LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN: Blu-ray reissue (2oth Century-Fox, 1945) Criterion

An important movie, and, in many ways a daring one, with its bleak and foreboding subtext of all-consuming passion saturating virtually every frame, John M. Stahl’s Leave Her To Heaven (1945) remains an impressively perverse and diabolically delicious noir thriller – albeit, bedecked in the uncharacteristic trappings of a ravishing 3-strip Technicolor extravaganza, extolling the ruggedly handsome and bucolic scenery of New Mexico, Arizona and California Sierra’s Bass Lake. Based on the gripping page-turner by Ben Ames Williams, Leave Her To Heaven unfurls more than a modicum of disdain for the fairer sex, herein presented either as a malignancy unleashed upon the uncomplicated world of our male protagonist; writer, Richard Harland (Cornel Wilde) or vacuous purity, dulcet while not nearly as intoxicating as the elixir of unscrupulous venom encapsulated in a statuesque beauty that masks her very diseased mind. Gene Tierney, a stunningly handsome creature, whose private life came to mirror at least part of her character’s odd derangement in years yet to follow, is herein cast as Ellen Berent – an impossible gorgeous woman with piercing blue eyes and lips so lusciously red one could almost believe they had just devoured a rosebush. Tierney, who only a few short years earlier had been miscast as everything from the burgeoning female gunslinger, Belle Starr (1941) to an oversexed country bumpkin (Tobacco Road 1941), was a very peculiar bird of paradise indeed, thankfully being groomed by Zanuck for better things. On her way to super-stardom, Tierney defied her mentors to marry fashion designer, Oleg Cassini; a decision that nearly ended her contract at Fox but provided the actress with the necessary escapism from her increasing anxieties at work – at least, for a time.

Knowing how the last act of Gene Tierney’s own life ended – in and out of asylums, enduring electroshock therapy and plagued by crippling bouts of memory loss – unintentionally overshadows her characterization of Ellen Berent in Leave Her to Heaven with an unintentionally eerie subtext that is impossible to overlook.  Is she playing the part as written or exposing the first prominent glimpses of that deeper and crippling emotional darkness, soon to infest her well-being? We are never quite sure and perhaps neither is she; fatalism oozing like sap from every pore, her eyes bizarrely vacant, her lips moist, yet lacking warmth.  In the wake of Hurricane Tierney, the rest of the cast in Leave Her to Heaven merely cling for their lives to Jo Swerling’s screenplay, an ingenious cacophony of twisted implosions, drawing us nearer still and into that devastating epicenter, an inevitable, if penultimate moment of self-destruction.  Director, John Stahl is clever and restrained, never to allow the toxicity of his star to devolve into grand guignol or worse - rank melodrama that stokes this already three-alarm blaze of Ellen’s demented plotting, gilding the lily with too much cliché of the ‘bad woman’ or femme fatale ilk. It’s just as well, because Tierney’s characterization is far more subtly nuanced. For although Ellen commits despicable to downright vial acts throughout the film – murdering Richard’s crippled brother, Danny (Daryl Hickman) and deliberately killing her own unborn child in a sort of ‘homemade abortion’ by throwing herself down a flight of stairs – our fascination (rather than our repugnance) is always with her, from first moment we spy her astride a noble steed, casting asunder her late father’s ashes, to the last, as she willfully frames her own husband for her suicide. Ellen is the devil; soulless, beneath that glacial exoticism and ever more the imperious gargoyle from under the lure of that enticing red-lipped congenial smile.

