Greer Garson

  • Sunrise at Campobello (1960)

    Sunrise at Campobello (1960)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, April 2021) You can’t always predict your own reactions to a film, and my weirdly idiosyncratic hostility to Sunrise at Campobello proves it. On paper, it looks like the kind of inner-baseball political drama that I should enjoy — the origin story of future-President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, following his sudden paralysis. All of this is assorted with a look at his family, friends and political allies all the way to a triumphant podium appearance on his way to his nomination as presidential candidate. Considering that FDR ranks highly on my list of most admired presidents, I should have loved this. In practice, however, it only took a few minutes for the film to grate on my nerves. From the irritating tones of Greer Garson as Eleanor Roosevelt (another historical figure I admire in the abstract, but proves to be annoying in the flesh) to the self-satisfied family life of privileged white New England neo-aristocrats, Sunrise at Campobello started out on a very bad note that it never really recovered from. The artificial nature of circa-1960 filmmaking did not help, as this intimate drama feels stuck in this weird overblown Hollywood aesthetics it did not need. Oh, it’s not as if there’s nothing worth noticing in the rest of the film: Ralph Bellamy is fine as FDR, Hume Cronyn is a bit of a highlight as a sarcastic counsellor, the political shenanigans eventually take their place in the film, and the suspense builds up to a good conclusion. It does get better by the last act — even Greer’s characterization is meant to make her less grating. Historically, the film is also noteworthy for being more forthright than before about FDR’s medical condition, which was famously downplayed and unreported before and during his presidency. Still, I’m left curiously annoyed by the result — not being American is part of it (although, dear Americans, you really should elect people like FDR more often) but perhaps simply starting off on the wrong foot is enough. We all know how some films play differently from how they’re described on paper, and Sunrise at Campobello is a splendid example of it.

  • Julius Caesar (1953)

    Julius Caesar (1953)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, July 2020) In a fair fight, what would win: My innate inability to process Shakespearian English, or James Mason’s mellifluous voice? In this take on Julius Ceasar, Mason plays the backstabbing Brutus, alongside such notables as Marlon Brando (as Mark Anthony), Greer Garson and Deborah Kerr. Decently written and directed by Joseph L. Mankiewicz, the film attempts to be a blend between the sword-and-sandal epic movies of the 1950s and a more classical restaging of the theatrical material. Ultimately, it’s the black-and-white cinematography that traps the film closer to a theatrical space while a widescreen Technicolor approach would have freed the material. I found this Julius Caesar a bit dull, but considering that this is my default stance for nearly all straight Shakespearian adaptations, that’s not too bad of a review. Let’s admit that the film was made for the Shakespearian crowd and move on to the next review. I was only here for James Mason anyway.

  • Pride and Prejudice (1940)

    Pride and Prejudice (1940)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, February 2020) One of the appealing characteristics of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice is how it charmed readers and filmmakers throughout generations, meaning that we can compare and contrast adaptions dating back to early Hollywood history. Now, there are Austen devotees that can give you lengthy explanations about the merits and issues of the 1940 version of Pride and Prejudice with far more detail and passion than I can. I’ll do my own best by underlining the cast (the lovely Greer Garson and Laurence Olivier in the lead role, with notables such as Edna May Olvier and Marsha Hunt in supporting roles), the lavish nature of the MGM production and the fact that none other than Brave New World’s Aldous Huxley contributed to the screenplay. It’s not necessarily a problem if the costumes here are all about the 1940s conception of a historical drama than actually being exact to the period—it’s the kind of thing that adds to the charm of a particular take on the material. Most importantly, Austen’s bon mots and comedy of manners have been adapted rather well to the screen, creating not only a hit back then, but also a nice little classic adaptation that still holds its own against more modern takes on the same source material.

  • Blossoms in the Dust (1941)

    Blossoms in the Dust (1941)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, January 2020) If you want a specific illustration of the kind of overwrought melodrama that the major studios could produce in the 1940s (and get them nominated for an Oscar along the way), then Blossoms in the Dust can be your pick. Tackling social issues (in this case; advocating for adopted children) using a weeping dose of personal tragedy (a dead sister and child all in the first act), this is a film that wants to make you cry your eyes out and think that it’s all coming from an admirable source. Bleh. The film’s saving graces are its colour cinematography (still a rarity in the early 1940s, and a measure of how much of a prestige production this was despite the unspectacular nature of the visuals) and the first pairing of Greer Garson and Walter Pidgeon as the likable lead couple. Garson could make even the most hackneyed material look dignified and she does not disappoint here, even as the entire film around her is a pure weeper. The plot itself is manipulated for maximum pathos—while adapted from a real story, it’s cheerfully tweaked for drama whenever it can, even at the expense of basic credibility. Director Mervyn LeRoy was a veteran at that point, but even he can’t make Blossoms in the Dust work for modern audiences.

