lasted a full five minutes. Reviews of the film were ecstatic.
“An instant classic,” wrote Kenneth Seaborne of the Los Angeles Times . “Elizabeth Banks, in her first serious role, is beautiful and tormented, and Jun Nakayama, as the evil Jap Sasaki, is at his savage and sensual best.”
“This picture will have everyone talking,” wrote the Herald Examiner . “The chemistry between Nakayama and Banks is electric, and Nakayama is brilliant at conveying the beastliness of the Oriental nature. The future is unlimited for this slant-eyed son of the Orient. In its daring subject matter and its brilliant acting, Sleight of Hand pushes cinema to a whole new level.”
Later, in his History of the Silent Film Era , Davis Croshere had this to say about the film:
As important an event as Sleight of Hand was to Gerard Normandy’s career, it made Jun Nakayama a star. His concentrated stares, which showed both passion and rage, established him as the master of containment. All the other actors at that time tended to exaggerate gestures and facial expressions in order to compensate for the lack of sound. But Nakayama distilled all his emotion into the center of his being, and then let it be revealed through a single raised eyebrow or menacing glance.
Terry Canterbury, in Hollywood: A Historical Perspective , agreed. Although he incorrectly identifies Sleight of Hand as the work of Ashley Bennett Tyler, who directed me later, he too saw the film as a key turning point in my career:
Nakayama’s intensity burned through the surface of his still, patrician face. He was both savage and aristocrat, primal and sophisticated, mysterious and completely irresistible. All the later brooding actors who broke women’s hearts—the Valentinos, the Brandos, the Clifts—learned this art from Nakayama. His smoldering, sexual presence was unlike anything else that had previously appeared on the screen. He was the beautiful, brutal man of a forbidden race, the exotic “other” that women wanted to be ravished by.
Indeed, over the several weeks that followed the release of Sleight of Hand , we heard reports of women fainting in the theaters. In several cities across the Midwest and South, theaters were banned from screening the film because of the feared effect on public morals. In Los Angeles, I was suddenly the recipient of much more focused attention. At parties, young women would press closely to me, their hands wandering inside my jacket; I would often go home with my shirt untucked and several phone numbers stuffed in my pockets. My studio biography was released to the public, and women seemed further intrigued by the Hollywood version of my life, which gave me a feudal background and transformed my simple father into a wealthy landowner and high government official. “Let me be the lady of your manor,” one young woman said to me at a party, pressing her ample breasts into my shoulder. “I want to be your concubine,” said another young woman, “for you to ravish whenever you wish.”
I confess that I was tempted by more than one of these ladies. What young man, presented constantly with such delicious opportunity, could possibly resist? As a boy in Nagano, I’d thought that I’d be fortunate to someday find one woman who’d consent to be my wife. Now I had dozens of women competing for my attention. With my increased visibility, my private house, and my limitless money, I was able to entertain dates as much as I pleased, and, in fact, could have had many more. But the young women I met at parties and studio functions were largely tiresome, and they lost their appeal rather quickly.
After distracting myself with several women in the months following the release of Sleight of Hand , I focused my attention back on Elizabeth. Even though I found her unpredictable and often quite maddening, I knew that this was part of her appeal. She always carried herself with the air that I was lucky to be with her. And she never let me
“An instant classic,” wrote Kenneth Seaborne of the Los Angeles Times . “Elizabeth Banks, in her first serious role, is beautiful and tormented, and Jun Nakayama, as the evil Jap Sasaki, is at his savage and sensual best.”
“This picture will have everyone talking,” wrote the Herald Examiner . “The chemistry between Nakayama and Banks is electric, and Nakayama is brilliant at conveying the beastliness of the Oriental nature. The future is unlimited for this slant-eyed son of the Orient. In its daring subject matter and its brilliant acting, Sleight of Hand pushes cinema to a whole new level.”
Later, in his History of the Silent Film Era , Davis Croshere had this to say about the film:
As important an event as Sleight of Hand was to Gerard Normandy’s career, it made Jun Nakayama a star. His concentrated stares, which showed both passion and rage, established him as the master of containment. All the other actors at that time tended to exaggerate gestures and facial expressions in order to compensate for the lack of sound. But Nakayama distilled all his emotion into the center of his being, and then let it be revealed through a single raised eyebrow or menacing glance.
Terry Canterbury, in Hollywood: A Historical Perspective , agreed. Although he incorrectly identifies Sleight of Hand as the work of Ashley Bennett Tyler, who directed me later, he too saw the film as a key turning point in my career:
Nakayama’s intensity burned through the surface of his still, patrician face. He was both savage and aristocrat, primal and sophisticated, mysterious and completely irresistible. All the later brooding actors who broke women’s hearts—the Valentinos, the Brandos, the Clifts—learned this art from Nakayama. His smoldering, sexual presence was unlike anything else that had previously appeared on the screen. He was the beautiful, brutal man of a forbidden race, the exotic “other” that women wanted to be ravished by.
Indeed, over the several weeks that followed the release of Sleight of Hand , we heard reports of women fainting in the theaters. In several cities across the Midwest and South, theaters were banned from screening the film because of the feared effect on public morals. In Los Angeles, I was suddenly the recipient of much more focused attention. At parties, young women would press closely to me, their hands wandering inside my jacket; I would often go home with my shirt untucked and several phone numbers stuffed in my pockets. My studio biography was released to the public, and women seemed further intrigued by the Hollywood version of my life, which gave me a feudal background and transformed my simple father into a wealthy landowner and high government official. “Let me be the lady of your manor,” one young woman said to me at a party, pressing her ample breasts into my shoulder. “I want to be your concubine,” said another young woman, “for you to ravish whenever you wish.”
I confess that I was tempted by more than one of these ladies. What young man, presented constantly with such delicious opportunity, could possibly resist? As a boy in Nagano, I’d thought that I’d be fortunate to someday find one woman who’d consent to be my wife. Now I had dozens of women competing for my attention. With my increased visibility, my private house, and my limitless money, I was able to entertain dates as much as I pleased, and, in fact, could have had many more. But the young women I met at parties and studio functions were largely tiresome, and they lost their appeal rather quickly.
After distracting myself with several women in the months following the release of Sleight of Hand , I focused my attention back on Elizabeth. Even though I found her unpredictable and often quite maddening, I knew that this was part of her appeal. She always carried herself with the air that I was lucky to be with her. And she never let me
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