THE GARDEN OF ALLAH: Blu-ray (Selznick International, 1936) Kino Lorber
I have long admired
producer, David O. Selznick, not the least because he made my favorite movie of
all time; Gone with the Wind (1939).
For his fastidiousness and perfectionism, infused with man-handling zeal to
will his visions to the screen, Selznick’s tyranny oft supersedes contemporary
assessments of his innate genius. There is little to deny Selznick his
all-consuming passion. It could just as easily veer into bullying tactics,
particularly when he perceived others as deliberately not performing up to
their fullest potential (or rather, potential as full as he believed they were
capable of). But Selznick, for all his flaws, foibles and brainstorm/rainstorm
of ‘damn memos’, with an entrenched
willfulness allowing for the most productive – if not efficient – manner of
operating, was a picture-making virtuoso nonetheless. We purists and cinema
historians continue to lament the deprivation of his kind today: brilliant
storytellers toiling in the picture biz – art for art’s sake; the past, never
again to be recaptured (except in a revival of yesteryear’s spellbinding output
of classics); the images, once seen, ingrained in the memory for all time, in
large part because their taste, imagination, idealism and Selznick’s intuition
for the integrity and intelligence of his audience was never compromised, much
less sacrificed for the all-mighty dollar.
If nothing else,
Selznick could take immense comfort from the fact he was – and remains – a true
artist of the screen for all time. And further to this point, stepping back
from the vantage of 1939’s heady heartaches and success with ‘GWTW’ – to be compounded by his pending
double-Oscar-whammy for producing the as yet to be released, Rebecca (1940), Selznick’s address at
the University of Rochester this same year bears out that he never lost sight
of the future. “To you who feel the
burning urge to influence the modes and manners, the social and political
ideologies of the future through the medium of the motion picture, I say, here
is a challenge. Here is a frontier that is and always will be crying for the
courage and the energy and the initiative and the genius of American youth.
Here is the Southwest Passage to fame and fortune and influence! Here is the El
Dorado of the heart, the soul and the mind.”
Whether or not
he knew it then, Selznick had already lived through Hollywood’s most vibrant
era of technological innovations. He had even been at the forefront of its
tidal wave – alas, about to crest under his feet, and, by 1949 dissipate into
mere foamy brine, prematurely dashing his continued aspirations as an indie
dream merchant on the rocks. One of
Selznick’s oft overlooked accomplishments is his undying belief in the
pioneering of a system for true color photography. As far back as 1861 the idea
had captured the interest of Scottish physicist, James Clerk Maxwell, who effectively
deduced all color photography could be composited from three basic records:
red, blue and green, employing color filters to tweak black-and-white
photographs and create the illusion (if not the accuracy) of real color. Flash
forward to 1912, the year Herbert Kalmus, Daniel Comstock and Burton Westcott -
three graduates from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology – established a
Bostonian engineering firm entrusted to take the distracting ‘flicker’ out of
motion pictures. Somewhere along the
way, their research veered to putting color into moving images; Technicolor’s
patented 3-strip process eventually producing precisely the sort of superior
color saturation none of its predecessors had even deigned to come close in achieving.
Technicolor’s
breakthrough was its special camera employing a prism to break the image down
into three B&W records of the individual colors. These negatives were then
turned into matrices akin to rubber stamps, dyed in the appropriate color and
brought into contrast with a single blank film that ‘imbibed’ both dyes. This
dye transfer process yielded exquisite richness and, by 1928, Technicolor experienced
its first flourish of interest from Hollywood. Alas, it was short-lived, and
fraught by misfires and mistakes costing millions, but more importantly, the
company’s fledgling reputation for achieving consistent quality. Then, in 1932,
on producer, Merian C. Cooper’s recommendation, Selznick began to see the
validity of pursuing Technicolor for feature films. Walt Disney had beaten
Selznick to the chase, producing and releasing a series of Silly Symphony
cartoons in Technicolor. These had garnered critical accolades. With the
rebirth of his company riding on the integrity of the work, Herbert Kalmus
derived an ironclad ‘contract’ system for leasing Technicolor to movie
companies; supplying not only the technology, but also the cameraman, film, and
post-sync color control and processing. Hence, when Selznick’s financer and
silent partner Jock Whitney elected to bank on Selznick’s dream to be his own
master it was with the understanding Technicolor would play a major role in
their company’s future.
