As these things go, not bad. You will not believe that Bette Davis is transformed from a dumpy, borderline-suicidal spinster into a woman that fills the hearts of two men with deepest devotion. You will believe that she peeled off the padded dresses, wiped off the greasepaint uni-brow, and made with the job lots of designer dresses.
You'll also believe the almost impossible relationship she had with her mother. There was an almost homicidal gusto to Gladys Cooper's performance as the awful Mrs. Vale, a delight in tormenting the one vulnerable creature fate has placed under her power. The script (and apparently, Olive Prouty's book) were honest enough to leave the relationship unresolved and unresolvable. The moments when Davis holds down her gorge and answers the old battle-axe politely but firmly are among the most moving in a "mere" Hollywood movie.
The scenes of Davis and Paul Henried and their circumscribed little romance are touching and realistic--two people not happy, but not willing to risk the chaos that would result if they went looking for it.
Only John Loder, as the Nice Young Man who suddenly shows up as vague competition for Henreid, feels out of place. He's a plot device, and the only thing I can say about the character is that he is gone quickly and that Loder did his duties gracefully.
Several people have praised Irving Rapper's direction here, and it's polished enough, but nothing extraordinary. In particular, Davis is still, except in the scenes with Cooper, way too phony and practiced. You can hear the wheels running in her head, not to mention her nice, clean diction as she declaims to the third row of the balcony at times. There was none of the wit, delicacy, or oddly appropriate artificiality that she displayed under Vincent Sherman's direction in one of her last big weep-a-thons, MR. SKEFFINGTON. But Sherman seemed to remember he was doing a movie--not just a Bette Davis movie . . .
You'll also believe the almost impossible relationship she had with her mother. There was an almost homicidal gusto to Gladys Cooper's performance as the awful Mrs. Vale, a delight in tormenting the one vulnerable creature fate has placed under her power. The script (and apparently, Olive Prouty's book) were honest enough to leave the relationship unresolved and unresolvable. The moments when Davis holds down her gorge and answers the old battle-axe politely but firmly are among the most moving in a "mere" Hollywood movie.
The scenes of Davis and Paul Henried and their circumscribed little romance are touching and realistic--two people not happy, but not willing to risk the chaos that would result if they went looking for it.
Only John Loder, as the Nice Young Man who suddenly shows up as vague competition for Henreid, feels out of place. He's a plot device, and the only thing I can say about the character is that he is gone quickly and that Loder did his duties gracefully.
Several people have praised Irving Rapper's direction here, and it's polished enough, but nothing extraordinary. In particular, Davis is still, except in the scenes with Cooper, way too phony and practiced. You can hear the wheels running in her head, not to mention her nice, clean diction as she declaims to the third row of the balcony at times. There was none of the wit, delicacy, or oddly appropriate artificiality that she displayed under Vincent Sherman's direction in one of her last big weep-a-thons, MR. SKEFFINGTON. But Sherman seemed to remember he was doing a movie--not just a Bette Davis movie . . .