For otherwise inexplicable reasons lost to history, George Arliss had much success playing UK Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli afore, on stage and screen, including winning a Best Actor Oscar for the second time he played the role for cameras in 1929. His "Alexander Hamilton" is one of a few such apparently derivative biopics of great European or American white men based on that play's formula. As with Arliss's Disraeli, his Hamilton outwits his opponents to achieve one significant political goal while also balancing his sex life. Maybe some thought the purchase of the Suez Canal or the federal government assuming the debts of states romantic or sexy back in the late 20s and early 30s, but it certainly isn't cogent anymore. In addition to precluding any emotional appeal, this simplification of history reduces the picture to listless hagiography, and even its biographical broad strokes may be fictitious, if not downright insulting.
Of a more minor error, like the musical "Hamilton" (2020), which I watched the night before, it conflates the roles of James Madison and James Monroe, with this one favoring Monroe and the other Madison, into one character for both the Compromise of 1790 and the Reynolds scandal. Worse, this film largely portrays Monroe and Thomas Jefferson as nefarious political neophytes who, ultimately, remain honorable by promising secrecy to Hamilton's affair with Reynolds. Never mind that, really, they were the ones who spread rumors of the scandal to undermine Hamilton's political chances--all of which had nothing actually to do with the past assumption bill and more to do with the emerging party dynamics post the Washington administration. Moreover, the play invents a fictional character, a Senator Timothy Roberts, to be baddie in exposing the tabloid fodder.
Meanwhile, the married Maria Reynolds is depicted as a vamp complicit from the start in tricking and blackmailing Hamilton, which I suppose could be historically true to some extent, but it's also a dubious and convenient narrative trope. The picture doesn't dare explicitly admit Hamilton even had sex with her, while it also under-reports the sums of money extorted from the treasury secretary. I appreciate the ambiguity and economy, as to whether they copulate, of the fade to black when Hamilton walks up Reynolds's steps to retrieve his cloak, which may've seemed necessary even for a pre-code production. But, in fact, Hamilton admitted the affair, and it wasn't a one-night stand; it lasted months.
Historical inaccuracy is the least of the picture's problems, though. There's also a stereotypical black servant with all the aggravating "yessuhs" and the rest written by white men for how they think black people acted or spoke. A creaky early talkie, it's also a dully filmed play--albeit synchronized-sound technology and practices had improved somewhat in the intervening couple years between "Disraeli" and "Alexander Hamilton." There's even a non-diegetic score during one sequence, which is maudlin, but nonetheless unusual for early talkies. Of course, there's also a scene involving diegetic music, which involves Mrs. Hamilton singing and playing the piano--a common tactic of early sound films to incorporate bits of recorded music.
Anyways, having now seen three Arliss vehicles, I'm suspecting that he had a hand in selecting his co-stars based on them being so lousy as to not upstage him. Besides the performances for the aforementioned side characters, Doris Kenyon is particularly atrocious as a withering-flower sort of depiction of a wife. It's nauseating. Too bad, too, because I still have fond memories of her from the days before Hollywood, in Fort Lee, New Jersey, when she played ingénue in the meta-film "A Girl's Folly" (1917). Consequently, Arliss has an admittedly commanding screen presence, I suppose, but caricaturizations of these historical fuddy-duddys tends to be a bore and far less interesting than the historical figures appear to have been in better-composed historical records.
Of a more minor error, like the musical "Hamilton" (2020), which I watched the night before, it conflates the roles of James Madison and James Monroe, with this one favoring Monroe and the other Madison, into one character for both the Compromise of 1790 and the Reynolds scandal. Worse, this film largely portrays Monroe and Thomas Jefferson as nefarious political neophytes who, ultimately, remain honorable by promising secrecy to Hamilton's affair with Reynolds. Never mind that, really, they were the ones who spread rumors of the scandal to undermine Hamilton's political chances--all of which had nothing actually to do with the past assumption bill and more to do with the emerging party dynamics post the Washington administration. Moreover, the play invents a fictional character, a Senator Timothy Roberts, to be baddie in exposing the tabloid fodder.
Meanwhile, the married Maria Reynolds is depicted as a vamp complicit from the start in tricking and blackmailing Hamilton, which I suppose could be historically true to some extent, but it's also a dubious and convenient narrative trope. The picture doesn't dare explicitly admit Hamilton even had sex with her, while it also under-reports the sums of money extorted from the treasury secretary. I appreciate the ambiguity and economy, as to whether they copulate, of the fade to black when Hamilton walks up Reynolds's steps to retrieve his cloak, which may've seemed necessary even for a pre-code production. But, in fact, Hamilton admitted the affair, and it wasn't a one-night stand; it lasted months.
Historical inaccuracy is the least of the picture's problems, though. There's also a stereotypical black servant with all the aggravating "yessuhs" and the rest written by white men for how they think black people acted or spoke. A creaky early talkie, it's also a dully filmed play--albeit synchronized-sound technology and practices had improved somewhat in the intervening couple years between "Disraeli" and "Alexander Hamilton." There's even a non-diegetic score during one sequence, which is maudlin, but nonetheless unusual for early talkies. Of course, there's also a scene involving diegetic music, which involves Mrs. Hamilton singing and playing the piano--a common tactic of early sound films to incorporate bits of recorded music.
Anyways, having now seen three Arliss vehicles, I'm suspecting that he had a hand in selecting his co-stars based on them being so lousy as to not upstage him. Besides the performances for the aforementioned side characters, Doris Kenyon is particularly atrocious as a withering-flower sort of depiction of a wife. It's nauseating. Too bad, too, because I still have fond memories of her from the days before Hollywood, in Fort Lee, New Jersey, when she played ingénue in the meta-film "A Girl's Folly" (1917). Consequently, Arliss has an admittedly commanding screen presence, I suppose, but caricaturizations of these historical fuddy-duddys tends to be a bore and far less interesting than the historical figures appear to have been in better-composed historical records.