On DVD/Blu-Ray: Erich von Stroheim's Impeccable Foolish Wives (1922) is Impeccably Restored

 

If there’s anything that screams out for a 4K restoration, it’s an Erich von Stroheim film, and the San Francisco Silent Film Festival and The Museum of Modern Art have done so in a stunning collaboration, now available on DVD/Blu-ray from Flicker Alley. Full of elaborate scenes and meticulously-constructed details, Foolish Wives (1922) is typical of the director’s craft and a wonder to see with such clarity. 

Touted as the first one-million-dollar film, a figure far from the original budget, Foolish Wives shows all of that on the screen. Director, writer, and star von Stroheim is a slippery con man who calls himself Count Wladislaw Sergius Karamzin and scams wealthy wives in glamorous settings. Here it’s Monte Carlo, actually a luxurious set constructed in Northern California, but you wouldn’t know it. 

The fake count is partners in crime with his supposed cousins who go by Princess" Vera Petchnikoff (Mae Busch) and "Her Highness" Olga Petchnikoff (Maude George). They are tended to by their maid Maruschka (Dale Fuller), whom Sergius takes advantage of in every way. 

This convincingly glamorous trio does its best to strip high society for parts, targeting victims with the focus of a billionaire buying up failing corporations. They have no heart or ambition beyond acquiring wealth and it is ultimately a losing proposition for them, but they have a merry time going to hell. 

Von Stroheim films their journey with a sense of eroticism and sensation, in addition to luxuriating in the lush surroundings. It’s such a decadent setting that it’s a bit shocking when he slows down to show reverence to a World War I vet who is an amputee. As one of the Count’s victims waits to be whisked to him in the night, she sees the armless man, and tenderly places a cape that has fallen to the ground on his shoulders again. 

It is moments like these that give von Stroheim’s work the feeling of being truly rooted in life, despite their outrageous settings and characters. Whatever sensations he pursues, he doesn’t look at them with tunnel vision, any drama has another story happening alongside of it. It’s a testament to the richness and complexity of his work. There simply has never been a filmmaker quite like this and we are fortunate to be able to see his work presented so beautifully over one hundred years after he put it on film. 

The Flicker Alley print is jawdropping in its clarity. I couldn't believe how clean and clear it looked. The set includes a lot of helpful and illuminating bonus material, including the archival Filming Foolish Wives (1922), the documentary The Waves and Merry-Go-Round: On Location with Erich von Stroheim, and the wonderfully detailed Erich von Stroheim and Hollywood’s First Million-Dollar Picture. All are essential viewing, because the production of the film is as interesting as the work itself. I also appreciated the essays in the accompanying booklet, including Searching for Foolish Wives: The Decades-Long Effort to Reconstruct Erich con Stroheim’s Masterpiece by James Layton. 

Many thanks to Flicker Alley for providing the set for review.

On Blu-ray: The Gorgeous 4K Restoration of the William Cameron Menzies Sci-fi Classic Invaders from Mars (1953)

 

Invaders from Mars (1953) is an excellent example of how execution can overcome a mediocre plot. This story of the inhabitants of a spacecraft that lands in a small town taking over the bodies of its residents isn’t novel, but everything about the way it’s presented is unusual and artfully done. This is entirely due to the influence of director and production designer William Cameron Menzies. I recently enjoyed a 4K restoration of the film on a new DVD release from Ignite Films. 

While Menzies had directed several films before this production, he had been most celebrated and prolific as a production designer. In this late career work he uses his distinctively bold style to mold the tone of the film, using eerie blue night lighting, stark, oversized sets, and dramatic perspective to create an unsettling, otherworldly tone. The film’s hero is a boy (Jimmy Hunt) who tries in vain to get the grown ups around him to believe that aliens are invading, and the sets are made to express the intimidation and rigid conformity that the adult world represents for him. 

As with many of the sci-fi flicks of the era, Invaders from Mars can be read as an allegory for any number of societal ills people of the day were experiencing. It doesn’t need another read though, the effect of those amazing sets, the goofy look of the aliens in a late film reveal, and the actors who know just how much to give in a production where everything around them is already giving a lot makes it work as pure entertainment. It also perfectly evokes the feelings and fears of being young and relying on your parents for safety and support when the rest of the world feels overwhelming and mysterious. 

Special features on the disc are robust and include a new and vintage trailer, interviews with the film’s star Jimmy Hunt, Menzies’ biographer James Curtis, and Menzies’ granddaughter Pamela Lausen, a featurette about the production, director John Sayles’ introduction for the film at TCM Classic Film Festival, restoration comparisons, a press image gallery, and a 20-page booklet with essays about the restoration process. 

Many thanks to Ignite Films for providing a copy of the film for review.

On Blu-ray: The Delightful Spooky Season Double Feature of Mark of the Vampire (1935) and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931)

I had a blast watching a pair of spooky season favorites on new Blu-rays from Warner Archive. It was great to see two films I love looking and sounding as good as new. 

Director Tod Browning’s (Dracula, Freaks) Mark of the Vampire (1935) is most famous for an outrageous twist, one that alters the film so dramatically that I thought I’d never be able to watch it again after my first viewing. Instead it has become a favorite spooky season watch, because it has a lot more going for it than plot.

The cast of spooks is top notch, with the moody Carroll Borland an especially striking presence as the ultimate 1930s Goth girl, years before Vampira and Elvira. There’s also Bela Lugosi, still giving everything to his Dracula-style character after finding worldwide fame as the character in the 1930 Universal adaptation of the Bram Stoker novel. 

I also appreciate the creativity behind the set and sound design. The whistling, moaning, ambience of the film’s soundtrack remains chillingly eerie to this day. By using a multi-layered soundscape instead of music, the movie evokes a more timeless feel. There’s also a great juxtaposition between the luxurious estate at the center of the daylight action and the cobweb and animal-filled castle down the road that comes to life at dusk. 

The central plot, about murder, an inheritance, and its beneficiary is essentially something to endure until you can get to the ghouls, though Lionel Barrymore and Leila Bennett contribute a great sense of camp. Mark of the Vampire is at its best when it is dialogue-free, with that creepy soundtrack casting its spell. Even though the meaning of everything is altered in the end, the sight of a moody, ghoulish Carol glowering at passerby and wandering in the dark, Lugosi grimacing, and spiders slithering up the wall are all great fun. I appreciated how well the sound and image were engineered for the Blu-ray, because those elements are especially important in a film like this one. 

