On the road in Detroit, Cleveland and Buffalo: movies, skyscrapers, cheese, and canoes

Up next!

Greetings from Buffalo, where I'm awaiting tonight's screening of Buster Keaton's 'The Cameraman' (1928) at the Western N.Y. Film Expo.

It's my fourth year of handling the accompaniment chores at this multi-day festival, which took the vintage film baton from Syracuse Cinefest after that storied gathering ended its run in 2015.

Chief organizer Alex Bartosh has kept it going, with a dealers' room and no less than three separate venues for screening everything from silents to vintage TV show episodes.

This year, I got here by way of screenings at Cinema Detroit and the Cleveland Cinematheque, which ran silent film programs earlier this week. This allowed me to string together something like a Lake Erie Vintage Cinema Tour 2019. I should have had t-shirts made!

First, thank you to everyone for including silent film and live music in their programming: Paula and Tim Guthat at Cinema Detroit; John Ewing and Genevieve Schwartz at the Cleveland Cinematheque; and Alex Bartosh and Dave Barnes at the Western New York Expo.

Such support for keeping these films on screen gives local audiences access to a rich cinematic world. And it also gives audiences in my home area of New England a break from what I inflict on them.

Here's a brief run-down on the adventure so far:

Warming up while the Fisher Building looms over me.

- At Cinema Detroit, a Buster Keaton double feature took a surprising turn when the theater unexpectedly won a prized booking for the new Quentin Tarantino film.

"Once Upon a Time in Hollywood" had to run continuously. So what to do about the Keaton screenings planned for Wednesday, July 31?

Paula Guthat reached out to folks at New Center Park, an urban oasis in Detroit that happens to run a summertime outdoor movie program.

Could they host an evening of Buster Keaton?

Yes, they could. And so the whole program got moved outdoors to a park directly beneath the amazing Fisher Building, a 30-story 1920s Beaux Arts masterpiece from a much earlier era of prosperity.

This was all done about a week before the show, with Paula displaying improvisation skills worthy of any silent film accompanist.

Set-up was a snap, with me rolling into town that evening with my gear to be met by a park staff that knew exactly what to do. In no time at all, I was set up under a roofed structure with my keyboard hooked into a booming sound system.

The New Center Park Pavilion's custom-made screen, engineered by projectionist Jon Hudson, kneeling at right.

Even the weather cooperated, with evening temps falling into the 60s and a welcome breeze, which seemed to keep the bugs away. (They're always a hazard at outdoor screenings. I've had enormous beetles land on my arm that I'm sure that scientists have yet to catalogue.)

We had to wait until well after 9 p.m. for the show to start, as the sun sets much later here (in the Eastern Time Zone) than back home in New Hampshire.

I played for about an hour before the show, hoping to attract interest from the few passersby. I'm not sure if I actually scared them off, or if everyone was at the Democratic Presidential debate happening elsewhere in town.

Alas, by showtime only a relatively small group had assembled in the lawn chairs set out under the trees.

But we went ahead with what turned out to be a great show: a double bill of 'Our Hospitality' (1923) and 'Steamboat Bill, Jr.' (1928), Buster's first and last independent features.

'Steamboat Bill' was notable because in the film's final reels, as Buster rides out the film's climactic cyclone, a steady and stiff wind began blowing, knocking over my plastic cup of popcorn and causing a noticeable ripple in the park's huge outdoor screen. (An impressive and custom creation by projectionist Jon Hudson, complete with sturdy rigging to tie it down like on a sailboat.)

So it was 'Steamboat Bill' in Sensurround. This actually worked quite well! I recommend installing large fans in any theater that programs this picture.

But what really made it was that our audience included a family blessed with two young girls who greeted all of Buster's adventures with continuous and uproarious laughter. Really! They weren't that far from me and I could hear them clearly, and so could everyone else.

They contributed far more to the soundtrack of Buster than any mere accompanist could. What a joy to hear their joy of discovery. Our show ran almost to midnight, making me wonder what the kids were doing up so late, but no matter: they made my day, or night, and made the screening more compelling than anything I contributed with my keyboard.

John Ewing slices into the Cinematheque's birthday cake.

- The next day (Thursday, Aug. 1) brought me to the Cleveland Cinematheque, where long-time head honcho John Ewing was celebrating the theater's 33rd anniversary in part by screening a 35mm print of 'The Crowd' (1928), a title he'd never run before.

