THE HEIRESS: Blu-ray (Paramount, 1949) Criterion
If Olivia de
Havilland had not had a sister, this review of William Wyler’s The Heiress (1949) might have begun quite
differently. But de Havilland’s life-long battle royale with her younger sibling,
Joan Fontaine, has cast its legendary pall over just about everything either
actress ever achieved in the movies. And achievers, they both were in spades.
Fontaine beat de Havilland to the Oscar podium for 1941’s Suspicion (in hindsight, an inferior performance to the one she
gave in Hitchcock’s first American masterpiece, Rebecca, 1940). This, perhaps, is only one reason to have stirred
the sisters’ mutual and chronically animosity. Catty, contemptible, contentious
and caustic to a fault, Fontaine (who took her stepfather’s last name to
distinguish herself from Olivia’s already well-established legacy at Warner
Bros.) would rather scathingly write in her memoir of suffering a sister’s
physical abuse as children, and a more wicked psychological revenge as the two ‘matured’
into adulthood and went on to independently lead very productive lives, pursuing
the same career path and, with frequency, bumping to each other at Hollywood’s
fashionable soirees and, of course, the occasional Oscar telecast. Hitchcock rather
infamously mused – with his usual modicum of amusing malice – he would have
relished the opportunity to cast these brawling belles together in a picture, but
without telling either of the other’s inclusion, setting up a master shot in
which one would appear on set first, only to discover the other emerging from
the wings; the indignation, shock and disgust captured on celluloid for all to
see. Yummy, sinful, salacious and…oh,
right – it never happened.
In later years,
Fontaine, who died in 2013, age 96, attempted to remedy and quell the rumors
that she and de Havilland were life-long enemies, claiming the press had been
wholly responsible for crafting tales of their mean-spirited acrimony, merely
to sell copy. But there was, in fact, enough public mud-slinging between the
two to do more than suggest they could have easily done without one another – and did – for long stretches in their
respective lives and careers. Famously, the sisters were seated at opposite ends
of the proscenium for a ‘group’ photo of past winners at 1979’s Oscar telecast;
the producers, perhaps, weary of replicating another incident as in 1947 when
de Havilland, having at last won the statuette for To Each His Own (1946), turned away from Fontaine backstage, who
was approaching to congratulate her. So,
what precisely fueled this legendary family feud? Did it really all boil down
to 1942, when Fontaine took home Oscar’s little gold/bald guy ahead of de
Havilland - also nominated for Hold Back the Dawn (and previously nominated as
Best Supporting Actress in Gone with the
Wind, 1939)? Or was Fontaine, engaged to actor Brian Adherne, supposedly propositioned
by Howard Hughes to forsake her engagement and marry him instead? Aside: Hughes
was de Havilland’s boyfriend at the time this alleged declaration of love for
the ‘other sister’ occurred.
Too many
variables, a lot of cluttered up innuendo, rumor and pure conjecture have
muddied the waters in the intervening years. And while de Havilland has offered
a postmortem reassessment of the split, trying to set the record straight once
and for all, it is likely we will never know for sure why certain siblings
click, and others simply choose to take an immediate dislike to one another,
resulting in years of grave and mutually detrimental unhappiness for all
concerned. Are we seeing any
parallels yet between this ruthless squabble and 1949’s The Heiress? “A feud implies continuing hostile…” de
Havilland suggested in an interview to mark her 100th birthday in
2016, “I cannot think of a single
instance wherein I initiated hostile behavior…but I can think of many occasions
where my reaction to deliberately inconsiderate behavior was defensive.” Still
blaming ‘the other one’. So much for burying the hatchet. And so much worse for
the grudge that seems to have transcended even beyond the grave. Olivia de Havilland
who, at present, is still very much with us – and with it – continues to live resplendently
in Paris, her home for the last 50+ years.
