WASHINGTON SQUARE: Blu-ray (Hollywood/Caravan Pictures, 1997) Kino Lorber

In 1949, actress, Olivia de Havilland won a much-deserved – if belated – Best Actress Academy Award for William Wyler’s The Heiress, a considerably-revised adaptation of Henry James’ 1880 novel. Fast track to 1997, a decade inundated with so many quality affairs at the movies devoted to the literary masterworks of Edith Wharton, Jane Austen, Shakespeare, E.M. Forster, etc. Ostensibly, in their shadow came director, Agnieszka Holland’s Washington Square. Timing (or lack thereof) is everything. Yet, apart from retaining James’ original title, as well as the story’s earliest intent and ending, Washington Square comes across – even at barely 116 minutes – as overlong, indistinct and dreary; the sight of a dowdy Jennifer Jason Leigh, as the epic wallflower to end all wallflowers, well-heeled Catherine Sloper, an insidious grin of shallow satisfaction – nee revenge – spreading from cheek to pallid cheek, leaves a decidedly sour taste behind. For her flawed paramour, Morris Townsend (Ben Chaplin) is neither as devious, nor as ugly a human being as his counterpoint in Wyler’s movie (the startlingly handsome, Montgomery Clift). It is futile to compare The Heiress, either in its superb production design, moodily lit in noir-ish B&W, given over to prosaic soft focus romanticism a la cinematographer, Jerzy Zielinski in this remake, or even to offer a comparative study of de Havilland – playing unfashionable, despite her transparent beauty – to Leigh’s unremarkable and anemic plain features, beneath which lurks an actress as fine and capable as de Havilland, yet strangely never to shine or thoroughly satisfy herein. Had Washington Square come at the beginning, or even the middle, of the nineties’ renewed interest in period costume drama, it might have at least earned back better than the paltry $1.9 million against its $15 million budget.

The picture’s flaws are inescapable and glaring. Chiefly, the blame here must rest on Jennifer Jason Leigh’s slender shoulders, as her alter ego is quite unable to carry such a burden. Leigh founders almost from the moment she enters the frame, more bracing, the klutz than empathetic and awkward. We can root for an underdog, but only if there is at least some outward signifier to represent the more rewarding individual about to blossom from under this outwardly odd façade. But Leigh’s Catherine is wholly un-redeemable; prone to florid panic attacks and Gerald Ford-like tumbles into the mud and cobblestone streets, simply to punctuate an even more baroque frustration at not getting her own way. Given her outwardly commonplace visage, perpetually puckered and simpering, and, her obscene absence of lady-like accomplishment in all things except heart-sore infatuation, our interest in this (choke!) heroine evaporates, leaving Morris Townsend’s desire to ingratiate himself to her even more absurdly deprived of its impetus. Good God! Has he no eyes at all?!? And yet, inevitably, Townsend is privy to a part of Catherine no other mortal, not even her remote father, Dr. Austin Sloper (played with appropriately aloof menace by the great Albert Finney) can. Townsend’s impressions, invested upon this girl of hidden substance, yield to an even more transparent fortune-seeker’s verve to possess Cate’s annuity by appealing rather grotesquely and with rococo odes, tomes and declarations of love, meant to inoculate her heart as easily as anesthetize all good sense the Almighty has given a lemon.  

The best performances in Washington Square are owned by a triumvirate of supporting players; first and foremost, the formidable Maggie Smith, and, running her a very close second, the sublime Judith Ivey – as Catherine’s lovably misguided and spinsterish Aunt Lavinia Penniman and more clear-eyed and forthright, Aunt Elizabeth Almond respectively. Albert Finney too is exceptional – as always – yet, somehow cannot eclipse the memory of Sir Ralph Richardson’s superbly malicious and manipulative patriarch in the 1949 original. Finney’s doctor, having suffered the grave loss of his own wife in childbirth, now holds his daughter’s happiness hostage out of some warped revenge. But as so much of the story revolves around Catherine’s impeded chances at love, however sordidly sought after with enterprising designs by a penniless Lothario, the strength of our sentiment is all too readily diffused; the undercarriage of this well-appointed period piece, reveling in Cate’s repeated acceptance of her abject misery and regrets. This leave the audience ever more unmoved and directly incapable of being shocked by the tragedy that is – and will always be – Catherine Sloper’s life. Despite every luxury that money can buy, she is deprived of this one essential that de Havilland’s heroine possessed, seemingly without trying: an understanding heart, outwardly hardened by the vindictiveness from without and within her own family, yet continuing to beat truth to power as Catherine makes some very adult and calculating decisions to nip her former lover’s opportunism in the bud.    