The print, from the Library of Congress, looked great, and a healthy crowd turned out to watch 'The Crowd.' I hadn't accompanied the film in awhile, so previewed it the week earlier to refresh my memory. The parts where protagonist John Sims plays his ukulele are tricky because he keeps starting and stopping, but it all seemed to come together nicely.

I greatly enjoy accompanying films at the Cinematheque because over the years the venue has cultivated a sophisticated audience for a wide range of cinema from all over the globe. Many are passionate silent film fans, and not afraid to let you know it.

With that in mind, it was not unexpected for 'The Crowd' to be followed by an extended Q & A session that covered a wide range of topics. I saw it as good practice for my upcoming seminar at Tanglewood later this month.

I sometimes joke that the main reason I return to the Cleveland Cinematheque is to eat at L'Albatross, a French restaurant not far from the venue.

But it's not entirely a joke. I mean, take a look at their cheese board:

Be honest: wouldn't you come to Cleveland to accompany silent films if this was around the corner?

- It wasn't around the corner, but about three hours up the lake: Buffalo, home of the Western N.Y. Film Expo and Movie Memorabilia Convention, an annual gathering for which I again served as resident accompanist.

You never know what kind of silent titles will be screened at this event, and last-minute schedule changes made that more true than ever this time around.

Originally, the schedule called for something like a half-dozen silent feature films, including Von Stroheim's 'The Wedding March' (1925), Eddie Cantor in 'Special Delivery' (1927), and Louise Brooks in G.W. Pabst's 'Pandora's Box' (1929) from Germany.

When the dust settled, however, the balance had shifted to several blocks of short comedies starring the greats and near-greats. The only features were W.C. Fields in 'The Old Army Game' (1926) and Buster Keaton's 'The Cameraman' (1928).

I didn't mind the free time, as it provided a chance to catch up with other attendees as well as see something of Buffalo, including this outdoor sculpture made entirely from aluminum canoes:

"Stainless Steel, Aluminum, Monochrome I, Built to Live Anywhere, at Home Here," was created in 2011 by artist Nancy Rudin and stands outside Buffalo's Albright-Knox Art Gallery.

This outrageous work spoke to me for a very personal reason: the canoes were the same make and model as my father's old canoe, which my older brother now has: an aluminum canoe made by the Grumman Aircraft Co. in the 1950s.

Inside the gallery I found several works by the American abstract artist Joan Mitchell, including "George Went Swimming in Barnes Hole, But It Got Too Cold" from 1957:

Just as the canoes out front remind me of my Dad, any work by Mitchell reminds me of the late May Gruber, a philanthropist and noted patron of the arts in my home area who purchased 'Cous Cous,' an enormous Mitchell canvas, directly from the artist in Paris, eventually donating it to the Currier Museum of Art in Manchester, where it's on permanent display.

Big paintings! But small world.

Okay, 'The Cameraman' beckons. And then it's back to home base in New Hampshire until the next "Lake Erie" tour. Perhaps next time I'll go by aluminum canoe.

Traveling through the centuries: film music at screenings in Detroit, Cleveland, and Buffalo

Just back from a mini-tour that took me silent film screenings to Detroit, Cleveland, and Buffalo.

And in terms of time travel, I created music for movies set in the 1500s, the 1600s, the 1800s, and the 1900s.

(Sorry, 1700s—maybe next time!)

But really, I'm grateful for the chance to do film accompaniment in so many places, and for so many periods, too. Here's a round-up:

Opening title for 'When Knighthood Was In Flower' (1922).

Wednesday, Aug. 29: Cinema Detroit. First time at this nifty independent theater. Local residents Paula and Tim Guthat opened Cinema Detroit five years ago, and have built it into a valuable cultural resource for the city. Housed in the back of a former furniture store, the cinema's two screening rooms offer a wide range of titles seven days a week.

It was a real honor to work with Tim and Paula on Cinema Detroit's first-ever program of silent film with live music. The movie: Marion Davies in 'When Knighthood Was In Flower' (1922), shown via DCP courtesy of Undercrank Productions and Ben Model, who was responsible for the film's recent restoration and re-release. Thanks, Ben!

For a first attempt, no one was sure how it would go, but interest turned out to be surprisingly strong. By showtime, Cinema Detroit's main screening room was about half-filled, which far exceeded expectations for a mid-week experiment. And audience response was strong throughout the film, showing that Marion can still hold the screen.

Paula speaks before the show.