Just prior to
this golden epoch in Selznick’s personal history, Paramount had debuted The Trail of the Lonesome Pine (1936) –
in Technicolor; attracting a large audience, primarily for its gorgeous
location photography. Buoyed by the critical accolades it was receiving, and
moreover – the box office, Selznick made a rather hasty announcement in the
trades that his first picture in Technicolor would be Dark Victory; a Broadway
property Whitney’s money had acquired for the studio. Selznick had admired
Alexander Korda’s protégé, Merle Oberon from afar; courted her talent, in fact,
to sign on the dotted line. Alas, fate is a curious mistress, and Selznick – a
fairly fickle master – elected for something far more exotic to showcase his
debut of the Technicolor process. His replacement pic: The Garden of Allah (1936) scripted by William P. Lipscomb and Lynn Riggs
(based on a popular 1905 novel by Robert S. Hichens. The Garden of Allah had been revived twice on the stage and filmed as
many times before with considerable success, as 1916 and 1927 silents. Adding
sound and Technicolor to its particular blend of mysticism and lassitude,
Selznick was certain he had a surefire hit on his hands. As for Dark
Victory, it would eventually be sold to Warner Bros., to star Bette
Davis in one of her best roles to date as the ill-fated heiress, dying of a
brain tumor.
The Garden of Allah tells the story of an exotic,
wealthy and religious European sophisticate, Domini Enfilden, whose
soul-searching journey through the Sahara (nicknamed the Garden of Allah by the Bedouins) is met with bittersweet love and
tragedy in the form of Boris Androvsky, a Trappist monk, having broken his
monastic vows, only to be tortured by his self-destructive guilt. Selznick had
sincerely hoped to lure MGM’s bird of paradise, Greta Garbo to partake of the
exercise. Indeed, the actress possessed all of the necessary exoticism to make
its chronicle of soulful regeneration convincing and vivacious. Again, kismet
intervened – and not on Selznick’s behalf. While he had already decided Merle
Oberon was entirely wrong for the part, Selznick could spare little time in
search of a suitable replacement and Garbo was off limits, thanks to MGM. Now,
more heavily invested in hammering out the novel’s torpid prose; Selznick had
secured the rights to produce The Garden
of Allah for a rather hefty $62,000.
Both Selznick and Whitney were circumspect; that Technicolor, however
instrumental to the picture’s success, should not overshadow its virtues
invested in authoring a dramatically arresting and perfectly cast yarn.
Budgeted at a then staggering $1.2 million, Selznick reasoned the bulk of this
outlay should be wisely spent on capturing the intensity and isolation of
Buttercup Valley – a remote desert location 60 miles outside Yuma, standing in
for the Sahara.
Now, Selznick
turned his attentions to Marlene Dietrich, whom he considered the epitome of
the grand movie star, but whose career he equally felt had been badly
mismanaged over at Paramount. Indeed, Dietrich’s latest mêlée with Paramount saw
her, and co-star Charles Boyer, walk off the set of Hotel Imperial (eventually recast and made in 1939) in protest of
the firing of their director, Ernest Lubitsch. Selznick snatched up Dietrich
and Boyer’s contracts in haste; eager to help ‘build up’ Boyer’s burgeoning sex
appeal as the new Continental lover. But Selznick was as wary as he was eager
to hire Dietrich, his apprehensions stemming, not the least, from Dietrich’s
weighty $200,000 salary expectations, offset by rumors she was notorious for
holding up production on virtually every picture she made. Encouraged by
Marlene’s promise to remain loyal and ‘above it all’, also informed that her
persona as a ‘demanding diva’ was largely concocted as pure publicity,
Selznick’s anxiety was marginally assuaged; more so, when the picture wrapped
on time – if hardly under budget – thanks to repeatedly inclement weather, but
otherwise with Dietrich ever the consummate professional throughout.
