CHAPTER 9 / Part 2


Table of Contents

Table of Contents




Beginning in about 1906, pathé and other french producers released a steady stream of melodramas in the grand guignol or comédie rosse vein, even though they were received with increasing hostility by the press in the immensely profitable American market.[37] Ultimately, however, passion, violence, and irony gave way to harmony, stability, and conventional morals, and by 1911, the senational variant of the melodrama had largely been supplanted by the more conservative model of the domestic melodrama, which typically concerned the economic and social assault of “worldly” values on those of the family.


                              Bourgeoisie at a Café,

                     on the Grande Boulevard—1900

The main reason for this transition, according to Richard Abel, was a major shift in the marketing practices of Pathé-Frères. Between 1907 and 1911, Pathé set out to legitimize both its product and its industry. Having abandoned the fairground for urban centers of exhibition, Pathé now targeted a more reputable audience—not only white-collar workers and civil servants but also members of the comfortable, conformist, capitalist class that the French call the bourgeoisie. The targeted segment also included women (and children), who had constituted a significant segment of the French audience since before 1906. The habit of providing happy endings to melodramatic stories—and thus the preference for domestic melodrama over variations that climaxed in outbursts of violent passion—was one of the results of this shift in the marketing strategies of Pathé and the other French producers who followed its lead.[38]

During the same period, permanent urban theaters became the primary venue for motion-picture exhibition in France and the nickelodeon emerged to dominate exhibition practices in the United States (see Chapter 7.2). To meet the increased demand for films in both the European and American markets, the French industry reorganized into distinct production, distribution, and exhibition sectors. Pathé turned its attention to distribution, contracting with other producers to supplement its output and renting films to exhibitors rather than selling them outright. (As usual, major competitors followed suit.) With the power to control both the production and distribution of its product, Pathé also encouraged an economy of standardization throughout the industry. Standard length for a story film, for example, was soon established at a single reel of 650 to 1000 feet and at about half that for comedies.[39]

The Model for Mayhem

In the process of standardizing its product, Pathé also began standardizing the methods by which its filmmakers told cinematic stories in every genre. As a result, the cinematic techniques and narrative strategies that we described in Chapter 9.1—cut-ins, reverse-angle shots, camera movements, alternating sequences, and so forth—were gradually transformed into a practical and economic method for articulating and structuring motion-picture stories.

Continuing Series and the Comic Type
  In comedies, the development of this method, especially as a means by which the producer could exercise “editorial control” over the product, fostered the development of the continuing series in which, in film after film, the plot and gags were organized around a recurring central character. Critical to the success of comic series were the stars (virtually all of whom, at this time, were male) who personified comic types—figures whose characters were constant from film to film. The star’s character traits determined both the comic premise from which each film developed and the comic situations in which his persona found himself over the course of a film. As a structuring principle, then, the introduction of the central character as a determinant of comic business resulted in what Charles Musser calls “redundancy of situation”—a series of comic incidents in which the same premise is repeated, such the star’s iterative efforts to achieve a particular (ususally absurd) goal. Abel agrees with Musser that reliance on redundancy had the added advantage of standardizing the product.[40] Moreover, reports Abel, the comic series

continued to consolidate the system of representation and narration which had come to characterize the genre. . . . For the most part . . ., established strategies such as cut-in close shots and sequences of alternation served the comic series in two ways. On the one hand, they offered the comic star a better showcase for his performance, not only allowing for more nuanced gestures but orchestrating the rhythm of the performance across a series of interrelated spaces. On the other, they provided the material for structuring comic gags in more complicated ways.[41]


                   André Deed

Boireau, Calino, and Rigadin
  Pathé launched its first series in 1907, introducing onetime café-concert acrobat/singer André Deed (b. André Chapuis, 1884-1934) as “Boireau,” a simple-witted fellow whose persona owes much to the tradition of circus clowning (see Figure 9.13).[42] In the earliest available Boireau film, Les Apprentissages de Boireau (Jim’s ApprenticeshipAlbert Capellani, 1907), the adolescent hero’s father tries to apprentice him to all sorts of small-business owners. The film is composed mostly of redundant three-shot sequences: (1) in long shot, we see the exterior of a business as father and son enter; (2) inside, some comic business ensues in full shot; (3) in a concluding exterior long shot, Boireau is bounced out the door. For two gags, a second interior shot extends the comic action. To be sure, the structuring principle is primitive, but as Abel points out, it establishes “an economic narrative model that could continually prepare for, extend, and conclude its comic business and run at least as long as, if not longer than, Pathé’s other comic films.”[43]


