As was the case with so many other composers, the operas of Giacomo Puccini were promptly used as sources of cinematic inspiration. La Bohème (1896) was adapted several times, though its slight plot was less conducive to the big screen. The opera is divided into “quadri”, or Acts – four such sections, with little narrative articulation – drawn from Henri Murger’s Scènes de la vie de Bohème, a series of stories (later collected into a novel) depicting the life of poor artists in Paris in 1830 and highlighting the unhappy love affair of seamstress Mimi and aspiring writer Rodolfo [Rodolphe]. Relying more on atmospheric musical melodies than the development of the story, Puccini composed a work that was profoundly innovative with respect to the Italian lyric tradition and infused with Wagnerian qualities. Wanting it to be entirely his, corresponding to his poetics, the composer carefully supervised its evolution, often intervening during the troubled drafting of the libretto by Giuseppe Giacosa and Luigi Illica.
The creative driving force behind King Vidor’s film La Bohème was its star, Lillian Gish. Following two Henry King titles shot in Italy (The White Sister and Romola), she signed a contract with M-G-M. It gave her a broad role in decision-making, starting with the choice of subject. She gave up other projects to play the part of Puccini’s tragic heroine Mimi. When production manager Irving Thalberg showed her two reels of the unreleased The Big Parade (1925), she asked for King Vidor, the studio’s most prestigious director, whose feel for melodrama is reflected in many films to which he gave symphonic form. Gish also requested John Gilbert to play opposite her as Rodolphe, as well as other actors from The Big Parade, Renée Adorée, Roy D’Arcy, and Karl Dane. At that point, as Stuart Oderman wrote in his 2000 biography of Gish, “King Vidor would be directing La Bohème, but Lillian would have the final word” on everything, as per her contract.
Recalling Griffith’s The Greatest Thing in Life (1918), Gish successfully requested the same type of film style, insisting that that film’s assistant director of photography, Hendrik Sartov, adopt for this film the same special lenses that would recreate the soft visuals for her. Because of her reluctance for close physical contact, as if she were still a Griffith heroine, the film was shot without the love scenes eagerly awaited by John Gilbert’s many female fans. However, once filming was over Gish had to give in and return to the set to shoot love scenes at the personal request of producer Louis B. Mayer. Gish also firmly rejected certain costumes designed by Erté, instead making them herself with the help of a seamstress and some old silk offcuts. Like Puccini, she wanted to make her own Bohème, and the terms of her M-G-M contract gave her extensive creative control.
Another of Gish’s suggestions was the hiring of her choice of screenwriter, Fred (Frédérique) de Gresac; working with Gish she strengthened Puccini’s plot line, which lacked a strong conflict between characters. What was missing was the figure of an antagonist who would thwart the desire of the protagonists. In the opera this function is performed by the illness that leads Mimi to her death and prevents the happy fulfillment of love. In the film’s narrative, the romance is hindered when Mimi uses Viscount Paul, who is in love with her, to enable the production of the play Rodolphe is writing; but by doing it behind her beloved’s back, she arouses his jealousy and he accuses her of infidelity. Heartbroken, Mimi leaves, disappearing from sight. The now successful Rodolphe summons her from afar; as if sensing his call, although seriously ill she returns, and dies in his arms: love sealed in death, as with most of Puccini’s heroines. With her usual attention to detail, Gish requested more time to prepare the death scene, consulting books and visiting hospital patients terminally ill with consumption. When she played the scene holding her breath, Vidor had the impression that she had actually died.
In addition to the supreme pathos of this ending, there are two memorable and related sequences. First, the euphoric Rodolphe explains to Mimi the events of his play by miming the action as it might unfold on stage; and then a sublime, enchanting Mimi repeats it, with incomparable grace, before Viscount Paul. Competing in skill to perform the same content, Gish and Gilbert pay dual homage to the art of body language as the essence of acting in silent cinema.

Luciano De Giusti

 

Ben Carré and the design of La Bohème
As an Art Director Ben Carré’s history at M-G-M was somewhat complicated. M-G-M’s Supervising Art Director Cedric Gibbons was another friend of Ben’s from Ft. Lee, who actually had a cameo appearance as an art student in Trilby (1915). Gibbons was a superior administrator with a keen eye for talent in others, but he was not a painter nor an artist. His contract with M-G-M assured him a first-position credit as the Art Director on all the studio’s pictures. When deciphering studio credits for Art Direction, the first name is the department supervisor and the second is the picture’s primary designer. Cedric offered Ben a staff position at M-G-M as a Unit Art Director, but because the studio’s pay rate was lower than what Ben was earning as a freelancer he was reluctant to accept the position.
Then came the M-G-M picture that Ben could not refuse, regardless of his rate. As Ben wrote, “Gibbons called me into his office and handed me a script. It was La Bohème. I could not believe my eyes. A production at M-G-M was always treated so much better in money and personnel that I could forget my reduced salary and started immediately. My recent visit to Paris had taken me back to my teen years, the Latin Quarter and Montmartre and my memories of those centers of Paris that vibrate.”
This was to be the second time that Ben designed La Bohème, the first being Albert Capellani’s production starring Alice Brady at Ft. Lee in 1916. Ben began by going through the studio’s backlots and scene dock identifying streets, buildings, and set pieces that he could adapt for the telling of the story. Then he prepared his research, drawings, and budget for the main sets. By this time Ben had the experience of having designed hundreds of motion pictures. More importantly, he possessed an intuitive ability to create compelling compositions for the camera. Ben Carré’s sets were characters, not just architectural forms, which is evident in every frame of La Bohème. Throughout his preparations Ben was guided by his personal connections to the story’s history. He was also a Parisian whose mother was a passionate devotee of opera, so from early childhood he had been immersed in the works of Puccini and his contemporaries. The cinematic composition, detail, and character in the sets of La Bohème represent Ben at his very best.
During pre-production Ben had the capable assistance of a young assistant and draftsman from El Paso, Texas, named Arnold Gillespie. Schooled at the Art Students League in New York City, Gillespie was a recent hire at the studio, who had worked on the miniatures for Ben-Hur. As Ben remembered, “All of my sets had been approved by Gibbons when I got a call from Warner Brothers studios. I went to Jack Warner’s office and was told that Ernst Lubitsch, who I did not know, suggested that they hire me for their Barrymore picture, Don Juan.” After further discussions with Gibbons Ben suggested that his assistant, Arnold Gillespie, would be capable of stepping into the Art Director’s position, especially because of Ben’s extensive preparations and his willingness to consult and mentor Gillespie. Thus the film carries the names of Gibbons and Gillespie. But Ben Carré actually designed most of it.

Thomas Walsh