Although this unusual melodrama was made in the silent era, it may remind some viewers of the downbeat, guilt-ridden Film Noirs of the 1940s, the ones narrated in flashback by an already doomed man on the run from the law. But instead of, say, Fred MacMurray or Alan Ladd, the lead role here is taken by Raymond Hatton, a character actor who was prolific in supporting roles for decades but rarely cast in prominent featured parts, and very seldom in leads. Hatton was a distinctive-looking man, but no one's idea of a matinée idol: he was short and slight with a prominent nose, receding hairline and recessive chin. In other words, he looked not like an actor but like a "real person," a guy you might see in an elevator or riding the bus and not give a second glance. And unlike some of those later films, the plot of The Whispering Chorus unfolds in a linear chronological sequence, taking the viewer on a dark ride with several unexpected turns along the way.
Hatton plays an embittered accountant named John Trimble, a man who barely earns a living wage and struggles with debt. When we first meet him it's Christmastime, and Trimble keenly resents his inability to get his clothes mended or buy his wife nice things. Soon he succumbs to the wicked, seductive voices in his head -- the "whispering chorus" of the title -- and chooses to embezzle from his employer. However, his timing couldn't be worse, for he takes this action just as a crusading district attorney (Elliott Dexter, blandly handsome in classic matinée idol fashion) investigating fraud in Trimble's company descends on the place, specifically to examine the company's books. The guilty accountant flees, causing much distress to his wife Jane (Kathlyn Williams) and mother. When Trimble happens upon the body of a drowned derelict he gets the inspiration to fake his own murder, and throw the police off his trail. Out of thin air he concocts a man named "Edgar Smith," sets him up as his own killer, then assumes a new identity for himself and goes into hiding. Years pass. Crusading D.A. Coggeswell is elected governor of the state and soon afterward marries his secretary Jane Trimble, who by this time is convinced that her first husband is dead. The Coggeswells are successful, rich, and happy, with a baby on the way. Their future hangs in the balance, however, when John Trimble, now a crippled derelict, reappears on the scene. A chain of circumstantial evidence leads to his identification as Edgar Smith. "Smith" is promptly arrested, tried and convicted for the murder of John Trimble! Ultimately the condemned man must decide whether to reveal the truth, or protect his wife's hard-earned happiness.
The darkly ironic plot sounds like something Wilder, Preminger, or Hitchcock might have tackled in later days, but this film was directed by none other than Cecil B. DeMille, who in the early stages of his career occasionally took on material quite unlike the later spectacles with which he's usually associated. Viewers who have seen his moody, sensationalistic drama The Cheat (1915) may find similarities in the stylized touches the director utilizes here, such as the heavy shadows that hover over Trimble in the early scenes, even when he attempts to shake off his gloom and celebrate Christmas, or the touch of Griffith-style parallel cutting offered as ironic contrast, when the solemn church wedding of Governor Coggeswell and Jane Trimble is cross-cut with John Trimble's sordid assignation with a hooker in a Shanghai dive. The showiest effect is the recurring image of disembodied, whispering heads who represent Trimble's worst instincts. These ghostly-looking men encourage Trimble in his cynicism and torment him with bad advice; interestingly, the sole "good" voice he hears, though usually overruled by the others, belongs to a woman. It's a shame that The Whispering Chorus was never remade with sound, for this idea might have been particularly effective in a talkie. Similar devices were occasionally used in sound film, of course, but usually for broad comic effect, as when someone's conscience can be heard as a chiding voice-over, or a character torn between two moral choices must listen to an argument between an angel and a devil and choose sides. Here, the device is played straight and is never the least bit comic.
This film is intriguing, but I feel it could have been better if certain plot points which strain credulity had been worked out in a more satisfying way. For example, it feels entirely too easy for Trimble to create "Edgar Smith" and blame him for his own homicide. The investigators instantly accept the existence of this man and are bewildered by his disappearance, but it seems obvious that the lack of any tangible history for the man would raise suspicions. Also, when Trimble returns after six years, albeit lame and scarred, it nonetheless seems unlikely that Jane could look him in the eye in the courtroom and fail to recognize her missing husband. Still, allowing for these and other moments that call for suspension of disbelief, The Whispering Chorus is an engrossing and offbeat drama, and a most interesting departure for DeMille. Some of the film history books say that this movie's failure at the box office drove the director to seek more upbeat, crowd-pleasing material, but according to Robert Birchard's recent study "Cecil B. DeMille's Hollywood" the film actually turned a modest profit. Moreover, the director continued to explore some of the themes found here in his later work, so it could hardly be said that this project represents a Road Not Taken. Even so, in his long career DeMille never attempted anything quite like this again.