                Roméo Bosetti

Gaumont entered the field in 1908 by casting Roméo Bosetti (1879-1946), a veteran of the circus and café-concert, in the short-lived Roméo series. The next year, Bosetti began directing another circus veteran, Clément Migé, in Gaumont’s Calino series. A masterful acrobat, Migé specialized in physical antics that quickly escalated into comprehensive orgies of destruction. In Calino pompier (Calino as Fireman, 1911), for example, the hero leads a fire brigade into a burning house, where (moving in fast motion among adjacent rooms) they “save” the furniture by pitching it from the windows and then break down the walls of the house until there’s nothing left but a demolished remnant.[44] As in this film, Calino’s antics are typically conceived as satires on the ineptitude of French civil servants and bureaucrats. Between 1912 and 1914, Bosetti produced several more successful series, mostly for Comica, a Pathé affiliate based in Nice (see Figure 9.14 [45]).


                 Charles Prince

In the person of Charles Prince (1872-1933), the stage name of a popular comedian, the character of Pathé’s “Rigadin” differed from those of his predecessors in that he affected middle-class respectability. He aspired to be what Abel describes as a “white-collar Don Juan,” and the comedy often issued from the hero’s pursuit of women and subsequent abuse at the hands of a shrewish spouse or haridan mother-in-law.[46] In the Rigadin comedies, romantic and family relationships often parodied those depicted in the serious dramas of the period (see Figure 9.15 [47]). In Le Nègre blanc (The White Nigger or How Jack Won a Wife, 1910), for example, Rigadin is a black man who falls in love with a bourgeois white woman. With the help of a magical potion, he manages to turn himself white, only to find that the object of his affection has become engaged to another man. Out of spite, he turns the girl black by spiking her champagne with the magic potion. When her fiancé storms out, her outraged father offers her to le nègre blanc, who caps his revenge by rejecting her as well. The film’s commentary on bourgeois attitudes is ambivalent at best: on the one hand, it seems to satirize racial discrimination, while, on the other, it implies that the “white” hero’s summary rejection of the “black” woman is sufficiently reasonable, both socially and sexually, and is to be expected.


                  Jean Durand

The Fine Art of Surreal Destruction: Jean Durand and Onésime
  A cartoonist and humorist before he began submitting movie scripts to Pathé in 1908, Jean Durand (1882-1946) joined Gaumont as a writer-director in 1909. He took over the Calino series in 1910, adding to the antics of the central figure those of a supporting troupe that prefigured Mack Sennett’s famous Keystone Kops: “Les Pouittes” were former circus and café-concert clowns who (as one commentator puts it) “brought mindless surreal destruction to a fine if frenzied art.”[48] In the parlance of popular French entertainments, they were consummate “cascadeurs”—makers of gags (“cascades”) that revolved mostly around the splintering of prop furniture and the implosion of scaffolded sets.

In 1912, Durand initiated the Onésime series, in which the main character was personified (in about 80 short films made between 1912 and 1914) by a former music-hall comic named Ernest Bourbon (1886-1954). “I had created and polished this character,” Bourbon recalled many years later, “in the music-hall before I came to the cinema. He was a comic jeune premier [leading man], concerned to be elegant—jacket, grey bowler, white spats, and clean gloves—and a bit of an idiot, but on occasion more cunning that the rest.”[49]

Called “Simple Simon” in Great Britain, the Onésime that Durand and Bourbon brought to the screen typically looked out of malevolent little eyes set in a pantomimist’s face. He often wore a nicely rounded bowler, beneath which he grinned just a little maliciously, and because he often visited fashionable venues with large animals in tow (Durand’s wife was an animal trainer), Onésime became a favorite among the young writers and artists of the French surrealist movement, who delighted generally in such incongruity and, in particular, in the menace of mess posed in clean bourgeois places (see Figure 9.16 [50]).