Special features on the disc included commentary from Kim Newman and Stephen Jones, a theatrical trailer, the short A Thrill for Thelma, and the cartoon The Calico Dragon.

The 1931 version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is one of the most beautifully-crafted films of the pre-Code era thanks to the deliberate work of director Rouben Mamoulian (Queen Christina, Silk Stockings). 

It’s a shame that actors are so rarely rewarded for their work in horror. In the title role(s) Fredric March more than earned his Academy Award for Best Actor in a Leading Role. Though he was at the beginning of a stunning career, it remains one of his most masterful performances, because he shows a deep understanding of the complex duality of his role. 

Maumoulian begins his film by showing the way Dr. Jekyll is perceived by the world. He uses a first person perspective to show him interacting with his deferential servants. Then he dramatically switches the camera to March, capturing his own appreciative self-regard before the look is mirrored in his audience at a lecture. In a few minutes you understand how important his reputation is to him and how much is at stake in this society that reveres him. 

One of Mamoulian’s most effective visual techniques is in the use of superimposition of images to mirror the passions in Jekyll/Hyde. He creates a sort of dreamlike mood as the doctor’s obsessions intertwine with his transformation into Hyde. It effectively puts the viewer both a little on edge and into Hyde/Jekyll’s thoughts. 

March’s acting in the transformation scenes is equally unsettling. In some respects he keeps it low-key, but his quiet, animalistic groans of pain have visceral power. It’s a stunning contrast to the elegance of his public persona; though you can see elements of that pain growing in him no matter how refined he aspires to appear. When the dam bursts and he is fully in Hyde mode, he embraces his newfound freedom with a mixture of joy and relief. 

As the unfortunate showgirl Ivy who is the victim of Hyde’s lustful abuse, Miriam Hopkins balances playful sensuality with tightly-wound terror. She immediately shrinks from Hyde as if from a wild animal, aware of the danger because it is an intensification of the peril in her daily life. It is heartrending to witness her horror of him. While this is an over-the-top performance, it captures pure fear; Hopkins was as deserving of an Oscar as her costar. 

This adaptation of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde remains one of the best horror films ever made. Its terror is timelessly potent.  

Special features on the disc include a commentary by Dr. Steve Haberman and Constantine Nasr, a second commentary by Greg Monk, the cartoon Hyde and Hare, and a Theatre Guild on the Air radio broadcast of the story. 

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing copies of the films for review.

On Blu-ray: Spencer Tracy, Ingrid Bergman, and Lana Turner in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1941)

 

While the 1931 version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde starring Fredric March remains my favorite, MGM’s 1941 production starring Spencer Tracy has grown on me over the years. I still find it overlong and too heavy on the dialogue, but there’s much to love about it. I recently revisited the film on a new Blu-ray from Warner Archive. 

One of the most fascinating elements of this take on Robert Louis Stevenson’s Victorian tale of a scientist who brings out his evil side is that a studio known for going big with everything in its lavish productions did very little with make-up when it came to Tracy’s transformation to Hyde. His brow is darkened and his features made to look more severe, but Tracy’s acting is what makes the alter ego he plays so chilling. He perfectly embodies the dichotomy of a man, from the mask he wears as he moves in society to the more animalistic desires raging beneath that façade. 

Much has been made of the casting of the female leads in this film. For some the casting of the fresh-faced Ingrid Bergman as tortured bar girl Ivy and bleach-blonde Lana Turner as Tracy’s virginal intended seems backwards. I thought that at one time myself, but I’ve come to realize that the film wouldn’t have worked had the roles been switched. 

For the most part this is because the role of Ivy requires an intensity that Turner would never have on the screen. Bergman gives a deeply harrowing performance, going to frantic emotional heights that few actresses of the period would be able to match. It is an exponentially more challenging role. 

On the other hand, Turner was well suited to playing the young and innocent Beatrix. This was years before The Postman Rings Twice (1946) and audiences at the time would have felt the part suited her persona. It was also the perfect role to showcase what she did have to offer as an actress. 

It’s a solid trio of performances, but they aren’t in the film they deserve. There’s more talk than action, especially in the early scenes and those scenes go into far more detail than is necessary. It is here where I vastly prefer the pre-Code version. 

There is a bit of that pre-Code spirit in the film’s surreal and erotic dream sequences though. Tracy’s sexual frustration is illustrated in a series of sensual and downright kinky fantasies centered on the two women in his life. How did the image of Tracy whipping Turner and Bergman as his bare-shouldered steeds made it past censors? Perhaps the scenes were viewed as art; whatever happened, it’s these moments that give the film a wild edge that is much needed to cut through the MGM-style pomp. 

This is for the most part a satisfying film; Tracy’s performance alone makes it a classic. 

As a special feature there is also a theatrical trailer on the disc. 

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review.

On Blu-ray: James Coburn is a Doctor Detective in The Carey Treatment (1972)

I went into the new Warner Archive Blu-ray release of The Carey Treatment (1972) knowing nothing about the film except that it starred James Coburn, one of my favorite actors. The Blake Edwards-directed production, based on an early novel by Michael Crichton has much to offer, though it left me with mixed emotions. So much of it feels like unfulfilled potential. 

It was bracing to learn that an illegal abortion played a key role in this mystery drama just days after hearing of the leaked plans by the US Supreme Court to overturn Roe vs. Wade. The film isn’t about that, but rather how justice suffers in the corruption of systems. Still, it was a chilling reminder of how long this issue and the discord around it have been a part of our society. 

The abortion in question leads to the death of the daughter (played by daughter of Mel Tormé, Melissa Tormé-March) of a Boston hospital director Dr. J.D. Randall (Dan O’Herlihy). Blame quickly falls to Dr. David Tao (James Hong), a physician at the hospital who is known for performing the procedure at cost for women of limited means. 

There is no solid evidence that Tao is guilty though, a fact that is clear to his friend and a pathologist Dr. Peter Carey (James Coburn) who has recently arrived in town to take a cushy job at the hospital. While Tao sits in jail, Carey defies all orders to mind his business so that he may free his colleague. 

Hong is a clear-eyed, refreshing presence in the macho world of seventies cinema, it was a disappointment to realize he would only book-end the main action of the film. Still, it was nice to see the prolific actor in an early role. He’s a lightly cynical counterpoint to the determined Dr. Carey. 