Hatton plays an embittered accountant named John Trimble, a man who barely earns a living wage and struggles with debt. When we first meet him it's Christmastime, and Trimble keenly resents his inability to get his clothes mended or buy his wife nice things. Soon he succumbs to the wicked, seductive voices in his head -- the "whispering chorus" of the title -- and chooses to embezzle from his employer. However, his timing couldn't be worse, for he takes this action just as a crusading district attorney (Elliott Dexter, blandly handsome in classic matinée idol fashion) investigating fraud in Trimble's company descends on the place, specifically to examine the company's books. The guilty accountant flees, causing much distress to his wife Jane (Kathlyn Williams) and mother. When Trimble happens upon the body of a drowned derelict he gets the inspiration to fake his own murder, and throw the police off his trail. Out of thin air he concocts a man named "Edgar Smith," sets him up as his own killer, then assumes a new identity for himself and goes into hiding. Years pass. Crusading D.A. Coggeswell is elected governor of the state and soon afterward marries his secretary Jane Trimble, who by this time is convinced that her first husband is dead. The Coggeswells are successful, rich, and happy, with a baby on the way. Their future hangs in the balance, however, when John Trimble, now a crippled derelict, reappears on the scene. A chain of circumstantial evidence leads to his identification as Edgar Smith. "Smith" is promptly arrested, tried and convicted for the murder of John Trimble! Ultimately the condemned man must decide whether to reveal the truth, or protect his wife's hard-earned happiness.
The darkly ironic plot sounds like something Wilder, Preminger, or Hitchcock might have tackled in later days, but this film was directed by none other than Cecil B. DeMille, who in the early stages of his career occasionally took on material quite unlike the later spectacles with which he's usually associated. Viewers who have seen his moody, sensationalistic drama The Cheat (1915) may find similarities in the stylized touches the director utilizes here, such as the heavy shadows that hover over Trimble in the early scenes, even when he attempts to shake off his gloom and celebrate Christmas, or the touch of Griffith-style parallel cutting offered as ironic contrast, when the solemn church wedding of Governor Coggeswell and Jane Trimble is cross-cut with John Trimble's sordid assignation with a hooker in a Shanghai dive. The showiest effect is the recurring image of disembodied, whispering heads who represent Trimble's worst instincts. These ghostly-looking men encourage Trimble in his cynicism and torment him with bad advice; interestingly, the sole "good" voice he hears, though usually overruled by the others, belongs to a woman. It's a shame that The Whispering Chorus was never remade with sound, for this idea might have been particularly effective in a talkie. Similar devices were occasionally used in sound film, of course, but usually for broad comic effect, as when someone's conscience can be heard as a chiding voice-over, or a character torn between two moral choices must listen to an argument between an angel and a devil and choose sides. Here, the device is played straight and is never the least bit comic.
This film is intriguing, but I feel it could have been better if certain plot points which strain credulity had been worked out in a more satisfying way. For example, it feels entirely too easy for Trimble to create "Edgar Smith" and blame him for his own homicide. The investigators instantly accept the existence of this man and are bewildered by his disappearance, but it seems obvious that the lack of any tangible history for the man would raise suspicions. Also, when Trimble returns after six years, albeit lame and scarred, it nonetheless seems unlikely that Jane could look him in the eye in the courtroom and fail to recognize her missing husband. Still, allowing for these and other moments that call for suspension of disbelief, The Whispering Chorus is an engrossing and offbeat drama, and a most interesting departure for DeMille. Some of the film history books say that this movie's failure at the box office drove the director to seek more upbeat, crowd-pleasing material, but according to Robert Birchard's recent study "Cecil B. DeMille's Hollywood" the film actually turned a modest profit. Moreover, the director continued to explore some of the themes found here in his later work, so it could hardly be said that this project represents a Road Not Taken. Even so, in his long career DeMille never attempted anything quite like this again.