OLD ACQUAINTANCE (Warner Bros. 1943) Warner Home Video

1943: it was a year, rife with a fascinating undercurrent of activity in American movies, in hindsight, hard won, and afflicted by the stringencies of Hollywood’s self-governing Production Code. Perceived as a means to improve the morality of motion pictures, the Code did little to usher sin off the silver screen. What it did accomplish was a general reshaping of the movies’ social mores that forced strong-minded women from the Pre-Code era into a sort of perpetual on-screen martyrdom. Such martyrdom was fueled by every studio’s plush surplus of female stars, most relishing the opportunity to ply their craft in ‘the women's picture’ or what today, has been rather disparagingly distilled as ‘the chick flick’.  Personally, I have never quite understood the exclusivity ascribed to these movies, being a man who enjoys them too. Sexual politics aside, the ‘woman’s picture’ dominated the box office for nearly two decades, Hollywood’s shifted focus on the ‘female perspective,’ correlating with the advent of WWII – women being the primary target audience while their men went off to fight.  Even as the outlook for women during the war seemed promising – women assuming greater responsibilities in business and commerce, women on the screen in general, but particularly those striving to cut it in a man’s world, were brought to heel or fall in love – quite often, both – re-framing their ideals to compliment the menfolk of this one heart/one mindset. It all seems so innocuous, so invisible and so right, that the insidiousness behind its sexual politics was never even questioned…at least, not then…or rather…not even now, by many.

Women in the movies came in two life-size incarnations - the virgin and the whore. A bad girl could ostensibly ‘find her way back’ from the brink of wickedness, either by discovering God or a Godly man to change her fickle heart. Alas, she could never do this alone without facing the consequences of society at large - even death – the ultimate penitence, and, a bone of contention that feminist film scholarship chose to challenge in the mid-60’s. Somehow, such scholasticism always forgets to mention there were women on screen who bucked this trend or, perhaps, wormed their way outside ‘the norm’ to pioneer a new breed of strong-minded ‘take charge’ gals of tomorrow. And, in no small way, is our enduring affinity herein owed to that unique caliber of female star that the studios had under contract throughout the 1940’s. None of today’s pop ‘tarts’ hold a candle to these vintage ladies of love and lament. Joan Crawford was one such trailblazer/Bette Davis, emphatically, the other. Neither ever took guff from any of their leading men. Behind the scenes, they frequently bickered, fought and clawed their way up the executive branch for better parts. It is rumored Jack L. Warner used to duck into the men’s room every time he saw Davis marching down the halls, eager to avoid another confrontation. In fact, for a time, Davis was known around the back lot as ‘the fifth Warner brother’. Walking out on her ironclad studio contract over creative differences may not have won the war (indeed, Davis had been brought to heel – at least under the legalities of her contract to the studio), but it did afford Davis unprecedented autonomy to pick her own projects from that moment onward – even ones Jack would rather have not made.

While the ‘women's picture' - a melodrama built around a central female protagonist, struggling to make her way in the world – was already well-established by 1930, its clever, witty and erudite machinations, written to favor a decidedly domestic slant, while eschewing women’s contributions to the war effort in totem, became a movie main staple of the forties.  Interestingly, despite changing times, our post-modern verve for more ‘progressive’ depictions of women has not replaced our fervent need for the proverbial ‘good cry’ - alive and well and reinterpreted by every new generation as pure gold.  Interesting too, MGM – the studio with ‘more stars than there are in the heavens’ chose not to directly partake in the 40’s groundswell of ‘women's pictures’, focused instead on lavishly appointed escapism to tap into the 'youth market'.  By 1943, virtually all of MGM's great female stars - from Garbo, to Norma Shearer and Joan Crawford – were on the outside looking in. Fortunately, Warner Bros. fill this dearth with Stanwyck, Lupino, Davis and Crawford – among others. Of these, Davis undoubtedly reigned as the queen and director, Vincent Sherman's Old Acquaintance (1943) remains one of her finest offerings.  Herein, Davis is cast as mousy, though good-natured, Kit Marlowe, a subordinate to her best friend, Millie Drake (Miriam Hopkins) who fancies herself an authoress of some repute, but is envious of Kit’s modest writing success. The movie’s plot indulged its costars real-life rivalry. To suggest Hopkins and Davis were competitors is to put things mildly. It must have stuck in Hopkins’ craw that Davis, having inherited several movie properties from failed Broadway shows starring her, had transformed each into a mega hit that had advanced Davis’ standing at the studio. The friction between Davis and Hopkins date all the way back to the late 1920’s, but came roiling forth in 1939’s production of The Old Maid. By then, these dueling divas had already made That Certain Woman (1937).