It should also
be noted that without de Havilland’s steely resolve, and her victory in a
landmark legal ruling in 1943 (appropriately titled, ‘the de Havilland law’),
today’s stars would be enjoying far less artistic freedom in Hollywood. The
actress famously took her alma mater, Warner Bros. to court after studio mogul,
Jack L. Warner sought to punish her for having the chutzpah to go ‘over his head’ and appeal to his wife for
a loan out to make Gone with the Wind
for indie producer, David O. Selznick. Jack let de Havilland do the movie; then,
relegated her to third-string support in inferior pictures, presumably to
stall, if not entirely derail her future career prospects – just to prove the
point of who was boss. It takes a lot of
guts to start a war with a mogul, more so when contracts of their day were so
ironclad, to even contest the parameters was to court absolute disaster. In de
Havilland’s case, however, the stance was not only well-timed but also
well-received. It provided the springboard of opportunity for her to loosen the
yolk and, in time, un-tether herself entirely as a much sought-after
freelancer.
De Havilland’s
alliance with Paramount was fortuitous. Indeed, she would go on to win both her
Best Actress Oscars in Paramount movies: the latter, for The Heiress; director, William Wyler’s re-envisioning of Henry
James’ classic novel, Washington Square.
Ruth and Augustus Goetz, the
husband/wife writing team behind a successful Broadway adaptation in 1947 –
also entitled ‘The Heiress’ were called in to rework their material for the
screen. In some ways, theirs is the weakest contribution, as much of their
stagecraft is retained and the situations, while adhering to James’ novel, are never
entirely opened up for the greater demands of the movie screen. To his credit,
Wyler keeps the drama and the action very contained, and provides a showcase
for some gorgeous interiors, conceived in Harry Horner, with Horner and John
Meehan also contributing to the movie’s art direction, and Emile Kuri, adding immensely
to the bric-a-brac set decoration; all of it magnificently lit and photographed
by cinematographer, Leo Tover. The Heiress was given an A-list cast,
front-lined by de Havilland, rising star, Montgomery Clift, and accomplished
British stage thespian, Ralph Richardson. Behind the scenes, the crew was as
distinguished, with Paramount’s maven of fashion, Edith Head designing some dazzling
costumes, and Aaron Copland, composing the score. In spite of all these assets,
the picture’s success rests squarely on de Havilland’s slender shoulders and
her ability – in spite of being a handsome woman – to toggle back the glam and
play mousy insecurity to the hilt. And this, she does most convincingly, achieving
a sort of pathetic awkwardness that would make any potential suitor do a double
take before running the other way.
The Heiress is not an easy film to digest as it seems most often
to rein in what would later come to be known as ‘the Wyler touch’ – translating into an inimitable screen intimacy.
This is not a fault, either of Wyler’s direction, nor in the writing, nor even
in the acting, especially de Havilland’s brilliant central performance. If
anything, the picture presents too many double-edged conflicts. These remain ambiguous
and unresolved before the final fade to black. For example, is Catherine’s (de
Havilland) father, the respected physician, Dr. Austin Sloper (Ralph
Richardson) acting out of paternal altruism when he deliberately sets about to
plant the seeds of doubt in his daughter’s mind, thus wrecking her one chance
at happiness, because he genuinely believes the penniless, though no less
dashing, Morris Townsend (Montgomery Clift) is after Catherine, only for her
inheritance, or is he, in fact, still holding the girl an emotional cripple and
hostage, responsible for her mother’s death in child birth? Is Morris an
enterprising social climber pursuing Cate for her cash, or does he genuinely
admire and respect her because she is decidedly not like the other girls and
therefore refreshingly suited to his own desires to remain relatively anonymous
in a society where everyone knows each other’s business? And finally, does
Catherine truly make the right decision when, after her father’s death, she
forsakes what is likely her one opportunity for romantic passion, leaving her
suitor desperately to cry out her name in the dark beyond a locked door?
James’ novel was
quite clear on several points: first, that Catherine’s naiveté, also her
fragile need to be loved, had impugned her good sense to see through Townsend’s
ruthless fortune hunting. So too, did
the book clarify how Sloper blamed Cate for his beloved wife’s death and thereafter
cruelly set about to humiliate the offspring he perceived as having stolen his wife
from him. In transplanting the text from novel to stage, and finally screen, these
certainties have been deliberately made unclear to keep the audience guessing
and thus instill a modicum of empathy, not only for Catherine’s plight, but as
much for her cast-off suitor, whom we genuinely sense is the only man who might
have accepted this plain-Jane as she is and therefore loved her – with
reprisals – albeit, for the money…though perhaps, not just. After seeing The Heiress on Broadway, de Havilland
approached Wyler with her passion to play it, and for his involvement to
direct. Wyler agreed and proposed to Paramount an outright rights purchase for
$250,000 with an additional stipend of $10,000 per week to the Goetz’s to rework
their stagecraft into a screenplay. The one major alteration to both James’
novel and the play is in Townsend’s character – the undeniable villain in both,
but herein, an equivocal – and even somewhat victimized – paramour, whose flawed
ambitions remain unfulfilled.
