A Tale from Constantinople. The History of a Film that Never Was 9789187483417

Table of contents :
– 7 – Acknowledgements
– 9 – Introduction
– 31 – The Politics of Film Financing Trianon Film AG, 1923 1925
– 115 – Murder in the Orient Textual Genesis of a Script
– 155 – A Tale from Constantinople Shooting Script

Citation preview

The History of a Film that Never Was

.

.

9L

m ■

-

■

"

'

.> .

-

•• . .

...

'

{.-!»

- r

. -• . W

. ■

• ... .

-

'Witv •

...

.

■

-**&*»

...

«T»

v

.«*rs

'

.. T •; ...'' *

■—i •

-^r.;

.a.-

.

'■*

A TALE FROM CONSTANTINOPLE

Bo Florin and Patrick Vonclerau

A Tale from Constantinople The History of a Film that Never Was

Brutus Ostlings Bokforlag Symposion Hoor 2019

Florin, Bo &■ Vonderau, Patrick A Tale from Constantinople. The History of a Film that Never Was

Hoor: Brutus Ostlings Bokforlag Symposion 2019 ISBN: 97S-91-S74S3-41-7

© Brutus Ostlings Bokforlag Symposion and the authors 2019 All rights reserved. Copying without the publishers consent is prohibited. Also valid for teaching purposes. Graphic design: Stilbildarna i Molle/Frederic Tackstrom Cover photo: Constantinople, 1924. Photo: Julius Jaenzon Print: Livonia Print Ltd, Riga, Latvia 2019 ISBN: 978-91-87483-41 -7

1

Table of Contents Acknowledgements

7

Introduction

9

Bo Florin & Patrick Vondcrau

The Politics of Film Financing

31

Trianon Film AG, 1923 1925 Patrick Vondcrau Murder in the Orient Textual Genesis of a Script

"5

Bo Florin

A Tale from Constantinople Shooting Script Maurilz Stiller and Ragnar Hyltcn-Cavallius translated by Benjamin Mier-Cruz

l55

To the memory of David Schratter (1893-1958)

Acknowledgements never have come into being had it not been for Ola Torjas at the library and archives of the Swedish Film Insti­ tute who first contacted us about the SFVs collection of unrealized film scripts, where one in particular had attracted his attention. His promptness and eagerness to share his finding have, here as always, been invaluable. We are also very grateful to the Hylten-Cavallius family who kindly granted us the rights to translate and publish the rediscovered script. Particular thanks go to Camilla Hylten-Caval­ lius, who generously shared pictures from the family archive and granted us permission to use them in this book. Thanks to Susan Amanda Schratler, David Schratters granddaughter, for bringing us in touch with Mary and Jack, his children. We also would like to thank Ralf Forster and Jeanpaul Goergen for invaluable advice and Greg A. Waller for his support during the starting phase of the pro­ ject. Thanks to Melis Behlil and Ali Aydin for help with the Ottoman language, to Natalie Wilson for proof reading, and to Bart van der Gaag for technical assistance. A particular thanks goes to Frederic Tackstrom for most efficient and engaged work with the graphic design. Finally, our thanks go to the Henrik Granholm Foundation and to the Holger and Thyra Lauritzen Foundation for generous financial support.

this book would

7

Introduction Bo Florin & Patrick Vonderau

the silent era have been lost and will therefore remain unseen by the audience of today. Some of these lost films still may coincidentally be rediscovered, as in the case of Mauritz Stillers Brother Against Brother (Gransfolken, 1913), for instance, which was found in 2010 in a rather unlikely place - a church in Poland. Other films of that era remain unknown not because all the prints are lost but because they were never made. Our book is dedicated to one of these abandoned projects, a 1924 feature film variously known as Die Odaliske von Smolny in Germany and En historia frdn Konstantinopel in Sweden. This project brought then famous talent from Stockholm together with a cast and crew assembled in Berlin by a young film producer named David Schratter who aimed to position European film against the advances of Hollywood. Like many other film projects, both past and present, A Tale from Constantinople never made it to the screen. Why the effort to study such a project that was not even com­ pleted, given the overabundance of under-researched films in archives around the world? Throughout the arts, historians have tended to base their occasional interest in lost artefacts on the sin­ gularity of these artefacts, premised on an assumed unity of work, author, and nation. In this view, unearthing traces of a lost or unfin­ ished novel, score or painting is worth the effort because it helps to situate a masters unique work in a given country’s cultural history. At first glance, A Talefrom Constantinople is no exception. The proj­ ect has all the ingredients of a “lost classic”, while also explaining

many films from

9

a gap in the career narrative of two major artists.1 Accounts of this production almost always focus on an actress, Greta Garbo, and her director, Mauritz Stiller, to relate a story of spectacularly missed opportunities. If the movie had been completed, the story goes, Garbo might have become Europe’s - not Hollywood’s - greatest star. Stiller, already famous for his contribution to the “Golden Age” of Sweden’s national cinema in the 1910s, could have helped foster a narrative and visual style of German film-making, something con­ temporaries were striving to achieve in the 1920s.2 While the Constantinople project certainly is a unique historical case to be studied, our book does not aim to reiterate this story. It is based on extensive archival research in both Germany and Sweden and on the rediscovery of the film’s shooting script, signed Mauritz Stiller and Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius, in the archive of the Swedish Film Institute in 2011, a script believed to be lost after having ini­ tially been spotted in 1935. One of the main intentions of this book is to make the script known to a larger audience. We have chosen to frame it with two chapters, one engaged in a production study of the film, the other in a textual analysis of its screenplay. Together, the various parts of this book offer a strikingly different take on A Tale from Constantinople than what has been proposed by his­ torians so far. The Constantinople project was neither designed to further a classical style, nor to make Garbo a European star. Rather, it offers rich historical material to analyse the politics of both cul­ tural production and of the stories spun around it over the years.

Unproduction Studies The study of production has long been conceived and practiced as a study of authorship.3 Although approaches vary greatly, the main focus has been on the origins of a given work and on the causality of the process from which the work emerged. Such research has gone beyond traditional notions of creativity by showing that the 10

idea of single author primacy, so pervasive in film promotion and auteurist ideas about film-making, needs to be questioned. Robert L. Carringer, for instance, has meticulously reconstructed the script development process of Citizen Kane (Orson Welles, 1941), relat­ ing authorial achievement to institutional contexts.'1 Authorship perspectives have also helped debunk na'ive ideas about stardom, reminding us that “Garbo” and her face, so often evoked in film criticism and theory, are a product of film practice rather than a point of its origin.5 At the same time, such research tends to remain fixated on works and authors, relegating the production itself to the background. This book reorganises issues of artistic agency and tex­ tual authority according to a historical division of labour that has little in common with romanticist notions of creation or classical Hollywood’s standardised mode of production. In doing so, this book adopts a Production Studies perspective. Over the past decades, Production Studies has evolved as a field that investigates specific production sites, actors, and activities in order to tell larger lessons about workers, their practices, and the role of their labours in relation to politics, economics, and culture.6 While long preoccupied with todays media industries, production scholars more recently have also provided pioneering historical accounts. Contributions include studies of hitherto marginalised sites, actors, and activities, such as major studios outside of Southern Califor­ nia, production secretaries and other instances of female labour in film production, or screenwriting and “non-creative” professions.7 In line with this research, our book re-orders the margins and the centre of a story long obsessively fixated on a master and his muse. It puts a spotlight on the producer, on financing arrangements, on a screen idea and its textual legacies, on political ideologies and the network of relations these formed a part of. The books “unproduc­ tion studies”8 also uncover creative and industrial tensions often lost in accounts of successful studio production, tensions that arose in development, prevailed on set, and permeated society at large. 11

An Aesthetics of the Possible Perhaps unavoidably, unfinished works tend to engage us in an “aes­ thetic of the possible”,9 a tendency that informs research on screen­ writing in particular. Screenplays are not studied as fixed texts or Ur-texts, but rather evoke broader questions about all the practices, texts, and discourses that accompany the realisation of a given screen idea.10 This in part is due to the specifics of film as a cultural good which differs from consumer goods in requiring extended phases of development and testing. In contrast to soap or cars, film is a product which is kept open as long as possible to enable both cre­ ative experiment and adjustable marketisation. The establishment of Hollywoods production system in the early 1910s went along with scriptwriting as a multistage process and continuous story and preview testing.11 Ever since, feature films have been largely shot on paper, with pre-production often taking up more than 80 percent of time, compared to the 20 percent it takes to actually shoot a film.12 In a way, all films, not only unfinished masterworks, thus operate in a “provisional zone”13 where concepts and ideas are constantly at play; only temporarily stabilised as commodities, they never assume the definitive shape of a sculpture or painting. In this respect, screen­ plays resemble other forms of scripted art and entertainment such as stage plays, music or novels. Accordingly, research on screenwriting has developed a more spe­ cific methodology than Production Studies overall. Studies of scripts often take their cue from genetic criticism, an approach based in French literary theory that goes beyond the final published text to include various notes, drafts and other preparatory documents in an analysis of the “movement of writing” to be inferred from them.1'1 That is, genetic criticism aims to reconstruct, from all available evi­ dence, the chain of events in a writing process. This has occasionally led to painstaking reconstructions of the material base of film-mak­ ing, as in the case of Marc Vernets research on continuity scripts used at production companies Triangle and Kay Bee before 1917, 12

for instance. Analysing forms of papers, handwritten notes, and other silent witnesses of the pre-production process, Vernet was able to detail a historical division of labour and its hierarchies and responsibilities.15 Yet genetic criticisms focus on the preparatory stages of a finished work is of limited use for research that deals with unfinished films. While genetic criticism places the published literary work against the background of its potential versions in order to open the finished version to the infinite play of signs, that obviously does not work for a history of unproduced media. In its desire to discover the origin of a work in the creative pro­ cess, genetic criticism and the screenwriting research that follows its lead also tend to turn the unfinished into a romantic artefact, heightening its oneiric quality by a sense of unfulfilled possibility. Here, an aesthetic of the possible may quickly turn into myth-mak­ ing or even pure fiction, as in the case of A Talefrom Constantinople, a project whose failed production is unique also in having spurred a surprising number of literary renditions, including several novels.16 There are certainly enough ingredients to fire imagination: a direc­ tor who had just finished a masterpiece; a leading lady, the directors protegee, becoming known through his film; a Russian exile with an extraordinary true story to tell; a film company with a spectacular big budget production in Egypt on its track record; an extravagant hotel in Constantinople, in a setting bridging East and West, pov­ erty and luxury, set against the background of the recent Russian revolution; a heated quarrel on intellectual property rights; a film crew in distress, left by their director on Christmas Eve as luck had turned; The End. How to resist, in this context, the “indexical par­ adigm” of genetic research - the fascination of following traces and interpreting clues, remindful of detective work or archaeology?17 The basic approach of this book is to weigh this interest in read­ ing textual traces, and in the archived materiality of the production process, against broader concerns regarding the division of labour at work in this process. As a field of study, Production Studies captures 13

“the way that power operates locally through media production to reproduce social hierarchies and inequalities of the level of daily interactions”.18 A large part of our book is dedicated to analysing the social, financial, and textual organisation of production, and the politics of this organisation. At the same time, it was striking to note that politics at play during production in 1924 still prevailed in parts of the discourse that told its story. The twisted politics of the Constantinople project thus extend to the ways its actors, sites, and activities have been framed in stories and histories, with the surprising effect of marginalising an actor deemed central in most production systems of that time: the producer.

The Script Before we get to the history of production and the script, and to the politics involved in both the telling of the Tale and its later historio­ graphic renditions, a few basic facts about the script are necessary. What kind of a manuscript is this, and what does it tell us about the film? A first thing to note is that the script is written “by Mauritz Stiller and Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius”, thus attributing primary authorial credit to the director. As such, the script follows Stiller s usual screenwriting practice and European production management more generally. Swedish and German film production of the 1920s was not based on a strictly enforced separation of the conception and production phases of film-making, as compared to Hollywood, where this separation had become foundational for the studio sys­ tem in the early 1910s. As opposed to Hollywood’s producer-ori­ ented system of the classic era, directors in Europe retained more control over the scripting stage, and screenwriting itself was not fully professionalised until the late 1920s.19 Stiller regularly collab­ orated with authors who had careers outside of film, such as the theatre actress Ester Julin, the Finnish historian Alma Soderhjelm, archaeologist and teacher Arthur Norden, poet Bertil Malmberg 14

1 Toxt:

Dct_vnr 1 do di'"ir, di 1 nvdrynnlnnl do vita nrrdorna kronsgt^ iv rt"n nnnt oraan !■* boln Inyln-on ooh alia do .no~i b"vn lo f'ir n^rnrn^ haln Uyor Ivivnl flylUg'- nM till rvarta Kayot-a ‘■•.nntor. BIDDEN tfmiVJ Cvor ott par girnoando jrJravtleooplr - pi dotta lnruaar ott tls fullproppat cod paoangor.aro. Blldon lnkoploraa p\ DII.D W TAg.-.T bootiondo nv nlgon ondn pornonv.agn, ronton flntn trnnaportvntnar ocg’lrdnde ccd rop, dflrl packnt nod folk; Uvlnnor.baro.colrtator 1 traolga uni forcer, alia fcoptrilngda non bonkap cod uppn'.tr'tr.dn, blntra cllor ol'Jn nnolktcn. DILD \V in ID. IK tZVC'A \'J YvrnnSE ccd do onnbbt rullnndo hjulcn: fotatcgcn oob plnttforrama fulln nv folk, pi buffortarno fnntlclKngd* eKnnlnkor, pi bjulaxlamo llggor folk - blldon lnlomr pi UDE vAQ rA id.' DZ8TE3 SlJ.TT: n'lnnlokonknror r.cd byltcn, has;; rV. o.d. efcynda cod ingcntfulla cllor tr'Jttn anolkton filrbl knnaron. ::n cllor annnn ccr olg fdrofcrdoUt on.

Text:

X hr-mm: pi Krln yrntnlw do rrnVn flyktlnrarn* pi do nv do alllorndo utn'In.ln fnrtyr

no-, nbullc f'rn do

tunontnl 'Ivor ! nyet

till Konntmtlno cl.

HKMULO. K'l :-Air; UED KHJER CCII K." Pin, non nkjutcr ut 1 » avot 3vcrBlcJUlJd nv vignvnll. HacnocrAdet hnr vld '.onJon on sod h3gt ot'ingnol ooh v'Udlgn I

opyilgrindar InhKgnat ocrldo, folk liar nod pnnllcnrtni Ivor ooli o'.tyndnr nig ntt paoicn nig t’Itt utnnfdr, dot Hr vlllcrvnlla av nlnnlokor, fciotnr oab va;nar. IMUMO'd'lA:KT n’lmnro blld nv grlndamo. Folk KJrJar trllngno. En broklg okara av gubbnr ooh bam, av kvlnnor ccd don yngnto pi arson, noldator 1 tranlga untfornor, ctn 1 turkloka ollor grokloka drttktor. euaJlJter or alia fildrar.

Page 1 of the original script, part I, with the typical shot-centred structure, alternating between shot and intertitle (“BILD” and “text”). (Swedish Film Institute)

and Hylten-Cavallius, who was a lawyer before becoming a theatre actor and director, and then the co-author of several Stiller films, most recently The Saga ofGosta Berling (Gosta Berlings saga, 1924). Stiller also regularly adapted existing literary works, such as Selma Lagerlofs famous debut novel of the same title, while A Tale from Constantinople was “based on the novel I livets virvlar by Vladimir Semitjov”, according to the archived script. A second thing to note is the structure of this script. A Tale from Constantinople has two parts, each exactly 42 pages in length. The two-part structure and identical length of the parts is not coinciden­ tal; there is indeed a clear indication that writing was guided by the requirements of programming for theatrical exhibition, something known to be standard practice in early cinema and later broad­ casting, but usually overlooked when it comes to the production of feature film.20 The pages contain unnumbered descriptions of shots and the action they depict, in part accompanied by remarks about shot size and angle, thus allowing us to “see” the film through the cameras eye, as well as intertitle texts that make us “read” (or hear) the actors’ and the narrator’s voice. On average, each page in part I contains about seven shots and two intertitles per page, while part II roughly contains eight shots and two titles. While there is significant variation in the number of shots and titles per page, depending on dramaturgical needs such as expository or action scenes, thinking through the minimal units of writing helps us to identify the overall patterning of the script. In writing this script, pages were used as a measure for screen time, and the distribution of shots and titles per page indicates what the pacing of the film was meant to look and feel like. This scripting technique also allowed to calculate the approxi­ mate length of the projected film, as shots and titles are aggregated into larger units, scenes, and sequences. Each of the two parts con­ sists of numerous scenes and three such major sequences that are clearly marked through cinematic “punctuation”, such as fade-outs. Given the length of the six sequences, it is very likely that they were 16

seen to be identical to the number of film reels (“akter”, in Swedish; “Akte”, in German). In other words, the finished film was planned to have six reels. There is indeed ample evidence that A Tale from Constantinople was intended as a rather long and prestigious production that would become the main evening attraction for an upscale audi­ ence in major urban movie houses, accompanied by live orchestra and framed by a stage program. Clearest indicators are the budget, the number of reels, and the previous success of Gosta Berlings saga which obviously was the model for A Talefrom Constantinople from a programming and production management perspective. Stillers and Hylten-Cavallius* Gosta Berling script likewise consisted of two parts of 100 and 190 pages, respectively, resulting in a two-part film of 2345 metres (part I) and 2189 metres (part II), or a total run time of more than two hours and 45 minutes when projected with 24 frames per second. While far from being that monumental in terms of duration, the Constantinople project followed a similar patterning of length calculated by shots per page and numbers of pages per reel, resulting in six acts of between 13 and 16 minutes per reel. The two parts of the script thus refer to an evening program with a minimal runtime of about 90 minutes, meaning that every page was meant to be roughly equivalent to 60-90 seconds of screen time.21 With six reels and a budget exceeding 400.000 Reichsmark, Stiller s Ger­ man production was thus projected to become a “Groftfilm”, or big budget event, as compared to the many “Klein- und Mittelfilme”, or small- and medium-budgeted productions that crowded less exclu­ sive theatres across the country.22 Structure and form of the script partly deviated from scriptwriting practices in Europe and the USA. The Hollywood continuity script, standardised by 1914, was a detailed technical blueprint for pro­ duction that allowed to completely detach conception from execu­ tion. European screenplays, on the other hand, usually did not plan out the shot by shot details of production in such specific fashion, 17

- 7 V1003Z3. ^arji ir etcl »r tr3ot*.

dst

£a rjaX pr'nt f.r

1 Zllctaa, erkop

nuawaxsrs tAoet. rou happar ,r tigot. 001 rnu r.r i e’*ns. bdrjar

aprlng*.

WAOO.IE?:. Folk hoppar alltjlnt ar. Earja rer ale nrftral crkriivt. I EVKYALLSI. x fonlen hasnen* Folk oprln-.er dlt’.t.

: ;

MOOSE’:. I'apja tryoker ois In till Sen un,-;e tm-n. Mrjar knlppt u.:. ntn pBls( alltsedon hon lyrist talar: (p-rlbandonccncn)

'

>;

BASYALLEK. iarja oefa den ungo carmen hoppa av tigtt. 'prln;-» r.el dc anlra.

$ M^apd flrktlngamo hide oprltt nlr rrktcti *tt delta vir den rlnta l^fOi

i1

l!

i

;i

hatan till Konotantlnopol.

:L

Page 7 of the original script, part I, that leaves blank space for a scene to be developed later (“pearl necklace scene”). (Swedish Film Institute)

but were confined to broadly outlined scenes.23 Ian MacDonald has described the difference between the two as the difference between shooting script and master-scene script.2’1 Accordingly, the first is based on the shot as its key unit of narrative construction, while the latter is based on the unit of the scene. Shooting scripts do not follow the cinema convention of the screenplay, of a page being equiva­ lent to a minutes screen time, but rather are list of shots that direct their readers’ interest to the actuality of what is in front of them, MacDonald notes. Master-scene scripts, on the other hand, which formed the script standard in the United Kingdom in the 1920s, were to be read as narrative, structured in master scenes, and usually lacked information about camera angles or details of movement. It becomes clear from this description that the Constantinople script did not follow a standardised script style, while still being closer to the conventions of a shooting or continuity script. Overall, A Tale from Constantinople documents a personalised mode of screenwrit­ ing. It is a work in progress, with some scenes more fully devel­ oped than others while leaving blank spaces on many pages which probably were meant to be filled in by hand later, thus allowing for extended improvising on set and through the camera, a practice Stiller was known (and notorious) for. When it comes to the film’s narration, a third important obser­ vation to be made about the script is its deviance from what has become known as classical style. Hollywood storytelling during the classic era has been described as building on psychologically defined individuals who struggle to attain specific goals. As a con­ sequence, plots usually developed along a character-centred cau­ sality, or as chains of character-related events in time and space.25 During production, the continuity script allowed to establish and maintain continuity of the scenes depicting such events at various locations, preparing for a seamless, highly economic, and transpar­ ent style of narration that was designed to elicit what Noel Burch calls a “diegetic effect”, whereby the fictional world is experienced 19

as if it were the spectators environment and not on screen.26 A Tale from Constantinople is hard to unite with this classic idea(l) of film form that demonstrates harmony, unity, rule-governed craftmanship, and standardisation, a style reflecting on the “social stability of the era”,27 because there was little such stability in Germany at the time of production. Overall, the project has more in common with melodrama as an imaginary mode or “mode of telling” than with a straightforward classical Hollywood narrative.28 The films narrative premise or “generative matrix”29 revolves around the question if murder may be justified to re-establish moral order in a world marked by social injustice and political turmoil. Out of this premise, the plot develops as a set of dualisms of charac­ ters and diegetic spaces that pitch good against evil and West against East. The imaginary mode of this story and the way it unfolds are highly melodramatic, portraying “the individuals powerlessness within the harsh and unpredictable material life of modern capi­ talism”30 On the level of character, this involves two passive, instable, and aimless protagonists, played by Greta Garbo and Einar Hanson, rather than Hollywood's usual goal-oriented heroes and heroines. Instead of linear causal chains of events, the film in part employs what Rick Altman calls “following patterns”,31 that is, alternating groups of characters, rather than sticking always to the same story­ line; coincidence also plays a major role. In addition, the narration is hardly as invisible or transparent as required to provoke the illu­ sion of presence in the story world. Intertitles are used for con­ veying narrative commentary about the events, and to introduce characters and their actors, not only for dialogue. What is more, the films plot is structured around attractions as much as narrative events, offering sights of unseen beauty and excess, exotic locales and fictionalised scenes of historical turmoil, in order to convey the melodramatic experience of a destiny out of control. Shooting with Garbo and Hanson on location in Istanbul precisely allowed to integrate such attractions; the melodramatic atmosphere of this 20

setting was captured in a photography by Stillers cinematographer Julius Jaenzon, featured on the cover of this book. Similarly, the open end of the film deviates from the classical norm; even today, it appears strikingly modern. Fourth and finally, the cast. Given that this was a shooting script to be used as a blueprint or paper record for production, what does the script tell us about Garbos alleged status as an upcoming star, and about the shooting on location in Turkey? The script suggests that neither Garbo nor Hanson, the two Scandinavian actors known to have travelled with Stiller to Istanbul, were seen to be principal cast or even stars of the picture. On the contrary, the intertitles offer evidence that they were merely treated as supporting cast, at least at this point of production.32 Here, it is instructive to follow the form and order of character introduction which showcases Askot Bey, the Turkish good-bad character played by German actor Conrad Veidt, through the use of capitalised letters (“ASKOT BEY”) - and no one else. Other characters, such as General Smirnoff, Fjodor Petrovitsch Maschotin, and Sir William Carey, the latter probably to be played by British actor Stewart Rome,33 were introduced via title cards, but not so Count Alexander Alexejevitsch Karinski (played by Han­ son) and Countess Marja Ivanovna Galevitsch (Garbo). Production records also show that Hanson received a considerably higher sal­ ary than Garbo, while both received much less than Veidt.31 Thus, although Garbo and Hanson had to master a range of emotionally highly charged scenes, and had more screen presence than Veidt, the script treats them as generic “Russians” embodying a world out of control, rather than as active individuals able and willing to change the course of history. Overall, the Constantinople script prompts the question if the rea­ sons for the production’s later failure detailed in Chapter 1 were the only possible reasons why this project had to be abandoned. There was clearly the potential for artistic troubles as well. This includes Garbos and Hansons then yet unknown ability to master a broad 21

range of quickly changing, very strong affects without turning the melodramatic moments of the film into pure kitsch. It also includes the question if Stiller s artistic control over the picture was sufficient to turn its partly old-fashioned, melodramatic plot into a film able to compete with the modernity of German cinema in 1924. While hav­ ing a decidedly modern ending, A Tale from Constantinople evoked older motifs of storytelling and forms that might have had a hard time matching audience tastes now formed by films such as The Last Laugh (Der letzte Mann, F.W. Murnau, 1924) which premiered on the 23rd of December, 1924, while the team was in Istanbul. One might also argue that if shooting had begun in Trianon’s studio in Berlin, where it was meant to proceed, rather than on location, Garbos involvement would never have become a focus of sustained attention, because the narration clearly centered on male characters, with Conrad Veidt in the lead.

About this Book The first chapter, “The Mauritz Stiller Affair”, begins with an analysis of film company Trianon and producer David Sch ratter. It provides the historical context in which the company operated and out of which the Constantinople project was eventually born, with com­ parisons to American film which had increasingly come to domi­ nate the German market. The chapter also details Stiller’s German reception, the financing of his Trianon film, and the ways the film’s failure became linked to larger scandals symptomatic for German production at the time. In the second chapter, “Murder in the Orient”, readers are more properly introduced to Mauritz Stiller and to Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius as co-writer of the script. The chapter presents later fictitious narratives about Garbo’s involvement as a background for a discus­ sion of the shooting script’s genesis itself. It traces the screen idea from early sources of inspiration and Semitjov’s novel to film syn22

opses and other “avant-textes”, thus following a text genetic analysis while also expanding beyond its borders. In doing so, this chapter also makes a case for redefining the object of film and production histories as to include a broader discursive surround. The two main chapters are followed by a translation of the original shooting script archived at The Swedish Film Institute. This book is dedicated to the memory of David Schratter. As the two main chapters will show, the way Schratter has been marginal­ ised by film historians, journalists, and popular writers is unjusti­ fied. There is no evidence that allows to cast him in the role of a vil­ lain who caused the problems used to explain the “Constantinople gap” in Garbos and Stiller s career narratives, as many of them did. Hence, before we re-open the curtain for this drama of a failed film, it is worth pausing and to briefly contemplate the later phases of Schratter’s own life and career.35

David Schratter left Berlin for Paris in 1926. According to his son Herman (Jack) Schratter, with whom we had the pleasure to speak by phone in June 2014 at his home in California, Schratter first seems to have travelled to Bucharest and probably lived in Romania for a while. He produced at least one more feature film for Trianon in Berlin, Elterulos (Franz Hofer, 1927) before migrating to the United States via the port of Hamburg on S.S. Washington in January 1934. Schratter had been a frequent visitor to the United States since the 1910s. He had established a company there in 1916, became an American citizen, and later married Alma Loewenthal in New York in May of 191S.36 The 1919 Yearbook of the Merchants Association of New York still lists his activities as a businessman, and he contin­ ued to travel via Cherbourg and Plymouth to the States during the 1920s. While it so far remains unknown what Schratter did between 1926 and 1934, ships record document his arrival with Alma and his children Herman and Mary in New York on January 31, 1934. 23

The Schratters settled in California; census records refer to a rented house in Santa Monica, to Schratters profession as “producer”, and note that he had difficulties holding continuous employment.3' In the years following the arrival in California, Schratter eagerly tried to get a foothold in film production again. In June 1935> he filed a court suit against Greta Garbo, demanding 11,305 USD from the Swedish actress who by now had become Hollywood’s greatest star. “Money is alleged to have been advanced years ago to the star in Stockholm and Berlin”, Variety noted, “but circumstances were not disclosed”38 Although the lawsuit was reported to have been settled out of court in November that year, Schratter continued to fight throughout 1937 for money “he spent on Miss Garbo in 1924 to give her a start in films”.39 Garbo avoided to appear in court at this later trial, which was presided by Fletcher Bowron (who became mayor of Los Angeles, 1938-1953), claiming that “she was busy with picture work and would have no time until her present flicker is finished”. Schratter “despaired over the delay”, arguing that he “pul her on the road to success and gave her an opportunity to return my own money. She has been torturing me for two years with one excuse after another, but somehow the money is not returned to me.” The actress, in turn, “denied owning Schratter a single penny”.40 Now and then, public opinion has sided with Garbo, although there is ample evidence that Schratter might have been correct in filing the lawsuit, not least because of the risk he took as a migrant without a known track record aiming to land a producer job in Hol­ lywood. When Garbo finally appeared in court, Schratters counsel, James J. McCarthy, confronted her with facts that historically are proven to be correct, as our research shows, yet Garbo denied any knowledge about them: “Did you receive any money from Mr. Schratter at the Grand Hotel in Stockholm?” “No.”

