PORTRAIT IN BLACK: Blu-ray (Universal-International, 1960) Kino Lorber

A reunion pic for stars, Lana Turner, Lloyd Nolen, John Saxon and Sandra Dee, director, Michael Gordon’s Portrait in Black (1960) is a syrupy neo-noir with some good solid performances by the aforementioned roster, ably assisted by co-stars, Anthony Quinn, Richard Basehart and Anna May Wong – in her final screen appearance. Turner and Nolen had appeared together in 1957’s Peyton Place – ostensibly, the picture that kicked off Turner’s lucrative spate of memorable sixties tear-jerkers, although herein, they are at each other’s throats as marrieds, Sheila and Matt Cabot. He’s an invalided shipping magnet, racked with paralytic back pain, and she is the maven of the maison, carrying on a clandestine affair with Quinn’s Dr. David Rivera. As for Dee and Saxon; they had co-starred twice before, in 1958’s overwrought and melodramatic, The Restless Years, and, Vincente Minnelli’s champagne cocktail of a rom/com - The Reluctant Debutante.  Herein, Dee is Matt’s daughter from a previous marriage, Cathy and Saxon is her near-penniless, but ever-devoted lover, Blake Richards. Into this mix, we also find Ray Walston, as Cobb, the family’s wily chauffeur with a gambling addiction, Wong’s Tawny – the mysterious sort, as the Cabot’s Asian major-domo, and, Virginia Grey, as Matt’s private secretary with a secret to keep, Miss Lee.

Portrait in Black is actually based on a 1947 Broadway play, slated for film production as early as 1952; then, with Joan Crawford and James Mason to star. Curiously, this version never materialized, despite considerable interest in the property from the studio, its proposed co-stars, and, a highly successful radio adaptation that same year, featuring Barbara Stanwyck and Richard Widmark.  For whatever reasons, plans to transform Portrait in Black into a major motion picture repeatedly stalled. In the interim, Crawford’s reputation slipped at the box office and Mason moved on to do other stellar work elsewhere. So, by 1959, neither were up for consideration when Portrait in Black was resurrected, then green-lit at Universal-International.  The play’s relatively short run of 65 performances, likely was a disappointment to its co-authors, Ivan Goff and Ben Roberts, who had toiled on its particulars for 13 months. The reprieve came when Uni bought the rights for a cool $100,000 against a sliding percentage of the gross. But this agreement also came with a clause that was even more beneficial to Goff and Roberts. If the picture was not made by 1950, all rights would revert back to them. But they could still keep the $100,000!

As Brit-born, Diana Wynyard had appeared in Portrait in Black’s London production, she was, for a time, strongly considered as the new front-runner to helm the movie, with hubby/director, Carol Reed to direct it. Alas, Reed disagreed with the studio on how best to adapt the stagecraft, as did Michael Gordon – Reed’s replacement.  By 1948, Goff’s patience had worn thin. So, he offered to buy back the property. Alas, Universal then demanded a steep $316,000 – too rich for Goff’s blood. However, in the end, Goff had his way. The years passed uneventfully. With the expiration date passed, in 1950, Goff reclaimed ownership of the play without having to pay out a dime. At this juncture, Goff and Roberts appealed to Gordon again, to help co-finance an indie production, still hoping to star Crawford. Again, nothing came of this. So, when Universal beckoned a second time in 1959, Goff and Roberts happily signed on yet again to revamp and update their original. Rather bizarrely, the writers chose to rechristen all of their characters’ names for the movie version. Not a one is a hold-over from the play. They also opened up the structure of its ‘drawing room’ histrionics to take full advantage of the San Franciscan Bay area locations, and, heavily rewrote the picture’s ending.

