Forgive Me, Forgive Me, Forgive Me
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931)
directed by Rouben Mamoulian
rating: 4 out of 5 cravats
on DVD from Carnegie Library
Mamoulian and this film seem like relics from a hidden path deep in the woods - an alternate trajectory of the direction that movies might have gone. It is a supremely confident example of craft and atmosphere, full of life, and so unlike most early sound films in its brashness and elegance that it deserves to be compared with the masterpieces of those years. Karl Struss, the cinematographer, shot both Sunrise and Island of Lost Souls. He was also DP on The Story of Temple Drake, a famous Miriam Hopkins performance that should not be more famous than this one.
Where to begin with Ms. Hopkins? I feel like I worked backwards with her, from Design for Living, which I first saw in college, to this, more than a decade later. Jekyll and Hyde is a good place to start, since it would be nice to see how light she could be in those Lubitsch films after so much suffering here. Hyde is terrible, terrible. He moves like Jack Kirby's Demon and really rubs Ivy's face in her own helplessness. Around her it rains, and gutters fill to overflowing.
I still haven't read the book, but Jekyll doesn't commit suicide this time around. He is horrified but not, in the end, sorry, and so tries to save himself with a breathless lie that is quickly debunked by a friend. The police gun him down, poor justice for his victims. But goodness, what an enchanted little world he lived in, with figures at the windows and such clean lines through a city of shadows and fog. That opening POV, Ivy in her bed, and Fredric March, the future Tom Chambers, as the vulgar and insatiable id: dream denizens all, at the edge of a fitful, unquiet sleep.
directed by Rouben Mamoulian
rating: 4 out of 5 cravats
on DVD from Carnegie Library
Mamoulian and this film seem like relics from a hidden path deep in the woods - an alternate trajectory of the direction that movies might have gone. It is a supremely confident example of craft and atmosphere, full of life, and so unlike most early sound films in its brashness and elegance that it deserves to be compared with the masterpieces of those years. Karl Struss, the cinematographer, shot both Sunrise and Island of Lost Souls. He was also DP on The Story of Temple Drake, a famous Miriam Hopkins performance that should not be more famous than this one.
Where to begin with Ms. Hopkins? I feel like I worked backwards with her, from Design for Living, which I first saw in college, to this, more than a decade later. Jekyll and Hyde is a good place to start, since it would be nice to see how light she could be in those Lubitsch films after so much suffering here. Hyde is terrible, terrible. He moves like Jack Kirby's Demon and really rubs Ivy's face in her own helplessness. Around her it rains, and gutters fill to overflowing.
I still haven't read the book, but Jekyll doesn't commit suicide this time around. He is horrified but not, in the end, sorry, and so tries to save himself with a breathless lie that is quickly debunked by a friend. The police gun him down, poor justice for his victims. But goodness, what an enchanted little world he lived in, with figures at the windows and such clean lines through a city of shadows and fog. That opening POV, Ivy in her bed, and Fredric March, the future Tom Chambers, as the vulgar and insatiable id: dream denizens all, at the edge of a fitful, unquiet sleep.
posted by NPK at 12:01 AM
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