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BFI Film Classics
Napoleon: Abel Gance's Silent Classic
Describes the making of the silent movie, Napoleon, and depicts the struggle to reconstruct the original version of the film
Paperback
First published December 15, 1982
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103 people want to read
About the author
Kevin Brownlow
44 books55 followersKevin Brownlow, is a filmmaker, film historian, television documentary-maker, author, and Academy Award recipient. Brownlow is best known for his work documenting the history of the silent era. Brownlow became interested in silent film at the age of eleven. This interest grew into a career spent documenting and restoring film. He has rescued many silent films and their history. His initiative in interviewing many largely forgotten, elderly film pioneers in the 1960s and 1970s preserved a legacy of cinema. Brownlow received an Academy Honorary Award at the 2nd Annual Governors Awards given by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences on November 13, 2010.
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August 2, 2020The chapters are short and readable. I became interested in Abel Gance and his work after reading The Parade’s Gone By... and although I have never seen Napoleon, I do not think that has detracted from my enjoyment of the book.
August 19, 2021
I accidentally ordered this book on Ebay trying to locate a video of the classic 1927 film that it's about. It appears no version the film is currently available in a US-compatible format. Anyway, it was a happy accident and I enjoyed Brownlow's compelling account of the film's production, disappearance and subsequent reconstruction. He lovingly led the latter through the late 1970s and early 1980s in coordination with Gance, culminating in a 1981 screening at Radio City Music Hall and subsequent screenings in Paris, Rome and London. Brownlow led another restoration that led to a 2000 video release.
This book gave me a greater appreciation of film production and the challenges in reconstructing lost reels. It also boosted my desire to see film. Netflix is financing a restoration of Abel Gance's original seven-hour cut in coordination with the French National Film Board (CNC) and Cinémathèque Française. It was originally due out in mid-2021 and now is apparently delayed to year-end or later. In the meantime, it may be worth ponying up for a multi-format Blu-ray/DVD player and getting a copy of Brownlow's 2000 version.
This book gave me a greater appreciation of film production and the challenges in reconstructing lost reels. It also boosted my desire to see film. Netflix is financing a restoration of Abel Gance's original seven-hour cut in coordination with the French National Film Board (CNC) and Cinémathèque Française. It was originally due out in mid-2021 and now is apparently delayed to year-end or later. In the meantime, it may be worth ponying up for a multi-format Blu-ray/DVD player and getting a copy of Brownlow's 2000 version.
July 31, 2014
Last year I was lucky enough to see Abel Gance's silent epic 'Napoléon' on the big screen at the Royal Festival Hall in London, with a live orchestra conducted by Carl Davis. Film historian Kevin Brownlow was present and I bought a signed copy of this fascinating book. It traces his life-long love affair with the film, after seeing a section of it as a teenager.
The book explains how the film was made, which is an amazing story in itself, then goes on to how it was all but lost - and found again, thanks to Brownlow. Over the decades he tracked down lost footage and, as an expert film restorer, literally pieced the film back together, as well as building a sometimes difficult relationship with the great director. Ironically, although this book can be bought, the film itself still isn't available for home viewing because of a long-running rights wrangle.
The book explains how the film was made, which is an amazing story in itself, then goes on to how it was all but lost - and found again, thanks to Brownlow. Over the decades he tracked down lost footage and, as an expert film restorer, literally pieced the film back together, as well as building a sometimes difficult relationship with the great director. Ironically, although this book can be bought, the film itself still isn't available for home viewing because of a long-running rights wrangle.
April 8, 2019
Semi-autobiography and semi-film history, Napoleon traces the troubled history of silent film’s greatest, and for so long most overlooked achievement. Split into two sections, the first considers the career of Abel Gance and his coming to make the film. Even in these early days the production was fraught – if not by nationalist press or dubious backers, then the sheer ambition of Gance himself. His early films have always fascinated me in their scope and technical acumen, but in discovering his process and ambition he appears yet more impressive; he saw the cinema as a limitless font of expression, and he set out to realize every wandering of his fertile mind. Another essential detail captured in Brownlaw’s text is that he did not do this alone; while collaboration is the very essence of cinema, never was this more distinctly visible than in the 1920s. Beyond the simple necessity of cast and crew, cinema in this seminal period relied on a vast intermingling of artistic talents, from across the spectrum of expression. Napoleon alone courted several big-name directors who worked as assistants (and unthinkable scenario in the modern day), as well as a variety of talented technicians and engineers who, through their ingenious technological contributions, deserve some auteurial recognition alongside Gance. Even Man Ray, a photographer who dabbled occasionally in cinema, is credited with some involvement on the project. My enthusiasm for Napoleon (the film) only comes further into focus with the revelation of the sheer manpower behind it – it seems a shame that films today rarely court the collaborative spirit so engendered in those late days of silent cinema: Enter’acte, The Life and Death of a Hollywood Extra, and Ballet Mechanique were equally products of a vast array of talented artists working in concert. The single domineering auteur (in part inspired by the likes of Gance) perhaps overshadows that which is possible when the cinematic hierarchy is provided another level of radical expression.
