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Cult Review
Senior Film Conservator
In the pantheon of early 20th-century cinema, we often find ourselves captivated by the burgeoning melodrama of films like The Island of Intrigue or the high-stakes moral dilemmas presented in In the Name of the Law. However, there exists a parallel lineage of filmmaking that eschews the theatrical for the empirical. Golf, as Played by Gene Sarazen stands as a monumental pillar in this documentary sub-genre. It is a work that prioritizes the physics of the human form over the whims of a screenplay, offering a stark, fascinating contrast to the narrative-driven spectacles of its contemporaries.
To watch Gene Sarazen swing a club is to witness a primitive yet sophisticated form of industrial engineering. Unlike the erratic pacing found in All Wrong, Sarazen’s movements are governed by a metronomic consistency. The film captures the essence of the interlocking grip—a technique Sarazen famously championed—with a clarity that feels surprisingly modern. The camera lingers on the tension in his forearms, the calculated shift of weight from heel to toe, and the explosive release of energy at the point of impact. It is a study in kinetic potential, transformed into a visual poem of grass and wood.
The cinematography, while limited by the technology of the time, exhibits a surprising degree of intentionality. There is a deliberate focus on the 'follow-through,' a concept that is as much psychological as it is physical. In comparing this to the rugged, outdoor exploration seen in F.O.B. Africa, we see a different kind of mastery over the environment. Where one seeks to conquer the wild, Sarazen seeks to conquer the self within a manicured landscape.
In an era where films like Toby's Bow relied heavily on sentimental tropes, this instructional piece is refreshingly austere. There are no subplots regarding lost loves or hidden ransoms, such as those found in Held for Ransom. Instead, the 'plot' is the pursuit of the perfect drive. This singularity of purpose gives the film a meditative quality. For the modern viewer, it provides a window into a world where the celebrity athlete was a new phenomenon, a figure of technical worship rather than tabloid fodder.
The absence of sound—save for what the viewer’s imagination provides—accentuates the visual gravity. We do not hear the thwack of the ball or the rustle of the gallery; we only see the result. This silent instruction forces a deeper level of engagement with the frame. It is an epistemological exercise: how much can we learn about a craft simply by observing a master at work? This mirrors the observational nature of Fishing, yet the stakes here feel elevated by Sarazen’s competitive pedigree.
When we look at the historical context of 1920s filmmaking, we often group titles by their emotional resonance. We might place the somber, commemorative weight of Gloria: Apoteosi del soldato ignoto at one end of the spectrum and the adventurous spirit of The Man o' War's Man at the other. Golf, as Played by Gene Sarazen occupies a unique middle ground. It possesses the reverence of a memorial and the technical curiosity of an expedition.
Consider the way the film handles Sarazen’s bunker play. The sand explodes in a grainy cloud, a visual flourish that rivals the action sequences in Jesse James as the Outlaw. Yet, here the violence is constructive. The objective is not to escape the law, but to escape the hazard. The film treats the sand trap with the same existential weight that Outlaws of the Deep treats the ocean—as a formidable opponent that can only be overcome through superior technique and unwavering focus.
This film is a precursor to the modern sports documentary, a genre that has since become bloated with talking heads and dramatic re-enactments. In Sarazen’s film, the subject is the sole narrator of his own movement. There is a purity here that is often lost in later works like Come and Get Me. The focus remains steadfastly on the 'how' rather than the 'why.' Why does Sarazen play? To win. How does he play? That is what the film painstakingly illustrates.
The pacing of the film is surprisingly brisk. It does not suffer from the narrative lulls found in The Waybacks. Every shot serves a pedagogical function. We see the drive from multiple angles, the chip shot with various clubs, and the putt with a steady, unblinking eye. It is an exhaustive catalog of a champion's arsenal. This level of detail suggests a deep respect for the audience's intelligence, assuming they are there to learn, not just to be entertained.
Visually, the film is a masterclass in the use of natural light. The way the sun glints off the steel shafts of the clubs—a relatively new innovation at the time—adds a touch of industrial modernism to the pastoral setting. The contrast between Sarazen’s crisp attire and the organic textures of the course creates a visual tension that is quite striking. It reminds one of the stark cinematography in Mirakeltjeneren, where the environment is as much a character as the humans inhabiting it.
Furthermore, the film captures a pivotal moment in the democratization of golf. By filming these techniques, the producers were making the secrets of the elite accessible to the masses. It was a cinematic 'crucial test,' much like the narrative stakes in The Crucial Test, but for the viewer's own skill set. The film promised that through observation and mimicry, the average man could touch greatness.
Gene Sarazen’s presence on screen is one of quiet authority. He does not need to speak to convey his mastery; his body language does the talking. In the silence, we find a profound respect for the game's traditions and a forward-looking embrace of its future. While it may lack the sprawling cast of an epic or the convoluted plot of a mystery, it possesses a singular integrity that is rare in any era of filmmaking.
Ultimately, Golf, as Played by Gene Sarazen is more than just a sports reel. It is a historical document that captures the intersection of athletic brilliance and the birth of instructional media. It stands as a testament to the idea that motion, when executed with perfection, is a story in itself. Whether you are a student of the game or a student of the silver screen, there is an undeniable power in watching a master at the height of his powers, frozen in time, forever swinging toward the horizon.
As we look back at the archives of the 1920s, we must appreciate these specialized films for what they are: the building blocks of our visual culture. They remind us that before cinema was an industry of dreams, it was an industry of discovery.
IMDb —
1933
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