A PLACE IN THE SUN: Blu-ray (Paramount, 1951) ViaVision 'Imprint'
When director, George Stevens returned home from the
war, he re-entered civilian life greatly impacted by the atrocities personally
witnessed abroad during the liberation of Hitler’s concentration camps. Arguably,
Stevens maturation as a movie-maker was not altogether predicated on these war-time
experiences; the creator of such frothy and delightful fare as Alice Adams (1935),
Swing Time (1936), and, Gunga Din (1939), already begun to pursue
more progressive subject matter in movies like Penny Serenade (1941), Woman
of the Year (1942) and The Talk of the Town (1943) before his
departure abroad. There is, however, little to deny Stevens’ film-making acumen
took on a more sober introspection after WWII; arguably, beginning with 1951’s A
Place in the Sun, and to culminate with the retrospectively heart-wrenching
classic, The Diary of Anne Frank (1959). Nearly 70-years removed from
its theatrical debut, A Place in the Sun is a fascinating movie to
re-consider – partly, for its sexual politics (now, to appear more than
slightly dated, if nevertheless unnerving) – but mostly as a ‘then’ contemporized
version of Theodore Dreiser’s 1925 novel ‘An American Tragedy’ – made into
a play of the same name in 1926. Dreiser had based his book on an infamous 1906
case; the untimely murder of Grace Brown at the hands of Chester Gillette,
resulting in Gillette’s execution in the electric chair two years later.
Dreiser did not have very far to go for inspiration.
Indeed, his novel is practically a retelling of the actual crime; Gillette,
poor, but reared in a stringently religious household, seducing a fellow
employee at the factory where both worked. Brown and Gillette’s sexual relations
reached their crescendo when Brown informed her lover she was with child, and,
increasingly demanded from him a proposal of marriage. Returning to her family
briefly, Brown was to discover Gillette was courting other women in her
absence, including a wealthy socialite, Miss Harriet Benedict. Confronted by
Brown, though denying the rumors, Gillette stalled in his commitments until an
impromptu decision to whisk the girl away to a retreat in the Adirondack
Mountains. At this point, Brown may have mis-perceived Gillette’s intentions as
a prelude to a proposal and elopement. Instead, Gillette registered under a
false name at the Glenmore hotel, borrowing a rowboat on Big Moose Lake. There,
he bludgeoned Brown with his tennis racket before dumping her lifeless remains
into the lake and swimming for shore, leaving behind the overturned rowboat and
his hat as ‘proof’ they had both drowned together. Alas, hiking through the
woods, and checking into the Arrowhead Hotel under his real name, Gillette was
promptly apprehended for his crime after Brown’s badly beaten body resurfaced
the next afternoon.
As a movie, A Place in the Sun occupies a
curious fork in the road for its stars, Elizabeth Taylor and Montgomery Clift.
First, to Taylor – whose arrival in Hollywood in 1942 had created a minor stir
as the ‘new find’; a determined child, with uncannily haunting violet eyes and
dark ebony tresses. Taylor’s swift promotion in movies, appearing in such
classics as Lassie Come Home (1943) and National Velvet (1944)
was inexplicably stalled in her teenage years, seemingly by MGM’s inability to
conceive of her as anything better than an exquisite fashion plate and
raven-haired beauty. The movies between 1944 and 1951 are therefore largely forgettable
with a few bright spots feathered in, among them – A Date with Judy
(1948), Little Women (1949), and, Father of the Bride (1950); the
latter, rushed into production to capitalize on Taylor’s pending marriage to
hotel magnet, Conrad ‘Nicky’ Hilton that same year. The marriage, alas, did not
withstand a rather disastrous honeymoon, barely surviving a year thereafter,
before the young marrieds separated. In the wake of this debacle, Taylor’s
reputation in pictures could not go back to her being casting as the innocent. And so, the sex pot/screen siren was born –
or rather, cultivated by well-calculated studio PR to catch up to where America’s
opinion of the star already resided. Taylor’s
performance as the uncannily mature society girl, Angela Vickers earned her the
respect of the industry. Indeed, in retrospect, it marks a turning point in
Taylor’s career aspirations – Stevens’ gentle coaxing, to will a startling
depth of character from the star who had only previously ‘twinkled’ in MGM’s
frothy fare. The somberness with which Taylor infuses Angela’s romantic
devastation at the discovery her lover has murdered another girl, truly haunts
from the peripheries of the screen; Taylor’s doe-eyed sadness, made wholly
believable.