24

David and Alma Schrattcr, heading to the Los Angeles County Superior Court in 1937. (Authors collection) “You didn’t receive from him 500 Swedish kronen [sic]?” “Not that I know of. I can positively say no” She was uncertain whether she was receiving the equivalent of $1,250 a month when she began working for the Trianon com­ pany. She was under 21 and didn’t concern herself with such details. Sell ratter, she said, was handling the deal. “In Mr. Schratters arrangements you were to receive 5,000 Swed­ ish kronen [sic] a month?” “I don’t recollect”, she said. “No.” “As a matter of fact, you did receive 5,000 Swedish kronen [sic] a month, didn’t you?” “I don’t think”,, said Garbo, “that anybody received anything.” The actress said she never completed a picture for the company, but what happened she didn’t remember, if she ever knew in the first place. 25

“All I know is”, she said, “is the whole thing busted and I don’t know anything more about it, and naturally I did not understand anything about those things.”” In July of 1937, the lawsuit was dismissed.12 Schratter went on and in that same year independently developed a project, entitled “Tam­ my’s Santa”, in association with Sam Efrus at Conn Studios, featuring his discovery, a four-and-a-half-year old child actor named Tommy Lynn; Charles Hutchinson directed.'13 According to Jack Schratter, production was completed and got a preview screening before the lab burned down in 1938, destroying all the film’s negatives. In i939> Schratter wrote a screenplay, but the film never seems to have taken form. He appeared depressed at times, according to his son Jack, when relating his experiences of the Constantinople product ion and of his time as producer in Germany. David Schratter passed away on 13 March 1958 in Los Angeles.

26

Notes 1 A survey of relevant scholarship is provided in Chapter 1 which is based on Vonderau s earlier book, Bilder vom Nordetv. Schwedisch-deutsche Filmbeziehungen, 1914-1939 (Marburg: Schiiren, 2007). 2 This era of Swedish cinema has been analysed by Florin in Den nationella stilen, Studier i den svcnska filmens gulddldcr (Stockholm: Aura, 1997). 3 Janet Staiger, “Authorship approaches”, In: Authorship and Film, eds. David A. Gerstner and Janet Staiger (New York: Routledge, 2003), 27-60; Robert L. Carringer, “Collaboration and Concepts on Authorship”, In: PMLA 116,2, 2001,370-379. 4 Robert L. Carringer, The Scripts of Citizen Kane, Critical Inquiry 5,2, 1978, 369-400. See also Carringer, The Making of Citizen Kane (Berkeley: Univer­ sity of California Press, 1985). 5 Carringer 2001,378. 6 Vicki Mayer, “Bringing the Social Back In: Studies of Production Cultures and Social Theory”, Production Studies: Cultural Studies of Media Industries, eds. Miranda Banks, John Thornton Caldwell, and Vicki Mayer (New York: Routledge, 2009), 15-24. See also Production Studies, The Sequel! Cultural Studies of Global Media Industries, eds. Miranda Banks, Bridget Conor, and Vicki Mayer (New York: Routledge, 2015) and Behind the Screen: Inside Euro­ pean Production Cultures, eds. Petr Szczepanik and Patrick Vonderau (New York: Palgrave, 2013). 7 See, for instance, Petr Szczepanik, Tovdrna Barrandov: Svetfilmaru a politickd moc, 1945-1970 [The Barrandov Film Factory: The World of Filmmakers and Political Power, 1945-1970] (Prague: NFA, 2016); Erin Hill, Never Done: A History of Womens Work in Media Production (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. 2016); and Miranda Banks, The Writers: A History ofAmer­ ican Screenwriters and their Guild (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2016). 8 Peter C. Kunze, “Herding Cats; or, The Possibilities of Unproduction Studies”, The Velvet Light Trap 80, Fall 2017, 18-31. 9 Daniel Ferrer and Michael Groden, “Introduction”, in Genetic Criticism: Texts and Avant-Tcxts, eds. Jan Deppman, Daniel Ferrer, and Michael Gro­ den (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004), 6. 27

10 Ian W. MacDonald, Screenwriting Poetics and the Screen Idea (New York: Palgrave, 2013). 11 See, among others, Janet Staiger, “Dividing Labor for Production Control: Thomas Ince and the Rise of the Studio System”, Cinema Journal iS,2,16-25; Leo G. Handel, Hollywood Looks At Its Audience (Urbana: University of Illi­ nois Press, 1950); and Susan G. Ohmer, George Gallup in Hollywood (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006). 12 A recent sociological account of the development process has been provided by Sara Malou Strandvad, “Analyzing Production from a Socio-material Per­ spective”, in Behind the Screen: Inside European Production Cultures, eds. Petr Szczepanik and Patrick Vonderau (New York: Palgrave, 2013), 34-56. 13 Dan North, “Introduction”, in Sights Unseen: Unfinished British Films, ed. Dan North (Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2008), 6. 14 Ferrer and Groden 2004, 2. Cf. Steven Price, “Screenwriting Conference, Brussels, September 2011, Conference Keynote”, Journal of Screenwriting 4.1. 2013,93. 15 Marc Vernet, Ainsi naquit Hollywood: Avant /’ age dor, les ambitions de la Triangle et des premiers studios. Paris: Armand Colin, 2018. 16 Most recently, the production history of the Constantinople project has been retold in the novel Blekingegatan 32 by Lena Einhorn (Stockholm: Norsledts, 2013), for instance. See Chapter 2 for a full discussion. 17 Sybille Kramer, “Was also ist eine Spur? Und worin besteht ihre epistemologische Rolle? Eine Bestandsaufnahme”, in Spurenlesen als Orientierungstechnik und Wissenskunst, eds. Sybille Kramer, Werner Kogge, and Gernol Grubc (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 2007), 11-36. 18 Mayer 2009,15. 19 Janet Staiger, “Dividing Labor for Production Control: Thomas Ince and the Rise of the Studio System”, Cinema Journal 18,2, 16-25; Kristin Thompson, “Early Alternatives to the Hollywood Mode of Production”, in rfhe Silent Cinema Reader, eds. Lee Grieveson and Peter Kramer (London: Routledge, 2004), 349-367; Juliane Scholz, Der Drehbuchautor. USA-Dcutschland. Ein historischer Vergleich (Bielefeld: Transcript, 2016). 20 Francois Jost, “Die Programmierung des Zuschauers”, Kintop. Jahrbuch zur Erforschungdesfriihen Films 11 (special issue Kinemalographen-Programme), 2002, 35-48. 21 This is now considered the cinema convention of screenplays. It is worth not­ ing that runtimes varied, however. Around the mid-1920s, reels in German cinemas would contain between 300 and 500 metres of film, as projection 28

technique had been improved to operate with larger reels. Projection speed varied and could be as fast as 26 fps. Thanks to Ralf Forster and Jeanpaul Goergen for pointing this out to 11s. 22 Jahrbuch der Filminduslrie 1923. 1. Jahrgcmg 1922/1923 (Berlin: Verlag der Lichtbild-Buhne, 1923), 51-54. 23 This was the case in Germany, according to Thompson 2004, 355. 24 MacDonald 2013, 167-169. 25 David Bordwell, Narration in the Fiction Film (Madison: University of Wis­ consin Press, 1985), 156-204. 26 Noel Burch, To the Distant Observer: Form and Meaning in Japanese Cinema (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1979), 19. 27 Rick Altman, “Dickens, Griffith, and Film Theory Today”, Classical Flollywood Narrative. The Paradigm Wars, ed. Jane Gaines (Durham/London: Duke Uni­ versity Press, 1992), 16. 28 In what follows, we rely on Claus Tiebers Stumnifilmdramaturgie. Erzdhlweisen des amerikanischen Feature Films (Munster: Lit Verlag, 2011). Tieber describes the melodramatic imagination at the heart of “classical” Hollywood, however, contesting David Bordwells and others’ history of “the system”. 29 Adrian Martin, “Where Do Cinematic Ideas Come from?” Journal of Screen­ writing 5,1,11.

30 Ben Singer, Melodrama and Modernity: Early Sensational Cinema and Its Contexts (New York: Columbia University Press, 2001), 134. 31 Rick Altman, A Theory of Narrative (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008).

32 An alternative theory could be that Stiller and Hylten-Cavallius, when writing the script, strategized to leave the potential star status of Garbo and Han­ son open until shooting was finished, either in order to use the film as evi­ dence in their discussion with the producer to showcase their presence, or because they were not sure that both actors would deliver. There is, however, no empirical evidence to back up this theory. 33 Anon., “Germans Sign British Actor”, Vie Film Daily, 27 May 1924. 1934 See Chapter 1 for the details. Note the difference between Swedish Krona and U.S. dollars, with the dollar being the higher currency, and the fact that Veidt received his salary for a much shorter period. As compared to the gold standard, Garbos monthly salary of 5,000 SEK amounted to about one third (36%) of the 3,600 USD Veidt received for merely one month of shooting with her in the studio. Hereby we correct a previous, incorrect statement about these salaries (Vonderau 2007, 285-286).

29

35 His professional biography up to and during the production of A Tale from Constantinople will be related in Chapter 1. 36 Export Trade Directory>, 1922, no pagination; The Advocate. Americas Jewish Journal, May 1918. 37 Such as, for instance, in the 16th Census of the U.S., 1940 (data from 1939)38 Anon., “Garbo Skeleton”, Variety, 5 June 1935. 39 The later sum was reported as amounting to USD 10,500. Anon., “Suit Against Garbo”, Beckley Post-Herald, 8 May 1937. 40 Anon., “‘What Great Magic Surrounds this Woman?’ Lawyer Asks as Greta Garbo Wins Continuance in L.A. Suit”, Nevada State Journal, 3 May 193741 Anon., “Garbo Denies Taking Loan”, San Bernardino Sun> vol. 43, 30 April 193742 Anon., “Suit Against Greta Garbo Dismissed”, The Straits Times, 4 July 193743 Anon., “New 4-Year-Old Child Star”, The Film Daily, 20 May 1938; Anon., “Off Coast Wires”, The Film Daily, 15 December 193S.

30

The Politics of Film Financing Trianon Film AG, 1923-1925 Patrick Vonderau

A.: Can you tell me what a film is? B.: Certainly, my good man. A film is speculation in the human cerebral vacuum. A.: (looks up) Hmm... And who’s the actual creator? B.: Look, the entrepreneur finds what could be called “gold-bear­ ing” ground. He drills into this ground. The required reservoir is then reached at a certain depth. If it doesn’t yield enough, he drills deeper. A.: What happens then? B.: Then the entrepreneur goes to a bar, or he makes an expedition to a series of bars. And falls in love with a young woman. A.: And? B.: That’s the leading lady. A.: (exhales smoke) And then what happens? B.: He rents what’s known as the director. The director rents the leading man. The leading man rents nice apartments, cars, dogs. A.: Ah, then money gets spread around! B.: No, debt gets spread around! early in January 1925 an anonymous article appeared in LichtbildBiihnet a major German trade journal, later revealed as having been written by Karl WolfFsohn, its publisher. The article’s title, “Wetterleuchten” (heat lightning), foretold disaster, and WolfFsohn claimed

31

to observe “trouble brewing” in the German film industry.1 In his opinion, an abundance of shady “adventurers” were responsible for it gradually losing its foundation, which in concrete terms meant the trust of financers, who supplied desperately needed loans. The reason for these fears, which became obvious shortly after, was Tri­ anon Film AG, a company that apparently had just appeared from nowhere. Trianon attracted a great deal of attention because of spectacular big-budget productions in Egypt and Turkey, and also because of the hiring of international stars, among them Mauritz Stiller and starlet Greta Garbo. After a brief boom lasting fewer than two years, the company was caught up in a maelstrom of legal inves­ tigations involving a misappropriation of government funds. The “Mauritz Stiller affair” made newspaper headlines thanks to a trial in July 1925, and Garbos career in Germany came to an early end. At first glance it indeed appears as if Trianon was a classic example of a film production company for that “time when washed-up coat manufacturers founded production companies and made movies of the lowest quality imaginable, with their models as stars and import­ ant employees as company presidents.”2 Historical accounts, which deal with the company’s story primarily because of Greta Garbo and Mauritz Stiller, have supported the contemporary view that in 1924 the German film industry was a playground for “adventurers and soldiers of fortune” and that most film dealers were “racketeers.”3 In particular, the Swedish film historian Gosta Werner has widely popularised this view, in which the actions of Trianon’s directors were intentionally speculative if not directly fraudulent. They misled Stiller and his coworkers regarding the company’s financial strength, exploited them, and then fled the country; Stiller and Garbo thus appear as victims of a specifically German style of production. Nei­ ther Wolffsohn’s contemporary description nor the historical view of Gosta Werner clearly outline the grounds on which their judg­ ments are based, however. This chapter corrects this view based on my discovery of a unique collection of archival files that never have 32

been thoroughly analysed and contextualised before, which contain sufficient material to flesh out the details of events that were sim­ plified in past histories.'1 The aim of this chapter is to provide a historical context for understanding the relevance of the Constantinople project, and principaly, to trace the financing of this production and its under­ lying, rather complex and twisted politics of production. Relating this never made film to a particularly German mode of production and its associated practices allows us to better understand what was unique and what was rather symptomatic of German production policies at the time, if not German society at large. Trianon’s business strategies also clearly relate to what is known as the “Film Europe” movement of the early 1920s, a pan-European attempt within the film industry to counter the advances of Hollywood.5

1 From Warehouse to Production Company David Scln alter and Trianon Film A G On 2S August, 1923, in the offices of Continentale Handels Aktiengesellschaft, Dessauer Strasse 2, an import-export company in Ber­ lin, the company agreement for Trianon Film Aktiengesellschaft was drawn up. The company’s purpose was the “production, sales and rental of films, and theatrical exhibition.”6 The capital stock amounted to 500 million Papiermark (marks after the gold stan­ dard was abandoned in 1914) of 50 shares worth 10 million marks each. Later the company’s basic assets were converted into 5,000 gold-based marks. Five partners contributed to this sum in equal portions—the director Paul Ludwig Stein and four employees of Continentale—who were obviously functioning as straw men. Notarisation was arranged by David Schratter, who soon after that assumed all managerial tasks and structured the company according to his own ideas about the film trade. When the company was founded, the 31-year-old entrepreneur 33

to observe “trouble brewing” in the German film industry.1 In his opinion, an abundance of shady “adventurers” were responsible for it gradually losing its foundation, which in concrete terms meant the trust of financers, who supplied desperately needed loans. The reason for these fears, which became obvious shortly after, was Tri­ anon Film AG, a company that apparently had just appeared from nowhere. Trianon attracted a great deal of attention because of spectacular big-budget productions in Egypt and Turkey, and also because of the hiring of international stars, among them Mauritz Stiller and starlet Greta Garbo. After a brief boom lasting fewer than two years, the company was caught up in a maelstrom of legal inves­ tigations involving a misappropriation of government funds. The “Mauritz Stiller affair” made newspaper headlines thanks to a trial in July 1925, and Garbos career in Germany came to an early end. At first glance it indeed appears as if Trianon was a classic example of a film production company for that “time when washed-up coat manufacturers founded production companies and made movies of the lowest quality imaginable, with their models as stars and import­ ant employees as company presidents.”2 Historical accounts, which deal with the company’s story primarily because of Greta Garbo and Mauritz Stiller, have supported the contemporary view that in 1924 the German film industry was a playground for “adventurers and soldiers of fortune” and that most film dealers were “racketeers.”3 In particular, the Swedish film historian Gosta Werner has widely popularised this view, in which the actions of Trianon’s directors were intentionally speculative if not directly fraudulent. They misled Stiller and his coworkers regarding the company’s financial strength, exploited them, and then fled the country; Stiller and Garbo thus appear as victims of a specifically German style of production. Nei­ ther Wolffsohn’s contemporary description nor the historical view of Gosta Werner clearly outline the grounds on which their judg­ ments are based, however. This chapter corrects this view based on my discovery of a unique collection of archival files that never have 32

been thoroughly analysed and contextualised before, which contain sufficient material to flesh out the details of events that were sim­ plified in past histories.4 The aim of this chapter is to provide a historical context for understanding the relevance of the Constantinople project, and principaly, to trace the financing of this production and its under­ lying, rather complex and twisted politics of production. Relating this never made film to a particularly German mode of production and its associated practices allows us to better understand what was unique and what was rather symptomatic of German production policies at the time, if not German society at large. Trianon’s business strategies also clearly relate to what is known as the “Film Europe” movement of the early 1920s, a pan-European attempt within the film industry to counter the advances of Hollywood.5

1 From Warehouse to Production Company David Sc!nailer and Trianon Film AG On 28 August, 1923, in the offices ofContinentale Handels Aktiengesellschaft, Dessauer Strasse 2, an import-export company in Ber­ lin, the company agreement for Trianon Film Aktiengesellschaft was drawn up. The company’s purpose was the “production, sales and rental of films, and theatrical exhibition.”6 The capital stock amounted to 500 million Papiermark (marks after the gold stan­ dard was abandoned in 1914) of 50 shares worth 10 million marks each. Later the company’s basic assets were converted into 5,000 gold-based marks. Five partners contributed to this sum in equal portions—the director Paul Ludwig Stein and four employees of Continentale—who were obviously functioning as straw men. Notarisation was arranged by David Schratter, who soon after that assumed all managerial tasks and structured the company according to his own ideas about the film trade. When the company was founded, the 31-year-old entrepreneur 33

Schratter had virtually no experience in the film industry, but his past seems to have qualified him for doing business on the inter­ national market.7 Born in 1893, he was the oldest of eight children while growing up in Czernowitz (now Chernivtsi, Ukraine). At school he studied German, English and French and worked in his fathers clothing store for a year. After that he was gripped, as he later described it, by a “desire to travel.” Armed with a few English pounds given to him by an aunt, Schratter went to Cairo first, where he ran a shop selling Swiss lace for a brief time. He then worked as a commercial agent for a certain A. Gerngross of Vienna in Singa­ pore and founded an import-export company in Shanghai. Shortly after the First World War began, Schratter travelled to New York and applied for US citizenship, which was presumably granted in 1915. He built up a US-Chinese import company, through which he earned enough reserves to finance his entry into the German business world.8 Schratters switch to the German film trade was less the result of long-term planning than an opportunity he successfully took advantage of. In 1921 Schratter moved to Berlin and concluded a contract with Continentale Handels AG involving exports to the United States. This business went so well at first—due to inflation in particular—that he was able to buy the company in 1922. When the Ruhr Valley Region was occupied in January 1923 trade came to a halt, and as a result Schratter put the business on the backburner and started looking for new sources of income. That spring he met the men behind the Trianon-Film-Compagnie, who were in the pro­ cess of shooting Zwei Menschen (1923, Hanns Schwarz) in Bavaria and Tyrol and experiencing financial difficulties.9 Schratter became the financer of the film, which was “barely half-finished”, and took over Trianon itself that summer.10 In order to escape any subsequent financial claims on the company’s previous owners, he founded the Trianon-Film-Aktiengesellschaft in August 1923.11 The necessary capital came from his reserves in dollars earned in the United States 34

i

i u

A H

H

US £1 ! 4ss K ;

*a. «7 f ■ju/w.

'-s:.v; '

Dcuiftljcn Rtitljo i

(’(itiina )(t.

■ *

'Psfirl'crt la i;;r. c.i

ii *.‘U.

^Berlin, $toui>t*ScIc London: British Film Institute, 19S5, 111-1 iS. 6 LArch 9087, Berlin-Mitte municipal court, miscellaneous files relating to Trianon-Film-Aktiengesellschaft of Berlin. 7 This biographical account is based mainly on the statements Schratter made

101

at the 1925 trial which were then verified by the court. LArch 284, lb, Chief district attorney at Berlin municipal court; Schratters interrogation by Dis­ trict Attorney Dr. Duden, February 27,1925; and Complaint brought by Dr. Duden, April 9, 1925. 8 Ibid., Interrogation transcript, February 1925. 9 The Reichs-Kino-Advefibuch (1921 /22) lists josefLanger as the managing director. Schralter mentioned Mr. Freudenberg repeatedly. 10 LArch 9087, Board of directors business report on Trianon Film AGs first year in business, July 14, 1924. 11 LArch 284, lb, Transcript of interrogation by Dr. Duden, March 3, 192512 See David Bordwell, Janet Staiger and Kristin Thompson, The Classical Hol­ lywood Cinema. Film Style Mode of Production to i960, London: Routledge 1985, 143ft'. 13 LArch 284, lb, Complaint, April 1925. 14 LArch 284,1a, Otto Busch, transcript of statement, January 14, i92515 LArch 9087; for information on the change in management, see the com­ pany’s financial statements for 1924, which includes minutes of supervisory board meetings. 16 LArch 284, lb; Schralter repeatedly described himself, and was termed by numerous others, as the “soul” and “engine” of the deal. 17 Lichthild-Biiline, “Die Ausfuhrstatistik”, 16, April 21,1923; Lichtbild-Biilme, “Unser Auftenhandel im letzten Quartal”, 38, September 22, 1923. 18 LArch 9087, Business report, July 1924. A total of 160,000 Reichsmark was listed for Zwei Menschen, 140,000 for Nation, 200,000 for Stcucrlos, and Si,217.95 for Ein Traum vom Gluck, which was still in production at the time. 19 LArch 284, lb, Attorney Halperts statement, June 25, 1925. 20 LArch 284, lb, Transcript of Schratters interrogation, March 3, 192.51 and Schratter, undated letter to Wohnstatten’s board of directors. 21 Bordwell, Staiger and Thompson, 92ft'. 22 Jurgen Spiker, Film und Kapital. Der Wegder deutschen Filmwirdschaft zum nationalsozialistischen Einheitskonzern. Berlin: Spiess 1975, 39. 23 Olimsky, 29. 24 Bordwell, Staiger and Thompson, 313ft. 25 LArch 284, lb, E. Noetzel, expert opinion, February 9, 1925. 26 Edwin H. Weinwurm, DerFilmverleih in Deutschland. Inagural-Dissertation zur Erlangung der Doktorwiirde an der Philosophischen Fakultdt der Fricdrich-Wilhelms-Universitat zu Berlin. Berlin: Typoskript, 68f.

102

27 28 29 30 31

Spiker, 37. Spiker, 37 and Thompson, 106-111. Weinwurm, 72. LArch 284, ib, Schralter’s interrogation, March 1925. LArch 284, ia, Transcript ofSchratter’s interrogation by police, January 16, 1925; and Transcript of Busch’s interrogation at police headquarters, January 1S, 1925; and LArch 2S4, ib, Noetzel, February 1925. 32 Ibid., Busch’s interrogation, January 1925. 33 Jalirbucli der Filmindustric 1923/1925, 21-23 34 “Film production in 1924 was characterised by the watchword ‘American competition.’ The Americans had a great deal of success in our country.” Willy Haas, “Das letzte Filmjahr”, Das grofie Bilderbuch des Films, n.d. [1925]. supplement in Film-Kurier 6; see Saunders 1994, 117-144; and Garncarz 1993. 35 LArch 2S4, ib, Halpert’s statement, June 1925. 36 See Bordwell, Staiger and Thompson. 37 Weimvurm, 66f. 38 Karl Zimmerschied, Die deulsche Filmindustric. Ihre Entwicklung, Organ­ isation and Stcllung im deutschcn Staats- and Wirtschaftsleben. Stuttgart: Poeschel 1922, 50-72. 39 Weinwurm, 66JT. 40 LArch 284, ib, Complaint April 1925; and ibid., Noetzel, February 1925. The building was used as a studio before 1924, and Karl-Wilhelm-Film and Hallen am Zoo GmbH were listed as the owners at various times. 41 LArch 284, ia, Transcript of Hans Otto’s interrogation. 42 LArch 9087, Trianon’s financial statement for 1924; and LArch 284, ib, Complaint, April 1925. 43 SF 24, MS, David Schratter, letter to Mauritz Stiller. 44 Lichtbild-Biihne, “Trianon-Filme”, 41, April 12,1924* 45 LArch 284, ib, Noetzel, February 1925. 46 The studio was always booked during the trial. 47 LArch 284, ib, Complaint, April 1925. 48 LArch 284, ib, Noetzel, February 1925. 49 L. A. Hermann, “ ‘Gosta Berling’ firar triumf i Berlin”, Biograf-Bladet 17, September 1, 1924. 50 DK 2356 and 10548. 51 Lichtbild-Biihne, “Trianon-Filme”, 41, April 12, 1924. The “list of Trianon Film A.G.s employees” in LArch 284, ia, included two cleaners, four chauf-

103

52 53

54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61

feurs, three messengers, technical crew members (including one projection­ ist), etc. LArch 284,1a, Schratlers interrogation, January 1925. Alfred Kallmann, DieKonzernierungder Filmindustrie erldutert an den Filmindustrien Deutschlasnds und Amerikas, Diss. Universitat Jena. Wurzburg: Konrad Trilsch 1932, i4f. LArch 284, 1a, Bretschneiders statement, January 8, 1925. LArch 284, lb, Complaint, April 1925. Spiker, 40. LArch 2S4, lb, Schratter, letter to chairman of Wohnstatten’s supervisory board. Weimvurm, 20. LArch 2S4,1a, Busch’s interrogation, January 1925. Kino-Adressbuch 1924-25; no page numbers in original. Film-Kuriery “Die Verleihorganisation der Trianon-Film A.G. in England , 237, October 7,1924; and Der Film, “Die Trianon in England”, 42, October

19,192462 Lichtbild-Biilme, untitled notice, 1, January 3, 1925; and LArch 284, ia, Schratter, letter to Wohnstatten GmbH, December 29, 1924. 63 Film-Kuriery “Eine deutsch-amerikanische Interessen-Gemeinschaft”, 170, July 21,1924; and Liclitbild-Biihnet “Eine amerikanisch-deutsche Alliance” July 19,1924. A few farcical situations arose with the director, Bud Pollard, in this connection, though discovering more information about this pro­ duction was not possible. In winter 1924/25 Schratter concluded a deal with the French company Aubert that involved the Pollard films; see LArch 2S4, 1a, Schratter, December 1924. 64 Lichtbild-Buhney “Europaische Monroe-Doktrin”, 23, March 1, 1924; and Film-Kuriery “Die europaische Monroe-Doktrin”, 107, May 6, 1924. 65 Erich Pommer, “Film, Filmgeschaft und Weltmarkt”, Der Film 9/10, May 23, 1923; see Thompson 1985, 113-114. 66 For example, see Felix Henseleit, “Film und National-Charakter”, Reichsfilmblatt 5 (February 2, 1924); Georg Otto Stindt, “1st der Film national oder international?” Der Film 10, March 9, 1924; Viktor Mendel, “Praktischer Pazifismus. Die volkerversohnende Mission des Films”, Kinematographische Monatshefte 3/4, March/April 1924; Willy Haas, “Zur Frage des nationalen Films”, Film-Kurier 103, May 1,1924; and Aros [Artur Rosenthal], “Gegenseitigkeit. Bemerkungen zum Problem der Filminternationalitat”, DerKincmatograph 901 (May 25, 1924).

104

67 Olimsky, 29. 68 LArch 284, in, Schraiter, December 1924. 69 LArch 284, in, List of Trianon Film AGs employees. For more information on Lyssa, see LArch 284, 1a, Note by police, January 26,1925. 70 See Wolfgang Jacobsen, Erich Pommer. Ein Produzent macht Filmgeschichte. Berlin: Argon 1989. 71 Die FilniwodiCy “Die Stimme des Herzens”, 46,1924. See the censors approval certificate, no. 22286, April 25, 1929. For more information about the fall from a skyscraper motif, see Sebastian Hafl'ner: “Kintoppromantik”, Koralle, January 17,1937. 72 LArch 284,1b, Noetzel, February 1925. 73 LArch 284,1a, Schraiter, December 1924. 74 Ibid. For more information on collateral for loans, see the discussion in Film-Kurier dealing with films eligibility as securities, -cl. [Carl Linner], “Der Wohnstatlen-Trianon-Prozeft. Gedanken zur Prozesslage”, Film-Kurier 154. July 3,1925. 75 Cesar M. Arconada, Lcben der Greta Garbo (Giefien: Kindt & Bucher, 1930), 82.