The Old Maid’s director, Edmund Goulding was well-acquainted with both ladies, but had known Miriam longer, a tenure that Davis believed put her at a disadvantage to garner favor with Goulding and gain the upper hand in that picture. Yet, herein, one can modestly empathize more with Hopkins’ bitterness, her own prospects as a leading lady, by 1939, spent on projects that had failed to gel, her only popularity now, playing second fiddle to Davis – her rival. And thus, Hopkins’ attempts at scene-stealing on The Old Maid became legendary even if they did little to advance her career. Davis tolerated Hopkins in all her absurdities designed to upstage her, because at some base level Davis understood her own performance benefited from having such fine support. This left Goulding, who later described the pair as “perfect little bitches”, as the picture’s behind-the-scenes lion tamer, his respect for Davis, arguably, superseded by his friendship, long-standing with Hopkins. Lenore Coffee’s screenplay for Old Acquaintance definitely plays upon this life-long battle royale between Davis and Hopkins – their alter egos, Kit and Millie, truly competitor’s in the sport of life.  Kit is the real woman of substance – harboring quiet compassion - while Millie remains the vacuous and tart-mouthed flash-in-the-pan, who writes cheaply sentimental romance novels, garnering the public's instant fascination, but whose fleeting success destroys any real/reel chances for her own marital bliss.

Old Acquaintance is based on John Van Druten's highly successful stage play. And, in hindsight, the movie is one of the quintessential ‘women’s pictures’, Coffee and Goulding contributing revisions to Druten's original stagecraft - more than ever, making it about Davis and Hopkins. Once again, Davis gained the upper hand here, launching into an affair with Sherman, despite the fact both were married at the time. The aegis for Davis and Hopkins’ mutual animosity had been the east coast play, Excess Baggage (1928); Hopkins – not Davis – then considered the rising star – a trend continued with Hopkins’ debut in the movies: first, as the empathetic cockney guttersnipe, Ivy, in Rouben Mamoulian’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931); then, as winsome time-share gal pal to Fredric March and Gary Cooper in Ernest Lubitsch’s Design for Living (1933). Professional jealousy festered as Hopkins effortlessly bounced back to Broadway with an all too brief turn in Jezebel – a flop. This property sparked considerable interest from Warner Bros. As Hopkin’s owned the rights to Jezebel, she naturally assumed the studio had bought the property for her. Instead, Jack Warner gave it to Davis who had, by 1933 – stormed out in a much-publicized huff. The courts sided with the studio. But Jack elected – rather slyly – to back Davis, promising her more challenging parts. Hopkins was livid, her rage boiling over into tears of frustration as Davis won her second Best Actress Oscar for Jezebel.

Hopkins jealousy extended off the set too, suspecting Davis of having an affair with her husband, director, Anatole Litvak. While Davis did eventually have a tryst with Litvak, it was not until their work together on 1940’s All This and Heaven Too – nearly one full year after Litvak and Hopkins’ divorce. Initially, Goulding had been assigned Old Acquaintance double duty as director and actress wrangler. Regrettably, he suffered a mild heart attack shortly before production was slated to begin. Warner would jokingly suggest Goulding’s heart attack was deliberate, to escape these tempestuous ladies. But actually, Davis was mostly cordial toward Hopkins on this set – barring one memorable sequence that, under Sherman’s tutelage, allowed Davis considerable latitude to give her real-life nemesis a good shake – literally! The scene takes place midway through the pair’s fictionalized on-screen rivalry, Kit (Davis), tolerant and level-headed, decidedly having had enough of her spoiled, simpering and downright childish ‘best friend’, Millie who has had the temerity to accuse Kit of an infidelity with her ever-devoted husband, Preston (John Loder) and an even more cruel play for their daughter, Deirdre’s (Dolores Moran) affections. Playing a moment ripped from one of her soapy novellas, Millie dramatically orders Kit from her apartment. Instead, Kit approaches Millie with a few cautious steps. Then, quite suddenly and without reservation, Kit seizes Millie by the shoulders, violently shaking her for a few electric moments, before pushing her aside and declaring with gently facetious politeness, ‘sorry’.