Comparatively speaking, Montgomery Clift had the more ‘important’
career then; the young closeted gay leading man, billed as the all-American
stud, to have marked his territory first in Howard Hawks' Red River
(1948), then, swiftly as the mind-bogglingly callous suitor in William Wyler's The
Heiress (1949), Clift’s performance in A Place in the Sun would
cement his popular appeal with young girls, misled to believe his intuitively
fragile inner torment was mere sensitivity, and not a predilection for young
men. Along with Brando and James Dean, Clift was a disciple of ‘the method’ and
a ‘freelancer’, refusing to ‘sign’ a long-term contract with any one studio. This
latter decision would greatly benefit his career. And Clift and Taylor would
bond over their appreciation of one another’s studio-created hyperbole about
their respective sexual proclivities; she, perceived as the viper-ish sexpot,
and he, the strapping young buck of every chambermaid’s desires. In hindsight,
Clift’s performances in virtually every movie from Red River to 1953’s I
Confess, and, From Here to Eternity, reeks of a sort of urgently delicate
masculinity, momentarily masked by his undeniable good looks. And, against Taylor’s undeniably matured
Angela Vickers, Clift’s shy and conflicted George Eastman reveals a mind-boggling
angst; Clift’s own homosexuality, never more thinly veneered on the screen. Taylor
and Clift would remain lifelong friends; Taylor, ardently in support of Clift
even after a tragic car accident in 1957 virtually eroded both his looks and
confidence overnight.
A Place in the Sun really does present Taylor and
Clift at the pinnacle of their physical beauty. Two more handsome people were
never seen on the screen – and each’s ability to act as well as look good, amplifies
the tragedy of the piece. We bear witness to a couple, so right for each other
it hurts, torn asunder by the man’s shortsightedness and blindsided desperation
to aspire to a life of affluence with the only woman he truly loves. If not for
a Montgomery Clift, the character of George Eastman could so easily have
devolved into just another unscrupulous fortune hunter who, having impregnated
a girl of ‘his class’, and amplified this mistake by murdering her, now seeks
to conceal his crime by inveigling himself into the good graces of a well-to-do
household who firmly believe in his innocence. In its day, A Place in the
Sun was highly praised. In more recent times, it has become somewhat
fashionable to discount Stevens’ methodical pacing as ‘tranquilizing’ and his
approach to the intoxicating romance between Angela and George as ‘embellished’.
What Stevens has actually done is allow his audience to regress into that moment
of euphoria, only completely experienced when one is under his/her own
delusional sway of love itself. In one of the movie’s most famous scenes,
Stevens allows Taylor and Clift’s gorgeous visages to completely fill the
screen, even to the point of going slightly out of focus as the couple draw
nearer into each other. It is a mesmeric moment that lets the audience in on Angela
and George’s all-consuming lust – the spark, instantly an inferno, felt between
these two vibrant, young people, and, crackling with an audacious sexual
chemistry rarely witnessed on movie screens at that time.