76 Der Film, “Victor Sjostroms Amerikareise”, 5, February 4, 1923; for more information, see Florin 2000. 77 Andrew I ligson and Richard Maltby eds, “Film Europe"and “Film America". Cinema, Commerce and Cultural Exchange 1920-1939. Exeter: University of Exeter Press 1999. 4. 78 See Thompson, 128. See also Bertil Wredlund and Rolf Lindfors, Ldngfilm i Sverige 1920-1929. Stockholm: Proprius 1987, 322. 79 Leif Furhammar, Fihnen i Sverige. En historia i tio kapitel. Hoganas: Forlag AB Wiken 1991,92; Mats Bjorkin, Amerikanism, Bolsjevism och korta kjolar. Fihnen och dess publik i Sverige under 1920-talet. Stockholm: Aura forlag 1998,21-72 80 Filmbladet, “En svensk filmskojare i Berlin”, 10, May 24,1923. 81 H. W. [Hans Wollenberg], “Erotikon”, Lichtbild-Buhne 32, August 6, 1921. Seep.-cs [Paul Ickes], “Erotikon”, Film-Kurier 181, August 5,1921; PL, Ero­ tikon”, Der Film 32, August 7, 1921; Ludwig Brauner, “Erotikon”, Der Kinematograph 756 (August 14, 1921); Erich Effler, “Erotikon”, Der deutsche Film in Wort und Bild 33 (August 19,1921); G., “Erotikon”, Deutsche Lichtspielzeitung 2, January 14, 1922. 82 Willy Haas, “Auslandische und deutsche Spieltechnik. Dramaturgische Beobachtungen”, Film-Kurier 19, January 22,1924.

105

53 Filmjournalen,“Tyska rosierom Stiller”, 19, November iS, 1928;F. E.,“Max Reinhardt om filmen nu och i framliden”, Filmjournalen 1, 1921. Lichtbild-Bulme, untitled notice, 3, January 15,1921; and Ihering 195S, 467. 54 Gosta Werner, Mauritz Stiller. Ell livsode, Stockholm: Prisma 1991, 15 585 J-s. [Paul lekes] “Mauritz Stiller in Berlin. Eine Unterredung mit dem Erot ikon-Reg isseur”, Filnt-Kurier 277, November 28,1921. S6 BiograJ'-Bladet, “Mauritz Stiller i Berlin?” 6, March 15, 1922; Filmnyheter, “MauritzStillers tyska filmplaner”, 12, March 20,1922; Filmbladet, “Mauritz Stiller flyttar till Berlin i host?” 11, March 18,1922; DerFilnu “Mauritz Stiller kommt nach Berlin?” 13, March 26,1922; and Filmnyheter, “Tyskarna vilja ta ifran oss Mauritz Stiller”, 1, January 1, 1922. 87 Werner. 88 Filmnyheter, “Tyskarna vilja ta ifran oss Mauritz Stiller”, 1, January 1, 1922. 89 Stillers reports on the German film market possibly provided the inspiration for Karusellen. 90 See the report F. W. Koebner, “Beim schwedischen ‘Kathchen,’ ”5. Bciblatt des Film-Kurier 17S, July 30, 1927. Additional evidence for Johnsons suc­ cess was the interest demonstrated by popular periodicals. Henry Ernest, “Schwedische Filmkiinstler”, Neue Illustrierte Filmwoche 2, 1923; and S. F., “Schwedische Filmarbeit”, Neue Illustrierte Filmwoche 5, 1923. In the latter she and Einar Hanson were presented as a dream couple. 91 Meinhart Maur, “Ein Abend bei Mary Johnson. Elsalill in Berlin”, Der Film 23, June S, 1924. 92 Lichtbild-Biilme 35, March 29,1924, advertisement. 93 Willy Haas, “Zu Nutz und Frommen unserer Branche. Was Mary Johnson und Hanns Schwarz von der Svenska und von Stiller erzahlen”, Film-Kurier 108, May 7,1924. 94 L. A. Hermann, “De tyska filmuthyrarnasgeneralforsamling” Biograf-Bladct 10, May 15,1924. 95 LArch 284,1 b, David Schratter, letter from London, May 18,1924. Cf. ibid., Schratters last letter from London, May 5,1924, in it he wrote that “Mary Johnson must be held back at all costs”. 96 Film-Kurier, “Geschaftliches”, 272, November 17, 1924. 97 SF, 24, MS, Schratter, letter to Stiller, March 20, 1924. 98 The net box-ofiice figures in Sweden totaled 391,296 crowns, and the pro­ duction costs amounted to 555,219 crowns. SF, GW, “Regissor Mauritz Stiller Provisionsnota for Gosta Berlings Saga per 30.6.1926” Cf. Werner 1991, 176, for more information on why Lagerlof was unhappy.

106

99 SF, 24, MS, Vladimir Semitjov, letter to MauritzStiller, March 27,1924; letter on Stillers stationery. This letter, signed by Semitjov, transferred all world rights for film adaptations to the director for 100 crowns. L. E. Hermann, “Stabiliserad filmkris”, Biograf-Blaciet 4, February 15,1924. 101 See the advertisements in Reichsfilmblait (December 29, 1923); and FilmKuricr 8, January 9, 1924. 102 Film-Kuricr, “Mary Johnson komml nach Deutschland” 90, April 14,1924. 103 Filnmyhcler, “Gosta Berling borjar sitt segertag ute i varlden”, 17, April 22, 1924. 104 SF, GW, Provisionsnota, 1926. 105 Inlormation about the expenses vary to the same extent as those concern­ ing income: 100,000 to 130,000 Reichsmark were invested, and 600,000 to Soo,ooo were taken in. LArch 284, lb, David Schratter, undated letter to Wohnstatten; and Halperts statement, June 1925. 106 SF, GW, Provisionsnota, 1926. 107 SF, 24, Trianon-Film, letter to Mauritz Stiller, Berlin, April 10, 1924, type­ written manuscript, unsigned. 108 2. Bcibhitt zuni Filni-Kurier, “Die Stimme des Herzens”, 235, October 4, 1924; Dcr Kincmatograph, “Die Stimme des Herzens”, 924 (1924)'* M-s., “Die Stimme des Herzens”, Film-Kuher 258, October 31, 1924- The first press screening took place on October 30, 1924, at Hotel Esplanades Marmorsaal. Possibly because of the films length, which included nine acts, it was only moderately successful. The film has not survived, but the censors approval certificate clearly describes a motif inspired by Swedish films in the first intertitle: “1 Where the wildly foaming waves of the surging sea sing their eternal song at rugged shores... / 2 .. .Where the rustling treetops of an ancient, vast wilderness join the thunderous melody... / 3 .. .Our story begins.” No. 22286, Film-Prufstelle Berlin, April 25, 1929. 109 LArch 284, lb, David Schratter, letter to Otto Busch from Vienna, April 20, 1924. 110 LArch 284, lb, David Schratter, letter to Otto Busch from Savoy Hotel, London, May 5, 1924. 111 Ibid.; and LArch 284, lb, Halpert’s statement, June 1925. 112 See the overview of approved German fiction features in Wredlund and Lindfors 1987. 113 LArch 284, lb, Halperts statement, June 1925. 114 SF, 24, MS, Schratter, September 1924. Werner (1991) provides an incom­ plete description of the contract, failing to mention Stillers breach.

100

107

115 LArch 284, ib, Halpertsstatement, June 1925. 116 From April 25 to May 30 the total moneys amounted to 1,916,296 marks; this is the largest sum paid out during the entire period. LArch 284. ib, Complaint, April 1925. 117 [Carl Linner], “Der Wohnstatlen-Trianon-ProzeB”, Film-Kurier 140, June 17,1924. 11S LArch 284, ib, Halperts statement, June 1925. 119 LArch 284, 1a, Transcript of Ottos interrogation; and Complaint, April 1925. 120 SF, 24, MS,Trianon-Film, letter to Mauritz Stiller, Berlin, July 2,1924, signed by Weinberg, a secretary. 121 Ibid., signed by Schratter. 122 LArch 284, ib, Complaint, April 1925. 123 SF, 24, MS, Schratter, letter to Stiller, July 12, 1924. 124 Lichtbild-Biilme, “Mauritz Stiller bei der Trianon”, 92, July 19, 1924125 Film-Kurier, July 23,1923, advertisement. 126 Film-Kurier 169, July 19, 1924, advertisement. 127 Reichsfilmblatt 32 (August 9, 1924), advertisement; see also the full-page announcement in Lichtbild-Biilme 95, August 16, 1924. 128 Lichtbild-Biilme 95, August 16,1924, advertisement; and Reichsfilmblatt 32 (August 9,1924). 129 SF, 24, MS, Trianon-Film, letter to Mauritz Stiller, Berlin, August 4, i924> signed by Weinberg. The first premiere that was open to the public look place on August 20,1924. 130 Film-Kurier 206, September 1, 1924, advertisement. 131 R. H-C. [Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius], “Einige Worte zu Gosta Berling”, Die Filmwoche 15,1924; and Die Filmwoche, “Gosta Berling”, 34,1924. 132 SF, 24, MS, Trianon-Film, August 1924; and ibid., Schratter, letter to Stiller, August 5,1924. 133 Biograf-Bladet, “Tysk reklam med bakslag”, 16, August 15,1924. notice. 134 Fillem, “Selma Lagerlof in Berlin. Gosta Berlings Mutter zum GruG”, FilmB.Z. Beilage der B.Z. am Miltag 225, August 17, 1924. 135 Arthur Rosenthal (Aros), Greta Garbo, Ihr Weg von Stockholm bis Holly­ wood, Berlin: Verlag Scherl 1932, no page numbers in original 136 Fritz Scharf, “Filmpremieren und Kritiker”, Der Lichtbildtheater-Besitzer 47, December 9, 1922. Scharf also provided some interesting information about what the companies expected of the critics. 137 SF, 24, MS, Schratter, August 1924.

108

138 Richard Kuhn, Greta Garbo. Dcr Weg enter Frau unci Kiinstlcrin. Dresden: Carl Reissner 1935, 95. !39 Tli., “Gosta Berling”, Der Film 34, August 24, 1924. 140 Willy Haas, “Gosta Berling”, Film-Kurier 196, August 20, 1924. For more information on Hans Brodnitz, see Hans Brodnitz, Kino intim. Fine vergessene Biographic. Teetz/Berlin: Hentrich & Hentrich 2005. 141 Lichtbild-Biihne, “Europaische Monroe-Doktrin”, 23, March 1, 1924; Lupu Pick, “Europaisches Filmsyndikat”, Lichtbild-Biihne 74, June 28,1924; Wladimir Wengeroff, “Es darf nicht gezogert werden!” Lichtbild-Biihne 86, July 26, 1924; and Wladimir Wengeroff, “Das Europaische Filmsyndikat”, Der Film 38, September 21, 1924. 142 Willy Haas, “Gosta Berling”, Film-Kurier 196, August 20,1924. 143 SF, GW, Provisionsnota, 1926. 144 SF, 24, MS, Schratler, letter to Stiller, September 10, 24. 145 Prof. Paul Hildebrandt, “Der Gosta-Berling-Film”, Lichtbild-Biihne 97, August 21,1924. 146 Frank Aschau, “Gosta Berling”, Die Weltbiihne 38, September 18,1924147 Fred Hildenbrandt, “Gosta Berling in Berlin”, Berliner Tageblatt 395, August 20, 1924.

148 149 150 151

Willy Haas, “Gosta Berling”, Film-Kurier 196, August 20,1924. Der Kinematograph, “Gosta Berling” 914 (August 24,1924). Roland Schacht, “Gosta Berling”, B.Z. am Mittag 227, August 17, 1924. Kurt Pinthus, “ ‘Gosta Berling als Film”, S-Uhr-Abendblatt 195, August 19, 1924. See also Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, “Gosta Berling”, 394, August 19, 1924. 152 Der Kinematograph, “Gosta Berling” 914 (August 24,1924). 153 Fred Hildenbrandt, “Gosta Berling in Berlin”, Berliner Tageblatt 395, August 20, 1924. The author of this article referred to one of the films key scenes, in which Berling and Dohna ride a sled over a frozen lake. 154 Rudolf Arnheim, Kritiken und Aufsdtzczum Film, Miinchen: Hanser 1977* 229-230 and 288-289; see also Bela Balazs, Der Film. Werden und Wesen einer neuen Kunst, Wien: Globus Verlag 1980, 263-266; and Siegfried Kracauer, Kino. Essays, Sludien, Glossen zum Film, Frankfurt/Main: Suhrkamp 1974. 155 See the novels of Gustaf Sobin, In Pursuit of a Vanishing Star. New York/ London: W.W. Norton & Company 2003; Guido Bagier, Das tonende Licht. Berlin-Wilmersdorf: August Gross Verlag 1943; Frizt Rosenfeld, Diegoldene Galeere. Ein Roman aus der Filmindustrie. Berlin: E. Laubsche Verlagsbuch-

109

handlung 1930 and Joseph Maria Frank, Der Mann, der Greta Garbo lieblc. Berlin: Universitas / Deutsche Verlags-Aktiengesellschaft 1933. 156 Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius, Folja sin genius. Stockholm: Lars Hokerbergsbokforlag i960, 234. 157 Werner, 19if. 158 -cl., “Der Wohnstatten-Trianon-Prozess”, Fihn-Kurier 154, July 3> i925* 159 LArch 284, lb, Schratter, undated letter. 160 LArch 284, lb, Halperts statement, June 1925. 161 Filnmyheter, “ ‘Gosta Berlings saga gor succes i Berlin”, 26, August 25,1924. 162 SF, GW, “Utlagg av A.-B. Svensk Filmindustris Rasundakontor for Regissor Mauritz Stillcrs Konstantinopelfilm (bilag 6).” 163 See Manfred Behn ed., Schwarzer Trawn and weifie Sklavin: Deutschddnische Filmbezieliungen 1910-1930. Miinchen: edition text+kritik 1994164 For example, see J-s. [Paul Ickes], “Die Landesfluchligen”, Fihn-Kurier 226, October 13, 1922: “A story of our times: Russia is flooded because of the revolution; whoever feels threatened by the revolutionaries must cross the border.” 165 See Willy Haas, “Zu Nutz und Frommen unserer Branche”, Fihn-Kurier 108, May 7,1924. 166 SF, 24, MS, David Schratter, letters to Mauritz Stiller, September 10 and 19, 1924. One of the films that Ernst Stern worked on was the famous big-bud­ get The Loves of Pharaoh (1921, Ernst Lubitsch). 167 SF, 24, MS, “Dear Mr. Stiller”, Schratter wrote on September 19, “on Septem­ ber 10 I sent a letter to you and have to my great surprise failed to receive answer as of today. In it I asked you whether you might be inclined to work with our set designer. We are eager to receive an answer to this extremely important question before you come to Berlin. 168 Filni-Kurier, “Mauritz Stiller fur Deutschland gewonnen”, 216, September 12, 1924. See Lichtbild-Biiline, “Produktion 1924/25”, 104, September 6, 1924. 169 SF, 24, MS. 170 LArch 284, ia, Bretschneider, January 1925. 171 LArch 284, ia, Dr. GlaB, statement, January 8,1925. 172 SF, GW, Mauritz Stiller, letter to Charles Magnusson, New York, August 2, 1925. 173 Bretschneider and GlaB were indignant as a result of this occurrence. The former made an accusation, that Trianon was not authorised to draw up a company agreement on its own; Busch and Rehfisch responded that “this

110

company agreement is not the type commonly known, being limited to the film that Mr. Stiller committed himself months ago to make for Trianon and Trianon alone.” LArch 284, lb, Description from Rehfischs undated account. 174 LArch 284, ia, List of current contracts with actors. 175 LArch 284, ib, Attorney Dr. Halpert, “The Mauritz Stiller Case”, undated account. 176 Ibid., Halpert, “The Mauritz Stiller Case.” 177 LArch 284, ia, Current contracts with actors; and list of employees. 178 SF, 24, MS, Schratter, September 1924. 179 Werner, 187L 180 SF, GW, Utlagg, Filmnyhcter, “ ‘Gosta Berlings saga gor succes i Berlin”, 26, August 25, 1924. 181 Film-Kurier, “Personalnachrichten”, 263, November 6, 1924. 182 LArch 284, ia. Itemised statement of loan, unsigned. 183 LArch 284, ia, Schratter, December 1924. 1S4 Wladimir WengerofF, “Es darf nicht gezogert werden!” Lichtbild-Biihne 86, July 26, 1924. 185 The relevant files fail to indicate equivocally whether this happened at that point in time, but it can be assumed. 186 LArch 284, ib, Court judgment, undated. 187 This provided the basis for the statements in LArch 284, ib, Halpert, “The Mauritz Stiller Case.” 188 LArch 284, ib, David Schratter, letter to Wohnstalten, undated. 189 LArch 284, ib, Halpert, “The Mauritz Stiller Case.” 190 Ibid. 191 Ibid., Schratter, undated. 192 Ibid., Halpert, “The Mauritz Stiller Case.” 193 Filmjournalen, “Full fart pa Konstantinopel”, 40, November 20, 1924; and Filniiiylietery “Mauritz Stiller pa fransysk i Stockholm”, 39, November 24, 1924. 194 LArch 2S4, 1a, Schratter, December 1924. 195 This was claimed in articles by Aros 1932, no page numbers in original; and Kuhn 1935, 100. Cf. Werner 1991; and Hylten-Cavallius i960. 196 Der Film, “Die Trianon und der neue Mauritz-Stiller-Film”, 49, December 7,1924. Cf. Werner 1991, 189; and Hylten-Cavallius i960, 228-229. 197 LArch 284, ib, Complaint, April 1925. 198 LArch 284, ib, Schratter, December 1924. Ill

199 LArch 284, lb, Complaint, April 1925. 200 -cl., “Der Wohnstatten-Trianon-Prozefi. Gedanken zur Prozesslage”, Film-Kuricr 154, July 3,1925. 201 LArch 2S4, ia, Transcript of Hans Rehfisch’ interrogation by Dr. Duden. 202 LArch 284, ia, R. Vallentin, letter to E. Bretschneider, December 27, 1924203 Tliis letter was addressed to whomever was still unaware of the deal with Trianon. Two versions, one seven pages long and the other 15, both undated though presumably written on December 29, can be found in LArch 2S4, ib.

204 LArch 284, 1a, David Schratter, letter to GlaB, Wenzel and Bretschneider, December 29, 1924. 205 LArch 2S4, 1a, Rehfischs interrogation. 206 See Stillers August 2,1925, letter to Charles Magnusson in SF, GW, in which he writes that he was not at all fond of the Germans after this scandal; and the unconcealed dislike expressed in Hylten-Cavallius i960. 207 LArch, ib, Karl Wolflsohn, letter to David Schratter, December 31, 1924208 LArch 284, ib, Court judgment, undated. 209 In fact, since then there has been a nexus between the reservation demon­ strated with regard to film financing and the conservative behavior of financers. In 1918 Lichtbild-Bulme remarked: “There is a close relationship between the conservative character of German industrialists, that they tend to hesitate before financing cinematography, which seems somewhat less than socially acceptable.” Lichtbilci-Biihne, “Die neue Basis”, 16, April 20, 1918. 210 Berliner Morgenpost, “Die Wohnstatten-Kredite fur Trianon-Film”, 10, Jan­ uary 11, 1925.

211 Film-Kuriery “Der Wohnstalten-Trianon-ProzeB”, 139, June 16, 1925. 212 Film-Kuriery “Der Wohnstatten-Trianon-ProzeB”, 147, June 25, 1925. 213 LArch 294, ib, Transcript of Karl Wolffsohns interrogation by Dr. Duden, January 31, 1925. 214 This letter is undated: A second anonymous anti-Semitic letter, dated Jan­ uary 1, 1924, can found in LArch 284, 1a. Furthermore, Hans Otto, who spread the rumor that Schratter had threatened Bretschneider, saying he would reveal everything should the other man fail to pay, proved to be the formers enemy and was compelled to retract this statement in front of the district attorney. The hostility was probably the result of Schratters accusa­ tions relating to Trianon’s uneconomical manner of production. 215 [Karl Wolffsohn], “Wetterleuchten”, Lichtbild-Bulme 1, January 3, 1925.

1 12

216 Aros, “Wie man Gewitter macht”, Der Kinemalograph 935 (January 18, 1925). 217 [Karl Wolflfsohn], “Welterleuchten”, Lichtbild-Biihne 1, January 3, 1925. 218 Lichtbild-Biihne^ “Der Fall Trianon”, 4, January 24, 1925. 219 Most importantly, see Lichtbild-Biihne, “Trianon-Filme”, 41, April 12,1924; and Lichtbild-Biihne, “Produktion 1924/25” 104, September 6, 1924. 220 Artur Siebert, “Der Judas der deutschen Filmindustrie”, Film-Arena 4, n.d., LArch 284, lb. 221 See Olimsky. 222 Siebert. 223 Aros, “Wie man Gewitter macht”, Der Kinemaiograph 935 (January 18, 1925). 224 This was stated by Walter Goldschlag, the head of advertising and dramatic adviser at Trianon, -cl., “Der Wohnstatten-Trianon-ProzeB. Gedanken zur Prozesslage”, Filni-Kuricr 149, June 27, 1925. 225 Film-Kurier, “Der Wohnstalten-Trianon-Prozess”, 142, June 19,1925. 226 Der Film, “Von der Fulag, Herrn Wolflsohn und anderen”, 4,1925; and Karl WollTsohn, “Auch der Fabrikantenverband!” Lichtbild-Biihne 5, January 31, 1925. 227 -cl., “Der Wohnstatten-Trianon-ProzeB. Gedanken zur Prozesslage”, FilmKurier 154. July 3, 1925. 228 Stiller was supposed to take care of this in London. SF, 24, MS, Charles Magnusson, telegram to Stiller, undated. 229 SF, 24, MS, Charles Magnusson, telegram to Stiller, January 9, 1925* 230 Film-Kurier, “Der Wohnstatten-Trianon-ProzeB”, 143, June 20,1925. 231 Film-Kurier, “Der Wohnstatten-Trianon-ProzeB”, 152, July 1, 192.5. 232 LArch 284, lb, Noetzel, February 1925. 233 Aros, “Der DolchstoB”, Der Kinemalograph 937 (February 1,1925)234 Film-Kurier, “Der Wohnstatten-Trianon-ProzeB”, 155, July 4,1925- See SF, GW, Mauritz Stillers insinuations in a letter to Charles Magnusson, August 2, 1925.

235 SF, 24, MS, Vladimir Semitjov, letter to Stiller, September 3, 1924. 236 For this reason the valuations of assets were extremely low. LArch 284, 1a, Attorneys Kempner & Pinner, letter to Wohnstatten, January 17. i925237 Film-Kurier; “Die Gliiubiger-Versammlung der Trianon”, 57, March 8,1926. 238 Pabst 1997; and note from Michael Pabst to the author, May 23, 2004. Cf. Haas i960, 94-99, who told a different version of the story. 239 DK, 2323, “Die freudlose Gasse” [The Joyless Street].

113

240 Siiddeutsche Fihnzeitimg, “Schwedische Schauspieler beim Sofar-Film”, n» March 13, 1925. 241 Kuhn, 103. 242 Werner, 196-199. 243 Siiddeutsche Fihnzeitimg “Rund um den Film”, March 20, 1925. 244 Der Kinematogmph 967 (August 30, 1925), advertisement. 245 LArch 284, lb, Announcement from Berlin-Mitte municipal court, Depart­ ment 213. 246 LArch 284, lb, Chief of Police, note, Department IV, March 29,1926. 247 Jahrbuch der deutschen Fihnindustric 1926/27, 174. 248 Note from Berlins Charlottenburg municipal court to the author, May 18, 2004. 249 Rosenfeld, 23.

114

Murder in the Orient Textual Genesis of a Script

Bo Florin

"mauritz stiller vanished without a trace!” This dramatic headline from Filmjournalen in October 1924 was triggered by the fact that Stiller had remained invisible for a couple of weeks. The article, by the signature Pan, describes how different rumours had now started to spread, most notably that the directors disappearance was only a trick to generate interest in his new film project. That Stiller had a “secret” project in Constantinople was already known, as was the fact that he had some form of agreement with the German company Trianon Film. The author concludes: “It all starts very well! The Con­ stantinople film is an enigma, Mauritz Stiller has vanished, Trianon is a mystery and the public is most interested. What else can you demand from a great film production?”1 Later, the disappearance was claimed to be due to a severe cold, which led to a new article under the headline “Mauritz Stiller found again - in Berlin”.2 The real cause was however, as shown in the first chapter, his negotia­ tions with the Trianon Company.

Some Methodological Remarks When trying to analyse the Constantinople film project - that was never accomplished as film but still remains a film project shot on paper - traditional film historical methods, often focusing on the finished work on screen, have little to offer. The history of the Con115

stantinople project is instead formed in a complex process of over­ lapping stories, synopses and script versions, of predictions, com­ ments and reinterpretations, which calls for a new way of approach­ ing the work, where social, textual or material histories may also be included. Film history has mostly dealt with completed cine­ matographic works, but only more rarely with their written basis, with the film work considered as a process, including scripts and other written or visual sources.3 On the contrary, all these have to a large extent remained untheorized, excluded from the official canon. In practice, this would also exclude the Constantinople project from film history. In extending Gerard Genettes term “palimpsest” to a cinematic production context, Sylvie Lindeperg has developed an approach where not only all the predefined stages of production of a work are analysed, but where a micro-historical approach is also used to follow any thread, any fragment that may come across the way throughout the research process. She proposes “to go back to the creative process, enter the ‘black box’ of the ‘film under construc­ tion and unearth its layers of writing”.'1 The clues gathered, she argues, relate to “the layers of meaning and successive interpre­ tations that have superimposed a palimpsest of views on the work over time”. Still, her object of research is the production process of a finished film. In order to account for a project like Stillers in Constantinople, aborted but nevertheless an important part of the broader history of film culture, a multiple, palimpsest concept of the text is all the more needed, which also allows for the “avant-texte”, that which belongs to the history of the work without being present in the “final” text, to be included. Such a text-genetic method, proposed in a Swed­ ish context, and extended to film, by Jon Viklund and Anna Sofia Rossholm, allows for all avant-texte material to be included in the analysis; this should be defined only by the critics construction of what the documents have to tell. They also argue that intermedial 116

questions must be in focus when studying the film medium.51 would argue that this must also include the “apres-texte”, the different ver­ sions and variations occurring in the aftermath of a project, or after its interruption, most relevant in a case like Stillers. The notions of the project that were formulated in the contemporary film press also play an important role here. They form the ‘discursive surround’ of the project, which here has come to constitute a more important part than usually of its actual history.6 This essay starts with framing the Constantinople project from the perspective of the film press. The original hype of the project was followed by silence as the production was interrupted, even though a number of articles were published after the actual interrup­ tion. Interestingly enough, however, the project was soon enough picked up internationally in different accounts, which continued to appear and reappear in several biographical and more fictionalised versions, both of Stillers life and work and that of Greta Garbo. The fact that this was supposed to have been her second great role after the break-through in Gosta Berlings saga, and in addition the exotic touch of the location, has added to the mythical quality that the Constantinople project has later been given in Garbos biogra­ phy. In fact, a red thread in all these stories, from the Swedish film press to the international biographers and novelists, is the Oriental­ ist touch which keeps reappearing in all accounts of the interrupted production story. In the second part of the essay, after having explored these dis­ cursive surrounds in some detail, I go on to trace the actual script by Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius and Mauritz Stiller, as a physical object - the text as such - as well as in the complex web of texts of which it is part. Here, a short film synopsis ascribed to Vladimir Semitjov, a serial published by Bengt Idestam-Almquist, an earlier script under a different title by Stiller, a novel by Vladimir Semitjov and a much later novel by his son Eugen Semitjov all play important roles, as well as a novel by Claude Farrere, formally unrelated but still highly 117

relevant for the case. In addition to the theme of Orientalism already explored through the press, two other important and reoccurring themes in Stiller s work may be traced, namely that of the ethically justified murder and that of exile, the latter being a central theme in the script, but in addition also doubly true of Stiller, who was of Russian-Jewish descent and later went on to a new exile in Hollywood, which he shared with Garbo and many other Europeans at the time. By uncovering this textual palimpsest, the script is framed in a way that allows for a text-genetic reading of its origin and develop­ ment, as well as a deeper historical understanding of related texts and contexts.

