Thought to be extinct by most filmologists, one of the last remaining “silent films” was discovered in 2012, apparently descended from Parisian ancestors who migrated to Hollywood. This strange breed was so shocking that it was given an honorary “Academy Award” simply for the fact that its kind hadn’t truly been seen in almost 80 years. There have been talks of a possible breeding program to keep this species from going completely extinct--but if the task proves too difficult, filmologists may resort to cloning the silent film in order to preserve it for future generations--even though most attempts at cloning in other species have resulted in genre mutations, visual defects, and thematic retardation.
In all seriousness, the silent film, for many years, was thought of as a thing of the distant past--a stepping stone in cinematic history that allowed filmmakers to get closer to a more fully-realized movie, an art form at the peak of its potential, complete with sound and color. However, with the arrival of the film The Artist and its critical success, the question must be raised, “Is silent film truly dead?” The answer to this question is a very confidant, “Sort of.”
A distinction can be made between a “silent” film and a “film without dialogue.” I can’t help but wonder if there was ever a truly “silent” silent film--even in the beginning, movies were almost always played with some sort of soundtrack, whether that was recorded music, an in-house symphony, or a monkey beating on a piano. The word “silent” means “free from sound or noise” according to Merriam-Webster Online. While a sub-definition does say “made without spoken dialogue” it would seem that the primary definition of “silent” does not limit itself to whether or not words are being spoken. Rather, it is about whether something does or does not create any sound whatsoever. With this definition, any movie could be a silent film--as long as one has a mute button. For the sake of this argument, however, we will assume that “silent film” refers to “film primarily without sound except for music” (although even this definition runs into problems when we reference films like Castaway which has brief moments of dialogue).
One of the most compelling scenes in the movie Children of Men is a six-minute steadicam shot in a post-apocalyptic war-zone. While there is shouting, gunfire, and the sounds of explosions, there is little to no direct dialogue. Without the main character saying a word, we know exactly what he wants, and how impossibly hard it is going to be to get it. He doesn’t have to shout, “This is really, really difficult, the odds are really against me succeeding!” for the audience to understand the stakes at play. In Castaway we don’t need to hear Tom Hanks blather on about how lonely he is or how much the coral-cut on his thigh stings or how much he misses his fiance--we see all of that very clearly. We see his hope of rescue embodied in a FedEx box that he refuses to open. While the sounds of screaming and gunfire provide an auditory “completion” of the cinematic world in Children of Men and while the ocean waves and constant breeze provide a monotonous “soundtrack” to Castaway, neither is essential for audiences to understand what is happening in the scene, and to empathize with the character.
If visuals alone are so strong, should all sound be abandoned? Absolutely not. While many moments in cinema pack a punch with no sound at all, many vitally depend upon it to tell the story. Without the disembodied voice in 2001: a Space Odyssey, HAL would just be a creepy red lens-eye. In The Hunt for Red October, the sound of the sonar pinging through an otherwise-silent submarine embodies the terror and tension that the nearby enemy sub will find and sink them. And while Charlie Chapman was a genius at physical comedy, would slapstick Three Stooges-esque comedy have satisfied long-term? Would it be possible to enjoy a movie like Bridesmaids, The Princess Bride, or Finding Nemo without dialogue? Even a movie like Wall-E, which has no dialogue for the first forty-five minutes, personifies robots with humanesque chirps and warbles. The robots are dialogue-less, but they are not silent.
So is the silent film dead? I would posit that the truly silent film--the silent film with no dialogue, no music, no foley or effects--is, in fact, dead. A friend of mine who saw The Artist said that the portions of the movie with absolutely no sound (not even music) took her completely out of the film because she could hear her friends swallow and rustle through their purses and cough and yawn. The silence was so uncomfortable that she ceased to focus on the movie and could only focus on the other theater patrons around her. The few moments of “true” silence in the film (for this specific person) did nothing to add to her experience of the film--rather, they actively took away from it.
The Artist--the modern version of the silent film, set in the silent film era--enjoyed success more because it was a novelty--and because it appealed to the Academy’s sense of nostalgia--than because it was a deep and moving piece of cinema that spoke to the human condition. It is not the type of movie that could be reproduced year after year with any success, no matter the content of the story. And because the form is so tied to the content, I cannot imagine another film having mimicking it without completely stealing its plot, or butchering it in adaptation.
There is a future, however, for the dialogue-less film. Movies like Castaway and Wall-E prove that modern movie-goers do not need to be bashed over the head with characters telling other characters (or the camera) exactly what they’re doing or feeling. Is has been posited that as much as 93% of all human communication is non-verbal. It is why text messages need emoticons to communicate their tone--without them, the exact same words can have almost infinite meanings. Nonverbal communication is why audiences are able to empathize with a post-apocalyptic robot who’s speech is limited to a wavering “Waaaaaaaal-E” and “Eeeeeeeeeva.” Wall-E’s camera eyes are so sincere, so innocent, and so expressive that we can’t help but root for him--even though he’s not human. Wall-E is not a truly silent film, and not just because dialogue occurs halfway through the movie. The sound-design for each of the two main robots is essential to understanding them as characters and connecting with them on an emotional level. Just as the Jazz Singer was a novelty being the first movie with sound, so too is The Artist a novelty in an age where sound is expected. Wall-E is the sort of “silent film” that can lead the way for other “silent” films. It is through this dialogue-less storytelling, and not through one-offs like The Artist that the silent film will live on.
by E.R. Womelsduff