IMITATION OF LIFE: Blu-ray (Universal 1934/1959) Universal Home Video
A mother’s
love, a daughter’s betrayal and the unbroken bond of friendship between women:
by the time director, John M. Stahl’s Imitation
of Life (1934) reached the movie screen it had already garnered minor
controversy among the critics. Its subject matter – a woman of mixed racial
heritage passing for white – was either wholly dismissed or grotesquely misperceived
as subversive satire. Mercilessly, such off the cuff critiques only made the
masses want to see it more. Fueled by the pre-sold popularity of Fannie Hurst’s
1933 novel, Stahl’s ‘Imitation’ was a superb translation
of the author’s unvarnished social critique, made ever so slightly more glamorous
(and thus, more palpable) to the segregationist audiences in the deep South.
Heralding from an affluent Jewish family, Hurst had moved from her native Ohio
to New York to pursue her passion for writing, working menial jobs along the
way and ultimately developing a great sensitivity for the common people’s
plight in modern society. Then, in 1920,
after several years of publishing serialized stories for various prominent New
York magazines, Hurst embarked on an impressive succession of literature:
including 17 novels, plays, screenplays and 8 collections of short stories; as
prolific as she proved dedicated to her craft.
Imitation of Life remains the jewel in Hurst’s
literary crown; made into a movie twice – each time, with overwhelming
commercial success. In retrospect, the
novel is a poignantly penned melodrama. At least part of the novel and the 1933
movie’s popularity is imbedded in the tabloid quality of its taboo subject
matter; miscegenation and the troubled offspring it produces. Hurst, who had been deeply committed to the Harlem
Renaissance, her friendship with Zora Neale Hurston contributing to a better
understanding of racial inequality, had sought to extol the virtues of their
friendship with this sincere homage. It should, however, be noted that Imitation of Life had as many
detractors among the African American community – including Hurston – as it
did within the white power structure. In fact, noted literary critic, Sterling
Allen Brown eviscerated the novel, nicknaming his book/film review, ‘Imitation of Life: Once a Pancake’ in
reference to a line uttered in the 1933 film. In retrospect, Imitation of Life, both as a novel and
two highly successful movies, is a queerly heavy-handed affair; steeped in
stereotypes about sex, class and, decidedly, race relations, more rigidly
ensconced than dispelled. To some extent, Hurst’s weighty approach to all these
aforementioned criteria is somewhat tempered in William Hurlbut’s screenplay,
adapted with an assist from director, Stahl to more prominently feature, then
reigning movie queen, Claudette Colbert.
For Colbert,
the move into more contemporary melodrama was refreshing. She had begun her
career as a DeMille favorite, starring in two of his best remembered trips into
antiquity; 1932’s The Sign of the Cross
(a delicious pre-code Bible-fiction epic in which she appeared in the raw,
bathing in asses’ milk) and 1934’s Cleopatra
(as the smoldering temptress of the Nile); shifting focus into mainstream
dramas and screwball comedies, including her Oscar-winning turn in It Happened One Night (1934), usually
playing saucy vamps or slick women with an agenda. Imitation of Life recasts Colbert as the mother of a teenage
daughter. While playing a parent usually spelled the kiss of death for any
young actress’ career (the movies generally preferring sexy young things as
lovers to housewives) Colbert’s decision to mature her on-screen persona added
yet another layer of respectability to her craft. It also won Colbert the
admiration of her peers as well as her fans and, in retrospect, relaxed
Hollywood’s preconceived notions about, what actress Goldie Hawn would much
later astutely summarize as the three phases of a woman’s acting career: ‘babe, district attorney and ‘Driving Miss
Daisy’.’
The novel is
set in New Jersey, circa 1910 with a lengthy prologue explaining the past of its
central character, Bea Chipley; a mousey girl keeping house for her father and
a male boarder, Benjamin Pullman, whom
she will later marry at her father’s behest. Alas, tragedy strikes twice. Mr.
