"Ella Cinders" might superficially seem a slight if amusing late silent, but it's brilliant. It's one of those behind-the-scenes movies about making movies, of which there were already quite a good many even in the silent era--at least ever since a Lumière cameraman captured another Lumière cameraman filming a scene. "Les débuts de Max au cinéma" (1910), "Die Filmprimadonna ," "The Evidence of the Film," "Mabel's Dramatic Career" (all 1913), "Behind the Screen" (1916), "A Girl's Folly" (1917), "The Extra Girl," "Souls for Sale" (both 1923), for examples, and, later, such titles as "The Cameraman" and "Show People" (both 1928). Many, if not most, were comedies, with the industry poking fun at itself. Since, then, too, the Best Picture Oscar was awarded to a modern silent that was call-back to this subgenre, "The Artist" (2011), and there's also the prior "Singin' in the Rain" (1952) and "Silent Movie" (1976). It makes sense since this was the beginning of full-fledged, mass-produced celebrity culture, and even Hollywood was infatuated with itself.
Although paratextually this includes the flapper scene of the day, for which the star here, Colleen Moore, was one of the biggest icons, bobbed hair an' all, "Ella Cinders" instead reaches back to the "Cinderella" fairy tale for its meta framework, and why not go back to the original parallel, reportedly adapted from a comic strip, to the dream of wannabe movie stars. Besides, Cinderella - Ella Cinders--get it? This sort of a anagram makes for a clever basis of the film in punnery. See, as known by another name, "reflexive" cinema is inherently an anagram--that mirror image reversal of form into image. Movies as mirrors, with movies about movies being doubly so. So, of course, the film-within-the-film here is entitled "From Poverty to Riches," which is essentially the same Cinderella tale we've been viewing throughout "Ella Cinders," but with a more laborious title. The making of the film within the film itself.
The best gags here, too, are rooted in the deconstruction of image making within the form of the film, which itself is but a series of images. Moore sticking her head through a poster to appear atop the representation of an infant's body. The trick photography for her practicing eye expressions from a book and in a mirror. The fly-on-her-nose photograph. Even the business on a train which might otherwise be considered offensive today with Hollywood Indians works in this regard. The culmination of the blurring of reality, or rather doubled fantasies, including with the Prince Charming ("ice man" being another anagram--for "cinema") is wonderful, as well. And, of course, Moore is fantastic.
My only slight qualm might be the missed opportunity in the sequence of Moore ruining takes by running through sets on a studio backlot where she runs into her silent clown male counterpart. It's Harry Langdon, the so-called fourth clown of the silent era according to James Agee's schema (see Agee's "Comedy's Greatest Era" originally published in Life Magazine), but who is hardly as well remembered since as are the other three (Chaplin, Keaton, Lloyd), or maybe even as well as some others (say, Linder, Arbuckle, Laurel & Hardy, not to mention women like Normand, Davies, Moore, etc.). Langdon is fine in the scene, and the scene--the interaction with Moore and such--overall works well in itself. But, with all the cross-eyed business with the book and mirror and, then, with the photograph being taken as Moore contorts her face and crosses her eyes at the fly on her nose, I'm left wondering how much better the pay-off would've been had they instead cast Ben Turpin, the silent clown known for the cross-eyed look. Too bad Langdon was the one under contract with First National, the company that also released "Ella Cinders," and so appears here, whereas, as far as I know, Turpin was still part of the soon-to-be-defunct Keystone. It would've been the pinnacle to this Hollywood anagram. On the other hand, and although I recall it being the reason I didn't care much for his features, Langdon does have that baby-faced naïveté going for him that compliments well the movie-stardom dreams and illusions of Moore's character--going all the way back to her popping her head through that poster of an infant.
