The Last Drop of Water

The Last Drop of Water (1911) - Griffith has already given us the spectacle of war. Here he turns his skill in directing large-scale action sequences to the scene of an Indian attack on settlers passing through the desert, contributing, no doubt importantly, to that most powerful of early American film genres, the western.

Ever since The Great Train Robbery (1903), the American Western, already the focus of the country’s great mythic sense of self-identity, and continuing over the next half-century and beyond, the screen would vividly display expression of the dreams, dangers and rugged individuals that gave so much of the nation its birth and its identity. The western would prove to be probably the most important genre in American cinema over its first half century of commercial production, produced by such masters as John Ford, Howard Hawkes, Anthony Mann, and Sam Peckinpah - as well as countless legions of lesser talents and outright hacks.

D.W. Griffith made a number of westerns, and his contributions to the development of the genre should not be understated. Like everything that Griffith touched, he took the raw materials, expanded upon them, and created a larger template from which later artists would draw from to derive their own visions.

The Last Drop of Water is based on a short story by the famed western writer Bret Harte (1836-1902) and was scripted by Stanner E.V. Taylor (the author of Griffith’s first film, The Adventures of Dollie), who already had several western scenarios to his credit. The chief contribution of Griffith appears to be his well-developed skill at giving order to large, complex scenes of movement and violence, as well as his seemingly now-perfected ability to produce intelligible, meaningful, counterpoint-laden rhythm between a large-scale action and a smaller, human story within which it is contained.

One looking at The Last Drop of Water today might be well tempted to think of it as a simple and contrived story, but in reality, the subtlety of Griffith’s visual narrative is extraordinarily sophisticated for 1911. As a matter of fact, it is this sophistication, the model of which so many subsequent decades of film are patterned after, that ironically makes it look quite simple. We are too familiar with his methods to notice the masterful artistry of his creation.

The story begins with two competitive suitors for the affections one lovely Mary (Blanche Sweet - later to play the lead role in Griffith’s pre-Birth mini-epic Judith of Bethulia (1914). John (Joseph Greybill), a decent, normal sort of fellow, is rejected in favor of the more swaggering (and hard-drinking) Jim. There’s no hard feelings however, as John joins with the newly married couple on a wagon train across the Western Desert. Griffith skillfully handles the complicated maneuvers of myriads of people and wagons in bustling activities, both in the background, and in the main shots, deftly switching between them to integrate our main characters with the general action.

In several shots, indeed, Griffith cuts from a medium close up of Jim and Mary sitting in their seat at their wagon to a wider shot, showing them in the larger context of the wagon train as a whole. This is the first time I have seen him make this kind of cut - actually the first time I have seen it at all - and wherever its source, it becomes an important new tool to help tell a story.

The group joins up with another wagon train to re-enforce one another in case of Indian attacks. During the larger intermingling, we get a closer look at Jim’s somewhat unsavory character. One of the newcomers, craving a drink, attempts to pull the ever-present whisky bottle from his hand, and Jim hauls off and gives a good punch to the side his head. Mary quickly moves into the frame, attempting to calm him down, and Jim, angered, is just prevented from striking Mary as well by the quickly restraining hand of John, emerging just from behind him. (One senses that John is concerned for Mary’s safety from Jim, and is always hovering just nearby.)

Jim regains his composure, and Mary begins to cry. Jim is at a loss as to how to console her. Griffith cuts back to John, who has moved back to his horse, looking back and shaking his head. There is no question that Griffith wants us to believe that Mary has made the wrong choice between these two men.

There are several shots of the long, carefully controlled wagon train moving along the dusty desert trail. Suddenly, as the head of the train is shown entering the background of a shot, we see two Indians enter and spot them, before rushing across the trail unseen. The shot is a tad clumsy, as the Indians, though distant and quick, would still be in full view of the train. But the basic effect is achieved, as we are tipped off to their presence - and the impending danger - before the pioneers are.

One cannot help but thinking of Alfred Hitchcock here. For though Hitchcock made no westerns, he did make an entire career out of films based upon increasingly baroque variations of this type of shot - allowing the audience to see something threatening before the protagonists could see it, thus creating a sense of suspense and anxiety.

Suddenly, the Indians are charging in full attack, and we cut between them and the wagon train, moving steadily, attempting to flee to safety. We see two wagons caught by the marauders, circling about them in a swirl of rising dust, and the danger is realized, at least for this end of the group. A title card is shown announcing, "A STOCKADE IS MADE OF THE WAGONS," but we do not get to see the wagon train’s circle forming. Instead, we see a couple of wagons pulling up side by side, a cut back to the horde of invaders on horseback, then a cut back to the pioneers already enclosed in the protective circle.

One one hand, it is a bit of a disappointment not to get to witness what one would imagine would be a complex, but vividly exciting maneuver. But on reflection, it is certain that this kind of large choreography would be very difficult and time consuming. Griffith’s sense of economy and confidence in his audience’s ability to follow the narrative allows him to establish the situation quickly and efficiently. We are then free to keep following the human drama.

A title announces, "WATER GONE - VOLUNTEERS ASKED TO GET MORE." We cut to Jim in the foreground of a complex, multi-layered shot, with much activity. Directly behind him, a couple of rows of girls sit, exhausted, afraid and praying amidst heaps of provisions now sitting in the dirt. In the far left background, we see men directing some hurried action. Away in the deep background, a wagon stretches behind him, with another angling back toward the mid-foreground, with other people involved in similar, but separate activities. With just this little area’s composition, then, Griffith has created the illusion of one portion - a microcosm - of what must be a large wagon train-circle community - which is the unseen macrocosm. We remember how many wagons we have seen and we imaginatively construct the size of the circle for ourselves.