Chipley is stricken with a debilitating stroke and Pullman is killed in a
terrible train accident shortly before their daughter, Jessie is born. As Bea
is not of an affluent family, her financial situation is immediately
threatened. For a time, she takes in boarders and peddles her late husband’s
syrup door-to-door. A chance encounter with single mother Delilah Johnson, an
African American woman with a ‘light skinned’ daughter of her own, leads to an
unlikely bond of friendship, and later, a business venture profitable for both
ladies. Alas, trouble dogs Delilah’s daughter, Peola; able to pass for white,
but increasingly ashamed of her own African American heritage. Peola breaks her
mother’s heart by severing all ties, marrying a white man in Seattle and moving
to Bolivia where her assimilation as a white woman is never again
questioned. Back in New Jersey, Delilah
dies in despair. Alas, Bea has begun to fall in love with a much younger man –
aptly named, Flake who also takes up with Jessie, now in her late teens. The
last few chapters of the novel are dedicated to this tragic love triangle.
Suffice it to say, it does not end happily ever after for anyone.
Stahl’s
reconstitution of the novel for the 1933 film is not as dire as all that;
particularly forgiving of Bea Pullman (Claudette Colbert) and her daughter,
Jessie (variably played by Juanita Quigley as a toddler, Marilyn Knowlden as
little girl, and finally, as a burgeoning young adult by Rochelle
Hudson). William Hurlbut’s screenplay dispenses with the entire first act of
the novel, also Bea’s first husband and father, instead concentrating on the
warm-hearted friendship blossoming between Bea and her black housekeeper,
Delilah Johnson (Louise Beavers) who also has a daughter, Peola (Sebie
Hendricks as a child, and the sublime Fredi Washington as a young adult). Owing
to concerns raised by Joseph Breen and Hollywood’s self-governing board of film
censorship, Delilah’s earlier marriage to a white European is never mentioned,
although Peola’s ability to pass for white remained a bone of contention for
Joseph Breen.
After
struggling to make ends meet, Bea latches onto an idea to create a pancake
house on the New Jersey boardwalk with Delilah’s help. The place is hardly a hit,
but it causes passerby, Elmer Smith (Ned Sparks) to make the winning suggestion
Bea market her pancake flour, exploiting Delilah as a sort of Aunt Jemima
knockoff and trademark. This proves the kick start to a highly lucrative
business venture for which Bea gratefully offers Delilah twenty-percent of the
residuals. Despite her newfound
prosperity, and either out of loyalty or tradition (the classical Hollywood
machinery particularly adept at seeing African Americans only as suitable
‘hired help’), Delilah remains Bea's factotum. Ten years pass, the matriarchs
united and solidified in both their professional and personal allegiances;
also, in their shared concerns and woes over their daughters. Herein, the old
axiom ‘small children/small problems; big
children/big problems’ will suffice.
Both Peola and
Jessie give their respective matriarchs a run for their money. Jessie is not a
scholar, but rather self-centered and content to rely on her good looks and
charm to get ahead. She is also the first person to refer to Peola as ‘black’
in an unflattering way, thus establishing the impetus for her social dilemma.
At school, Peola does not tell her classmates she is ‘colored’, and is chagrined when Delilah arrives one afternoon to
collect her from class, thus spoiling her secret. Later sent to a ‘Negro
college’, Peola instead drops out, gets a job as a cashier in a prominent
‘white’ store, and increasingly distances herself from her African American
heritage, romantically pursuing young white men who have no idea Delilah is her
mother. When Delilah discovers this, it breaks her heart. Meanwhile, home from
college for the summer break, Jessie develops a naïve school girl’s crush on
her mother’s boyfriend, Stephen Archer (Warren William). Her lust is unrequited, but Bea breaks off
her engagement to Stephen nevertheless, assuring him she ‘may’ return once
Jessie has awakened from her day-dreamy infatuation.
Emotionally
destroyed by her daughter’s betrayal, Delilah suffers a fatal heart attack and
dies with Bea at her bedside. Determined to honor her best friend’s final wish,
to depart this world with a big and splashy New Orleans-styled funeral, Bea
arranges for a grand processional, complete with marching band and horse-drawn
hearse; a repentant and overwrought Peola running alongside her mother’s
casket, begging in vain for her forgiveness.
Presumably, realizing the error of her ways, a tearful Jessie embraces
her mother; Bea poignantly recalling a moment from childhood to realign their
enduring mother/daughter bond, predicated on unconditional love that has not
been broken.
