SCARAMOUCHE (MGM, 1952) Warner Archive

Few motion pictures are as majestically tricked out as director, George Sidney’s lavishly appointed remake of Scaramouche (1952), one of the best, if, in fact, not the best swashbucklers ever made. It is a huge thing, shot in breath-taking 3-strip Technicolor, with ferociously opulent art direction by Cedric Gibbons and Hans Peters, cribbing from Metro’s mammoth consignment of props and costumes amassed nearly two decades before for producer, Irving Thalberg’s as mind-bogglingly decadent, Marie Antoinette (1938). The resultant spectacle is exhilarating, revamped by screenwriters, Ronald Millar and George Froeschel, based on the lurid Raphael Sabatini tale of yore. Scaramouche possesses all the vim and vigor of an untamed lion let loose from its cage, a noble beast to boast an impeccable pedigree of Metro’s finest talents working overtime to ensure its perfection to the nth degree. Better known and regarded for his musicals, George Sidney nevertheless brings a manly vitality to this prudent piece of film fantasy, unseen since screen legend, Ramón Novarro set female hearts aflutter in the silent version from 1923. The 52’ remake stars beefy, Stewart Granger (whose real name was James Stewart), considered – then – as something of a response, or perhaps, even valiant successor to the cod piece, lacy undershirts and stretch tights retired by Errol Flynn over at Warner Brothers.

Upon reflection, Granger always believed he had somehow ‘sold out’ his potential to be a ‘great actor’ for the luxury of becoming ‘a movie star’. Born in England, Granger was advised to change his name so as not to be confused with that ‘other Stewart’ already having made a name for himself in Hollywood. Thus, Granger took his Scottish grandmother’s maiden name for his own. His early years were not distinguished, fluctuating between piece work in forgettable Brit-based films and stagecraft that better suited his appetite for greatness. Invalided by stomach ulcers during WWII, Granger’s big break would come in 1943, in The Man in Grey for Gainsborough Pictures, almost immediately followed by Fanny by Gaslight (1944) in which Granger earned reviews comparing him to Cary Grant. Granger left Gainsborough for Rank in 1947, but after only a scant 2-years was lured to America by MGM to star in their big-budgeted adaptation of King Solomon's Mines (1950) – ironically, a role first offered Errol Flynn.

Scaramouche was something of a hand-me-down for Granger, who came to the role thrice denied him, first assigned to Gene Kelly, then Fernando Lamas, and finally, Ricardo Montalban. It seems only Kelly was ever taken seriously by Metro’s front offices. As early as 1938, MGM had plotted to retell their silent feature about a pauper who discovers the French aristocrat he most readily despises – and conspires to destroy in a climactic duel – is none other than his estranged brother. With Kelly as the lead, the plans were to co-star Ava Gardner as the sultry Lenore and Elizabeth Taylor as the winsome Aline. Taylor had already completed another faux historical epic, Ivanhoe (1952) – ravishing as the epitomized incarnation of Sir Walter Scott’s heroine, Rebecca and garnering rave reviews for her acting too. Even better, MGM was experiencing something of a minor cultural renaissance in costume epics, a sub-genre thought to be dead after the war. Alas, the fallow period of the early forties had deprived audiences of such spectacles, fickle tastes, once more veering toward the proverbial cast of thousands, indulging in some daring do from days gone by.

It all came together rather spectacularly in Scaramouche. Granger’s devil-may-care rogue was cast opposite the deliciously sinful, Eleanor Parker (Metro’s Henna-headed answer to Maureen O’Hara) and another homegrown virgin-esque/doe-eyed beauty, Janet Leigh – of the flaxen-haired, heaving cleavage typecast. Scaramouche also sports a formidable villain in Mel Ferrer, superb as the unscrupulous Noel, the Marquis de Maynes. In the part of the elder statesman, Georges de Valmorin, Metro drew from past inspiration - veteran, Lewis Stone, who had played the Marquis in the silent version, long since gone on to become the beloved ‘father-figure’ in the Andy Hardy movies. Casting aside, Scaramouche is an immense and very impressive achievement. Millar and Froeschel’s fast-paced screenplay balances light comedy and high melodrama, capped off by a mesmerizing eight-and-a-half minute clash of crossed swords. Composer, Victor Young’s exuberant underscore is almost as exhilarating as the action, while Charles Rosher’s spellbinding cinematography is absolutely gorgeous. In short, Scaramouche attained its mantel of quality from top to bottom, becoming a supreme exemplar of Metro’s vintage fifties’ in-house style.