This first section concludes with the film’s tragic fate: lost in a slew of crippling cuts, it was an economic disaster, a deathly knell for Gance’s career (which would limp on for decades, dwarfed by its own invisible shadow). Brownlaw then introduces his contribution to the mythos, the resurrection of Napoleon. Witnessing a few reels by chance in his teenage years, he traces his life via the accumulation of further reels, his sometimes-futile searches, and the discovery of countless iterations and permutations of the same film. Across decades this distraction becomes a calling, and he begins to liaise with the luminaries of the archivist community in attempting to rebuild that which was lost. The film was generally forgotten, or at best considered mediocre – Brownlaw seemed alone in recognizing a greatness between the brutalised remnants of Gance’s work. Brownlaw’s writing is always engaging on the matter, but it is less his knowledge of the subject (which is likely matchless) so much as his perspective. He doesn’t lose himself in the technical reality of Napoleon and its history (though he makes sure to append every significant point), and as much as he considers the film he considers himself and its maker. Gance, who we follow from his mid-career low to his end-of-life redemption, is continually portrayed as an unusual and unpredictable character. His words still suggest the genius of the 20s, but his recent output directly contradicts any such assessment: while Brownlaw works to restore the original Napoleon, Gance seems more interested in further sacrilege, contorting his own masterpiece into an embarrassing attempt at a quick buck. The balance between these two artists, who seem at once allies and opposed, provides what might otherwise be a dry text something of a central drama. As might be expected with such a benighted project, the book ends on something of a sour note, with the moneymen deciding that the two versions of Napoleon that exist (both deriving from Brownlaw’s handiwork) cannot coexist, and more, that the truncated version (additionally played at an incorrect framerate) should be considered the de jure cut for the world outside of the UK – in the years since publishing, this remains the unfortunate reality. But having seen Brownlaw’s efforts firsthand, I remain optimistic that this treasure of early cinema will one day reach the world over.
P.S. It is amusing to imagine how Tolstoy would reject this film, both in its fatalism (opposing predetermination) and hagiographic obsession with Napoleon’s being. But this amusement is offered a strange counter-context by the revelation that Gance’s first Russian backer stipulated that, after he finish his cycle of films on Napoleon’s life, he then adapt War and Peace. How a man who saw Napoleon’s life as a grand tragedy should be able to stomach Tolstoy’s inglorious representation is baffling, even despite Gance’s admittance that Bonaparte fell victim to his own victory later in his career. But with all that said, there is little I wouldn’t give to have seen the Gance of old take a stab at it.
This first section concludes with the film’s tragic fate: lost in a slew of crippling cuts, it was an economic disaster, a deathly knell for Gance’s career (which would limp on for decades, dwarfed by its own invisible shadow). Brownlaw then introduces his contribution to the mythos, the resurrection of Napoleon. Witnessing a few reels by chance in his teenage years, he traces his life via the accumulation of further reels, his sometimes-futile searches, and the discovery of countless iterations and permutations of the same film. Across decades this distraction becomes a calling, and he begins to liaise with the luminaries of the archivist community in attempting to rebuild that which was lost. The film was generally forgotten, or at best considered mediocre – Brownlaw seemed alone in recognizing a greatness between the brutalised remnants of Gance’s work. Brownlaw’s writing is always engaging on the matter, but it is less his knowledge of the subject (which is likely matchless) so much as his perspective. He doesn’t lose himself in the technical reality of Napoleon and its history (though he makes sure to append every significant point), and as much as he considers the film he considers himself and its maker. Gance, who we follow from his mid-career low to his end-of-life redemption, is continually portrayed as an unusual and unpredictable character. His words still suggest the genius of the 20s, but his recent output directly contradicts any such assessment: while Brownlaw works to restore the original Napoleon, Gance seems more interested in further sacrilege, contorting his own masterpiece into an embarrassing attempt at a quick buck. The balance between these two artists, who seem at once allies and opposed, provides what might otherwise be a dry text something of a central drama. As might be expected with such a benighted project, the book ends on something of a sour note, with the moneymen deciding that the two versions of Napoleon that exist (both deriving from Brownlaw’s handiwork) cannot coexist, and more, that the truncated version (additionally played at an incorrect framerate) should be considered the de jure cut for the world outside of the UK – in the years since publishing, this remains the unfortunate reality. But having seen Brownlaw’s efforts firsthand, I remain optimistic that this treasure of early cinema will one day reach the world over.