The 1933
version of Imitation of Life, while
taking a few artistic liberties along the way to satisfy the production code,
is nevertheless fairly faithful to Fannie Hurst’s novel; the film’s narrative
structure effectively split roughly down the middle: its’ first half an idyllic
portrait of early family struggles and successes; its latter portion dedicated
to a uniquely American tragedy. In retrospect, what must have seemed
progressive in 1933 now has a decidedly tinny ring of Uncle Tom-ism about it;
particularly a scene where Delilah retreats after a long day’s work as
housemaid inside Bea’s fashionable mansion down a staircase into her own
basement apartment beneath its glittery salons. After all, it was Delilah’s
recipe that made Bea a very wealthy woman, and for which Delilah only receives
20% of the profits, plus a lifetime of servitude as her recompense.
Universal’s
negotiations with the Breen Office were spirited to say the least; Breen
insistent the story’s miscegenation was extremely ‘dangerous from the standpoint of industry and public policy.’
Indeed, early Hollywood sought to expunge sexual relations between the races
not only from its storytelling, but also presumably, as a rewrite of the
historical record by creating its own artificially conceived notion it had
always been a taboo. To satisfy the Code, a scene depicting the near lynching
of a young black man for misreading a white woman’s smile as an invitation to
approach her flirtatiously, was dropped.
Curiously, after 1938, all subsequent reissues of the film also did away
with its title card prologue immediately following the main titles, which reads
thus: “Atlantic City in1919 was not just
a boardwalk, rolling-chairs and expensive hotels where bridal couples spent
their honeymoons. A few blocks from the gaiety of the famous boardwalk,
permanent citizens of the town lived and worked and reared families just like
people in less glamorous cities.”
Imitation of Life was an immediate sensation with
audiences, nominated for three Academy Awards including Best Picture, eclipsed
by that ‘other’ Colbert vehicle, It
Happened One Night – a forgivable loss. Colbert is, in fact, a primary
reason why the 1934 version works so well; also Louise Beavers – two troopers
who elevate the maudlin treacle and sentiment of the piece with a social
conscience. Neither actress is giving ‘a performance’ per say, but reacting
truthfully to the situations and scenes with an almost intuitive inflection,
minus guile or grandstanding. It is saying much for the movie too, that
although rarely revived after 1938, its reputation with audiences endured in
the memory’s eye. Owing to its perennial appeal, director, Douglas Sirk– the
grand master of all movie-land soap operas – elected to remake Imitation of Life in 1959. Alas, Sirk’s version deviates in almost every
regard from both its predecessor and Hurst’s original intent, retaining the
title, but precious little else. And he is doubly hampered herein by having
Lana Turner as his star.
Turner’s post-MGM
career had continued to rely on her wartime status as an elegant pinup and
sweater girl, and, in re-envisioning the role of Lora Meredith (a.k.a. Bea
Pullman) Bill Thomas’ costume budget on the 1959 movie tipped the scales at
over $1 million dollars for Turner’s garments alone; one of the grandest
expense accounts ever in Hollywood history until that time, perhaps not all
that surprising, given Ross Hunter was the film’s producer; a man whose
penchant for resplendent escapism matched Sirk’s own. Although an irrefutable fact of life, Turner
had aged beyond the ‘fresh young fine’
that had once set Metro’s cash registers ringing, she had proven her acting
chops in this interim (most notably, in Mark Robson’s 1957 movie version of Peyton Place). Moreover, and
miraculously in spite of her frequent binges and all-night carousing, Lana was
still a very well preserved thirty-eight years old when principle photography
began on Imitation of Life. But having Turner as its’ star tended to
unbalance the film’s intimate bond between Lorna and her devoted maid, rechristened
as Annie Johnson (Juanita Moore).
In retrospect,
Sirk’s reputation in Hollywood is perhaps one of the most fascinating and
largely untapped stories. In his own time, his melodramas were rarely regarded
as art, despite their overwhelming commercial success. Setting aside Jean-Luc
Godard’s gushing ode to Sirk’s A Time to
Love and a Time to Die (1958), begun with “I am going to write a madly enthusiastic review of Douglas Sirk's
latest film, simply because it set my cheeks afire,” most reviewers readily
pounced on Sirk’s verve for what they misperceived as ‘style’ over ‘substance’.
