Subtitled “A Simple Story of Plain People,� D. W. Griffith’s 1920 classic melodrama Way Down East is one of the director’s greatest films, infinitely superior to the monumental majestic splendor of both The Birth of a Nation (1915) and Intolerance (1916), and on a parallel with his 1919 minimalist triumph, Broken Blossoms in terms of its poignancy and memorable imagery. However, the film’s classic status is derived chiefly from actress Lillian Gish’s magnificent performance as the scorned New England girl, Anna Moore, and the stunningly realised ice floe sequence which serves as its climax. The latter is recognised as one of the most potent scenes ever committed to celluloid, and is a testament to Griffith’s genius.

The film’s origins were inconspicuous to begin with. Originally a stage presentation written by an inexperienced playwright, Lottie Blair Parker, Way Down East was first performed sometime in the late 1890s, and soon become one of the most popular plays within the United States. Although it achieved phenomenal success and traveled extensively across the country, Parker’s melodrama was considered to be antiquated when D. W. Griffith purchased its screen rights for $175,000. Amid widespread scepticism throughout the Hollywood community that he would be unable to resurrect Parker’s lamentable work, Griffith’s screen adaptation became one of his most commercially successful films.

In its purest form a morality tale, Way Down East revolves around the young waif Anna Moore (Gish), an impoverished country girl sent by her mother to their wealthy relatives, the Tremonts, in Boston to appeal for their financial assistance. Departing from her humble home, Anna makes the journey to the city and arrives at the Tremont mansion, where they are in the midst of entertaining a bridge whist party. In a fateful encounter, Anna is introduced to the unscrupulous philanderer Lennox Sanderson (Lowell Sherman). His interest in her is purely sexual, viewing her as nothing more than another conquest; Sanderson fabricates an elaborate charade, persuading his corrupt friends to pose as a pastor and witness, thus, deceiving Anna into a false marriage.

Inevitably, Sanderson soon tires of the insidious deception and feels the need to seek new conquests; in doing so, he becomes increasingly distant from his apprehensive “wife.� Understandably perplexed by his behaviour, Anna, nevertheless, has more immediate and pressing matters to contend with as she discovers that she is pregnant with Sanderson’s child. Ecstatic with the news, Anna makes the announcement to her “husband,� who, in vindictive retaliation, informs her that they were never married and callously abandons her, leaving Anna to deliver the child alone. In a emotionally devastating scene played with stunning perception by Gish, Anna attempts to nurse to health her sickly baby; it is a futile gesture, as the child soon dies.

Ostracised by her community, Anna begins her pilgrimage across the country in an effort to find work, and is rejected and dejected until she arrives at Bartlett village and the idyllic farm of the Puritanical Squire Bartlett (Burr McIntosh), a devoutly religious man. Instantly smitten by her frail beauty, the squire’s son, David Bartlett (Richard Barthelmess), persuades his father to employ Anna as a farm hand, and she soon becomes a beloved member of the family. However, disaster looms over the horizon; in an astonishing coincidence, Anna’s former “husband� and nemesis, Sanderson, resides in an estate across the road from the Bartlett farm, and learns of her position there.

Serving his own personal gain, Sanderson maliciously exposes Anna’s past to the God-fearing Squire Bartlett, who is incensed at the thought that he has been harbouring an immoral woman beneath his roof. Sanderson, though, has conveniently neglected to inform Bartlett of his role in Anna’s downfall, and observes with infuriating smugness as the unfortunate girl is banished from the Bartlett farm. Humiliated and bitter, Anna rushes, with complete disregard to herself, into a furious snowstorm; David, learning of Sanderson’s poor treatment of Anna, wrestles with the philanderer, before plunging into the raging blizzard in an effort to save her, thus, sparking one of the most memorable sequences in cinematic history.

Way Down East is presented in a screen aspect ratio of 1.33:1 and is, therefore, not anamorphic.

Historically, this film is arguably one of the most often imitated, parodied, and influential motion pictures ever produced from the silent era; nonetheless, this transfer is perhaps the greatest tragedy on DVD that this reviewer has yet seen. The reason that it is a tragedy, and not a travesty, is due to the fact that although there are sufficient amounts of film-to-video artefacts and other transfer flaws, the film itself has deteriorated to an extent that nothing, other than an exhaustive and expensive restoration, can possibly repair it. Way Down East is an unfortunate case of a film whose condition has not fared well; indeed, in comparison to Sergei Eisenstein’s Strike (1924), this masterpiece looks as ancient as the year in which it was released.

Black levels are quite solid, however, there are occasions where it seems as though they are affected by the frequent fluctuations of both brightness and contrast levels. On numerous occasions, the screen image appears somewhat opaque and murky, a condition not helped by the various colour tints which are featured within the film. Details are variable, shifting dramatically from soft and moderately defined to horribly indistinct; although most of this can be attributed to Griffith’s use of soft-focus photography to accentuate Gish’s vulnerability, it does not excuse the severe lack of definition in some scenes. Needless to mention, shadow detail, too, is rather limited.

