Intermezzo vs. Intermezzo

The winner: Ingrid Bergman and Gösta Ekman

I decided to re-view the 1939 American version of Intermezzo after moderately enjoying the 1936 Swedish version. Both films feature Ingrid Bergman, the later Selznick production was her American film debut. The scenario is standard romantic tripe: an aging violinist falls in love with a comely young pianist. He leaves wife and kids and the new duo make beautiful music together, but this idyll cannot last and the violinist returns to home and hearth. Both films did boffo biz at the box office. I prefer the original, but the American version has its merits.

The American version clocks in at 70 minutes while the original version is some twenty minutes longer. The American version therefore is not as slavish a rendition as Algiers was of Pépé le Moko. 👷 George O'Neil, who adapted the earlier Molander/Ekman script, rightly jettisoned some material, but the remake seems truncated. The Swedish version has more music, though many scenes are verbatim. An early scene in the 1939 film between the violinist Holgar Brandt (Leslie Howard) and his missus (Edna Best) has a few distracting jump cuts that makes one believe a page or two of dialogue was tossed. Similarly the American version excises most of the first twenty minutes of the Swedish version which focuses on the retirement of Brandt's musical partner. 

The American version boasts better production values. The 1939 film substitutes a nice faux Riviera village for the Swiss one of 1936. The cinematography of Gregg Toland gives the American film's close-ups a luxe feel. Ms. Bergman glows with an inner mounting flame in both films, but her English dialogue is a little slushy. The supporting casts of both films are very good, but the 1939 film's making Brandt's son younger displays its tendency towards sentimentalizing the material. That sentimentality extends to the use of the Brandt's family dog who is given a bigger role in the later version with lots of comic reaction shots. The use of the pooch as a totem of fido fidelity is beyond the ken of the filmmakers.

The direction in both films, by Gustaf Molander and Gregory Ratoff respectively, is stolid and unremarkable. The trump card for the Swedish version is its Holgar Brandt. I like Leslie Howard well enough, particularly in The Scarlet Pimpernel. However, his matinee idol charm sometimes strikes me as wan and wooden. That's why he was so well cast as Ashley Wilkes. However, the role of Holger Brandt requires a dark charisma that was beyond Mr. Howard. And after all, the role was made for and by Gösta Ekman. He possessed the grandiose and saturnine qualities required, being the continental equivalent of John Barrymore. Like Barrymore, his greatest triumphs were on the stage where he played roles by Shakespeare, Ibsen, Strindberg, and Shaw. His film appearances were more limited, but include the title role in the greatest silent film of them all, Murnau's Faust. Sadly, both Ekman and Howard (and Gregg Toland) would be dead by 1945.

👷 One day I will tackle Gaslight vs. Gaslight. I'm a George Cukor fan, but Thorold Dickinson is under appreciated.
             

Lettres d'amour

Odette Joyeux and François Périer review the Révolution nationale

Claude Autant-Lara's Lettres d'amour is one of the director's better films, a lightweight romantic confection released to appease the filmgoers of Vichy and occupied France when it was released just before Christmas in 1942. The picture was Mr. Autant-Lara's first collaboration with screenwriter Jean Aurenche who based his script draft on his own novella. Messrs. Autant-Lara and Aurenche, along with co-writer Pierre Bost, would go on to work together on a number of films such as DouceDevil in the Flesh, and The Red and the Black. Aurenche and Bost would emerge as France's leading screenwriting team, penning such acclaimed films as Forbidden Games and Gervaise. Lettres d'amour also is the second of four films directed by Autant-Lara that starred Odette Joyeux, films which first brought him renown as a director.

