The most remarkable thing about Intolerance while I was watching it was that I found myself engaging with it as I would a modern piece of movie-making. Sometimes, even often times, when watching silence cinema I try to take it on the context of when it was made: that the director and crew and actors were working back when storytelling was completely new with moving images, that the scenarios were a little rougher, and that the social mores and other things made it specific to that time and place. Or, to put it another way, at times it might be dated as far as the storytelling - in the worst case scenarios, in a word, creaky.Intolerance begins in the first half hour sort of un-loading its four different scenarios - stories set in the modern day (of 1916) around the world of a company Jenkins and a feminist group; the Babylonians and Persians and their battles and quests for glory; the 16th century with turmoil in France; and the story of Jesus in Nazareth - but once the stories get going, Griffith's editing and storytelling work more like how one might see in a movie today. To say he was sophisticated in advancing the art of filmmaking is an understatement.This does not necessarily mean that there aren't things about it that haven't dated; there are some beats that come off as sexist (one of the inter-titles actually says, "when women are no longer able to attract men they turn to reform as a second option," in the modern times story) and there are some points where Griffith ratchets up the melodrama so high that it becomes sort of hysterical. But that's something I just take as a given with his approach, and to be fair this isn't quite as hyper-WTF as Birth of a Nation... then again, what is? And what Griffith is after here is nothing short of creating storytelling as a kind of visual symphony, particularly in the last like 45 to 50 minutes as all of the stories reach their manic and highly dramatic climaxes all at one - all while that woman sitting by the crib (is that Lillian Gish, how about that) is there sort of like the unofficial God(dess) of these slices of the human condition.There's a lot that can be dissected here, but I think what's telling, and what may actually be a slight (but only a slight) detriment to the filmmaking, is how much Griffith clearly prefers to tell more of two of the four stories: the modern day story and the Babylon epic. He gets to stage what I imagine were, with not much to compare to at the time (maybe aside from, uh, himself with BOTN and maybe Cabiria), the most spectacular battles recorded on film, and to bring together this story of "The Dear One" (Mae Marsh, gosh she's delightful and so ready to go full throttle with her acting) in a way that shows a sort of culmination of the melodramas he'd been making for years at Biograph. I didn't keep count of the minutes, but I'm pretty sure that these two tales - and by the way, the Babylon story also features a force of f***ing nature with Constance Talmadge as 'The Mountain Girl' - outnumber the French/Hugenot and Christ segments by quite a lot, and for the latter it almost seemed as if that was more allegorical to what was going on anyway in the other stories, especially the Boy's plight.I wouldn't say those should've been cut down or taken out, despite the Babylon and modern time stories being stronger overall; it's more a question of pacing. A recent descendant of Intolerance's approach to multi-level storytelling is Cloud Atlas (and I'm sure Nolan is a fan of this as well, not a doubt in my mind), and while that film certain is more scattered and messy in the success of its segments, the pacing was actually an improvement at times as far as balancing all of the stories. But, again, this almost in an ironic way a compliment to Griffith, that I think of this epic in such a way that it's closer to what movies in the 21st century achieve as far as bringing a novelistic approach 100 years on. So while I might have wanted more of those stories in France and Nazareth, what I got was still very good.I think the quality of Griffith's direction is what makes this so strong, along with some of the key performances and how he simply mounted such massive sets that, in their way, are more impressive than what you get today in CGI; your mind knows that all those figures are fake in modern films, no matter how much detail is put in here. In Intolerance, when I look at the people all in that Babylonian decadence, and then when the battle breaks out against the mighty Cyrus, it *feels* intense and sprawling.Unlike Birth of a Nation, which has such an unpleasant and virulent 2nd half that makes me never want to see it again on principle alone, I could find myself coming back to Intolerance, perhaps getting into it a little quicker than I found on a first time (that first half hour takes a little time as I mentioned), and just to marvel at some of the acting which is both big AND small in equal measure. By this I should say that you can't help but see when actors really are milking the emotion for all its worth - Brown Eyes in the French scenes, or that female killer in the modern day story, where Griffith really gets to use his close-ups in such a way that must have changed movies forever - but there's subtlety when called for also. The more I think about it hours after watching it, the more it feels like a monumental (if imperfect) achievement. 9.5/10