In the titular role, James Coburn unleashes his reliable, easy charm, taking on a character who seems like a scoundrel on the surface, but who has empathy and sensitivity in opposition to many of the male roles of the era. He has the same morality as a superhero, but none of the corny, upstanding aura that comes with that. 

The often underused Jennifer O’Neill is Carey’s love interest. She’s a dietician with a deadbeat husband on an extended ski vacation and a young son to support. While she is only there to allow Carey’s inner monologue to translate into dialogue and exposition, it’s interesting the way the relationship unfolds. Instead of the familiar game of pressure and subtle aggression, Carey gently communicates his attraction. His simple, unsleazy flirtation is welcome and indicates his confidence in himself and the challenges he faces. 

There are a few stand-outs in the intriguing supporting cast. Elizabeth Allen is smoothly entitled as the wife of Dr. Randall and stepmother of his deceased daughter. Skye Aubrey also stands out as a troubled nurse who loses control of her life. The always reliably skeezy Michael Blodgett brings his low-lidded corruption to the role of a masseuse who looks like trouble, but somehow still  gets away with way too much. 

While the story and cast are solid and this was a generally entertaining film, it felt a bit sloppy and ill-formed. In reading about the production, I learned that due to studio interference, Edwards was not able to make the film as he desired. He would later take out his frustrations by alluding to the incident in S.O.B. (1981). It’s a shame, because all the talents involved were capable of much more, but Coburn’s charisma makes up for a lot and is reason enough to make the film a must-see for fans of the actor. 

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review.

On Blu-ray: A Legendary Series Ends with Song of the Thin Man (1947)

 

Every entry in the Thin Man detective series starring William Powell and Myrna Loy is worth the watch, but once the plots ceased to be based on Dashiell Hammett’s stories, the concept lost momentum. The final film, Song of the Thin Man (1947) has many of the best qualities of the other entries: clever repartee between its leads, a lively supporting cast, and dynamic settings perfect for crime. Still, it is clear that by this point the concept had lost its thunder and it was time to wrap things up for the cinematic versions of Nick and Nora Charles. I recently watched the film on a new Blu-ray from Warner Archive and enjoyed it, but also felt it was a good place for the six-film series to end. 

A nightclub serves as the setting for the opening and closing scenes of the film and it’s an entertaining environment for intrigue. Gloria Grahame is the least believable chanteuse ever (not with that voice!), but she lip syncs with conviction while she stirs up passions in the band. The night of a charity event where she performs and Nick and Nora Charles are present, the bandleader is shot, setting the stage for mystery. 

The Charles’ son Nicky Jr. is now a tween, perfectly cast with the clever and eerily wise Dean Stockwell. While a long scene featuring Nora ordering Nick to spank her son for misbehaving hasn’t aged well, it’s amusing to watch the senior Charles seeing visions of good times with his son in his derriere as he becomes increasingly reluctant to dole out punishment. 

Song of the Thin Man relies on its strong cast, which also includes Keenan Wynn and Patricia Morison, for interest. The plot lacks cohesiveness and doesn’t build to a climax in an effective way. It is personality that brings everything together, as much as that happens. 

Overall it’s nice to have the full series now available on Blu-ray. Despite the varying quality of the films, they’re all reliable mood-lifters. 

Special features on the disc include the Passing Parade short A Really Important Person (starring Stockwell), the classic cartoon Slap Happy Lion, and a theatrical trailer. 

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review.

On Blu-ray: The Marx Brothers at Their Chaotic Best in Night at the Opera (1935)

 

As with classics like A Day at the Races (1937) and Duck Soup (1933), A Night at the Opera (1935) showcases the Marx Brothers at their merry, anarchic best. I recently revisited the film on a new Blu-ray from Warner Archive. 

The opera is the ideal setting for the Marx Brothers brand of comedy. There’s a lot to play with: the audience, the stage, and the performers, not to mention the snobbery around this art form that deserves a good Marx Brothers-style puncturing. 

As an intensely self-serious patron of the arts, Margaret Dumont is the bridge into the story. In the first scene Groucho gives her a good roasting. On the other hand, the singing lovers played by Kitty Carlisle and Allan Jones, as sickly sweet as they can be, are presented as heroic artists who live to perform. However wild and unformed the brothers may seem as they roast the snobs, they are determined in their quest to let art thrive. 

I think that’s why this is one of my favorite Marx Brothers films, because they never make the mistake of taking themselves too seriously, but they are also oddly valorous. Even Harpo with his impulsive mischief, as pure id incarnate, stands for something in his loopy way. 

The most famous scene in the film features a tiny stateroom which becomes increasingly, and hilariously packed full of people, all of them certain they need to be there. It’s rightfully adored, but I am most impressed with the opera house finale, which features an increasingly startled audience and Harpo swinging from the rafters like a circus aerialist gone rogue. It is remarkable in the way it sustains its humor, perfectly paced, and full of gags that hit just right. 

That pacing is what distinguishes the Marx Brothers. They understood how to strike a good rhythm in their comedy: where to pick up the pace, when to stick with a joke, and perhaps most importantly, when to slow down and take time with word play. For every chaotic scene of physical humor, there’s the balance of standing around calmly ripping apart lengthy theatrical contracts and discussing the “sanity clause.” 

Special features on the disc include commentary by Leonard Maltin, Groucho Marx on The Hy Gardner Show, a theatrical trailer, the vintage shorts Los Angeles: Wonder City of the West, Sunday Night at the Trocadero, and Robert Benchley’s How to Sleep, and best of all, the documentary Remarks on Marx, in which Kitty Carlisle demonstrates that she may have been sweet on the screen, but she was nobody’s fool. 

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the movie for review.

On Blu-ray: In the Good Old Summertime (1949) Reimagines a Lubitsch Classic

 

This musical remake of Ernst Lubitsch’s The Shop Around the Corner (1940) is a rosier take on a tale of a couple who meet ugly, but fall in love. It trades in the bleaker elements of its inspiration for a more sweetly nostalgic take on the story of pen pals who are in love on paper, but rivals at work. I recently watched the film on a newly-release Blu-ray from Warner Archive. 