Depending on one’s perspective, Old Acquaintance can be interpreted as something of a bittersweet testament to female friendship. After all, Kit and Millie do eventually reconcile their differences, even if the implication persists, they will continue to bury the hatchet in each other’s backs. Interestingly, each forsakes the men in their lives at the end. Millie’s marriage to Preston dissolves amicably. But his amorous pursuit of Kit, whom he has always admired from afar, is not reciprocated when Kit refuses to sacrifice Millie for this handsome love interest that, arguably, could be so right for her. And Kit, in spite of her noble outlook, is nearly destroyed by it when she realizes she has lost the only man she has ever wanted, Rudd Kendell (Gig Young) to Deirdre; not through any fault in their stars, but rather due to the disparity in their respective ages. Rudd’s youth and temperament are much better suited to Deirdre and Kit knows it. Still, it is a bitter pill to take, even if, at story’s end, Millie and Kit wearily revert back to their old college days – only now, as a pair of glamorous spinsters, waiting in the New Year together. The finale to Old Acquaintance leaves us with imperfect notions about the transcendence of love – unrequited or passionately felt – and the future of these two competitively, if immaculately groomed gargoyles, arguably suited to no greater purpose in life than their own ongoing love/hate relationship. We can feel for these characters because Hopkins and Davis have drawn obvious and richly on their own bitchily conflicted back story. At film’s end, Hopkins, then 40, too young and glamorous to play widows, but too old to be considered the ingénue, packed her bags, sold her Brentwood home and headed back east to launch her second career with her first love - the stage.

Old Acquaintance opens with the time-honored strains of Auld Lang Syne married to Franz Waxman’s appropriately affectionate love theme. We meet Millie, a new wife and soon to be mother, fastidiously planning the perfect homecoming for her old college roommate, Kit Marlowe. Nothing modest or matronly will do, and Millie, an obsessive homemaker, has mapped out virtually every second of Kit’s visit. Millie’s husband, Preston is fairly accommodating. He drinks a tad too much, though never to intoxication. Then again, with a wife like Millie, who can really blame him? The year is 1924, and, as Millie hurries down to the train depot to meet Kit in an old Model T, she is frantically outlining the breakneck itinerary to Kit’s stay in her own head. Too bad, John Hughes’ art direction and Fred M. MacLean’s set decoration herein belies the period, exteriors shot on the old MGM back lot, looking very 1940’s suburbia, apart from the obvious vintage automobiles and costumer designer, Orry-Kelly’s double-breasted suits. It doesn’t really matter because Coffee’s screenplay is meticulously crafted and Sherman’s direction moves the action along with that atypical brisk pace all Warner product from this vintage possessed. It appears as though Kit has missed the train. Instead, Millie finds her asleep on board and blissfully obtuse to the fact she has only moments to disembark. The old girlfriends share a scant few moments together until a carload of ridiculous college girls from the local chapter of the Kit Marlowe Fan Club descend upon the station; ushering Kit away in a frenetic flurry of pom-poms.

Millie is outraged. Her plans have been ruined. Back at the house, she throws a temper tantrum; quite unaware Kit has eluded her collegiate captors and made it back to the house first. Millie then storms off to her bedroom to weep. But Kit is patient and comforting. Soon, the two old pals reconcile. That evening, Millie divulges a secret to Kit; in her spare time, she too has written her first novel - pure pulp of the lowest romantic drivel. Alas, on Kit’s recommendation to her publisher, Millie’s book is bought outright. Even more miraculously, it sells. In rapid succession, Millie embarks on her own competitive writing career. Although infinitely more prolific and successful than Kit, she is hardly considered the purveyor of quality literature. Our narrative timeline jumps ahead to 1932 and Manhattan. Millie has moved with her young daughter, Deirdre (played as a child by Francine Rufo) and Preston - incredibly miserable in their marriage - to a fashionable penthouse. On the surface at least, life is good. Millie buys Pres’ expensive clothes and handsome baubles for herself. But when New York literary critic, Belle Carter (Anne Revere) inadvertently makes an off-hand comment about the strengths of Kit’s authorship, compared to ‘those who turn it out like sausages’, Millie is flung into a rage. In private, Preston swears his love to Kit. She rejects him outright and urges prudence. Alas, this time Millie has gone too far and once too often. Preston packs his bag and leaves. Several hours after Kit’s triumphant debut as a Broadway playwright, she and Preston are reunited in the hotel’s lobby; Pres’, again pitching woo and, again, shot down in his efforts. “There are some things you just don’t do,” Kit admits, trying to explain how her lifelong friendship with Millie is a bond unlikely to be sacrificed for love.

Pres’ steps out of the picture and Millie and Kit continue their tempestuous friendship. Deirdre grows up, or rather, into something of a spoiled brat. Now middle age, Kit takes a younger lover, Rudd Kendall, who is obsessively enamored with everything she does. Aware of the passionate follies of youth, Kit steers Rudd away from her. She repeatedly deflects his advances and love-sore pleas to become engaged. Kit takes on a housemaid, the ever loyal, Harriet (Esther Dale). Deirdre begins to run with a fast crowd, taking up with Lucien Grant (Philip Reed), a notorious playboy.  Kit puts Rudd in charge of Deirdre’s care…sort of…asking him to escort Deirdre home. Rudd complies, but quickly realizes he and Deirdre (who he initially disregards as nothing better than a child) have far more in common than first meets the eye. At the same instance, Kit decides to accept Rudd’s previous proposal of marriage and Preston, who has enlisted in the war as a colonel, has come to ask Millie if she would consider sharing their daughter with him. Misinterpreting the reason for their reunion, Millie is cruelly notified by Pres’ of his intensions to wed another.

