JEZEBEL: Blu-ray (Warner Bros. 1938) Warner Archive

In retrospect, William Wyler’s Jezebel (1938) marked the beginning of a real turning point in Bette Davis’ Warner Bros. career. For certain, Davis had kicked around – and had been kicked around – the back lots of Universal and Warner’s for most of the decade; a bright young thing with a lot of promise and guts, mercilessly made over in the ‘blonde dolly’ mold of another up-and-coming Jean Harlow; alas, put into some truly atrocious B-pictures of such questionable merit, they served no real purpose – not even to glimpse the powerhouse Davis would eventually become in the forties. Davis emergence as a ‘star’ to be reckoned with did not happen overnight. Nor did success come easily. Indeed, Davis, frustrated and angry, defied Jack Warner by stepping outside the boundaries of her ironclad studio contract, was blacklisted by Jack, not to win the Oscar for her scathing portrait of Mildred Rogers – a common whore in Of Human Bondage (1934), but was then given the opportunity to play a similar bitch in heels for Jack in Dangerous (1935, an inferior pic that did win her the coveted Academy Award. Who said the Oscars weren’t political?).

The more unlikely fallout from this bitter split and reunion was that Davis was given a level of control over her subsequent projects that, even by today’s standards, is fairly progressive. Reset: Jack Warner was not a progressive. Some of his detractors would argue that he was not even human - much less humane. Neither was he particularly interested in allowing Davis to have her own way. But Jack had ulterior motives in affording Davis some latitude; certain, she would make an epic creative misfire of her newfound freedom, resulting in a bad movie that would (A) end her popularity with fans, and (B) convince Davis that he knew best. Too bad for Jack, Davis knew better than he. So, Warner would regret his decision – marginally, reaping the box office benefits but otherwise playing to Davis’ uncanny intuition in knowing what material suited her best. Davis and Warner fought like cats and dogs throughout most of her studio tenure; Jack, rumored to duck into the men’s lav whenever he saw Davis approaching, just to avoid another confrontation. “Although he respected me in the end,” Davis later mused in an interview, “…at least…I think he did.”

In hindsight, putting Davis in the proverbial ‘driver’s seat’ of her own career did Jack no favors behind the scenes. It also did his studio no harm. Indeed, Davis made Warner Bros. a lot of money. And the true kick start to Bette Davis’ renaissance was unquestionably, Jezebel – the grand concession made to her after Jack’s sweetheart’s pitch to David O. Selznick for the loan out of both Errol Flynn and Davis to co-star in Selznick’s Gone with the Wind miserably failed to garner the indie producer’s interest. It should be noted Jack’s offer came with a generous cash stipend too. So, Selznick’s resistance to it was even more transparently predicated on his dislike of Davis, who had campaigned aggressively for the part of Scarlett O’Hara, and, with such a fervor that Selznick eventually relented to see the actress in his office. “I just don’t understand why I can’t have the part,” Davis is rumored to have said, to which Selznick coolly replied, “…because I just can’t imagine any man chasing after a woman for twenty years and winding up with you!” Typical Selznick – all heart. And Bette Davis, to be sure, was not conventional beauty. In point of fact, neither was Scarlett O’Hara, at least as described by Margaret Mitchell in the novel. Davis was, however, a superb actress. And with no aspersions cast on Vivien Leigh – who became the embodiment of Hollywood’s idea of Scarlett O’Hara in Selznick’s Southern spectacle, what Gone with the Wind might have been with Bette Davis as its star is a fascinating contemplation. Spurned from ‘the wind’, Jack Warner had the answer to Davis’ bitter woe – also, the chutzpah to beat Selznick to the punch with his own Southern dance; buying up Owen Davis’ play, Jezebel, with Davis’ rival, Miriam Hopkins, playing the salacious and passion-driven spitfire.  