Washington Square is also hampered by director, Holland’s insertion of a proto-feminist message – badly mangled as something vaguely about a woman’s right to get back at the man who done her wrong, or giving as good (or bad, as the case may be) as she ultimately receives. Long before this cynical and cyclical folly, Washington Square opens with a tragic prologue: a terrifying scream from the upstairs window of a New York brownstone and the frantic footsteps of a midwife (Loretto McNally), boiling kettle in hand, the tears of a housemaid (Sara Constance Marshall) leading us directly into the master suite of Dr. Austin Sloper; Zielinski’s handheld camera, assailing the winding stairs and barging full throttle into the room, coming to rest upon the bloody aftermath of a fatal hemorrhage at birth; the pale and quite dead Mrs. Sloper, her paralyzed stare at the ceiling, lying in a pool of her own blood.  The child – a daughter – has survived; callously to be unloved by her father as the years wear on. As a little girl, the impulsive Catherine (played by a porky Sara Ruzicka) invests in a slavish devotion to her father’s needs, more oft than not, miserably failing to satisfy him. Indeed, the eleven-year-old Cate, stricken with stage fright, wets herself in a room full of aunts, cousins and friends during a planned recital for the good doctor’s birthday.

As a gaunt and goony adult (now, played by Jennifer Jason Leigh) Catherine finds even less comfort in her own skin. Leigh’s impression of Catherine teeters on the ghoulish autistic savant, prone to emotionally inappropriate leering from behind her clenched handkerchief, and monstrously inept, even to offer politeness in reply to the outward cordiality extended her, more out of respect for her father, though nevertheless given. Again, de Havilland played Cate’s failings as aching shyness and crippling anxiety. Leigh merely presents us with a bewitched gamin in horse’s harness, distinctly contemptuous of her betters, thus stubbornly refusing to come out of her shell, even when being gingerly coaxed. Her sole enticement to any potential suitor is a $10,000 annuity from her mother's estate, and presumably, a far more handsome stipend to be administered upon her father’s death. During her cousin, Marian Almond's (Jennifer Garner) engagement party, Catherine is introduced to the outwardly charming, Morris Townsend; at once, uncannily attentive and respectful.  Ostensibly enchanted by Catherine’s unvarnished honesty, Morris inveigles his way into her heart. After professing a fascination with the piano, Morris is invited by Catherine to partake of their instrument in the front parlor. Before long, the two are playing duets under Aunt Lavinia’s watchful eye. It is a love match. Of this, the starry-eyed Lavinia is certain.

Living vicariously through her cousin’s burgeoning romance, Lavinia abets the couple’s clandestine rendezvous in the square just beyond the brownstone, that is… until Dr. Sloper becomes aware of Townsend’s mounting affections. To Sloper, it is quite clear what Morris is after. To this end, the doctor invites the young man to dinner, cutting through the polite banter and more directly inquiring about Morris’ intensions. Townsend admits, he is desperately in love with Catherine. Again, Dr. Sloper challenges this notion, threatening to disinherit Catherine, should she accept Morris’ proposal of marriage. Sloper also makes his opposition pointedly clear to Mrs. Montgomery (Betsy Brantley), the aunt with whom Morris lives in a leaky/creaky attic. As Catherine would much prefer Morris to her inheritance, Dr. Sloper preys upon her sense of duty. Unable to deny her father anything, Catherine accompanies him on a grand tour of Europe during which Sloper prods her to give up this misguided affair du Coeur. Catherine’s stubborn refusal enflames Sloper’s patience. He admonishes Catherine with such unbridled scorn, that at last she can plainly see how much he truly despises her and has held her responsible for her mother’s death. While deeply pained, Catherine’s fortitude is strengthened. Upon their return to New York, Catherine resolves to become independent and invest all her love and loyalty on Townsend.

Determined to marry, Catherine’s heart is dealt an even more debilitating blow when Morris inexplicably backs out of their relationship. Confronted by the newly invigorated Cate, Townsend confesses his mercenary motives. He wanted her money. That is all. Yet, despite this revelation, Catherine wants him still. Mercifully, Townsend’s conscience will not permit the charade to continue. He leaves Cate weeping in the streets, departing for parts unknown, and presumably, to prey upon another, easier target for his livelihood. Time passes. Yet, despite at least one prospect for marriage, Catherine endeavors to become a spinster like Lavinia. Cousin Marian is empathetic. Indeed, too much – and yet, not enough – time has passed to heal the bitterness left in the wake of Townsend’s departure. Suffering a massive heart attack, Dr. Sloper is gingerly nursed by Catherine until the hour of his death. Ruthlessly, he asks her to promise him she will never marry Townsend. And although the memory of their ill-fated passion has considerably cooled, Catherine refuses to make such a promise.  