Only in retrospect, does Scaramouche mark a rather sad farewell to these big and showy costume epics – one of the last all-out investments by the studio at a time when costs were skyrocketing while profits were decidedly on the wane. A glimmer of anxiety had already begun to permeate MGM’s New York offices after the abrupt ousting of founding father, L.B. Mayer by Loewe’s Incorporated President, Nick Schenck in 1950. The appointment and impact of his replacement, Dore Schary, too was mildly disturbing as Schary’s verve for ‘message pictures’ decidedly clashed with the studio’s time-honored edicts for peerless glamour above all else. In hindsight, Schary’s typecasting as Mayer’s successor was rather poorly done. Schary’s liberalism, as well as his penchant for B-budgeted quick and dirty film noirs and crime thrillers was decidedly at odds with the ole glam-bam of the studio. Times were changing. As Schary’s forte was neither the musical (a genre MGM had built its unimpeachable reputation on throughout the years) or superficially glossy costume pictures and adventure yarns like Scaramouche, the newly appointed President gave every indication he would allow the creative brain trust responsible for such grandiosity to toil at will on his approval. For a time, Metro’s continued box office successes with these genres belied Mayer’s unceremonious deposition. Scaramouche is exactly the sort of movie Mayer would have green lit and championed from the sidelines. However, Schary’s verve and focus were never telescopically focused on ‘improving’ the studio or maintaining its status quo. In fact, he held a goodly number of Metro’s high-priced stars in quiet contempt as spoiled children in need of a good shake up.

By the early fifties, even the old-timers lingering around the backlot were aware the age of prosperity Metro had ushered in and enjoyed during the war years was fast coming to an end; the klieg lights already begun to dim, thanks in part to HUAC’s investigation of their most sacred cows. The introduction of television and subsequent rapid decline in theater attendance had also raised the specter of the end of times – to say nothing of the government’s Consent Decrees, forcing a divestiture of all remaining studio assets including the venerable ‘star system’. Schary had no stomach for stars anyway. He neither cared for long-term contracts nor did he aspire to become a star maker in Mayer’s league. Interestingly, by the end of the decade, Schary would find himself in the proverbial ‘hot seat’ over MGM’s most lavishly produced costume spectacle to date, 1957’s Raintree County – a picture he had emphatically signed off, mostly to overcompensate for other misfires along the way, but whose box office implosion effectively – and prematurely – put a period to his sovereignty at the studio.

Originally published in 1921, Raphael Sabatini's Scaramouche became something of an instant literary classic. The novel ingeniously intertwines fictional characters with real-life intrigues surrounding the French Revolution.  In retrospect, it is easy to see why Sabatini’s artful manipulations translated so well into Hollywood’s own mythologized folklore readily being peddled as ‘history’. The ’23 version of Scaramouche was a colossal smash, one of Metro’s earliest period epics. Alas, today the merits of this silent version have been all but eclipsed by George Sidney's more perfumed confection.  Regrettably lost in translation are Sabatini’s darker elements, a brooding and lusty flavor, replaced by Granger’s more playful depiction of our hero and the picture’s striking use of Technicolor. 1938’s Marie Antoinette had been conceived by Thalberg as an early Technicolor masterpiece, its sets and costumes all designed to take full advantage of its rainbow hues. The decision to shoot that picture in B&W instead was Mayer’s after Thalberg’s untimely death in 1936, to keep the already skyrocketing budget in check. So, at least in visual terms, Scaramouche’s embarrassment of riches became the real benefactor of Thalberg’s meticulous planning.