And audience response was strong throughout 'Knighthood,' which is a real treat for an accompanist: many good scenes with characters interacting in ways that light underscoring can help sharpen, and also several well-staged swordfights and chases. And the final climax and chase builds during a storm, so there's a lot for an accompanist to work with.

Although 'Knighthood' is set during the reign of Henry VIII, I didn't play much "Middle Ages"-sounding music. I kept it light and breezy, which I felt help make it more Marion's film—one in which she was being her usual bubbly self, but which happened to be set during the 1500s.

So the keyboard was set for just standard orchestra (rather than something period-sounding like harpsichord), changing to a different texture only for one scene in which a guitar gets played on camera to accompany dancing. Overall, the improvised music was what I would call "classical neutral"—light opera stuff, but flexible enough to respond to the changing needs of the film's narrative.

It all seemed to work really well, with nearly everyone staying afterwards for a prolonged Q & A about the film, the music, and what might be next for silent film at Cinema Detroit. And afterwards I was taken to a great late night place, the Green Dot, that serves in sliders unlike any I've had at, say, White Castle.

Thanks very much to Paula and Tim for taking a chance on silent film and a silent film accompanist. I hope it's possible for Cinema Detroit to run more silent film/live music programs, and for us to work together again soon!

Lillian Gish and 'The Scarlet Letter' on the cover of this summer's Cleveland Cinematheque schedule.

Thursday, Aug. 30: Cleveland Cinematheque. For its ongoing "Second Look" series, the Cinematheque included MGM's 'The Scarlet Letter' (1926) starring Lillian Gish and Lars Hanson, and directed by Victor Seastrom—the same team that would strike cinematic gold in 'The Wind' two years later.

But 'Scarlet Letter' is no slouch. It's filled with strong performances as well as arresting visuals and creative camerawork, so I was thrilled to do music for the Cinematheque's screening of a 35mm print supplied by UCLA Film and Television Archive.

The film is an adaptation, of course, of Nathanial Hawthorne's novel about adultery in Puritanical Boston of the 1600s. Hawthorne's novel is deadly serious, so what's surprising about MGM's 'Scarlet' is how much comedy is in it. As I mentioned to the Cinematheque audience prior to the screening, any film with Karl Dane in the cast is bound to have a quotient of goofball humor from MGM's go-to guy for comedy relief.

I think it's an example of a studio hedging its bets on a big-budget high-profile picture by ensuring it had a little something for everyone, whether or not that fit with the original author's vision. So we get the 'Scarlet Letter' story, yes, but also some yuks at the expense of those Puritans and their wacky ideas about courtship.

For this film, I did go with a harpsichord setting, which I think fit the production's design and feel, and helped convey the period without drawing attention to itself. It just seemed to fit. And I lucked out by having several effective melodic "hooks" (meaning groups of just a few notes) that I felt helped convey the changing emotional temperature of the story as I worked with them.

The 35mm print from UCLA.

I felt the big musical challenge was how the film opens with all the townspeople being called to Sunday service. So the first five or six minutes is interspersed with shots of church bells ringing, implying that they're being heard throughout the sequence.

To evoke that, I used two brass handbells I travel with. Holding them both in my right hand, I rang them continuously from the opening titles all the way through to when the service starts and we see the bellringers stop pulling down on their ropes. It produced a nice "clangy" bell sound—nothing like a big cathedral bell, but close enough to evoke a colonial church service, I felt.

While ringing the bells, I tried to be aware of how the film was cutting between different locations in the town. Sometimes loud, sometimes soft, depending on the action and how far different people seemed to be from the church. As Hester Prynne, Lillian Gish is first seen chasing a songbird out into the woods, so the bells get faint at that point.

So that left my left hand for the keyboard, which was enough to do hymn-like cadences and other music to establish mood and get the film going. I wasn't sure how it came off, but afterwards people told me they didn't realize I was actually ringing actual bells as the movie got started. So it worked. Nice!

John Ewing and pianist George Foley give me a taste of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells.

Audience response was strong here, too. Despite the comedy, 'The Scarlet Letter' gives Gish and Hanson ample opportunity to amp up the drama. For these moments, although I kept the harpsichord setting, I broke out of period-sounding music and went with more a more intense language that film scoring has developed since the silent era: some dissonance, some repeated notes, some dramatic silences.