While de
Havilland’s performance remains the tour de force, herein, we are as drawn to
empathize with Monty Clift’s shallow young man for several reasons; first,
because it was the express wish of Paramount’s executive brain trust that their
‘hot’ and rising star not be depicted as a wicked usurper of a green girl’s
affections. But also, in Clift’s performance, at least in hindsight, reveals
much of the actor’s own insecurities as a closeted homosexual in an era when
gay love was not only taboo, but could easily spell the kiss of death for
burgeoning career opportunities as the sexy leading man. Prior to his hellish
auto wreck in 1956, Clift’s fine-boned masculinity cleverly served as an
elegant mask to ward off outside suspicions as to which side his bread was
buttered, and also, to keep his inner insecurities in check. Point blank: he
could pass for straight and studly. Even so, in The Heiress Clift exposes, for the first and only time prior to
suffering the loss of his male beauty, too much of himself – the camera, unable
to conceal his tender fragility. Despite being drop-dead gorgeous, there is an
uncommon underlay of sensitivity that suggests…well. Ironically, this adds yet
another subversive layer to the character’s texturing and helps to augment our
understanding of why Morris Townsend, who is unquestionably desirable to any
woman with a pair of eyes, willing to throw herself at his head, is instead drawn
to the only girl likely to shy away from his advances.
Upon its
release, The Heiress was unanimously
praised and afforded 4 Academy Awards (Costume, Score, Art Direction and
Actress). Today, its tender agony remains brutally alive and painfully observed.
Wyler amplifies James’ overwhelming sense of all-around tragedy, while augmenting
it with his own brand of spellbinding compassion for truly lost opportunities.
This translates into a bittersweet and haunting chef-d'oeuvre, fraught with raw,
adult emotions. Enduring duplicity twice; first, as the transparently unloved,
even by her own father; then, possibly by the one man who might have shown her –
if not genuine passion – then, most assuredly, respect and allegiance - Wyler and de Havilland’s re-imagining of Catherine
Sloper is one of the outstandingly perverse and mesmerizing creations of a
truly tragic heroine ever conceived for the movies. Denied happiness for so
long, particularly in the blossom of youth when she craved it most, Cate can seemingly
do without it now; even the canard of it, making her ill, bitter and entrenched
to a life inaccessible for the rest of her days. There is, after all, some
strength, aberrantly derived from disinheriting a lover of that which he would
most have desired. And in the penultimate moments of The Heiress, de Havilland’s plush wallflower chooses a sort of
cruel ‘cleverness’ over ‘kindness’ – a painstaking and calculated decision to adopt
her late father’s heartlessness for her own and pay it forward to the one man
who may or may not actually deserve it.
The Heiress begins with our introduction to Catherine Sloper, a
plain and painfully naïve woman who, having entered the age for marriage, has
nevertheless and thus far found no potential prospects to achieve this one
vocation for which her times and sex are suited. Cate’s father, New York
physician Austin Sloper cannot conceal his epic disappointment in her and callously
holds Cate accountable for the demise of his beloved, charming, accomplished
and beautiful wife who died in childbirth, only to produce this odd and
unalluring offspring. In spite of his obvious malice, Catherine is nevertheless
utterly, and rather slavishly devoted to her father. To fill up her leisure, she
indulges in quiet pursuits, such as embroidery, and rarely ventures beyond her
home to interact with ‘polite society’. Sensing
that a woman’s touch would benefit the girl, Cate’s extroverted Aunt Lavinia
Penniman (Miriam Hopkins) moves into the household after becoming widowed. She
works on Cate’s social skills, determined to find her a suitable husband. When Cate
meets Morris Townsend at a ball, she is immediately swept up in the attentions
he lavishes upon her. Through Townsend’s
patient affections, Catherine comes to realize her self-worth, perhaps for the
first time.