The main action in the foreground, however, has to do with Jim. He is being implored by a man just off-screen to go for water. He swills down the last of his whisky bottle, then kisses it good-bye before taking on three large empty canteens.from the man who has moved into the frame. Mary suddenly appears at the left, on his side, worried, seemingly imploring him not to go. Jim shrugs off the danger, however, takes a deep breath, then rushes out on his mission.

We cut to Jim creeping carefully between the wheels of a wagon, then rushing out into enemy territory. He creeps along the ground by a cactus, stealthily. Then we are shown the Indians again, riding, shooting and hollering, and we are reminded of the danger to which he is exposing himself.

Mary waits anxiously for him near the rows of girls, as we see lines of men shooting behind her from behind a wagon. Returning to the desert, we see the heat and fatigue are taking their toll on Jim, who swoons. Suddenly, we cut to a shot of John hiding amongst the cactus, watching him. He has apparently followed him, to assist - or perhaps he had already gone alone. This is a problem in the film, and something that Griffith does not make clear. Perhaps there is a slice of film missing that would explain the situation more fully. If not, Griffith has gotten a little sloppy in his storytelling, and is running the risk of confusing the audience.

We return to Jim, who falls to the ground. Just as he is about to take up the last bit of water remaining in one of the canteens, John charges into the scene, exhausted, collapsing on Jim’s lap. John is dying of thirst, and quickly falls unconscious. Jim hesitates for a few moments, undecided, and then, after unfortunately over-emoting for a second or two, softly pours the last of the water into John’s opened mouth. Jim realizes that this means his own death, but he rises, attempting to continue on his way.

A cut back to John, however, shows that the drink has revived him, and he stumbles to his feet, grabbing the canteens with him. Somehow he makes it to a creek bed, where he soaks in the refreshment and fills the canteens. A cut back to Jim shows him collapsing in the dust. John, armed with the saving liquid, quickly returns to the wagon train, and immediately brings a canteen to the now-seated Mary, pouring for her a large, saving draught into her mouth.
A title card announces, "THE ATONEMENT." We see a group of cavalry soldiers being told of the pioneers’ plight. We then cut back to John, explaining to Mary that Jim did not make it back. She faints, and he catches her. We cut back to the Cavalry, who are now mounted and ready to ride, which they do, in a long line. Back inside the wagon train circle, the fight is continuing fiercely. The long train of cavalry men arrive, however, chasing the rampaging Indians away. They then return to the wagons, where the pioneers greet them wildly.

Combing the ground, John comes across Jim’s dead body.Mary joins him, and falls to embrace her fallen husband. A cut shows one of the pioneers persuading Mary to come along. She acquiesces and makes her way back to her wagon, John trailing along a bit behind. He stands with his back to us, and watches her mount the rear of a wagon. It begins moving, and he follows on foot. The scene fades to dark, and we have reached the end.

Here, in some of the final scenes, the film is awkward at points, and it is somewhat difficult to discern the text, much more to make out the sub-text. It seems that Griffith falters a bit in his narrative. Too many things remain unclear. For example, did John have to rush back to the camp, not knowing where Jim was - or did he just leave him to die? The search for the body suggests the former. Though John returns to Mary to save her with the water, I don’t believe that he is attempting to take Jim’s place - it is only his love and concern for her which drives him on.

The very ending is difficult, too. The cut from Mary and John at Jim’s body to Mary standing with an unidentified man is too quick and confusing to grasp at first viewing. Furthermore, as the wagon train leaves, John is shot continually from behind, only identifiable by his clothes, hat and demeanor. It would be very easy for an audience to miss his presence altogether.

Once one realizes that the figure is John, and that he is moving on alone, there is a great deal of pathos in the scene of resignation - but this can only work if the audience knows that this is, indeed, John, and that Mary is paying him no heed in her grief for Jim. It seems that it would have only taken one more shot to establish John’s identity more clearly, and then the final scene would have a much fuller impact - not to mention running the risk of the audience losing the narrative thread altogether.

Once again, perhaps The Last Drop of Water was made a little too quickly. But overall, Griffith manages to effectively tell a small story within the context of a larger, historical one. This is becoming his greatest strength as a director, and it is this that will inform his great epic films to come.

Another welcome addition to The Last Drop of Water is ambiguity of character. While the first half of the film establishes Jim as a drunken hot-head, prejudicing the audience against him, and sympathetically shows John’s loneliness and concern for Mary, we instinctively reject the first and identify with the latter. When Jim actually proves the hero, however, not only bravely risking his life for the group, but actually surrendering his life to save John, we realize that our estimation of both of these characters have been much too shallow.

I would like the think that Griffith is using the final scene as an ironic device warning his viewers not to be tricked by the conventions of cinema into thinking they know too much too well about people. Or rather, he is using the narrative devices of cinema to remind us about the old injunction about "judging books by their covers." If indeed, Griffith is actually intending the reading that I am giving the film, The Last Drop of Water is a very sophisticated, if somewhat flawed, use of film language to capture the ironies of life through the inherent methods of cinematic art. It would help press his claim immensely to being, or becoming, a truly great artist.