As the battling lovers-to-be Van Johnson and Judy Garland don’t have much chemistry, though they’re pleasant enough. However, it was interesting to see a supporting cast full of seasoned senior characters: that popular grown toddler S.Z. “Cuddles” Sakall, Spring Byington, and Buster Keaton in his last role for MGM. In the final scene baby Liza Minnelli also makes her screen debut playing, appropriately enough, Garland’s daughter. 

Perhaps the smartest change in this adaptation was to move the action from a general gift shop to a music store. It’s the perfect way to slot in a couple of engrossing numbers featuring Judy Garland. While this is a modest entry in her filmography, Garland glows, Technicolor was made for her kind of beauty. Her numbers in the music store are especially satisfying because they spotlight how remarkable her talent was without the adornment of big production numbers. 

The action flags in the middle of the film, perhaps a few more musical numbers would have helped, though a sharper script and better paired leads would have really done the job. Ultimately it is an entertaining film that will appeal most to particular fans of the stars gathered here, because they each have their moment to shine. 

Special features on the disc include a fascinating pair of FitzPatrick Traveltalks shorts, Chicago the Beautiful and Night Life in Chicago, which highlight the magnificence of the city decades ago. There’s also a trailer and an introduction by Judy Garland biographer John Fricke. 

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review.

On Blu-ray: Bobby Driscoll Lies Himself Into A Corner in The Window (1949)

The classic tale of the boy who cried wolf gets a cynical shot of noir in The Window (1949), a tense, fast-moving suspense flick featuring a remarkable performance by child actor Bobby Driscoll. I watched the film on a new Blu-ray from Warner Archive. 

Based on the story The Boy Cried Murder by Cornell Woolrich (Rear Window [1954], Phantom Lady [1944]), most of the action unfolds in an apartment building in Lower East Side New York. Driscoll is Tommy Woodbury, a boy who lies so much that no one, not even his parents believes what he says. That puts him in peril when he witnesses a murder through the window of his upstairs neighbors the Kellersons (Paul Stewart, Ruth Roman). When they realize he is wise to them, they plot to make sure he can’t eventually convince the grown-ups around him of the truth.

The Window is an economical, but deliberately lensed thriller. It isn’t so much the story as the way it is told that is impressive. Director Ted Tetzlaff keeps the action moving and amps up the tension by showing the story through Tommy’s perspective as much as possible, having the audience peer over counters and up at authority figures along with him.

Driscoll, most famous for his Disney roles (Peter Pan [1953], Song of the South [1946]) and tragic early death is also a key part of the film’s success. Without a strong juvenile actor, The Window would have flopped. With his arched eyebrow and wrinkled forehead, he pulsates with frustration and helplessness. While he knows that his lies have gotten him in this mess, he’s also painfully aware of how little the adults in his world respect the opinion of a child. 

I loved the honesty of Barbara Hale and Arthur Kennedy as Tommy’s parents. A lot of their parenting methods would be problematic today, but here they effectively communicate the exhaustion and frustration of trying to raise a child with limited financial resources and a lack of tools to understand their son. They are loving and encouraging, but also overwhelmed. 

As the shifty neighbors, Paul Stewart and Ruth Roman are suitably creepy. There’s a moment where they’re stalking a frightened Tommy that’s especially chilling because they are so calm and deliberate in their methods. When the finale comes to its literally crashing end, it’s a relief to finally be freed from the tension that starts in this moment. 

Great direction and solid performances elevate this modest film into a deeply satisfying thriller. 

There are no special features on the disc. 

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review.

On Blu-ray: Treat Williams in a Break-Out Performance, Sort of, in Prince of the City (1981)

 

Prince of the City (1981) isn’t the cop movie I expected, but in these times, it was the cop movie that made sense. I recently saw the film for the first time on a new Blu-ray from Warner Archive. 

The begins like a typical police flick, with chaotic drug busts, joking banter between cocky officers, and undercover men swaggering around in belted-leather coats and bell bottom suit pants. We are introduced to an elite narcotics squad, a group so respected that these “Princes of the City” are allowed to do their work with little supervision. Unsurprisingly, that leads them to engage in unethical behavior, sometimes to get the job done, but also to line their pockets. 

Treat Williams stars as Detective Danny Ciello, the man who changes the narrative from free-form policing to the ugly business of facing consequences. He agrees to go undercover to fight corruption, but quickly finds that he and the men he works with are too much a part of that corruption to avoid scrutiny. He finds himself in the position of being forced to betray those he loves the most. 

I understand why Treat Williams was nominated for both “Best” and “Worst” actor for this role. Apparently his charismatic turn in Hair (1979) played a role in winning him the part, and he shows that same loose, irresistible vibe here. There are moments though when he goes over the top and it can be taken as either too much or the intense, but honest emotions of a man who is heartbroken, frightened and trapped. I think both are true. 

As charming as Williams is, this film wasn’t the breakthrough role that led to true stardom. He was certainly deserving of that, but 1981 was the start of an era where the men at the top of the box office didn’t emote so darn much. He was not a Stallone or Schwarzenegger; he was even more tender than Harrison Ford. Of course, he has had a fascinating and enduring career, but seeing him in this, you wonder what bigger stardom could have brought him. 

The rest of the cast is full of rich, realistic characters. Some of them, like Jerry Orbach, Bob Balaban, and Lindsay Crouse were just at the start of careers full of intriguing roles. Everyone here feels real. You believe they are anxious, but strong policeman’s wives and bureaucrats who are determined, but often lacking in understanding. Most compelling are the corrupt cops, who have a tighter bond with each other than even their own families. They sit close on lawn chairs, in intimate conversation, swilling beer out of amber bottles: manly but connected in a way more familiar to female friendships. 

While much about the outcome of the story is inevitable, and in some ways easy to see without knowing the details of the real story upon which it was based, the increasing tension is expertly communicated by director Sidney Lumet. He increasingly narrows his focus, amplifying the feeling of Williams’ isolation and fear and the terror of men facing the consequences of their actions. In doing so, he’s always in touch with the emotions of his characters, men who take pride in hiding their emotions, which is why the film feels so revelatory. 

The featurette Prince of the City: The Real Story is a part of the special features on the disc and it helps to put the film in perspective. A lot of the people portrayed in the film are interviewed here, including the man Detective Ciello was portraying, former Detective Robert Leuci. 

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review.