In retaliation, Millie accuses Pres’ of always having been disloyal. While he admits he once pursued Kit, even while they were still married, he also confesses Kit wanted no part of him simply for the reason he was married to her best friend. Millie flies off the handle, refusing to believe the truth. Furthermore, when Deirdre arrives after Preston has already left, Millie spins a yarn: that Kit is responsible for breaking up their happy home. Millie further accuses Kit of standing in the way of Deirdre’s happiness with Rudd. Briefly believing her mother’s flights into fantasy, Deirdre bitterly throws herself at Lucien’s head. But Kit, having intercepted the rumors – and giving Millie a good shake besides – arrives at Lucien’s bachelor pad, calling Deirdre out from behind a screen and forcing her into a taxi. She explains the truth to Deirdre and helps to reunite her with Rudd inside the lobby of the hotel. Afterward, Kit returns home, only to discover Millie already there. Millie begs for Kit’s forgiveness and Kit accepts her apology. Millie then slips into another dramatic moment, declaring her next book could benefit from such an ending as this. “If it’s about us,” Kit suggests, “…why not call it ‘old acquaintance’?”

Old Acquaintance is a deliciously handsome, shamelessly sentimental ‘woman’s picture’ without the prerequisite ‘three-hanky weepy’ factored in for good measure. Only in hindsight is its finale somewhat problematic, as to infer that the best any woman of a certain age can hope for is to renew her bond of sisterhood, while eschewing any and all prospects of marital happiness as strictly off the record.  Despite Miriam Hopkin's flashier attempts to chew up the scenery, it is Bette Davis who reveals more, effortlessly to play both youth and middle age, inevitably matured with time. Davis’ understatement counterbalances the gregarious camp of her costar. The rest of the cast are little more than palpable window dressing for what is essentially a very glossy and extended cat fight. Yet, everything works surprisingly well under Sherman's tight direction. Behind the scenes, Sherman and Davis cut their collars and cuffs on a short-lived affair. On screen, the results of this grand amour are most visible in the way Sherman and his cameraman, Sol Polito light Davis' close-ups. Bette Davis would be the first to admit she was not a ravishing beauty. And yet, Polito’s careful lighting tricks take her from fresh-faced ingénue to stately woman of the world with one seemingly effortless arc of glamorous transition. Davis positively glows as she oozes sincerity from every pore - and something else that intangible 'every day' glamour cannot make immediately apparent.  Old Acquaintance proved a charmer with audiences.  Evidently, director, George Cukor wholeheartedly agreed, remaking it in 1980 as Rich and Famous. Once again, its formulaic narrative proved solid for costars, Jacqueline Bisset and Candice Bergen. As fine as Cukor’s reinterpretation is, it pales to the original. Like so many of Warner’s finely crafted romantic/dramas catapulted into theaters with nauseating frequency then, Old Acquaintance today holds up under very close scrutiny as one of the very best ways I can think of to ring in the New Year.

By now, Old Acquaintance ought to have made the leap to Blu-ray. But no. 2021 and still no hi-def reincarnation. Warner Home Video's DVD is, for the most part, fairly crisp and detailed. The gray scale is adequately rendered, although occasionally, the image appears softly focused. Roughly 15-minutes in – in the bedroom scene when Millie confides in Kit about her first novel - sports some peculiar water damage and speckling. We get other minor age-related artifacts scattered throughout. There is also some extremely minor (though obvious) edge enhancement. This distracts during the latter half of the picture. Black levels seem just a tad weaker than expected and the image also marginally suffers from a somewhat scrubbed look that has emasculated the movie’s grain structure. We won’t poo-poo it any further. This isn’t a bad looking disc. However, there is obvious room for improvement. Perhaps the Warner Archive will furnish us with a new Blu-ray in the New Year. We’ll see. The audio here is mono as originally recorded, and presented at an adequate listening level with no discernible shortcomings. Extras are limited to an audio commentary by Vincent Sherman with film historian, Boze Hadleigh acting as the inquisitive mind asking all the wrong questions. Sherman is particularly proud of the fact he bedded both Bette Davis and her arch enemy, Joan Crawford, even though he never divorced. “My wife was a remarkable woman,” is the way Sherman puts it. Or a doormat. But I digress. We also get a few short subjects included herein and the original theatrical trailer. Bottom line: recommended.

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

4.5

VIDEO/AUDIO

3.5

EXTRAS

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