That said, I have been nonplussed by Mr. Autant-Lara's work after barely staying awake watching The Red and the Black in French class four decades ago. This was before I knew about the director's odious politics or grokked les politiques des auteurs. In fact, the first blast of the auteurs, in 1954, was François Truffaut's essay decrying the work of Aurenche and Bost. In the privacy of my own home, I observe the cultic rites of the auteurist and burn incense to the memories of Murnau, Renoir, Ford, and Mizoguchi, but it doesn't mean I can't enjoy the occasional film by a metteur en scène. I believe it is important regarding aesthetics not to be too doctrinaire. Autant-Lara's direction in Lettres d'amour does little to heighten any mood of romance or anything else, it merely functions to present his, admittedly first class, actors as they declaim. A good example are the not quite whip pans he employs in the courtroom scenes. Shots that ping pong from speaker to speaker. However, I suspect that the director was not fully responsible for what we see on the screen. Lettres d'amour feels like it was severely truncated in post-production. There are omissions and leaps in the narrative which unnecessarily confuse an already tangled plot.

The picture is set in 1855 during the reign of Napoleon III. The emperor is depicted having a chaste assignation with the film's heroine, Zélie (Odette Joyeux), while visiting the rural town where she works as a postmistress. The film primarily tells the story of the romance of Zélie and a young district attorney named François (François Périer). François has been having an affair with the wife, Hortense (Simone Renant), of the local prefect. A love letter between the two is unearthed during a legal proceeding and Zélie is wrongly branded with the scarlet A. François visits Zélie to thank her for her discretion, but is soon smitten and vice-versa. The road to true love has many obstacles, of course, but the goal is achieved. The film climaxes with a ball which reconciles the film's romantic conflicts, but also that between the aristocrats and the bourgeoisie. Reconciliation occurs as the characters check out that new dance craze, the quadrille. 🎀 I am a sucker for any film that concludes with a dance off.
Odette Joyeux
What ultimately won me over was the romantic byplay, full of thrust and parry, between Ms Joyeux and Mr. Périer. In her previous film for Autant-Lara, Le Mariage de Chiffon, Ms. Joyeux was miscast as a sixteen year old. ✂ Zélie, a young widow, is a much more suitable and knowing vehicle for her talents. Zélie is smart and attractive enough to be a coquette, but is too scrupulous to toy with a lover. Joyeux and Périer have that irresistible it in Lettres d'amour, a spark of romantic attraction that enables the hackneyed script to work. I associate Périer with the middle aged functionary roles I first saw him in (as in Le Samouraï and Z), so it was fun seeing him display some youthful charm and ardor. One of the other virtues of Lettres d'amour are the splendid costumes. Autant-Lara started in the film biz as a costume designer and performed that function on a number of the films he directed, so I'm sure he deserves some of the credit. I've never seen a woman look as graceful in a hoop skirt as Ms. Joyeux does when she is hurrying to her tête-à-tête with Napoleon III. The lion's share of the credit must go to the actual costume designer of Lettres d'amour. A gentleman named Christian Dior.

🎀 Mary Todd Lincoln danced the quadrille with Stephen Douglas at her husband's first Inaugural Ball in 1861.
✂ In three of the four films Joyeux made with Autant-Lara during the Nazi Occupation she plays a teenager. 

 

Islands

                 Sam Riley               
Jan Ole Gerster's Islands is a slow burn mystery set at a resort in the Canary Islands. Sam Riley plays Tom, a tennis instructor at the resort. Tom is an over aged tennis bum who responds to his utter boredom with his job by going out and getting blitzed every night. His depressive cycle is broken by the arrival of Anne (Stacy Martin) and Dave (Jack Farthing), two fellow Brits with a seven year old would be tennis prodigy in tow named Anton. Anne and Dave, both seemingly bored and entitled, soon monopolize Tom's time. He is wary of the duo, though attracted to Anne (who is vaguely familiar to Tom), but manages to be a good mentor to Anton. However, Dave's disappearance after a night of revelry throws Tom's life into turmoil.

This is a sturdy premise for a film and can go in a number of directions. The hangdog Tom, well sketched by a taciturn Riley, could be a patsy for a femme fatale or the mystery could remain unresolved as in L'Avventura. Gerster opts to go with the shaggy dog story option and, thus, the slow burn fizzles. The answer to the "real" mystery is obvious to the viewer by the midway point, though it remains beyond the dim Tom. Gerster is able to conjure the tenuous nature of relationships at a resort destination, but doesn't give his characters enough dimensions for the viewer to care. Stacy Martin is a cipher instead of a sphinx as Anne, but Farthing is quite good as the sleazy Dave.