If watching Birth of a Nation could be likened to ordering soup at a restaurant, appreciating the fine china bowl it's contained in but nevertheless sending it back because it lacked any warmth, D.W. Giffith's so-called "apologetic" follow-up is akin to the waiter coming back with something far more appetising. Often hailed as a film "you must see once", Intolerance I argue is a film you should not only see once, and from a reputable source (I cannot recommend the blu-ray highly enough, most of all for the wonderful presentation of Carl Davis' rigorous 1989 score) but also then treasure for the rest of your movie-watching days. Telling four simultaneous stories that interlock with a despairing narrative throughout, the film cuts back and forth with tension, action, suspense and spectacle like nothing that had been seen before. Yes, more-so even than the much more widely lauded Birth of a Nation. The weakest and most superfluous of the stories, featuring the rise and fall of Jesus of Nazareth, is tepid and never really gets going. You get the sense that Griffith merely wanted a biblical bow to tie around the trimmings of his movie to give it extra moralist oomph. While he never quite succeeds in doing so, the segments are thankfully given very little screen time for us to really get frustrated over. The second of the bunch, a French Renaissance piece revolving around the lead up to the St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre, has its moments, but again mostly plays second fiddle to the larger plays at hand. The two centrepiece stories set in modern 1916 and Babylonian 539BC are where the film's real meat resides and exist to showcase the film's dualism in starkly contrasting two completely different eras of mankind's history which are plagued by all-too-familiar human flaws. Contrasting the huge sets of Babylonia with the small, claustrophobic rooms of modern 1916 whilst effectively telling the same story on different scales, Griffith strikes a firm balance between raw emotional storytelling and thrilling ideological battles fought with religion, money, power and morality. And while the two least interesting stories never really amount to anything revelatory on their own, in employing the same cross-cutting seen in Birth of a Nation's climactic sequences, Intolerance comes to a gripping and cohesive conclusion ripe with pathos and stark imagery thanks to their intricately interwoven nature.While reports of Intolerance being Griffith's act of atonement for his previous effort are often regarded as folly, regardless there exists a warmth to it that was absent in Nation. Grander, more outward-looking in terms of scale and ideology, and most importantly presented with an artistry that propels the work further and with more lasting, readily- appreciated value. From the epic sets and casts of extras sprawling around each other in death and dance, to the smallest, most intricate moments of sorrow and inner-turmoil, Intolerance is not only the first truly great film in cinematic history, but to this day remains as a rare example of film existing as a form of classically-tuned art. Art with a pulse, a heart and a desire. See it once, sure, but I guarantee you'll be back for one more rock of the cradle.

In terms costume, design, and size of action, this Griffith epic is rightly considered one of the towering films in cinema's history, for it is a marvel to look at for an audience of any era - with the re-construction of Babylonian sets including towering walls, carved sculptures, and chariots, as the backdrop to religious worship and army sieges. It conjures up all number of memorable images and features a range of impressive technical feats - such as dolly's and what look like crane shots, as well as many close ups - which were very rare for the time.Unfortunately however not nearly as much talent went into the script as the production. It attempts to tell four stories from four different eras and places in history, united by a single theme - that intolerance is bad. The problem is however, the film tells us this in opening title cards before the thing has even started, so that watching this film is not a journey of wonder and discovery and mystery and surprise, but the journey of watching a wealthy group of people make their point in a scripted way with re-creations of history that contain inaccuracies. On top of this, two of the four stories seem to just fall by the wayside and be largely forgotten about. It feels less like a fiction film than a documentary re-enactment, the purpose of which is to provide a moral which everybody understands to be true before they enter the theatre to watch this film anyway. The problem with corruption in politics and religion and wealth in our world, and through the ages, is not that people don't understand morals, it's that they don't act upon them for selfish reasons. This film just uses morals to try and leverage some gravitas. Well, it could have been told in half the time at least! It could have been told in ten minutes! They told it in the first few title cards! The acting is fairly poor throughout, without any suspense the plot really drags, and relies heavily on title cards to progress the pretty pictures, but ironically it is the most modern story, the one with the least impressive set and costume visuals, that is the most affecting, as they choose not to provide a history re-enactment, but set a story of twists and turns in motion, melodramatic as they are.Wikipedia will try to tell us "it has been called the first art film" - but that's rubbish, because all film is art, and Melies, to list just one, was there before Griffith, and Griffith himself made better art before this anyway. In my opinion this is the kind of film that will inspire more blockbusters than unique stories.

It is often said that this movie was not well-received at the time, because it was over three hours long, and because it jumped back and forth among four different stories from four different time periods. Well, what was true then is still true today. The only way this movie deserves praise is if we handicap it for when it was made.In watching this movie, it soon becomes clear that the intolerance referred to in the title is religious in nature, for in each of the four stories, it is religion that causes all the suffering (actually, in the fourth story, it is more a matter of women becoming morally righteous as they age and lose their looks). Oddly enough, after showing how much misery is caused by religion (or moral righteousness) for over two thousand years, at the end of the movie, the heavens open up and God's grace is shed on earth, right in the middle of a war, causing everyone to stop fighting and love one another. So, I guess religion is bad, but God is good. Except, you have to wonder, what was God waiting for? If he was going to intervene and stop all the religious killing, he could have done that a long time ago.In three of the stories, good people die, but in the fourth story, set in modern times, the innocent man about to be hanged is saved by a melodramatic, last-minute confession from the real murderer. The reason for the difference is inexplicable. There is no indication that progress has been made over the centuries, for religious or moral intolerance is depicted as being just as prevalent today as in the past. If the innocent man had been hanged, that would at least have provided artistic unity for the four stories. As it is, the man's reprieve is capricious. D. W. Griffith probably figured the audience deserved at least one happy ending, especially since no one was going to believe that business about God's belated intervention.