Given its treacle-rich subject matter, stewed in illicit sex and diabolical passion, Universal handed over the reins to producer, Ross Hunter, whose métier was the big screen soap opera. Under Hunter’s tutelage, Gordon returned to the director’s chair, with Frank Skinner providing the melodramatic underscore, and cinematographer, Russell Métier, shooting everything in Pathe color with an uber-glamorous strain to highly flatter the picture’s new leading lady, Lana Turner. Stunningly adorned in costumes by Jean Louis, and reportedly wearing nearly $2 million in rented jewels, Turner’s Sheila is a very classy clothes horse, sashaying about the scenery in haute couture that is as impossibly sumptuous as it is absurd, and, with not a flaxen hair out of place. She is gorgeous. The problem: Turner, for all her enduring popularity as a glamour girl, is an ill-fit for the part of the victimized housewife, who turns sexual frustration into a frothy passion for the ‘good doctor’ administering pain killer injections to her crippled, but still ruthless and power-hungry husband. If, what one good woman could do for any man was to exalt his prospects beyond even his own wildest ambitions, then the viperous sin with which Sheila envelopes Dr. Rivera leads to murder and utterly swamps his physician’s ethics, ultimately to destroy the one man that, arguably, Sheila has always loved. Turner’s take on Sheila Cabot is a bit perplexing. Indeed, one finds a modicum of empathy for the character in the early scenes when, resplendently bedecked in a head turban and furs, she is rather cruelly admonished by her pouty, if steely-eyed stepdaughter, merely for desiring to leave the house ‘for a breath of fresh air’ after three whole days of vigilance at her husband’s bedside.

Quickly, however, our sympathies sour as we discover Sheila is not going out to casually shop the department stores, but rather, dodging her suspicious chauffeur, hails a taxi to Dr. Rivera’s fashionable townhouse, to share in an ardent clinch. Rivera explains that while Matt is ill, he may linger indefinitely in pain and suffering, thus preventing them from continuing their affair – presumably, already going on for some time before the start of the picture. As the strain of this flagrante delicto, as well as the thought of losing it, proves too much of a distraction for Rivera, he has already practically agreed to take a new ‘research’ post at a hospital in Switzerland. Sheila is, of course, the last to find out, and despondent by the thought of losing her lover. So, the two conspire to bump Matt off and live happily ever after. Actually, Rivera comes up with the plan; just a seemingly routine visit for another injection, only this time, with a small bubble of air accidentally/on purpose shot into Matt’s veins – enough to kill him, but still have the autopsy declare it a death from ‘natural causes.’ Meanwhile, Matt’s business manager, Howard Mason (the sadly underrated Richard Basehart) is against his boss’ decision to grant a lucrative shipping contract to a fledgling tug operation, managed by Cathy’s boyfriend, Blake. However, this subplot is delayed for the moment.

As, having successfully dispatched with the husband, prematurely sent to his grave; the funeral over, without a tear of sadness shed – although Gordon does stage everything on a windswept and rainy grey afternoon (on an obvious indoor set), life for Sheila and Rivera becomes sentimentally unbearable. She longs for his touch. But he nervously resists, fearing everyone will see through their motives and thus assume the worst. Meanwhile, Cobb is up to his ears to a bookie, encouraging Sheila to advance his salary in order to cover his debts. She agrees to consider the matter – but then, begins to receive cryptic notes ‘congratulating’ her on a successful murder. Concealing these from her young son, Peter (Dennis Kohler), Sheila instead shows the hand-printed notes to Rivera. He grows weary of their authenticity, but reasons whoever sent them likely has plans for future blackmail. The thing to do is wait for the blackmailer to reveal himself. Meanwhile, relieved of Matt’s influence, Howard cancels the contract with Blake, citing his obvious ‘conflict of interest’ due to his romance with Cathy. Blake threatens Howard in front of Miss Lee, who is forced to lie about no such contract between Matt and Blake ever having existed in the first place. However, later in the evening, Miss Lee arrives at a Chinese restaurant, meeting up with Blake and Cathy to confess there was such a contract. As Howard has already destroyed the paperwork, the best Miss Lee can offer Blake now are some age-old files that illustrate how Howard destroyed Blake’s father nearly ten-years before; a demise for which Blake has always held Matt accountable. Miss Lee also infers to Cathy she and Matt were once lovers – even while Matt was married to Cathy’s mother. Thus, as his intimate confidant, she knew everything about his business practices.     

