Viola Dana may be best remembered as a Hollywood veteran, still attractive in her 80s, who, late in her long life, appeared in several TV documentaries on the silent film era such as "Hollywood: The Pioneers" (1980) and "Buster Keaton: A Hard Act To Follow" (1987). Dana and her sisters began working in the movies when they were barely out of grade school. Viola became a popular star in the 1910s and '20s, but chose to retire when the talkies came along, and her surviving films are seldom shown today.
The Cossack Whip, a melodramatic tale of revenge set in the last days of Czarist Russia, is interesting not only as a rare chance to see the young Miss Dana in her prime, but for a number of other reasons. This movie was directed by Viola's husband, John Collins, who guided several of his wife's starring vehicles during this period before his life was cut short by the influenza epidemic of 1918. His impressive work in this film compares well to that of his contemporaries: the early sequences of village life have an understated quality that feels authentic, neither as theatrical as Griffith nor as prettified as Rex Ingram's pastoral prelude to The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Collins' gritty-looking peasants could have stepped out of contemporary Russian newsreels. Their village looks real, not like a film set, and when Cossacks close in and sack the place the impact is harrowing. We notice too that the cinematography is first rate, and the editing is as sophisticated as any comparable work from the period. It's also unusual to find a Hollywood movie from any period that, although not explicitly pro-Bolshevik, roundly condemns the abuses committed in the name of the Czar.
The Viola Dana of The Cossack Whip is intense and athletic, and acquits herself well in an exotic dance number. She is handsome rather than conventionally pretty, facially somewhat similar to Anne Baxter. Dana comes off as smart and sympathetic, and makes a credible transition from innocent young peasant girl to Mata Hari-like spy. In the later sequences her character is motivated by a desire for vengeance against a Czarist prefect of police, the man responsible for killing her family and destroying her village. Eventually she turns the tables on this man, and he winds up shackled in a dungeon. When justice is finally served the moment is grimly satisfying, but Dana's nuanced performance makes it clear that her feelings are mixed. She learns that vengeance isn't truly gratifying, the "victor" can feel sullied in triumph, and that inflicting pain on one's enemies, no matter how deserved it may be, can't bring back loved ones. It's a lesson worth considering, regardless of the time period or setting.
The Cossack Whip, a melodramatic tale of revenge set in the last days of Czarist Russia, is interesting not only as a rare chance to see the young Miss Dana in her prime, but for a number of other reasons. This movie was directed by Viola's husband, John Collins, who guided several of his wife's starring vehicles during this period before his life was cut short by the influenza epidemic of 1918. His impressive work in this film compares well to that of his contemporaries: the early sequences of village life have an understated quality that feels authentic, neither as theatrical as Griffith nor as prettified as Rex Ingram's pastoral prelude to The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Collins' gritty-looking peasants could have stepped out of contemporary Russian newsreels. Their village looks real, not like a film set, and when Cossacks close in and sack the place the impact is harrowing. We notice too that the cinematography is first rate, and the editing is as sophisticated as any comparable work from the period. It's also unusual to find a Hollywood movie from any period that, although not explicitly pro-Bolshevik, roundly condemns the abuses committed in the name of the Czar.
The Viola Dana of The Cossack Whip is intense and athletic, and acquits herself well in an exotic dance number. She is handsome rather than conventionally pretty, facially somewhat similar to Anne Baxter. Dana comes off as smart and sympathetic, and makes a credible transition from innocent young peasant girl to Mata Hari-like spy. In the later sequences her character is motivated by a desire for vengeance against a Czarist prefect of police, the man responsible for killing her family and destroying her village. Eventually she turns the tables on this man, and he winds up shackled in a dungeon. When justice is finally served the moment is grimly satisfying, but Dana's nuanced performance makes it clear that her feelings are mixed. She learns that vengeance isn't truly gratifying, the "victor" can feel sullied in triumph, and that inflicting pain on one's enemies, no matter how deserved it may be, can't bring back loved ones. It's a lesson worth considering, regardless of the time period or setting.