          Jean Durand, Onésime horloger,

                   Gaumont, France, 1912

See the moving picture

French film historian Georges Sadoul identifies Onésime horloger (Onésime the Clockmaker, 1912) as the masterpiece among the Onésime comedies that he had seen.[51] In this installment, Onésime learns that he’s received a substantial inheritance. There is, however, a catch: he’s not due to get it for another twenty years. When he happens upon a book about clockmaking, he discovers how to make a day go by in fifteen minutes and so reconfigures the mechanism that controls the central observatory clock, which, in turn, governs real time everywhere. In a matter of minutes, Onésime has married, raised a strapping six-foot son, and, of course, collected his inheritance despite the bureaucratic roadblock that had been set for him in the past (Figure 9.17).[52]

Onésime horloger was undoubtedly among the inspirations for Rene Clair’s 1924 short feature Paris qui dort (The Crazy Ray), in which the night watchman atop the Eiffel tower awakens one morning to find that all Paris has been put to sleep by a mad scientist whose “sleep ray” can speed up or slow down the actions of human beings. On its own scale, Onésime horloger takes the same delight in the cinematic properties of motion (especially fast motion, as achieved by undercranking the camera while shooting moving objects). In both films, whimsical visions of the world—of a highly detailed external reality—have been realized by manipulating an intrinsic property of film itself (see Figure 9.18).[53]

Both films, of course, are “fantasies,” and in the case of Onésime horloger, this element tends to satisfy the surrealist stipulation that in true fantasy, the imagination is engaged is some form of desire for something that’s prohibited. In a sense, Onésime’s elemental demand for instant gratification—or at least gratification within a more reasonable time frame—can be seen as the prime mode of desire that underlies all other concrete manifestations; certainly, the stipulation delaying his inheritance represents the cruel stupidity that (as the surrealists would have it) is intrinsic in all social prohibitions. And finally, it’s through the artful magic of the cinema—whereby the logic of wish-fulfillment can be substituted for the logic of the material, clockwork world—that desire is consummated and prohibition surmounted. (For a discussion of some surrealist precepts, see Reading 9.1.)

The Man in the Chapeau de Soie: Max Linder


                      Max Linder

By far the most important of the French comic-series stars was Max Linder (b. Gabriel-Maximilien Leuvielle, 1883-1925), who emerged as France’s greatest star—and probably the best-known screen comedian in both Europe and the United States—in the pre-World War I era. Beginning in 1905, while still pursuing an undistinguished stage career, Linder appeared in a few comic films at Pathé, such as Les Débuts d’un patineur (Skater’s Debut or An Unskillful Skater, 1907—Figure 9.19), in which he stars as an overconfident and overdressed dandy who decides to master ice skating. The result is a series of mishaps and pratfalls that end only when the cops remove him from the rink in humiliation.[54] The film is little more than an exercise in the “redundant situation,” but it prefigures one of the key elements in Linder’s mature comic vehicles: Linder, says British critic David Robinson, “perceived the comedy of the contrast between his bandbox elegance and the ludicrous and humiliating accidents which befell him.”[55]

Refining the Art of Comedy
  Soon after André Deed left Pathé in January 1909 (see Reading 9.4), Linder was given his own series. For a while, his comic type varied from film to film, but he soon established his signature character as an elegant, amorous dandy. “While other stars of the period were generally manic and grotesque,” says Robinson, Linder adopted the character pictured in the publicity photo in Figure 9.20: “a svelte and handsome young boulevardier, with sleek hair, trimmed moustache, and impeccably shiny silk had which survived all catastrophes.”[56]


        Max Linder, Max et la doctoresse,

               Pathé-Frères, France, 1912

See the moving picture

Linder also refined the nature of comic business. Though gifted at broad physical comedy (Les Débuts d’un patineur is largely an uninterrupted series of pratfalls), Linder was also an excellent mime who understood the value of subtle gestures and facial expressions, and much of his comic effect resulted from the contrast between the measured naturalness of his behavior and the absurdity of the predicaments that he contrived for himself. Visiting an attractive female physician in Max et la doctoresse (Max and the Lady Doctor, 1912), for instance, he giggles and squirms like a smitten schoolboy when the doctoresse examines him by probing various points about his torso; the jest about role reversal climaxes when we next see Max tending a new baby while his wife—the same lady doctor—continues to attend to a clientele of exclusively male patients.[57] (For fuller discussions of Max et la doctoresse, see Reading 9.2 and Figure R9.8.)

