The DVD-Laser Disc Newsletter April 2023
A Camille bouquet
Two MGM adaptations of the Alexander Dumas story, Camille (1936), have been placed in the same vase by Warner Bros. as a WB Archive Collection Blu-ray (UPC#883929807666, $22). Not only is the feature presentation the classic 1936 George Cukor romance starring Greta Garbo and Robert Taylor, but in the supplement, Metro’s 1921 silent production, directed by Ray C. Smallwood and starring top-billed Alla Nazimova (as, simply, ‘Nazimova’) and Rudolph Valentino, has been included, as well. Indeed, we strongly recommend watching the silent film first. For one thing, while the presentation is fully viewable, the full screen black-and-white image is very soft and often accompanied by speckling or even some minor smearing. Then, when you turn to the main feature, the gorgeous, pristine, full screen black-and-white image transfer is all the more captivating.
Generally forgotten now, Nazimova was a huge stage star in her day and must have been catnip for drag queens of the time, with her big hair and exaggerated expressions. Of course, for reasons that are part of the mysteries of stardom, Valentino’s fame has endured, despite his relatively brief career. While his part is secondary to hers, he is magnetic in every shot that he appears, and his performance is competently delivered (as is hers, when you get past the big posing moments). Running 70 minutes, the film still manages to tell the full story in a relaxed and involving manner. It takes place in the ‘present day,’ allowing for modernistic set designs that are incongruously offset by normal looking doors and hallways. Indeed, because everything is so antique from today’s perspective, you forget that it isn’t set in the Nineteenth Century until there is suddenly a shot of a jazz band or a fancy glass partition. Although there are brief digressions to a costumed depiction of Manon Lescaut (with the same stars), the reason for that is readily integrated with the narrative and not distracting. On the whole, it is an efficient, straightforward and relatively satisfying exposition of the tale.
Although it is set in the correct period, the first close-up of Garbo in the main feature has more of a modern feel than anything in the previous film. Her performance, as the consumptive playgirl who falls for an earnest young suitor and is then persuaded by the guy’s father to give him up, has a compelling and even stellar naturalness. With the best of MGM’s considerable production design resources (at what was the height of MGM’s dominance in the field), the spare and oddball designs in the earlier film, once again, help to slingshot an excitement for the upgraded presentation, especially since every jewel, every carving and every fabric texture is exquisitely defined on the BD. Running 109 minutes, the narrative is also able to fill in and flesh out details that the earlier movie had to skim over, so that a viewer even watching the two films back-to-back will feel that the second film is an entirely new experience. In the scene where the father confronts the heroine, the silent film is actually better scripted than the sound feature, although Garbo and Lionel Barrymore more than make up for what the screenwriters weren’t able to pull off. And when it comes to the ending, the later film is a hands down improvement over the earlier work. The suspense in the final 10 minutes has you hanging on the edge of your seat, and then most likely rushing to find a handkerchief. True, whatever it is was that Valentino had, Taylor does not have it, at least not in this film, and that prevents the movie from being within the highest tier of motion picture entertainment, but it is still an outstanding and highly satisfying production. The shortcomings of Taylor’s performance are consistently outshone by Garbo’s thorough and intricate delivery, and the vividness with which the BD brings her to the viewer immediately reinforces the readily obvious conveyance that she is someone a man would certainly fall heart and soul for, under any circumstance.
The monophonic sound on the feature film is reasonably clear and solid, and there are optional English subtitles. The musical score for the silent film is suitably inconspicuous, although it wouldn’t have killed anybody to throw in Brindisi at the appropriate moment. Along with an early reissue trailer there is an audio-only MGM radio promotion from 1936 that pretty much conveys the entire plot of the film with 14 minutes of audio excerpts.
