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
2
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