I love the old silent films. Most of them have been lost, you know. Back when they were made, few imagined that people would value them someday, so they were often destroyed or lost or whatever.
Today’s New York Times (Long-Lost Silent Films Return to America) notes the recent discovery of a trove of old silents, including one made by the great John Ford. They had been sent to New Zealand—evidently, there was an international market for American Westerns and such—and, back then, the company was too cheap to have them shipped back home. So there they were, stored some place, saved from destruction by stinginess.
Somebody happened upon them a year or so ago, and, ever since, an effort has been under way to restore them.
I guess I feel about old films the way I feel about old photographs. They seem like magical artifacts. The past itself seems magical to me—and sad. For some people, sadness can be a kind of special loveliness.
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When I was a kid, I enjoyed watching those paranoid sci-fi and horror movies of the 50s on TV, though I don't think I had any sense of that era until I became a teenager.Among the very best of the 50s sci-fi/horror movies was "The Thing" (1951), which was directed by the great Howard Hawks ("Red River"). If you've never seen it, check it out. The dialogue and acting are first-rate. And skip the 80s remake.
I recall one sci-fi movie that really stayed with me. "The Cyclops" (1957). I don't think it was particularly good, but something about it struck home. I think I felt very badly for the disfigured giant, who had achieved that state owing to radiation ("mutations," you know) and a plane crash.