The screenplay by Harry Brown and Michael Wilson is
amply endowed with deliciously escapist passion to briefly intoxicate and
detour our Lochinvar from his hefty responsibilities toward Alice Tripp (Shelley
Winters); the girl to have come to George first, and, whose pregnancy now hangs
about his neck like a millstone, and very soon, to become his noose. Ironically,
Winters came to A Place in the Sun, not only as its ‘third wheel’ but
also, the most accomplished of this triumvirate of stars. Born Shirley Schrift,
Winters began her professional career as a model, before studying acting and
appearing on the stage in 1941’s The Night Before Christmas, and then, Die
Fledermaus which ran for nearly 2 years, from 1942-44, and, 611
performances. Winters also received acclaim as Ado Annie in Broadway’s Oklahoma!,
directly to lead to her long-term contract with Columbia Pictures. While the
studio kept her working, the pictures were not altogether memorable – or even
good; Columbia, mining out her talents to MGM and UA. She would eventually make
her splash as the unintended ‘victim’ in George Cukor’s A Double Life
(1947), resulting in a move to Universal Studios. Again, a spate on unremarkable
movie roles followed; Winters’ most notable performances in 1949’s The Great
Gatsby (for Paramount), and Winchester ’73 (1950) for Uni. Originally
pegged as the newest ‘bombshell’, Winters campaigned for the role of Alice
Tripp in A Place in the Sun to countermand that image of the blonde sexpot,
by washing off her makeup and appearing for her audition in dowdy rags, more
suitable to a girl of Alice’s station in life. Evidently, the trick worked,
both with director, Stevens, and AMPASS, who nominated Winters for Best
Actress. It would be another 8-years before the little gold statuette adorned
her mantel piece.
A Place in the Sun was also nominated for 8
additional Oscars, winning for Stevens (Best Director), screenplay (Michael
Wilson/Harry Brown), cinematography (William C. Mellor), costumes (Edith Head),
editing (William Hornbeck) and score (Franz Waxman), and, was the first-ever
recipient of a Golden Globe for Best Motion Picture. And while the picture
dealt with some fairly weighty subject matter, the Production Code’s only real
objection was to Alice’s inference of an abortion, altered in a single line,
from “Doctor, you’ve got to help me!” to “Somebody’s got to help me!” A Place in the Sun opens in contemporary
1950; George Eastman – the poor relation of wealthy industrialist, Charles
Eastman (Herbert Heyes), hitchhiking his way into town in the hopes of
inveigling himself into Charles’ good graces. Regarded as an outsider by the
family, Charles nevertheless takes pity on George, offering him a ground-level
job in his company where George proves himself to be resourceful and uncomplaining.
While at the factory, George engages fellow factory worker, Alice Tripp, in
defiance of its workplace rules about co-worker fraternization. Poor and
inexperienced, Alice’s head is easily turned by George’s romantic overtures,
and soon, the two become lovers. Time passes. George’s hard work pays off. He
moves into a supervisory position, his recommendations for streamlining the
workflow reaching Charles’ ears. As fate would have it, this leads to George’s ‘cute
meet’ with playful socialite, Angela Vickers. From the outset, it is rather
obvious a spark has been lit between these two young people. Soon, George is
seen squiring Angela to all the social events, putting a distinct crimp in
Alice’s plans to wed George – that is, until she announces she is pregnant with
his child.
Clearly anticipating her news will lead to a proposal
of marriage, George instead puts Alice off to pursue Angela and spend all of his
spare time with her well-heeled friends. George insists Alice abort their child,
but to no avail. Regrettably, the whole messy affair culminates with a Labor
Day initiation by Angela to the Vickers’ lake house. George lies to Alice about
the reasons for his ‘mandatory’ attendance and spends a final, blissful weekend
with Angela and her rich cohorts on Loon Lake. There, Angela informs George about
a terrible drowning last summer. Alone
in her apartment, Alice spies a picture in the local paper’s society column of
George and Angela and demands George make the announcement of their marriage
immediately, and this, on the cusp of his achieving every dream he has ever had
in life. Alice intrudes on George’s dinner with the Eastmans and Vickers,
telephoning the lake house to inform him she is on her way. Shaken by the news,
George agrees to collect Alice at the bus depot, returning to the party, but
lying to Angela and their respective families that his mother (Ann Revere) has
fallen ill and requires his attention immediately. The next morning, George and
Alice drive to City Hall to get married. As it is Labor Day, the offices are
closed, much to George’s relief. Instead, he takes a very reluctant Alice to
the lake, renting a boat. Unsuspecting of his intentions, Alice waxes about
their future together, accidentally tipping the boat over when she tries to
stand up. Capsized and unable to swim for shore, Alice drowns.
