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After a lovely family outing to Governor's Island on Saturday afternoon, my wife and I spent the late night hours in one of our favorite couples activities: watching classic Hollywood movies. This week's entry: 1939's "Dark Victory," starring Bette Davis and George Brent--the tragic tale of a young, flighty heiress (Davis) diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor, her handsome and devoted neurologist (Brent) and how she spends the last year of her life before dying in the most beautiful, Technicolor fashion imaginable.
"Dark Victory" is one of the all-time Hollywood weepies, so you don't expect rock solid logic here. Brent's doctor not telling Davis' Judith that she's dying? Not exactly ethical! Judith, supposedly a rich sophisticate, not knowing what "prognosis negative" means? A stretch. And watching Geraldine Fitzgerald, who plays Judith's limp dishrag of a BFF, sprint away from Judith's house so her bestie can die alone with the camera, sent my wife into paroxysms of laughter.
But, melodramatic nonsense aside, the movie offered up an unexpected pleasure: a terrific supporting performance by Humphrey Bogart.
Please note: it's 1939, and Bogart isn't a Hollywood demigod just yet. John Huston and the Maltese Falcon are still two years off. At this point, he's a B player on the Warners lot (with occasional hints of future greatness peeking through). But his role in "Dark Victory," brief as it is, is vintage Bogart, and the interplay between Bogart and Davis is fascinating to watch.
Bogart plays Michael O'Leary, chief stable hand for Judith's race horses, and early on, we see Michael deriving great pleasure in pushing Judith's buttons, claiming he knows Judith's beloved horses better than she does. He's both combative and slightly flirtatious, but rather than annoying her, it's clear that Judith respects Michael's up front attitude--in fact, in a movie filled with shallow, rich dilettantes, Michael might be the only man she respects.
(Bogie's Irish accent? About as good as David Boreanaz'. Yeah, I know.)
These set-up scenes pay off big later, after Judith has found out she's doomed, and she throws herself into a whirlwind of wild partying and meaningless flings. Michael calls her into the barn to check on a mare who's fallen ill and may not last the night. (Symbolism!) During their joint vigil, Judith tosses aside employer/employee protocol, and asks Michael, human being to human being, about his life. Is he satisfied with his life? Is he happy? Bogart's expressions are priceless: basically, "Holy shit, are we going there?", followed by, "If we are, I'm taking my best shot!" Michael tells her about his passions--for fighting, for horses, and especially for her, and he goes in for the kiss. But right in the middle of the kiss, Judith breaks away, deeper in despair and self-loathing than ever.
My wife stopped the movie there. "Wait a minute," she said, outraged. "She's been slutting it up all over town, and she draws the line at Humphrey Bogart?!" "That's not the point," I said, irritating her with my superior powers of analysis. "Michael's emotional honesty and passion for life forced Judith to recognize the emptiness in her own life, and how she was wasting the short time she had left." "Yeah, but... Humphrey Bogart!"
Okay, she had a point.
The scene is the key to the whole movie. If Bogart and Davis don't sell it, then Judith's turnaround doesn't work, and the whole thing falls apart. But they do sell it. It's interesting to contrast Bogart's approach to acting with Davis with Brent's. Brent tends to underplay, a soothing counterpoint to Davis' manic intensity. Bogart isn't manic, but he doesn't ratchet down his intensity and he refuses to surrender an inch of scenery. Yes, it's her movie, but he insists on an equal playing field. (She obviously appreciated it, because "Dark Victory" was their seventh of eight films together.)
Need to catch another Bogart/Davis flick, "The Petrified Forest." (How did I miss that one?) But next up for Saturday night movies, a side trip to France for "La Jetee" and Italy for "8-1/2."
"Dark Victory" is one of the all-time Hollywood weepies, so you don't expect rock solid logic here. Brent's doctor not telling Davis' Judith that she's dying? Not exactly ethical! Judith, supposedly a rich sophisticate, not knowing what "prognosis negative" means? A stretch. And watching Geraldine Fitzgerald, who plays Judith's limp dishrag of a BFF, sprint away from Judith's house so her bestie can die alone with the camera, sent my wife into paroxysms of laughter.
But, melodramatic nonsense aside, the movie offered up an unexpected pleasure: a terrific supporting performance by Humphrey Bogart.
Please note: it's 1939, and Bogart isn't a Hollywood demigod just yet. John Huston and the Maltese Falcon are still two years off. At this point, he's a B player on the Warners lot (with occasional hints of future greatness peeking through). But his role in "Dark Victory," brief as it is, is vintage Bogart, and the interplay between Bogart and Davis is fascinating to watch.
Bogart plays Michael O'Leary, chief stable hand for Judith's race horses, and early on, we see Michael deriving great pleasure in pushing Judith's buttons, claiming he knows Judith's beloved horses better than she does. He's both combative and slightly flirtatious, but rather than annoying her, it's clear that Judith respects Michael's up front attitude--in fact, in a movie filled with shallow, rich dilettantes, Michael might be the only man she respects.
(Bogie's Irish accent? About as good as David Boreanaz'. Yeah, I know.)
These set-up scenes pay off big later, after Judith has found out she's doomed, and she throws herself into a whirlwind of wild partying and meaningless flings. Michael calls her into the barn to check on a mare who's fallen ill and may not last the night. (Symbolism!) During their joint vigil, Judith tosses aside employer/employee protocol, and asks Michael, human being to human being, about his life. Is he satisfied with his life? Is he happy? Bogart's expressions are priceless: basically, "Holy shit, are we going there?", followed by, "If we are, I'm taking my best shot!" Michael tells her about his passions--for fighting, for horses, and especially for her, and he goes in for the kiss. But right in the middle of the kiss, Judith breaks away, deeper in despair and self-loathing than ever.
My wife stopped the movie there. "Wait a minute," she said, outraged. "She's been slutting it up all over town, and she draws the line at Humphrey Bogart?!" "That's not the point," I said, irritating her with my superior powers of analysis. "Michael's emotional honesty and passion for life forced Judith to recognize the emptiness in her own life, and how she was wasting the short time she had left." "Yeah, but... Humphrey Bogart!"
Okay, she had a point.
The scene is the key to the whole movie. If Bogart and Davis don't sell it, then Judith's turnaround doesn't work, and the whole thing falls apart. But they do sell it. It's interesting to contrast Bogart's approach to acting with Davis with Brent's. Brent tends to underplay, a soothing counterpoint to Davis' manic intensity. Bogart isn't manic, but he doesn't ratchet down his intensity and he refuses to surrender an inch of scenery. Yes, it's her movie, but he insists on an equal playing field. (She obviously appreciated it, because "Dark Victory" was their seventh of eight films together.)
Need to catch another Bogart/Davis flick, "The Petrified Forest." (How did I miss that one?) But next up for Saturday night movies, a side trip to France for "La Jetee" and Italy for "8-1/2."
