Warner Bros. apparently tried to buy up and/or surpress all existing prints of the zingy pre-code classic THE ANIMAL KINGDOM (1932) when they decided to remake it as ONE MORE TOMORROW (1946). And no wonder--this turgid remake definitely suffers the comparison. While adding a bit of the Warner Bros. panache and moving a bit more quickly (the earlier version was more faithful to the original stage play, and thus more talky), ONE MORE TOMORROW takes out all the zing, bite, and--most disturbingly--the very real human grappling with opposite desires--that THE ANIMAL KINGDOM managed to transpose so successfully to the screen from Philip Barry's equally successful play. Barry, the author of such gems as HOLIDAY and THE PHILADELPHIA STORY, seemed fascinated with the moral dilemmas faced by the rich and the not so rich as they struggle to come to terms with who--and what--is the most important guiding force in their lives. Unfortunately, the production code forced Warner Bros. to temper the life out of Barry's still timely ideas about the perils of "selling out" in love and business. The result is, sadly, a film that plays as a standard Warner Bros. soaper, with little emotional or mental involvement involved. If you're a fan of stars Smith, Morgan, and Sheridan (who all do the best they can with the material), you'll want to see this one. If you're more interested in the idea behind it, or in Philip Barry, check out the infinitely superior THE ANIMAL KINGDOM--an unjustly forgotten precode classic guaranteed to appeal to both the heart and mind.
Reviews
4 Reviews
One More Tomorrow
(1946)
Remake of the infinitely superior THE ANIMAL KINGDOM (1932) suffers the comparison.
11 June 2003
Warner Bros. apparently tried to buy up and/or surpress all existing prints of the zingy pre-code classic THE ANIMAL KINGDOM (1932) when they decided to remake it as ONE MORE TOMORROW (1946). ANd no wonder--this turgid remake definitely suffers the comparison. While adding a bit of the Warner Bros. panache and moving a bit more quickly (the earlier version was more faithful to the original stage play, and thus more talky), ONE MORE TOMORROW takes out all the zing, bite, and--most disturbingly--the very real human grappling with opposite desires--that THE ANIMAL KINGDOM managed to transpose so successfully to the screen from Philip Barry's equally successful play. Barry, the author of such gems as HOLIDAY and THE PHILADELPHIA STORY, seemed fascinated with the moral dilemmas faced by the rich and the not so rich as they struggle to come to terms with who--and what--is the most important guiding principle in their lives. Unfortunately, the production code forced Warner Bros. to temper the life out of Barry's still timely ideas about the perils of "selling out" in love and business. The result is, sadly, a film that plays as a standard Warner Bros. soaper, with little emotional or mental involvement involved. If you're a fan of stars Smith, Morgan, and Sheridan (who all do the best they can with the material), you'll want to see this one. If you're more interested in the idea behind it, or in Philip Barry, check out the infinitely superior THE ANIMAL KINGDOM--an unjustly forgotten precode classic guaranteed to appeal to heart and mind.
I've Always Loved You
(1946)
an underrated masterpiece, that probably will be enjoyed most by die-hard romantics and borzage fans,
5 June 2003
This is director/producer Frank Borzage's most lavishly opulent sound film. It's a curio of a time long since past, when romanticism was celebrated and even the most wildly unrealistic moments seemed perfectly natural within their filmic contexts. Myra (the luminous and talented Catherine McLeod) is an aspiring concert pianist who comes to study under the imperious maestro Goronov (Philip Dorn), who was an admirer of her father (Felix Bressart) many years ago when the father was a professional pianist in Europe. But the father has since retired to rural America after meeting Myra's mother and forsaking his career for her 20 years earlier. (The mother has since died, and Myra's "maternal guidance" in the film is provided by the dimunitive powerhouse Maria Ouspenskaya, here playing Goronoff's mother and "the woman behind the great man.") As Myra is molded by Goronoff (who doesn't hold women in any high regard at all and goes through them like he would pairs of underwear, but who does respect talent) into a superior pianist, Myra falls in love with her Svengali. But Goronoff refuses to admit how much Myra has come to mean to him, and when her father dies, the grief-stricken Myra must choose between the man she has loved unrequitedly and a local farmer, George (Bill Carter) who has loved her all her life. Which one will she choose?