As Dietrich
began working with director, Richard Boleslawski (whose fascinating career
included stints as a former actor, dramatist, dancer, cavalry officer and renegade
artiste of Moscow’s Art Theatre), Selznick continued to ply his craft to the
screenplay; a mess of indecisions and overly dramatic drivel. Selznick, who
always fancied himself as the author of his pictures was thus forced to admit
on this outing more accomplished literary genius was required. To this end, he
hired playwright, Lynn Riggs, then riding high on Broadway. In the meantime,
Boleslawski embarked upon his pilgrimage to the allocated location in Arizona
to begin the arduous task of capturing the essence of the desert. Daily,
temperatures rose well above the hundred-degree mark, forcing cast and crew to
retreat into their tents to escape sunstroke by the stifling anvil bearing down
from the noon-day sun. As both tempers and budget ballooned Selznick sent an
assistant, Raymond Klune to document the delays. Klune’s assessment, that the
isolation and heat were to blame, would eventually force Selznick to relent and
recall Boleslawski and his troops back to Culver City. But there, Klune was
mortified to discover set designer, Sturges Carne had built what was originally
envisioned as a desert chapel on the grand scale of a Gothic cathedral and, out
of real adobe bricks no less. In a rather heated exchange to follow, Klune was
ordered off the set by Carne after suggesting the profligate expense, not to
mention weight of the construction, would topple the enterprise into ruin. When
the structure did indeed collapse through the floor of Stage 14, Carne was
promptly fired by Selznick and replaced with the more prudent-minded Lyle
Wheeler.
At a scant 79
minutes, The Garden of Allah nimbly
begins to tell its tale after the death of Domini Enfilden’s (Marlene Dietrich)
invalid father. Retreating to Le Couvent de Ste. Cecile where she was reared in
her youth, Domini seeks counsel from Mother Superior Josephine (Lucille Watson
at her ‘wise ole owl’ best). Domini is confused, wounded and disturbed by her loneliness.
Josephine reasons the solitude of the Sahara will realign Domini’s search for
her own heart’s desire. Congruent her plans to depart for these far-flung
reaches of cruel isolation, we are introduced to the Trappist monastery at el
Lagarnine in Tunis, North Africa. There, a visitor, Captain de Trevignac (Alan
Marshal) samples the liqueur for which the monks are justly famous. Alas, he
learns too quickly the secret formula has been stolen by Brother Antoine
(Charles Boyer). En route to Beni Mora, Algeria, Domini accidentally meets
Antoine. He is entranced by Irena (Tilly Losch), an exotic dancer who pulls a
knife on her lover, Hadj (Henry Brandon) after he refuses to marry her.
Unprepared for
this, Domini is rescued by Antoine. He now introduces himself as Boris
Androvsky. The next day these two lost souls travel to Azur where they meet the
charismatic Count Ferdinand Anteoni (Basil Rathbone). Sensing her anxiety,
Ferdinand tells Domini to bide her time until the urge to journey deep into the
desert can no longer be denied. Domini takes notice of the native girls’
attraction to a crucifix hanging around Boris’ neck. Nervously, he tosses it
into the water. Although drawn to Boris,
Domini is as put off by his fierce aversion to religion. Anteoni forewarns that
‘a man who fears to acknowledge his God
is unwise to set foot in the desert’. Sometime later, a sand diviner cryptically
predicts ‘something glorious’ is in
store for Domini as she embarks upon her hajj into the desert. Alas, the
journey’s fairy-tale quality is counterbalanced by a grave warning.
Weeks pass.
Steadily, Domini begins to fall in love, even as Boris keeps his past a secret
from her. While out riding, the couple comes across a lowly church overseen by
the benevolent Father J. Roubier (C. Aubrey Smith). Previously, Father Roubier
promised Mother Superior he would watch over Domini. Alas, the sage also takes
notice of Boris' curious angst and acrimony toward the church. Roubier discourages
Domini’s love for Boris. Nevertheless, she has transgressed too far down this
romantic rabbit hole to turn away now. After Boris threatens to leave, Domini
confesses her deep and abiding love for him and he reciprocates these
affections wholeheartedly in return. With grave apprehension, Roubier marries
the couple before sending them into the desert with a caravan and a pair of
guides, Batouch (Joseph Schildkraut) and Hadj. Their happiness is short-lived
as Domini, in lighting a torch to guide Boris back to their base camp,
inadvertently spares a lost patrol from certain starvation. Among the grateful
survivors is de Trevignac who is certain he has met Boris before. When Batouch
innocently serves a bottle of the Lagarnine liqueur, de Trevignac realizes who
Boris is and departs from the table in anger. Bewildered by this turn of
events, Domini can draw no clarity from Boris’ stoic silence.
