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Shot at British Instructional Films' newly opened Welwyn Studios, A Cottage
on Dartmoor marked another milestone for Anthony Asquith following his
impressive 1928 debut Shooting Stars. A straightforward but beautifully realised
tale of sexual jealousy, the film easily counters the entrenched criticism that
British cinema in the silent era was staid, stagy and lacking emotion.
Asquith was never afraid to draw on techniques more commonly associated with
the European cinema of the day. Sally's slow realisation of Joe's presence in
the shadows following his escape is truly chilling, while the barbershop scenes,
relayed in flashback, pursue a particularly efficient line in visual metaphor;
the sharpening of razors an ominous counterpoint to the shy glances across the
manicure table. Joe's handsome features are slowly contorted by frustration and
rage as Harry woos Sally, his broken heart warping him into the embodiment of
malevolence we see in the opening scene: will he take his revenge and 'finish
them off' as promised?
Yet this is no one-dimensional story of good versus evil. Asquith builds many
layers of ambiguity, acknowledging that it is possible to be torn between two
people, that happiness is relative, while touching on themes of loneliness, lust
and mental illness. Ultimately, however, this is a film about love: its joys as
well as its ravages.
Just as the spoken word was about to inhibit such border-hopping, the cast
here is triumphantly pan-European; indeed the film itself was co-produced by the
Swedish Biograph company. Expressive English starlet Norah Baring is well
matched with Swedish actor Uno Henning, who worked with G.W. Pabst, Victor Sjöström and Ingmar Bergman in a career spanning forty years, and Hans Adalbert
von Schlettow, a prolific German actor killed in Berlin during the final days of
the Second World War.
A Cottage on Dartmoor is something of an historical anachronism in that it
was not an entirely silent film. When Joe sneaks in behind Sally and Harry at
the 'talkies', Asquith playfully references his film's status at the precarious
transition between two eras, spotlighting the soon-to-be-unemployed orchestra. A
sound sequence, now lost, was recorded in Germany to coincide with this scene,
but its absence is barely noticeable: this was never produced to be a sound film
as we know it, and is perhaps most rewardingly viewed as a final, passionate cry
in defence of the silent aesthetic in British cinema.
Simon McCallum *This film is available on BFI DVD.
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1. On Dartmoor (5:00)
Production stills
