My journey through “Best Picture Land” begins just as it should with Wings, the first film awarded the top prize by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. This movie has several key ingredients that have been honored time and again—a simple, strong story with complex and conflicted emotions told on an epic scale that sweeps audiences, or at least this particular viewer, completely away. Originally presented with extended sequences in Magnascope, a silent-era equivalent of IMAX allowing for a much larger image to be projected than the standard 35mm prints of the day, Wings aims to impress and even overwhelm with stunning aerial battle scenes that, nine decades later, still make my jaw drop.

The movie stars Clara Bow, a silent-cinema icon and one of the few names from this bygone era that people remember today. The plot’s romantic quartette is fleshed out by the appealing swell-guy Charles “Buddy” Rogers—whom I had the pleasure of meeting twice—the somber, stoic, and rugged Richard Arlen, and his hometown sweetheart, soon to be his real-life sweetheart, played by Jobyna Ralston. It also has a memorable scene featuring the young and handsome Gary Cooper, future double-Oscar-winner and a major star in his own right.

Wings relies heavily on spectacle, not unlike Gone with the Wind, Titanic, or Ben-Hur, and admittedly I first saw this film years ago by way of a faded, scratchy print on VHS. Today, I am watching the gloriously restored Blu-ray Disc with its outstanding picture and sound—and yes, presentation makes all the difference in the world. This print is virtually immaculate with incredible, fine detail throughout. The aerial battles with biplanes have hand-tinted fire shooting out of their machine guns, just as they did for audiences in 1927.

World War I may seem like ancient history today, but it’s important to realize that when this film was made, it was just eight years after the “war to end all wars.” Horrific images and personal stories were still fresh in people’s minds, and I can’t imagine how powerful it must have been to see this movie on the big (and for some sequences, giant) screen back then.

Movie mogul Jesse L. Lasky brought this project to Paramount Pictures, intending it to be the year’s big “road show” release, and the studio invested a huge amount of time and money into it—a fact that is boldly evident in every aspect of the production. This looks like an expensive film, one of the last, great, silent spectacles.

And “silent” is a relative term at this point, since, in the twilight years of the art form, silent films often had soundtracks with synchronized effects, background ambiance, and even prerecorded music at screenings. For Wings, a live orchestra accompanied the film, not only for its New York and Los Angeles engagements but in many cities around the country. That, along with the Magnascope presentation, made it a highly unique experience for moviegoers.

The original music score was discovered not long ago by way of a reduced conductor’s hardcopy (yes, actual paper) in the Library of Congress and has been re-orchestrated with great skill and care for this restoration. When the first stanzas of the appealing main-title theme are heard, the current Paramount logo gives way in receding order to a parade of every past logo until we arrive at the original from 1927—a highly effective way to transport viewers back in time to the era of the film’s release. It also has a curious effect of making this experience fresh and exciting. Rather than observing an archaic movie nine decades after its release, I feel as if I’ve time-traveled back to see a “brand new film.” In short, I’m already hooked.

Charles “Buddy” Rogers as Jack in “Wings,” 1927.

The story opens with Jack (Buddy Rogers) lying face-down on his front lawn. It’s a warm, sunny day. As he rolls over and gazes up at the clouds, a plane passes by overhead. Its droning engine travels from one speaker to the next in 5.1 Surround Sound, and I’m struck by how contemporary it all feels and how modern Jack looks. No phony silent-movie makeup augmenting his face. The slick curls in his hair and his dapper clothes under his mechanic’s coveralls could easily be worn by a fashion-conscious college dude today. Jack is handsome, hopeful, and most definitely a daydreamer. There is a youthful energy and innocence in his eyes.

The first scenes set the the tone for a simple home-life prior to the “big event” (in this case, the front lines of World War I)—a formula popular with Best Picture epics like Gone with the Wind and Ben-Hur. The quartet of “unrequited lovers” is introduced: Jack; his next-door neighbor Mary (Clara Bow), who is secretly smitten with him; Sylvia (Jobyna Ralston), the girl Jack is sweet on; and rich kid David (Richard Arlen), who has won Sylvia’s heart.

The acting is surprisingly natural overall even if the energy level is heightened, which is due in part to the slightly faster film speed. Director William Wellman allows for lingering closeups of his featured characters. He understands that the emotions in a story are just as important as any action sequence. That’s what makes a film like Wings resonate for me. It’s odd that in some ways filmmaking took a minor but temporary step backward with the advent of sound. Suddenly, the spoken word became the new toy, the latest gimmick, and the focus of most movies. It’s as if they forgot the old cliché that “a picture paints a thousand words.” Actors talked (and talked and talked) and indicated and articulated emotions and described their own plot lines, rather than showed audiences what was happening. I find early talking pictures to be more stilted in general than the later silent films such as Wings that came at the dawn of this new audio era.

Sound even hindered camera movement at first, since any clunks or squeaks could be picked up by the microphones. Early Talkies have endless “locked off” shots where the camera doesn’t budge. This is far from true in a film like Wings. Cinematographer Harry Perry’s camera travels everywhere from the edge of a lover’s garden swing, swaying to and fro, to the cockpit of a biplane during spectacular midair battles.

Richard Arlen as David and Buddy Rogers as Jack share a passionate embrace and onscreen kiss in “Wings,” 1927.

The moment Jack and David hit boot camp (filmed at a U.S. Army base in San Antonio, Texas), there is tension between them. After a heated boxing match, this opposition gives way to the film’s other love story: an honest-to-goodness “bromance.” Without giving away much of the plot (come on now, it’s been 90+ years), there is a tender embrace and passionate kiss toward the end of the film. Much speculation has been written about this impromptu gesture. I don’t believe it’s sexual so much as a demonstration of their genuine love for each other. Still, there’s no denying these two men share something special and very deep between them. Other films in the 1920s and ’30s have similar expressions of love manifested in kissing (full on the lips), hugging, and caressing between two same-sex characters or siblings (see Bessie Love and Anita Page in The Broadway Melody) or a mother and son or father and daughter. I think “public displays of affection” were more acceptable back then without an automatic jump to sex as the driving factor. Perhaps it was a more innocent time on the surface. At least that’s the way I see it. I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt in this case, but if others choose to see Jack and David’s kiss as sexually motivated, I understand that. It’s certainly passionate, no question.

Wings is not without faults, and its established momentum comes to a screeching halt for a comedy bit involving an intoxicated Jack playing with special-effects bubbles in his champaign. It’s a one-joke sequence that might have been amusing in its day, back when “drunk” was more funny than serious (Arthur, anyone?), but whether you’re laughing or not, this scene goes on way too long. I’m sure it’s in there to lighten the mood and give audiences a break, but they didn’t need an extended nap.

It’s easy to see, in the end, how and why Wings was chosen as the outstanding picture, or “Best Production” as it was initially called. The film has so much going for it and a very broad appeal. It’s also worth noting the “other Best Picture” for 1927-28. I’m referring to an award handed out only for this inaugural season and never again, in a category known as “Best Picture, Unique Artistic Production,” which went to Fox’s masterpiece Sunrise.

It seems my Best Picture Project has started out with a bang even if it was a silent bang. Now onto the next, with The Broadway Melody.

Wings