Made a year after his Underworld established the rules for the genre the French would eventually figure out ought to be called film noir, Josef von Sternberg made The Docks of New York, a parallel study in chiaroscuro-lit nightfall, secret lowlife urban locations, and the expressionist poetry of moral anguish. It’s a love story, this time, though.
And it’s playing tonight, at the Walter Reade. A potential Bonus! inducement is that if you go, you will almost certainly be the youngest person seeing a silent movie at Lincoln Center on a Friday night. And it’s sometimes nice to feel like you’re lagging behind most other people in the race to the grave, isn’t it?