As one of only two "talkies" helmed by the godfather of American silent cinema, David Wark Griffith's Abraham Lincoln is by no means a conventionally good film; to be blunt, it qualifies as one of the most inept movies ever turned out by a craftsperson of Griffith's stature. But it is also intriguing as a historical curio , for it emerged at an awkward point of transition between silent and sound modes of film during the early 20th Century. Because Griffith was completely used to directing actors sans dialogue by 1930, he instructed lead Walter Huston and the rest of the cast to act histrionically, à la Sarah Bernhardt -- a mode that could not be any less suited for talkies.
The results are outrageously funny and unforgettable; slapping his hand to his stomach melodramatically, and inquiring in a booming, hyper-enunciated voice, "Well, Mar-y, what are we go-ing to-do a-bout that Civ-il War?," Huston constantly appears as if he's auditioning for the L. Frank Baum Elocution Award. But, once again, this happened for a reason, and that reason -- ever fascinating, to be sure -- virtually saves this film for those interested in movie history. Equally intriguing, but totally unsurprising given his pedigree, is Griffith's adroitness with the silent montages that he intercuts between his scenes with actors (several depicting the Civil War itself); with magisterial sets designed by William Cameron Menzies and a master's cinematographic and editorial fluidity, these sequences are as breathtaking as anything in The Birth of a Nation or Intolerance. Were they indicative of Griffith's approach throughout, Abraham Lincoln might have been remembered as an invaluable work instead of an oddball curio. A few of Griffith's other choices are inexplicably bizarre -- not the least of which is his decision to cast the middle-aged Huston as teenage Lincoln in the story's opening act. With the actor buried beneath piles of makeup, he comes terribly close to resembling a Felliniesque drag queen -- a sight that must be seen to be believed.