 Piccadilly (1929) Piccadilly, despite some campy period trappings, is both of these things, and overall a thoroughly memorable and enjoyable film. Though there are a few melodramatic patches that get a bit sloggy, most of it is fresh and unpredictable, especially the uncannily erotic presence of Anna May Wong, the silent era's Joan Chen. I'm talking Joan Chen from the "Twin Peaks" days, not, like, the Judge Dread days. Wong plays Shosho, a Chinese girl working in the scullery of a London nightclub where "Victor & Mabel" are the city's hot dance sensation. The film opens with a thrilling and hilariously long dance number which I hope to replicate at my wedding reception. After an unreasonably dissatisfied diner (Charles Laughton in a laugh-out-loud cameo) complains about a dirty dinner plate, the club's owner, Valentine (Jameson Thomas) heads back to the scullery, where he discovers the bleary-eyed scullery maids slacking on their duties, distracted by Shosho dancing bawdily on a tabletop. Incidentally, I realize I have used the word "scullery" too many times, but how often will I get to use that delightful word? Scullery, scullery, scullery! Victor, the male half of the hot dance team, announces he is leaving for the States, leaving Mabel the sole performer, which results in declining attendance for the club. Valentine takes a chance and hires Shosho as a featured performer. Though there is a bit of British imperial "Orientalism" to Shosho's success, the presentation isn't the embarassingly dated racial depiction you'd expect. In one cool (and genuinely funny) scene, Valentine goes to Chinatown to buy Shosho's performance costume, and the white man is totally out of his element, with only money giving him a semblance of power. Another scene features a white woman dancing with a black man in a working-class pub, only to be boucned by the bar owner—yet this isn't delivered as a statement, but left to drift in ambiguity to support the unspoken biracial theme of the main plot's romance. Shosho becomes the talk of the town, and begins a romance with Valentine, with some of the sexiest damn scenes I've ever seen – Anna May Wong does almost as much with her eyes as Linda Wong ever did with her talented tongue.
Her every scene is charged with sexual tension, making it impossible to take your eyes off the screen. Who knew there was a sexy Asian hipster chick to be found in the world of silent film? The plot progesses unexpectedly into a courtroom thriller after Shosho is murdered. Was it Valentine's jealous previous lover, the failed flapper Mabel? Or Shosho's jilted former-stalker, the ostensibly gay Chinaman Jim? Good stuff. Some real laughs, some unintentional ones, but most of all, a consistently surprising and delightful old movie that rarely seems musty. The ending is brilliant, summing the story up as a bit of disposable pop culture scandal (a la Chicago, which owes quite a bit to Piccadilly). As the final frames play out, you get that rare moment of realization in a silent film, which is that this film was as purely hip as anything more recent—and that you should wipe that condescending smirk off your face, 'cause it's hipper than you. I mean, just 'cause something's super-old doesn't mean it ain't with it … just ask my great-grandmother—she's still going to indie rock shows at the tender young age of 109!
Review by La Fée |
