On Saturday night, I saw my first silent film. Now, we've all seen those images of the way the first audiences reacted to the miracle of the moving image: shock, alarm, delight.

How I joined them.

I was clapping along, oohing and cheering the protagonist. It's as if in the absense of revved up dolby digital, one feels encouraged to audibly engage with on-screen happenings.

My impression had always been that melodrama and men wearing make-up were the main carriers of dramatic intrigue in the pre-soundie. This was true, to an extent.

But, thankfully, every pompous, overdone romantic ploy was cruelly and oh-so-stylishly deflated by this lady:



She rolled her eyes and mocked, danced her seductive Gypsy dances, while impatiently calling up spurts of Bizet's 'L'amour est un oise' from the dutiful pianist who was accompanying the film. How he managed to play along to a rocking shoot-me-down scene- as well as play Carmen's castanets, will remain part of the mystery and joy of Lubitsch's Stummfilm.