To say Bette Davis gave everything she had to the big screen reincarnation of Julie Marsden (Julie Kendrick in the play) is an understatement.  Apart from her startling transformation into the sort of coquettish southern belle that Scarlett O’Hara (at least in the early parts of Gone with the Wind) would typify one year later, Davis’ smoldering contempt for authority on the Warner back lot perfectly translates into a willful defiance of the societal conventions that fueled Julie’s tragic romance with barrister, Preston Dillard (Henry Fonda). It is the malignancy in Davis’s self-serving, yet self-destructive characterization, the ego-driven malice with which her Julie deliberately casts aside happiness, along with all cautious restraint, that makes this Julie an utterly fascinating horror of a human being to behold. Davis exudes a sort of toxic sex appeal – a real noir-like femme fatale, miraculously transplanted into the land of cavaliers and cotton fields. It must have irked Davis’ frequent co-star, George Brent (cast as Buck Cantrell, Preston’s rival for Julie’s affections) to know that by the time Jezebel went before the cameras, Davis had moved on to a rather notorious love affair with director, William Wyler.  

While Davis was ‘between’ marriages at the time of their tryst, Wyler was – decidedly – wed to his second wife, Margaret Tallichet (to whom he would remain married for the rest of his life). In her biography, Davis infamously described Wyler as ‘the one that got away’; their on again/off again flagrante delicto, continuing through two more pictures together; 1940’s The Letter, and 1941’s The Little Foxes (an exceptional movie, but an otherwise terrible ‘working’ experience for them both). Evidently, by the mid-1970’s all of this pent-up acrimony abated and Davis, with clear-eyed fond recollection for those early years in both their careers, publicly cited Wyler as the finest director for whom she had ever worked. The proof is in the pictures; Wyler’s seemingly effortless light touch, the result of a lot of sternly situated dictation that often resulted in hurt feelings and endless retakes to get everything just right.  “I can honestly say that he trained me to be a far, far better actress,” Davis told Merv Griffin in 1972, “I would have jumped in the Hudson River if he had told me to…he really started the whole basic ‘star’ part of my career. One felt very secure with Willy.”  

At its crux, Jezebel is the tale of a woman who must bend, but refuses to break under the most hellish of circumstances. Julie’s defiance of convention in wearing an ostentatious red gown to the Olympus Ball, publicly humiliates her family and beau. It all but ostracizes her from descent society, and, cruelly derails her romantic ambitions to become Pres’ wife. Later, with the advent of Pres’ marriage to Amy Bradford (Margaret Lindsay), Julie’s tailspin into jealousy pits the unwitting Buck against Pres’ younger brother in a duel. And finally, as she defies all common sense, taking Amy’s place to nurse an ailing Pres’, stricken with yellow fever, being carted off to her own certain death, we witness Julie’s grave sacrifice. And yet, ostensibly, she has not matured one bit from that first instance when we witness her plotting, in all her laced finery, to wear the proverbial ‘pants’ in their relationship – and this, at a time when only pantaloons were allowed! Now, in death, Julie claims the man of her heart – or some such appendage – as her rightful property – all magnanimity set aside as she descends into hell on earth from which neither will return.