On Blu-ray: Loy and Powell Team Up a Fourth Time as the Charles' in Shadow of the Thin Man (1941)

This fourth entry of the Thin Man series is the second in which Nick and Nora are parents. Their little Nicky is adorably picking up all of Daddy’s bad habits. It’s no surprise given that in the last film he was a giggling infant in the middle of a murderous country house melee. I recently revisited this enjoyable, if minor entry in the Charles saga on a newly-released Warner Archive Blu-ray. 

While Shadow of the Thin Man (1941) isn’t among the best of the series, the quality is so consistent that any entry is a good time. Here Nick works to solve a murder at the race track, which ends up leading him all over San Francisco with Nora and sometimes little Nicky in tow. 

Like always, the spice is between the lines in the Thin Man series. The running joke of their open marriage is this time referred to in the many instances where Nora is mistaken for Nick’s down low girlfriend. It’s a neat trick: readers of the novel get their wink, while those not in the know can take it as a comment on Mrs. Charles being an especially dishy wife. 

And she is, and they are a remarkably happy screen couple, for the most part because they understand each other so well. Nora brings her husband home with the shake of a cocktail shaker and she knows that showing up in macho spaces like a crime scene or a wrestling match will strengthen her bond with Nick. He on the other hand is aware that his wife should never be excluded if she feels she should be present. 

As usual, the cast has some lively characters, though not quite the bizarre roster as in past entries. As the Charles’ domestic, Louise Beavers demonstrates how she made more of an essentially thankless maid role than anyone; it makes you pine for the comedy series she could have had on her own. In an early role Donna Reed is fresh and young, but plenty wise and lacking the primness of many starlets in a similar role. Sam Levene has a great stink face and excellent comic timing as the often flustered, but always competent Lieutenant Abrams. 

There’s always that one memorable scene in a Thin Man movie, this time there’s two. One is a raucous wrestling match where Nora remains adorably elegant and polite. The other is a much weirder set-up in a seafood restaurant where the waiter insists that everyone order sea bass, before the Charles pooch Asta starts a wild brawl. 

It’s a fun flick. If you’ve enjoyed one Thin Man movie, it’s well worth seeing all of them. 

Special features on the disc include a trailer, the cartoon The Goose Goes South, and the vintage short The Tell-Tale Heart. 

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review.

On Blu-ray: Greer Garson and Walter Pidgeon in Madame Curie (1943)

 

Madame Curie (1943) gives the biopic of the famous scientist and her husband Pierre the MGM treatment, with sentimental strings, kindly professors, and lofty announcements to the stars, but it is also diligent in its approach to the work and the relationship at its core. I recently watched the film on a new Blu-ray release from Warner Archive. 

Movies rarely focus on labor with the detail and intensity of Madame Curie. It helps that the real life discoveries that the Curie’s made were thrilling enough to translate to great drama. Marie Curie’s drive to isolate what she would eventually call radium is what is told of the story though; the slow death to follow via poisoning from the elements of her work is yet to come. 

Greer Garson and Walter Pidgeon are a good fit as the famous married scientists. They easily portray the strong chemistry of these people who come to love each other because they are in harmony when it comes to work. No one is at home waiting on the other; it’s all of one piece. It’s also rare and fascinating to see a screen romance that develops from a base of mutual intellectual stimulation. 

Most of the supporting roles are essentially cameos, with brief if effective appearances from C. Aubrey Smith, Van Johnson, and Margaret O’Brien. As Pierre’s parents, Henry Travers and Dame May Whitty are charming and have a bit more to do. Baby-faced Robert Walker also stands out for the puppy-like eagerness of his turn as Pierre’s laboratory assistant. 

The screenplay by Paul Osborn and Paul H. Rameau is commendable for finding dramatic tension in tedious lab work. I remember seeing this film as a child on television and having no idea what pitchblende, Thorium, and Uranium were, but feeling very excited about it all. 

Nominated for seven Oscars, it didn’t take home any trophies, but Madame Curie is a solid classic and great entertainment. 

Special features on the disc include a theatrical trailer and the more documentary-like take on the story of the discovery of radium via the Pete Smith Specialty Short Romance of Radium. 

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review.

On Blu-ray--Chain Lightning (1950) with Humphrey Bogart and Eleanor Parker

 

I’ve watched the test pilot drama Chain Lightning (1950) a few times since I first saw it via the home edition of the TCM Classic Film Festival, the most recent viewing on a new Blu-ray release from Warner Archive. I haven’t connected with the film; the story is uninspiring, the script is flat, and the airborne action offers moderate thrills. However, I keep coming back to it, because of my fascination with its leads Humphrey Bogart and Eleanor Parker. 

The tagline for Chain Lightning proclaims it as being “With that special brand of Bogart romance.” As much as that is typical marketing language that you would expect to see on a movie poster, Bogart does offer an unusual romantic perspective. In a film landscape where men rarely showed vulnerability, especially when it came to women, Bogie was all about being open-hearted and showing it. 

While he wasn’t best known as a great screen lover, Bogart was a partner in some of the most moving screen romances. His pairing in three films with real-life love Lauren Bacall is the most legendary, with Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca (1942) a close second. As he was in those partnerships, Bogie is vulnerable with Parker here, he lets you see him pine for her. The film is too weak, and his other screen matches too legendary for their romance to endure as one for the ages, but it is yet another example of how well Bogart could communicate his emotions and his willingness to be emotionally raw. 

Parker is equally good at subtly, but effectively communicating vulnerability and conflict. It’s perplexing that she wasn’t a bigger star, because no matter what material she had, she always dove right into the emotions of her character and drew the audience into her character’s world. Bogart is one of her better screen partners, because they have equal courage in laying themselves open. 

As I found the action and the plot lacking in Chain Lightning, this was what held my attention. The story of Matt Brennan (Bogart), a World War II pilot who test flies an experimental jet has its moments of excitement and tension, but I don’t know that I would have watched it more than once without the relationship between Brennan and Jo Holloway (Parker) a former WWII love coming back into his life. 

There were other elements here that I found pleasing though. Raymond Massey gets the self-absorbed determination of his aviation tycoon just right. It’s also a pleasure to watch Bogart alone in the cockpit during his test pilots. He’s known for his way with a line, but in observing him in silence for long stretches, you can see how skilled he was as a physical actor as well. I was riveted watching his varied reactions to his dangerous mission. 

Special features on the disc include the cartoon Bear Feat and the goofy Joe McDoakes short So You Want to Be an Actor. 

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review.