This is a classic woman's-film dilemma, and the characters in it are more mythical "types" than the flesh-and-blood, warts-and-all characters we would expect to see today. But that's not a problem for Borzage, whose intensly romantic, lushly envisioned films have always put love on the highest pedestal. What brings this film truly to life is the nuanced, deeply felt performances by all involved. Even the seemingly serene, uncomplicated George comes to life when declaring his hidden love for Myra. No matter how surreal the story may seem (especially if you're not used to seeing and enjoying classic cinema melodramas), the actors' and the director's commitment to it is absolute, giving the film an interior life and intensity that have made it a cult favorite and guilty pleasure, especially for Borzage fans. The classic Borzage theme: that metaphysical love can (and should) conquer all is ever present, as are the typical Borzagian dichotomies (e.g., between artist and simple country folk, passionate love and companionate love, men and women, and country versus city, etc.)
Borzage had just signed a multipicture deal with the fledgling Republic studios in 1945 when production began, and it's clear the studio spared no expense with their Academy-Award winning director. Lavishly photographed in Technicolor with colossal classical sets, exquisite costumes, and extensive piano doubling by Artur Rubinstein, I'VE ALWAYS LOVED YOU will definitely appeal to classical music lovers familiar with the backbiting world of professional music. All others need to watch not only with an open mind, but with an open heart.
Despite the somewhat contrived ending, I'VE ALWAYS LOVED YOU is worth seeing as one of Borzage's peniultimate films, and one he was able to make his most lushly romantic. To this day, few directors can boast such an incredible command of both the visual and emotional elements of almost every film (with the possible exception of Douglas Sirk). As Rainer Fassbinder once said of Douglas Sirk, you can tell from his films that he (Sirk) "really loves people, and doesn't depise them, as we do." The same could be said of Borzage--one of the cinema's first, last, and greatest romantics.
Kudos also go to the UCLA Archives for a superb Technicolor restoration. This VHS is definitely the version to watch. Beware of old black and white TV prints..
This is a classic woman's-film dilemma, and the characters in it are more mythical "types" than the flesh-and-blood, warts-and-all characters we would expect to see today. But that's not a problem for Borzage, whose intensly romantic, lushly envisioned films have always put love on the highest pedestal. What brings this film truly to life is the nuanced, deeply felt performances by all involved. Even the seemingly serene, uncomplicated George comes to life when declaring his hidden love for Myra. No matter how surreal the story may seem (especially if you're not used to seeing and enjoying classic cinema melodramas), the actors' and the director's commitment to it is absolute, giving the film an interior life and intensity that have made it a cult favorite and guilty pleasure, especially for Borzage fans. The classic Borzage theme: that metaphysical love can (and should) conquer all is ever present, as are the typical Borzagian dichotomies (e.g., between artist and simple country folk, passionate love and companionate love, men and women, and country versus city, etc.)
Borzage had just signed a multipicture deal with the fledgling Republic studios in 1945 when production began, and it's clear the studio spared no expense with their Academy-Award winning director. Lavishly photographed in Technicolor with colossal classical sets, exquisite costumes, and extensive piano doubling by Artur Rubinstein, I'VE ALWAYS LOVED YOU will definitely appeal to classical music lovers familiar with the backbiting world of professional music. All others need to watch not only with an open mind, but with an open heart.
Despite the somewhat contrived ending, I'VE ALWAYS LOVED YOU is worth seeing as one of Borzage's peniultimate films, and one he was able to make his most lushly romantic. To this day, few directors can boast such an incredible command of both the visual and emotional elements of almost every film (with the possible exception of Douglas Sirk). As Rainer Fassbinder once said of Douglas Sirk, you can tell from his films that he (Sirk) "really loves people, and doesn't depise them, as we do." The same could be said of Borzage--one of the cinema's first, last, and greatest romantics.
Kudos also go to the UCLA Archives for a superb Technicolor restoration. This VHS is definitely the version to watch. Beware of old black and white TV prints..
The Paradine Case
(1947)
worth a second look...