Jezebel is an excoriating story about feminine ferocity with Davis typifying to perfection this dangerous ‘hell cat’. Davis exudes a sort of malevolent treachery against any shred of what ‘then’ passed for common decency. And yet, she does so with an underlying, purposeful and deep-seeded need to belong to someone. Only in the picture’s middle act does Davis allow Julie’s tiara to slip just a little, as she succumbs to an all-consuming depression, though not necessarily repenting for her sins. Julie Marsden is like the thief – not particularly sorrowful she stole, but bitterly disappointed she was caught. Her recalcitrance brought to heel in Pres’ absence, Julie’s reunion with Pres’ – only to learn of his marriage to Amy – is the final rejection that turns these psychological scars septic and triggers the repeal of her promised reformation to the deceptive and cruel scheming of her old ways. A tag line from the mid-forties claimed ‘no one is as good as Bette Davis when she is being bad.’  And yet Jezebel, apart from typifying the thirties’ ilk in woman’s pictures to a tee, especially with Wyler’s alteration to the play’s original ending, steeped in that cinema-coded philosophy that aimed for any woman of strong will and sound mind be made to pay for stepping outside the boundaries of ‘her place’ in society, is, in fact, the quintessential template for Bette Davis to emerge at her most ruthless, purposive and unyielding. Julie sacrifices her life to endure the perils of the plague with Pres’ in the end – yes. But does she do this out of her obsessive love for the man, or to get back even at he who snubbed her by marrying another? Or is it spite, for Amy? Or Pres’ – to prove, even in his delirium, that he wed the wrong woman – one who now, in his true hour of need, allows ‘the other woman’ to look after the man she promised to stand by in sickness and in health?  Wyler was, in fact, criticized at the time for altering the ending of the movie. In the play, Julie does not accompany Pres’ to this awful destination. And there is no retribution for Julie either. She simply goes on.        

Plot wise: we are transplanted to New Orleans, circa 1852 (or, a reasonable facsimile on the Warner back lot; actually, an exquisite one, designed by Robert M. Haas, with Orry-Kelly’s superb costumed recreations of the antebellum South, luminously photographed through gauze in B&W by the great Ernest Haller). We are introduced to the overindulged and strong-willed plantation flower, Julie Marsden – a very rare breed, and, her genteel and introspective, Aunt Belle Massey (the wonderful Fay Bainter). Julie has prospects – yes, indeed. Preston Dillard, a prominent and rising attorney at law has been courting the country gal for some time, much to the chagrin of Buck Cantrell – by no means ‘a gentleman’ but otherwise, steadfast in his lust for Julie. While she does not promote his advances, in point of fact, Julie finds Buck’s constant presence flattering. Dr. Livingston (the always to be counted up stalwart, Donald Crisp) admires Pres’. The young lawyer is precisely the ‘steady rock’ a girl like Julie, with a wild streak, needs to rein in her high spirits and be transformed into a lady of stature. Pres’ brother, Ted (Richard Cromwell) is not particularly ‘for’ the marriage. Urged by the town council, including Gen. Theopholus Bogardus (Henry O’Neill) to consider a life in politics, Pres’ is flattered but not entirely certain he wants to pursue such an appointment.

Julie arrives at Pres’ offices to discover him pleasantly ensconced with pressing matters. He will make a fine husband, even if Buck believes their love-making to fall short of the sort of ‘distractions’ he could provide for Julie, if only she would allow him ‘the honor’ of her company. Julie insists Pres’ accompany her to various dress makers for a suitable gown for the Olympus Ball – a debutante’s ‘coming out’ party, at which time their engagement will be officially announced. Pres’ however, refuses to go. He has a will of his own, not to be a cuckold to any woman or even cajoled into shirking his responsibilities. Determined to avenge this snub, Julie takes Aunt Belle shopping with her instead. However, after trying on several virginal white ensembles, Julie’s attentions are drawn to a scarlet gown. Aunt Belle cautions Julie for her headstrong resolve to wear ‘red’ – the color for ‘whores’ – in lieu of the societal-prescribed ‘white’ – the proper hue for all unmarried girls preparing to be given away in holy matrimony. Shunning all convention with her usual devil-may-care attitude, Julie buys the scarlet dress anyway and prepares for the ball. However, when Pres’ arrives to collect Julie, he orders her to change clothes. She refuses. To prove his point, Pres’ takes Julie to the ball in her red gown, immediately shocking the other debutantes, and virtually alienating all of their friends in an instance. Having suddenly come to her senses, and recognizing the magnitude of her blunder, Julie pleads with Pres’ to take her home. Instead, he caps off her humiliation by insisting on a dance, escorting her around the floor, even ordering the orchestra to play on after they have momentarily paused at the behest of one of the ball’s sponsors, purposely to make both his point and Julie’s shame complete.