On the home front, Howard makes his intentions known to Sheila. He has loved her from afar, and rather insincerely proposes marriage to her, now that Matt has gone to his earthly reward. Sheila coolly brushes him off. Only now, she plants seeds of doubt in Rivera’s head. Perhaps, Howard wrote the blackmail notes. Rivera concurs. Who else could have done it? So, after a longshoreman’s strike is declared, Howard asks Sheila to come to his office to sign the necessary proxy to conduct an arbitration meeting down at the docks. On Rivera’s authority, she resists, instead asking Howard to stop by the mansion on his way to the meeting where she will willingly sign off on the paperwork. It’s all just a ruse. Howard will never make it to the meeting. Rivera plots to ambush him, staking out the mansion and waiting for Howard’s car to pull up to a stoplight where he intends to shoot Howard dead and make it look like an act of retaliation by the longshoremen. As fate would have it, the light changes to green just in time, and Rivera misses his mark. Howard rushes into the mansion, informing Sheila of his near-death experience and instructing her to call the police. Instead, the telephone rings. It is Rivera, telling Sheila to stall Howard. She feigns a phone call from Cathy and tells Howard that Cathy is on her way to the station to report the crime. Only now, the phone rings for a second time. Distracted, Sheila lets Howard pick up the receiver and Cathy – unknowing of Sheila’s lie - informs Howard she is having dinner with Blake at a nearby club.

Hanging up from the call, Howard confronts Sheila’s treachery. Deducing she and Rivera have conspired to kill him, as they likely murdered Matt, Howard’s attempt to beat the truth out of Sheila is thwarted by Rivera, who pumps a bullet through Howard’s heart on the living room floor. Peter is stirred from his slumber by the gunshot, but quieted by Sheila, who convinces him the noise he heard was just a dream. Now, Rivera, frantically explains to Sheila they must dispose of Howard’s remains along a lonely stretch of coastal highway. One problem: Sheila does not drive. Reluctantly, she somehow manages to tail Rivera in her car. Howard’s car is driven by Rivera to an open cliff along the highway. Placing the vehicle in neutral, Rivera nudges it over the edge with Howard’s body in the driver’s side. Suddenly aware of what they have done, Sheila flies into hysterics. Returning to the house with her sanity mostly restored, thanks to Rivera belting her several times, Sheila is confronted by the police who have come to inform her of Howard’s demise. She convincingly feigns shock and disbelief, but deliberately lies about the timeline while being questioned in front of Cathy. As Cathy knows when she last spoke to Howard, she grows ever-suspicious now of her step-mother. Alas, not even she has fathomed Sheila’s lover is so close at hand. Thus, Cathy confides her suspicions to Rivera. Her summation of the events leading up to both her father and Howard’s death are spot on, causing Rivera to do some quick back-peddling to abate her concerns. Rivera suggests Cathy’s hypothesis about Sheila conspiring with another unknown man to off Howard is highly implausible, since it would have taken two cars to commit the murder – one driven by the murderer, the other by Sheila – who does not, and never has learned to drive.