Yet, Ellen Berent is defiantly compelling – not as incarnated death or even the tragically flawed possessive female imbued with the specter of a viper - or is it just rank jealously run amok – but with a spellbinding Janus-faced austerity, unwilling to pull back from her ‘scorched earth’ desire to completely captivate and possess Richard, yet utterly incapable of perceiving the cataclysms in her own wicked consumption.  Leave Her to Heaven was a project personally supervised by Darryl F. Zanuck – a vehicle designed to catapult Tierney into the stratosphere of super stardom. The movie did just that. Tierney received her one and only Oscar nod for Leave Her to Heaven, losing out to Joan Crawford’s Mildred Pierce.  Cornel Wilde is oft overlooked; the undeniable ‘male beauty’ and muscled eye-candy, destined to pay dearly for his spur of the moment curiosity aboard a westbound train; thereafter blindly following the inflamed desire of his loins to his own detriment – a fleeting glimpse of salvation tacked on for good measure just before the final fade out. But Wilde’s brooding author is so much more than just the misguided sexy fop who cannot fathom the evil he has brought into his bedroom. There is an uncanny uncertainty to his performance, a mounting perplexity that tantalizes from the peripheries. In the 1980's, film scholarship infrequently referenced this as the character’s closeted homosexuality, although upon repeat viewing it tends to play much more like enfeebled naiveté. 

While the audience is likely to scream out ‘can’t you see she’s no good?’ long before such a revelation comes into Richard’s mind or heart, the moment when he is confronted at trial by venomous district attorney, Russell Quinton (Vincent Price) – a man who also happens to be Ellen’s ex-fiancée (no conflict of interest there, I’m sure!) - with the supposed fancifulness of Ellen’s own heartless brutality, Richard provides the death knell to Ellen’s enduring legacy, having since matured him as he begrudgingly confesses to the world that “Yes…she was that kind of monster!” This cathartic release for the audience, condemns Richard as much as it shatters what, until this moment, seemed an unbreakable loyalty to this woman he once thought he could never live without. Setting aside for a moment all of this is photographed in lurid 3-strip Technicolor (or a reasonable facsimile…more on this in a moment), Leave Her To Heaven has all the earmarks of a classic film noir: beginning at the end of our story with novelist, Richard Harland’s (Cornel Wilde) return home after two long years in prison. The story is regaled to us by Richard’s friend and attorney (Ray Collins); Richard’s fate, sealed mere moments after his reluctant ‘cute meet’ with the eloquent and beautiful, but decidedly remote socialite, Ellen Berent (Gene Tierney) on a train bound for New Mexico. Richard’s initial interest in Ellen is transparent.  She is reading one of his books, seemingly without realizing the author is in her midst.  Nevertheless, Ellen instantly falls in love with Richard, primarily because of his resemblance to her late father, whom she was obsessively attached.

In this early sequence of events, one can already sense an element of the damned about Ellen Berent or, as Shakespeare’s Hamlet is quoted, “leave her to heaven…and to those thorns that in her bosom lodge to prick and sting her.” While Richard’s gaze is adoringly playful, if cursed by his inability to look beyond Ellen’s fetching visage, her reciprocated stare is both penetrating and suggestively emasculating. It unsettles Richard, who feigns nonchalance and even disinterest, but ends up burning his fingers on a lit match. This is perhaps a bit of foreshadowing, for Richard Harland is about to get a very nasty third-degree; first from Ellen’s jilted fiancé, Russell Quinton, who can plainly see Ellen’s commitment to him has cooled beyond the point where she has decided to marry Richard on a spur of the moment. The whirlwind of this decision is news to Ellen’s mother (Mary Philips) and her younger sister, Ruth (the impossibly precocious, Jeanne Crain). Alas, it also turns Richard’s head. He is not thinking clearly, but caught in full ‘chest-thumping’ dumb male mode, enraptured by the perversity of the notion – having stolen another man’s prized trophy right out from under his nose. Ellen is a feather in Richard’s cap; a very regal plumage to be sure, but one pricklier than the quills of a porcupine. The next afternoon as Richard observes Ellen astride her palomino, spreading the ashes of her cremated father across the barren desert landscape, a queer sense of foreboding loss suddenly overtakes him, This, is perhaps his first realization that, in forgoing Russell’s proposal, Ellen has begun to turn his own life to haunted excrement.