A caper cornucopia
Caper films were a staple of the Sixties, responding, perhaps, to an era of prosperity and abundance after WWII, and the idea that in these times of invention and wealth, anyone with intelligence, imagination and daring could garner a fortune. Caper films in America and England were hip, but France had a New Wave of cinema that was super cool, and no one outside of its shores paid much attention to the other movies France was making, including the studio features that wanted to cash in on the genres that were popular elsewhere. But now, in more enlightened times, three standard French studio films, following the exploits of an enduringly popular jewel thief character, have been gathered in a marvelous two-platter Blu-ray set by Gaumont, Kino Lorber and Kino Classics, Arsène Lupin Collection (UPC#738329261771, $50). Set in the earliest parts of the Twentieth Century, Robert Lamoureux plays Lupin in the first two films, with a penchant for disguises and a jovial panache. Despite using so much cologne that you can smell it from here, the ladies can’t get enough of him. The plots of all three movies involve heists and other clever robberies, and the films are gems that are too tempting not to grab. The BD set is a caper cornucopia.
On all three films, the monophonic sound is in decent shape. The films are in French with optional English subtitles (there is also some German and Italian, and since the subtitles don’t differentiate them, you may miss a few gags that play upon the shifts in language).
Taking place before WWI, the first movie, The Adventures of Arsène Lupin, from 1957, runs 103 minutes, opening with several brief capers and a run-in with the law before settling on a longer exploit, with the hero invited to an emperor’s castle because the emperor wants to test how foolproof his new safe is. Sandra Milo costars. The film is bubbly fun, never bogging down or feeling repetitive, and it is constantly witty—not brilliantly so, but clever and humorous enough to pass the time with a smile. Additionally, the film, although presented in a squared full screen format, has an impeccable color transfer, which serves the movie’s lovely period décor extremely well. No, the film wasn’t breaking new ground with jump cuts and lyrical tracking shots, but, directed by Jacques Becker, it was delivering a calculated yet playful series of cat-and-mouse interludes that have remained quaintly timeless.
You may want to take a healthy pause before moving on to the second film on the platter. The 1959 Signed, Arsène Lupin is initially a letdown because the film is in black-and-white and if you jump into it right away, as badly as you want to, you are probably still floating on the highs of the first film’s hues. Fortunately, letterboxed with an aspect ratio of about 1.66:1, the transfer is again immaculate. One reel is a little softer than the others, but otherwise the image is crisp and spotless, with finely detailed contrasts. Set immediately after WWI, the plot is not only stronger, but has a somewhat more mature tone, with the hero attempting to solve the mystery behind another thief’s robbery of several paintings, which together form a puzzle leading to a treasure. Shot partially in Florence as well as on locations in France, the 99-minute film has even more momentum than its predecessor, and is consistently inventive and intriguing. Co-starring Alida Valli, the film was directed by Yves Robert, who also has a supporting part.
Set during the Roaring Twenties, the character played by Lamoureux has passed away in the 1962 Arsène Lupin vs. Arsène Lupin, but his two illegitimate sons, played by Jean-Claude Brialy and Jean-Pierre Cassel, carry on in his tradition. The lovely Françoise Dorléac co-stars. Running 111 minutes, the two heroes belatedly learn of one another’s existence as they attempt to secure a royal treasure and damning documents ahead of gangsters. In some ways, the director, Édouard Molinaro, does everything he can to wreck the film, staging numerous scenes as if the film were a silent comedy, with accelerated movements and piano-roll music, but the format is just too foolproof to bungle. The charms of the two leading men readily outweigh the clowning of the supporting cast, and the inherent twists and turns of the story are consistently more involving than its farcical tone. If we were to rate the three, we’d say that the second film was the best, but this one does not fall far behind.
Letterboxed with an aspect ratio of about 2.35:1, the black-and-white image is again sharp and spotless. Presented on the second platter, the film is accompanied by a vigorous French trailer that headscratchingly places its white text promotions and cast listings against white backgrounds.
INSIDE: The Complete Films of Agnes Varda
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to The DVD-Laser Disc Newsletter to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.