The Sanity Project


Thoughts on Frankenstein (1931) 1   Recently updated !

This fall, I’ll provide musical accompaniment to the 1931 Frankenstein in two New Hampshire libraries: Rye on October 30 and Plaistow on November 10. The movie has spoken dialogue, but it doesn’t have much music. Many of its scenes work better when accompanied, and several silent film accompanists have shown the film with their music. I’ll be doing the same at these showings. The showing in Plaistow will have Edison’s silent 1910 Frankenstein as an introductory short.

I’ve watched the movie several times in preparation, and it’s impressive, especially the first half. Boris Karloff did a fantastic acting job under heavy makeup and with no lines.

Boris Karloff in Frankenstein (1931) looking upwardThe story, adapted from a stage play, is very different from Shelley’s. There’s next to nothing left of the examination of the creator’s responsibility and the creature’s frustrated efforts to deal with the world. The first names of Victor Frankenstein and his friend Henry Clerval are swapped. (Isn’t Victor a perfectly good name for a mad scientist?) On its own terms, though, it’s a good story.

The first half is by far the better part. In the creature’s first appearance, he’s ugly but sympathetic. The sequence where he sees sunlight for the first time and reaches upward for it is iconic. When the light is closed off, he pleads with his hands. For what, we’re left to guess. This was first-rate acting by Karloff.

He never attacks anyone unless he feels threatened. His killings of Fritz and Dr. Waldman are self-defense. He unintentionally drowns a little girl while trying to play with her, because he has no experience of what humans can withstand.

After that, things go off the rails. The girl’s father says she’s been murdered, but how does he know? All he knows is that she drowned in the pond. Then the creature enters Frankenstein’s house on his wedding day and menaces Elizabeth. When he hears others coming, he runs off. The scene fails to make sense. Did he somehow know it was Frankenstein’s house, or did he wander in by chance? Why did he threaten Elizabeth? He’d never seen her before. It’s a bad adaptation of what happened in the book: the creature (who can speak) carries out his threat to take revenge on Frankenstein’s wedding night, killing Elizabeth.

A crowd with torches assembles to hunt the creature, Frankenstein leading one of the groups. He tracks his creature to a windmill. The creature knocks him out and, for some reason, carries him into the mill. This scene did permanent damage to Karloff’s back. The mill catches fire from the torches, Frankenstein falls out and survives, and the terrified creature he realizes he’s going to burn to death and no one will help him.

This is the stuff of tragedy. The creature faces only hostility, and the one time he makes a friend, it goes horribly wrong. He dies abandoned.

I’m working on another silent film project in a new venue. Watch for information when I have something to announce.


Voting for the enemy of the enemy   Recently updated !

The Democrats have been doing their best to blow their advantage in this election. They could have aligned themselves with public outrage at Trump’s lawless, violent, irrational administration. They could have said that restoring a government that respects its Constitution and laws comes first, and other disagreements can be put off. They could have pointed at Republicans’ refusal to oppose Trump’s worst actions. I mean really showing the indignation which they should; listing “make ICE more responsible” or “I’m against the war” doesn’t count for much. But if they did that, they wouldn’t be Democrats. Instead, they’re following their standard party playbook, which consists mostly of promising people each other’s money.

Nonetheless, we have to hold our noses and vote for Democratic candidates, at least at the Federal level. The country is safest when the same party doesn’t control the White House and both houses of Congress. As long as Trump is president, the Democrats won’t be able to implement the worst of their schemes, and if they have majorities in Congress, they’ll probably vote against the worst of Trump’s. At least they won’t vote for his “dividend” program of giving us over a trillion dollars of each other’s money.

I’m talking about so-called “moderate” Democrats. DSA Democrats are actually worse than Trump. He wants to ignore the Supreme Court when it doesn’t suit him; the DSA platform calls for doing away with it altogether. If your choice is between a MAGA Republican and a DSA Democrat, the best advice I can offer is to stick your head under a blanket and scream.

For all the glowing predictions, things look uncertain in my area. John Sununu, who accepted Trump’s endorsement, has been leading in the Senate race. (Update: Recent polls show Pappas ahead.) DiLorenzo, who’s fanatical in his loyalty to Trump, is only a little behind Shaheen. In recent elections, Republicans have outperformed what the polls have predicted, so don’t be too confident.

It’s not much of a consolation, but the next two years will be less bad if Congress pushes back against secret police, illegal wars, and taxes by decree. What comes after that doesn’t offer much hope, but a Republican loss this year will buy us time.


A brief history of book banning

It’s Banned Books Week, so let’s look at the history of book bans in Europe and America. Here I’m sticking to actual bans by legal force. I hope to show that while not all banned books are praiseworthy, stopping their message by prohibition seldom has good results and often opens the way for broader bans.

The first book printed in Europe with movable type was the Gutenberg Bible, issued in the 1450s. Before that, there was censorship, but the technology to mass-produce books didn’t exist. In spite of some legends, Gutenberg’s edition was never banned; it used an accepted translation of the Bible, predating the Protestant Reformation’s competing translations. However, the Church soon began prohibiting books. François Rabelais and Niccolò Machiavelli were among the first targets of Rome’s wrath. The Index Librorum Prohibitorum, first issued in 1560 and revised many times, made the practice more systematic. The Church held legal power at the time, and distributing a prohibited book could result not only in eternal damnation but in confiscation and destruction of the books as well as other penalties.

William Tyndale’s translation of the Bible into English (ca. 1526) was banned under Henry VIII and burned. Tyndale was executed in 1536 for heresy.