Although Hollywood’s self-governing Code would not
allow George to ‘murder’ Alice, as in Dreiser’s novel, Alice’s death is chocked
up as George’s ‘good fortune’ – that is, until he swims ashore, stumbling upon campers
who regard his behavior as highly suspicious. Swiftly, George makes his way
back to the Vickers' summer home where he awkwardly feigns nonchalance. Alas,
George is a terrible liar. Angela senses his unease and, as yet unsuspecting of
its crux, tries to comfort him. Meanwhile, Alice’s body is dredged up from the
lake; the police, treating it as a homicide. At the lodge, George becomes the
police’s prime suspect – a devastating blow to his planned engagement to Angela.
George is arrested and tried for Alice’s murder, his secretive behavior before
and after her death cited as proof of his complicity and premeditation. The
jury agrees. Despite George’s protestations, he is found guilty and sentenced
to death in the electric chair. On the eve of his execution, a priest suggests
to George, while he may not have actually killed Alice, he did not endeavor to
save her either. Hence, in his heart, he had already committed murder. George
concurs with this assessment, parted from Angela one last time. She pledges her
undying love to him, even as he is taken to be put to death.
A Place in the Sun’s penultimate moments of
confession, regret and bitter resolve to be forever parted from true love,
effectively earns the picture its place in the pantheon of great American
tragi-romances; a sort of fractured Romeo and Juliet, torn asunder by
one man’s shabby and frantic ambitions to rise above his station in life. In
hindsight, it is the near misses to have derailed our lovers from their perfect
union that continues to gnaw at our conscience, stimulating an uncanny pang of
regret for George and Angela, even as we regard Alice as the ultimate innocent –
and victim – of this tale. Never before – and arguably, never again – would Montgomery
Clift allow such transparency into his own closeted homosexuality to be as
thinly veiled on the big screen. In hindsight, Clift appears to be reaching
from his own wellspring of fear and frustrations to will the complexities of
his alter ego - George Eastman into the uneasy strains of a gorgeous, but
sincerely flawed leading man. It is this ‘tortured quality’ in Clift’s
performance that resonates more clearly today than, perhaps, it did in 1954
with those outside the actor’s inner circle, still unaware of his propensity
for male companionship. Alas, the painfulness of that secret would only hasten
Clift’s decline after his hellish car accident in 1957, effectively to deprive
him of this thin veneer, otherwise effectively to have concealed the truth from
the outside world. Without his striking features, Clift’s decline, both
emotional and professional, resulted in what would later be coined as ‘the
longest suicide’ – Clift, actually dying of a heart attack on July 23,
1966, brought on by occlusive coronary artery disease, and, discovered in his
bathtub by his private male nurse. He was only 45-yrs.-young.
Viewed today, A Place in the Sun remains an
iconic cornerstone in director, George Stevens’ post-war career. Indeed,
Stevens would curtail his activities after the war. Though still highly
regarded, and very much in demand, Stevens’ two ambitious projects to follow -
1956’s Giant (for which he won the Oscar as Best Director), and, The
Diary of Anne Frank (1959) - seemed to drain the master craftsman, not only
of his merits, but also his desire to go on. Stevens would make only two more
movies after this – 1965’s The Greatest Story Ever Told - a sprawling,
though failed all-star Bible/fiction epic, more readily regarded today for its
leaden and plodding narrative, as well as a truly laughable cameo from John
Wayne as a Roman Centurion, and, The Only Game In Town (1970) – a footnote
in the careers of both Elizabeth Taylor and Steve McQueen. That same year, Stevens
was invited to head the jury at the 20th Berlin International Film
Festival, a decision to end in scandal when Stevens insisted director, Michael
Verhoeven's anti-war film o.k. was anti-American and demanded it be
stricken from the roster for consideration. Although he would serve as a member
of the jury in Moscow’s 8th International Film Festival in 1973,
Stevens had effectively taken his final bow from the limelight, dying two years
later of a heart attack on his ranch in Lancaster, California – age, 70.
