HEAVEN CAN WAIT: Blu-ray (2oth Century-Fox, 1943) Criterion Collection
What more can be
said of director, Ernst Lubitsch? Departing his funeral in 1947, fellow
Euro-transplant, Billy Wilder was rumored to have dolefully muttered, “No more Lubitsch” to which director,
William Wyler, accompanying him down the stairs, humbly countered, “Worse than that. No more Lubitsch pictures.”
Indeed, Lubitsch’s lithe continental flair, tinged with frankly adult hints of
naughtiness, had given Jeanette MacDonald her sex appeal and made an
international Lothario of France’s Maurice Chevalier. After Hollywood’s self-censoring
‘code of ethics came into play, Lubitsch found less overt, though no less
diverting ways to convey human sexuality on the screen, turning his urbane wit
onto comedy; the mores and manners of ‘polite’ society lent their grace and
sophistication that, otherwise, their motivations lacked. Ditto for prestige –
rechristened ‘the Lubitsch touch’ and
fervently on display with countless examples, typifying an inimitable grasp of our
perennial fascination with human foibles. Exposing wickedness was, arguably,
never Lubitsch’s métier. Celebrating the follies of ordinary people making mistakes
out of life, ostensibly, was.
There was
nothing about Lubitsch’s early start in the industry to indicate he had
greatness brewing; his 1913 debut as an actor in The Ideal Wife leading to 30 odd more forgettable outings in which
he utterly failed to distinguish himself. But in 1918, Lubitsch made Die Augen der Mumie Ma (The
Eyes of the Mummy) – his first ‘serious’ picture, alternating
throughout the silent era by directing historical dramas and frothy comedies,
and having international success with both. A false start with The Loves of Pharaoh (1921) soured
Lubitsch’s first visit to America, although he was very impressed with the vast
resources Hollywood wielded. A year later, Lubitsch was back on American soil –
for good this time, and directing Mary Pickford in Rosita – a smash hit that paved the way to a 3-year/6-picture deal
with Warner Bros. It gave him unprecedented creative control over cast, crew,
and, most important of all – final cut. Under mutual consent, Warner sold the
remainder of Lubitsch’s contract jointly to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer and Paramount;
his second picture thereafter, The
Patriot (1928), earning him a Best Director Academy Award nomination, but
more importantly, the respect of his peers.
A partnership
with screenwriter, Samson Raphaelson, begun with Trouble in Paradise (1932) made Lubitsch’s name synonymous with scintillating
classiness, bawdy good humor, and an unpretentious urbanity, as frolicsome as
it was sincere. In some ways, Heaven Can
Wait (1943), is Lubitsch’s penultimate class act. It also catches him on
the downswing. The picture was well-received, but considered unremarkable by then
prevailing standards; just another garish and glossy Technicolor bonbon made at
2oth Century-Fox during the height of that studio’s affinity for tales set in
the not so distant Victorian past. Again, Raphaelson contributed the
screenplay. Lubitsch was given Gene Tierney and Don Ameche as his stars; top
box office draws whose on-screen chemistry was as subtle as it remained
genuine. The picture is actually all about ‘personal
history’ – or rather, the flawed progress of a self-professed rake, Henry
Van Cleve, played with charismatic charm by Ameche who convincingly ages from
an affable twenty-something man about town to a seventy-plus bedridden
millionaire, recounting his life and times to ‘His Excellency’ – the devil himself (Laird Cregar).
Lubitsch’s
direction here is insular in the extreme, managing the minor coup of regaling a
life fully lived through some very turbulent times (including WWI, and, The
Depression); all of them kept at bay and, in fact, without ever making any social
commentary along the way. No, this is Henry’s life and his story to tell –
bookended by his very sincere – if ego-centric anticipation for the gates of
hell to open wide and swallow him whole. Personally, I have a minor difficulty
wrapping my head around Cregar’s joyous and superbly lovable portrait of the
prince of darkness. Is the devil really prone to showing anyone compassion?
Perhaps, it is my stringent Orthodox upbringing, or decades’ worth of
less-than-flattering cinematic depictions of ‘the devil’ as…well, you know…evil
incarnate that have colored my interpretations about what lies beneath. But
referring to Satan as ‘his excellency’ is a bit like asking Madonna for Holy
Communion. Alas, I digress. And Cregar’s performance, heavily pancaked in tan
makeup, pomade-slicked back jet-black hair and goatee is able, with his
penetrating stare, to conjure to mind century’s old brimstone in a way that
makes everyone desire the slow burn. This devil is truly ‘a devil’ – cuddly, yet only superficially mischievous (as he
depth-charges a Cheshire-grinning Mrs. Edna Craig, played by Florence Bates,
through the steamy floor boards, straight into the burbling bowels of a great
and penetrating abyss) yet mindful, not every soul presenting itself for his
consideration is actually ripe for his asking.