Great Expectations: Stiller in Constantinople The expectations in the national press were great at the time that Mauritz Stiller, one of the Swedish directors who, together with Victor Sjostrom, enjoyed international fame, would go on to new important accomplishments. Initially, two articles from 1924 were mentioned - both published at a point when there was already a heated discussion in the Swedish film press about what film project Stiller would undertake next, after his great success, both nationally and internationally, with Gosta Berlings saga, which had premiered in March 1924. Already in April 1924, Filmnyheter noted that Stiller was abroad: “to recover after the protracted work with the Gosta Berling film - or does he nourish new film plans? The question remains un­ answered.”7 Would he go abroad, to the United States or to Germany? In June, Filmnyheter reassures its readers: he will stay in Sweden (where at the time he had just moved to Lidingo).8 As Filmnyheter was published by Svensk Filmindustri, the production company for which Stiller had been working and with which he was still asso­ ciated, the journal obviously had a special interest in his plans. In August, there is a new reassuring message, emphasising the silence 118

about Stiller during the summer and repeating the rumours (his threat” to go abroad): “This, however, is not the case”; instead, it is now revealed that Stiller and “Mr R Hylten-Cavallius for real have taken on the elaboration of a script to a film that he has planned after Gosta Berlings saga”9 The article also states that the script is finished, and that the production will be international with Julius Jaenzon behind the camera. Already in the next issue, a week later, it is also revealed that Greta Garbo will play the female lead, and that the film will be shot “in an Oriental environment” and in addition suggested that Constantinople may expect to host a Swedish film crew. The comments on Garbo, interestingly enough, are similar to those on Stiller: that there had been a surprising silence about her since the breakthrough in the Gosta Berling film, but that the expla­ nation in her case was to be found in her fidelity to a promise to her first director, namely Stiller, to be at his disposal for his next proj­ ect.10 Yet another week later, Filmnyheter published another note, that the recently published German news of Stiller s engagement with Trianon was false, a disclaimer which, according to the article was based on an inquiry with Stiller; in retrospect, though, it is clear that these “news” were false." On 1 September, Stiller had returned from the Berlin premiere of Gosta Berlings saga, and he confirmed once again in Filmnyheter that Garbo would star in his next film and that the film would take place in Constantinople - but now it was also added that the story was about a Russian exile.12 Filmnyheter was indeed the Swedish journal devoting the most attention to the Constantinople project. On 22 September, they reported that “Four Gentlemen and One Lady Went to Constanti­ nople”, focusing on CA Soderstroms participation as second cameraman (the same year, he had shot two films, both directed by Gustaf Edgren). He also adds to the already known facts about the crew (Stiller, Garbo and first cameraman Julius Jaenzon) that the art director at Filmstaden in Rasunda, Vilhelm Bryde, who had also acted in Stillers Erotikon, would take part in the trip.13 119

, ,rW*v-*. •>>-»* \------- \r*“

n

"stvLLep pera oabace hotet eonspie . ^

•• Ji> L C..I

|

3* u::jjT

-f'S Jj'i '«»••* Jj"' j ^» >= * * - r

u.l

i*u

o*>*

J* *wC. | iWi.)^.,V,^, Jj

I

j-J-''-'

0s |. Jr

]

z i ’; Wl'i

^JLi-

rA. v-*

o*

—f StOCKhOU « 226./6 37 6 16=--------------------------Densaar gaerna hoeoa m$Jt Iran rti£> oo au 6iort udu nagon angiende din nya liU ocn om du g.iort na^oc toer__ j 6oesta i engiand tetedraCbP; ston naep rosier iii lies aanusca
*

Telegram from Charles Magnusson to Stiller in Constantinople: ’’Like to hear from you and if you have made any deals concerning your new film [...)". (Swedish Film Institute) After the intense focus on the different question marks concern­ ing the new project - the crew, the financers, the content of the script, the time frame - followed a long article on 10 November by scriptwriter and assistant director Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius on the content of the script, a story which was supposed to take place in Constantinople 1920-21. Rather than an ordinary film article of the kind that usually filled Filmnyheter, it was a piece of journalism offering an analysis of the political situation in Turkey at the time, which formed the backdrop for the story about the exiled Russian soldier. He made a connection to “an earlier film that bore the mark of our firm”, De lands/Jyktige (1921), which also dealt with “Russians scattered abroad”.M A week later, the news about Conrad Veidt (The 120

Cabinet of Dr. Caligari) as starring - but still with a question mark - were released, and the fact that Stiller was expected to return from Constantinople shortly.15 Yet another week later, this was confirmed by the headline “Mauritz Stiller on flying visit in Stockholm”.16 In the interview that follows, Stiller talks about the project: that a new studio had to be built, as Turkey at the time didn’t have a film indus­ try, that the extras would be locals, that he had been very favourably received - and also adds that Goldwyn had sent him a proposal to go to the United States. His visit to Stockholm also generated an arti­ cle in Filnyournalen, “Full speed for Constantinople!”, where Stiller once again emphasised that he had been kindly received, where he talked about the film being financed both from Sweden and from abroad, and stated that he, together with Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius, had worked on the script for no less than seven months, “and that should be enough”; now, “everything is ready” and the shooting was supposed to start in a couple of days.17 On 1 December, a new series is advertised, exclusive for Filmnyheter: a forthcoming travel diary in the form of letters from Con­ stantinople by Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius.18 These news are repeated in the last issue of 1924, in an editorial anticipating the year to come.19 A first letter is published in January 1925, only to be followed, one week later, by a note: “Mauritz Stiller s filming suspended”.20 Filmjournalen also devotes an article to this: “Something quite sensational has occurred in Constantinople: Stiller has been forced to interrupt his filming by the Bosporus, which started with great hullabaloo, and go to Berlin...”.21 The article then goes on to explain the economic diffi­ culties of the Trianon company, but in terms quite optimistic about a solution at hand. “Perhaps only another company will function as financier. Next notice from Stiller will probably be that work goes on according to plan, though whether it will be in Constantinople or in another part of the world is not that easy to predict.”22 Filmnyheter, however, in spite of the interruption, continues to exploit the theme of Constantinople, first in an interview with Julius 121

Jaenzon, who gives some impressions from his stay, published on 2 February, and then with a second travel letter from Hylten-Cavallius, dated in December 1924 but published on 9 February, in the same issue where it was announced, as a rhetorical question, that “America takes also Mauritz Stiller?” - which Filmjournalen equally noted with a headline ended by a question mark.23 These short paragraphs also put an end to the reporting about the suspended Constantinople project; further on, the news would only concern America. On 23 February, an article about the rumours of a Swed­ ish emigration was published, also noting that Greta Garbo and Einar Hanson had started filming in Germany. On 2 March, under the heading “The three conquered by America”, it was suggested that both Garbo, Hanson and Stiller would depart for the United States, and on 16 March, finally, there was an article on “New Stiller rumours: will travel, will not travel, to America”.2'1 Tims, the story of the Constantinople project was concluded, and in spite of the many reassuring comments when its interruption was first announced, that there were no reasons to believe that this would threaten the project, it would never reappear in reality. But it would continue to vividly stimulate a collective imagination for many decades; to this, we will return in the following.

“To the East I Want to Go” A Case of Swedish Orientalism The main theme in the long-lasting attractiveness of the Constan­ tinople project as source for many later imaginative explorations is, however, apparent already from the press comments of the period - namely the fact that the film was supposed to be shot “in an Ori­ ental environment” The reports from Constantinople in the Swed­ ish film press thus still deserve some further comments. When the travel letters from Hylten-Cavallius were first announced, Filmnyheter noted that this production would be of particular inter122

est to the readers, as “the shooting takes place in an environment which for us is strange and at the same time so attractive as the Orient”.25 This strongly evokes the concept of Orientalism, as defined by Edward Said: a discourse about race, nationality and otherness - travel literature is indeed one of the genres on which he focuses. Orientalism creates, according to Said: “an imaginative geography”, coinciding with colonialist ideologies, but distinct from them first and foremost by its basis in the historical threat that Islamic culture represented to Western Europe. Orientalism served to control and domesticate the “fearful yet fascinating prospect” that the very exist­ ence of the Ottoman Empire represented.26 For Said, “The Orient was almost a European invention, and had been since antiquity a place of romance, exotic beings, haunting memories and landscapes, remarkable experiences”.27 The interview with Julius Jaenzon, however, as he talks about the six weeks that he spent in Constantinople, at first seems to have little to do with Orientalism, but rather gives an impression of realism. First of all, he notes that women no longer were veiled, and then goes on to notice the “race mixture” in the film company, and the fact that the Turkish hosts were extremely attentive to their guests. Upon a direct question on the refugee situation, he mentions a for­ mer Russian officer, now a beggar on the streets, that “exceeded my expectations”; “one could hardly stand the sight of him”. He also notes the mud of the streets, the dogs that are constantly run over, or the famous bazars, “where almost all commodities are - German. But still, he concludes: “One is constantly reminded of the Orient out here”.28 The first letter from Hylten-Cavallius initially emphasises the good-bye to “asphalt and grey cold”, by quoting a traditional Swed­ ish folk song: “To the East I want to go”.29 Apart from this, the article mostly concerns the trip by train to Constantinople, and its differ­ ent stages: Berlin, Prague, Hungary, Belgrade, Bulgaria - and then finally, Turkey. 123

[...] this is the South with fig trees over flat wooden roofs, with walls partly in decay from a city hidden under the one that now smiles at you with cries and murmurs and noise, and in the same way under this noisy daily life another life hidden under that one, a stillness, a peace, a joy of the kind that only the Orient can offer - in one word, it is Constantinople in the light haze of the Decem­ ber day over the thousand ships masts of the Golden Horn over minarets and mosques.30 In his second letter, as the shooting had become interrupted, he focuses on impressions from the city, but quite different from those of Jaenzon. He describes his colleagues in the crew and how they spend their time in the city. Stiller is looking for places to shoot - which are to be found everywhere; Hylten-Cavallius gets quite carried away in his description of all both picturesque and histori­ cal places - buying costumes or looking for extras, which also may be found everywhere. Garbo is trying on a new Persian lamb coat, while “the little guide Muhamed” is waiting for her in order to bring her to the Grand Bazar, to “his fathers store (Muhamed has fathers wherever it suits him)”31 Einar Hanson on his side has to grow a beard which he is ashamed of and thus avoids the public, but enjoys Turkish food, which Hylten-Cavallius describes eloquently. He then turns to the problems of the crew: the 5000 kilos of American “film lamps” that were brought into the new studio, but with considerable delay; when they finally arrived, the German electrician who was supposed to deliver them had been arrested. “Oh, Balkan!”, con­ cludes Hylten-Cavallius. The mixture of romanticism and realism, of picturesque views and sceptical observations that the articles in Filmnyheter testify to, are eloquent examples of Orientalism within Swedish film culture. Orientalist discourses also appear in connection with the project in international publishing. In a novel about the life of Garbo, Cesar M. Arconada notes that: “The Orient lies somewhere in the remote. 124

One speaks of Eastern Europe as if of a legend, the distance of which had never been measured. There, the sun rises.”32 The novel goes on to discuss the cultural mixture between a Mediterranean and an Oriental culture, which to a large extent characterised Turkey at the time. And from a Garbo biography from 1935 by Richard Kuhn, we learn that Stiller in this air felt at home, and that “the Oriental” in him woke up.33. Like other German accounts of the interrupted project, Kuhn also emphasizes a number of unforeseen difficulties on location, which are not mentioned in the Swedish film press. Here, Constantinople is clearly staged as the site of the Other: But they had no luck by the Bosporus. Certainly, the city provided excellent pieces of scenery for an environment populated by swin­ dlers, diplomats, black-marketeers, pimps and ‘houses in which the daughters of the country sold their bodies to strangers’. But these props were too narrow, stood too tight together, were too close for the camera to fit in between them. Only the mosques pro­ vided sufficient inner and outer space, the wide areas needed. Once finally, with great effort, the useful sceneries had been found, it soon became clear that all efforts had been in vain. The Turkish author­ ities had no comprehension for the film. They refused permission for the Berlin expedition to shoot street scenes. And they prohibited filming of mosques, as these are sanctuaries and no film props.3' Turkey, at that time, had no film production of its own, the prohi­ bition of images in Islam being the historical reason for this, which also may explain a certain restraint towards this foreign film project. However, the new regime was eager to promote a new, secular Tur­ key, where the film project fitted in perfectly. Stillers own version of how the project had been received in Constantinople emphasises on the contrary this positive altitude. He states that:

125

Everywhere, I have been met with the utmost kindness and oblig­ ingness. Both authorities and individuals have done everything to facilitate my work. It is forbidden to film in Turkey but no objec­ tions have been raised against my case. With utmost amiability, the government has permitted the filming.35 While quite contradictory to Kuhn’s account, Stiller s evidence nev­ ertheless is nourished by the same Orientalist discourse, not least as he continues: “The speed of everything increases, the pulses beat faster, one wishes to assimilate the progress of the Occident, and at the same time, the nationalistic feeling is said to be stronger than ever.” The article was illustrated by a clip from an interview with Stiller in a Turkish journal, in Arabic letters. The project, indeed, was conceived as foreign, exotic, Oriental. In her analysis on Orientalism in Danish silent cinema through the theme of white slavery, Constanze Gestrich has used a metafictional or metamedial approach as a central perspective; she sees the European woman locked up in the harem as emblem for the female spectator locked up in the cinema, sharing a similar passion for the exotic.36 This may well be true also of the Constantinople project, which in a similar way focuses on gazes, the veiled womans as well as the unveiled, the repeated and emphasized exchanges of looks which become causes for turning points in the story, or the distant gaze of the constant wanderer.

From Anonymity to the Divine Constantinople as Fictitious Turning Point. In the discursive surround of the Constantinople project, but not least in its apres-texte, the role of Greta Garbo is one of growing importance for the almost mythical character that the aborted film project has acquired through the decades. Thus, discourses on - and by - Garbo also form important parts of the general palimpsest of 126

the production project, which are worth to be investigated more closely. In Filmnyheter January 1924, the, at that time, not at all rhetorical question was posed: “Who is Greta Garbo?” The article starts by stating that: “Greta Garbo is a completely new name within Swed­ ish cinema, but a name that the public will probably remember, as it is part of the great Gosta Berling film”.37 Then her change of name from the former Gustafsson is mentioned, explaining in an almost apologetic tone the frequency of this habit within cinema and how useful it is in an international context. This article is thus the first to introduce “Garbo before Garbo”. At that time, however, the articles in the Swedish film press, not least the anticipations of the Con­ stantinople project, were mostly, if not entirely, focussed on Stiller. This would change dramatically in the next few years. First of all, through Garbos international breakthrough in Gosta Berlings saga 1924, her appearance in Die Freudlose Gasse 1925, and then the arrival in Hollywood, with Torrent and The Temptress (where Stiller also started as director but was replaced by Fred Niblo), both 1926, as her first American films. In later accounts of the Constantinople project, Garbo is in focus. In spite of the fact that the project was never realised - or just because of that - it has remained an enigmatic interlude in her career, subject of numerous recounts and reconstructions. Garbo herself has often mentioned the project in her own accounts of her past, like in the Swedish Greta Garbos saga, where she exclaims: “Constantinople!, and tells both about her fascination and her deception, both with the city and the interrupted project, but says that she doesn’t regret her stay and wishes to return to Constantinople some day.3s Other stories of her career also mention the Constantinople project, but with differing emphasis. From the beginning, her life and career become fictionalised, also in reports and biographies. As already suggested, a number of stories about Garbos life appeared in the early 1930s - Arthur Rosenthal’s Greta Garbo, Ihr Weg von Stock127

holm bis Hollywood (1932), Rilla Page Palmborgs The Private Life of Greta Garbo (1932) or Richard Kuhn's already mentioned Greta Garbo, Der Weg einer Frau mid Kunstlerin (1935), as well the novel, Leben der Greta Garbo, Roman, by Cesar M. Arconada (1930).39 Here, Arconada recounts the story as if Constantinople had been unknown to Garbo, “The Orient lies somewhere far away”, empha­ sising the contrasts between the narrow streets and corners of the city and the need for space to be able to film, between the Turkish people, walking with slow, cautious steps, and the blonde Swedish girl walking at a tremendous pace.10 In some accounts, Garbo is por­ trayed as left abandoned and sad in Constantinople for Christmas 1924, as Stiller had to go to Berlin to try if not to save the project, so at least to get enough money to bring back his stars, his negatives and his equipment.11 This is supported by Ragnar Hyilen-Cavallius in his autobiography, who recalls: “I remember how Garbo, sobbing, clung to Stillers chest at the train station. It happened to be Christ­ mas Eve, and it was a particularly somber one.”'12 A letter from Garbo herself to her friend Vera Schmiterlow indeed supports this version:. Here are a few lines from a Turkish woman in a grim mood. Believe me, it is nasty here, rainy and accursed in every way. In fact, the filth is just incredible. Not to speak of all the animals that walk around on you whenever you go out in public. No shooting has taken place so far, everything’s so silly. These people work so incredibly slowly that no one, not even Stiller, has managed to get things going. Einar Hanson is here too, though we don’t spend much time together. I spend much time alone. I am becoming so ugly here, believe me, if you would care to lose a bit of yourself, come here. I spend most of my days being mad at something, and that does nothing to make me more attractive. How I miss you, just imagine if you and Mimme [Mirni Pollack] were here. We would only laugh at all the misery. There is no pre-Christmas spirit here, which I miss so much. But if you would write to me about Christmas, that might make up for 128

it. (...) Write to me when you find the time, that would make me so happy, and tell me about everything. Has The Lady of Camelias premiered? Just imagine, Tm already looking forward to seeing you - and what I will have to tell you about this damn people. AskGostis to send me a few books. I don’t have a single line to read. Just the ceiling to stare at.;’3 Another of Garbo’s many biographers, however, tells about her “excitement of getting settled in that strange city of Constantino­ ple. She could hardly wait to explore the narrow, crooked streets and the open shops that bordered them”. When Stiller left for Berlin, “His little band of players felt alien and forlorn when they found themselves left alone in this foreign town on Christmas Eve. All but Greta. She did not care. Being alone never bothered her. She knew that she could find plenty of interesting things to do in this strange city”4’ This alternative reading finds support in another comment from Garbo, where - in relation to the Constantinople project - she says how she loves to travel, and that she “would like to travel - only travel - everywhere! (...) I wouldn’t care about company, it is, at least that is what I think, not necessary to have company when you trav­ el!”45 The few facts known and existing comments about the stay in Constantinople have obviously inspired numerous interpretations. Whereas Constantinople was just an episode in earlier novels of which Garbo was part, like that of Cesar M. Arconada, two later fictions focus mainly on Constantinople, the “screenplay” Garbo och eumicken by Thomas Bendix and Ulla-Britta Ramklint from 1995) and GuslafSobin’s novel In Pursuit ofa Vanishing Star, 2002.46. The first concentrates on politics in Constantinople: on Mus­ tafa Kemals rise to power, after the deposition of the sultan. In the screenplay, the Stiller character states that “Mustafa Kemal has just scrapped Ottoman culture. 1000 and one nights were crushed to paper pulp in his modern mill”. The fictitious Stiller calls the film project “the last trip”, when it would still be possible to capture the 129

last rays of the setting sun with their cameras. “It is going to be the last great exotic film - and it is not going to be filmed in studio.” While never expressed explicitly in those terms, this view of the project is historically quite well grounded, supported not least by the first of the three articles in Filmnyheter on Constantinople pub­ lished by Hylten-Cavallius. At one point in the screenplay, “Stiller” becomes stressed and quickly has to find an argument for his proj­ ect, and he then pleads for the introduction of a moral argument: are there circumstances under which it is right, or even an imperative, to murder? This idea comes to him spontaneously, with a glance at a novel on a table beside him: Claude Farreres The Man Who Killed. When he has to exemplify, he continues: “An example? Oh, there are many. An old usurer perhaps - she has nothing to live for - only money - only her meanness - to suck people out - or - a... a politician... who deprives a whole people of its identity -“',7 This conversation also establishes a link to the other, purely fictitious part of the drama. Here, Bendix and Ramklint leave all historical facts behind in favour of creative fantasies. Garbo is offered another film role, most likely the one that also seems to be filmed in the screen­ play: “The Man Who Killed, scene 26, take 3.”‘18 This connection is particularly interesting as the novel bears many similarities to Stillers and Hylten-Cavallius actual script, which will be discussed further in the following. The screenplay in addition lets Garbo visit Kemals yacht, and later, an ennuch from the sultans former harem, which Garbo has befriended, is falsely accused and punished for an attempt to murder Kemal. The question of murder, and of guilt and innocence, stand in focus both for Bendix and Ramklints screenplay - which they call “a film” - and for Stillers and Hylten-Cavallius* original script. Thus, Bendix and Ramklint in their fictitious proj­ ect remain solidly grounded both in the historical context and the intertextual connections of the Constantinople project itself. Gustaf Sobins novel is on the one hand a text based on an ambi­ tious piece ofjournalistic research, where real characters - like film 130

historian Gosta Werner or archivist Margareta Nordstrom - appear, and where related episodes are grounded in the historical source material, which on the other hand is mixed with a completely fic­ tional part with invented characters and memories. In the novel, dying writer Philip Nilson, after a thorough research into the history of Garbos life and career in order to write a script about her, gets more and more intrigued by the short period of time that Garbo spent in Constantinople, as he has become convinced that “some­ thing occurred to her very person and, in turn, to her cinematic persona at that exact time”.49 Nilson becomes almost obsessed by this question, which is rhetorically repeated no less than five times over four pages: What exactly happened in Constantinople,. [...] that brief midwinter escapade into that Byzantine labyrinth, the domes and minarets of that ancient city choked in coal smoke and the billowing vapour of intense marine traffic. In searching for the ‘magic moment’, I realized, I’d have to scrutinize that very smoke, very vapor. For there, in the city’s nebulous mass, lay -1 felt increasingly convinced - the key itself.50 Thus, further adding to Orientalist discourse, Sobin’s fictitious writer also finds the answer herein: according to him, it was in Con­ stantinople that “the‘Divine one [...] first emerged: come writhing - finally - out of Stiller s heated imagination”.51 By completely inter­ nalising her screen personality, she “was virtually released into an illusory dimension of her own. Her lifelong masquerade [...] had begun.” - and this, Sobin argues, could never have taken place with­ out Constantinople.52 In his fictional imagination, “two and a half reels of footage” were actually shot - but lost. “The loss, of course, is inestimable, for within that footage, ‘The Divine One’ emerged for the first time in all her elusive beauty.”53 The mysticism of the Orient, which was mentioned by many who wrote on the film project at the time of its supposed production, has here completely blended with 131

the ever-increasing mysticism of Garbo herself. Finally, in Sobins novel, the Constantinople project appears as a fiction which itself is constantly being produced and reproduced by others - as yet another fiction “shot on paper”.

A Textual Palimpsest - From Smolny to Constantinople After having explored the many discursive surrounds of the Con­ stantinople project, the time has now finally come to approach my second focal point in this essay, the very heart of the matter - the script of the film, its rediscovery and its actual textual genesis. On closer investigation, this also turns out to be a much more complex story than the press comments have revealed, including important intertextual references as well as heated conflicts on copyright mat­ ters. Sources of inspiration as well as both earlier and later versions of the story all contribute to forming this textual palimpsest, where the script appears as the central node for the interrupted produc­ tion project. In his biography of Mauritz Stiller from 1991, Gosta Werner devotes a chapter, “Constantinople round-trip”, to the unaccom­ plished film project.54 Here, he establishes that Vladimir Semitjovs stories about Russian emigres, published in 1925 as a novel, In the Whirls of Life - A Womans Fate, formed the base for the script. Semitjov, born in St Petersburg in 1882, was a Russian engineer and writer, who came to Sweden in 1923. But Werner also mentions Claude Farreres novel L’homme qui assassina - The Man Who Killed - from 1906, which appeared in Swedish translation 1916, earlier mentioned in connection to Bendix’ and Ramklint’s screenplay.55 Farrere, pseudonym of Frederic-Charles Bargone, was a captain in the French navy who resigned to concentrate on his writing career, his books set in exotic locations like Constantinople, and with clear inspiration from the film medium. In the introduction to the Swed­ ish translation of the novel The Man Who Killed, Johan Mortensen 132

notes that Farrere has a capacity to clearly and vividly depict “towns, landscapes and manners”: But it is as if he didn’t have time to immerse himself in his depic­ tions. There is something nervous and restless about his way to depict [reality], which is characteristic for this time of automobiles and last travels, where new impressions rapidly succeed each other. [...] Claude Farreres landscapes and characters glimpse past with the lightning-like rapidity which characterizes the pictures of the cinema theatres. This novel was brought to the screen already twice before the Constantinople project - in 1913 by Pathe, directed by Henri Andreani, and then in 1920 by Famous Players Lasky, directed by George Fitzmaurice - with the title The Right to Love. Later, a new film in four versions was made based on the same novel, at the time of multiple-language versions - a French and a German version in 1931 and a Spanish and an English version the following year.56While Werner is absolutely right to connect these two works, he does not really develop his arguments for the relevance of this con­ nection in his book. Furthermore, his partly erroneous description of Farreres novel suggests that he may not have had the novel very fresh in mind. Thus, more parallels may be drawn from Werners connection between novel and film project than he would probably have anticipated. Werner himself drew the conclusion that it was impossible to know from the short synopsis for the Constantinople project whether Stiller ever integrated any aspects of The Man Who Killed in the film script - because at the time when Werner wrote his biography, the script itself was believed to be lost. According to Biografbladet the script was first rediscovered by Victor Sjoslrom in 1935. A short news item describes “the joy of Victor Sjostrom when he in his attic found the lost script, which was the basis for Mauritz Stiller s last, at least planned, film recording”; it 133

PRO FINLANDIA fT5

r

UOK. OCH MANUSKHimCKTIONEN I A.-U. II. BL'KOUSKIS KO.VSTHAMJKL AH5F.NALSCATA.V 2. STOCKHOLM. DEN 28-29 FEIHU/AIU OCH 1 JLUIS 1910

Exlibris from the inside of the book cover of A Talefrom Constantinople, verifying it as part of the Pro Finlandia auction. (Swedish Film Institute)

Front cover to the list of books and manuscripts for the auction Pro Finlandia, (Authors’ collection)

is emphasized that the script was rediscovered after 10 years. How­ ever, it is not included in the Sjostrom archive.57 It was hence again believed to be lost until 2011- though Hylten-Cavallius’ copy of the script was actually deposited, but unnoticed, during the 1970s in the archive of the Swedish Film Institute.58 Now, the script included an exlibris: Pro Finlandia. This stems from an auction of books and scripts, held at Bukowskis in 1940 in favour of the people of Finland, after the Finnish Winter War.59 Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius, who had previously worked in Hel­ sinki, thus seems to have donated his script to this auction. The script, devoted to diasporic Russians and other exiles, was thus sold in favour of the Finnish diaspora in the aftermath of war. The script as a physical object thus underwent many vicissitudes before it was finally redis134

u

> .o

x

Tho

Vornottoa country

toy itfifrits Stlllor Copyright 1C*25 toy Mcurltc

\

?oxt

:

v/ do

c

•

' fv ' T; ^ 1'

J^i .V -'V '* jl-.'-r—

I t

; C

i

?

Mauritz Stiller s permission to make a film in Constantinople. (Swedish Film Institute) script versions and other intertextual relations, as well as different discursive surrounds. In approaching the absent Constantinople film, which never came into being - or was shot only on paper - a phantasmalic story surrounding it occurs, that for ever has made its imprint into film history.

