertitles was original to 'Curses.'

But it's a good example of how a sensitive restoration can make a difference in how a film plays. 'Curses' was enjoyed by all last Saturday night, but I felt the Gierucki titles would have made it click even more.

The Hart film, which I'd never seen, turned out to be just as over-the-top as the Al St. John comedy. But in Hart's case, he really meant it.

So I played it straight, building the score out of a pair melodic lines I brought with me: a "masculine" modal-sounding signature for Hart, and a "feminine" motif for more tender moments.

(There I go gender-stereotyping again.)

A third unplanned melody, for the Mexican antagonist, added some Latin flavor to the scoring. So it all came together nicely.

Although Hart films come across as a bit austere, I think people slowly became absorbed as the story unfolded.

By the end, I think the audience was with 'The Square Deal Man,' and deservedly so. Although it's no 'Hell's Hinges,' it's one I'd certainly program and run again.

Hart, by the way, is one of those performers I've yet to fully discover and appreciate.

I've never done 'Tumbleweeds' (1925), his final film, which is supposed to be good. And although many titles are lost, enough survive so that there's plenty to explore.

But you know Hart's one of the biggies because he and his middle initial show up in lyrics to 'Movies Were Movies,' the opening number of Jerry Herman's musical 'Mack and Mabel.'

And Swanson and Keaton and Dressler and William S. Hart!
No one pretended that what we were doing was art!

Let me tell you, I can relate to that.

By the way, kudos to my brother-in-law, who managed to get not one but two of his Facebook colleagues to attend the screening and check out the Niles Essanay Silent Film Museum.

Employer-matched contributions can't be far behind, right?

Looking forward to possibly being out there again in the fall: the first week of November seems to be my time.

Depending on who gets elected, I may be in the process of fleeing. We'll have to see.

Off to the Niles Essanay Silent Film Museum, then it's back for 10 screenings in 11 days

Vintage viewing: the 1913 Edison theater where films are screened at the Essenay Silent Film Museum.

I'm heading West, young man (or whoever is reading this) to accompany a program this weekend at the venerable Niles Essanay Silent Film Museum out in the San Francisco Bay area.

The Niles Museum is special in part because they're one of the few venues anywhere that runs silent film shows every week on a year-round basis.

This gives them the chance to screen a wide variety of at-time obscure titles seldom shown elsewhere.

A good example is the program I'm accompanying on Saturday, May 7: the main attraction is 'The Square Deal Man,' a 1917 western starring William S. Hart as a professional gambler with the amazing name of Jack O. Diamonds.

Geez, I wonder if he's ever been in a card game before?

Deal me in!

A pair of comedies round out the bill: 'Two-Gun Gussie,' an early Lloyd "glasses character" one-reeler from 1918, and 'Curses!' an Al St. John two-reeler from 1925 directed by Roscoe 'Fatty' Arbuckle in exile.

Like I said: running silent films every week, you can't rely on 'Metropolis' or 'The General.' Niles gives all the other films a chance to be experienced as originally intended: on the big screen, with live music, and in a theater with an audience.

I want to thank Dorothy Fields and all the other great folks at Niles for giving me the chance to do music there.

I enjoy it so much, I almost feel guilty for programming 'Old San Francisco' (1927) earlier this year, a film which climaxes with a recreation of the 1906 earthquake that destroyed San Francisco.

As an accompanist, what I like about Niles is that when I'm there, I get a sense I'm part of an ongoing tradition.

For one thing, the town is where the Essanay company produced a lot of film in the 1910s, Also, the nickelodeon-style Edison theater itself (separate from the studio) was opened in 1913.

And because silent film is run so regularly (as opposed to it being a special or "unusual" event), the place to me feels different from any other space in which I've accompanied silent film.

I don't know. It might be the continuity of weekly programming causes some kind of silent film karma to build up over time.

But sitting before the sturdy upright house piano, I find it amazingly easy to forget myself and slip into "silent film accompaniment" mode.

Who knows? It might be the floor wax they use. But there's something special about the place, and I feel privileged to be able to return for another spell on the bench.

By the way, the only week the Niles theater suspends its silent schedule is the weekend of the big San Francisco Silent Film Festival, which this year is June 2-5.

So any board members or others connected with this prestigious event: come check out the show in Niles this weekend. It's just a short ride across the Bay.

Hey, an accompanist can dream, can't he?

And there's this guy from the backwoods of New Hampshire who would love a chance to be considered for accompanist slots that open up for any future festivals.

Hint! Hint!

Hey, I'm accompanying William S. Hart this weekend. You're expecting subtlety?

After I head back East, a glance at the calendar finds I'm accompanying pretty much a show every day from Thursday, May 12 through Saturday, May 21.

Wow. I'm not sure how this happened, but I'm booked for nine separate performances during those 11 days, including two on Sunday, May 15.