Confused, Cathy resurrects her fears and concerns to Blake, who begins to believe she is hitting too close to the truth. Now, Cathy questions Peter about ‘his dream’ and further learns from Tawny that, on the night of Howard’s murder, Sheila gave the entire staff the night off – presumably, to have no witnesses present in the house. Cathy decides to confront Sheila. Meanwhile, at the mansion, Rivera learns from Sheila she has received another cryptic message. Suspecting Cobb of the blackmail, Rivera – who is becoming increasingly unhinged from his own crisis of conscience for murdering Matt (haunted by echoed voices reciting the Hippocratic Oath) - threatens Cobb’s life in Sheila’s presence. Actually, Cobb was planning on hightailing it out of town to escape his bookie. He has no first-hand knowledge of the notes. Cobb narrowly escapes Rivera murdering him. After Cobb has fled, Sheila reveals to Rivera it was she who wrote the notes – a rather selfish means to draw him nearer so they could renew their affair. Realizing he has killed Howard for no apparent reason, Rivera begins to crumble. Arriving home, Cathy is startled to discover Sheila in Rivera’s arms in the study. He tries to make the girl see circumstances his way, but only succeeds in confirming her darkest suspicions.  It’s all true. Sheila and Rivera killed Matt and Howard!  Believing he has no alternative, Rivera chases Cathy upstairs, intent on preventing her from exposing them to the law. Cathy barricades herself in an upstairs bedroom, climbing onto a narrow ledge beyond its window and screaming for Blake to turn his car around and come to her rescue. Blake sees Cathy clinging to the ledge. He also witnesses Rivera emerging from the window. In his attempt to push Cathy to her death, Rivera instead loses his footing and falls several stories to his own, breaking every bone in his body on the pavement far below as a tearful Cathy and shell-shocked Sheila look on; the latter, doomed to face the painful music she has wrought with so many perverted lies, deception and spite.

Portrait in Black is a mostly engrossing entertainment. Lana Turner does tend to veer into the sort of prosaic piss-elegance audiences had come to expect from her mid-career. She plays it right down the middle and very safe with narrowly a moment in which to truly shine. The Razzie for ‘most overwrought performance’ here must go to Tony Quinn’s self-imploding doctor, whose ubiquitous ethical decline reaches Herculean stages of anguish. But is he a tragic figure, or a wicked assassin by his own design? We are never entirely certain, and his end – falling from the third-story ledge, with inappropriate fanfare, just seems like a quick n’ easy bypass to a predestined fate, far deserving of a more prolonged comeuppance. Sandra Dee is particularly good as the devoted daughter who, in tandem exudes a glacial coolness towards her stepmother, but stews in the embers of desire for her devoted lover. The supporting cast all play their parts with finesse and accomplishment. And Gordon’s direction never belabors any of the particulars in the plot.  Instead, he calculatingly builds up to several bone-chilling vignettes of suspense, intermittently delayed and/or interrupted by respites of tragedy and light speculation on where next the plot is headed. In the end, Portrait in Black, while a lot of fun to watch, is not exactly as memorable as some of the other ‘women in distress’ soap operas to emerge from the period. Personally, I would have relished the opportunity to see what Joan Crawford in her prime might have done with this one. Ah yes, Crawford and Mason, indeed!

Portrait in Black arrives on Blu-ray via Kino Lorber’s licensing agreement with Universal Home Video. Alas, Uni has provided Kino with a sincerely flawed element, cribbing from digital files that are at least a couple of decades old and in desperate need of remastering. The Pathe color is pathetic; built-in flicker further marred by radical color density shifts (not just from scene to scene, but shot to shot, with flesh tones either adopting a flat, pasty pink or ruddy orange/brown complexion). On the brief – and very sporadic – occasion when the color does settle down for just a shot or two, we can see what Pathe color, in all its flawed glory, probably looked like in 1966 – hardly, up to Technicolor’s sterling standards, but passable nonetheless. Vinegar syndrome and severe fading equally plague this transfer. Hues are a muddy mess. Greens look brown, blacks look blue, and browns look beige. Ugh!  Contrast is fairly solid, although there are a few scenes in which its levels are weaker than anticipated. Film grain is unevenly represented – thick and accounted for in certain scenes, while practically nonexistent in others. The 2.0 mono DTS audio is tinny and limited – no surprise there. The only extra is a superb audio commentary featuring Lee Gambin and Emma Westwood, who have great chemistry and regard for each other’s knowledge, occasionally, correcting one another on their flubbed facts. It’s really a great listen. Bottom line: Portrait in Black ought to have been given a new 1080p scan with color correction, base-line clean-up and image stabilization applied. It received none of these luxuries. This 1080p transfer looks as though it were fed through a meat grinder. Terrible! Simply, awful! Regrets.

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

3.5

VIDEO/AUDIO

1

EXTRAS

1