Indeed, the real renaissance for Sirk’s legacy began nearly eleven years after Imitation of Life’s premiere, with an
article first published in the April issue of Cahiers du cinema in 1967. The
reinvention of Sirk’s reputation in America was begun by Andrew Sarris one year
later. By 1974, Sirk’s contributions on film had been rewritten by the same
critics who had once chastised his efforts, now as having acquired a mantel of
quality, and steadily embraced by a whole new generation of film makers like
Todd Haynes, who would find themselves knee deep in Sirk-land sized glamor.
Aside: apart from its nod to homosexuality, as well as updating the central
romance to contain a very ‘Imitation-esque’ miscegenation scenario, Haynes’ Far From Heaven (2002) is almost a shot for shot remake of Sirk’s All That Heaven Allows (1955) with a
dash of Imitation of Life thrown in.
Still, there
is no getting around the fact Sirk’s conspicuous consumption of all material
signifiers attesting to ‘the good life’ – or, at least, the affluence of upper
middle class morality – is a heavy-handed intruder on Fannie Hurst’s decidedly
intimate tale of the downtrodden makes good; now gussied up in widescreen and
Eastmancolor. Earl Grant’s rendition of Sammy Fain and Paul Francis Webster’s
title song became a jukebox favorite for a time, as did Mahalia Jackson’s
stirring gospel rendition of ‘Trouble of
the World’ – a funeral dirge sung to tear-wringing effect at Annie’s
funeral. And Universal ensured its remake some stellar production values;
second unit location work in New York, most of it used for long shots and/or
process plates to lend an air of authenticity to an otherwise studio-bound
production. Together with screenwriters, Eleanore Griffin and Allan Scott, Sirk’s
updated premise allowed Lora to become a famous actress on her own steam while
Annie assumes the responsibilities to rear Lora’s daughter, Susie (Sandra Dee)
as well as her own, Sarah Jane (Susan Kohner).
In casting Kohner, of Mexican/Czech/Jewish descent, as the movie’s
mulatto, the pivotal plot point of ‘passing’
as another race acquire an unintentionally picaresque quality.
In essence,
Sirk’s remake retained the general framework of the original movie, advancing
to postwar America, circa1947, where widow, Lora Meredith (Lana Turner) is
frantically scouring the beach at Coney Island for any sign of her young
daughter, Susie (Terry Burnham) who has wandered off. Lora pleads with a total
stranger, Steve Archer (John Gavin) to help her look for the girl. Eventually,
Susie is discovered in the care of Annie Johnson (Juanita Moore), a black
single mother with a daughter, Sarah Jane (Karin Dicker) who is about Susie's
age. Lora is so grateful to Annie she
decides to offer them both a room in the back of her cramped New York
apartment. It isn’t much, but Annie is receptive to the notion she can make
something from this new start. Indeed, she makes herself indispensable as a
cook and maid, persuading Lora to stay on so she can pursue her ambitions for a
career on the stage full time. Of
course, this appeals to Lora’s minor streak of narcissism. After some initial
hardships, Lora garners a pair of allies in agent, Alan Loomis (Robert Alda)
and playwright, David Edwards (Dan O'Herlihy). Professionally speaking, it’s
smooth sailing ahead; not so for Lora’s private life. Alas, Steve doesn’t want
her to become a star; shades of the 1950’s sexual stereotypes and politics about
the little woman’s place being in the home effectively woven in.
Herein, Sirk
makes his own minor comment about parental responsibilities too; Lora’s rather
selfish concentration on her career plans causing a deep separation between
mother and daughter, nursed by Annie’s gentle and guiding presence in both
their lives. Too bad what Annie can do
for Susie’s morale she seems unable to satisfy within her own daughter’s
increasing frustrations to ‘pass’ for white. Sirk advances his timeline to
1958. Lora is now the toast of Broadway, living in a luxurious brownstone in
Manhattan. Having hired Annie as her live-in nanny/housekeeper and confidant,
Lora and Annie present a united front against the male-dominated social
structure of their own times. Indeed, Lora has since resisted David’s proposal
of marriage. Professionally, she’s been having second thoughts about his latest
script too. She’s tired of doing light romantic fluff and instead breaks
tradition – as well as David’s heart – by accepting a part in a weighty drama.