They're spread across four states: Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, and Massachusetts.

And the run culminates with a quick trip to the Packard Center of the Library of Congress in Culpeper, Va., where I'm doing music for an afternoon program on Saturday, May 21.

So there goes May!

But seriously—I'm delighted at the prospect of settling into a series of shows, as I find I gain fluency and confidence as the run wears on.

Or at least I think so, anyway.

And yes, you do get punchy. Sometimes, in the midst of a heavy accompaniment cycle, I find the reflex is hard to turn off.

I find myself coming up with music as I go through daily life. Walking to the car in the parking lot: pesante octaves in the bass. Getting in the car: F major triad with a B natural to add a glint of light.

But then again, it might be the floor wax.

Road report: In life, as in the movies, things aren't always what they seem to be

The King Richard Condos in Manchester, N.H. More interesting than silent film?

Get out the Ouija board and the crystal ball, folks. Time for a look back and a look ahead.

First, some notes about three recent performances. And then a preview of some shows to come as the busy summer season begins ramping up.

• Tuesday, May 6, 'Her Night of Romance' (1925) at the Manchester (N.H.) City Library: I need shows like this to keep me humble.

About 15 minutes prior to the screening, two women and one man I've never seen before shuffle into the library's auditorium, where I'm behind the sythesizer keyboard warming up.

"What is that you're playing? Is that a computer?" asks one of the women, as the group wedges themselves into seats near the front.

"Well, it's kind of like a piano that's attached to a computer," I say, playing all the while.

And so we banter back and forth, with me feeling glad that some people who are new to silent film have decided to give it a chance.

But in life, as in the movies, things are not always as they seem.

After a few more minutes of me explaining how I will be improvising music to tonight's film, the three begin to sport puzzled looks.

"Isn't this the King Richard Condo Association meeting?" she asks.

Instantly my bubble is burst. I resist the urge to say yes, this is the King Richard Condo Association meeting, with live music, just to keep them in place. But honesty prevails.

"Ah, this is library's monthly silent film screening," I reply, still playing, "and you should really stay and check it out."

"No, this is supposed to be the King Richard Condo Association meeting."

"Well it isn't... but this will be a lot better than some old condo meeting," I say, with all my regulars in the audience looking on smiling, as if the evening's entertainment has started early.

"I don't think so," the woman says, as the three rise and begin shuffling out.

"Sure it will!" I say, the P.T. Barnum in me rising to the challenge. "It's a night of romance, adventure, and Old World elegance. You'll come away with memories that will last far longer than any condo meeting."

But they depart, with the woman saying something about how I'd have help her if her condo fees went up, or something like that.

Ah, the glamour of show biz!

'Her Night of Romance' (1925) is a good flick overall, with one especially noteworthy sequence: A scene in which Ronald Colman and Constance Talmadge get her father to fall asleep by plying him with too much wine at dinner so they can get to know each other is done without any titles. Instead, it's all closeups and imagery that allow us to follow the action without needing dialogue.

Consider the elements: A close-up of Daddy's hand putting down a wine glass, and then falling limp. Another close-up of Constance's foot pressing the soft pedal of the piano she's playing (so as not to wake Daddy.) A medium shot of Colman's silhouette moving across the sheet music as he approaches Constance. A medium shot of Constance reacting nervously, as only Constance could do.

It's a remarkable example of how fluent silent films had become of telling a story visually. If anyone needs a short excerpt to show how silent film could tell stories without titles or dialogue of any kind, this is a good candidate. Nothing special, just a very natural example of how it was done.

• Thursday, May 8, 'Intolerance' (1916) at the Flying Monkey Moviehouse and Performance Center in Plymouth, N.H.: Big film, small audience. But even with just 16 people on hand, the show must go on. And not long after the opening titles, I lost myself for nearly three hours in D.W. Griffith's over-the-top four-stories-in-one epic, which we ran without a break.

What happened is that I really didn't have time to prepare in advance, although I intended to. But as things worked out, I didn't even have time to preview the film, even on fast forward. So going into it, the second half was all news to me.

However, the day before I worked out a simple "time passing" motif for the scenes of Lillian Gish rocking the cradle that appear throughout the film as a linking device. And I'll be darned if it didn't blossom into the basis for a nearly three-hour-long film score. Sometimes that's how it happens! In general, simple is better.

And I found I had stuff for each of the four settings, which I accompanied with different textures. The "modern" story (1920s California) was straight orchestra; the medieval French story was harpsichord; the Christ story was brass and organ; and the Babylonian tale had an exotic world music patch that I sometimes trot out.

