The Last Command
Dir: Josef von
Sternberg
Scr: Lajos Biro, John
F. Goodrich, Herman J. Mankiewicz
Pho: Bert Glennon
Ed: William Shea
Premiere: January 22,
1928
85 min.
“Based on a true story”
is usually a lame trick to try and get the audience to buy into an absurd story
premise. However, this is absolutely the case with one of the most accomplished
of silent films.
The story goes: before
the Russian Revolution, director Ernst Lubitsch met in Russia a general named
Theodore A. Lodijensky. The general escaped Russia during the Communist
takeover, migated to New York, and opened a restaurant, where Lubitsch met him
again. Still later, in Hollywood he met the general (now named Thedore Lodi),
he was dressed in his old uniform, working as a movie extra for $7.50 a day.
Screenwriter Biro
heard the story from Lubitsch, and it set his wheels turning. A success has
many fathers: Biro got the original story credit, John S. Goodrich is listed as
the scenarist, and Herman J. Mankiewicz wrote the titles. Sternberg himself, an
egotist if there ever was one, credits himself with the excellence of the film.
Perhaps all these things are true.
In contemporary
Hollywood (and a sad, rundown kind of place it is), a pathetic old man (Emil
Jannings, in an Oscar-winning performance) ekes out a living as a lowly extra. In
the fine studio offices, the studio head, Leo Andreyev (William Powell) OKs a
production that will require many Russian Army extras. Amid the crush of the
crowd milling into the studio, he is assigned a general’s role, and he is
mocked by those around him. As he looks into the makeup mirror . . .
The film goes back
to the eve of the Russian Revolution. The old man we saw is, in former times, the
Grand Duke Sergius Alexander, the czar’s top military man. In his prime, the
energetic and charismatic Sergius snaps out orders and runs the war (Russia was
engaged in WWI at the time). Two revolutionary suspects (Powell! and Evelyn
Brent) are brought before him. He lashes out at Powell, but keeps Brent near
him. Despite her revolutionary fervor, he falls for the dashing general.
When the Revolution
breaks out, the general and his lady are on a troop train to the front. Stripped
of his rank and his dignity, he is forced to shovel coal for the locomotive. Brent
hands him a necklace he gave her, to pawn and make his escape. He leaps from
the train, landing in the snow beside the tracks. He and we follow the progress
of the train as it chuffs on, only to fall victim to a bridge that collapses,
sending everyone into the dark, cold water.
Back to reality. The
general, and the rest of the soldiers, are ready for their scene. Producer Powell
tells the general to rally the troops. His pride, his love of his country, his
essential nobility, pours out of him. It kills him.
Obviously, this is a
great role for an actor, and Jannings was a great actor. (Unfortunately, he
wound up being a Nazi as well.) His enormous range allows him to play the
general in all his modes: confident, then pathetic, then passionate. He and
Sternberg got along well, which led to their work together next in The Blue Angel
(1930). This was meant to be a vehicle for Jannings, but it wound up making
Marlene Dietrich a star.
Sternberg’s beautiful
compositions elevate the story at all times, and his pacing is perfect. The
story is affecting without being maudlin. Surprisingly, this was another
critical favorite that failed at the box office.
The NFR is one
writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry
in chronological order. Next time: Fox Movietone News: Jenkins Orphanage
Band.
