CHARLEY BRADY
A little over a year ago – on St. Patrick’s Day, 2023 – the Silent Cinema Galway (in conjunction with the wonderful Cinephile Paradiso) had the great privilege of playing host to a full day of Irish films from the Silent Era, which were shown for free. It turned out to be an enjoyable, informal and fun day; and for myself at least it was also an instructive one. I was fascinated by some of those who dropped in and of just how many had their own thoughts on that long-ago period – a period that remains enthralling for many of us and for whom it still has a powerful attraction.
One of the highlights for me was a showing of the New York Kalem Company’s 1910 film, The Lad from Old Ireland. Directed by and starring the multi-talented Sidney Olcott, this was the first ever American studio film to be shot on location outside of the States – in Cork and Killarney, in fact.
What made me smile is that what went on behind the scenes seemed to be so very much an Irish story, with the local priest being less than happy with his parishioners dressing up as extras and telling them so from the pulpit; everyone else being very happy with the American cash being splashed around; production being closed down under pressure; the bould Sidney going up to Dublin and over the clerical head; and the disruptive priest being promoted sidewise while a more compliant one put in his appearance. And why does that tell me that Mr. Olcott appeared in Dublin with a brown envelope ready to exchange hands? The more things change and all that…
Well, I got back from holiday last week only to discover another Irish story of the Silent Era that has that one beat all hollow!
A friend in Dublin had forwarded to me an article by Kasandra O’Connell, the Head of the IFI Irish Film Archive, who have been undertaking such Trojan work over the last thirty years, Ireland never having had an archive until the late 1980s.
I’ve spoken before here, about how many films that were considered lost when I became interested in the field back in the 70s, have since been found – due in part to the internet; more communications between enthusiasts of a niche market; and people raiding their grandparents’ attics in general. Yet with her staggering news Kasandra O’Connell grabbed me by the lapels and repeatedly headbutted me (metaphorically speaking). For this wasn’t just any old find; this was one with a great backstory and political significance.
The Callahans and the Murphys was a 1927 film that should have remained simply an innocuous comedy but instead became a right royal pain in the backside of the Metro-Goldwyn- Mayer studio lion. For its tale of two feuding Irish immigrant tenement families struck just the wrong chord at the wrong time. Not only did it upset the emerging and increasingly powerful Irish political lobby in the States, it also sent the Roman Catholic Church bananas. There were howls of outrage and Old Testament denunciations; and as pickets were placed outside cinemas, the Church in addition called for an outright ban. As I’ve said before, the more things change…
In fact, it was one particular scene that caused the unholy uproar. And as Ms. O’Connell writes:
“The scene that caused the most consternation was set at a picnic on St. Patrick’s Day, where the characters celebrate Ireland’s national holiday by dancing, boozing and brawling. This proved to be a stereotype too far for the Irish abroad. In response to the violent reaction the film provoked MGM initially recut it, removing this objectionable scene. However, when this failed to placate Irish groups in America, England and Australia, MGM withdrew the film, allegedly destroying all the prints.”
How awful, that last sentence. Shades of what almost became of Nosferatu and words to send shudders up the collective spines of all film lovers. Thankfully, like F. W. Murnau’s masterpiece, all copies had not been destroyed.
For twenty years one reel of film lay on the Archive shelves. It had been given in by film collector Paul Balbirnie and was simply labelled inoffensively as An Irish Picnic. However, when the Archive last year hired Matthias Smith, an American archivist and authority on silent cinema, he discovered that the picnic in question was THE Irish picnic, the one that had caused such a furore almost a century ago.
No wonder Kasandra O’Connell and the Archive are so excited about it. As she herself put it:
“Despite its short period in distribution, the film had a long-lasting impact. The moral outrage it ignited led the Roman Catholic Church to become actively involved in monitoring Hollywood output and to make recommendations about what wasn’t acceptable for good Catholic audiences. This interference was eventually formalized in the 1930s, becoming the Production or Hays Code, which regulated the content of Hollywood films until the late 1960s.”
Whew. I think I need a bit of a lie down after digesting all of that. Every time something like this happens, I believe that there’s still hope for finding my favourite ‘lost’ film. Yes, Lon Chaney and London after Midnight… I’m looking at you. And from the same year – 1927 – too!
***The IFI Irish Film Archive digitized the St. Patrick’s Day scene just in time for this year’s celebrations and you can find it and more information on the Archive Player.
charleybrady@gmail.com