The show turns
out to be a big hit. At its after party, Lora is reunited with Steve who has
been absent from her life for more than a decade. But the embers from their
one-time love affair have not entirely cooled. Moreover, Steve is as handsome
as ever; his effect on women not lost on the now teenage Susie (Sandra Dee),
who develops an unhealthy crush on her mother’s boyfriend while Lora is off
shooting a movie in Italy. Meanwhile, Sarah Jane (Susan Kohner) has been seeing
Frankie (Troy Donahue); a hot to trot stud from a socially affluent white family
whom she sincerely hopes will marry her. Tragically, news of her mixed race
heritage precedes one of their clandestine rendezvous and Frankie, enraged by
the notion he has almost become intimate with a black girl, instead brutally
assaults Sarah Jane in a back alley. Sometime later, Sarah Jane gets a job as a
seedy nightclub chanteuse, lying to Annie she is a respectable girl working at
the library. When Annie learns the truth
she marches straight to the club to collect her daughter.
Sarah Jane is
humiliated. But even more debilitating to Annie is her own daughter’s rejection
of her. Thus, when Lora returns from Italy, she discovers a house in turmoil;
Sarah Jane having run away and Annie prostrated in grief. This being the
1950’s, where a woman – even one as independently minded as Lora – can do
nothing on her own, or so it would seem, she instead asks Steve to hire a
private detective to locate Sarah Jane. Time passes, unabated by Annie’s
sorrow. Eventually, word arrives that Sarah Jane is in California, living as a
white woman under an assumed name and having found work as a chorus girl.
Annie’s emotional duress eventually weakens her physical resolve. As worry
translates into depression she summons up all her strength to make the journey
out west to look in on her daughter, wish her well and bid her goodbye. The reunion is hardly a happy one. Sarah Jane
is cruel and nervous anyone should take notice of the dark-skinned woman who
bears no immediate physical resemblance to her. Realizing it was a mistake to
come to California, Annie returns to New York where she suffers a collapse and
becomes bedridden.
Meanwhile,
Susie’s infatuation with Steve grows ominous and critical after she learns Lora
has decided to marry him. Annie breaks the news to Lora from her death bed. Lora
is hurt by the revelation, whereupon a mother/daughter confrontation ensues and
Susie confesses as much. Afterward, Susie realizes what a fool she has been and
elects to go away to a private school in Denver to forget Steve. News of Susie’s departure breaks Annie’s heart
for the last time. After all, she has regarded Susie as much her own child as
Sarah Jane. Unable to recover from this crippling sadness, Annie quietly dies
of a broken heart with Lora at her side. As per her final request, Annie is
afforded an absurdly lavish funeral, Sarah Jane assailing the horse-drawn
hearse and throwing herself across her mother’s casket to beg for forgiveness.
Lora helps the grief-stricken girl into their limousine where Susie and Steve
are already waiting to comfort her as the procession slowly begins to navigate
its way through the crowded, rain-soaked city streets.
The 1959
incarnation of Imitation of Life has
its champions. Strangely enough, I’m torn in my assessment of this movie. It’s
certainly more ostentatious than the 1934 original; infinitely more
over-the-top in its emotional content in place of genuine human emotions and
substance, as only any movie by
Douglas Sirk can be and generally is – at least, on the surface – made ridiculous
by its exotic accoutrements. Luscious Lana remains dressed in the same frock
for no more than a few minutes at a time, never wearing the same outfit twice,
thus putting on a real fashion parade as the quintessence of what’s wrong (or
perhaps right) with the woman’s weepy circa 1959. Evidently, she could never be the dowdy Bea
Pullman as written by Hurst or played with supreme conviction by Claudette
Colbert. But as Lora Meredith she is both a vision and a sight, and something
of an attention whore, scene stealing practically every moment from the more
exquisitely restrained Juanita Moore; except, perhaps, Annie’s death scene.
As it had
happened in 1934, critical reaction to Sirk’s remake was once again split. Most
critics derided it as pure drivel. Interestingly, it has that flaw. But its’
flaw is equally its’ appeal. And the public, for better or worse, generally
speaking – are the arbitrators of what constitutes ‘good taste’ (God help us).
They flocked to see it, making 1959’s remake of Imitation of Life the 9th highest grossing movie of the year with a
whopping $6.4 million intake. For nearly a decade thereafter, this ‘Imitation’
would remain Universal’s biggest money maker of all time, until the release of
1970’s drama/suspense classic, Airport.