149

Notes 1 “Mauritz Stiller sparlost forsvunnen!” sign. Pan, Filnijounialen 35, vol 6, 26 Oct 1924, 686. 2 “Mauritz Stiller aterfunnen - i Berlin”, Filnijounialen 37, vol 6, 9 nov 1924, 7373 See for example Alison Castle, Stanley Kubricks Napoleon. The Greatest Movie Never Made, Koln: Taschen, 2009. 4 Sylvie Lindeperg, “Film Production as a Palimpsest”, Behind the Screen: Inside European Production Cultures, eds. PetrSzczepanik & Patrick Vonderau. Lon­ don/New York: Palgrave Macmillan 2013. 5 Jon Vildund & Anna Sofia Rossholm, “Verkets forvandlingar. Ekelof, Berg­ man och den genetiska kritiken”, Tidskrift for litteraturvetenskap nr 1, 2011, 5-24. 6 Within media history, the term has been used by, among others, Barbara Klinger, “Film History Terminable and Interminable: Recovering the Past in Reception Studies”, Screen 38:2 (Summer 1997), 107-128. Klinger attributes the phrase to Dana Polan. 7 Fihnnyheter vol 5 no 15, 7 April 1924, 1. S Fihnnyheter vol 5 no 23, 21 June 1924, 3. 9 “Mauritz Stiller paborjar inom kort en ny stor film”, Fihnnyheter vol 5 no 24, 11 August 1924, 1. 10 “Greta Garbo filmar aven i ar. Skall vara med i Mauritz Stillers nya stora film”, Fihnnyheter vol 5 no 25,1S August 1924, 1. 11 Fihnnyheter vol 5 no 26, 25 August 1924, 10. 12 “Mauritz Stiller hemma fran Berlinpremiaren. Skall nu snart borja sin nya film I Konstantinopel”, Fihnnyheter vol 5 no 27, 1 Sep 1924, 11 (sign. XII). 13 “Fyra herrar och en dam reste till Konstantinopel”, Fihnnyheter vol 5 no 30, 22 Sep 1924, 1. 14 Ragnar Hyllen-Cavallius, “MauritzStillers Konstantinopel-film”, Fihnnyheter vol 5 no 37,10 Nov 1924, if. 15 “Conrad Veidt I en Stiller-film nasta ar?", Fihnnyheter vol 5, no 3S, 17 Nov 1924, 2. 16 “Mauritz Stiller pa fransysk vist I Stockholm”, Fihnnyheter vol 5, no 39, 24 Nov 1924, if.

150

17 Filnijournalen vol 6 no 40, 30 Nov 1924. 1S “Den svenska filmexpeditionen till Konstantinopel”, Filnmyheter vol 5 no 40, 1 Dec 1924, 1. 19 “Nittonhundratjugufem” Filnmyheter vol 5 no 44, 29 Dec 1924, 1. 20 ‘ rillfalligt avbrott I Mauritz Stillers inspelning”, Filnmyheter vol 6 no 4, 26 Jan 1925, 5. 21 "Stillers Konstantinopelinspelningavbruten”, Filmjournalen vol 7, no 5,8 Feb 1925, 82. 22 Ibid. 23 Filmnyhetcrvol 6, no 5,2 Feb 1925,2,16; Filmnyhelcr vol 6, no 6,9 Feb 1925, 4; Filnijournalen vol 7, no 8, 1 March 1925, 143. 24 Fihnnyhetervol 6, no S, 23 Feb 1925,2; Filninyhctcrvol 6. no 9,2 March 1925, 1; Filninyhctcrvol 6 no 11, 16 March 1925,10. 25 “Den svenska filmexpeditionen till Konstantinoper, Filninyhctcr vol 5 no 40, 1 Dec 1924, 1. 26 Matthew Bernstein discusses this in relation to cinema in his introduction to Visions of the East, Orientalism in Film, eds. Malthiew Bernstein & Gaylyn Studlar (London and New York: LB. Tauris Publishers, 1997), 3. 27 Edvard Said, Orientalism (New York: Vintage, 1979), 1. 28 "Litet interior fran film och bio i Konstantinopel. Julius Jaenzon berattar for Filmnyhelcr om vistelscn dar”, Filnmyheter vol 6, no 5, 2 Feb 1925, 2, 16. 29 "Till Osterland vill jag fara...", Swedish folksong from the 18th century, attrib­ uted to Anders Floija. 30 Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius, “Med Mauritz Stiller och hans filmtrupp till Kon­ stantinopel. Resebrev n:r 1”, Filnmyheter vol 6, no 3, 19 jan 1925. 531 Hylten-Cavallius, “Niir Mauritz Stiller skullespela film I Konstantinopel. Brev n:r 2”, Filnmyheter vol 6, no 6, 9 feb 1925; the episode is retold in a similar way in his memoirs, where Muhamed is called Ahmed. 32 Cesar M. Arconada, Leben der Greta Garbo, Roman, Kindt & Bucher Verlag, 1930, 90. 33 "In dieser Luft fiihlte er sich zu Hause. DerOrientaleerwachte in ihm.”. Rich­ ard Kuhn, Greta Garbo, Der Weg Eincr Frau und Kiinstlerin, Dresden: Carl Reissner Verlag, 1935, 99. 34 Ibid, 100. Cfalso Arthur Rosenthal (Aros), Greta Garbo, Ihr Weg von Stock­ holm bis Hollywood, Berlin: Verlag Scherl, 1932 (no page numbering in orig­ inal). 35 “Mauritz Stiller pa fransysk visit i Stockholm”, Filmnyheter vol 5, no 39, 24 Nov 1924, 2.

151

36 Constanze Gestrich, “Die Macht der dunklen Kammern. Die Faszination des Fremden im friihen danischen Kino”, Berlin: Nordeuropa-Institut 200S. 37 “Vein ar Greta Garbo?” Fihmiyheter vol 5, no 3, 14 Jan 1924. 3S Ake Sundborg, Greta Garbos saga, Stockholm: Albert Bonniers forlag, 1929* 308. 39 Arthur Rosenthal (Aros), Greta Garbo, Ihr Weg von Stockholm bis Hollywood, Berlin: Verlag Scherl, 1932; Rilla Page Palmborg, The Private Life of Greta Garbo, London: John Long, Ltd 1932; Kuhn; Arconada. 40 Arconada, 90-91. 41 Rosenthal, (no page numbering in original); Kuhn. loi. 42 Hylten-Cavallius, Folja sin genius, Stockholm: Lars Hokerbergs bokforlag, i960, 234. 43 Greta Garbo, letter to Vera Schmiterlov, 23 December, 1924, Greta Garbos Correspondence, Krigsarkivet, Stockholm. 44 Page Palmborg, 3S-39. 45 Ake Sundborg, Greta Garbos saga, Stockholm: Albert Bonniers forlag 192946 Thomas Bendix & Ulla Brilta Ramklint, Garbo och eunucken, Lund: Ellerstroms forlag 1995; Gustaf Sobin, In Pursuit of a Vanishing Star, New York and London: WAV. Norton & Company 2002. An exception to this is Ulf Peter Hallbergs novel about his father, Europeiskt skrdp, Stockholm/Stehag: Symposion, 2009, where, in a chapter about his fathers and his own shared admiration for Greta Garbo, the Constantinople episode is briefly mentioned (250 f), however with many fictionalizing changes; Garbo is said to first have played in Pabsts Die Freudlose Gasse, the articles in Stockholmstidningen by Bengt Idestam-Almquist are attributed to Vladimir Semitjov, Stiller is said to have smartened up the articles etc. See also: Lene Einhorn, Blekingegatan 32, Stockholm: Norstedts 2013. 47 BendLx & Ramklint, 37. 4S Ibid., 88. 49 Sobin, 59. 50 Ibid. 59f. 51 Ibid. 81. 52 Ibid. 84. 53 Ibid. 102. 54 Gosta Werner, Mauritz Stiller, ett livsode, Stockholm: Prisma 1991,181-190. 55 Claude Farrere, Mannen som mordade, Stockholm: Albert Bonniers Forlag 1916. (Original: Vhomme qui assassina, 1906; English translation: The Man Who Killed, 1917). 152

56 Vhomme qtti assassina (Kurt Bernard! & Jean Tarride; Der Mann, der den Mord beging (Kurt Bernardt); El hombre que asesino (Dimitri Buchowetzki & Fernando Gomis); Stambul (Dimitri Buchowetzki). 57 Biograjbladct no 56, 1935, 40. 58 Gun Hylten-Cavallius (1929-2000) was head of information at the Swed­ ish Film Institute 1966-1991. According to archivist Ola Torjas, the script, marked “Donation, Gun Hylten-Cavallius”, appears to have been donated to the archive before 1978, as per the way the script was marked. Whether she (who was only remotely related to Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius) was the donator or receiver of the donation is unclear. Why the script was never registered in the archive remains equally unclear. In 2011, Ola Torjas con­ tacted me about the script, which had then been found in a collection of unrecorded scripts. 59 The exlibris was exclusively created for this auction and only the works sold there got such an exlibris. There is an added text, which includes Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius’ description of the script, which is part of the catalogue made for the auction. [73] is the number of the post in the catalogue. The script was sold for 52 SEK (which today would correspond to 1233 SEK). 60 Mauritz Stiller, 'Hie Vorgotten country, working script. Swedish Film Institute Archive. 61 Said, 24. 62 Letter to Victor Sjostrom from Hjalmar Bergman, 5 March 1923. Sverker R. Ek, Marianne Ek, Fredrik Palm, Hjalmar Bergman: korrespondenser 19001930, tillgangligt pa http://www.hjalmarbergman.se . 63 Werner 1S3; see also Hjalmar Bergman, ”En lojtnantsspoling”, Film, Stock­ holm: Albert Bonniers forlag 1940, 233-262. 64 Werner 181. 65 Bengt Idestam-Almquist, “Odalisken Iran Smolna”, Stockholmstidningen 2 Sep, 16 Sep, 30 Sep, and 14 Oct 1923. 66 Letter to Mauritz Stiller from Vladimir Semitjov, 27 March 1924. Swedish Film Institute Archive. 67 Letter to Mauritz Stiller from Vladimir Semitjov, 3 September 1924. Swedish Film Institute Archive. 68 Letter to Mauritz Stiller from Vladimir Semitjov, 17 November 1924- Swedish Film Institute Archive. 69 Ibid. 70 Letter to Mauritz Stiller from Bengt Idestam-Almquist, 22 November 1924. Swedish Film Institute Archive. 153

71 Letter to Mauritz Stiller from Vladimir Semitjov, 23 November 1924. Swedish Film Institute Archive. 72 I livets virvlar, oversattning fran forfattarens manuskript av K SteenhofT, Stockholm: Wahlstrom & Widstrand, 1925. 73 Hylten-Cavallius,i960, 235. 74 Eugen Semitjov, Garbofilmen vi aldrigfick se, Stockholm: Fabel 19S6. 75 Gaylyn Studlar, “Out-Salomeing Salome”, Visions of the East, Orientalism in Film, 105. 76 Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius, “Mauritz Stillers Konslantinopel-film”, Filmnyheter vol 5, no 37, 10 Nov 1924,1. 77 Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius, Synopsis, 4; Script. 7S Exhibitors Herald, August 21, 1920, S7. 79 John Durham Peters, “Exile, Nomadism, and Diaspora, The Stakes of Mobil­ ity in the Western Canon”, in Home, Exile, Homeland, Film, Media, and the Politics of Place, Hamid Naficy ed, Routledge/AFI Film Readers, New York/ London, 1999, 17. 50 It was only in 1921 that Stiller became a Swedish citizen. 51 In a chapter on “The border crossings of Mauritz Stiller”, Arne Lunde notes that Stillers “family origins left him marked outside of a national Swedish hegemonic concept. Nordic Exposures, Scandinavian Identities in Classical Hollywood Cinema, Seattle & London: University of Washington Press, 2010, 66f. 52 Bo Florin, “’You heard nothing, you saw nothing’ - Hotel Imperial och Hollywoodaren”, Moderna motiv - Mauritz Stiller i retrospektiv, Stockholm: Svenska Filminstitutet 2001, 55-62

154

A Tale from Constantinople by

Mauritz Stiller and Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius Based on the novel 1 livets virvlar (Whirlpools of Life) by Vladimir Semitjov.

Part One

Title: It was in the time of Civil War when the White Army of Southern Russia was defeated by the assaulting Bolsheviks^ and all who trembled before the victors (led in haste to the coast s of the Black Sea. fade in: above a set of gleaming train tracks. A train crammed with passengers rushes by. Shot dissolves to:

consisting of only one passenger coach, the rest are flat cars with rope around them and full of people; women, children, soldiers in tattered uniforms, all rounded up like cattle and wearing frightened, grim or defeated expressions. train

with rapidly spinning wheels; footboards and platforms full of people; people on the bumpers and axletrees cling to the train. The shot fades to: the lower ends of the cars

DESOLATE JOURNEY ACROSS A DISMAL PLAIN: Crowds with bundles of items, such as kitchen utensils, rush past the camera with frantic or fatigued expressions. One of them looks around, frightened. Title: Along the harbors of Crimea, thousands of Russian refugees awaited the allied ships that would take them across the sea to Constantinople. LONG SHOT. A HARBOR WITH DOCKS AND PIER that

extend into the sea, washed over by waves. The docks along the harbor are closed off by a high fence and huge wicket gates, people scurry in panic and frantically rush to get closer to the front of the gates, a chaotic swarm of people, horses and carriages. 156

#: i r

ft

Ki

1 ;■ )

*1

r

in if.tr -

/

' ! *

x k^M.^ /A;

»

!V-'T pi

r «w

■>?

- . ,u :

mpu .*•

rt.

Si?? jMI ■A-

Einar Hanson, Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius, ancl Greta Garbo in Constantinople. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius’ private collection) the harbor, medium long shot

of the gates. People begin to force their way through. A motley crew of old men and children, of women holding infants, soldiers in tattered uniforms, men in Turkish or Greek costume, Russian peas­ ants of all ages. Panic and fear brand all their faces, which peer through the bars of the gates with yearning gazes at the sea. a majestic, giant steamship

brightly glistening; its lights aimed at the sea. Steam emits at the top. Shot dissolves to: A BLOWING STEAM WHISTLE the harbor, outside the gates.

The crowd starts to 157

push. There is shouting and shoving; pushing against the gates, the fence is ready to burst open. THE HARBOR, INSIDE THE ENCLOSURE. The port Captain rides up to the gate with a revolver raised in the air and threat­ ens: “Whoever barges through will be shot to death at once!” But his face is pale as a ghost, and he strokes the horse as he holds the gun in front of him. HARBOR AREA. CLOSE-UP OF THE CROWD. Shoving, shOUting, contorted expressions. the large steamship.

Its light slowly begins to shine on the harbor. Bathed in the bright light of the ship, a steam launch sails speedily toward the steamships gangway. the steamship’s gangway.

The captain and the steam launch officer are talking. The captain makes a deprecating gesture: Title: I cannot take so much as a tenth of all these refugees. Title: The captain adds: Title: If I approach the dock, there will be a terrible panic! You must send them out in boats. He cuts off the officers response with a sudden gesture. Title: In Constantinople the flow of Russian refugees had already flooded the city, and the situation grew worse by the day. A vast amount of refugees were officers of the disbanded White Army. 158

where a crowd of officers in either worn or elegant uniforms—including semi-civilian and full civilian attire—argue and quarrel. The scene dissolves to: long shot of a large room

officers’ club.

An amiable, temperamental, gray-haired general of noble character sits at the end of the table and demands silence in vain, a kind of chairman position. He yells and pounds on the table. Title: General Smirnoff

Mr. X

cut to: officers’ club. The officers continue their quar­

relling. officers’ club, cut to:

a distinguished Caucasian, stand­ ing up and leaning against the wall, listening to all the fuss with the restrained dignity of a poised Oriental.

Title: askot bey

Mr. X

officers’ club. The general. He notices that it’s quiet. Then

the general speaks: Title: Allow me to explain the situation in a few words: In the past few days, Turkey has conducted itself like a country with two governments, an officially established Turkish government in Constantinople and the other a revolutionary Young Turks government in Angora. officers’ club.

Impatient officers yell: Well, well?

officers’ club.

The general points in the direction of: 159

officers’ club. Askot Bey, who bows gracefully in the style

of an oriental greeting. officers’ club.

The general continues.

Title: This man has been sent by the government of Angora. He can save us all. He can provide us a position in the brave Young Turks Army, which is in need of capable officers. officers’ club.

Askot Bey.

officers’ club.

The officers’ faces express the need for relief. They see a chance opening up before them, they look at Askot, begin to move about and leave the shot. officers’ club.

Askot smiles gracefully. Imploring, be­ seeching, and pleading hands enter the frame. They reach out to Askot, but he pushes their hands away. He says: Title: Today I will return to Angora in disguise. I will settle nego­ tiations of this matter with my government. I hope to return with their response within 14 days. officers’ club.

Askot walks toward the door but stops himself, raises his hand and says: Title: But remember, absolute discretion! The government and commanding authorities will thwart our plans if this sort of recruitment were to be discovered. officers’ club. Askot continues making his way to the door. The general follows him, shakes his hand goodbye. Askot bows, leaves. Delighted, the general turns to the others

160

and cries: Isn’t it remarkable? We are saved, etc. He turns to one of the officers in particular, the one sitting next to him and listlessly supporting his arm on the table. officers’ club, close-up

of the officer.

Title: Fjodor Pelrovitsch Maschotin

Mr. X.

Fjodor raises his head. His haggard features and his gaunt body in a poor uniform give him an air of hopelessness, yet he looks patronizing and contemptuous as he remarks: Title: I don’t believe in any of it! We will never get to Angora! And he adds some dismissive words. officers’ club.

The general becomes enraged and yells.

Title: You talk as if the entire world were at your disposal! Yet you don’t even have a shirt on your back! officers’ club.

All of a sudden the general yanks off Fjodor’s waistcoat. He is bare from the waist up. Fjodor dodges away and attempts to cover his bare chest. He does not give up but rather continues to argue his point. The gen­ eral becomes even more upset and exclaims: Title: And your wife, why did she leave you? Because you didn’t have so much as a piece of bread to give her! officers’ club.

Fjodor leaps up at lightning speed, stands completely still, sits back down.

161

officers’ club.

An older officer approaches the general, makes a suggestion, but then the general shouts: Title: I will say as I please! Aren’t you the one who sells matches on the streets? You, a colonel?! officers’ club.

Another group, protesting.

officers’ club.

The general. A self-mocking sneer forms on his lips. He adds: Title: Well, we won’t discuss what I do in the evenings. The general summarizes everything he has said in a retort: Title: Oh no, gentleman, Askot Bevs offer is the solution we have been waiting for. It will be our deliverance from adversity and misery! officers’ club.

Officers start to change their minds and eventually come to support the generals proposal. officers’ club.

The general starts to lighten up and says:

Title: And what about our unfortunate fellow officers, who are dis­ charged from the quarantine barracks on a daily basis? What joyous news for them! The general warms up to them. officers’ club.

Officers cheer in agreement. General enthusiasm. The scene fades to black.

162

__S.!

Greta Garbo. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius private collection) Title: Meanwhile the refugees of Crimea continued to flow in. Panorama. A train with cars packed full of people. The shot fades into: a fully packed car.

A young couple among all the other passengers: a young girl in an elegant fur coat and a young man in a worn uniform, unshaven but with all the signs of a noble upbringing. The girl suddenly grabs the young man by the arm, points and cries: The ship! The ship! CUT TO: a LONG SHOT OF THE STEAMSHIP.

car.

The young girl, Countess Marja Ivanovna Galevitsch, is anxious yet elated, and turning to the side, she kindly calls out: Hello there, don’t you see the ship? Look, there it is! 163

car. cut to:

the ones to whom Marja called out: a halfgrown girl and an old man sitting next to her on the cars bumper. The girl cries: Grandfather, look at the ship! The old man becomes excited, lets a bit of his grip go, but is jostled off the bumper by scrambling passengers. The girl screams. car. Marja is paralyzed with fear. A

Russian priest grabs hold

of the girl and tries to console her. the onward charging train.

People jump from the train, which is still moving, and they proceed to run forward. car.

People are still jumping off. Marja looks around in ter­

ror. railway embankment.

Harbor in the background. Flocks of people running toward it. car.

Marja clings to the young man. She buttons up her fur coat as she proceeds to speak fervently: (pearl necklace scene) railway embankment.

Marja and the young man jump off the train. They run with the others. Title: The rumor had spread among the refugees that this would be the last transport to Constantinople. harbor. The gates, seen from behind. The people are like packed sardines in front of the gates. People suddenly begin surging through the crowd like a wave. People are pushed forward amidst screams, shouting and fighting.

164

harbor, front of the gates.

The gates burst open. Masses of people pour in like a wave amidst all the jostling and struggling. HARBOR. IN THE CROWD. MARJA AND THE YOUNG MAN.

As he leads her forward, he tries to defend her from being struck and pushed around. HARBOR. LOWER SHOT OF THE CROWDS FEET. The gates close. Feet trample over a fallen old man and a child. harbor, the gates.

Threatening, wild, screaming faces. Hands shaking the course bars.

ships at the dock.

Droves of people jump from the dock.

at the foot of the dock. Ships, into which people jump

from the dock; some fall in the water and climb into the ship, which sails away overcrowded. An empty ship arrives, fills up, rows away. dock.

The swarm of people sway to and fro. Now the ones near the dock push themselves back to keep from falling into the sea. The crowd from above. A billowing sea of heads, a fierce struggle visible at the end. Marja and the young man hold each other by the hand. dock.

A new ship sails up to the dock.

dock. The harbor, the crowd from above. Violent movement

in the front. The young man, Count Alexander Alexejevitsch 165

Karinski, is shot forward. His hand, tightly holding Marjas, is now seen at head level. He is swooped forward with the crowd. Their hands still gripping. harbor, close-up of their hands, which are torn apart from each other.

HARBOR. AMONG THE CROWD. MARJA is flung back, as if taken by a whirlpool. Her hand waves helplessly in its white glove. She cries desperately: “Sascha, Sascha!” and tries to push herself forward, but is pulled backward. harbor, among the crowd. Karinski is flung forward, tries to turn around and head back. He calls for Marja, but is pushed recklessly in the direction of the dock. harbor, among the crowd, zoom-in

on Karinski, who

is pushed forward at lightning speed. HARBOR. AMONG THE CROWD. ZOOM-IN Oil Marja, who is pushed back. She cries again: Title: Sascha! dock. The boat is rapidly filled with people who leap into it or swim up to it and climb in. dock.

Karinski is seen on the dock for a brief moment. He is pulled along and falls headlong into the boat. harbor, the crowd.

on the ground, crying.

166

Marja is knocked down and crawls

dock, long shot.

People fling themselves or push their way into the boat, which is now overloaded. dock, on the shi p. It is filled with people. Karinski staggers

forth from the chaos of bodies and bundles. He looks around desperately. dock, the boat.

An oar is pulled out and pushes the boat along the dock in an effort to pull out to sea. dock, in the water.

Some people are crushed between the long side of the boat and the black rock of the wharf. With outstretched hands, they cling to the gunwale. dock, the ship, cut to: the gunwale with hands cling­

ing desperately to it. There is shouting and the striking of their hands until they let go. dock, on the ship.

Karinski has made it past all the arms and legs. He jumps from thwart to thwart, trampling over others, reaches the front and cries: Title: 1 have to get back on land! A crewmember grabs him and violently yanks him back. dock. Marja has gotten up and sees him, waves and cries: Sascha! She tries forging ahead. She is in utter despair. dock, on the ship.

Karinski falls, lies lifelessly for a moment, lifts his head, and sees Marja.

167

dock, cut to:

Marja, who spies Karinski and desperately

cries out. dock, on the ship. Karinski is shoved and kicked by some­ one. He passes out.

Title: And without knowing how it happened. Count Alexander Alexeievitsch Karinski found himself among thousands o_f other refugees stowed on TEuropes” lower-class passenger deck. steamship’s passenger deck.

Karinski: bleeding brow, hatless, surrounded by a motley crew of refugees. He looks around drowsily. a steamwhistle blows. steamship’s passenger deck.

Alexander comes to his

senses, shouts: Title: I don’t want to go! Maria! He forces himself up the stairway, which is full of people. The door is locked. He pounds on the locked door to the upper level. THE STEAMWHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN.

at sea. The majestic steamer emits a terrible cloud of smoke,

begins its voyage ahead. pier on the harbor, long shot.

Following their instincts, the crowd has hurled itself onto the long pier. Marja 168

appears in the foreground, but she does not run; she stops next to a pillar, leans against it, and presses her hands to her heart. the pier, zoom-in

on Marja.

Title: Amidst all the fear and chaos were cold-blooded people who knew exactly how to take advantage of the situation. dock at water level. From a nearby canal or behind a corner comes a motorboat, whose crew, two suspicious men, sail along the dock.

Title: And they selected their prey very carefully. PIER. THE MEN IN THE BOAT FROM BEHIND. They nudge each other and point. on the pier.

Marja against the pillar, from a distance, her eyes searching the waters. pier. boat.

Facing the men, one of whom stays in the boat, the other creeps up to the dock. pier. Marja from behind. One of the men enters the frame and gently touches her arm; she turns around, startled. The man begins to speak and points: cut to:

the motorboat with the other man.

pier.

Marja, hesitant, looks at the man with an expression of hope mingled with fear. The other man motions to her:

169

Einar Hanson. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (Tlie Hylten-Cavallius* private collec­ tion) Title: We know the way to Constantinople. Do not be worried, Madame. We will get you there unharmed! Marja casts a long glance at the sea. cut to: pier.

A group of refugees watch Marja and shake their heads at such naivete. One of them reacts:

Title: Poor girl, she doesn’t know what she is getting herself into! pier.

Marja and the man. She is already convinced, almost happy. She ardently replies, “Lets be off at once!” He stops 170

her: “Payment first.” She looks for her purse. She remembers where she put it, unbuttons her fur coat and is about to pull at her blouse, but she turns shyly away from the man, who takes the opportunity to motion to his companion. pier, zoom-in

on Marja, who, with her back to the camera, pulls out her change purse, takes out some bills and puts her wallet back. pi er. long shot. The men

take some banknotes but ask for more. Marja complies. He then invites her to follow him. pier, cut to: refugees, who shake their heads and shrug

their shoulders: “Well, its none of our business!” pier, long shot.

Marja and the man step onto the motor-

boat and disappear. passenger deck of steamship.

Karinski. He is lying down and has just dozed off from exhaustion; meanwhile, some of his fellow poor passengers cast indifferent or pitying glances at him. at sea. A motorboat with a navigation light. A long shot dissolves to: marja on the boat,

illuminated by the navigation light. She looks at the men, becomes ill at ease. at sea. on the motorboat.

Marja sits at the stern of the boat and observes the men who begin to talk animatedly with each other, and with one light, they signal to someone.

171

extreme long shot of the sea.

The silhouette of a felucca with a tall sail. Its navigation light responds to the signal. the sea. Marjas boat. The men nod to each other. They sig­ nal again. the sea. marja’s boat. Marja anxiously watches

the men.

the sea. long shot.

From a distance, bright spots or sil­ houettes grow closer to each other. Shot dissolves to: the sea.

Marjas boat beside the felucca.

the sea. medium long shot of

the felucca. The captain of the sailboat is discussing something with the driver of the motorboat, who replies something back to him. Title: Words in Turkish. The captain nods and asks something. The man points to Marja, who is sitting near the stern. the sea. motorboat, close-up

of Marjas angst-ridden

face. the sea. felucca. The captain and

the driver of the motor-

boat. The motorboat driver says: Title: Words in Turkish. the sea. motorboat.

Marja is growing even more terri­ fied. The motorboat driver enters the frame and says with an off-putting calm: 172

Title: Madame, this boat will take you straight to Constantinople. Marja rises, exits the frame. FELUCCA. AT THE GANGWAY OR GUNWALE. The ITlOtOrboat captain offers his hand to Marja to help her aboard the felucca. She offers him her gloveless hand and steps aboard. felucca, close-up of marja’s hand,

which has a spar­ kling diamond ring on it. Her hand is grabbed by a dark fist. Marja’s hand is visibly trying to break loose. The fingers of the dark fist begin to pull Marja’s ring from her ring finger. felucca, long shot.

Marja is already standing on the deck. The captain of the motorboat tears off her ring. She screams and cries: “My ring!” The motorboat captain sneers and grins, offering his most charming smile: “A small token for a poor seaman.” Then he jumps lithely into is boat and pushes away from the felucca. He disappears from the frame. Marja calls after him. decorated with oriental tapestry. Askot Bey is sitting at a small desk and writing, smoking his hookah; he is suddenly attentive and goes up to the cabins window. a cabin on the felucca

felucca’s deck, cut to:

Marja, anxious and terrified. Her lips are quivering, and she wipes her cheek with a gesture of helplessness. CABIN WINDOW FROM THE OUTSIDE. CLOSE-UP of Askot, whose face comes closer to the pane.

173

CABIN FROM THE INSIDE. ZOOM-IN Oil Askot, who StareS at Marja at length. felucca’s deck. Tlie captain approaches Marja, asks her to follow him. She hesitates but follows him. The man points, exits the frame. Marja follows him. askot’s cabin.

Askot’s eyes follow Marja until she is out of sight. His face takes on a puzzling, brooding expression. OUTSIDE ANOTHER CABIN ON THE FELUCCA. Marja lias just entered. The captain and a seaman shut the door, peer at Marja and briefly smile at each other, the same way the men on the motorboat had smiled at each other. askot’s cabin.

