The original, French version of this film -- "Un Carnet de Bal," of 1937 -- is sublime, and ranks a full point higher on imdb than "Lydia." Still, this Boston-based do-over has a few things to recommend it.
It does seem knowing about unrequited love. It is a sad fact of our lives that the one for whom we pine may be indifferent. The movie also points to the illogicality of human pairings. Dour Michael (Joseph Cotten), a doctor, shares nothing in common with coquettish Lydia (Merle Oberon), yet spends his whole life pursuing her.
The character of football jock Bob (George Reeves) is more interesting. He apparently seduces Lydia with his athletic build, and she remembers him in a haze of dewy poetics. Yet Bob, we see in a flashback, was as romantic as an old shoe.
"The past is the only thing that improves with time," muses Lydia, who has grown philosophical with age.
"If a man hadn't died that night in Quincy, I'd have married you and ended up running a nightclub," she tells Bob in a footnote to life's mind-boggling chanciness.
Then there are the other men in Lydia's life -- blind pianist Frank (Hans Jaray) -- "No one ever really sees what he loves" -- and caddish Richard (Alan Marshal), who not only abandoned Lydia but forgot that she even existed.
The movie drags a bit, as Lydia never tires of talking about herself. I'd say that's the opposite of charm. But the guys in this movie lap up her every word.
Edna May Oliver, as Lydia's eccentric Granny MacMillan --"You Jezebel!" -- turns in a very entertaining performance. Sadly, as TCM's Alicia Malone pointed out, Ms. Oliver died the year after this film was released, at only 59.
It does seem knowing about unrequited love. It is a sad fact of our lives that the one for whom we pine may be indifferent. The movie also points to the illogicality of human pairings. Dour Michael (Joseph Cotten), a doctor, shares nothing in common with coquettish Lydia (Merle Oberon), yet spends his whole life pursuing her.
The character of football jock Bob (George Reeves) is more interesting. He apparently seduces Lydia with his athletic build, and she remembers him in a haze of dewy poetics. Yet Bob, we see in a flashback, was as romantic as an old shoe.
"The past is the only thing that improves with time," muses Lydia, who has grown philosophical with age.
"If a man hadn't died that night in Quincy, I'd have married you and ended up running a nightclub," she tells Bob in a footnote to life's mind-boggling chanciness.
Then there are the other men in Lydia's life -- blind pianist Frank (Hans Jaray) -- "No one ever really sees what he loves" -- and caddish Richard (Alan Marshal), who not only abandoned Lydia but forgot that she even existed.
The movie drags a bit, as Lydia never tires of talking about herself. I'd say that's the opposite of charm. But the guys in this movie lap up her every word.
Edna May Oliver, as Lydia's eccentric Granny MacMillan --"You Jezebel!" -- turns in a very entertaining performance. Sadly, as TCM's Alicia Malone pointed out, Ms. Oliver died the year after this film was released, at only 59.