One finale note: I'd love to see the 20-or-so minutes missing from the film. Most silent films are entirely lost, and many that do survive are incomplete. The case of Moore' oeuvre is especially tragic, as she donated a bunch of them to the Museum of Modern Art only for them to be misplaced and left to rot for years. It was not merely a case of the museum not having the resources to preserve nitrate, as claimed by the presenter of "Ella Cinders" in the streaming event I saw; they lost the films and consequently most of them are now lost entirely, including most famously all but a couple minutes of "Flaming Youth" (1923). "Ella Cinders" only exists at all, in its truncated format, because it was sold on 16mm for Kodascope projection by anyone willing to buy it (i.e. Not just rented theatrical distribution, but private or home use in the days before VHS, DVD and digital downloads). How fortunate, even if it is missing some more gags or granted that we're left to wonder how it would've flowed with another couple reels, as what's left remains a great behind-the-screen comedy and one of the few opportunities remaining to witness the considerable talents of Moore.
Although paratextually this includes the flapper scene of the day, for which the star here, Colleen Moore, was one of the biggest icons, bobbed hair an' all, "Ella Cinders" instead reaches back to the "Cinderella" fairy tale for its meta framework, and why not go back to the original parallel, reportedly adapted from a comic strip, to the dream of wannabe movie stars. Besides, Cinderella - Ella Cinders--get it? This sort of a anagram makes for a clever basis of the film in punnery. See, as known by another name, "reflexive" cinema is inherently an anagram--that mirror image reversal of form into image. Movies as mirrors, with movies about movies being doubly so. So, of course, the film-within-the-film here is entitled "From Poverty to Riches," which is essentially the same Cinderella tale we've been viewing throughout "Ella Cinders," but with a more laborious title. The making of the film within the film itself.
The best gags here, too, are rooted in the deconstruction of image making within the form of the film, which itself is but a series of images. Moore sticking her head through a poster to appear atop the representation of an infant's body. The trick photography for her practicing eye expressions from a book and in a mirror. The fly-on-her-nose photograph. Even the business on a train which might otherwise be considered offensive today with Hollywood Indians works in this regard. The culmination of the blurring of reality, or rather doubled fantasies, including with the Prince Charming ("ice man" being another anagram--for "cinema") is wonderful, as well. And, of course, Moore is fantastic.
My only slight qualm might be the missed opportunity in the sequence of Moore ruining takes by running through sets on a studio backlot where she runs into her silent clown male counterpart. It's Harry Langdon, the so-called fourth clown of the silent era according to James Agee's schema (see Agee's "Comedy's Greatest Era" originally published in Life Magazine), but who is hardly as well remembered since as are the other three (Chaplin, Keaton, Lloyd), or maybe even as well as some others (say, Linder, Arbuckle, Laurel & Hardy, not to mention women like Normand, Davies, Moore, etc.). Langdon is fine in the scene, and the scene--the interaction with Moore and such--overall works well in itself. But, with all the cross-eyed business with the book and mirror and, then, with the photograph being taken as Moore contorts her face and crosses her eyes at the fly on her nose, I'm left wondering how much better the pay-off would've been had they instead cast Ben Turpin, the silent clown known for the cross-eyed look. Too bad Langdon was the one under contract with First National, the company that also released "Ella Cinders," and so appears here, whereas, as far as I know, Turpin was still part of the soon-to-be-defunct Keystone. It would've been the pinnacle to this Hollywood anagram. On the other hand, and although I recall it being the reason I didn't care much for his features, Langdon does have that baby-faced naïveté going for him that compliments well the movie-stardom dreams and illusions of Moore's character--going all the way back to her popping her head through that poster of an infant.
One finale note: I'd love to see the 20-or-so minutes missing from the film. Most silent films are entirely lost, and many that do survive are incomplete. The case of Moore' oeuvre is especially tragic, as she donated a bunch of them to the Museum of Modern Art only for them to be misplaced and left to rot for years. It was not merely a case of the museum not having the resources to preserve nitrate, as claimed by the presenter of "Ella Cinders" in the streaming event I saw; they lost the films and consequently most of them are now lost entirely, including most famously all but a couple minutes of "Flaming Youth" (1923). "Ella Cinders" only exists at all, in its truncated format, because it was sold on 16mm for Kodascope projection by anyone willing to buy it (i.e. Not just rented theatrical distribution, but private or home use in the days before VHS, DVD and digital downloads). How fortunate, even if it is missing some more gags or granted that we're left to wonder how it would've flowed with another couple reels, as what's left remains a great behind-the-screen comedy and one of the few opportunities remaining to witness the considerable talents of Moore.