The thing that's most readily notable as we begin watching is that, meaning no disrespect to playwright Vincent Lawrence, the root story here, while suitable, is kind of generic and unremarkable. Golf is the setting, but the romantic comedy-drama could be adapted into most any scenario as proud, skilled protagonist Jack makes waves at an exclusive organization and falls for a woman, with drama to ensue in furthering that relationship. It's one of the chief staple formulas for comedy-dramas of early cinema, and silent cinema specifically. This is no inherent mark against 'Spring fever,' but we as viewers in retrospect will be looking for something else to catch our eye. Of course, as the picture is built to entertain, maybe we'll look to the gags, the situational humor, some animated performances, or some wit in Ralph Spence's intertitles. There's definitely some value in that. On the other hand, the vitality of the gags is variable (and the frequency smaller over time), the situational humor is arguably rendered a little flat under Edward Sedgwick's direction, the acting makes an especial impression only periodically, and while some of Spence's intertitles are indeed quite clever, others aren't nearly so clever as they think themselves to be.
Don't get me wrong, this flick is enjoyable. It earns some soft laughs, it's gently amusing in general, and the production at large is solid, with admirable contributions from all those behind the scenes. Nearly one hundred years later this may be most noteworthy as a credit early in the career of esteemed Joan Crawford, but lead William Haines is swell, too, and the rest of the cast. Even if the storytelling feels muted, there are some nice touches in Sedgwick's direction and Ira H. Morgan's cinematography; between Lawrence's play and the adapted screenplay, there are commendable themes and ideas broached in the narrative. However, for all the various odds and ends upon which we might bestow favor, nothing herein makes much of a mark. With some exceptions, it doesn't feel as if there was a lot of nuance or tact in the writing, and sometimes not much detail, either; the plot is rather direct, progressing with a bland, unpolished gait of "A happens. Now B happens. Then C happens. Next, D happens." The movie is alright, and certainly worth preserving and recalling as as vestige of cinematic history, but it seems a step too far to say that 'Spring fever' is something to be "celebrated."
And here I assumed sights unseen that I would be harping on my dislike of the centered sport of golf. It's not that the feature is abjectly bad in any way; only, it broadly lacks the strength to land as one would hope. I don't regret watching, and some moments are distinctly better than others, whether on account of the writing, direction, acting, or something else in the craftsmanship; the top highlight is surely a late scene that slyly toys with "lighting" and intertitles, and I may go so far as to say as the last stretch of the length thereafter is stronger than the remainder. It's also true, though, that unless one has a special impetus to watch, the film passes by without really exciting, and there's no major reason to check it out. Fair warning, it's possible the viewing experience will make even the avid cinephile sleepy. Ultimately it's decent enough if you chance upon it, but don't go out of your way, and save 'Spring fever' as something to put on some lazy evening.
Don't get me wrong, this flick is enjoyable. It earns some soft laughs, it's gently amusing in general, and the production at large is solid, with admirable contributions from all those behind the scenes. Nearly one hundred years later this may be most noteworthy as a credit early in the career of esteemed Joan Crawford, but lead William Haines is swell, too, and the rest of the cast. Even if the storytelling feels muted, there are some nice touches in Sedgwick's direction and Ira H. Morgan's cinematography; between Lawrence's play and the adapted screenplay, there are commendable themes and ideas broached in the narrative. However, for all the various odds and ends upon which we might bestow favor, nothing herein makes much of a mark. With some exceptions, it doesn't feel as if there was a lot of nuance or tact in the writing, and sometimes not much detail, either; the plot is rather direct, progressing with a bland, unpolished gait of "A happens. Now B happens. Then C happens. Next, D happens." The movie is alright, and certainly worth preserving and recalling as as vestige of cinematic history, but it seems a step too far to say that 'Spring fever' is something to be "celebrated."
And here I assumed sights unseen that I would be harping on my dislike of the centered sport of golf. It's not that the feature is abjectly bad in any way; only, it broadly lacks the strength to land as one would hope. I don't regret watching, and some moments are distinctly better than others, whether on account of the writing, direction, acting, or something else in the craftsmanship; the top highlight is surely a late scene that slyly toys with "lighting" and intertitles, and I may go so far as to say as the last stretch of the length thereafter is stronger than the remainder. It's also true, though, that unless one has a special impetus to watch, the film passes by without really exciting, and there's no major reason to check it out. Fair warning, it's possible the viewing experience will make even the avid cinephile sleepy. Ultimately it's decent enough if you chance upon it, but don't go out of your way, and save 'Spring fever' as something to put on some lazy evening.