In the novel, Andre Moreau is an educated lawyer, disillusioned, cynical and living with his godfather, M. de Kercadiou, who seeks to keep from his young charge the true identity of his parentage. In the ’52 revamp, Moreau (Stewart Granger) is more or less on his own - a light-hearted scamp whose long-standing engagement to travelling stage performer, Lenore (Eleanor Parker) is something of an ongoing joke. Commitment shy, Moreau skillfully eludes any and all of Lenore's plotted entrapments. This, of course, leads to considerable friction in their relationship but never to any vial deceptions or enduring ill will and mistrust. As in the novel, Moreau has an idealist for a best friend, Phillipe de Valmorin (Richard Anderson), pure of spirit and filled with romanticized optimism, the perfect counterpoint to Moreau, life’s most wily – if open-hearted – cynic. Their boyhood friendship is doomed to tragedy. Philippe, part of the revolution, has incurred the Queen’s displeasure and is challenged to a duel by her sadistic cousin, Noel, Marquis de Maynes (Mel Ferrer) at a local tavern. Noel delights in toying with Phillipe, affording him a few hollow victories at the point of his sword before slaying him under the guise of striking down a traitor to the crown.

The Marquis is first cousin to Marie Antoinette (Nina Foch) and currently courting one of the Queen's youngest balletic protégés, Aline de Gavrillic (Janet Leigh) who, through a series of misconceptions, Moreau comes to mistake as his sister - thus wounding his burgeoning affections toward her. De Valmorin's father, Georges (Lewis Stone) keeps a watchful eye on Moreau, whom he regards with the same affection as his late son. Moreau's burning desire is to avenge Phillipe’s murder brands him a traitor to the crown. To conceal his identity from Noel and his guardsman, Chevallier de Chambrillaine (Henry Wilcoxon), Moreau disguises himself as Scaramouche - a travelling performer with the Commedia dell'Arte, who, presumably, is so hideously fantastic he must perpetually hide behind a pointy-nosed mask. Lenore keeps Moreau's secret, hoping their close working relationship will end in a marriage proposal. However, in his time away from the theatre, Moreau attends daily training to perfect his swordsmanship, studying with Mayne’s tutor, Doutreval (John Dehner) and later, Perigore (Richard Hale), the man who taught Doutreval – systemically honing skills for his planned hour of revenge.

The Millar/Froeschel screenplay considerably simplifies the novel's third act, choosing to focus on the ever-constricting romantic intrigues involving Leonore, Aline and Moreau. In fact, the novel's last third - detailing the deluge of the French Revolution (which was depicted in the 23’ version) is entirely dropped from this remake. Lenore, who has good reason to be jealous of Aline - realizing she is in love with Moreau and vice versa - convinces Aline (who is engaged to Noel) to stay away from Moreau for his own safety. The ruse works, except Aline makes clever excuses as to why Noel should remain at her side rather than entertain Moreau's demands for satisfaction. Noel sends various guardsmen in his stead to settle this score. But Noel has underestimated Andre’s resolve as well as all the skills he has acquired with a sword since their last confrontation. Time and again, Moreau dispatches with Noel’s seconds – even, Chambrillaine, whom he merely wounds in battle.  Some of the others are not nearly as lucky.

Exasperated, Noel declares he will accept the wager on Moreau’s terms. Once more, Aline intervenes, first by feigning a fainting spell, then, by begging her fiancée to attend the theatre as he had promised earlier, unaware Scaramouche is performing that very evening. Regrettably, Aline discovers this too late from their opera box. Moreau removes his mask, stopping the performance and openly challenging Noel to a duel to the death. In the resulting clash of swords, Moreau proves a formidable foe, wounding Noel in both shoulders before preparing to finish him off. At the last possible moment, a queer sense of honor – or perhaps, acute chivalry intervenes in Andre’s well-laid plans. He cannot finish Noel off, casting the tip of his sword into the floor boards before storming off. Some hours later, the theater cleared of its onlookers, Moreau returns to mope, Georges, who has been waiting for his return, revealing to Andre that his real father was the late Marquis de Mayne. He and Noel are, in fact, brothers.  The truth of their long secret parentage exposed, Moreau is elated to realize he and Aline are not, as he once supposed, brother and sister. As Andre is now free to pursue Aline as his wife, Lenore noble steps aside. In the final moments, Aline and Moreau are glimpsed aboard their wedding carriage. Lenore tosses the happy couple a bouquet of flowers from her balcony window; Moreau drawing nearer to indulge in their fragrance, only to have a small, though harmless, explosive device powder his face in black soot. Laughing off the insult as ultimately well deserved, Moreau bids a fond farewell to Lenore, and she to him, before giving a flirtatious nod to her new suitor in training; none other than Napoleon Bonaparte (Aram Katcher).