In reply, Dr. Sloper alters the terms of his Last Will and Testament, incorporating a codicil bemoaning Catherine’s fragmentary attraction in unprincipled suitors. Presumably to safeguard against such an event, Sloper leaves the bulk of his fortune to charity. Catherine may keep the house in Washington Square with only the income from her mother to sustain herself and the household. While Lavinia, Elizabeth and Marian are quietly disgusted by Sloper’s mean-spiritedness, encouraging Catherine to contest these terms, she instead is not offended by this final slap in the face. After all, what more might she have expected from the man who enabled her crippling shyness to prosper for so many devasting, long and fruitless years? And, at least now, Sloper’s influence is no more. He has dealt his final insult to her ego – fragile, no more - and with his passing, has afforded Catherine the keys to her own freedom for whatever future now remains within her grasp. Smiling with satisfaction, Catherine proposes a toast. Time again passes. Catherine transforms the brownstone into a daycare to give her life purpose and additional income besides. Unexpectedly, Morris Townsend arrives on her doorstep.  And while she harbors no bitterness towards him, she makes it as pointedly clear the time for their grand amour is gone. She wants nothing more and quietly orders him to go. As he departs, Catherine takes her place at the piano, introspective, yet contented with the memory of the passion. She has grown capably into her own person, and yet, not without having first sacrificed her womanly heart to pride; a very hollow victory, indeed.

Washington Square is not without its virtues; particularly, Allan Starski’s plush production design, and, Anna B. Sheppard’s costuming. Regrettably, sets alone do not a period picture make, and Washington Square’s vintage flavor is somewhat impeded by Jerzy Zielinski’s less than painterly approach to the cinematography. Zielinski’s soft-focus aside, Washington Square looks like a movie made in 1997, lacking the timelessness of a Merchant-Ivory production, and substituting flashy techniques and handheld camerawork for the more traditional setups that might have at least afforded it the look of a living tableau by Currier and Ives. The picture also lacks dramatic impetus. Instead, the scenes play out merely as one extended drawing room conversation, even as the locations briefly flit from room to room, or veranda to garden, then back into the gas and candlelit parlors of ‘polite society’ for late afternoon brandies and cigars. Somewhere along the way, director Holland has quietly forgotten she is making a movie, falling into the trap of something that more closely resembles a stodgy stage adaptation, albeit with more elaborate sets, but not much more in the way of movement to keep our interests alive from vignette to vignette. As the minutes wear on, we find even less reasons to care whether or not these would-be lovers will ever come together – even briefly – experiencing no catharsis in their plight or plummet from everlasting happiness. In the final analysis, Washington Square is just there – a ‘present and accounted for’ adaptation of Henry James’ novel, but without James’ page-turning ferocity to keep our interests alive.   

Washington Square arrives on Blu-ray via Kino Lorber’s curious alliance, presumably with Disney Inc., as the picture was originally made by Hollywood/Caravan Pictures – subsidiaries of the Walt Disney Company back in 1997. Alas, what is here is hardly quality. Difficult to assess, but I would sincerely guess the digital files used to master this disc are at least several decades old. The image is very softly focused – too softly, in fact. Although there are some age-related artifacts, none are as distracting as the presence of film grain that, in dark scenes, appears digitized and gritty. Fine details never come to the forefront and colors, outside of being viewed in a completely darkened room, appear muddy, dull and slightly faded. Worse, there appears to be some sort of milky patina afflicting the entire presentation, as though a veil of gauze had been laid over the lens, impugning both color density and contrast.  Honestly, there is NO good reason for a movie of this recent vintage to look as uninspiring in hi-def. Badly done – period! The DTS stereo surround is as unimpressive; dialogue sounding adequate, but just, and, with no great distinction to make it punchy or pleasing. Extras are limited to an audio commentary from Agnieszka Holland. Granting English is not Holland’s first language, her reflections herein are still fairly stolid and trying on our patience, with long silent absences interspersed. We also get trailers for this and other product Kino is hoping you will want to buy. Bottom line: Washington Square is not a good movie and this disc is a colossal disappointment to boot. Pass, and be very glad that you did!

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best

1

VIDEO/AUDIO

1.5

EXTRAS

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