29 May 2003
Warning: Spoilers
Often unjustly dismissed as one of director Alfred Hitchcock's 'lesser works,' THE PARADINE CASE stands up as well as any 1940's courtroom drama when taken on its own terms. And the central theme: that of a lawyer passionately (and wrongly) convinced of a beautiful and intelligent client's innocence because he wants to trust his emotions and not the evidence, certainly seems to strike a chord with audiences. It has been used countless times from the silent era to the present day (e.g., MADAME X, GUILTY AS SIN, BODY OF EVIDENCE, etc..). Unlike reviewer stills-6, I found the central triangle-between lawyer Peck, his wife Ann Todd, and lovely client Alida Valli (whose motives are always kept nebulous until the end) believable and surprisingly complex. Each has his/her own agenda; with Peck wavering between the lovely, warm Todd and the beautiful, coldly mysterious and sensual Valli, who seemingly represents an attitude toward love and life he has presumably never known but finds appealing nevertheless. Valli has the most difficult role here, having to both woo Peck to her cause while keeping him emotionally at a distance, but Todd also acquits herself admirably by bringing depth and sensitivity to what could have been just a run-of-the-mill suffering wife role. She refuses to suffer in silence, and uses words to argue her cause passionately, saying wryly at the end: 'That's what comes from being married to a lawyer.' Of course, a cynic could point out that when Todd insists Peck defend and acquit Valli she is being unjustly noble-but I think Todd's stoic suffering and her explanations to Peck quickly undercut this idea. (And in fact, if Peck did follow up on his offer to Todd to quit the case halfway through, this wouldn't be much of a movie!)
Indeed, the wordiness of this film seems to be one of its detractors' biggest complaints. But in this I think Hitchcock has (perhaps unintentionally) made a sly point: the characters talk circles around each other (particularly Peck and the always deliciously malevolent Laughton), but manage most of the time to completely miss the realities of the situation. Only the women--the silent Valli, the barely repressed Todd, and the caustic Joan Tetzel--recognize the truth. The men, doomed to arguing and finagling, miss the point-and the truth-completely, in their attempts to sacrifice each other to their own individual causes.
Even considered strictly within the Hitchcock pantheon, it's clear THE PARADINE CASE has many Hitchcockian trademarks: dazzling cameras moves, wonderful imagery, sweeping romantic themes, blurred triangles of love, desire and hate between all the principle characters, brutal men, devious women, an impending sense of doom, and even a character noted for her 'masculine' interest in the legal technicalities of the case. (Clearly, Hitchcock found these women pursuing 'masculine' interests fascinating, as they seem to pop up in many of his films (e.g., Patricia Hitchcock in STRANGERS ON A TRAIN, Barbara Bel Geddes in VERTIGO). But I also find in the women here a darker prelude of Hitchcockian things to come. No one in THE PARADINE CASE is entirely happy (or even, one might argue, happy at all), but each sticks firmly to her own emotional path, able to see the potential tragic outcome but unwilling to waver enough to change it. (Kim Novak's character follows a similarly torturous internal journey in VERTIGO, as does Tippi Hedren in MARNIE).
So if you have the time to be absorbed by this imperfect but still compelling drama, take another look at THE PARADINE CASE. You might be surprised.
Indeed, the wordiness of this film seems to be one of its detractors' biggest complaints. But in this I think Hitchcock has (perhaps unintentionally) made a sly point: the characters talk circles around each other (particularly Peck and the always deliciously malevolent Laughton), but manage most of the time to completely miss the realities of the situation. Only the women--the silent Valli, the barely repressed Todd, and the caustic Joan Tetzel--recognize the truth. The men, doomed to arguing and finagling, miss the point-and the truth-completely, in their attempts to sacrifice each other to their own individual causes.
Even considered strictly within the Hitchcock pantheon, it's clear THE PARADINE CASE has many Hitchcockian trademarks: dazzling cameras moves, wonderful imagery, sweeping romantic themes, blurred triangles of love, desire and hate between all the principle characters, brutal men, devious women, an impending sense of doom, and even a character noted for her 'masculine' interest in the legal technicalities of the case. (Clearly, Hitchcock found these women pursuing 'masculine' interests fascinating, as they seem to pop up in many of his films (e.g., Patricia Hitchcock in STRANGERS ON A TRAIN, Barbara Bel Geddes in VERTIGO). But I also find in the women here a darker prelude of Hitchcockian things to come. No one in THE PARADINE CASE is entirely happy (or even, one might argue, happy at all), but each sticks firmly to her own emotional path, able to see the potential tragic outcome but unwilling to waver enough to change it. (Kim Novak's character follows a similarly torturous internal journey in VERTIGO, as does Tippi Hedren in MARNIE).
So if you have the time to be absorbed by this imperfect but still compelling drama, take another look at THE PARADINE CASE. You might be surprised.
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