P.S. It is amusing to imagine how Tolstoy would reject this film, both in its fatalism (opposing predetermination) and hagiographic obsession with Napoleon’s being. But this amusement is offered a strange counter-context by the revelation that Gance’s first Russian backer stipulated that, after he finish his cycle of films on Napoleon’s life, he then adapt War and Peace. How a man who saw Napoleon’s life as a grand tragedy should be able to stomach Tolstoy’s inglorious representation is baffling, even despite Gance’s admittance that Bonaparte fell victim to his own victory later in his career. But with all that said, there is little I wouldn’t give to have seen the Gance of old take a stab at it.
April 19, 2024
Napoleon by Abel Gance is a movie that tells of the rise of Bonaparte from his childhood to his role as commander of the army of Italy. Originally planned in 6 movies that intended to tell the man's entire life, only one came out, and it quickly earned big praise but also severe critics. For decades after its release, it struggled to convince the public. However, slowly but surely, as different versions were shown, some very good, others less, it earned its place as one of the most memorable movies, and today, it has become the stuff of legends. This book is about how the movie came to life and how it became a legend in the past 97 years.
Gance originally wanted to make several movies, but from the beginning, his project was set for failure due to the ambition of the work to be done. While he signed the contract in May to have a first movie completed by December, the actual filming only took place in January of the following year. Gance was so innovative in his techniques that he constantly required new materials and items that kept adding up to the budget. Eventually, the single movie he released (with more than 7 hours of footage) cost more than the initial budget planned for the 6 movies.
The book describes many filming techniques, demonstrating the inventiveness of Gance and his crew. Some anecdotes concerning the filming are also highly entertaining and fascinating. For example, some scenes were filmed in Corsica, where the almost entire population admired Napoléon. One smiles at this anecdote where Gance asked Corsican extras to shout "Death to Napoléon Bonaparte" and they refused to do so.
One is also impressed by the dedication of the individuals who worked on the film. There is one scene where Gance asked his extras to work longer hours and while some of them protested, the majority accepted because they felt they were contributing to something so special and unique that they had to give it all they had. As for Gance, he was everything you imagine from an extravagant artist. Despite knowing full well that he did not have the money to keep working with the extras, he still asked them to come back the following day. And whenever his actors would play a scene in difficult conditions (such as being wet with ice cold water), he would ignore their discomfort or suffering and push them to act on.
Other anecdotes are very amusing, such as when the actor playing Bonaparte, Albert Dieudonné, showed up in attire at night to visit someone. That someone was convinced the following day that he had a vision of the real Bonaparte! A similar scene occurred in Corsica when Dieudonné paraded around as Bonaparte in front of a man in the countryside, and the latter was speechless, not understanding what he was seeing.
After the release in 1927, the movie earned wide acclaim. However, it started to go through a difficult path as several versions came out. Versions that were shorter, longer, with sound, etc. Purists would deem one version incredible and another one unwatchable. Gance never found additional financial support to continue his series and worked on other projects with more or less success. In addition, there were problems with distribution rights. Throughout all this, the author, Brownlow, worked tirelessly to promote the film that he had fallen in love with since he was a child. He went through the hard work of trying to reconstruct the movie based on the pieces of footage he could find and eventually helped release a version that astounded everyone. The last part of the book tells of the screenings done in the 1980s that attracted thousands of people, some traveling from hundreds of miles away, and there is this very beautiful scene where after a showing in the US, the whole room is in a standing ovation while Gance is not there (he is in France and around 90 years old) and the organizers call him on the phone and make him listen to the applause. It is such a beautiful yet also sad moment where Gance finally gets the recognition he deserves although he is at the end of his life. He himself says, "It's too late" but quickly adds, "It's never too late to do good," as if to reassure the people around him.
This is an incredible story that makes the movie even more special, and I now have a strong desire to see it. Thankfully, a new version, probably the closest to the original one of 1927, has been in the works for several years with the support of Netflix, and it is set for release this year. Here is hoping it will get released on the streaming platform.
Gance originally wanted to make several movies, but from the beginning, his project was set for failure due to the ambition of the work to be done. While he signed the contract in May to have a first movie completed by December, the actual filming only took place in January of the following year. Gance was so innovative in his techniques that he constantly required new materials and items that kept adding up to the budget. Eventually, the single movie he released (with more than 7 hours of footage) cost more than the initial budget planned for the 6 movies.
The book describes many filming techniques, demonstrating the inventiveness of Gance and his crew. Some anecdotes concerning the filming are also highly entertaining and fascinating. For example, some scenes were filmed in Corsica, where the almost entire population admired Napoléon. One smiles at this anecdote where Gance asked Corsican extras to shout "Death to Napoléon Bonaparte" and they refused to do so.