Askot sits back down at his desk. Resumes smoking, looks down. askot’s cabin.

A Turkish-dressed man sitting on the floor and tending to Askots hookah. Askot’s boot is now visible in the frame, and he kicks the servant’s shoulders. He looks up. askot’s cabin.

Askot, with a furrowed brow, says to the

servant: Title: Look, the crew on this felucca, which you lodge, is not to be trusted! He resumes smoking, looks one last time at the window. marja’s cabin.

Marja, exhausted and terrified, sits down on a bench, looks at her hand and presses her bare ring finger to her mouth in silent desperation. Her eyes swell with tears. 174

The shot dissolves to: a court ball.

Marja and Alexander are dancing the mazurka. They are graceful and refined; they are called forth. Marja receives a bejeweled ring from a prominent dignitary. The shot dissolves to: cabin.

Marja shudders. She wraps her fur coat more securely around herself. She collapses. Fade to black. Title: Constantinople, that beautiful and peculiar city in the Bos­ phorus, was under the control of the Triple Entente and occu­ pied by foreign military forces. For the first time, the city is the focus of political pursuits—this city of pleasure, luxury, and misery. LONG SHOT OF CONSTANTINOPLE’S HARBOR with ships,

the Galata Bridge—over which troops are riding on horse­ back—crowds, and busy street life. Title: And this is where Alexander Karinski ended up. wide panorama of the city.

Fade in to:

a street.

Fjodor and Karinski, who is freshly shaven and handsome, in a cab. Fjodor points out places and sights, but Karinski is only half-listening. He then proceeds to tell Fjodor about his separation from Marja: Title: She was the only thing I had left to live for, Fiodor Petrovitsch, and now I have lost her, too. Karinski flicks away the cigarette he was smoking, turns 175

away to conceal his tears and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. In the meantime, Fjodor seizes the opportunity to pick up Karinskis cigarette and quickly takes some puffs. Once Karinski has dried his eyes, he mutters: “Forgive me, Fjodor, I have to...” Fjodor quickly hides the cigarette and says mechanically, entirely vacantly: Title: Yes, that is quite sad. Fjodor barely glances at Alexander and adds: Title: You have to distract yourself. I shall take you to a charming little restaurant. Karinski nods mechanically. Shot dissolves to: the evening sea.

The felucca emerges slowly from the sunset. One of the navigation lights is reflected in the ships shadow against the water. A man in a somewhat ragged Turk­ ish costume and with a ferocious countenance is at the helm. On the deck, Askot Bey paces back and forth, visibly deep in thought. The shot dissolves to: felucca.

Askot Bey hesitantly approaches Marjas cabin. Stands by the window, looks around, then peers inside. felucca. Marjas cabin. Marja is dressed, sleeping, with her head resting against her arm, and illuminated by the naviga­ tion light. She appears touchingly childlike and weary. felucca, close-up

of Askot watching her. He jerks his head back, looks in the direction of the steersman.

176

felucca.

The steersman: large, round head, some kind of negro, fleecy hair and thick lips. He raises his grinning face. His glance meets Askots for a moment, and then he quickly looks away. felucca. Aslcot Bey. He approaches the steersman, fixes his searching eyes on him. fade out.

Title: Several weeks had gone by without the Russian officers having heard anything from Askot Bey, and even General Smirnoff was happy to resort to his special job in the evenings. an enormous head of a grimacing bear and expands to reveal a man dressed up as a ‘Russian bear’ with a Russian cap on his head and a conductors baton in his hand. He is conducting an orchestra, whose members are all dressed as Russian bears. They are sitting around and behind the conductor on the bandstand.

the shot opens over

with several patrons, couples dancing between the tables. The bear sig­ nals the orchestra to stop, turns away from the camera. long shot of an exotic restaurant

restaurant, zoom-in on the m An, who lifts

up his bear mask and dabs his sweaty face. It is General Smirnoff; he turns around after someone calls to him. restaurant.

A woman wearing a white ermine fur and pearls, an elaborate hairdo, and with magnificent poise enters the scene and says gracefully: Title: My dear General, you cannot take such long breaks. The guests will leave us. 177

The general sighs, composes himself, bows, pulls down the bear mask, puts the Russian cap on and resumes conducting. outside a restaurant with an illuminated sign in Rus­ sian letters. Fjodor and Sascha exit a cab. Fjodor looks at the entrance and discourages them from entering, but Karinski says: “But I would like to go inside”, and he pays the driver.

RESTAURANT ENTRANCE FROM THE INSIDE. Drapery closes off the entrance. Some type of compartment for coats to the side. The drapery is pulled aside, Fjodor and Karinski step inside. Karinski stops and stares with curiosity. At that moment an old man with glasses and shoulder-length hair enters the shot and asks for their coats. He takes Fjodors and is about to take Karinskis, but he looks perplexed. hallway, medium shot. Karinski smiles a bit nervously, hands his coat to the gentle old man, who is peering at Karin­ ski through his glasses, trying to place him, after which he leaves. Karinski looks around. Fjodor to Karinski:

Title: That was a former professor at Moscow University. LONG SHOT, a SEMICIRCLE SHAPED RESTAURANT, low

ceilings, narrow tables and booths, orchestra in the back­ ground, peculiar decorations on the ceiling and walls. A lot of people, smoke, music, attractive lighting. The patrons appear to be unique and very diverse. The aforementioned hostess approaches. She walks up to Fjodor. restaurant, cut to:

A table with peculiar guests. An Armenian with flabby features, an oddly dressed officer, a sus­ picious Greek. On the table is a large block of ice with caviar, 178

Champagne in ice. A young beautiful woman, charming and in full dress, has turned around upon hearing the hostess’s plea. She smiles: “I am coming”, swallows some caviar and gets up: “Gentlemen.” As she exits the frame, she wipes her hands on a small apron, which is for some reason tied around her beautiful dress. entrance. The hostess points to a table and says: “Welcome,

gentlemen.” She leaves. Fjodor and Karinski proceed. Restau­ rant: an empty table. The young, charming woman enters the frame. “Is this table suitable?” She tidies some flowers and an unusual centerpiece. In the same moment, Fjodor and Karinski enter the frame. They choose their seats, Karinski somewhat confused, stares at the woman. restaurant, close-up

of Karinski, staring at the woman.

restaurant, close-up

of the woman, who sits down, smiles encouragingly at the men, and pulls out a little notepad from her pocket and a pen hanging from her pearl sautoir. She says: “Well, what will we be having?” restaurant.

Fjodor dictates politely. The woman writes.

restaurant, close-up. A notepad with a hand that writes:

“Caviar aux blinis, vodka.” restaurant.

The woman puts the pen and pad away, gets up. Karinski has been staring at her the whole time. She says gracefully and nonchalantly: “It will be right out.” Karinski stands halfway up, is about to call after her, but sits down, astonished. He says something to Fjodor. He nods calmly and responds: 179

Title: Oh, yes, that was Countess Lydia Bariatinskaja! You have danced with her several times at the roval balls. Fjodor makes a subtle gesture to her, and as he offers a cig­ arette, he begins to point: “And look there!” Karinskis eyes follow in the direction he is pointing: “And over there, and there!” Karinskis face takes on a different expression at each and every one of them that Fjodor, still handing out boring information, identifies throughout the dining room. Fjodor continues: “And that gentleman with the woman over there...” cut to: restaurant.

Entering the frame is a couple, seen from behind. The man, an older gentleman, pauses. At the same time, the woman turns around. She is very chic and pro­ vocatively dressed. She asks: “Shall we sit here?” and makes a subtle gesture. She turns to the older man: “There is a fine spot over there.” She points far off, and the older gentleman proceeds to exit the frame. The woman looks around furtively. She exits the frame. restaurant, karinski’s table.

Fjodor suddenly stops, drops his arms, quickly adjusts his seat so that he is sitting with his back to the other diners. Karinski immediately rec­ ognizes the woman and says to Fjodor: Title: Look, its your wife. Wont you go and fetch her? Fjodor motions to Karinski: “Sit still. Don’t say a word!” Karinski does not understand: “Why not, what is the mean­ ing of this?” Fjodor replies quietly and automatically: Title: I no longer have a wife.

180

Karinski does not dare ask any more questions. Fjodor stares ahead, his lips begin to move: Title: She has left me. I could not provide for her. Fjodor fiddles with a match, snaps it in half, and fights his emotions; however, unable to resist his curiosity, he leans into Karinski and asks softly and jealously with pursed lips: Title: Who is that accompanying her tonight? Karinski replies: “Don’t know.” Fjodor nods: “Is that so, you don’t know who that is.” Fjodor shifts his glance to Karinski, sinks his eyes into him and says: “You ought to be happy that you only have yourself to worry about.” Suddenly both of the men look up. restaurant’s bandstand. The general

resumes his play­ ing, this time a Russian dance with a feverish pace. The gen­ eral stops conducting and begins dancing a few basic steps in his bear get up. Then he resumes conducting once again; all of this is carried out at an incredible speed. restaurant.

Karinski’s table. All of a sudden Fjodor sits back with laughter, thrusts himself forward, toward Karinski, points and says: Title: “And the one jumping about up there, he is none other than our General Smirnoff.” This is too much for Karinski. In some kind of confused des­ peration, he bursts out in a nervous laughter, which he cannot subdue. Fjodor looks at him. 181

restaurant, cut to:

a table, one of the men is watching Karinski with interest and smirks: “No, look. That one is in a good mood!” and laughs out of sympathy. The others concur with laughter. restaurant. karinskTs table.

Karinskis laughter has passed into paroxysm. He convulsively points to the platform: “Look, just look!” Fjodor attempts to quiet him. restaurant, bandstand. Proud and pleased with himself,

the general is dancing his bear-dance. restaurant, karinski’s table.

Fjodor tries once again to quiet him down, but Karinski gets up and in a sarcastic, despairing, and scornful manner, he yells: Title: Bravo, my fellow-countrymen! To happiness! Long live Russia!

But in the next moment, he falls to his seat, resigned. restaurant, some tables. Karinski’s behavior has aroused attention. People look at him and make comments. Countess Lydia is seen heading toward Karinskis table. restaurant, karinski’s table.

Countess Lydia arrives with vodka and caviar. Karinski takes a nip, empties it in one gulp, slams the glass, flings everything off the table and shouts: Title: I want to have fun tonight! Champaign at once! Fjodor takes him by the arm, shakes him: “Are you mad, what 182

are you doing?” But Karinski, utterly desperate, does not heed him. The scene fades to white. marja’s cabin on the felucca. She is sitting on

a bench with her cheek resting in her hand. She suddenly raises her head. She hears something. FELUCCA. THE CABIN DOOR FROM THE INSIDE. The door opens, the captain and some strange men enter the room. Hastily, the captain exchanges a few words with the strange men, then, smiling and with gentle steps, they exit the frame. FELUCCA, marja’s CABIN. ZOOM-IN ON MARJA with eyes wide open with fear. She backs away, clings to the wall. xMarja’s cabin, long shot.

The men suddenly pull out a large piece of cloth and throw it over Marja. She tries to defend herself; she screams. felucca, askot bey’s cabin. Askots servant is assisting his master with some luggage. Suddenly, Askot grabs hold of the servants arm and exclaims: “Stop!” They listen intently. felucca, the deck.

The men exit Marja’s cabin, carrying Marja—fully covered by the sheet—across the gangway to shore. felucca, askot’s cabin.

Askot looks out the window. He

sees: A STRIP OF A SHORE. THERE IS A HOUSE ON THE SHORE. Men carrying Marja enter the shot. They take her inside the house. 183

felucca, askot’s cabin.

Askot says something to the servant, and they rush out. Askot stops, searches his luggage, takes something out and puts it in his pocket, then proceeds to run out. inside the old house. A rundown room with a couch; Marja is on the couch. The men remove the cloth in which Marja is wrapped. At the same time, a door opens in the back­ ground; Askot is visible. The captain of the felucca charges at Askot and starts shouting at him.

INSIDE THE OLD HOUSE. CLOSE-UP OF MARJA, who half-consciously watches the scene by the door. THE OLD HOUSE. ENTRYWAY FROM OUTSIDE. Askot negotiates with the captain, whose violent demeanor turns to excessive flattery. Finally, mutual agreement is visibly reached. Askot makes a gesture that signals his intention to pull out money, but he stops and says: “First get rid of all these people!” The captain bows: “I understand.” He yells some­ thing to his men inside. inside the old house.

By the couch. The men release Marja and head to the door, toward Askot and the captain. the old house from outside. The captain gives his men an order. They walk out the door and exit the shot. The cap­ tain and Askot remain. The captain is visibly waiting: “Well, first things first.” Askot takes out his wallet and starts count­ ing out bills.

inside the old house.

The couch. Marja watches and is engrossed in Askot’s and the Captains exchange. 184

Einar Hanson. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius private collec­ tion) INSIDE THE OLD house, the door. Askot hands over the last bill. The captain bows and thanks him. Askot motions: “You can go.” With obsequious politeness, the captain slips out. Askot closes the door behind him. He turns to Marja and exits the shot. inside the old house. Askot approaches Marjas couch. She stands up with feverish excitement. She asks something. He bows respectfully. She asks again. He says:

185

Title: You were as good as sold to a sailor in town. He points behind him. She proceeds to ask questions in the same frantic manner. He makes a simple but reassuring ges­ ture and further explains: Title: Fortunately, I was able to make a bid, and I...outbid him! She is still astonished and terrified. Askot makes a reassuring gesture and says with a smile: Title: You don’t have to fear them any longer. Please, calm down, Madame! and he bows. inside the old house, close-up of Marja. She is too upset to thank him; she just stands still and stares at Askot. inside the old house, long shot.

Askots servant enters, tells something to Askot, who then turns to Marja: Title: Madame, it is too dangerous to stay here. We have to continue our journey at once. It is still 200 kilometers to Constantinople., Marja is still shocked and astounded; she mechanically mut­ ters: “Yes, of course, we must go on.” She takes a step forward. He stops her and adds: Title: It is for the best if you remain veiled as we make our iournev. She nods, still mechanically: “Yes, yes, I see.” Askot swiftly motions to his servant, gives him money and says: 186

Title: Try to send a telegram to General Smirnoff. Let him know that I will be in Constantinople in just a couple of days. The servant nods, the scene fades to white. restaurant.

An area of floor, upon which lies broken bot­ tles, shattered glass, but even empty and unbroken bottles, wilted flowers, cigarette butts and ashes. And old, withered laborer enters the scene with a broom and sweeps. Then another laborer comes in with a dustpan. The men sweep away. Suddenly, three or four pairs of legs are visible in the shot: a pair of patent leather boots; a pair of dress pants and court shoes; a pair of womens legs under a raised train. The old laborers with the broom and dustpan pull them out of the shot. Feet whiz by, the woman kicks away a bottle, legs dance out of the frame. Silently and patiently, the old men continue sweeping. a lavatory or a corner of it. To the side, a semi-messy

centerpiece with a mirror, a light above the mirror. To the side of the centerpiece, Karinski is slumped over with a blank stare ahead. He lifts one of his hands mechanically and stares at the bill he’s holding. He reads the total amount once more, remains motionless, looks to the side. cut to: lavatory.

On a small shoe-shine stool, the res­ taurant’s large Angora cat is sitting and watching Karinski intensely. lavatory.

Karinski shoos the cat away. Watches it until it’s finally on its way, then he digs a bit in his other pocket. He pulls out a piece of jewelry with pearls and diamonds (famil­ iar from the train cars). He looks at the piece of jewelry, he 187

looks at the bill, then he suddenly heads toward the door and exits the shot. outside the lavatory. The hostess, still in her ermine fur and pearls, is waiting outside the lavatory door, drowsy and disheveled, when she gives a start and freshens up her face until she appears “charming and refined” Karinski comes out, stops in front of her, pulls himself together, shows her the bill. The woman smiles: Of course, the bill!” Karinski abruptly raises his other hand holding the jewelry and says curtly: “Will you take this jewelry as security for the bill?” The host­ ess is not taken aback for a moment, but merely looks at the jewelry, and smiles sympathetically: “Well, then, all right... Yes, I see...What is there to say?...All right...Well, why not?” And she takes the jewelry and makes a slight gesture with her hand, the matter is settled. She is about to leave, but Karinski stops her right away, grabs her tightly by the arm, glares at her, almost savagely, and exclaims:

Title: Be careful with this! Do you understand? I will be back for it! Then he swears to return and redeem it: “And it will still be here, does the Lady understand?” He swears his life on it that he will return. The hostess complies: “Well, why not, of course”, and she leaves. Karinski begins to weep. inside the restaurant. The old professor was the one sweeping up, and he has been sweeping all the while. Now he discovers something that has clearly been kicked to the side. It is the small purse in which Marja had placed her jewelry. The professor picks it up and shakes it. He pulls out a small lace handkerchief and what looks like a small silk cowl. The professor stands with the purse in one hand and

188

the cowl in the other, looks pensive, shakes his head a little. Fade to black. Title: Soon even Karinski was among the many who sought salva­ tion in enlisting in a foreign army. THE SCENE OPENS OVER A GREAT HALL IN A RUNDOWN

Muslim mosque captured from above. In the back of the hall is a Russian flag and in front of it, on a small platform is a table with a bible and a large document on it. Standing behind the table is General Smirnoff, surrounded by older officers. In front of the table is an officer who, with a raised hand, takes an oath and signs his name on the document and moves on. A new man, Karinski, comes forward, takes the oath, signs. The hall is filled with officers, in civilian attire or worn uniforms, who have just signed the document. Fade in to: close-up of a hand

that has already signed: Alexander Alexejevitsch Karinski, lieutenant of the Preobrazhensky Imperial Guard. Now his hand writes notes in a column, such as: “Wounded two times”, “Order of St. George”, “Medal of Honor”, etc. mosque hall.

Karinski has stopped writing, looks up at the older officers, leaves the table. mosque hall, long shot.

Karinski returns to his place. The general picks up a telegram: Title: According to this telegram. Askot Bey will arrive by tomor­ row. 189

The general puts down the telegram, points to the document and continues: Title: Upon his arrival I will immediately present him this register of Russian officers who are in Constantinople and ready for combat. mosque hall.

The general, slightly trembling as he speaks, holds the list in the air, proudly lifts his head and continues:

Title: And I believe we can proudly tell him that, despite all the despicable rumors and all the degrading ordeals of exile, we have always remained soldiers of glorv. faith, and honor! mosque hall.

Karinski among a group of officers. He has pulled out a cigarette and is holding it in his hand. His lips form a subtle, self-mocking smirk. He puts the cigarette in his mouth, looks to the side, and meets: mosque hall.

Fjodors eyes. The usual weary and cynical expression is on his face. mosque hall.

The general is still talking. The scene fades

to white. panorama. A small caravan with camels, donkeys and horses, which are pulling it through a desolate mountain range. The shot dissolves to: panorama. Medium long shot of Askot and Marja,

riding a large camel. They are sitting in a basket, over which stretches a canopy or a canvas, shielding them from the sun. The basket rocks gently; Marja has calmed down. In fact, she is almost 190

cheerful; however, it’s hot underneath the tight veil, and she wipes her brow. She is about to remove her veil but stops herself, turns to Askot, glances at him and says with a gentle grin: Title: Will the master allow his slave to lift her veil for a moment? panorama, close-up ofMarja. She says this with a smile, does not wait for his response but rather takes off the veil and breathes with relief. panorama, cut to:

Askot. He looks at her, and he is smit­

ten. He mutters: Title: You are mistaken, Madame. I am the slave. He makes a gesture: Title: And you, mv Mistress. and he points to Marja. panorama, zoom-in

on Marja. She becomes serious, a bit uneasy, but to conceal this, she gently says with a smile:

Title: And yet it was you who purchased me. and she mimics his gesture inversely. panorama, marja and askot.

Askot has now become serious, too. He leans in toward Marja, looks her solemnly in the eye and says:

191

Title: In the East, there is something else we purchase this wav...A wife! Marja gives a start at these words, looks at him. Restrained, nearly reserved, he returns her glance and asks: Title: Is the concept foreign to you? For a moment, Marja is upset and looks ahead. After a brief movement, Askot is leaning against her, speaking, whisper­ ing. Marja slowly lifts her veil and fastens it over her face. She withdraws inside her basket. panorama, long shot.

The caravan is traveling along.

Title: It is Ramadan. Hie month of fast ing and celebration for Mus­ lims. Askot Bey is approaching Constantinople. PICTURESQUE CITY GATE IN CONSTANTINOPLE. A Car­

riage with a few horses rides through the gate. The camera follows. Askot and Marja in the carriage. In addition to the driver, there is Askots servant. Title: The city is preparing for the great nightly feast. Thousands of sheep are led through the streets and squares to the slaugh­ tering block. street.

Woolly sheep are seen in the light of a buzzing street. Decorated and dressed up, the sheep flow forward in a great stream. street.

Sheep at a cross street. The road is narrow and because the sheep are crossing, the heavy traffic must stop: 192

taxicabs, cars and pedestrians are all forced to wait as the sheep pass. street.

Inside Askots carriage. Askot leans out and sees other carriages behind him that have been forced to stop. He brings this to Marjas attention. street. Facing the sheep. We see back to back, head to head, black and white bleating sheep. street.

Sheep in the foreground, trudging along. On the other side of the sheep, among the horses and carriages, is Karinski, trying to make his way through. He waits to cross the street. Suddenly, he spots something. street, zoom-in

on Karinski with eyes wide open, starring

ahead. street, cut to:

the foreground, a gray stream of sheep being pulled along. Behind them, a glimpse of Askots car­ riage and horses. Marjas veiled face is peeking out the side of the carriage. Marja is curious, and she instinctively pulls away her veil to get a better look. street, cut to:

a shepherd in a picturesque costume lead­ ing the flock, carrying a dressed up darling little lamb.

street, askot’s carriage.

Marja keeps her eye on the shepherd with the lamb. She smiles slightly. street.

Karinski, a cry escapes him, he forces his way

through.

193

street, from behind.

Karinski is seen running into the

flock. street, among the sheep.

Karinski is lying on the pave­

ment. street, the flock.

Startled, they scatter like waves to the sides. Those standing around shout and struggle to drive the sheep back onto the road. street.

Karinski among several sheep. He gets up, falls down

again. street, long shot

of the intersection. Someone shouts and yells, “Where did he go?” street.

Marja and Askot in the carriage. Marja asks what the matter is. Askot, cigarette in hand, replies that he doesn’t know. He is utterly indifferent. street. Some British officers stroll by.

One of them becomes

suspicious and stops, looks. street, close-up

of a sympathetic and restrained British

officer. Title: British military attache Sir William Carey

Mr. X.

street. The officers.

Carey points, speaks to the others, hur­ ries off screen, the officers follow him. street view. Chaotic traffic, horses frightened by the sheep,

which are now running past all the carriages. 194

wide shot of street. Karinsld has gotten

up again, rushes to Marjas carriage, whose horses are already reared in terror. He grabs hold of one of the horses, but its frightened and dashes ahead. Karinsld, however, does not let got, but rather is dragged along. The carriage rides out of the shot. A brief glimpse of Askot and Marja. street, medium close-up

of Askot and Marja. She is

frightened, looks ahead. street, long shot.

Askots carriage dashes onward, drag­ ging Karinsld behind it. street.

Karinsld from the back, half-dragged, half-running; he tries to raise his head to see into the carriage. the carriage from the side.

Alarmed, Marja gets up

halfway. Karinsld lets go, falls. street, cut to:

Marja, she lets out a scream.

street, cut to:

Karinski. Tire wheel runs over his body.

street.

Bystanders, Carey and the other Englishmen at the front, they dash forward.

street, long shot

of the carriage, which has stopped. Karinsld is pulled up. The shot cuts to:

street, close-up

of an unconscious Karinski, who is lifted

up.

195

street, in the carriage. Marjarecognizes Karinski, cries

out: “Its Alexander!” street, close-up

of hands that turn Karinskis face over.

street, in the carriage.

Marja is ready to run over to

him. Askot stops her and says: Title: May I ask you to calm down, Madame. 1 will carry him in my carriage. street, carriage.

Karinski is lifted up. Askot enters the

frame. street, carriage, cut to:

Marja in extreme distress and

anguish. STREET. GROUP HUDDLED AROUND KARINSKI. They look

around to see where they can take him. Askot says: Title: Madame and I are truly sorry for what has happened. Carey, who has taken charge, nods fleetingly and says abruptly: “Great, we will put him in your carriage!” Karinski is carried to the carriage at once. street, by the carriage. Carey makes sure that Karinski

is lifted into the carriage. Askots servant assists them. Marja, too, tries to help but is stopped by Askot. street.

196

Carey, staring at Marja.

street.

Askot, orders the driver to drive at once.

street.

Marja, looking timidly at Carey.

street, long shot.

Carey approaches Marja with a busi­ ness card, hands it over to her as he says: “If you happen to need further assistance, I am at your service.” Askot thanks him, climbs into the carriage.

street, in the carriage.

Marja can no longer restrain herself. She flings herself over Karinski. STREET. IN THE CARRIAGE. CUT TO: Askot, wllO shoiltS at the coachman: “Drive!” street, in the carriage, close-up

of Marja and Karin­ ski. Marja cries and laments over him. Carey and others are seen in the background, and the carriage takes off at the same time. Karinski and Marja glide out of the shot. Carey looks on, astonished. “What a peculiar thing to do. That Turkish woman threw herself on the wounded man!” He turns to his companions, says something to them, then they all look on at the carriage. street, extreme long shot.

Askots carriage drives away.

street.

Carey and an officer. They converse, suddenly decide something, and rapidly exit the frame. street, in the carriage.

Marja is still lying next to Karin­ ski. Askots hand enters the frame, grabs her and pulls her backwards, out of the frame.

197

STREET. OPPOSITE END OF THE CARRIAGE. Marja is pulled by Askot into the frame. He pushes her down into her seat. He is pale. Furiously and violently, he squeezes her hand against his chest and whimpers: Title: Who is he that you caress him so? Marja responds with only indistinct words. She moans and tries to embrace Karinski again. Askot stops her and exclaims: Title: It is my opinion that you may not touch another man. You belong to me, haven’t you realized that? Marja looks at Askot, and its as if she just realized how much of a stranger he is to her. She bursts out: Title: Are you mad? Do you think I am your property? Askot laughs, lifts his head: the savagery of the Orient sud­ denly bursts forth. He shouts: Title: Why not? I bought you, after all! Now I plan to keep you! street.

Carey and some officers get hold of a taxicab. Carey instructs the driver and points. They hop into the car, which drives away. street. Askots carriage. Askot pulls Marja more forcefully to

him. Then he suddenly lets go of her. He looks like a wounded animal, then says: Title: Maria, my heart belongs to you. Don't trample over it!

198

But Marja is utterly terrified. She looks around with fear in her eyes, and finally looks back. (from Marjas point of view). The car with Carey, who is pointing and urging the driver to drive faster. The car speeds up. street or park

street or park.

In Askots carriage. Askot tries to get Marja to calm down, but she cries: “I’m afraid of you. Let me go!” She tears off her veil and waves it at the car following behind them. street or park, cut to:

inside the car. Cary and his friends understand the signal. They speed up. street or park, long shot.

The car eventually catches

up to Askots carriage. STREET OR PARK. IN ASKOT’S CARRIAGE. Askot notices that the car is getting closer, he quickly grasps the situation. He pulls Marja down to her seat and mutters: Title: You will regret this! street or park, wide shot.

Askots carriage. The car swings into the frame, next to the carriage, which slows down. Carey jumps out of the car, climbs onto the carriages foot­ board, orders the coachman to stop. The carriage stops. street or park, medium close-up

from the other side of the carriage. Carey in the background, facing forward. Askot and Marja in the foreground. Carey asks what the matter is. Terrified, Marja mumbles something indistinct. Carey says: 199

“Calm down, Madame, I will protect you!” then turns to Askot Bey and continues: Title: Tin a deputy of the checkpoint authorities, and 1 cannot per­ mit you to flee with a European woman against her will! STREET OR PARK. IN THE CARRIAGE. CLOSE-UP of Askot,

who quickly restrains himself, smiles courteously and cleverly and proceeds to deliver some kind of explanation. street or park, by the carriage.

Carey, calmly nods: “Good, I’m sure I can take care of this matter, you will see.” But its clear that he is dead set on getting to the bottom of things.

200

A Tale from Constantinople by

Mauritz Stiller and Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius Based on the novel I livets virvlnr (Whirlpools of Life) by Vladimir Semitjov.

