D.W. Griffith is known primarily for three of his biggest and most well-budgeted features and this is arguably the last of said trilogy. Poor Griffith. He came out with something rich in what he called patriotism and others simply tagged racist. So he decided to try something else, and then got slammed for being too lavish, ambitious and preachy. Finally along comes Broken Blossoms, a modest and earthly melodrama based for the most part within tiny, claustrophobic rooms where the weight of grief and suffering outnumber that of the bricks in the walls enclosing its victims. You couldn't be blamed for thinking it had a tenth of the budget of his first film, but you'd be wrong. In actuality his most expensive film to date, it's also perhaps his most ambitious in terms of characterisation and back-to-basics storytelling, albeit wrought with growing-pains as a result.
Set in what one could assume is Victorian-era London boiling over with strife and hard times, Broken Blossoms centres around hapless and sullen victim Lucy, daughter of professional boxer Burrows who often gets overly mad (for reasons never truly justified) before proceeding to take it out on his timid daughter in between beating people up for money and then spending said money on alcohol and women. Cue "The Yellow Man", a Chinese Buddhist who runs a shop, enjoys noodles and tea and has nothing to give but peace, love and a healthy dose of Eastern wisdom-slash-actually-it's-just-Confucius-speaking. He falls in love with Lucy, professes his "pure love" for her and Burrows goes pufferfish for a bit because he's a bit of a xenophobe.
In terms of film in the modern sense, it's all a bit of a saccharine, melodramatic mishap with very basic characterisation and drama more akin to a higher-class pantomime. However, considering its time and the films that came before, Griffith can't really be blamed for this one. And for the moments where the film does manage to tug on your heart strings through Lillian Gish's various degrees of insanity, desperation and endearing naivety, there's a charm here that many clamoured to see more of when they fell in love with Intolerance's modern-day segments. Various points do go overboard with the melodrama however, such as many moments where Lucy forces a smile whereupon she pushes up the corners of her lips in order to please those who obviously cannot see her tragic, wounded soul. It's this mundanely childish backdrop that spoils an otherwise forward-thinking and genuinely moving film. It's grating and sums up the movie well, however.
And yet, for every moment of wistful melancholia steeped in lukewarm, melodrama soup, there's always an overriding atmosphere that broods and overwhelms the movie's more irksome features. From the harsh, foggy London streets to the endlessly amusing fight scenes involving Burrows, Broken Blossoms is very much Intolerance without the historical sidestories or light-heartedness of its central love story, mixed with the character dynamics of Birth of a Nation. It's for this reason that those in the camp of finding Griffith's first major film a little too much to stomach, usually find at least either this film or his previous to be more to their liking. Personally I enjoy the more analytical and grander of the two to this one, but for those wanting more of said film's modern act, it should be no surprise if this is more up their alley. It can be a little broad at times, and often tries too hard to be frail and grim, but there's still plenty to love whether it's in Gish's wonderful performance or simply just in appreciating the stark change of pace from Griffith that favours tone and character over grand historical stories, huge elaborate sets and line-in-the-sand political statements.
Set in what one could assume is Victorian-era London boiling over with strife and hard times, Broken Blossoms centres around hapless and sullen victim Lucy, daughter of professional boxer Burrows who often gets overly mad (for reasons never truly justified) before proceeding to take it out on his timid daughter in between beating people up for money and then spending said money on alcohol and women. Cue "The Yellow Man", a Chinese Buddhist who runs a shop, enjoys noodles and tea and has nothing to give but peace, love and a healthy dose of Eastern wisdom-slash-actually-it's-just-Confucius-speaking. He falls in love with Lucy, professes his "pure love" for her and Burrows goes pufferfish for a bit because he's a bit of a xenophobe.
In terms of film in the modern sense, it's all a bit of a saccharine, melodramatic mishap with very basic characterisation and drama more akin to a higher-class pantomime. However, considering its time and the films that came before, Griffith can't really be blamed for this one. And for the moments where the film does manage to tug on your heart strings through Lillian Gish's various degrees of insanity, desperation and endearing naivety, there's a charm here that many clamoured to see more of when they fell in love with Intolerance's modern-day segments. Various points do go overboard with the melodrama however, such as many moments where Lucy forces a smile whereupon she pushes up the corners of her lips in order to please those who obviously cannot see her tragic, wounded soul. It's this mundanely childish backdrop that spoils an otherwise forward-thinking and genuinely moving film. It's grating and sums up the movie well, however.
And yet, for every moment of wistful melancholia steeped in lukewarm, melodrama soup, there's always an overriding atmosphere that broods and overwhelms the movie's more irksome features. From the harsh, foggy London streets to the endlessly amusing fight scenes involving Burrows, Broken Blossoms is very much Intolerance without the historical sidestories or light-heartedness of its central love story, mixed with the character dynamics of Birth of a Nation. It's for this reason that those in the camp of finding Griffith's first major film a little too much to stomach, usually find at least either this film or his previous to be more to their liking. Personally I enjoy the more analytical and grander of the two to this one, but for those wanting more of said film's modern act, it should be no surprise if this is more up their alley. It can be a little broad at times, and often tries too hard to be frail and grim, but there's still plenty to love whether it's in Gish's wonderful performance or simply just in appreciating the stark change of pace from Griffith that favours tone and character over grand historical stories, huge elaborate sets and line-in-the-sand political statements.