Camille

Camille

1936

Director: Geoge Cukor

Starring: Greta Garbo, Robert Taylor, Henry Daniell

I’m going to show my hand awfully early in this review and come right out and say I can’t be bothered to give two shits about this movie.  Camille is certainly not a bad film, but jesus christ, I don’t care.  I don’t care in the slightest.

Setting the standards for all future Nicholas Sparks novels, Camille tells the story of Marguerite (Garbo), a beautiful but sickly Parisian socialite/courtesan who gets through life by charming the pants and money out of men.  One night at the theater, she meets two new men.  Duval (Daniell) is wealthy but pompous.  Armand (Taylor) is poor but kind.  Guess which one she falls for, guess which one gets jealous and dangerous, and guess what her insistent coughing eventually means.  You guessed, good for you, get a cookie.

 

I know that this is a classic romance, and I know that to many people, Camille is desperately romantic.  I love romances, I do, and I definitely have the occasional mood where I want to do nothing but watch costume dramas for three days straight, but my taste in such films is not quite typical.  I find Camille so terrifically melodramatic, so soppy, so utterly predictable, and yet so tepid, that I just don’t care.  It reminds me of one of my favorite lines from Gilmore Girls, when Lorelai, commenting on Luke’s insensitivity about something or other, says, “This from the man who said ‘Finally!’ at the end of Love Story.”  That’s me; I am that person who says “Finally!” at the end of any kind of predictable shmoopy weepy romance.  It’s kind of sad, but I actually got excited when Marguerite (nicknamed Camille because of her love of the camellia flower) started coughing and getting markedly weaker, because that means the end can’t be too far away.

Yay!

The dialogue is inane.  Such ridiculous platitudes of love; if my husband started spewing this kind of flowery language at me, I’d think he was high on meth or something.  The soundtrack during these ridiculous exchanges just makes them even more over the top, full of glissando strings that whine and cry and just make everything worse.  Yes, this was the style of the time, but it doesn’t help me believe the stupidity being spoken.  And not helping things along is the fact that I don’t believe a single word out of any of the characters’ mouths.  There is so much fake sincerity in this film, it’s painful.  A part of the reason for this is the world that Marguerite inhabits at the beginning of the film is built on such insincerity.  We spend at least half an hour ensconced in this world of frills and frosting and fake declarations.  We see Marguerite roll her eyes at Armand – yes, roll her eyes – when he tells her pretty much right away that he loves her.  We see her laugh and giggle and purposely lead on Duval.  We see her friends who, amazingly enough, are twice as bad as she is.  So I have trouble buying the transition from superficiality to honest to god emotion. 

I feel the same way, Greta.  I feel the same way.

At this point, I’ll say again that I do actually enjoy romances.  What I need in order to enjoy a romance is some sort of spark or heat; chemistry, in other words.  I want to feel that feeling in my stomach, that feeling of the thrill of romance, of excitement.  My favorite romances make me feel this way, and I never felt a single jolt of this with Camille.  Not one iota of chemistry or excitement or that spark in my stomach.  No tension, no fun, no nothing.  Just pure tedium watching the wholly expected story play out in front of me.

My favorite part of the film – yes, I did have one, amazingly enough – was the costumes.  The gowns are gorgeous, even when shot in black and white.  There is such elegance, such luxury, and, when necessary, such ridiculous excesses (a bird dress makes an appearance at one point) that it’s quite a marvel.  I couldn’t get enough of Garbo in a clean white satin off-shouldered gown.  It was absolutely stunning.  Next scene, she’s swathed in black sequins and lace, and again, stunning.  If nothing else, I enjoyed watching everyone in this movie, even if the story and dialogue and characterization was more than a little wanting.  Maybe if I have to watch this in the future I’ll just put it on mute.

This gown was my favorite.

I know this is a classic Greta Garbo performance, and I suppose she does a good job.  I just… don’t care.  You could have the finest performance in the world, but if it’s as the tragic romantic heroine of the latest Nicholas Sparks adaptation, I’ll avoid it like the plague. 