On Blu-ray: MGM's Galaxy of Stars in Ziegfeld Follies (1945)

 

Ziegfeld Follies is a mixed-bag. Full of musical and comedy acts meant to emulate the feel of the legendary Broadway version of producer Flo Ziegfeld’s Follies, it alternates between magnificence and moments that elicit indifference. Fortunately the episodic nature of the film allows the viewer to easily curate the viewing experience, because the best parts of this film are among the most memorable in MGM history. I recently revisited the movie on a new Blu-ray release from Warner Archive. 

The film begins with William Powell as Ziegfeld (reprising the role he played in the biopic The Great Ziegfeld [1936]) in a Heaven that looks like a plush penthouse. He reminisces about his magnificent career in a scene which segues into a recreation of his show time milieu in 1907 using what is billed as Bunin’s Puppets. While I would normally find a cast of marionettes unsettling, here it is a charming way to begin, because the scene captures the detail and the feeling of the era so well. 

Then begins a series of hits and misses: the former typically the song and dance numbers and the latter the comedy sketches, which haven’t aged well, despite being populated with actual Ziegfeld star Fanny Brice and typically reliable comedians like Victor Moore and Keenan Wynn. Even Judy Garland falls a little flat in her musical comedy number A Great Lady Has an Interview though it's fun to watch her because she seems to be having a blast. 

The musical numbers more than make up for the comedy. Here’s to the Ladies features the remarkable sight of Lucille Ball in pink, looking haughtily beautiful and pretending to crack a whip at a group of chorus girls dressed as glittering wild cats. Also magnificent is Lena Horne singing Love in the film’s most fully realized number, a gorgeously-conceived triumph of costume, set, song, and sultry star. The film is also memorable for the Babbitt and the Bromide number in which Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly dance together in their first screen pairing. 

I was less engaged with the rest of the musical numbers, though they all have a certain appeal and that reliable MGM quality. Esther William’s A Water Ballet is lower key than the over-the-top productions in her films, though it is pleasant to watch. Two numbers featuring the dancing duo of Fred Astaire and the proficient, but passionless Lucille Bremer: This Heart of Mine and Limehouse Blues, are haunted by the many dancers better-suited to Astaire as a partner. 

It’s a gorgeous, entertaining film if you have the patience choose the moments that suit your tastes and a must-see for fans of MGM musicals. 

Special features on the disc include the featurette Ziegfeld Follies: An Embarrassment of Riches, a Crime Does Not Pay short The Luckiest Guy in the World, the cartoons The Hick Chick and Solid Serenade, a theatrical trailer and a selection of audio-only outtakes and rarities. 

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a  copy of the film for review.

On Blu-ray: Cornell Woolrich Adapted for Solid Monogram Programmer, I Wouldn't Be in Your Shoes! (1948)

 

I love a speedy, efficient programmer. Sometimes it’s nice to just spend an hour and change with some fascinating characters and a decent story. Productions like the modestly-budgeted, but engrossing Monogram film I Wouldn’t Be in Your Shoes (1948), newly released on Blu-ray, fit the bill perfectly. 

With a script written by Steve Fisher (I Wake Up Screaming) and based on a story by Cornell Woolrich, this appealing little drama has a strong film noir pedigree. It’s the story of a married dance team Tom and Ann (Elyse Knox and Don Castle) on the skids. Their careers have stalled and they see no path out of their strained existence. 

The set-up for what follows stretches plausibility and is the film’s weakest point. One night Tom throws what he thinks is an old pair of shoes at a cat howling outside the window. Ann quickly points out that they were actually his only tap shoes. After a fruitless search to retrieve them, the shoes mysteriously turn up outside their apartment door the next morning. 

That same night, a man in the building was murdered for his money. Footprints found at the scene match Tom’s briefly missing tap shoes. Police make the connection when he finds a wallet full of cash and his and Ann’s sudden spending spree attracts their attention. It’s a bizarre series of coincidences, but also a perfect noir set-up. 

Tom goes to jail, Ann struggles to find evidence to free him, and Police Inspector Clint Judd (Regis Toomey) eagerly steps in to help. What follows is a series of dead ends and twists and turns that are amusing, though the identity of the killer is easy to determine early on. The tender relationship between Tom and Ann, and the way Ann becomes vulnerable, but remains strong in the sleazy world outside their marital bubble are the main draw here. 

I was struck by the gentleness of the prisoners Tom encounters on Death Row. They spend their time listening to Chopin records, tending to each other’s emotional wounds, and generally demonstrating more compassion than they received in the outside world. In these scenes I was especially touched by the quietly charismatic performance of Bill Walker, one of those busy studio-era actors that has inevitably shown up in several favorites of the typical classic film fan. 

This isn’t a life-changing film, but it is enjoyable. I’d love to see more of these so-called Poverty Row productions on Blu-ray, because it’s a treat to see them respectfully presented in good prints. 

Special features on the disc include the short The Symphony Murder Mystery and the cartoon Holiday for Shoestrings. 

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review.

On Blu-ray: The Yearling (1946)

 

Few stories explore the beauty and brutality of life as well as The Yearling. The first film version of Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings best-selling novel balances these opposing, but interconnected elements with simplicity and elegance. Directed with restraint by the underrated Clarence Brown, the film is deserving of its classic status. As I recently watched the new Blu-ray release of the film from Warner Archive, I was struck by how beautiful it is as well. 

The setting is Florida in the 1870s. Pre-teen Jody Baxter (Claude Jarman Jr.) lives with his parents Orry (Jane Wyman) and Penny (Gregory Peck) on their small farm. Jody is a good kid, but a dreamer. His father indulges his drifting nature in opposition to his own strict upbringing. His mother is more rigid; she loves him, but the death of three infant children before him (cut down from six in the novel) makes her reluctant to bond with him and be hurt again should he meet a similar fate. 

While the family struggles to survive the damage to their livelihood caused by a bear, thieving neighbors, a flood, and even the titular deer that Jody takes in as a pet, they are always hopeful for better times. Penny is especially optimistic, looking to an extra crop to raise money for a well or arranging the sly trade of a dog for a new rifle so that he can provide for his family in the way he desires. 

The strict mother type is rarely understood in these kinds of stories, but here the grieving Orry is treated with empathy and compassion. Rather than being angered by her coldness, Jody tries to determine why she is this way. Penny encourages his thoughtfulness, describing the more carefree woman he married, and why he is devoted to her happiness. 