Returning to the plantation, Pres’ implicitly breaks off his engagement to Julie.  She has proven unequivocally not to be the right girl for him. It is a matter of honor and tradition – concepts that, apparently, mean nothing to her, and worse, have disrespected his station, simply to spite him on a childish whim. Believing Pres’ is bluffing, Julie arrogantly slaps his face. He departs, more determined than ever to be rid of her. Knowing better, a teary-eyed Aunt Belle urges Julie to beg for Pres’ forgiveness. But Julie, still thinks her charm will lure Pres’ back, and absolutely refuses to bend for him now. Within days of the ball, Pres’ has made a momentous decision; to move north on business. He departs New Orleans and Julie, only now begun to realize the severity of her actions, falls into a deep depression. She shudders the plantation and refuses to entertain what few guests come to inquire about her health. A whole year passes.  At the behest of Dr. Livingston, Pres’ agrees to come home to New Orleans to convince the city’s council certain sanitation measures must be taken to prevent an outbreak of yellow fever. Learning of his return, Julie reopens the house with grand plans for a lavish homecoming, wearing her very best ‘white’ party dress, and quite certain she and Pres’ will, at long last, reconcile their differences and be reunited. Isolating Pres’ in her salon before the party, she kneels before him, begs his forgiveness, and, promises to be the sort of wife he has always expected.

Unhappy circumstance, Pres’ now introduces Julie to his new bride, the cultured northerner, Amy Bradford Dillard. Innocent of their past, Amy is pleased to meet Julie at long last. Julie feigns a reciprocation of their joy and best wishes, but later retreats to her room in tears. Aunt Belle reasons there was a woman in Biblical times – Jezebel – who did wrong in the sight of God and had to pay for her sins too. Regrouping, but bitterly dismayed, Julie reverts to her former difficult self, goading Buck, a skilled duelist, to pick a quarrel with Pres’. Alas, her scheme goes awry when Ted, an inexperienced marksman, accepts the challenge on his brother’s behalf. The men meet on an open field beyond the plantation. However, in a gracious whim of fate, Ted actually shoots and kills Buck. There is little time to digest the loss, as what Dr. Livingstone has feared all along has come to pass. A deadly outbreak of yellow fever is sweeping through the South, decimating families with its lethal disease. As New Orleans is gripped by the plague, the men gather inside the hotel bar to debate the city’s evacuation.  Pres’ succumbs to the first signs of yellow fever, collapsing on the floor. While all others, even Ted, refuse to come to his aid, Dr. Livingston rises to the occasion, carrying Pres’ over his shoulder and back to the house.  Julie attends her former lover, plying him with cold compresses. In his delirium, Pres’ mumbles an ode of love, and Amy believes he has never stopped loving Julie, despite having married her. As the hospital wagons arrive to collect Pres, doomed to die with the others on a nearby island in isolation, Julie begs Amy to be allowed to accompany him on this last length of his journey, knowing she too will likely contract yellow fever and die.  Only after Julie confides Pres’ no longer had any lingering affections for her, does Amy acquiesce to her act of redemption. The movie concludes with Julie staring off in the distance, clinging to Pres’ side in the back of a horse-drawn cart, surrounded by torch bearers.