One is also impressed by the dedication of the individuals who worked on the film. There is one scene where Gance asked his extras to work longer hours and while some of them protested, the majority accepted because they felt they were contributing to something so special and unique that they had to give it all they had. As for Gance, he was everything you imagine from an extravagant artist. Despite knowing full well that he did not have the money to keep working with the extras, he still asked them to come back the following day. And whenever his actors would play a scene in difficult conditions (such as being wet with ice cold water), he would ignore their discomfort or suffering and push them to act on.
Other anecdotes are very amusing, such as when the actor playing Bonaparte, Albert Dieudonné, showed up in attire at night to visit someone. That someone was convinced the following day that he had a vision of the real Bonaparte! A similar scene occurred in Corsica when Dieudonné paraded around as Bonaparte in front of a man in the countryside, and the latter was speechless, not understanding what he was seeing.
After the release in 1927, the movie earned wide acclaim. However, it started to go through a difficult path as several versions came out. Versions that were shorter, longer, with sound, etc. Purists would deem one version incredible and another one unwatchable. Gance never found additional financial support to continue his series and worked on other projects with more or less success. In addition, there were problems with distribution rights. Throughout all this, the author, Brownlow, worked tirelessly to promote the film that he had fallen in love with since he was a child. He went through the hard work of trying to reconstruct the movie based on the pieces of footage he could find and eventually helped release a version that astounded everyone. The last part of the book tells of the screenings done in the 1980s that attracted thousands of people, some traveling from hundreds of miles away, and there is this very beautiful scene where after a showing in the US, the whole room is in a standing ovation while Gance is not there (he is in France and around 90 years old) and the organizers call him on the phone and make him listen to the applause. It is such a beautiful yet also sad moment where Gance finally gets the recognition he deserves although he is at the end of his life. He himself says, "It's too late" but quickly adds, "It's never too late to do good," as if to reassure the people around him.
This is an incredible story that makes the movie even more special, and I now have a strong desire to see it. Thankfully, a new version, probably the closest to the original one of 1927, has been in the works for several years with the support of Netflix, and it is set for release this year. Here is hoping it will get released on the streaming platform.
February 7, 2024
The first half of this book documents the production of the film, its artistic success, as well as its unfortunate failure to be appropriately marketed and subsequent decline into irrelevance. The second half describes the author's teenage fascination with limited segments of the film that developed into a life-long search for the entire work, the film's eventual recognition as a classic, and the friendship between Kevin Brownlow, the book's author, and the film's director, Abel Gance.
The story is relayed in a series of short chapters and relevant photos. A helpful appendix provides a synopsis of the film's storyline, listing both the missing and existing scenes. The first part of the book, with various anecdotes about the actors and the filming, moves smoothly. The second part, describing Brownlow's struggle to patch the film back together, is admirable but not as exciting; in places it is even tedious. Brownlow's attitude toward Gance, whom he befriends, at times comes across as unintentionally condescending.
The optimism of the author that the film has been restored to its rightful place in public appreciation has not been borne out by the last forty years since this book was written. Many segments of the film are still missing, and will likely never be found. The initial editing done by Gance and his associates was so badly chopped up over the years that its exact retrieval is hard to determine. The copyrights to re-edited versions of the film remain current, and those owners have severely limited access. Another restoration of the film is scheduled to be presented in France in July 2024, but the date for this presentation has repeatedly slipped by years, and even when it appears in France, it is unclear as to whether viewers in the US will have access to it.
The story is relayed in a series of short chapters and relevant photos. A helpful appendix provides a synopsis of the film's storyline, listing both the missing and existing scenes. The first part of the book, with various anecdotes about the actors and the filming, moves smoothly. The second part, describing Brownlow's struggle to patch the film back together, is admirable but not as exciting; in places it is even tedious. Brownlow's attitude toward Gance, whom he befriends, at times comes across as unintentionally condescending.
The optimism of the author that the film has been restored to its rightful place in public appreciation has not been borne out by the last forty years since this book was written. Many segments of the film are still missing, and will likely never be found. The initial editing done by Gance and his associates was so badly chopped up over the years that its exact retrieval is hard to determine. The copyrights to re-edited versions of the film remain current, and those owners have severely limited access. Another restoration of the film is scheduled to be presented in France in July 2024, but the date for this presentation has repeatedly slipped by years, and even when it appears in France, it is unclear as to whether viewers in the US will have access to it.
November 27, 2013
Wow. A masterpiece in the cannon of film history literature. What a giant Abel Gance was but, also, how lucky we are that a film enthusiast and historian such as Kevin Brownlow exists--he's well deserving of a second honorary Oscar for his contributions to film history and film preservation.
July 22, 2013
A feel good narrative about the love one can have for a film. I am far more interested in Brownlow than Abel Gance or his 'Napoleon'
March 25, 2023
✔️Movie released in 1927.
Excellent, excellent, excellent.
💥 Recommended.
🎥 Media form: Movie version.
Excellent, excellent, excellent.
💥 Recommended.
🎥 Media form: Movie version.
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