I don’t know what else to write.  I’m coming up a few hundred words short on this particular film, but I don’t care.  I can’t think of anything else to say.  So utterly and completely not for me, yet at the end of the day, I recognize why many enjoy this kind of “romantic” escapism.  Despite me railing against it here, I know that this is mostly due to my personal taste in romance.  Really, Camille is a perfectly acceptable film.  It’s just not for me.

Arbitrary Rating: 5/10.  I don’t care.

Gaslight

Gaslight - repost from my previous site

Director: George Cukor

Starring: Ingrid Bergman, Charles Boyer, Joseph Cotten, Angela Lansbury

1944

A classic parlor drama from the 1940s, Gaslight was a Best Picture nominee when it came out, and that, just four years after the original Gaslight had been made.  See, this whole thing of Hollywood doing nothing but remakes is absolutely nothing new!  Even some of the great classic films are remakes!

Paula Alquist’s (Bergman) aunt, a famous singer, was murdered in their house in London when Paula was just a girl.  She goes to Italy to be raised by family friends, but returns to her old house when her new husband, Gregory Anton (Boyer) insists on it.  Soon, Gregory starts insisting on lots of things, including the fact that Paula is forgetting things, even though she swears she isn’t, and that they avoid visitors at all costs.  Her confidence begins to waiver, and she begins to be convinced of her insanity.

Y’know, I enjoy classic film.  I really do.  But I find Gaslight a little lacking.  I can see how the story would have been gripping in decades past, but it lacks a modern appeal, a modern sensibility.  Ingrid Bergman won an Oscar for her role as Paula, the beleaguered wife, and while I think her performance is good, I also think it’s over the top.  There’s very little subtlety in her performance or, for that matter, the film.  Bergman cries a lot and wails a lot and throws herself around a lot to show how Paula is falling victim to her husband’s psychological abuse.  I suppose that it’s true that back then, the Oscar went to the most obvious performance rather than the most deserving, just like it is today as well.  Ah well.

Part of what annoys me about the film is how obvious Gregory’s abuse is (Boyer Behaving Badly… sorry, had to be done).  There’s nothing subtle about it.  “Hey, I’m going to make my wife go crazy.  Sit down and watch!”  I love a good psychological thriller, but this is a bit too pie-in-the-face for me, never mind that the ending feels incredibly weak.  We ultimately learn Gregory’s motivations, and they are not nearly as entertaining or salacious as the film thinks they are.

 And then there’s the Joseph Cotten (dammit, autocorrect!) character, who completely feels like a tacked-on addition to ensure a happy ending.  I mean, I am a Joseph Cotten (stupid autocorrect!) fan, but this is not his greatest role.  He does precious little except serve as a mouthpiece for clunky exposition. 

Angela Lansbury in her first film role is rather fun as Nancy, the oversexed housemaid.  Problem is, the film needed more of her.  She wasn’t nearly as involved in the plot of the film as I remember, instead constantly dancing on the periphery of the action.  She’s so saucy and sassy and more than a little dark and dangerous, USE HER!  I wish she had been tied more tightly into the overall plot.

I will say this for the ending – when Gregory gets his comeuppance (not really a spoiler, this is a Hollywood movie from the 1940s, so we know the bad guy won’t be getting away with anything), I did find myself glorying in Paula’s victory.  There’s a great scene where she taunts him, throwing back his psychological abuse in his face.  I certainly had a moment of emotional connection there, but it was because Paula was finally saying to Gregory what I wanted her to say to him from the start.  I honest to god don’t understand why Paula was so weak throughout the rest of the film and so strong here.  I don’t understand why she put up with Gregory’s treatment the way she did.  I wanted her to punch him in the face every time he pulled one of his horrible tricks on her, and run out.  Stop being such a spineless doormat, Paula, and break free!

Is this a bad movie?  No, definitely not, but I do think it’s of another era.  It’s a gothic romantic thriller that hasn’t aged well. 

Arbitrary Rating: 6/10