Having fallen
madly in love, Catherine makes her own plans to marry. After all, she is of age and will receive
$10,000 a year from her late mother's estate, with an additional $20,000 per annum
upon her father’s passing. However, Dr. Sloper remains unconvinced of Townsend’s
truest intentions. After all, he is amiable and attractive. But he also has a past, having squandered his
own inheritance and since become something of a penniless idler, perhaps lying
in wait of an unsuspecting young woman to ensnare. What could he possibly want
of Catherine, - except her sizable income? Regardless of his motives, Lavinia favors
the match. Townsend is gentle with
Catherine – a poor substitute for passion.
However, never having the latter, and likely never to know it, Catherine
should be contented with what is being offered.
Besides, Townsend is mostly honest in spite of his monetary motivations.
A frank discussion with his impoverished sister leads Dr. Sloper to inform the
young couple they shall not marry – as yet – not before he drags the wounded
and gullible Catherine off to Europe for an extended holiday in the hopes that her
‘commitment’ to Townsend will not endure this lengthy separation.
Time passes.
However, it does not diminish Catherine’s stubborn resolve to wed Townsend upon
their return to New York. So, Dr. Sloper now threatens to disinherit his
daughter. A bitter argument ensues in which Cate, at long last discovers the breadth
of her father’s contempt for her. Miserable
and wounded by this revelation Cate plans, with Lavinia’s complicity, to elope
with Townsend under the cover of night. Alas, herein, she makes a calculated
error in judgment by confessing to her lover, plans to distance herself from
her father, since he obviously has no parental affection towards her, and, will
surely cut off her allowance upon discovering she has gone from his house. Naïvely,
Cate has assumed Townsend’s intentions are honorable. He loves her – not her
money. Hurriedly, she packs for the rendezvous, waiting all night for her
gallant Lochinvar to step in, step up, and, rescue her. Mercilessly, Townsend
does not follow up on this promise. Humiliated, Cate drags her luggage back to
her room and tearfully puts her belongings away. Bitterly, she resolves to
remain in her father’s house and care for him after he becomes ill. Rather
ruthlessly, however, she taunts Sloper in his distress with feigned overtures
of her enduring love for Townsend, tempting Sloper to change his Will if he is
so fearful, she will squander all of his hard-earned monies after he is gone.
Perhaps to his credit, Sloper does not alter the terms of his testament, but
rather fretfully leaves everything to Catherine. Even so, Cate maliciously refuses
to attend her father on his death bed. Sloper passes into the next life, knowing
the seeds of cruelty he fostered throughout her youth have infected Catherine’s
chances to ever find genuine happiness.
Time passes
again. Townsend resurfaces. Apparently, after spending some time in California,
he has still managed to make nothing of himself and is poorer with even fewer
prospects for a suitable marriage. Appealing to Aunt Lavinia, Townsend is
granted an audience with his former lover. To his astonishment, he finds
Catherine as yet unmarried. Surely the prospects of a monied union has not been
lost on other enterprising Lotharios in his absence. Despite his abandonment
some years before, Cate still finds something in Townsend that is genuinely
appealing. If anything, absence has, indeed, made his heart grow fonder of her.
Or is it only her money? Again, Cate contemplates what is involved in welcoming
Townsend back into her life. He
professes to have left her behind because he could not bear to see her
destitute. Now, Townsend re-proclaims his great love. Lavinia could not be more
pleased. This is Catherine’s last chance.
And thus, Cate appears to throw caution to the wind, imploring her one-time
lover to recreate their previously failed plans for elopement. She imparts a
gift of ruby buttons secretly bought for him while she was with her father in
Paris so long ago. Believing he has conquered her heart; Townsend rushes off to
procure a carriage for their getaway. However,
when he does return hours later and rings the bell, Catherine instead calmly instructs
her maid to bolt the front door, leaving Townsend outside to shout her name. Shocked
by her niece’s bewildering malice, Lavinia asks how Cate can be so cruel. “I have been taught by masters,” she
coldly replies before ascending the stairs to retire for the night, leaving
Townsend with no consideration she will ever accept him back into her heart.