As Penny, Gregory Peck is looser than usual. Something about the role seems to have touched him as he appears genuinely in tune with the hopeful spirit of the character. In a difficult part, Wyman subtly balances the hard shell Orry has formed around herself for protection with those moments when her warmth and love for her family slip out. 

Jarman’s Jody is one of the great classic child performances. He’s as gangling and wobbly as the fawn he adopts, but there’s profound wonder and intelligence in his eyes. His emotional engagement is of a depth beyond his years. 

While this family unit is the focus of the story, there are plenty of fascinating characters in the mix. The shifty Forrester family is fully of tricky personalities, with the tousle-haired Chill Wills a stand-out as Buck. Donn Gift is especially moving and intriguingly eccentric as the crippled Forrester son Fodderwing, Jody’s only friend. The always welcome Henry Travers (It’s a Wonderful Life [1946]) also shows up in a small part. 

Iconic cinematographer Charles Rosher (Sunrise [1927]) creates a poetically beautiful milieu, using matte backdrops and paintings to magnificent effect. He manages to seamlessly integrate the studio and location settings so that he captures the grandeur of nature, but also the intimacy of the family’s life together. The film is also beautifully lit, especially in interior scenes where the warmth of the fire and candlelight lend the actors a dreamy glow. 

The Yearling was rightfully a popular and critical success. It received significant awards attention, including Oscar wins for cinematography and art direction. Claude Jarman Jr. won a special juvenile award for his performance as well. 

Special features on the disc include a radio production of The Yearling, the hilarious Tom and Jerry cartoon Cat Concerto, and a theatrical trailer. 

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review.

On Blu-ray: Elvis Sees Mid-Century Seattle in It Happened at the World's Fair (1963)

 

There’s not one memorable song in It Happened at the World’s Fair (1963), a dire condition for an Elvis musical, but there are pleasing elements to this film that never quite comes together. I recently revisited it on a new Blu-ray from Warner Archive.

Elvis is Mike, a pilot who wants to start his own flying business. He and his copilot Danny (Gary Lockwood) hitch a ride with a fruit seller (Kam Tong) his niece Sue-Lin to Seattle to do business. There the World’s Fair is in full swing, but all Elvis cares about is nabbing an attractive nurse (Joan O'Brien) he meets in the fairground’s infirmary when he has Sue-Lin in his charge and she gets a stomachache from over eating. 

There is a plot of sorts, with aspects about courting women and stranger danger that haven't aged well,  and songs and romance that basically fizzle. The mid-century locations are the draw here. As a native Seattleite, it was an extra delight to see my hometown in the early sixties at the height of a defining event, but there is a more general appeal in getting a time capsule view of fair. 

As much as the city has changed over the years many elements of the fairgrounds remain the same from the Space Needle and the arches at the Pacific Science Center to the Mural Amphitheater and the monorail. What’s fun about the film are the vintage details in the midst of these enduring structures.

One of the movie’s bright spots is Vicky Tiu as Sue-Lin. She’s an adorable kid, with her two perfect braids, impeccable dress, and a straw hat decorated with a pair of cherries. Tiu is also a charming actor and much more appealing as a sidekick to Elvis than O’Brien is as a romantic partner. As good as she is this would be Tiu’s only film; she had bigger plans. She is now Vicky Cayetano, a respected civic leader in Hawaii, president and CEO of the successful United Laundry Services, and a former first lady of the state. 

The movie is also notable for featuring the first screen appearance of Kurt Russell, in his child actor years. He is in two scenes, and he kicks Elvis in the shin in both. Not a bad debut. 

The sole special feature on the disc is a theatrical trailer. 

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review.

On Blu-ray: Costume Dramas Green Dolphin Street (1947) and The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex (1939)

 

This pair of dramas newly on Blu-ray from Warner Archive features two vastly different, but equally wrenching explorations of the complications of love. In both cases the turmoil is set in grand locations with actors in lavish costumes. 

Green Dolphin Street (1947) 

Based on the novel by Anya Seton, this drama/disaster film stars Lana Turner and Donna Reed as sisters Marianne and Marguerite, who live with their parents in the Channel Islands in the 19th Century. They both fall for their neighbor William (Richard Hart) who happens to be the son of Dr. Edmond Ozanne (Frank Morgan) who their mother (Gladys Cooper) reluctantly gave up in her youth for a more wealthy and socially-connected husband (Edmund Gwenn). The poor but intriguing Timothy (Van Heflin) watches from the sidelines, in love with Marianne, but aware he can never have her. 

William falls for Marguerite and when he settles in New Zealand, where he connects with the now successful Timothy after a disastrous mishap in the Navy, he attempts to send for her, but in a drunken stupor writes Marianne’s name in his letter instead. This unlikely mistake forms the basis for considerable heartbreak. It’s the flimsiest anchor for the story and requires a certain level of belief for the film to work at all. 

That error is a weak link in an overlong production that never quite gels. The colonial perspective on the Maori people doesn’t help as seen through modern eyes. 

There’s a certain moody romanticism to it though, helped along by the sweeping theme song which would evolve to become the jazz standard On Green Dolphin Street. James Wong Howe’s cinematography is also magnificent; he especially knows how to light Turner to her best advantage. Add to that a nail-biting earthquake sequence and there’s enough to recommend this exploration of desire, loss, and finding satisfaction in unexpected ways. 

Special features on the disc include a radio production of Green Dolphin Street and a theatrical trailer.

The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex (1939) 

There’s a reliable cinematic grandeur to the costume flicks Warner Bros. produced in the classic age. The studio had the formula down: a brightly trumpeting score, glam costumes, settings that are just lavish enough, and a reliable cast of supporting characters. The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex has all of that, and the sparkling print on the new Blu-ray elevates it further, but a weak connection between the leads keeps it from greatness. 

In order to succeed, this adaptation of the play Elizabeth the Queen needed chemistry between its queen and earl. While there are moments that Bette Davis (as Queen Elizabeth) and Errol Flynn (as the Earl of Essex) connect, their personal dislike of each other is too evident for them to truly sizzle. Instead of giving the union tension, the conflict makes them appear cold and distant. Davis had not enjoyed her experience starring with Flynn in The Sisters (1938) and she wanted Laurence Olivier to play his role, so it is clear that the contempt was much stronger on one side. 