Likewise, the action in Linder’s films is typically framed in long shots that preserve the integrity of the comic business. In Max hypnotisé (Max Hypnotized, 1910), Max’s servants, appalled at the prospect of their lazy employer marrying an unsuspecting young girl, decide to sabotage the engagement by hypnotizing him (Figure 9.21). They run a few practice tests (turning him into a robotic housemaid and then into a butler who surrenders his dinner to his own valet), and, finally, in front of the bride-to-be and her parents, they transform into a hyperactive dog. To keep the focus on both Max’s performance and the escalating series of gags, the whole film consists of four long shots taken in the studio.[58]


Les Débuts de Max Linder au cinématographe,

               Pathé-Frères, France, 1910

See the moving picture

At the same time, Linder and his directors (notably Louis J. Gasnier and Lucien Nonguet) are quite adept at orchestrating gags across pro-filmic space. Les Débuts de Max Linder au cinématographe (Max’s First Job, 1910) purports to record the star’s first interview with Charles Pathé and first appearance before the camera. He starts rehearsing a film called The Son-in-Law and the Mother-in-Law, but it isn’t long before he’s overwhelmed by the comic business that he’s supposed to be starring in. When his “wife” and “mother-in-law” throw him out of a window, a matching cut shows him landing with an unrehearsed thud on the sidewalk below (where a cameraman is calmly cranking away); there’s a cut back to the apartment as the women pitch a mattress out the window, and another matching cut shows the mattress landing on Max (Figure 9.22). A passerby bumps into him as he struggles to his feet, and (as the cameraman continues to shoot) they wrestle one another to the ground, rolling left to right out of the frame and, on a matching cut to an adjacent space, left to right into the next frame. They tumble through one more cut into one more frame (pursued by the cameraman and the film’s director), where they’re finally doused by a hose-toting street cleaner.[59]

The use of editing and framing is even more elaborate from another film of 1910, Tout est bien qui finit bien (Perseverance Rewarded), a love story about a young man and young woman who live across the street from one another. The scene is set with a deep space long shot of a Paris street (Figure 9.23), and we soon realizes that their respective home lives are also symmetrical: she sits with her mother and he with his father in identical dining rooms, both represented in full shots, and both parents oppose the relationship. The affair proceeds in a series of shots that alternate spaces: when he calls out to her from his window at the right of the frame, she responds from her window at the left. Next, a long shot shows them leaning from matching windows in facing corners of the frame until his father drags him away and her mother does the same with her; the two parents then threaten one another in alternating full shots. Unfortunately, the surviving print breaks off at this point, but a trade-magazine description asssures us that the film’s compulsive parallelism culminates in the uniting of not one couple (the boy and the girl) but two (the parents).[60]

Finally, while contemporary comedians typically maintained a frenetic pace from beginning to end of a film, Linder preferred a more carefully modulated rhythm that allowed him to develop comic business and build variety into his gags. This strategy provided a structure within which he could detail Max’s situation and contrast his intentions, which were often “normal” enough in themselves, with the absurdity of their consequences. While permitting him to build one gag and then another out of accumulating details, it also allowed him to play variations on a single theme instead of merely repeating a repertoire of gags until it was exhausted.


         Max Linder, Max prend son bain,

              Pathé-Frères, France, 1910

See the moving picture

In Max prend son bain (By the Doctor’s Orders or Max Emarrassed—1910), Max’s intention is simply to take a bath (which the doctor has recommended as a cure for the hiccups). Unfortunately, this seemingly simple project requires Max to buy a bathtub, and this prerequisite considerably increases the difficulty level of the project. After dragging his newly bought tub out of the store, for example, Max faces the problem of getting it home. Ultimately, he turns it over on his head and proceeds down the street looking like a long-legged mutant turtle. Once home, he places the new tub in his apartment, only to discover that the water faucet is in the hallway outside. When filling cups and glasses and carrying them back and forth proves impractical, Max hauls the tub into the hallway. Once filled from the faucet, of course, it’s too heavy to push back into the apartment, and Max has no choice but to take his bath in the hall. Before long, the building superintendent arrives with several policemen, who carry the tub outside with Max still in it. Now Max presents the image of a naked man in a porcelain coffin, but even in such bizarre straits, he has enough presence of mind and well-bred civility to greet two ladies on the street with the proper show of courtesy (see Figure 9.24).[61]

For a closer look at the life and career of Max Linder, see Biographical Sketch 9.1. Reading 9.2, “In Theory: The Boulevardier and the Bourgeoisie,” theorizes about the the theme of morality and the construction of satire in Linder’s work.


