Director: Sam Wood
A frequently revisited character in the first decades of film, Raffles is the preeminent gentleman thief, whose intelligence and vulnerability make him both impossibly debonair and surprisingly human—it’s no wonder that such actors as John Barrymore, Ronald Colman, and David Niven were cast in the part, each exuding a suave energy but also among the most simply likable of stars. Niven’s turn comes in this 1939 Sam Wood adaptation, which modernizes the plot and streamlines the narrative. The influence of the earlier films is clear—in its best moments, it uses silence and insists on closeups of the actors as a means of producing suspense. When company is gathering to hear a performance, the way the situation unfolds is almost entirely through reactions, suggestion the influence of the Barrymore version. Niven, this being among his earliest leading roles, shows visible signs of uncertainty that would vanish only years later (there is a world between the stilted performance here to the effortlessly brilliant opening scene of A Matter of Life and Death). Similarly, Olivia De Havilland tends to leave the biggest impression when cast alongside actors who were decidedly more eccentric than Niven (such as Bette Davis), and if they look good together on screen their chemistry doesn’t play beyond the superficial. Regardless, Raffles is a respectable, if entirely forgettable adaptation of the material—clearly lacking a needed edge due to the limits of the Production Code, with Niven’s interpretation playing as similarly serviceable and nothing more.
Director: Sam Wood
“Pity the men in her life!”, reads the poster for this 1947 Edwardian noir which casts Joan Fontaine as a woman who puts three men through hell as a result of her selfish ambitions. She has grown tired of her husband (Richard Ney) now that he has run through his money, she is harassed by her obsessive ex-lover (Patric Knowles), and there’s a promise of extravagance with the appearance of a wealthy suitor (Herbert Marshall). Naturally, she soon plots to make herself a widow. Fontaine’s performance has been heralded as a fatale, but actually she’s too smart an actress to simply play Ivy as an icy villain. She poisons her husband with great panic instead of ruthlessness. It’s a sympathetic performance, which perhaps makes the murder all the more vile–she fully understands the ramifications of her actions. Cinematographer Russell Metty and production designer William Cameron Menzies render the world of Ivy an atmospheric, dreamy one. The clouds are exaggerated and unusually low, the lights from fireworks become apocalyptic explosions. This nightmarish quality is accentuated further by a haunting tune that plays at the mere suggestion of poison, taunting Ivy with her guilt. If the picture falters in its tedious final act, Ivy is visually striking throughout, with Fontaine looking as beautiful as ever and giving one of her most challenging performances.
Director: Sam Wood
The third of the six films starring Clark Gable and Jean Harlow is Hold Your Man, an unusual Pre-Code MGM picture which begins in the world of wise-cracking con men before spending its second half in a woman’s prison. Written by Anita Loos, among the most prolific women in the early days of Hollywood (having written everything from The Musketeers of Pig Alley (with D.W. Griffith) to The Women), what is most refreshing about the picture is its liberalism in dealing with gender and race. The women of the reformatory are the active heroes, whereas Gable takes on a more passive role as a romantic companion in the latter half of the film. More surprisingly, a black pastor performs the final marriage ceremony, which according to TCM’s Robert Osborne was a scene that had to be filmed a second time with a caucasian actor in the role because certain theaters wouldn’t exhibit the film should a black actor star in such a significant part. One’s enjoyment of the film will depend on how well they can stomach the transition from crime comedy to schmaltzy melodrama, however this was undeniably a comparatively demanding role for Harlow in the early 1930s and she successfully pulls it off. From showing her familiar sass with brazenly delivered lines like, “You know, you wouldn’t be a bad lookin’ dame… if it wasn’t for your face!”, to utilizing her cherubic face to express a childlike vulnerability, it is an interesting performance in an atypical melodrama.
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