Heaven Can Wait begins with the death of Henry Van
Cleve (Don Ameche). Sufficiently ripened, he pensively approaches hell’s
reception area, personally greeted by His Excellency – the devil. A chance
meeting with Edna, a woman Henry flirted with in his youth, is hastily
dispatched when Satan sends Edna to her just reward. But Henry? Ah, now here is
a challenge, as his petition is flawed in its qualifications. Unable to decide
at a glance if Henry is exactly the type hell would approve, His Excellency
asks him to relay the story of his life in full to determine worthy or
unworthiness. Henceforth, we digress to the gay nineties – 1872, to be exact,
in a Manhattan very much altered from the one known today. Into this genteel
atmosphere of elegance and refinement is born Henry Van Cleve – a scamp in the
making. Spoiled to a fault by his well-intended parents, Randolph (Louis
Calhern) and Bertha (Spring Byington), overseen by his paternal grandmother
(Clara Blandick) and pragmatic grandfather, Hugo (Charles Coburn), Henry (first
played by Scotty Beckett as a child, then Dickie Moore as a teen) grows up
privileged and oblivious to the merits of hard work. As fate would have it, after
a disastrous liaison with his French tutor, Mademoiselle (Signe Hasso), Henry
is encouraged to take up another hobby apart from skirt-chasing. Outwardly, the
family prays Henry will turn out like his Cousin Albert (Allyn Joslyn) – a
straight-as-an-arrow real stuffed shirt. Secretly, everyone – especially Hugo –
admires Henry for his thumbing his nose at the conventions to have
straight-jacketed the rest.
Time passes, but
little changes. Henry (now played by Don Ameche) is still an idle young man.
After overhearing a beautiful woman lie to her mother on a public telephone,
Henry decides to follow her around a rather plush bookstore. He poses as a
clerk in order to get to know her better. After several minutes, it becomes
rather clear the girl is shopping for a scandalous book to ‘please’ her
husband. Henry confesses the truth; that
if she had gone anywhere he would have likely pursued her, citing ‘love at
first sight’ as his only defense. Mortified, the woman departs without
revealing her identity. As fate would have it, Henry learns soon enough Albert is
engaged to Martha Strabel; the daughter of wealthy meat packer, E.F. Strabel
(Eugene Pallette) and his rather obnoxious wife (Marjorie Main). Having spotted
each other from across the room, Henry and Martha elect to keep their earlier
chance meeting a total secret from the family. However, in the privacy of the Van Cleve
study, Henry openly confronts Martha. How could a girl like her desire Albert
for a husband? As it turns out, Martha tearfully confesses Albert was the first
and only suitor to meet with both her parents’ approval. But Martha has agreed to
the pending marriage merely to escape becoming an old maid in Kansas City. Only
now, Henry convinces Martha she should rather elope with him. On a whim, she
does, causing the Strabels to disown her.
For nearly a
decade, Henry and Martha are celebrated and very happy together. The couple has
a son, Jack. Alas, Martha discovers
Henry has had dalliances with several other women throughout their marriage.
Wounded by this betrayal, and, as Henry has no defense, Martha retreats to her
parents’ Kansas manor. While initially
frosty towards her, the Strabels reconcile and Martha moves back home. She is
paid a call by Albert, who renews his love (or rather, his definition of what
love is) for her. The Strabels are pleased by this turn of events. Only Henry
and Grandpa have already followed Martha home and snuck into her bedroom. Henry
begs for forgiveness and is successful at convincing Martha of a second
elopement right under her parents’ noses. Time again passes – fifteen years, to
be precise. Despite his renewed fidelity, Henry – now middle-aged and graying –
nevertheless becomes enamored with Broadway chorine, Peggy Nash (Helene
Reynolds). Preaching overtures of courtly love amuses the crass gold digger who
quickly admonishes Henry, much too past his prime to be of any interest to her.
Mildly outraged, Henry retreats with wounded pride. A short while later, he is
alarmed to learn Jack also has been pursuing Nash. Henry’s feeble pitch to buy her off for
$25,000 is thwarted by Martha. She informs her husband of two things: first,
that when she agreed to return to him it was with the understanding nothing
between them had likely changed; also, that as soon as she noticed Henry begin
to develop his ‘tummy’ she knew his days as a lady’s man were numbered.
Realizing how
good and tolerant Martha has been, Henry pledges to be a better husband, and,
this time, genuinely means it. But as the couple prepares to celebrate their 25th
wedding anniversary, Henry suspects Martha may actually be cheating on him.