The Heiress is a potent, often raw glimpse into the human heart’s
capacity for festering darkness, or rather – turning on an emotional ravaging,
done by a pitiless and manipulative parent, corrosive to an impressionable
young girl until her thoughts and deeds are reshaped into the worst of
gargoyles. Is Catherine’s revenge on Townsend justified? Perhaps, though it
remains neither apropos nor even a personal victory for the character, even if
it is no less mightily dreadful and alarming. For Catherine, whether she realizes it or not,
has in essence – if not yet entirely in action – taken the first step to become
her father’s daughter; a persona, she arguably swore never to adopt after learning
just how little he thought of her. And de Havilland plays this blackening of a
tender soul with all the conniving/terrifying doggedness to inflict as much
pain on Townsend as she herself has presumably felt under Austin Sloper’s
autocratic manipulation of her impressionable childhood and wavering youth. Even
if Townsend has left her jilted and waiting. Even if he is primarily after her inheritance.
Along the way, he has shown great
kindness, compassion, and yes, even ‘love’ of a kind. However impure in its
motives, outwardly, Townsend afforded Catherine a certain level of dignity,
respect and tenderness she never experienced before (certainly, not from the
one man who ought to have shared as much – her father) – and likely, is never
to experience again. Did Townsend really deserve to be left yowling, dejected
and distraught in the night?
Henry James based
Washington Square on a real-life
incident, wherein an acquaintance of the author wed a wealthy, but otherwise
unprepossessing woman, expressly to live resplendently off her fortune. Both
James’ novella and the Goetz’s play amplify these terrible circumstances by
which ambition is turned to chalk; the play – and William Wyler’s movie,
providing an even more ascetically striking and perfected vison of these
derailed desires and their monumentally destructive aftermath. Olivia de
Havilland’s bone-chilling depiction of an impressionable spinster, twice
betrayed by the men in her life and brought to identify - even best – their
mercenary intentions, is as tragic as it proves disconcerting. Ironically, Montgomery
Clift’s enterprising fortune-hunter and Ralph Richardson’s unrepentantly vial patriarch,
despite being at cross purposes, nevertheless conspire in their remarkable aim to
shell a young girl’s joy down to bedrock. Their success is bittersweet as it is
achieved to their own ever-lasting detriment. And while Wyler’s movie today is
not as well known outside of the ardent film fan, receiving far less replay on
TV in the intervening decades, The Heiress
remains a truly unforgettable and very catastrophic masterpiece. Movies this
good deserve more exposure than they are getting!
The long overdue
debut of The Heiress in hi-def has,
arguably, been well worth the wait as Criterion’s newly restored 4K digital remaster,
on standard Blu-ray, is a revelation. The B&W image exhibits startling
clarity, exceptional depth, gorgeous black levels and exquisite contrast,
revealing finite details throughout that shows off Leo Tover’s cinematography
to its best effect. This is a very
film-like presentation with a modicum of film grain looking indigenous to its
source. Universal Home Video, the custodians of Paramount’s pre-1950’s catalog,
have gone back to the drawing board on this one and completely eradicated
age-related dirt, scratches and other anomalies for a creamy smooth
presentation. The PCM mono audio offer impeccable clarity, with Aaron Copland’s
score sounding absolutely fantastic. Criterion adds some memorable supplements:
a 23-minute conversation between screenwriter, Jay Cocks and film critic,
Farran Smith Nehme; 15-minutes devoted to Edith Head’s contributions, hosted by
costume collector and historian, Larry McQueen, plus the 9-minute ‘The Costume Designer’, made in 1950,
starring Edith Head. We also get Olivia de Havilland’s 1986 appearance on The Paul Ryan Show, a comprehensive ‘interview’.
Capping off the goodies is a 16-minute excerpt from 1973’s The Merv Griffin Show with Wyler sharing the spotlight with co-stars,
de Havilland, Bette Davis and Walter Pidgeon as welcomed additions to the
conversation. We also get Wyler’s
acceptance speech from the American Film Institute’s 1976 salute to him, and,
brief praise from Ralph Richardson, shot for a 1981 documentary on Wyler’s life
and career. Last but not least, a very badly worn trailer and liner notes from
critic, Pamela Hutchinson. Bottom line: The
Heiress is required viewing. This Blu-ray is the way to go. Buy today.
Treasure forever. Very highly recommended!
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
5
VIDEO/AUDIO
5+
EXTRAS
4.5
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