There is a significant presence of discernible MPEG artefacts, but this reviewer will hazard to speculate that their impact will be noticeably reduced on a standard size screen. However, the transfer’s mortal weakness is the amount of film artefacts which often inundate the screen image in a virtual snowstorm; there is a catastrophic abundance of nicks, scratches, dirt, and extreme print damage. In addition to evident watermarks on the film negative, there are moments where heat bubbles appear, warping the surrounding image and obliterating vast portions of the screen. It is an inescapable fact that film is a corruptible medium and is, therefore, susceptible to degradation, but Way Down East teeters on the verge of being unwatchable.

Telecine wobbling is present in the film’s introduction credits, and seems to affect isolated subtitle cards. Although filmed in black-and-white, Way Down East, as mentioned before, is colour tinted; there is no evidence of colour-bleeding or oversaturation. The most peculiar affliction plaguing the video presentation concerns an unusual shimmering effect which occurs at 14 minutes and 1 second and cannot determined if it is an inherent flaw in the original source material or, more likely, a fault associated with the transfer itself. Lasting for approximately 9 seconds, it is very intrusive.

The layer transition is illogically placed at 1:20:55 during a subtitle card insert, while the film’s orchestral score continues to play in the background. But, eighteen seconds earlier, there is a brief intermission at 1:20:38 as the film makes a transition, courtesy of a fade-in, into its second act; this presents the perfect opportunity in which to place the layer change, yet it is missed. The result is an ill-conceived and, ultimately, disruptive transition.

There is only one audio selection available, that of the Dolby Digital 2.0. There is a strong possibility that the orchestral soundtrack featured in this film version is the original score composed by William F. Peters and Louis Silvers; however, it is somewhat difficult to determine if this is indeed the case. Located firmly within the centre speaker, the music can, at best, be described as serviceable, exhibiting limited frequency range and a slight ever-present hiss. Despite this, there is no discernible drop in audio quality; as Way Down East was produced during the silent era, there are no issues relating to sound or dialogue.

Additional material consists of nothing more than the Introduction, which is a brief scrolling text-based history of the picture’s origins, its production, and trivia relating mostly to the dramas associated with filming Way Down East’s engrossing finale.

D. W. Griffith’ s reputation as a fastidious film-maker was confirmed with Way Down East. Although it does not approach the grandeur and spectacle of both The Birth of a Nation (1915) and Intolerance (1916), and shares the same common minimalist scope of its predecessor Broken Blossoms (1919), Way Down East seems to somehow acquire an epic perspective with its length and show-stopping climax. Griffith could never be accused of possessing a sense of humility when it came to feature films, and this classic is no exception. With Way Down East, subtly was completely discarded: the perfect example of this is contained within the numerous comedic episodes which punctuate the film and succeeds in slowing, albeit briefly, the picture’s momentum.

Griffith’s gift for visual flair and astute direction is omnipresent throughout the film, succeeding on a variety of different levels. There are two scenes, in particular, which continue to reverberate strongly after the picture has ended: Anna’s pathetic, but poignant, attempts to revive her dead baby, and the last ten to fifteen minutes of the film, following Gish’s trek through the blizzard, to the perilous events on the ice floe, and her eventual rescue. In the latter sequence, both Gish and Barthelmess were required to perform feats that were potentially life-threatening and would seem foolish to the current generation of movie-goers who are accustomed to the wonder of CGI effects.

The fact that Griffith managed to capture his unforgettable images is remarkable, but the fact that they survived is miraculous. The snowstorm was authentic and not created with the aid of wind machines and special effects; indeed, such was Griffith’s determination that the scene be as realistic as possible, he delayed shooting the film for the better part of 1920, waiting for the seasons to change. Lillian Gish’s eyelashes were clustered with icicles, obscuring her vision, and the hand that she was required to immerse in the frigid water as she lay prostate on the ice floe was inflicted with hypothermia, an ailment which continued to haunt her for decades afterward.

Griffith himself was injured during the filming of the ice floe sequence, when the dynamite blast used to shatter the solid river ice exploded soon than expected, before he had the opportunity to reach minimum safe distance. Whilst in hospital being treated for facial injuries, the scene’s filming was completed by Griffith’s assistant director, Elmer Clifton.

Way Down East is a truly magnificent film experience and deserves its status as a classic motion picture. However, the transfer is, without a doubt, the worst this reviewer has yet seen; as previously mentioned, there are critical limitations inherent in the source material which attribute greatly to the presentation’s appalling appearance. Unfortunately, this is a title that I would recommend most highly, yet, for obvious reasons, I cannot. Without the possibility of a pain-staking restoration of the film itself, it is quite likely that this edition of Way Down East will remain the definitive version.