[37] See Richard Abel, The Red Rooster Scare: Making Cinema American, 1900-1910 (Berkeley: Univ. of California Press, 1999), esp. Chs. 4-5. For background on the grand guignol and comédie rosse, see Chapter 9.1.

[38] See Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town, pp. 136, 156, 206.

[39] See Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town, pp. 179-80, at (accessed September 18, 2016). On Pathé’s strategies for standardizing the French film industry, see also Abel, “French Silent Cinema,” in The Oxford History of World Cinema, ed. Geoffrey Nowell-Smith (Oxford and New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 1996), pp. 112-14, at (accessed September 18, 2016). Charlie Keil, “The Single-Reel Film and Changes to Film Form,” Early Cinema, Film Reference (2016), at (accessed September 18, 2016), discusses how “this move to a standardized format had repercussions not only for industry practice but also for the formal properties defining story films during the next five years.” Pathé’s role in industrializing the cinema is discussed in some detail in Chapter 6.1.

[40] Musser, Before the Nickelodeon: Edwin S. Porter and the Edison Manufacturing Company (Berkeley and Los Angeles: Univ. of California Press, 1991), pp. 353-56, at (accessed September 27, 2016). See Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town, pp. 180, 215-16.

[41] The Ciné Goes to Town, pp. 244-45.

[42] For an overview of French comic cinema during the era, see, in addition to Abel (The Ciné Goes to Town, pp. 215-45), David Robinson, “Rise and Fall of the Clowns: The Golden Age of French Comedy, 1907-1914,” Sight and Sound 56 (Summer 1987), pp. 198-203; Robinson discusses Deed, Bosetti, Prince, Durand, and Linder. See also Robinson, The Great Funnies: A History of Film Comedy (London: Studio Vista, 1969), Chs. 2-4. On André Deed, see also Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town, pp. 227-29; Anthony Balducci, “Musings on André Deed,” Anthony Balducci’s Journal (November 10, 2014), at (accessed September 18, 2016); “Deed, André (1879-1938),” in The A to Z of French Cinema, ed. Dayna Oscherwitz and MaryEllen Higgins (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2009), pp. 121-22. In “The Surreal and the Satirical: Early European Comedy Cinema,” Anthony Balducci’s Journal (October 3, 2014), at (accessed September 18, 2016), Balducci surveys several films and, although he uses the key terms “surreal” and “satiric” rather loosely, attempts to characterize the films in terms of comic approach and intent.

In I Won’t Grow Up!: The Comic Man-Child in Film from 1901 to the Present (Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Co, 2016), pp. 9-10, at (accessed September 18, 2016), Balducci places Deed, who often plays a “bratty child” or “hapless adolescent,” in the comic tradition of the “man-child”—the comic figure of an adult male who chooses to perpetuate the immature aspects of his personality. On Boireau Cuirassier, see Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town, p. 401.

[43] The Ciné Goes to Town, p. 229.

[44] Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town, pp. 229-31; Robinson, “Rise and Fall of the Clowns,” pp. 200-01.

[45] For Figure 9.14, see Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town, pp. 35-36, 229, 391-93; Robinson, “Rise and Fall of the Clowns,” p. 200. On the provenance of Le Matelas alcoolique, see Donald Crafton, Emile Cohl, Caricature and Film (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 1990), pp. 94-95, at (accessed September 18, 2016). On Bosetti, see Philippe Rège, Encyclopedia of French Film Directors. Volume I (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2010), pp. 124-28, at (accessed October 18, 2016).

[46] On Prince and the Rigadin series, see Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town, pp. 235-36; Robinson, “Rise and Fall of the Clowns,” p. 200. In I Won’t Grow Up!, p. 10, at, Balducci cites Les Timidités de Rigadin as an instance of Rigadin’s penchant for playing the “man-child.”

[47] For Figure 9.15, see Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town, p. 235; Robinson, “Rise and Fall of the Clowns,” p. 201; Robinson, The Great Funnies, p. 16.

[48] Robinson, “Rise and Fall of the Clowns,” p. 200.

[49] Quoted by Robinson, “Rise and Fall of the Clowns,” p. 202.