As dawn begins
to crest across the dunes, Domini implores de Trevignac to tell her the truth. Yet, he too refuses, departing with his men in
haste after informing Anteoni where the caravan is camped. At dinner, Anteoni confides
the tale of the Lagarnine liqueur, never again to be manufactured because the
monk knowing its secret has vanished after taking his final vows. Domini is
horrified. But Boris asserts that such a man had a right to love. Now, Boris
tearfully confesses his sin. He also
tells his wife about his life at the monastery; a resident since childhood
under the vow of silence. He spoke with people for the very first time when, as
an adult, he was put in charge of the monastery's hotel. Believing no one who
loves can ever be punished by God, Domini agrees to allow her husband to return
to the monastery to make reparations. Domini and Boris vow to be together
forever. Tearfully, however, the couple are parted at the monastery gates, each
realizing their embrace here is for the very last time.
In spots, The Garden of Allah is decidedly
maudlin to a fault. And yet, there are pleasures to be derived, not the least
from its sumptuous Technicolor feast for the eye and the sight of seeing
Dietrich’s imperious trademarked visage with arched/pencil-thin eyebrows in
exotic, windswept bursts of color. Despite costly delays, The Garden of Allah wrapped on time; Dietrich, departing for a
previously-arranged London engagement, leaving Selznick and editor, Hal Kern to
piece together both her performance and the picture’s narrative from the
considerable footage shot by Boleslawski. Using a B&W work print to make
their editorial choices, this assemblage was then handed over to Technicolor to
begin the painstakingly meticulous color-balancing process. Selznick repeatedly
clashed with Technicolor’s adviser, Natalie Kalmus (wife of the inventor) over artistic
differences. Kalmus believed in ‘pretty pictures’ brimming with eye-poppingly
brilliant hues, while Selznick, backed by Merian Cooper, insisted the footage
be modeled on the extraordinarily subtle and creamy interplay of light and
shadow exhibited in classic Dutch and Flemish paintings from the sixteenth
century. Eventually, Selznick and Cooper
prevailed. But the battle was hard-won and not without leaving a residue of
lingering acrimony behind and between Kalmus and Selznick.
Nearing the end
of this process – or so it would appear – Selznick elected to run off to Hawaii
with his wife, then expecting their second child, for a much-needed vacation.
But upon his return, his restless quest for perfection had come up with more
than a dozen major changes to be incorporated into the final print; a costly
decision that forced Technicolor to put on an emergency crew to meet the
October 30th world premiere at Grauman’s Chinese Theater. As with
the production, Selznick spared no expense on this glamorous gala. By then, The Garden of Allah had cost Selznick a
whopping $1,447,760. While it received respectable notices from the critics, it
never recouped these costs. Despite this financial disappointment, Selznick and
Whitney equally regarded ‘Allah’ as their ‘money-well-spent’ Technicolor showcase,
visually arresting and truly, at least in hindsight, one of the few
awe-inspiring color masterpieces of the 1930’s. Viewed today, The Garden of Allah retains much of its
illusive exoticism, intermittently marred by its lumbering screenplay. Max
Steiner’s exquisite underscore adds ballast to these already highly
romanticized visuals. In the end, The
Garden of Allah is a Technicolor – if not entirely, a story-teller’s -
triumph.
Exquisitely
photographed by W. Howard Greene and Harold Rosson, curiously un-billed, but
receiving a special Oscar for their work, The
Garden of Allah arrives on Blu-ray via Kino Lorber. The image was
re-composited several decades ago for Anchor Bay’s DVD release and has been remastered
herein in 1080p. With very few exceptions, what’s here is sure to impress. The
image is largely blemish-free and the Technicolor registration bang on. The
Blu-ray easily emits a striking amount of fine detail in hair, clothing and
background information. It is gratifying to see so much of Technicolor’s
original luster having withstood the sands of time, looking so utterly
pristine, vibrant and, as accurate as possible to the opening night splendor of
Selznick’s visionary artistic strain. The DTS mono audio is solid, without hiss
or pop. Extras are limited to a trailer. We would have preferred an audio
commentary. But why poo-poo such impressive results. The Garden of Allah is a winner on Blu-ray. If only we could get
Kino Lorber to press upon MGM to remaster and reissue their flawed incarnation
of another Selznick/Technicolor masterwork - Duel in the Sun to Blu. Ah me, we’ll wait and see…and do an awful
lot of praying for the future of the past…if you catch my meaning. Bottom line:
highly recommended!
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
3.5
VIDEO/AUDIO
4.5
EXTRAS
1
Comments