Both artistically and financially, Jezebel achieved Jack Warner’s fondest ambitions as a top-flight entertainment; one that managed to catch the tail fires of Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind a whole year ahead of Selznick’s Herculean effort to bring that novel to the big screen. While controversy and calamity continued to swirl around Selznick’s pre-production, Jack’s southern melodrama was sashaying across movie screens all across the country and ringing registers loudly. Even if Selznick could not see the virtues in any man, much less Rhett Butler, chasing after a woman of such fiery disposition for nearly two hours, only to wind up with Bette Davis as his prize, the public and critics whole-heartedly disagreed with Selznick’s myopic view of Davis’ virtues as an actress. Jezebel was nominated for 5 Academy Awards, including Best Picture. It lost to Frank Capra’s You Can’t Take It With You. But Bette Davis was well compensated for the Scarlett snub, taking home Oscar’s little gold guy for Best Actress. Fay Bainter also had good reason to smile on Oscar night – winning Best Supporting Actress. That William Wyler was not even nominated for Best Director is an obscenity in Oscar lore – one of many, I might add. The list of bridesmaids in Academy history is long and distinguished; arguably, even more so than any comprehensive list of its winners. So, Wyler was in very good company indeed.  

Only a year earlier, Davis had stormed out of her Warner contract, departed for Europe - determined to make movies abroad to prove to Jack - and the world - she was more than just the glam-bam dolly they had tried so desperately to make of her. And while Davis may not have won this battle (the courts ruled in Jack’s favor), she most definitely won the war.  Beginning with Jezebel, better parts lay ahead in one of the industry’s irrefutably stellar and Teflon-coated careers. In hindsight, there were many leading ladies from Hollywood’s golden era that dazzled us with their sincerity, determination, and, forthright and clear-eyed comprehension of the female soul exposed for all to see. Even within this pantheon of stellar screen goddesses, there was only one Bette Davis. And so, Davis, since her passing in 1989, has defied the passage of time; transcended it, not merely as a bona fide star among stars, one that burnt hard and bright, but as a true ‘immortal’ from that bygone glamor factory, the likes of which will never be seen again. Davis’ back catalog, Jezebel included – Jezebel, arguably, above all others – is a perennial pleasure to peruse. It doesn’t date.  Like virtually all of the truly great movies from this period, Jezebel was heavily rewritten for the screen to suit its star’s temperament, with contributions from John Huston, Robert Buckner, Clements Ripley and Abem Finkel, leaving only faint flickers of Owen Davis’ original stagecraft. What endures is the celebration of Bette Davis – star; playing to her strengths as a contemptible, yet compelling minx.  Precisely how much of Davis was in Julie Marsden remains open for discussion. And Davis once claimed proudly that only a woman of virtue could play a deliciously manipulative man trap. “If I were really like all those awful bitches, I should think I would have wanted to keep it a secret and not let the whole world see me for who and what I really am.”

Owing to a devastating nitrate fire in the mid-1970’s, Jezebel on home video has never looked better than adequate on home video. Originally running 104 min., by 1947 the studio, in its infinite wisdom had shorn 11 minutes for a theatrical reissue, cutting down the original camera negative and presumably junking these excisions.  Somewhere along the way, this original camera negative in totem was also lost, leaving dupe negatives as the only surviving source for future prints, with baked-in age-related artifacts knocking down the video quality another several notches. So, to discover Warner Archive’s newly remastered Blu-ray looking light years younger than anything this movie has is – to put things mildly – a revelation. Produced from a very early lavender, the results speak for themselves; velvety blacks with zero crush, exceptional grey scale tonality, pitch perfect shadows and exceptionally refined film grain. Even better, the audio has been meticulously restored, revealing acoustic subtleties in Max Steiner’s brilliant main title and score that I never expected to hear.  WAC has pulled out all the stops on this one, folks. Any film lover worth his/her weight in celluloid ought to be singing WAC’s praises after seeing this. Extras are all hold-overs from the retired DVD, and include an audio commentary from historian, Jeanine Basinger and an all too brief featurette: ‘Jezebel - Legend of the South’. WAC has also ported over a few short subjects and the movie’s original theatrical trailer. Bottom line: Jezebel on Blu-ray – how could you not?!? Very highly recommended. One of the landmark hi-def releases of 2019! Note to the good people at Warner Bros. – many, many thanks. PS – more, please!

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

5+

VIDEO/AUDIO

5+

EXTRAS

3