How does a
frustrated Episcopal bishop thwart divine intervention and win back the affections
of his wife? This is just one question answered in Henry Koster’s triumphant
romantic fantasy, The Bishop’s Wife
(1947). Not particularly well received upon its’ initial release, today the film
is widely regarded as a holiday classic and rightfully so. With each passing
year, and from our current moral ambiguity perpetuated by a Hollywood that
seems more proficient at exorcising our nightmares than indulging our dreams,
it becomes glaringly obvious how profound and professional the old studio
system was at hand-crafting such effervescent holiday fare. Of course they were
working with extraordinary talent both in front of and behind the camera; the
elegant Cary Grant herein cast as a celestial messenger; David Niven, his
obtusely belligerent and perpetually frustrated fop, and Loretta Young the very
picture of gentle grace in feminine fortitude.
The Bishop’s Wife continues to work its magic,
delivering its blessed message of goodwill, because its stars outshine the
obviousness and absurdity of its story. Adapted by Leonardo Bercovici and
Robert E. Sherwood from a novel by Robert Nathan The Bishop’s Wife tells the tale of two men challenged in their
faith. The first, Bishop Henry Brougham (Niven) has been driven to distraction
by his own ambitions. But the otherworldly creature sent in reply to his prayers
harbors an even more complex, and perhaps slightly sinister desire to experience
human love one last time. This struggle of wills is ultimately distilled into a
traditional confrontation between two men vying for the affections of the same
woman. But the broader implications of how a God-sent miracle could
inadvertently become untrustworthy and perhaps even destructive to the humanity
it has been sent to serve, tests the boundaries of Christianity in all sorts of
subliminally fascinating ways.
Like another
truly inspired holiday classic, Frank Capra’s It’s A Wonderful Life, a darker undercurrent of faith emerges in The Bishop’s Wife; one that will
challenge our protagonist’s resolve. For Dudley (Grant), presumably sent to
assist the bishop in his work, is hardly as pure of heart, faith or motive as
his outwardly cordial façade suggests. Before long Henry realizes that in
wishing for one dream he may have inadvertently sacrificed another – the
singular bliss he once shared with his wife, now fast slipping away in the arms
of this ethereal interloper.
As our story
begins Bishop Brougham has been toiling for months on plans for the new George
B. Hamilton memorial cathedral. Funding for the project has reached an impasse
with stoic widow, Mrs. Hamilton (Gladys Cooper) who demands that its religious
iconography take on the continence of a shrine to her late husband. Losing
sight of his commitments to his own family, wife Julia (Loretta Young) and
young daughter, Debbie (Karolyn Grimes), as well as his flock of parishioners,
Henry seeks a moment of clarity from God. But he also needs to be taught a
lesson.
Enter the
charming, yet devious angel, Dudley (Cary Grant). The truth of Dudley’s being
is revealed only to Henry. Yet Dudley wastes no time sparking a romantic
longing within Julia, although not necessarily for her husband. Indeed,
Dudley’s arrival is both a blessing and a curse; steering Julia toward a series
of playful dalliances that gradually motivates her to question her loyalty to
hearth and home. But is it Dudley’s intent to elevate these tension between
Henry and Julia merely to prove a counterpoint that will reawaken Henry’s
feelings toward his own wife, or has the angel disavowed his true calling to
pursue a mortal woman for his own advantage? We’re never entirely certain. The
actors, particularly Grant, exercise their motivations with an ambiguousness that
suggests anything is possible. Our angel is trustworthy to a point, but hardly
perfect. He can be tempted, at least enough to defy the powers of heaven and
earth for a chance to satisfy dormant, though never entirely forgotten earthly
urges.
After the
bishop is detained with another round of committee meetings, Dudley surprises
Julia with an impromptu visit to the park where she has taken Debbie to play.