Shelley Winters, who went on to have a lucrative and
enduring career in both the movies and television after A Place in the Sun,
would always regard the movie as one of her highlights. Suffering a heart
attack in 2005, Winters lingered until the following year, succumbing to heart
failure on Jan. 14 – age, 85. Elizabeth Taylor, the longest surviving alumnus
of this troop, lived to endure the slings and arrows of a rocky personal life,
to include 7 husbands (8, if you count Richard Burton, whom she married twice),
a ‘home-wrecking’ scandal, and, an uneven spate of movies to ‘advance’ her
professional career well into the 1980’s, using her celebrity as an AIDS activist
and perfume/jewelry promoter. Arguably, Taylor remained one of the last
indestructible links to ‘golden age’ Hollywood; made a ‘dame’ in 2000, and
outlasting the title by 11 years, only to die of congestive heart failure on
March 23, 2011 – age, 79. And while movies are often regarded as ‘great art’ in
their own time, only to fade into the annals of history, weathered by changing
times and tastes, A Place in the Sun remains an affecting tale, truly to
live up to Dreiser’s original title as an ‘American tragedy.’ In an age
where the word ‘sacrifice’ is an anathema to this go-getter’s acumen, firmly
anchored to the cliché of the American dream, A Place in the Sun is a solemn
reminder how quickly such aspiration can turn on its possessor, and how
suddenly that dream can become our own worst nightmare.
A Place in the Sun arrives on Blu-ray – finally – via
ViaVision Home Media’s ‘Imprint’ label, in an alliance with Paramount Home
Video, ironically, still refusing to release the picture state’s side under its
own home video banner. Blessedly, ViaVision’s release is ‘region free’ –
meaning, it will play anywhere in the world. So, those eager to own A Place
in the Sun in North America at long last, and, in a suitable hi-def incarnation,
do not have to wait for ‘the mountain’ to come to them! Paramount’s 1080p transfer is advertised as
derived from a ‘new’ 4K scan. Whether from an original camera negative or not,
the results, while competent, are hardly exemplary. For most, the distinction
will be moot, as this remastering effort easily bests the tired, old DVD
release from 2001. But should this be the only benchmark of quality when
considering hi-def restoration and remastering? The grey scale here is thick,
as is film grain. On occasion, the image has a tendency to mildly obfuscate fine
detail under a veneer of…something. I am
unable to quantify the ‘thick’ characteristic here. It isn’t DNR. Nor does the
image become unfocused or soft. But it lacks the level of refinement one would
generally expect to find from a vintage catalog release, properly curated and
massaged to contemporary standards, using all of today’s digital tools. The audio
is 5.1 Dolby Digital or 2.0 LPCM mono. You can forgo the 5.1 here. The mono is
the real deal, offering a wonderfully indigenous sound field, with clear,
precise dialogue, and overall impressive clarity, albeit, with the limitations
of the old Westrex sound recording intact. Extras have all been ported over
from the retired DVD, and include an audio commentary with George Stevens Jr.
and associate producer, Ivan Moffat, recorded in 2001. We also get the
featurette: George Stevens and His Place in the Sun, again, chocked
full of archival snippets from Elizabeth Taylor, Shelley Winters and George
Stevens, Jr., plus George Stevens: The Filmmakers Who Knew Him, where
directors, Warren Beatty, Frank Capra, Rouben Mamoulian and many others
affectionately wax about Stevens – the man, the creative, and, the legend. Finally,
we get an original – and badly worn – theatrical trailer, and a handsome slip
cover, sporting original artwork. Bottom line: we have waited far too long for this one. While the
results are good, they arguably could have been a lot better. Moving forward, ViaVision
should insist on better elements to distribute.
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
4.5
VIDEO/AUDIO
3
EXTRAS
3
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