The Phantom of the Opera (1925)

I love silent movies: The boiling down of storytelling to mere visuals that must make one *think* sound: Conversation, screams, the crash of a chandelier. Brilliance under pressure. “The Phantom of the Opera” -– from the 1908 book and featuring Lon Chaney in the title role –- is near perfect. Either born with grisly disfigurements or badly burned after birth, the Phantom is a once-famous composer now forgotten, living below the Paris Opera House obsessing over bit signer Christine (Mary Philbin). He worships her. He sneaks into her room. He sends a chandelier crashing on the audience after the house runners refuse to punt their star for his goddess. This Phantom is no romantic, but a sick perv with a hideous face -– dig that makeup, a flayed skull with no lips -– hidden behind a mask that looks like that of a kindly friar. The best scenes have the Phantom crashing a costume ball dressed in a red, promising death to all, then standing on a roof like a demon, lurking, planning. The black/white cinematography goes green/red with inserts of blue and the unnerving color shock is like a blood shot from hell. A century old, this still terrorizes. A

The Artist (2011)

Director/writer Michel Hazanavicius’ much-celebrated “silent” black-and-white comedy-drama “The Artist” is a high-wire act of cinematic love that pays homage to and plays with the earliest movies. The plot: Boisterous star of 1920s action films George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) falls hard from celebrity as “Talkies” become Hollywood’s mantra, ironically sweeping the starlet (Bérénice Bejo) he discovered to fame. Hazanavicius trumps expectations throughout, putting Valentin in a nightmare world of “sound” where glasses clink and dogs bark, but our hero has no voice. Sly jokes abound, too: A grammatical error in a dialogue card nudges a scene into hilarity. The lack of vocals makes us focus on the faces and gestures of the actors, the artists, on screen and fully appreciate their craft: Dujardin, Bejo, James Cromwell, and John Goodman. Dujardin and Bejo’s onscreen chemistry is priceless, and their final scene packs two surprises: The long-lost glory of dance in movies, and the real fear why Valentin feels he has no voice in America. Rare is the moment when “Artist” is truly silent, for it packs a stellar score using music new and old to serve as a substitute for voices, a narration of orchestra and ’20s jazz. Also, best dog ever. A

The Lodger (1926/27)

I love silent films from the 20s because they are foundation on which every film made since has worked on and copied. That, and the are visual works of art -- every shot composed and flowing without almost any fault. "The Lodger: A Story of the London Fog" is from 1926/27 and is directed by Alfred Hitchcock, and it's a strikingly beautiful suspense film ... with a sappy ending that doesn't fit. (I'm glad to read on the Web that the Hitch wanted a downbeat ending but the studio refused. Oh, well, he tried.)

Here, a serial killer known as The Avenger is murdering blond women in London. Cut to our heroine Daisy (listed as just "June" in every credit I can find, a bit sexist, hey?) whose boarding house parents have just offered a room to let to the man of the title, Jonathan Drew (Ivor Novello). The lodger is mysterious, downright creepy at times, but also romantic and quite willing to pursue Daisy, much to the anger and dismay of Daisy's boyfriend/police detective (Malcolm Keen).

This has gorgeous cinematography, keen editing and pinpoint (written on card titles) dialogue. It's also a dead-on criticism of panic journalism, public hysteria, inept government and the poverty found even in the greatest of cities. This film would be a perfect 10 if not for its last-minute reversal to a false upbeat melodrama. Novello is mesmerizing, and his biography at Wikipedia more so. A