Viewed today, Sirk’s remake retains a strangely hypnotic allure; like a car
crash one is privy to but not a part of, it is virtually impossible to turn it
off once the main titles have begun. Melodrama, syrupy or not, is indeed an ‘imitation’ of life; a means for
audiences to live vicariously through the imagined scenarios of a fiction that
often hits too painfully close to home to be virtually ignored or dismissed
outright as mere sentimentalized hogwash.
So, which film
holds up better today? Hmmm. While Claudette Colbert’s performance is bar none
the superior of the two and Stahl’s adherence to Fannie Hurst’s novel in the ’34
version is commendable, the idea of two broke gals getting rich off a pancake
recipe is a little unconvincing by today’s standards. Again, contemporary
opinion ought never be the deciding vote as to what constitutes good solid
entertainment. But Sirk’s glossier treatment has color (no pun intended) and a
lot of kilowatt sparkle to recommend it; also Lana Turner, who looks ravishing
from head to toe. She isn’t Hurst’s heroine – not by a long shot. But she’s all
Lana and, for most this, quite simply, will be enough.
Universal Home
Video has finally come around to reissuing Imitation
of Life on Blu-ray. Both films have been readily available on DVD for many
years; the 1959 version actually issued twice in competing editions, alas,
sporting the same flawed and badly faded transfer. Prepare yourself, then, to
be amazed by what’s here. Despite Universal’s insistence on using the same
cover art as their old DVD ‘book’ release of the two editions as a combo,
everything else about this 1080p Blu-ray is brand spanking new and ‘wow’ do the results speak for
themselves! My one complaint – and, it is an extremely minor one at that – is Universal
has housed both versions on a single Blu-ray disc, instead of utilizing a
higher bit rate by spreading each film across a single disc. What? The whole
$1.95 it must cost to add an extra disc to this packaging was too much for
Universal to splurge on?
But why
quibble when the results are so emphatically a vast improvement over the way
either film has looked on home video before. First, the 1934 edition, sporting
an exceptionally clean and free from age-related artefacts B&W image that
is superbly contrasted and contains a natural patina of film grain looking very
indigenous to its source material. Bravo
and thank you to whoever is responsible for this remastering effort. It’s A-1
all the way, the mono DTS audio also given an upgrade, sounding years younger
with minimal hiss and virtually no pop. Fantastic!
Now, about the
1959 version: as already mentioned, the DVD incarnations herein looked
atrocious with pale and washed out colors, orangey flesh tones and a heavy
patina of grain looking more like digitized grit. The Blu-ray is a quantum leap
ahead in overall quality. There’s really no point to my apples to pomegranates
comparison except to say, double ‘wow’
and triple ‘thank you’ to Universal
for making this reissue a reality. Part of the appeal of the 1959 remake is
Douglas Sirk’s extraordinary use of color to evoke mood. Here, at long last, is
the embodiment of Sirk’s vision brought forth with all the garish va-va-va-voom
one might imagine from Imitation of Life’s
opening night splendor. Not only do colors pop and gleam with an impossible fulsomeness,
but the image is razor-sharp without appearing to have been digitally enhanced.
Film grain that was intrusive and distracting on the DVD has been brought back
into line in hi-def, looking very earthy and spot on accurate. You are going to LOVE this disc. Again, the
DTS mono audio is deftly handled.
Virtually all
the extras contained herein have been ported over from the old double disc DVD release;
including a documentary on the making of both films and two highly informative
audio commentaries; the first, from African-American Cultural Scholar, Avery
Clayton, the other by film historian, Foster Hirsch, plus theatrical trailers for
both movies. We really need to commend Universal for this effort; the best way,
with a flood of orders that will support their efforts and encourage them to do
much more of the same on their, as yet, wellspring of untapped classics in
hi-def. Hey fellas, my vote would be for a new Tammy and the Bachelor, Thoroughly
Modern Millie, and Best Little
Whorehouse in Texas. Okay, I will be silent. Again, and obviously, highly
recommended!
FILM RATING
(out of 5 - 5 being the best)
1934 version 4
1959 version 3.5
VIDEO/AUDIO
1934 version 5+
1959 version 5+
EXTRAS
2.5
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