Cecil B. deMille's 1922 parlor-to-prison tearjerker Manslaughter finds the lovely Leatrice Joy as a good-at-heart but decadent young lady with more money than she knows what to do with. Her recklessness leads to imprisonment, which in turn leads to her regeneration. Thomas Meighan is the crusading district attorney who has made it his personal crusade to bring out the goodness and wholesomeness in Lydia (Joy) but he gets sidetracked by alcohol and once she is released, it is up to her to rescue him!<br /><br />If the plot doesn't sound too bad, you'll be floored by the woeful presentation. The quality of deMille's direction is very low, and he does not show any particular skill that is unique to him. The photography is standard and flat, and the editing is hardly more dynamic. One could easily classify it as a fashion show and be pretty correct. DeMille gets to dress Miss Joy up in so many different types of clothes (evening gowns, golfing costumes, motoring costumes, piles of furs) that it's subtitle could be 'Fashions of 1922'<br /><br />One thing more disappointing than the photography or editing or the direction is the acting, which is mostly flat and wooden. When it is not, it is merely routine silent gesturing, rolling eye balls, twitching eye brows and deliberate pointing and arm movements. What would have been enlivened for modern viewers by mugging and scene chewing of some of the worst silent films, is here merely dull to watch. The only member of the cast who succeeds in any form of excellence is Lois Wilson, who is not only beautiful but is able to play her role naturally. She is convincing and endearing in tearful close-ups, as long as you don't read the moralizing title card that follows once she opens her mouth to speak. Like I said, everybody else is droningly routine, Joy, Meighan, even Julia Faye. Her performance here makes a good argument for why she never attained true stardom.<br /><br />The worst and most amusing part of this movie is the heavy moralistic tone that carries through all of it. Meighan's character has plenty of intertitles where he drones on about how the youth of America is declining in it's moral stance, and going right back to the decadence of Rome. (insert absurd flashback) This movie's moralizing has been described as Victorian, but it's further than that. It has so little bearing in reality that I have a feeling audiences at that time didn't take it any more seriously than modern viewers could.<br /><br />This movie is exactly what the unknowing tend to think of as a 'typical' silent movie, with it's archaic moral structure, wooden acting and bad direction. DeMille shows that he could be a terrible director, with no sense of pacing, camera placement, or skill in handling either script or actors. I can't imagine anybody in their right mind taking it seriously. Boring, slow and idiotic, I recommend it to hardcore silent movie dorks like myself only.