The child is engaged in a rousing snowball fight before being sent off with the
bishop's scatterbrain housekeeper Matilda (Elsa Lanchester). This frees Julia
to experience a luncheon date with Dudley at Chez Michel, the restaurant where
Henry proposed and the place in which so many happy memories for Julia exist
from those bygone days. Again, the moral ambiguity in Dudley’s purpose make
these scenes crackle with an unexpected romantic longing; both satisfying yet
double-edged. Dudley reads Julia’s palm explaining, "I see a woman who is adored...you were born young and that's
how you'll always remain." But is this a moment of sincerity designed
to rekindle the past for her or mere cheap flattery contrived to woo Julia away
from it and into Dudley’s arms?
The film’s
central narrative is mildly complicated by the introduction of a tertiary
character, the curmudgeonly Professor Wutheridge (Monty Woolley) who has been
struggling for many years to write his history text book about the Roman world
- a project effectively ruined when Mrs. Hamilton had Wutheridge fired from the
university because of his 'progressive' teaching. Wutheridge is an ardent
admirer of the female sex and regards Julia as one of the finest women he has
ever known, telling Dudley, “If you want
to know about a woman ask the old men…they know!” Dudley lies to Wutheridge
about having been a pupil of his long ago in Vienna, then sets about rekindling
the disgraced academic’s verve for scholarship by revealing to him a rare
ancient coin that might have been used during Caesar’s time. Wutheridge, Dudley
and Julia share an intimate afternoon of discussion inside the professor’s
apartment where Julia confides her sadness over the way their lives have
shifted away from the friends they once cherished.
Orchestrating
yet another diversion for Henry that will detain him at the widow Hamilton’s
estate, Dudley accompanies Julia to Henry’s old parish, St. Timothy’s where he
was supposed to attend a boys’ choir rehearsal that Dudley knows well enough he
cannot. In one of the film’s most
deliberate exaltations, Dudley wills the boys who have yet failed to arrive on
time into a choral mass of heavenly voices. Afterward, Dudley escorts Julia
past the window of a hat shop. Earlier Julia had admired a bonnet in its
display case that she restrained from buying because of its extravagance. Now Dudley encourages her to indulge in what
Julia refers to as ‘her wickedness’. He further promotes her delinquency from
returning home after the rehearsal by suggesting that they hail a taxi to
Central Park where they do indeed enjoy a moonlit skate with their cabdriver,
Sylvester (James Gleason); whose own faith in humanity is restored shortly
thereafter.
Returning home
much later, Julia incurs Henry’s impatience and the mood between husband and
wife sours. Henry re-channels his jealous toward Dudley, ordering him from the
rectory. Dudley obliges, but playfully warns Henry that he will be back. The
following afternoon Dudley makes good on this promise, engaging Debbie in the
story of Daniel and the lion – beautifully retold with wide-eyed simplicity to
appeal to the child in all of us. Rewriting Henry’s Christmas blessing after
having dismissed his secretary, Mildred Cassaway (Sarah Haden), Dudley arrives
at the widow Hamilton's stately manor under the pretext of having come on a
matter for the church.
Instead he
plays a composition by the late Allen Cartwright - the only man Mrs. Hamilton
ever loved but ultimately the lover she cast aside for the security that her
late husband's money could afford. It is implied that this wounding of their
mutual affections resulted in Cartwright’s premature death – a burden Mrs.
Hamilton has carried close to her heart ever since. Hearing the composition played
on the harp in her living room, the widow Hamilton is stirred to kindness; the
experience ultimately softening her resolve towards the bishop. Thus, when
Henry and Julia arrive much later that same evening to finalize plans for the
cathedral, they learn that Mrs. Hamilton has decided instead to disseminate her
worldly funds to the poor and the needy as they require it.
Bitter that
his cathedral shall never rise, Henry returns home more distraught than ever.