Regrettably, what lies ahead will mimic more the trappings of a stylish nightmare than euphoric marital bliss. The most immediate fly in Ellen’s ointment is Richard’s disabled brother, Danny (Daryl Hickman); the one true innocent and loving younger sibling who takes an immediate shine to Ellen as the sister/mother figure he has not had in a very long while. Like all her relationships, Ellen’s initial regard for Danny is tainted with a savage possessiveness to monopolize all of Richard’s time and energies. She tolerates and plies the boy with faux kindness that, at least on the surface, mimics loving concern, while secretly plotting to either keep him in the sanitarium or send him away to boarding school so she can have Richard all to herself.  When Danny refuses to go on her proposed ‘holiday,’ Ellen decides there is only one alternative: to dispose of Danny and make it look like an accident. Coaxing Danny into his daily swim across the pristine lake, despite its frigid waters likely to induce a cramp in his already weakened leg muscles, Ellen permits Danny to go out well beyond his usual length. When the cramp does catch the boy off guard, compounded by a dangerous undertow, Ellen quietly sits back with an almost paralytic fascination as she watches Danny slip beneath the calm to his watery grave. Only after she is assured Danny is beyond rescue does Ellen make a dramatic dive after him – done entirely for effect, knowing she will return with a corpse. Danny’s death all but destroys Richard’s ability to concentrate on his latest novel. He becomes despondent and aloof – his grief counterintuitive to Ellen’s desire to completely possess him. In his despair, Richard turns to Ruth – not sexually – but because he senses in her a more understanding heart; someone who can convalesce and empathize with the vacancy in his own - a void Ellen cannot fill.

Enraged and even suggesting to Richard, he has begun to harbor romantic feelings towards her own sister, Ellen methodically plots to get pregnant; then, has misgivings about the imminent birth ruining her figure, and moreover, detracting from the time Richard is likely to spend exclusively with her. Instead, she plots a more sinister revenge, placing her own life in jeopardy by throwing herself down a flight of stairs to induce a miscarriage. Ellen loses the child. But she has also aborted whatever waning remnants of affection Richard may have had for her. In fact, it has finally donned on Richard his wife may have deliberately caused the death of both Danny and their child. Painted into an impossible corner from which she can perceive no other escape, Ellen decides to poison herself; ruthlessly framing her sister as everlasting revenge to keep Ruth and Richard apart by sending a phony confession letter to Russell Quinton moments before she expires. Ruth is placed on trial for murder. The prosecution mercilessly pounds away at her alibi and pressures Ruth to confess her love for Richard. Realizing the sacrifice Ruth has made, and what it will cost her, Richard takes the witness stand in defense of her honor. He testifies under oath. Ellen was insanely jealous of anyone who showed even a remote kindness to him. Richard also reveals that his late wife was responsible for Danny’s death and the murder of their unborn child. Richard’s testimony exonerates Ruth. But it also convinces the prosecution of his own complicity in his brother’s homicide by withholding crucial evidence at the time about Ellen’s actions. We return to the present, the flashback concluding with Richard’s weary return home, met at the beautifully sunlit docks in a lingering embrace by Ruth.