Part Two

Title: Thanks to Careys aggressive intervention, Maria has been freed from Askot Bey’s clutches. SOME KIND OF CELLAR OR SHABBY HUT: Marja is hovering over Karinslci, who is reclining on an old armchair padded with cushions. She looks at him tenderly, fluffs a pillow, fixes a bandage, gives him another tender glance and exits the frame. hut. a wondow without curtains:

Carey is sitting at a table. Marja enters the frame. She is exhausted after all the outrageous events; she extends her hand to Carey and says with sorrowful yet heartfelt gratitude: “How can I ever thank you?” She squeezes his hand, his grasp lingers, but he responds prudently and properly: “Oh, it was nothing.” He is somewhat moved and rather embarrassed and lo deflect any attention, he looks around the hut. Marja follows his gaze. hut. cut to: a corner of the bare room with a Madonna icon and a lamp. Hanging from the lamp, on an ordinary hanger is a freshly pressed uniform with military decorations. Next to it a crate with newspaper spread over it and fancy toiletries on top. hut. marja anc carey.

Their eyes meet: her lips reveal melancholy and a trace of facetiousness when she says: Title: Poor Sascha! This isn’t exactly his bachelor flat in St. Peters­ burg! A tear glistens in her eye, but then a macabre smile lights up her face: “My God, the things we have to go through. And thank God its all over.” In that moment, they hear something. They turn their heads. 202

hut. cut to:

an old Greek woman in a dirty dressing gown and slippers. She is with a child who is clutching her by the skirt. She is holding a samovar and has a boot under her arm. The child is holding two cups. They exit the frame. hut. at the table. Marja clears the table and takes the samovar; the old lady puts the boot next to the samovar. The old woman scratches her head as she takes the cups from the impatient child. Carey opens the window. He gives sideglances to the old lady and the child. Carey wonders what the boot is for. Marja informs him: “Oh, I know, poor people in Russia use it as a pair of bellows... to puff on the coal in the samovar.” Carey is intrigued, Marja suddenly pauses, puts down the boot, they look at each other and inevitably laugh. Marja stops them with a: “Shh, shh” and looks in Karinskis direction, nods reassuringly at Carey and starts pouring the tea. The scene dissolves to: hut. a while later.

Marja and Carey. They have finished their tea. Carey flicks a cigarette butt, rises and thanks her. He walks up to Marja and bids her farewell. With sorrowful flir­ tatiousness, she extends her hand, which he firmly shakes; he looks at her affectionately and still holding her hand, he says: Title: Countess, you need a distraction. Wednesday evening is the conclusion of Ramadan. The lights and street life is unpar­ alleled. Allow me to show them to you. My steam yacht can take us out to the Bosphorus. hut.

A glint of curiosity and a spark] of interest flash over Marjas face. But she pulls her hand from Careys, points to the bed, and says: “I cannot leave Alexander.” Carey looks in the same direction. 203

HUT. CUT TO: KARINSKY.

hut. marja anc carey.

He says: “My, what a loyal nurse you are!” Marja smiles and glances in Alexander’s direction. Carey makes an encouraging gesture and says: Title: When Count Karinski is fully recovered...and not until then...he can join us on my yacht on the Bosphorus. He squeezes her hand even firmer, salutes her and says: Title: No objections! 1 will meet you here, Wednesday eveningjit 10 o’clock sharp! He hurries to the door. doorway of hut.

Carey enters the frame, points to his watch and calls: “Don’t forget, 10 o’clock!” and runs out. The scene fades to white. askot’s fancy hotelroom. Askot reclining on a sofa. Next to him, his servant who has just served him coffee and is now listening to Askot, who, pale with rage, confides to him that Marja has escaped from his clutches. He is restrained, but his eyes are glowing when he says: “They ripped her away from me, those scoundrels!” askot’s room, close-up of askot.

He closes his eyes

and feebly clenches his fist. askot’s room, long shot.

Askot’s servant gets an idea. He grins at Askot, creeps up to him and whispers consolingly, as if to a child: “Sir, let them all drown.” Then Ibrahim, the servant, gestures: “Strangle them and then.. .to the Bosphorus 204

Einar Hanson. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius’ private collec­ tion) with them!” Askot listens for a moment, then kicks Ibrahim— who falls to the ground—and leaps up in a single bound and exclaims: “Silence!” He looks at the desk, and lithely exits the frame. askot’s hotelroom: Askot walks up to the desk, opens a drawer and pulls out the register of Russian officers. close-up of the register

that General Smirnoff showed before. The list moves upwards and the camera focuses on the officers’ names. His finger stops at Karinskis. 205

askot’s hotelroom. close-up of askot

who, in a fit of rage, is about to tear up the list, but he stops himself, and sneers. He suddenly hits on a solution and calls Ibrahim, who enters the frame. He orders him: Title: Go to General Smirnoff at once. I must speak with him imme­ diately! Ibrahim dashes away. Askots eyes glow with a burning desire for revenge; he is already pleased. The scene fades to white. karinsky’s hut. long shot. Karinski is sitting in his seat with his eyes closed. There is a small table next to the chair, where Marja is turning on a lamp. Karinski awakens and jerks his head. karinsky’s hut. long shot, close-up of karinsky

in his chair. He opens his eyes. He has an obvious fever, for his eyes are unnaturally glossy, beads of sweat cover his brow and his hair is damp and disheveled. He stares ahead with a frightened look in his eye. hut.

An initially hazy then sharper and more prominent shadow of Marja’s head and shoulders appears, caused by her body against the lamp. The shot pans away, fades to white. hut. long shot.

Karinski, reclining in his chair.

hut. karinsky. He is staring at her shadow. His dry lips and piercing eyes make a ghastly impression. He suddenly calls out: “Marja.”

206

hut. marja in front of the lamp. She heeds his call and

hurries out of the shot. hut. the bed.

Karinski stares at the wall and follows her shadow, which shrinks as Marja enters the frame and leans over him. He is still staring at her shadow. hut.

Marjas shadow.

hut. bed. Marja whispers merrily and excitedly: “Sascha, my

dear, you are awake, what is the matter?” She is nothing but tender to him, but he merely stares at her shadow. Suddenly, he turns to her, looks at her suspiciously. Marja exclaims: “What is wrong? Its me, Marja!” and lovingly leans over him. His eyes widen, things are suddenly clear, and he recognizes her, begins to sob uncontrollably and throws his head upon her lap. She is startled, becomes twice as affectionate, kisses and caresses him: “Sascha, my dear.” Finally, he raises his head, turns desperately away from her, buries his face in his pillow and exclaims: Title: Maria, if you only knew! hut. medium close-up. She asks: “What is it? Tell me!” Still

turned away from her and with his face buried in the pillow, he starts ranting frantically, deliriously. She is able to make out words such as: Title: I sold vour jewelry... I gambled our money away. In some kind of self-tormenting fit, he explains further. She embraces him, for she is consumed by self-sacrificing compas­ sion. She rocks him back and forth like a baby. She whispers: 207

Title: Sascha, that doesn't matter...as long as I am with you, living with you. Suddenly, he gazes at her intently, then throws himself on the floor and starts laughing uncontrollably: “Yes, of course, you will stay with me, live with me here.” He points around the room and adds: Title: In this hut. He exclaims: “No, no, never!” She musters all of her strength to calm him down: “Yes, but Sascha, don’t make it out to be worse than it is. Surely, I can work, work for the both of us!” He practically cuts her off, stops himself, abruptly nods in agreement and says with a curious smile: “Yes, of course, that’s what they all say...Yes, yes, you can work.” Marja adds fervently: “Of course I will work for us.” He continues: Title: Yes, precisely, you can work. You are beautiful ! You can get a job at a restaurant... as a waitress. He describes this with a kind of inner visionary clarity, as if he already saw her working; now he begins to describe it. Title: You will certainly earn money. The guests will fight for the chance to be served by a proper hostess. He laughs, then becomes desperate again: Title: But I, who is only good enough to be a soldier...! will sink to new levels every day. She cries frantically: “Sascha”, but like an impatient child, he 208

shakes his head: “No, let me explain...I can see it so clearly.” He points straight ahead: “Don’t you see? Can’t you see it?” The frame dissolves to: AN ALTERNATING JUXTAPOSITION OF THE RESTAURANT WITH THE WOMAN IN THE ERMINE FUR AND PEARLS,

the old professor, various characters seated at the tables; at the forefront, the conducting general in the bear costume. Tliis shot fades in to: restaurant.

Countess Lydia waiting a table, serving cham­ pagne to a lone stranger. The shot dissolves into:

restaurant. Countess Lydia is nowMarja: in the same posi­

tion, at the same table, serving the same man. The stranger now looks cynical and lecherous. Marja takes some form of a payment. The stranger gives her more money, puts it in her hand, which he caresses. Then he strokes her arm, upwards. Marja is frightened but tries to maintain her composure. She looks to the side. restaurant.

Karinski, alone at a narrow table. Stone-faced, he sees how Marja is being treated. Out of habit, he fiddles with the military decoration at the cuff of his tailcoat. restaurant. Marja and the stranger. His audacity is now bolder, and he whispers something into her ear. She tries to keep her distance, but he pulls her closer to him and kisses her ear. restaurant.

Karinski in the same place. He takes some­ thing out of his pocket: a revolver. But he checks himself and sticks it back in his pocket: 209

Title: But I do not dare intervene...for then you would lose your job. hut.

Karinski with eyes wide-open: he waves his hand and adds with a curious emphasis: Title: And I become so miserable that one evening 1 ... The title card dissolves to: outside the restaurant.

Karinski clinging to the exit, waiting for someone. Marja comes out, wearing a fur coat; she looks around hastily, walks up to Karinski and abruptly throws him a few bills: “Take this, but quickly, and then...” She waves anxiously, “leave at once. You cannot stay here!” Karinski walks backwards out of the frame. In the same moment, the same man from the hallucination comes out of the restaurant. Marja smiles listlessly at him; they exit the frame together. outside the restaurant, close-up of

Karinski. He sticks the money in his pocket as he follows Marja and the man with his eyes: Title: And I do not run after you...What good would it do? The shot dissolves to: hut.

Karinski and Marja. Marja is still standing next to Karinski s chair. He whispers, as if in the midst of an awak­ ening:

210

Title: And you will end up just like me: dead but still alive. Spiteful, you, the epitome of kindness! He cries out as if suffering a smarting pain and sinks back into the pillows. Marja buries her face in her hands. A short pause. Karinski fumbles after her hand and pulls her closer to him; cheek to cheek, they rock back and forth. He suddenly stops himself, and a cry escapes him. He exclaims: Title: If I could only be a soldier again! hut. medium close-up. Marja looks at him with genuine sympathy, caresses him, lakes his head, leans him against his pillow, and whispers: “Relax, Sascha, everything will be good again. You will see.” But Karinski is impatient; like a spoiled child he rips off his bandage and shouts:

Title: And General Smirnoff who refuses to make any contact! Marja picks up the bandage with patience, exits the frame. room nest to the hut. Marja enters some kind of kitchen. She has just pulled back a curtain hanging over the doorway. A glimpse of Karinski in his chair can be seen behind the cur­ tain. Marja suddenly bursts into tears, falls into a chair with her hands over her eyes, then simultaneously rises again and closes the curtain between the rooms: he may not see her tears. hut.

Karinski searches for Marja with his eyes.

a door with an arch. Fjodor passes through an archway, some stairs lead down to the door of the hut. He knocks on the door.

211

'

\

hut.

Karinski turns his head, says: “Come in!”

the hut’s interior door. The door opens, Fjodor enters,

nods good afternoon, exits the frame. hut. Karinski in his bed, raises his hand to Fjodor, who enters the frame. Karinski grabs his hand and cries: “Have you met with General Smirnoff?” Fjodor nods in affirma­ tion. Then Karinski asks: “Well, how did it go?” Fjodor makes a frantic gesture, then abruptly grabs Karinski s hand and says sternly:

Title: Do you promise to listen to me calmly? Karinski stares at him. Fjodor s expression is hard and implac­ able when he says, stressing every syllable: Title: I have just come directly from General Smirnoff s. Askot Bey has called off all negotiations! kitchen, marja. She has finished crying and is dabbing at her eyes; she suddenly stops herself and listens to Fjodors report. She hears Askot Beys name mentioned. Still holding the freshly dampened bandage, she slinks over to the curtain and listens in absolute silence. hut.

Karinski and Fjodor. Karinski mutters: “Therefore, that too. Nothing is working for us.” Fjodor raises his hands and says: Title: This means that thousands of Russian officers will be back where they started!

212

He stops talking, looks at Karinski with a strange expiession and slowly and gravely asks: Thic: Do you actually know who this Askot Bey is? He continues: “He is the same man who was with Marja Iva­ novna in the carriage!” hut. close-up

of Karinski, who is brooding, staring ahead.

Fade in to: street, askot, sitting next to Marja in the carriage. The shot

dissolves to: hut. close-up of karinsky’s face. He looks at the door,

through which Marja had exiled, and mutters: “I don t under­ stand.” Fjodor, with the same peculiar expression on his face, inquires with an affected, gentle tone: Title: Are you aware of the terms he set in order for the negotiations to resume? Karinski, uncertain and perplexed: “No, I do not know.” With a look of cold detachment, Fjodor nonchalantly says: Title: Well, he demands that Maria Ivanovna be returned to him. kitchen. Marja, seen listening from behind. She wants to burst into the room, but she stops herself. hut. fjodor,

who continues with a subtle gesture:

213

Title: And now Askot Bey is sitting in his room at the Pera Palace Hotel, awaiting our response. hut. Karinski and Fjodor. With incredible calm, Karinski leans in to Fjodor: “Why, why something so outrageous?” Fjodor returns Karinskis glance, shrugs his shoulders, flings his hands about and exclaims:

Title: He claims to own all rights to her. Karinski shakes his head in despair, as if he were caught in a dream. Fjodor adds: Title: Askot Bey is wealthy and distinguished. It is said that he is irresistible to women. Fjodor makes a gesture signaling: “Well then...so that’s how it’s to be done?” His words drive Karinski mad. He grabs Fjodor, shouts his name, shakes him, but Fjodor is stronger than Karinski. He thrusts Karinski into the chair and says forcibly: Title: What do I have to do with this? All women are the same. Even the most virtuous can fall from grace; the most chaste can sell herself. Karinski suddenly looks up at Fjodor, lets go of him. A look of fatigued bitterness and self-contempt comes over him, then he mutters: Title: You are right, Fiodor, why should it not end like this, after all?

214

kitchen, marja from behind. She pulls away the curtain and goes inside. marja hut.

in front of the curtain.

Karinski and Fjodor give a start and stare at her.

hut. kitchen doorway.

Marja closes her eyes for a moment, then she looks them both in the eye. (She still has the bandage in her hand). hut.

Fjodor and Karinski.

hut. entrance. Marja is still looking at them, walks slowly out of the frame. hut. karinsky’s chair.

Marja approaches Karinski, who is seen from behind. She looks at him. hut.

Fjodor, watches them with a look of compassion min­ gled with hot anticipation. hut. karinsky and marja. Karinski, still with his back to the camera. Marja is still looking at Karinski, then she shifts her gaze at Fjodor. HUT. CLOSE-UP OF FJODOR.

hut. marja.

She turns her glance from Fjodor, puts down the bandage, and says to Karinski: Title: You are right, Alexander! Why should it not be so?

215

She storms away from him toward the background. She takes her fur and her veil, exits the frame. hut. karinsky in the armchair.

Fjodor in the fore­

ground. Fjodor dashes out of the frame. hut. doorway. Marja is already ready to leave.

Fjodor enters the frame, stops her and asks: “Where are you going?” Marja looks at Fjodor defiantly: Title: Where am I going? Straight to Pera Palace.. .to save thousands of Russian officers! hut. medium shot

of Marja, who points behind her. She then looks at Fjodor, laughs—a low and malicious laugh— and says as she sneers and flings her arms: Title: Or out to the streets! and she adds: “I absolutely don’t care.” Then she looks at Karinski. hut. cut to:

Karinski.

hut. doorway. Marja. Her face is stony and severe. She says to Fjodor:

Title: Just ask Count Karinski how to throw your life away. She flings her coat over shoulders; her lips quiver as she adds: Title: He has so eloquently just described it to me now.

216

And suddenly she turns around, dashes out the doors and slams them behind her. hut.

Karinski. He shouts: “Marja!”

court with the archway.

Marja dashes through the

archway and disappears. hut. Karinski s chair. Only now has Karinski become aware of what has just happened. He throws off the blanket that was covering him, leaps up and storms out of the frame. hut. doorway.

Karinski tries to run out. Fjodor grabs hold of him, pulls him from the door, stops him and asks: “Where do you think you are going?” Karinski: “I need to stop her!” Fjodor throws the weak Karinski out of the frame. hut. another angle.

Karinski falls down at his chair, sits down, looks desperately at Fjodor, who enters the frame and approaches Karinski. Fjodor exclaims: I itle: Oh, let her go. She would have walked out on you sooner or later! Fjodor makes a gesture: “I know women!” Karinski cries out in a rage and tries to charge at Fjodor, but Fjodor forces Karinski back in the chair and yells: Title: And would you prefer to have Angora slip from your hands for her sake? He continues: 217

Title: She will end up with Askot Bey no matter what. You can count on it! Suddenly, Karinski becomes utterly still and sinks into his chair. hut. fjodor.

Karinski s helplessness affects him; he sud­ denly goes up to him. hut. fjodor approaches KARiNSKY. Before Karinski sur­ renders to his grief, Fjodor grabs Karinski by the neck. His lips begin to quiver; he squeezes:

Title: No, Sascha, exile isn't exactly making angels out of us. and in the same breath, he continues his train of thought: Title: I am happy if I at least have food for the day! He looks around and says: “I’m terribly hungry by the way!” hut.

Karinski looks up and points somewhere in the room: “There’s certainly something in there. Have a look!” Fjodor, a little embarrassed, exits the frame. hut.

Fjodor is standing in front of the curtains leading to the kitchen, turns to Karinski, points in the direction of the kitchen and asks if it is there.

218

hut.

Karinski nods.

hut.

Fjodor exits the shot.

hut. karinsky now has something else to consider. He looks at the walls, sees something. hut.

Full uniform with decorations intact, still hanging by the icon. hut.

Karinskis face stiffens, takes on a firm expression. He hears Fjodor coming, and he turns in his direction. hut.

Fjodor comes in from the kitchen, chewing on some­

thing. hut.

Karinski motions to him.

hut.

Fjodor walks up to him somewhat surprised.

hut.

Fjodor approaches Karinski, who stretches his hand out to him and says gently: Title: Now you must go, Fiodor! Fjodor looks at him and says nothing. Karinski smiles: “You don’t have to worry. Just go.” Then he motions him to leave. Fjodor responds: “Well, as you wish. I am going!” doorway to hut.

Fjodor reaches the door, turns around, raises his hand and says to Karinski: Title: Remember, no nonsense! hut.

Karinski smiles at him: “You can relax.” He nods to him until Fjodor is gone. Suddenly, his expression changes. He gets up, pauses for a moment, then exits the shot. 219

hut. long shot.

Karinski goes up to the icon, where his uniform is hanging. He makes the sign of the cross before the icon, then inspects his uniform. He yanks it down with a sudden jerk. The shot fades. Title: Tonight Constantinople is bathed in light. Minarets aglow, rockets crackle. Ramadan: the month of joy. long shot.

Streets and squares full of people enjoying vari­ ous entertainment. Fireworks. An illuminated mosque in the background. The shot dissolves to a picturesque: Street with fires, a bear dance, swarms of people dressed for a celebration, (decorated with Allah’s monogram, for example). Title: The European Hotel district in Pcra has also joined in the public festivities. An entire block decorated with flags. Festively-dressed people all over. Someone is dancing on an open terrace and throwing money down to young boys. Medium shot of the terrace. terrace, medium-long shot.

Europeans of various types, officers, Frenchmen and Englishmen dining on the terrace, from which they toss coins. below the terrace.

Little boys perform tricks and take the money, not without gratitude.

hotel terrace.

The public laughs and celebrates.

the golden horn.

A dock covered with kayaks, people getting in and out of boats, in the background are illuminated 220

LI

!

i

L.

r—-.r.

Einar Hanson. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (Tlie Hylten-Cavallius* private collec­ tion) buildings reflecting against the water. Marja walks into the shot, stops, and looks down into the water. the golden horn.

The water is sparkling.

the golden horn.

Marja looks up, continues walking by.

shot from a lit up street.

An illuminated mosque in the background. People heading to shows and entertainment, etc. (Lots of flags everywhere) (Triumphal arches, well lit). 221

i

a narrow street.

A string of jolly men wearing carnival novelties come along, one with a fake nose, another carrying firecrackers and a noisemaker. The camera follows from the front. The festive men light some fireworks and throw one as they walk arm in arm like a chain. A bareheaded woman, slov­ enly dressed, tries to lure them into a hotel. They carry on. narrow street.

From the side of the camera, a woman enters the frame; she sneaks by timidly. It is Marja. The jovial men see her, stop her; she tries to defend herself, but they surround her. They begin dancing around her. narrow street, close-up

of Marja with the men dancing around her. She asks to be let through, tries pushing her way out. narrow street, long shot.

Marja is suddenly desper­ ate. She cries: “Let me go!” They are embarrassed, a polite man approaches her, takes of his fake nose, bows and says: “Madame, pardon the insolence of five cheerful fellows. We meant absolutely no harm.” He raises his hand to his heart. NARROW STREET. CLOSE-UP OF MARJA. She looks at the man with a slightly fearful smile. narrow street, long shot. The courteous man exclaims,

persuasively: “Oh, Madame, you are much too beautiful to be upset with us any longer.” Title: Can we not seal our reconciliation with a meal? What do you say to the Pera Palace? Marja trembles, stares at him, repeats mechanically: 222

Title: Pera Palace? She raises her head, and exclaims: “Why not, let us go, as she dashes forward, beckoning to them. With eyes filled with desire, they follow her. Fade to black. Thle: i_o:oo sharp, when Carey promised to come for Marja. dooR to the hut from outside. Carey knocks on Karinskis door. He looks at his watch, knocks again, no one opens the door. He exits the frame. street with cars.

Carey enters the frame discouraged, gets into his car, and drives away. street.

Minarets and illuminated mosques.

hotel.

In a large dining hall, a small compartment closed off by a piece of drapery. Dancing couples sweep past and out of the frame as the drapery is pulled to the side. Marja and the five men are sitting around a dining table. Marja, who has opened the drapery, comes out with her back to the camera. She motions to the men inside: “Yes, I will be right back”, and closes the curtain, then turns around. Her eyes reveal desperation. She collapses for a moment, takes a step, and looks around with a wild expression on her face. hall with dancers and diners. hall, marja.

She is desperate and at a loss what to do. A streamer whirls over her and catches her throat; the ribbon holds, a man is seen holding the streamer as he enters the frame. He is pulling the ribbon until it brings him to her: 223

“Such a beautiful captive in my lasso” Marja gives him a cold stare, tears the ribbon away, and runs out of the frame. reception desk.

Askot Bey, wearing a tailcoat and a silklined jacket, asks the receptionist something. The receptionist shakes his head. Askot asks for his key. The receptionist turns around to the board. reception desk, close-up of the wall. Standard com­

partment for room keys. Beside it, a board with labels of the guests’ names and a small instrument with a flap bearing the words “out” and “in.” A hand appears in the shot, takes Askots key from the pigeonhole, then proceeds to the board. close-up of the board.

The hand holding the key stops by the label: “Askot Bey 17,18,19.” The flap switched to “out” is now switched to “in.” The hand exits the frame. reception desk. Askot

takes his key, thanks him, and exits

the shot. hotel staircase.

Askot proceeds up the stairs, sees some­ thing, pauses, and dashes up the stairs. the top floor of hotel: A barrier at the main staircase. To the side of a parlor is some kind of study with open arches for windows and an arched frame over the entrance. In the background is a ballroom from which Marja proceeds with uncertain steps. She leans on the barrier. She abruptly looks up, frightened. top floor of hotel.

Askot enters the shot, pauses, looks at Marja with a faint smile. 224

top floor of hotel.

Marja. She is paralyzed with fear at

the first sight of Askot. top floor, marja and askot.

Askot is standing in front of Marja, raises his hand to his heart and asks: “Might you be looking for me?” Marja does not answer. Her eyes are fixed on his as if she were frozen in a trance. top floor, another angle.

Marja seen from the back. Askot seen from the front, looking at her. He abruptly looks behind himself toward the study, and holding her with his gaze, he walks backwards into the room, as he suddenly and authoritatively beckons to her. She follows him as if she were sleepwalking. study.

Askot, shot from the back. The entrance to the study in the background. Marja walks over the threshold; there is a chair next to the drapery hanging over the door. She sinks down into it. Askot walks toward her and gently touches her with his index finger. She looks up at him with a detached and cold expression. study.

Marjas upturned face.

study. Askot Bey.

He says: “So, you have returned to me after

all.” study, close-up

of Marja. She turns her head slowly, as if searching for help. Askots hand moves lower. study, marja and askot. Askot leans over Marja and says

with an almost hypnotic intonation:

225

Title: You will stay with me. Isn’t that right? She raises her head, looks at him—almost as if she does not understand. Askot repeats: “You have come back to me, isn’t that so??” She barely listens to him; she passes her hand over her brow. Askot takes her hand and says: Title: It’s me. You know mv intentions. Don’t be afraid! Marja looks up, as if understanding him for the first time, shakes her head, and says, almost smiling: Title: So you think anything can scare me? He looms over her and speaks to her. She rises, suddenly points at his face. STUDY. CUT to: ASKOT.

study, cut to: marja, pointing straight

ahead at him and

saying: Title: Don’t you think I have seen those eyes before? she continues vehemently: Title: Don’t you think I know what such looks mean! She covers her face, bursts out in scornful laughter, exits the frame.

226

F

STUDY. CUT TO: ASKOT.

study, a fireplace.

Marja walks up to it, flings herself against its edge, thumps her brow against her clenched hands in a fit of rage. She pulls at her hair, has some kind of break­ down. She turns to Askot again, clutches at her heart and cries: "1 hie: Well then, come and take me. Do what you will with me. She composes herself and with a heated gesture toward Askot, she adds: Title: You were absolutely right: I was and am your property! Exhausted, she sits down on a nearby chair and buries her face in her hands. Askot is nearly defeated by the severity of this. He walks up to her, shakes his head, as if wanting to say: “So absurd, so unnecessary.” He suddenly kneels down by the chair and begins speaking to her, gently and persuasively. He says: Title: What would have happened to you here in Constantinople? All alone and with no protection. She looks up and he continues: Title: Ask vour fellow countrywomen on the streets what has become of them! Marja sits up, whispers to herself: “Yes, of course, such a fate would have been dreadful” (perhaps a fantasy shot). In that moment, Marja turns her head; she hears something. 227

ft K f>

study door.

The three late-night revelers are suddenly in the doorway and wave: “Oh, Madame, we have finally found you!” study.

Askot leaps up from his kneeling position.

study doorway.

The men suspect they have interrupted an uncomfortable moment. They laugh, slap their knees, and beckon to Marja: “Come, now. Don’t worry about him!”

study.

Marja standing next to Askot. She abruptly puts her arm around his shoulder, forces out a merry laugh, waves to the men at the door with a nearly reckless glee, and cries: Title: No, 1 have promised this dance to him. study, long shot. The three

revelers approach Marja and virtually try dragging her with them. She clings to Askot. The three men give up, head back to the door, wave and yell. Marja waves back with a provocative, flirtatious farewell. They leave. study, close-up

of Askot, pale and shaking in Marjas embrace. Her hand slowly lets go of her grip. Her arms slip from Askot s shoulders and release their embrace of Askot s body. study, close-up

of Marjas face. She looks at him, then

turns her face away. study, marja and askot.

and says in a low voice:

228

Askot raises both hands to her

Title: Never again shall such provocative looks taint your face. Askot nods in agreement with his own thoughts and adds, leaning over Marja: Title: And I know to wait... study, close-up of

Askot, who continues:

Title: Wait till that day when you willingly open your heart to mej He stretches out his arms in a gesture that signals: look, I in sacrificing myself for you. study. Marja. She looks at him with a long and searching glance, then shakes her head, closes her eyes, and whispers:

Title: I can t go on any longer. It will be as you wish. Askot reflects for a moment and says: Title: I shall prepare your room at once. Wait here in the meantime. He repeats: “Wait here. Do you understand? It is for the best. Marja nods mechanically: “I understand.” Askot Bey exits the frame. study.

Marja, absolutely still.

STUDY. doorway.

Askot, looks at her one final time.

the Russian restaurant. The general in his bear COS­ tume. Fjodor is present, speaking with the general, but the CUT TO :

229

hostess orders the general to resume playing. Fjodor hurries out. street.