Some books were permitted if offending parts were “expurgated” by blacking out or tearing out. Sometimes just the author’s name was removed, because it was the author and not the contents that had offended the Church.

Banning led to the licensing of books. In effect, books were banned by default, and only authorized ones could be printed. England’s Parliament adopted this practice in the 17th century. John Milton wrote the essay “Areopagitica” in 1644 to oppose the legislation. He argued that people need to be exposed to ideas they disagree with if they’re going to have any confidence in their own views. “I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and unbreathed, that never sallies out and sees her adversary.” His arguments will look familiar to today’s liberal opponents of prohibition and censorship.

Milton didn’t meet with much success. The Licensing of the Press Act of 1662, designed to stop “seditious” material, banned the printing of books without a license and severely restricted imports. The printer John Twyn was executed for treason in 1664. The law lapsed in 1694.

In France in the late 16th through 18th centuries, the publication of a book required royal approval. In practice, the authority was delegated. By the 18th century, many books were printed without explicit authorization. Spain may have had the strictest book censorship of any European country. The Inquisition kept a close watch on printers and booksellers, prohibiting works that promoted non-Catholic religious ideas.

In 1637, Thomas Morton published New English Canaan in the Netherlands, which had fairly liberal laws; the copies he had brought to London were seized. It was also outlawed in Massachusetts, and it’s often said to be the first book banned in England’s American colonies.

In 1873 in the United States, the Comstock Act prohibited a broad range of “obscene” books. That included not just books that mentioned sex, but information on birth control and abortion. A series of court decisions over the next century struck down nearly all its prohibitions.

In 1973, Daniel Ellsberg released the Pentagon Papers to multiple news outlets; the document was eventually published as a book. He was prosecuted under the Espionage Act of 1917, but all charges against him were dismissed.

The Nazi government of Germany in the 1930s and 40s practiced heavy censorship, especially of any works with Jewish connections. Books were burned in public. Modern Germany still bans some kinds of books, including pro-Nazi and Holocaust denial material.

Russia had heavy book prohibition under the Communists and has returned to those levels under Putin.

In spite of all that has happened in recent years, the United States has one of the highest levels of press freedom in world history. Attempts to exclude broad categories of books from libraries are a matter of concern, but they’re small potatoes compared to what we have experienced in the past and could experience again.

This article is the product of just a couple of hours of work. Apologies for any errors.


Another call for violence in New Hampshire

New Hampshire is supposed to be a friendly state. The LPNH didn’t do much to uphold the image when it called for murdering Democratic office holders. Now we have a legislator challenging an opposing political leader to a street fight.

Ned Raynolds, a Democratic state legislator from Portsmouth, challenged Jason Osborne, the Republican majority leader in the state’s House of Representatives, to an unarmed duel in downtown Portsmouth. He wrote, “No weapons, no posse — just you & me. We’ll stop traffic, and I’ll put you on the ground and rub gravel in your face.” That’s literally the language of a schoolyard bully. There seems to have been worse, but the Globe didn’t dare publish it, instead referring obliquely to “crude and misogynistic language” and “a vulgar phrase.” Strange, since Osborne is a man.

Democratic leader Alexis Simpson has responded, “I said it when extremists called for the assassination of Democrats last week, and I say it to members of my own caucus who propose fistfights. Violent rhetoric has no place in our politics.”

Raynolds isn’t running for reelection but has refused calls to resign.


On accompanying silent movies 2

Oops — Silent Movie Day is tomorrow as I’m typing these words, there’s a blogathon coming, and I should write something! Here are some words about what I’ve learned in accompanying silent films.

The best accompanists have busy schedules, and they accompany several different movies each month if not each week, traveling a lot. I just accompany occasional movies within an easy drive from my home. But this gives me a chance to learn each movie in depth, to know every event and every surprise. This lets me get my timing as close to perfect as I can and develop thematic ideas to fit the situation. I’ve been complimented on my timing more than any other aspect of my playing.

This doesn’t mean I should punctuate every surprise and gag with a musical cue. That’s called “Mickey Mousing,” and good accompanists frown on doing too much of it. It’s OK or even necessary with physical comedy and early cartoons, but it’s the wrong approach when the story and characters are more important. Normally, the accompaniment shouldn’t call attention to itself. It should enhance the movie rather than trying to narrate it.

Sometimes the accompanist can create appropriate sound effects, using an electronic keyboard or equipment picked for the show; that’s not the same as Mickey Mousing. For D. W. Griffith’s America this summer, I provided hundreds of gunshots from my keyboard. Some accompanists bring bells or noisemakers when they fit the movie.

The ideal is for the music to feel like a part of the film. It should increase the audience’s immersion in what’s happening on the screen. Think of how a John Williams score works with a modern movie. Occasionally the music will grab your attention; storm troopers gather to the tune of the Imperial March, or a shark approaches as two alternating notes build in power. Most of the time, though, your focus is on what’s happening. The music is there, and the scene wouldn’t be nearly as effective without it, but it’s not what you’re thinking about.

Music in silent movies comes closer to the foreground, since it isn’t competing with spoken dialogue or sound effects. It’s usually continuous, while modern movies have many scenes without accompaniment. This allows more opportunities to build the film into a musical whole, but subtlety is essential.

I learn more with each movie I accompany. Here’s a list of what I’ve accompanied and what I’m scheduled to accompany.

Note: I’ve changed the blogathon links in this post to point at the more complete list on The Everyday Cinephile. You need to scroll down a little to see the list of participating posts.

Scene from the silent film Metropolis with text: Silent Movie Day Blogathon / September 29, 2026


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