Leave Her to Heaven is a superior melodrama, full of incendiary suffrage and heart-wrenching turmoil – just the sort of celluloid fodder, forties film lovers could not resist – and didn’t. Viewed today, the picture continues to pack a wallop, ably abetted by Alfred Newman’s ominous score; the main title and central theme, a sort of heavenly choir singing slightly off key and suggestively to herald the arrival of our Median tragic goddess. Leon Shamroy, the caustic cameraman, infamous for making actors wait until clouds in the sky had convened into a visually pleasing array, has lensed some of the most sumptuous sequences ever devised for Technicolor; his meticulous attention to detail, down to casting artificial shadows on the ground in specifically arranged patterns, creates an ever-constricting sense of claustrophobia. It should be noted that all incarnations of this classy color noir are not derived from 3-strip Technicolor fine grain elements for the simple reason, no such archival elements exist. Regrettably in 1976, the executive brain trust at 2oth Century-Fox decided housing all of this history was taking up valuable ‘space’, and, to ‘transfer’ all of its highly flammable B&W nitrate stocks and original 3-strip Technicolor negatives and without first testing them, simply combining these individual records into a single dupe negative. As a result of their shortsightedness virtually all of Fox’s Technicolor masterpieces from 1930-1949 have since been at the mercy of print masters often plagued by blown out contrast and an inherent exaggeration of film grain, not to mention ‘baked in’ age-related artifacts. To add insult to this injurious assassination of film art, virtually all of the original 3-strip elements and every B&W nitrate negative was junked – rumor has it, taken into the middle of the bay on a barge and cast over the side. The only salvation herein, and it is a minor concession at best, is Fox’s nitrate print masters were thus bequeathed to UCLA; custodians, far better equipped to maintain and preserve them for posterity.

So, what does any of this mean for Leave Her to Heaven on Blu-ray? Before addressing this, we should point out that while Criterion’s reissue is advertised as a ‘new 2K scan, curated by Fox in conjunction with other archives, this 1080p transfer is virtually identical to the long ‘out of print’ Blu from the now defunct company, Twilight Time. There have been no additional improvements made to the image quality, no ‘new’ scan, no further adjustments to color grading, contrast, etc. While the image remains, NOT in glorious Technicolor but colorfully Technicolor-esque, the aping of both Technicolor’s inherent clarity and visual vibrancy, if only marginally to replicate the truest intent of Leon Shamroy’s fastidious craftsmanship, nevertheless has yielded a remarkably solid looking hi-def master. Those unaccustomed to what true Technicolor should look like will be extremely pleased with these results. Thanks to the many digital tools currently available, this preservation master, likely derived from work performed all the way back in 2006, may not be what audiences first saw it in 1945. On the other hand, and for the most part, it’s not all that far off. Apart from a scant amount of built-in flicker during the scene in the hospital where Richard learns Ellen has lost their baby, image clarity is razor sharp and rock solid. Contrast is strong and colors – although untrue to the golden age of Technicolor, are nevertheless closer to that original intent than ever before. The work gone into making Leave Her to Heaven look this good ought to be commended. There is nothing more that could have been done under these circumstances. So, kudos to Fox and Lowry Digital for work done in 2006 that continues to hold up spectacularly, and to Criterion, I suppose, for recognizing the picture’s importance – enough to resurrect it from TT’s out of print purgatory. Also, the PCM 2.0 audio yields a richness and precision, particularly in Alfred Newman’s dominant underscoring.

We lose the isolated music track that showcased Newman’s music on the TT release and the rather meandering audio commentary that accompanied Fox’s original DVD from 2002 and was ported over herein.  In its stead, Criterion has rather disappointed with scant extras. We get a new interview from critic, Imogen Sara Smith – insightful, but brief – and a well-written essay by novelist, Megan Abbott, plus, the movie’s original trailer. Honestly, this was a rare opportunity for Criterion to really pad out the extras and provide us with a comprehensive meditation on this superbly made Technicolor noir. I might have expected video interviews to cover Gene Tierney’s career and possibly another dealing with Leon Shamroy’s exemplary use of Technicolor. But no – just the facts, ma’am. And they are threadbare at best. Bottom line: if you do not own Twilight Time’s original Blu-ray release, Criterion’s reissue is well worth the price of admission. Again, this isn’t vintage Technicolor – but it is a vast improvement over Fox’s DVD and it does come very highly recommended! Let us sincerely pray someone at Criterion is working on a better remastering effort on some of Fox’s vintage Technicolor movies still MIA in hi-def.  Wilson (1944), anyone?!?

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

5+

VIDEO/AUDIO

4

EXTRAS

2