Amused by his jealousy, as it is entirely unwarranted, Martha confesses her
afternoon disappearances have been to a local physician regarding her ‘mild
health concerns’. As Henry takes his wife in his arms for a last dance around
the ballroom, his voice-over narration intrudes to relay the inevitable. Martha
has died from her undisclosed illness, leaving him a forlorn widower…though,
not necessarily for long. Henry resumes his active social life, but retreats
into a deep depression when Jack questions his sudden interest in hiring a
beautiful young ‘reader’ to satisfy his need for ‘companionship’. In the middle
of pleading his case to Jack, Henry finds the ‘scandalous’ book that brought he
and Martha together so very long ago. He has only loved once. Now, the memory
of that love must sustain him as he approaches his 70th birthday.
Placed in the care of a beautiful nurse, Nellie Brown (Doris Merrick), a
contented Henry passes away in his sleep. Having heard all he needs to, His
Excellency denies Henry entry, instead offering him a lift to that ‘other place’
where Martha and his grandfather have been patiently waiting for his return.
Henry departs hell, perhaps a less sad, and infinitely wiser man.
Not to be
confused with Heaven Can Wait (1978)
– Warren Beatty’s remake of Here Comes
Mr. Jordan (1941), Heaven Can Wait
(1943) is an ebullient, clever and perpetually charming comedy. Ernst
Lubitsch’s masterpiece is intermittently populated by bittersweet vignettes
thrown in for good measure. The scene depicting a widowed Henry admonished by
Jack for showing precocious interests in a private secretary very much his
junior, ending with Henry’s rediscovery of ‘How
to Please Your Husband’ – the book responsible for his cute meet with
Martha suddenly realigning Henry’s devotedness to her, even in death – is
genuinely affecting. Herein, Don Ameche’s subtlety runs the gamut from genuine,
panged devotion to a palpable look of personal tragedy, and finally, defeated loneliness.
If nowhere else, then certainly here, we can all empathize with the elder
statesman who, while not perfect, is very much on the side of our better angels,
easily to be forgiven his enduring weakness for the ladies. The balance between
Tierney’s tender heart and Ameche’s exquisite slickness is warm-hearted, in
keeping with Lubitsch’s desire to tell a racier tale that flies under the radar
of the Hollywood censors just enough to be excused on its own terms. Heaven Can Wait is, after all, a fairly
adult affair du Coeur where the husband incessantly cheats on his ever-devoted
significant other. Therefore, it is Ameche’s amiable personality that sells this
rogue as strangely fun-loving.
James Basevi and Leland Fuller’s production design
effectively clutters up the eye-popping gaudy backdrop in all sorts of vintage
Victorian bric-a-brac; the Van Cleve household undergoing several stylistic
renovations along the way to denote the passage of time with an upgrade in personal
tastes and sense of style. It all makes for a ‘pretty’ picture and a grand
snapshot of that bygone cigars and brilliantine era, when men of Henry’s ilk
could still be considered lovably misguided scamps in need of a good woman to
readjust their moral compass. The final jewel in Lubitsch’s crown will forever remain
Heaven Can Wait; an ethereal blend
of otherworldly wish fulfillment and uncommonly natural romantic comedy, with a
little sex and drama feathered in.
Criterion has
made Heaven Can Wait available on
Blu-ray via their association with Fox Home Video. This current 1080p
restoration was scanned at 4K from surviving elements that, given the
unfortunate situation plaguing Fox’s Technicolor back catalog, has weathered
the passing years fairly well. In conjunction with The Film Foundation and AMPAS’s
archival holdings and auspices, Heaven
Can Wait has been restored, near to its original brilliance in hi-def. ‘Approximation’
is the only word that comes to mind, as no original 3-strip elements exist for
a full-blown restoration. That said, Heaven
Can Wait looks remarkably Technicolor-esque.
Careful color balancing and digital clean-up has been applied. The results are
very impressive. While still never entirely duplicating the look of vintage
Technicolor, this one comes mighty close to hitting the mark, with good solid
contrast and a light smattering of grain to boot. Age-related artifacts have
been eradicated for a smooth and very appealing image.
The PCM mono
audio also has been cleaned up and sounds marvelous. Extras are a tad thin,
though welcomed nonetheless. Criterion released Heaven Can Wait to DVD in 2005. While the transfer quality on
Blu-ray has greatly advanced, the extras are all a rehash from this previous
release, including a conversation between critics, Molly Haskell and Andrew
Sarris. Actually, Sarris pretty much dominates this one. We also get an episode
from the TV show ‘Creativity’ –from
1982, with Samson Raphaelson discussing his career. An audio-only seminar with
Raphaelson from 1977 is next; also, home recordings of Lubitsch playing the piano
– something he did to stir his inspiration. Finally, there is a rather tepid ‘essay
insert’ from film scholar, William Paul. Bottom line: Heaven Can Wait warms the heart and, in the intervening decades
since its theatrical release, has lost absolutely none of its charm. It is well
worth a revisit on Blu-ray. Buy today. Treasure forever.
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
4.5
VIDEO/AUDIO
4.5
EXTRAS
3
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