Independently, Flynn gives a moody, thoughtful performance which feels unusually sincere. Davis is less effective. She can’t help but be grand and imminently appropriate in the role of a queen, but she relies too much on distracting physical ticks: a weaving head, twitching hands, to build her character. The supporting cast is solid in that cheerfully efficient Warner way, with Olivia de Havilland, Donald Crisp, Alan Hale, Henry Daniell, and Henry Stephenson comfortably revisiting the period film milieu. Vincent Price and Nanette Fabray are also pleasing in roles that came early in their careers. 

Special features on the disc include a carry-over from previous DVD editions of the Leonard Maltin’s Warner Night at the Movies 1939, which includes a newsreel, the musical short The Royal Rodeo, the cartoon Old Glory and a theatrical trailer. There’s also the featurette, Elizabeth and Essex: Battle Royale. 

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing copies of the films for review.

On Blu-ray: Another Thin Man (1939) and Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House (1948)

I love the way Myrna Loy was essentially typecast as “not bothered” throughout her career. I’m trying to think of a time she yelled or broke a sweat about anything. If it happened, it wasn’t often. She was cool. 

 This pair of Blu-rays, newly-released from Warner Archive, is peak chilled-out Myrna. The house is falling down, bullets are whizzing through the air, and Ms. Loy wrinkles her nose at it all. 

Another Thin Man (1939) 

I’ve always found the third edition of the Thin Man series the most sinister, because the Charles’ have a baby now and Nicky Jr. is always in danger. With all the gunfire, thugs, murderers, and even an attempted kidnapping, you just hope the kid makes it to adulthood. 

Nick and Nora’s interactions with the baby are fascinating. It’s pure fantasy to be delighted to wake up in the middle of the night to play with an awake, but mysteriously not fussy baby, but it’s cute to see their delight in this small person they’ve made. It’s essentially an extension of their take on marriage: why be so serious? Why not enjoy it all? Of course there’s also the always light allusion to their open marriage, but the suggestion is by necessity only a vapor, so that the easily outraged will miss it. 

Based on The Farewell Murder, this would be the last film in the series drawn from a Dashiell Hammett novel. The mystery unfolds at a lavish Long Island estate, where a wealthy colonel (C. Aubrey Smith) is under threat from a mysterious enemy. Chaos, arson, and murder ensue. 

The cast is the typical bizarre grab bag that always seems to populate the series. It is unusual to see Marjorie Main, Otto Krueger, Tom Neal, Virginia Grey, Ruth Hussey, Abner Biebermen, and Shemp Howard all in the same production, but not so unusual in this world. The latter makes an appearance in what is perhaps the movie’s most memorable scene: a birthday party for Nicky Jr. full of low-level criminals who have plenty of enthusiasm, but no idea what to do with a baby. 

For no apparent reason but the delight of it, the Afro-Cuban dance team René and Estela does a beautifully fluid dance number in a nightclub scene; a setting similar to the Havana-Madrid Club in New York where they performed at the time. 

Special features on the disc include the musical short Love on Tap, the cartoon The Bookworm, and a theatrical trailer.

Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House (1948) 

A harrowing story based on the equally harrowing novel by Eric Hodgins, somehow this tale of a New York couple sinking money into a disastrous home construction works as a comedy. 

It’s a shame that Myrna Loy and Cary Grant never made another film together. They have a similar light comedic style tinged with a sly recognition of the myriad disasters of life. I could see them succeeding together with edgier material, but watching them navigate their money pit while Loy’s ex-boyfriend (Melvyn Douglas) lingers flirtatiously in the background is entertainment enough. It isn’t as sparkling a partnership as Loy and Powell, but they are easy together, with that slight bit of friction necessary for spice. 

As the couple’s daughters, Sharyn Moffett and Connie Marshall are refreshingly lacking in cutesy behavior. Instead they are clever, analytical observers of their parent’s folly. Louise Beavers is equally charismatic in what should be a thankless role as the family maid, but she’s always fun to watch. 

Special features on the disc include two radio productions of Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House, the cartoon The House of Tomorrow, and a re-issue trailer.

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing copies of the films for review.

On Blu-ray MOD: Clara Bow and Gary Cooper in Children of Divorce (1927)

 

Clara Bow had a knack for communicating her emotions so clearly that you can't help feeling them along with her. If she grieves, you grieve.

While Bow is rightfully beloved for the way she embodied the youthful energy of the jazz age, she was even better when a moment required deeper emotion. Children of Divorce (1927) is a showcase for Bow’s considerable and considerably underappreciated dramatic skills. I recently marveled again at her performance via a new Blu-ray-MOD release from Flicker Alley.

It’s a shame that Paramount production head B.P. Schulberg refused to give Bow better roles, because if he had she probably would have been better remembered for the full breadth of her talents. As it is, she got unimaginative scripts like Children of Divorce, which is essentially a tale of wealthy people making each other miserable because they won’t fight for love.

The film works though and that is primarily due to its stars. As childhood friends who grow up into messy romantic entanglements, Bow, Gary Cooper, and Esther Ralston are deeply appealing. In the case of the latter two, that has more to do with the simple pleasure of watching them in action, but when it comes to this appealing duo, that is more than enough.

On the other hand, Bow has everything: beauty, charisma, and the deepest feeling for tragedy. It is well known among silent film fans that the actress only needed a little mournful music on the set to bring up real tears for her scenes, which came easily when she remembered her painful childhood. Those glistening eyes project pain in a visceral way, as does the subtle flicker of emotions across her face.

Clara Bow’s instinctive, raw performance style gives Children of Divorce a weight it could not otherwise have. Josef von Sternberg was hired to film additional scenes when original director Frank Lloyd’s footage was deemed unsatisfactory and he marveled at Bow, later sharing his disbelief that Schulberg didn’t make the most of her remarkable talent.

Ultimately, her skill could not be obscured. Even in this uninspiring story, she is heart-rending and elicits full empathy from the viewer. Who else could get away with moistening the flap of an envelope with her own tears? It sounds silly. She makes it devastating.

Special features on the disc include the documentary Clara Bow: Discovering the ‘It’ Girl (1999), which is a carry-over from the label’s 2016 DVD/Blu-ray release of the film. There’s also an image gallery with an interesting variety of photographs and promotional images related to the production.

 

Many thanks to Flicker Alley for providing a copy of the film for review.