In these penultimate moments of screwball badinage, Scaramouche – the movie – betrays the conclusion to Raphael Sabatini’s source material. And yet, it retains the author’s flair for flamboyance. And, it thoroughly satisfies as only a romantic fantasy made by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer in its heyday could, with George Sidney’s training in the musical mélange proving the perfect fit for this effervescent rendering of a very classy, classic tale. Like other movies similarly set in MGM’s ersatz facsimile of ancient France, Scaramouche benefits immensely from Thalberg's authentic consignment of sets, props and costumes first acquired for Marie Antoinette. The theater hosting Moreau and Noel’s duel is an amalgam of rooms and antechambers redressed from the Versailles palace sets and the oft-used theater set, best utilized in 1936’s San Francisco, herein draped in elegant silk bunting, with urns of ferns and flaming red drapes and carpets, its upper boxes and ceiling a clever amalgam of miniatures and matte paintings with the courtiers and courtesans all wearing Marie Antoinette’s 1938 hand-me-downs. Keen eyes will also recognize the B&W spandex costume Moreau wears during this battle royale as attire first worn by Gene Kelly for the artist's ball sequence in An American In Paris (1950). If all - or at least, most - of Scaramouche's trappings are borrowed, it matters not.

Outstanding performances dominate. Stewart Granger has never been better. He moves with the agility of a jungle cat. For Granger, the athletic fencing sequences were an aesthetic hard won during rehearsals when costar, Mel Ferrer, accidentally wounded him in battle. Ferrer was not the accomplished fencer, learning these routines as a dancer might study his choreography – on beats. Granger, however, came to the cause with formidable training from the English stage. He could duel and ride a horse with ease, both skills readily on display in the final edit. Even more impressive, the stunt work here is all full scale, done without the aid of doubles, Ferrer and Granger clinging desperately to the edges of a third-story balcony ledge without the benefit of a safety net. As Lenore, Eleanor Parker is a vibrant temptress - a quality the actress, regrettably, never exercised so richly elsewhere in her film career. There is a mouthwatering adversarial quality to her romantic sparring with Granger, and, an even more noble – if enterprising - banter established between her Lenore and Janet Leigh’s virginally attired ingénue. We can believe in all of these conflicting relationships because the actors are giving everything to the cause, the script, tightly woven around their lover’s triangles with the Shakespearean-styled revenge/tragedy thrown in for good measure.

By now, one would have hoped for a Blu-ray of Scaramouche from the Warner Archive (WAC). Fair enough, this one needs some work to ready it for hi-def, because Warner Home Video’s DVD rates as merely adequate. If this is to arrive in hi-def, some serious clean-up needs to happen, along with a new 4K scan of surviving elements. Much of the steadfastness of the original Technicolor dyes has endured. Color saturation on the DVD is marvelous. Contrast too is excellent. Unfortunately, occasional shrinkage of the 3-strip color negatives results in a few instances of very painful mis-alignment, creating distracting halos that must be addressed and corrected before Scaramouche can make the leap to hi-def. Let’s hope someone at WAC is listening and seriously considering as much. Thankfully, digital anomalies (pixelization, edge enhancement, aliasing and shimmering) are mostly absent from this DVD transfer. Apart from the aforementioned shortcomings, this is a very smooth visual presentation. The audio is mono but nicely balanced. Extras include Mel Ferrer’s brief recollections on the making of the film, an essay on swordplay, a Tom and Jerry cartoon short and Scaramouche's original theatrical trailer. If WAC ever decides to revisit this title in hi-def it would be prudent to include the original silent classic as a double feature. We will recommend the DVD for now, but sincerely wait in the hope of better things.

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

5+

VIDEO/AUDIO

3

EXTRAS

1