Another great Q & A followed, with lots of interesting queries. Long-time Cinematheque director John Ewing was kind enough to comment on how he thought the music effectively tracked and underscored the film, which is high praise indeed! Thanks so much, John, for continuing to include silent film with live music in the Cinematheque's programming, and all you and your team have done to bring great cinema to Cleveland for more than three decades!

John Ewing checks the roster of digital titles in the booth of the Cinematheque as projectionist Mike Glazer looks on.

And afterwards, a late supper at L'Albatross, a nearby French restaurant that's to die for. We joke that the Albatross is the reason I actually visit Cleveland, and the screenings at the Cinematheque merely support my habit.

16mm prints of vintage films ready for their close-up.

Friday, Aug. 31 through Monday, Sept. 3: Western N.Y. Film Expo, Buffalo. My third year as accompanist for this festival found me doing music for silent features that ranged from well-known to unknown.

Among the well-known: Gloria Swanson and Lionel Barrymore in 'Sadie Thompson' (1928); Harold Lloyd in 'The Kid Brother' (1927); Buster Keaton in 'Battling Butler' (1926), and another Keaton, 'Sherlock Jr.' (1924), run as a last-minute substitute when Eddie Cantor's 'Special Delivery' (1927) didn't show. We should have paid for special delivery, har!

As for the unknown: not one but two Rod Larocque features that I'd never heard of before: 1925's 'Braveheart,' which I gathered was not the film with Mel Gibson in it, and 'The Coming of Amos,' also from 1925.

Both were screened via original 16mm Kodascope prints that showed some wear but maintained excellent visual quality, and so were a real treat to see. This, plus the sound of the 16mm projectors clacking away in the back, is one reason that festivals such as this are worth attending. It's a great atmosphere for vintage cinema.

A projectionist's view in the Western N.Y. Film Expo's screening room.

As you might expect, the Larocque films were pure hokum. 'Bravehart' starts out with Our Hero as a member of a Native American tribe battling western settlers over fishing rights.

The tribe's strategy: send him East to attend law school and then fight the White Oppressor on his own turf, in court.

But then for the next 30 minutes, 'Braveheart' becomes a college football film! Really—suddenly it's Harold Lloyd's 'The Freshman,' but without Lloyd. Rah, rah! Go team!

That required the music to shift gears, and it made for an unusual mix: native American modal chord progressions mixed with college fight songs.

'The Coming of Amos' was less mind-bending, but no less loopy. Our Hero starts out in rough-and-tumble Australian sheep country, but then he's brought to the sophisticated French Riviera due to an inheritance, where romance blooms with a mysterious Russian princess.

Noah Beery then shows up as a truly nasty villain whose plot to kidnap the princess includes forcing her to wear an oversized clown head so they can escape unnoticed during the annual carnival.

And the climax takes place on an enormous castle set that I found surprisingly impressive until someone afterwards pointed out the same exact set was used in 'Stand and Deliver,' another Rod Larocque picture we screened last year.

Doing music for so many films in rapid succession has its challenges. But with me, one good thing it does is break down all inhibitions and self-doubt and anything else that holds back the creative energy or blocks the place the music seems to come from.

So after awhile, it gets to the point where the music flows quite fluently and naturally.

At the Western New York Expo, this happened most notably for me when it was time to rattle off music for some short silent comedies I'd never seen before. For each, I hit on a melodic hook right away and stayed with it throughout, transforming it as needed to follow the story, set up the situation, punctuate the comedy, and amp up the excitement when needed.

I have no idea where these tunes came from, and can't recall them even now. But they were there when I needed them, and serve the films well. And for a short comedy, often that's all you need. As accompanist Jon Mirsalis has said, it's not what you play, but it's how you play it.

Of all the films, it's no surprise that Lloyd's 'The Kid Brother' got the strongest reaction, with people cheering and applauding at the climax. Lloyd's films were designed to work with an audience, and they still work: even with diehard film fans who've probably seen it any number of times already. That's pretty impressive!

Speaking of which: once again I was impressed by everyone who works to put this event together: the projectionists, the dealers, the film fans, and especially organizer Alex Bartosh. Thanks to everyone for a weekend well spent in the dark!

Up next: the restored 'Sherlock Holmes' (1916) on Friday, Sept. 7 in Brandon, Vt., and then I go out to Sioux City, Iowa to play the Orpheum Theatre's mighty Wurlitzer to accompany 'Wings' (1927) as part of the Sioux City International Film Festival.

More on those later this week!