[50] On Jean Durand and Figure 9.16, see Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town, pp. 402-07; Robinson, “Rise and Fall of the Clowns,” pp. 201-02; Rège, Encyclopedia of French Film Directors, pp. 349-53, at; “Durand, Jean (1882-1946),” in The A to Z of French Cinema, pp. 148-49. On Onésime a un duel américain, see Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town, pp. 404-05. On Ernest Bourbon, see Laurent Forestier, “Bourbon, Ernest,” in Encyclopedia of Early Film, ed. Richard Abel (London and New York: Routledge, 2005), pp. 79-80.

[51] Dictionary of Films, trans. Peter Morris (Berkeley and Los Angeles: Univ. of California Press, 1972), p. 259.

[52] On Onésime horloger, see Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town, pp. 406-07; Robinson, “Rise and Fall of the Clowns,” p. 202. See also Dan North, “Magic and Illusion in Early Cinema,” Studies in French Cinema 1:2 (July 2001), pp. 70-79; North argues that the film “allows film technology to transform what it records into an ‘improved’ reality and finds parodic value through the use of optical effects [such as undercranking the camera and filming in reverse]. Thus, when unified with a narrative, the special effect can gain some status as a necessary and meaningful component of film production rather than as mere adornment.”

[53] For Figure 9.18, see North, “Magic and Illusion in Early Cinema,” esp. pp. 77-78; Paul K. Saint-Amour, “Stillness and Attitude: René Clair’s Paris qui dort,” in Moving Modernisms: Motion, Technology, and Modernity, ed. David Bradshaw, Laura Marcus, and Rebecca Roach (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2016), Ch. 15; Tom Conley, “Icarian Cinema: Paris qui dort,” in Cartographic Cinema (Minneapolis and London: Univ. of Minnesota Press, 2007), Ch.1; Mark Bould, Science Fiction (London and New York: Routledge, 2012), pp. 119-20; Annette Michelson, “The Man with the Movie Camera: From Magician to Epistemologist,” Artforum 10:7 (1972), pp. 62-72; Ginette Vincendeau, “Zazie dans le métro: Girl Trouble,” Current (The Criterion Collection, 2016), at (accessed October 7, 2016); Mario Bounat, “Interview with Louis Malle,” JT 19h15 [French TV news program] (October 26, 1960), at (accessed October 7, 2016).

[54] See Gerald Mast, The Comic Mind: Comedy and the Movies, 2nd ed. (Chicago and London: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1979), p. 37. Christine Leteux, Albert Capellani: Pioneer of the Silent Screen (2013; Lexington: Univ. Press of Kentucky, 2015), n.p., at (accessed September 18, 2016), cites one Pathé-Frères employee’s recollection of the highly improvisatory origin of Les Débuts d’un patineur.

[55] “Rise and Fall of the Clowns,” pp. 199-200.

[56] “Max Linder,” in The Oxford History of World Cinema, ed. Nowell-Smith, p. 117. For a discussion of the cinema of Max Linder, see esp. Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town, pp. 236-45, 409-17. See also: Mast, The Comic Mind, pp. 36-40, at (accessed September 22, 2016); Robinson, “Rise and Fall of the Clowns,” pp. 199-200; Frank Scheide, “The Mark of the Ridiculous and Silent Celluloid: Some Trends in American and European Film Comedy from 1894-1929,” in A Companion to Film Comedy, ed. Andrew Horton and Joanna E. Rapf (Malden, MA: Wiley Blackwell, 2012), esp. pp. 23-25, at (accessed September 18, 2016); Alan Williams, Republic of Images: A History of French Filmmaking (Cambridge and London: Harvard Univ. Press, 1992), pp. 59-62. For a discussion of both Linder’s life and work, see Ginette Vincendeau, Stars and Stardom in French Cinema (London and New York: Continuum, 2000), pp. 42-58. For a brief biography, see Chris Driver, “Max Linder: The Light That Burns Twice as Bright Lasts Half as Long,” Magazine Americana, November 2004, at (accessed September 18, 2016). Linder is also the subject of Biographical Sketch 9.1.

[57] See Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town, pp. 414-15; Scheide, “The Mark of the Ridiculous and Silent Celluloid,” p. 23.

[58] See Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town, pp. 242-43.

[59] See Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town, p. 244; Robinson, “Rise and Fall of the Clowns,” p. 200.

[60] See Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town, pp. 238-39.

[61] See Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town, pp. 243-44; Robinson, “Rise and Fall of the Clowns,” p. 200.

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