Griffith returns to the Limehouse author of BROKEN BLOSSOMS to poor effect. Two years earlier we had Lilian Gish, Richard Barthelmess and Donald Crisp acting out a small melodramatic tragedy on sheer acting chops that, even today, through muddy prints, works beautifully. This time, however, we are confronted with Carol Dempster, Charles Emmett Mack and Ralph Graves -- and if you say "Who?" three times like an owl, this movie shows you the incredible loss of acting talent that Griffith had suffered. Confronted with three actors who couldn't act -- the scene where Dempster is terrified that Graves will rape her is clearly a gloss on Gish's terror in the closet of two years ago and so inferior that it seems sacrilegious to mention them in the same sentence -- Griffith directed them with a collection of affectations to try to make up for a lack of emotions, and tried to give the entire piece some direction using a framing device of Good Vs. Evil. The total effect is ludicrous.
There are some good scenes, but the three principals don't appear in any of them. Give this one a miss.