Dudley makes his most obvious play for Julia, a move that utterly convinces her
she loves her husband more than ever. In response to making her cry, Henry
challenges Dudley to an earthly conflict, one narrowly averted when Dudley reasons
that he has made Henry aware of the wellspring of his own affections toward
Julia at long last. Removing himself from the family’s home once and for all, Dudley
also erases his memory from the Brougham’s minds and hearts. They have forgotten
this strange ethereal man who has resurrected their passion for one another,
but moreover blessed them with the true spirit of Christmas. As Henry delivers
Dudley’s sermon from St. Timothy’s pulpit – oddly enough believing it to be his
own – we see Dudley quietly observing his own words repeated to him from just
beyond the church’s front gate, the angel left to wander the darkness after
having left behind so much otherworldly light.
The Bishop’s Wife was independent producer Samuel
Goldwyn’s personal production; an elegant holiday tale that ultimately
developed into so much more. Hugo Friedhofer’s inspired score elevates the
gentle unassuming romantic elements while keeping the comedic undertones in
balance with the ever so slightly moody undercurrents in the story. In the embodiment
of Cary Grant, there is more than just a genuine sense of unearthly presence.
Veering between naughtiness infused with a saintly veneer, Grant is believable
as the angel with a personal agenda. Indeed, the Cary Grant persona – usually
referenced as the urbane sophisticate - herein suggests something slightly more
dangerous yet utterly more appealing; an immediacy to the man that dispels the
cliché iconography of what we perceive to be an ‘angel’. And Grant repeatedly,
and perhaps even deliberately, relishes testing these limitations without
becoming a detriment to the character.
The film is
equally blessed by its two supporting stars: David Niven and Loretta Young.
Young embraces a high morality and proud ideals of the devoted wife and mother
without becoming preachy, saintly or wistfully lost in the purity of the part.
Julia Brougham may be the bishop’s wife, but she has a mind and a stubborn will
of her own – exercised and tested by Dudley’s more spurious intensions toward
her. And it is to Young’s credit that she manages a contented, almost regal
kindness throughout the film that never sinks her part into the treacle of rank
sentiment. As for David Niven: in a role that might have reduced him to mere
caricature – a dupe for the comedy – the actor instead manages to evoke a more
intimate sadness. We feel for Henry Brougham, even as he seems incapable of
seeing the error of his ways. That intangible empathy is impossible to quantify
but pure gold to behold. And in the final act it remains a majestic epitaph delivered
with poetic, yet understated grace that lives on long after the houselights
have come up.
"Tonight I want to tell you the story of an empty
stocking. Once upon a midnight clear, there was a child's cry, a blazing star
hung over a stable, and wise men came with birthday gifts. We haven't forgotten
that night down the centuries. We celebrate it with stars on Christmas trees,
with the sound of bells, and with gifts. But especially with gifts. You give me
a book, I give you a tie. Aunt Martha has always wanted an orange squeezer and
Uncle Henry can do with a new pipe. We forget nobody, adult or child. All the
stockings are filled, all that is, except one. And we have even forgotten to
hang it up. The stocking for the child born in a manger. It's his birthday
we're celebrating. Don't let us ever forget that. Let us ask ourselves what He
would wish for most. And then, let each put in his share, loving kindness, warm
hearts, and a stretched out hand of tolerance. All the shinning gifts that make
peace on earth."
MGM/Fox’s DVD
has re-released as a single after appearing in their Holiday Classics box last
year. Regardless of the version you acquire, you’ll be getting the same base
transfer with problematic mastering. Although the B&W image can be quite
sharp and detailed, there is an extensive amount of edge enhancement and
shimmering of fine details throughout the presentation that tends to distract.
It’s a genuine shame we couldn’t have had better luck with this title. As WB as
since managed to acquire the Samuel Goldwyn catalogue from MGM/Fox one may hope
that a future Blu-ray is in the works. We’ll keep our fingers crossed.
On the whole the
gray scale is solidly rendered, although several sequences look as though
contrast levels have been artificially boosted. Age related artifacts are present
but not pronounced. The audio is another curiosity; ‘remastered’ by Chace Audio
into a rechanneled pseudo-stereo with inherent limitations in the original mono
stems. Regrettably, there are NO extras.
FILM
RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
4.5
VIDEO/AUDIO
2.5
EXTRAS
0
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