Fjodor on his way to the hotel and:

street.

Karinski in full uniform, in the thick of the crowd.

hotel corridor.

Carey enters the hallway fatigued and dejected, stops at a door, takes his key out and goes inside. carey’s hotel room

with a balcony overlooking the Golden Horn. Inside, Carey flings off his coat, heads to the open balcony door, pauses and stares ahead. CUT TO: STAMBUL WITH ILLUMINATED MOSQUES, reflect­ ing against the Golden Horn. carey’s balcony.

Carey walks onto his balcony. He looks around, stares out at the Golden Horn. an elegant hotel room.

Marja is standing with her back to the camera, leaning against a chair. Behind her, turned to the camera, is a hotel waiter in Montenegrin costume who bows to her and opens the door behind Marja. Marja turns around, her face is now visible. A sudden sense of dread over­ comes her. With terror-filled eyes, she looks behind her. CUT TO: DOORS TO THE ROOM’S EXIT.

To the side: cut to: another door. In front of that: cut to: balcony door. marja’s hotel room.

230

She suddenly runs out of the frame.

marja’s hotel room. marja’s balcony.

Marja clashes out to the balcony.

At the railing. Marja leans over, looks

ahead: cut to:

Dark treetops, farther off is water.

caret’s balcony.

He flicks his cigarette, sees something.

marja’s balcony. Marja straightens herself up, turns slowly

toward the room, exits the frame. Carey’s balcony. Carey is standing in the same place, star­ ing in amazement. marja’s room.

Marja flings herself on the sofa, buries her face in her hands, she is imprisoned. carry’s balcony.

Carey goes back inside his room, looks

around, rings a bell. marja’s room.

Marja lifts her head up, listens, closes her

eyes again. carey’s room.

The Montenegrin waiter is present, bows. Carey points and asks something to which the waiter replies: Title: That is Countess Galevitsch’s room. She has just arrived. carey’s room, carey

asks one more question, mechani­ cally sticks his hand in his pocket, pulls out a bill.

231

carey’s room, the waiter’s hand,

into which Carey

places a bill. carey’s room, the waiter.

He smiles, almost impercep­

tibly, then he says: Title: Yes, Sir, Askot Bey is staying in the rooms next door. carey’s room.

Carey’s motionless face; he nods: “Thank you, you may leave!” carey’s room, long shot.

The waiter leaves, Carey

pauses. reception desk:

Karinski enters. He is in full uniform. He is standing straight and firm, and a fire is burning in his eyes. He approaches the receptionist and asks: Title: Is Askot Bey in his room? receptionist,

looks toward the board.

cut to: the reception board. reception desk. Karinski, mechanically looks at the board. reception board.

Askot Bey’s name with three room numbers : 17, 18, 19, but now there is an additional card for rooms 20 and 21 with the name: Countess Galevitsch. reception desk, karinsky reception desk.

232

leans in and reads.

Karinski and the receptionist, who

repeats: “Yes, Sir, he is here” Karinski suddenly looks up at him and says: “Of course, I shall go see him”, and exits the frame. The reception watches him leave. hotel corridor.

Karinski sneaks into the hallway, reading the numbers on the doors.

PAN SHOT OF THE NUMBERS 17, l8, 19.

hotel corridor.

Karinski, standing, shifts his glance away for a while, takes a step. CLOSE-UP OF DOOR NUMBERS 20 and 21.

hotel corridor.

Karinski rushes up to the door.

marja’s hotel room. corridor.

Marja leaps up with a gasp.

Karinski bangs on the door and twists the door

handle. marja’s room.

Marja cries: “Who is it?”

hotel corridor.

Karinski, shaking the door handle.

marja’s room.

The doors are shaking violently, and the door handle is being turned rapidly; then a hand enters the shot, turns a key, the door swings open. marja’s room.

Marja retreats into the room. Karinski enters the frame after her. Marja looks at him and mutters: Title: You are ill. Why didn’t you stay home? 233

marja’sroom. She finishes her words and tu

rns away from him. He fumbles after her arm; ; he mutters to her with a burning fever in his eyes: Title: I will not leave without ^ou. I wont let von gr>l Marja shakes her head: “You are too late!” Karinski contin ues to plead to her—fervently, incessantly. HOTEL CORRIDOR. Askot Bey and Fjodor enter the frame and disappear into Askots room. marja’s hotel room: karinsky and marja. askot’s hotel room.

Askot is slightly confused, asks Fjodor to sit down. Fjodor is standing in front of Askot and abruptly says, almost defiantly:

Title: I need to hear it from you.. .whether something is preventing us from continuing our negotiations. Askot glares at him, gently replies, “No, not at all”, shrugs his shoulders, and as he turns his head, he notices a letter placed in his room. He picks it up with curiosity: “If you don’t mind. He unseals it and reads it.

___

Celebration in Constantinople. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius’ private collection) frame. Fjodor watches him leave, pulls out a cigarette, and wonders what has happened. askot’s study, askot

enters through a door, looks around.

cut to: askot’s parlor.

Fjodor is still sitting and smok-

mg. askot’s hotel room, close-up of askot’s face

as he

reads the letter. He looks up. askot’s hotel room.

Fjodor watching him.

Askot asks Fjodor to wait for a moment. He looks inside a smaller room, exits the

askot’s hotel room, long shot.

askot’s study.

Askot enters the room, contemplates for a moment, pulls out a key, looks at a door partially concealed by a piece of drapery, suddenly changes his mind, walks up to a small table, and turns on the lamp. He suddenly sets the key and the letter down on the table. He takes out a pen, starts writing.

marja’sroom. She finishes her words and tu

rns away from him. He fumbles after her arm; ; he mutters to her with a burning fever in his eyes: Title: I will not leave without ^ou. I wont let von gr>l Marja shakes her head: “You are too late!” Karinski contin ues to plead to her—fervently, incessantly. HOTEL CORRIDOR. Askot Bey and Fjodor enter the frame and disappear into Askots room. marja’s hotel room: karinsky and marja. askot’s hotel room.

Askot is slightly confused, asks Fjodor to sit down. Fjodor is standing in front of Askot and abruptly says, almost defiantly:

Title: I need to hear it from you.. .whether something is preventing us from continuing our negotiations. Askot glares at him, gently replies, “No, not at all”, shrugs his shoulders, and as he turns his head, he notices a letter placed in his room. He picks it up with curiosity: “If you don’t mind. He unseals it and reads it.

___

Celebration in Constantinople. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius’ private collection) frame. Fjodor watches him leave, pulls out a cigarette, and wonders what has happened. askot’s study, askot

enters through a door, looks around.

cut to: askot’s parlor.

Fjodor is still sitting and smok-

mg. askot’s hotel room, close-up of askot’s face

as he

reads the letter. He looks up. askot’s hotel room.

Fjodor watching him.

Askot asks Fjodor to wait for a moment. He looks inside a smaller room, exits the

askot’s hotel room, long shot.

askot’s study.

Askot enters the room, contemplates for a moment, pulls out a key, looks at a door partially concealed by a piece of drapery, suddenly changes his mind, walks up to a small table, and turns on the lamp. He suddenly sets the key and the letter down on the table. He takes out a pen, starts writing.

marja’s room.

She finishes her words and tu rns away from him. He fumbles after he r arm; he mutters to her with a burning fever in his eyes: Tltle: Lwill not leave without vou. I won’t ]et vril1 ^ Marja shakes her head: “You are too late!” Karinski continues to plead to her—fervently, incessantly. HOTEL corridor. Askot Bey and Fjodor enter the frame and disappear into Askot’s room. marja’s hotel room: karinsky and marja.

ASKOT’s hotel room.

Askot is slightly confused, asks Fjodor to sit down. Fjodor is standing in front of Askot and abruptly says, almost defiantly:

Title: I need to hear it from you.. .whether something is preventing us from continuing our negotiations. Askot glares at him, gently replies, “No, not at all”, shrugs his shoulders, and as he turns his head, he notices a letter placed in his room. He picks it up with curiosity: “If you don’t mind.” He unseals it and reads it.

Celebration in Constantinople. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius private collection) frame. Fjodor watches him leave, pulls out a cigarette, and wonders what has happened. askot’s study, askot

enters through a door, looks around.

cut to: askot’s parlor.

Fjodor is still sitting and smok-

ing. askot’s hotel room, close-up of askot’s face

as he askot’s study.

reads the letter. He looks up. askot’s hotel room.

Fjodor watching him.

askot’s hotel room, long shot.

Askot asks Fjodor to

wait for a moment. He looks inside a smaller room, exits t e

I

Askot enters the room, contemplates for a moment, pulls out a key, looks at a door partially concealed by a piece of drapery, suddenly changes his mind, walks up to a small table, and turns on the lamp. He suddenly sets the key and the letter down on the table. He takes out a pen, starts writing.

marja’s room.

She finishes her words and tu rns away from him. He fumbles after he r arm; he mutters to her with a burning fever in his eyes: Tltle: Lwill not leave without vou. I won’t ]et vril1 ^ Marja shakes her head: “You are too late!” Karinski continues to plead to her—fervently, incessantly. HOTEL corridor. Askot Bey and Fjodor enter the frame and disappear into Askot’s room. marja’s hotel room: karinsky and marja.

ASKOT’s hotel room.

Askot is slightly confused, asks Fjodor to sit down. Fjodor is standing in front of Askot and abruptly says, almost defiantly:

Title: I need to hear it from you.. .whether something is preventing us from continuing our negotiations. Askot glares at him, gently replies, “No, not at all”, shrugs his shoulders, and as he turns his head, he notices a letter placed in his room. He picks it up with curiosity: “If you don’t mind.” He unseals it and reads it.

Celebration in Constantinople. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius private collection) frame. Fjodor watches him leave, pulls out a cigarette, and wonders what has happened. askot’s study, askot

enters through a door, looks around.

cut to: askot’s parlor.

Fjodor is still sitting and smok-

ing. askot’s hotel room, close-up of askot’s face

as he askot’s study.

reads the letter. He looks up. askot’s hotel room.

Fjodor watching him.

askot’s hotel room, long shot.

Askot asks Fjodor to

wait for a moment. He looks inside a smaller room, exits t e

I

Askot enters the room, contemplates for a moment, pulls out a key, looks at a door partially concealed by a piece of drapery, suddenly changes his mind, walks up to a small table, and turns on the lamp. He suddenly sets the key and the letter down on the table. He takes out a pen, starts writing.

marja’s room. She finishes her words and turns away from

him. He fumbles after her arm; he mutters to her with a burn­ ing fever in his eyes: Title: I will not leave without you. 1 won’t let you go! Marja shakes her head: “You are too late!” Karinski continues to plead to her—fervently, incessantly. hotel corridor.

Askot Bey and Fjodor enter the frame and disappear into Askot’s room. marja’s hotel room: karinsky and marja. askot’s hotel room.

Askot is slightly confused, asks Fjodor to sit down. Fjodor is standing in front of Askot and abruptly says, almost defiantly: Title: I need to hear it from you.. .whether something is preventing us from continuing our negotiations. Askot glares at him, gently replies, “No, not at all”, shrugs his shoulders, and as he turns his head, he notices a letter placed in his room. He picks it up with curiosity: “If you don’t mind.” He unseals it and reads it. askot’s hotel room, close-up of askot’s face

as he

reads the letter. He looks up. askot’s hotel room.

Fjodor watching him.

askot’s hotel room, long shot.

Askot asks Fjodor to wait for a moment. He looks inside a smaller room, exits the 234

,v< y \j y » Em

m

■V

-■■■■■

few*

Celebration in Constantinople. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (Tlic Hylten-Cavallius’ private collection) frame. Fjodor watches him leave, pulls out a cigarette, and wonders what has happened. askot’s study, askot

enters through a door, looks around.

cut to: askot’s parlor.

Fjodor is still sitting and smok­

ing. askot’s study.

Askot enters the room, contemplates for a moment, pulls out a key, looks at a door partially concealed by a piece of drapery, suddenly changes his mind, walks up to a small table, and turns on the lamp. He suddenly sets the key and the letter down on the table. He takes out a pen, starts writing. 235

marja’s hotel room.

Marja still has her back turned to Karinski. Karinski, who has been pleading humbly up till now, suddenly flares up and bursts out: “You are lovers, aren’t you? Tell me!” He grabs her; she cries: Title: Even if we were, was it not you who drove me into his arms? Karinski raises hands with disapproval, but she continues, pointing at his chest, his uniform, and says: Title: And won’t you be the one to enjoy the fruits of my labor? askot’s room.

Askot, writing, pauses, picks up the note

and reads. CLOSE-UP OF THE NOTE.

Title: Madame, might you be prepared to leave Constantinople this afternoon with your humble servant? Askot Bey. askot’s room, askot.

He deliberates, pulls out an enve­

lope. marja’s hotel room.

Marja and Karinski. Marja has fin­ ished her rant. She somewhat collapses and says with a sneer: Title: Alexander, now you see what exile has done to us. marja’s hotel room. Karinski. He composes himself, exclaims:

Title: Nevertheless, you will not stay here with him.

236

and he suddenly pulls out a revolver. marja’s hotel room, cut to:

a frightened Marja, who

lets out a shrill scream. askot’s study. Askot jumps at the sound of Marja’s cry, anxiously grabs the key, dashes out of the frame. marja’s hotel room, cut to: Karinski, who has already grabbed Marja in his arms and is now holding up the revolver. askot’s study.

A door, which has been covered by dra­ pery until now. Askot has hastily pulled away the curtain, unlocks the door. Marja and Karinski are seen through the doorway. Askot pauses in the doorway for a moment. marja’s hotel room, marja and karinsky.

Karinski looks up, waves the revolver in the air, and armed, he exits the frame. carey’s hotel room. Carey at his desk in a kind of sunken

helplessness. He hears something, leaps up, listens intently, considers making a call but stops himself. He rushes onto the balcony, looks out into the night. cut to:

Fireworks against the night sky.

askot’s parlor.

Fjodor jumps up and is seen running through room after room to get to Marja.

marja’s hotel room, cut to:

Fjodor entering the room through the still opened door. He stares ahead.

237

marja’s hotel room, cut to: askot bey,

lying on the

floor. marja’s hotel room, cut to:

Fjodor, who shifts his

glance. marja’s hotel room.

Karinski and Marja. Karinski hold­ ing a revolver, raised to defend himself from his next foe. Marja with her arms wrapped around Karinski.

marja’s hotel room, long shot. Fjodor rushes to Askot, kneels down, and inspects him. marja’s hotel room, close-up

of Fjodor, who lifts his head and mechanically says: “He is dead.”

marja’s hotel room.

Marja and Karinski. Marja lets out a half-chocked scream, clings closer to Karinski, who looks at her. He suddenly breaks free and exits the frame. Marja is left with her arms dangling and a frozen expression. marja’s hotel room.

Fjodor has stood up, Karinski enters the frame, places a hand over his heart and says: “It was I who shot him. I had to do it. Don’t you see? Regardless of what happens to me after.” Karinski continues speaking. carey’s hotel room. Carey is seen

on his balcony, looking at Marja’s balcony in vain. Suddenly, he runs into his room, hesitates for a second, then leaves the room. marja’s hotel room. Fjodor and Karinski. Karinski is speaking more fervently:

238

Htle: Do what you will with me, Fiodor Petrovitsch. He points to Askot: “He had to die!” Then he turns his head suddenly and points to Marja, “But she...” marja’s hotel room, cut to:

Marja, shrunk up in a

chair. marja’s hotel room, close-up

of Fjodor looking at

Marja. marja’s hotel room.

Fjodor and Karinski, who repeats:

Title: She had to be saved. He grabs Fjodor, looks him in the eye and continues: Title: For you are mistaken. Fiodor. all women are not the same!” marja’s hotel room, marja. marja’s hotel room. Fjodorlooks at Karinski, breaks free,

looks around, turns to a table or a bed, grabs onto a curtain or a piece of cloth and exits the frame. marja’s hotel room, cut to:

Askot on the floor. A pair of hands enter the frame holding a piece of drapery or cloth, which is slung over Askot. marja’s hotel room, long shot.

Karinski has uninten­ tionally neared Marja, Fjodor turns to them, looks at them.

239

marja’s hotel room.

Marja and Karinski. Almost awkwardly, Karinski holds out is hand, fumbles after Marja’s hand. close-up of two hands marja’s hotel room.

that come together.

Fjodor looks at them alternately.

marja’s hotel room.

Karinski’s face. With humble ten­ derness, he looks at Marja. Shot dissolves to:

marja’s hotel room.

Marja’s head has fallen to the side.

She closes her eyes. marja’s hotel room.

A shudder flushes over Fjodor’s face, utterly tense and hard, it vanishes in the same moment. He suddenly looks ten years older. He goes up to Karinski and Marja. He stretches out his hands, as if to hug Karinski. He suddenly motions something to them, points, walks in front of them and out of the frame. hotel corridor, cut to:

Carey, who is looking around, takes a few steps, doesn’t know if he should proceed. marja’s hotel room, door from the inside.

Fjodor cracks the door open, sees that the coast is clear, tells Karinski: “Leave now, both of you”, continues: Title: Take Maria Ivanovna to Stambul...someplace safe. Karinski and Marja enter the frame. Fjodor says: “Hurry!”, and shoves them halfway out. Startled, Karinski asks: “And you?” Fjodor replies: 240

Title: HI stay here a while. Karinski protests: “Come with us”, but Fjodor shakes his head: “You two first” In the same moment, he sees some­ thing, points and says “Be careful!” Karinski and Marja turn their heads. Fjodor hastily pulls Karinski s grip away from the door, closes it, and clings tightly to the door handle again. hotel corridor. Carey is visible, walking forward. Fie suddenly stops. Eyes wide open. hotel corridor. Marja’s door from the outside. Karinski and Marja. They are trying to restrain themselves. marja’s room.

Fjodor listening at the door.

hotel corridor.

Marja and Karinski. Carey enters the shot, feigns nonchalance, and bows: Title: You deserted me at 10 O’clock, Countess. Marja stares at him, does not understand. Carey continues: Title: Did you completely forget about our moonlight tour of the Bosphorus? He goes on. marja’s hotel room.

Fjodor’s face, tensely waiting in sus­

pense. hotel corridor.

Karinski and Marja. Carey is seen from behind, speaking with Marja: “and I reminded you plenty of 241

he doses the door behind him, locks it, pulls the drape down, and goes to the desk to turn off the lamp. askot’s study, close-up

of Fjodor by the lamp, which he is about to turn off. In the same moment, he sees the letter that Askot left behind when he heard the commotion in Marjas room. He picks it up and reads it. Title:

close-up of the letter.

The government will not permit a single Russian emigrant officer to depart for Angora. The government is aware of everything and will be forced to intervene at the first opportunity. Leave before it is too late. No one can help these refugees. If you stay, you will be ruined. askot’s study.

Street in Constantinople. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius pri­ vate collection)

times!” Karinski suddenly puts his hand up to Careys arm, and Carey looks at him inquisitively. Karinski says: Title: Is it too late to allow the Countess to accept your offer?

Fjodor has read the letter, he looks invol­ untarily at the closed door as if to say: “This was your doing. Lie there as you are!” He shrugs his shoulders, lifts his hand, and turns off the lamp. Now, the only light is in Askot’s parlor. Fjodor is seen walking through the parlor; he stops at Askots door, turns off the light, it is pitch-black. The scene fades to white. the bosphorus. extreme long shot

of an illuminated

steam yacht. Fade in to: Carey turns his head to the side, looks at Karinski, who returns his glance. Carey says calmly: “No, of course not.” He looks at Marja, then back at Karinski and says: “On the contrary, let us be off!” He motions them to follow him; they

of the yacht’s deck and Karinski, standing alone at the railing with his back to the camera. He shifts his glance to the side. long shot

exit the frame. yacht, another part of the deck.

askot’s study.

The door to Marjas room is still open. The light suddenly goes out in Marja’s room. Fjodor is visible in the doorway, looks around, shuddering against his will; then 242

Marja is sitting motionless in her chair, looks out at the sea; Carey is sitting and looking at her.

he doses the door behind him, locks it, pulls the drape down, and goes to the desk to turn off the lamp. askot’s study, close-up

of Fjodor by the lamp, which he is about to turn off. In the same moment, he sees the letter that Askot left behind when he heard the commotion in Marjas room. He picks it up and reads it. Title:

close-up of the letter.

The government will not permit a single Russian emigrant officer to depart for Angora. The government is aware of everything and will be forced to intervene at the first opportunity. Leave before it is too late. No one can help these refugees. If you stay, you will be ruined. askot’s study.

Street in Constantinople. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius pri­ vate collection)

times!” Karinski suddenly puts his hand up to Careys arm, and Carey looks at him inquisitively. Karinski says: Title: Is it too late to allow the Countess to accept your offer?

Fjodor has read the letter, he looks invol­ untarily at the closed door as if to say: “This was your doing. Lie there as you are!” He shrugs his shoulders, lifts his hand, and turns off the lamp. Now, the only light is in Askot’s parlor. Fjodor is seen walking through the parlor; he stops at Askots door, turns off the light, it is pitch-black. The scene fades to white. the bosphorus. extreme long shot

of an illuminated

steam yacht. Fade in to: Carey turns his head to the side, looks at Karinski, who returns his glance. Carey says calmly: “No, of course not.” He looks at Marja, then back at Karinski and says: “On the contrary, let us be off!” He motions them to follow him; they

of the yacht’s deck and Karinski, standing alone at the railing with his back to the camera. He shifts his glance to the side. long shot

exit the frame. yacht, another part of the deck.

askot’s study.

The door to Marjas room is still open. The light suddenly goes out in Marja’s room. Fjodor is visible in the doorway, looks around, shuddering against his will; then 242

Marja is sitting motionless in her chair, looks out at the sea; Carey is sitting and looking at her.

Street in Constantinople. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius’ pri­ vate collection) times!” Karinski suddenly puts his hand up to Careys arm, and Carey looks at him inquisitively. Karinski says: Title: Is it too late to allow the Countess to accept your offer? Carey turns his head to the side, looks at Karinski, who returns his glance. Carey says calmly: “No, of course not.” He looks at Marja, then back at Karinski and says: “On the contrary, let us be off!” He motions them to follow him; they exit the frame. askot’s study.

The door to Marja s room is still open. The light suddenly goes out in Marjas room. Fjodor is visible in the doorway, looks around, shuddering against his will; then 242

he closes the door behind him, locks it, pulls the drape down, and goes to the desk to turn off the lamp. askot’s study, close-up

ofFjodorby the lamp, which he is about to turn off. In the same moment, he sees the letter that Askot left behind when he heard the commotion in Marja’s room. He picks it up and reads it. Title: close-up of the letter. The government will not per­ mit a single Russian emigrant officer to depart for Angora. The government is aware of everything and will be forced to intervene at the first opportunity. Leave before it is too late. No one can help these refugees. If you stay, you will be ruined. askot’s study.

Fjodor has read the letter, he looks invol­ untarily at the closed door as if to say: “This was your doing. Lie there as you are!” He shrugs his shoulders, lifts his hand, and turns off the lamp. Now, the only light is in Askots parlor. Fjodor is seen walking through the parlor; he stops at Askot’s door, turns off the light, it is pitch-black. The scene fades to white. the bosphorus. extreme long shot

of an illuminated

steam yacht. Fade in to: long shot of the yacht’s deck and Karinski, standing alone at the railing with his back to the camera. He shifts his glance to the side.

YACHT. ANOTHER PART OF THE DECK. Marja is Sitting motionless in her chair, looks out at the sea; Carey is sitting and looking at her.

243

deck.

KARINSKY. He is observing them both; he looks again at the sea, turns around abruptly, and picks up a pair of binoc­ ulars from a small table by the railing. He holds the binoculars up to his eyes. HOTEL. EXTREME LONG SHOT THROUGH THE BINOCU­

LARS. Illuminated and darkened windows. The frame zooms in to hold six to seven windows, which are dark. Suddenly, lights are turned on, one room after the other. deck.

Karinski pulls the binoculars from his eyes, lays them in front of him, pauses motionless for a moment, looks at Carey and Marja, exits the frame. deck.

Carey and Marja. Karinski enters the shot, next to Carey, who looks up at him. Karinski says, as he points to the head of the boat. Title: This yacht is incredibly fast, is it not? Carey replies: “Of course, it can do so and so many knots.” Karinski continues: Title: So it should only take a few hours to let Maria Ivanovna see the Dardanelles... Carey peers at Karinski, who goes on: Title: where you, as a diplomat, surely have unrestricted passage. deck.

Carey, who is looking intensely at Karinski, suddenly rises and exits the frame. 244

deck.

Karinski. Carey enters the frame, looks Karinski in the

eye: Title: If I were to make the journey now, would you like to come along? Karinski looks to the side. deck.

Marja is rising from her chair. She overhears the dis­ cussion and listens intently with fear and suspense. deck.

Karinski and Carey. Karinski shakes his head, and

replies: Title: I would be most grateful if you would immediately let me disembark at the Galata Bridge. Now, at once. deck, marja, deck.

has stood up, her whole body is trembling.

Carey and Karinski, who concludes:

Title: But I think that Maria Ivanovna ought to stay aboard and attempt the voyage. In the same moment, Marja bursts into the frame, grabs onto Karinski, and releases an outpouring of words: “No, I can t let you go back. Sir John, you have to help us. He has killed Askot Bey. He is lying dead in my hotel room.” She sinks to her knees and disappears from the frame. deck, close-up

of Careys face.

245

i

deck. Marja on the deck. She raises her arm, points to Karinski and cries:

Title: He did it to protect me! deck. Careys face. He nods; he understands everything. He contemplates intensely, and looks back at her. deck, close-up of Marja on her knees with a tear-stained face and pleading hands. The scene fades to white. elegant club.

Modern Turkish style. Carey and another Englishman with his whiskey. An oriental-dressed servant places soda on the table. Carey motions him to leave. Carey watches him leave and resumes his tale: Title: Yes, 1 knew who Askot Bey was, and it happened just as I expected. Carey shrugs his shoulders and continues: Title: Everyone wisely kept silent: the occupying powers, the Turk­ ish authorities—who deep down were satisfied with the out­ come—the Russian officers, the hotel staff. club.

Carey and his companion, who adds:

Title: And yourself! club.

Carey nods and looks ahead. His companion says something. Carey flings his arms up:

246

Title: Guilty, not guilty! They were poor exiles. Isn’t that punish­ ment enough? The companion leans forward, places his hand on Careys arm and says: Title: Carey, old man, you must have been blinded bv love. Carey turns his head, looks at his friend as though the thought had never occurred to him, and says: Title: So it was good that she left. and he empties his glass. The scene fades to white. thedeckof aship.

Marja and Karinski by the rail. Marjas hand is on the edge of the rail. Karinski slowly reaches for it and whispers something to her. She lets him and turns her head. ship deck.

Marja. She says:

Title: Do not ask anything more of me, Alexander. and she makes a fatigued gesture and continues: Title: My heart no longer has the strength to love. ship deck, karinsky and marja.

Karinski lets go of her

hand and whispers timidly: Title: Where will you go now?

247

ship deck, marja

from the side. She smiles at him and

answers: Title: I am a wanderer. She points to the sea. Title: The world is my home. She turns again, facing the sea. The shot fades. THE END

A: A v si fj V /'V/i

y^ ISLr’t' y J-\ '

V

/

! !

From Stillers notebook: ’’Camera, weather, departure fr. Berlin, Arrival no film”. (Swedish Film Institute) 248

!

AT any films never make it to tlic screen. ^_viLRarely, however, has an unfinished work caused more longing and regret as in the case of A Talefrom Constantinople, a 1924 feature involving the young Greta Garbo, acclaimed Swedish director Mauritz Stiller and a Berlin-based producer named David Schratter. Although never realised, this film has kept haunting the imagination of historians, biographers and novelists over the years, thanks to its exotic setting bridging East and West, political turmoil, quarrels over intellectual property rights, an elusive lead­ ing lady and spectacular failure. For the first time, this book presents the recently redis­ covered shooting script of the film, along­ side a detailed examination of its textual genesis and production history. Bo Florin is Associate Professor of Cinema Studies at Stockholm University.

a

■

Spr

;--.v

Patrick Vonderau is Professor of Media Stud­ ies at the University of Halle-Wittenberg.

V. .

_ ••

V,

,- •

%

■

A

K

I

m

c

m

ilii I Greta Garbo and Mauritz Stiller.

3■aafeS- ■

|9 789187 483417

* v.

••

1

-T- -

-S17~