Also, each had their own melodic material that seemed to grow naturally out of the action, and I was somehow able to keep up with it as the film (or films, actually) progressed. Only for the last half-hour, where all four stories reach a climax and the pace of the cutting increases, did things start to blend into each other, but that actually seemed quite natural to me. Anyway, as the pace quickened, I finally had to keep it on just full orchestra, which had the effect of adding a bit to the overall velocity.

And then the film shifts into overdrive, with Griffith taking us to World War I trenches, with characters from the past looking on from above, all preaching a message of peace and tolerance. After nearly three hours of four different stories, this apotheosis, while hopelessly primitive, still comes across as nothing short of mind-blowing in live performance.

Say what you want about Griffith, but 'Intolerance' demonstrated once again that he really did bring the instincts of a master showman to his movies. You simply have to watch. In that sense, it's a distant cousin to a car crash.

A view of the interior of the Niles Essanay Silent Film Museum's Edison theater, stolen from Yelp.

• Saturday, May 10, 'The Little Duchess' (1917) at the Niles Essanay Silent Film Museum in Niles, Calif.: Yes, that California. Mere hours after finishing 'Intolerance,' I strapped myself into a jet-propelled aircraft bound for San Francisco, where I had the chance to sit in as accompanist at the Saturday night silent film series at the Niles Essanay Silent Film Museum.

A word about cross-country flights: When I'm dictator, anyone making a coast-to-coast non-stop flight would first have to read at least one book about the building of the transcontinental railroad. Just sayin'.

A word about Niles: While most of the area around Niles is brand new mint condition Silicon Valley exurbia, Niles itself is an authentic old-time town. Settled more than a century ago, its commercial area was isolated by a river, railroad lines, and later by a freeway.

Shielded from development pressure by virtue of its location, Niles endured long enough to become an attraction in itself, so different than the modern strip mall and condo complexes that now surround it. It's kind of like California version of Brugges, the Belgian trading port that silted up in the middle ages, leaving the small city prefectly preserved.

One of the big attractions of early Niles was an Edison Theatre, which lasted only a short time. The building then became a photo studio, a warehouse, and who-knows-what-else over the years, all the while remaining intact, like a lot of Niles itself. Today, it's a film theater again, which the museum uses to run regular silent film programs.

The film: 'The Little Duchess' (1917), a rarely screened picture starring Madge Evans, then age 6. This title was enough of an attraction to bring several area film folks, including accompanist Jon Mirsalis, who I got to have dinner with as part of the deal. So I got to hear him speak of some of old-timers such as Gaylord Carter who were still active when he was starting out.

Prior to the performance, I felt more pressure than usual, not because of the venue, but because of my brother-in-law. A job at Facebook led him to live in the area. And like a lot of people in my life, he's never really understood the silent film thing. No problem, as most people don't. But for Saturday night's show, he'd taken a deep breath and decided to check it out.

Alas, the first half of the show was two Keystone two-reelers from 1914 in fairly well battered 16mm prints: Chaplin's 'Caught in a Cabaret' and Fatty Arbuckle in 'Fatty and Minnie Hee-Haw.' Not the very best intro to the power of silent film, but you play the hand you're dealt, or the films that are programmed.

Seated at the house piano (a sturdy Hamilton upright) so I found myself taking the "keep it lively" approach to both films. The Chaplin short is no great shakes, but the Arbuckle film has enough rudeness in it to be of interest. At one point, the Injuns—sorry—native Americans, celebrate upcoming nuptuals by eating dog meat!

To my surprise, brother-in-law actually enjoyed the first half! With live accompaniment and something of an audience present (about 40 people), it made a lot more sense. Great!

'The Little Duchess' was a fun film to play cold. It was easy enough to follow, and my stock of material seemed to work well in different situations as the film unfolded. The print was apparently an original Kodascope 16mm reduction dating probably from the 1920s, and so looked really great throughout.

Audience reaction was pretty lively, which was great. I felt I kept up with things pretty well, I thought, but was not prepared for a last-reel plot twist that bordered on the surreal, even for a film from 1917. I'll keep it under my hat because 'The Little Duchess' may get shown at a few upcoming festivals, but it made for a mind-bending end to the evening as only silent film can deliver.

And the verdict from my brother-in-law? Not outright dismissal, which I count as a triumph for the art form.

I'm very grateful to all the folks at the Niles Museum for opening a Saturday night for me on their schedule. The Bay area has a lot of fine accompanists, so it was a real honor to sit in. So thanks to Dorothy Bradley and all the crew for their hospitality, and all the work they do to keep the museum going and to keep silent film in front of today's audiences.

Looking ahead, our annual summer silent film series in Brandon (Vt.) Town Hall starts up this weekend. Opening night features 'The Winning of Barbara Worth' (1926), a rip-roaring Western starring Ronald Colman, Vilma Banky, and a young Gary Cooper. I'll preview that in a separate post, as this one has gone on long enough already. :)