  • Night and the City (1950)

    Night and the City (1950)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, October 2019) Film noir is often about desperate people in bad circumstances, and in this light Night and the City certainly qualifies as such. Unusually taking place in London rather than in a large American city, it nonetheless plays up the grimness of low-class hustling, with a protagonist perpetually convinced that he’s only one lucky break, one spin of the wheel away from success. Grim and tawdry, it takes place in the city’s underworld, rubbing shoulders with wrestlers and killers. Richard Widmark is not bad as the protagonist, but I suspect that most viewers will better appreciate Gene Tierney as his long-suffering girlfriend. The unrelenting grimness of the result isn’t only in the atmosphere, but in the lack of sympathy for any character and the unsparing ending of director Jules Dassin’s preferred version (a British version reportedly softens up the ending—it’s not the one I saw). Night and the City is not a film for every audience or every mood, but it does stand as a prototypical noir even despite not taking place within American borders. You even get a (repeated) didactic mention of “Montréal, in Canada” just for the fun of it.

    (Second Viewing, On Cable TV, November 2020) There have been many films noir in the 1950s, and they do get to blur if you’re watching too many of them in rapid succession. What director Jules Dassin’s Night and the City has over others is its somewhat unusual location: For as American a genre as noir, it feels refreshing to see the film take place in London. The historical circumstances surrounding this are strange—Dassin was on the blacklist at the time, and MGM was looking to take advantage of some financial incentives to produce films in England. (It also set in motion the very improbable series of events that would make Jules Dassin the father of an iconic French singer, but that’s going way beyond the scope of this review.)  Taking place in the very noirish demimonde of boxing promotion, Night and the City piles on the noir trademarks; desperate characters squeezed into illegality by bad luck and circumstance, moody black-and-white cinematography; plenty of scenes in which characters run in deserted alleyways; a femme fatale, this time played by the legendary Greer Garson. Plus, the London backdrop is quite intriguing as a change of pace. It doesn’t make Night and the City all that good, but it does help it distinguish itself from so many close contemporaries.

  • Goodbye, Mr. Chips (1939)

    Goodbye, Mr. Chips (1939)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, July 2019) I approached this 1939 version of Goodbye, Mr. Chips tentatively, perhaps even dismissively. After all, I had already seen and not cared much for the 1969 musical remake—why should I feel any different about the original? But as it turns out, this is a classic case of the remake being considerably inferior to the original. Goodbye, Mr. Chips is far more effective played as straight drama, without songs getting in the way. It’s much shorter, focuses on the genial atmosphere of an English school whose founding predates the discovery of the American continent, gets a bit more leeway to feature its characters and feels more naturalistic in the way it throws tragedies and successes at the lead character. Much of the difference between the two movies is in execution, since the plots are virtually identical. But execution matters, as are the people chosen to execute. Robert Donat couldn’t be better here as the titular Mr. Chips, a teacher moving through decades in the span of two hours, from new teacher to elderly headmaster. Alongside him, Greer Garson in her screen debut is as likable as she should be—the romantic sequences between her and Donat are quite enjoyable. Toward the end, the film obviously reaches for the handkerchiefs as we get to leave a sympathetic character we’ve just met. Built to be inspiring and generally successful at its task, this 1939 version of Goodbye Mr. Chips remains the definitive version of the story.

  • Madame Curie (1943)

    Madame Curie (1943)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, June 2019) The ever-compelling Greer Garson had a remarkable five-year run of Oscar nominations in the early 1940s, and the biographical drama Marie Curie was right in the middle of it, focusing on the scientist’s turn-of-the-century discovery of radium. As befits a 1940s Hollywood production tackling scientific subjects, the emphasis here is on melodramatic sentiments, beautiful romantic black-and-white cinematography and actors mouthing off grandiose statements about science, peering sagely in a long-distant future to extrapolate the meaning of their research. Some of it comes across as silly and overdone, but everything must be put in perspective, and by most standards (including, often, our own), Madame Curie is still quite an admirable movie—it doesn’t soft-pedal either Curie’s femininity (easy enough with Garson in the lead role), the heartwarming loving relationship with her husband (Walter Pidgeon, looking dashing with a sharp-chinned beard), the importance of her discoveries or the effort that goes into actual science. While it does allow itself quite a few moments of unabashed Hollywood romanticism, those more conventional passages work at making the characters likable in addition to illustrating their serious intellectual achievements. The scientific vulgarization is not bad (despite a few shortcuts) and the portrayal of a woman scientist is still remarkable either for 1900, 1943 or 2019. I quite liked it, and I remain surprised that at an age where STEM for girls is rightfully seen an unabashed good, Madame Curie isn’t better known or more widely seen.

  • Mrs. Miniver (1942)

    Mrs. Miniver (1942)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On DVD, January 2018) One of the reasons why I suspect it’s better to start watching older movies after a certain age is that you get to appreciate not only the movie but its place at the time in which it was made. It’s impossible to watch Mrs. Miniver today without thinking about 1942 America, watching aghast at the disastrous first few years of World War II in Europe but not yet committed to the war effort. Mrs. Miniver is a propaganda piece designed to sway public opinion toward supporting America’s entry into World War II, and it does so by presenting the life of an ordinary (well; ordinary upper-middle-class) English family before and immediately during World War II. That’s how we spend a rather dull first act with a family doing ordinary things, but as events evolve we see them react to news of the war, then be directly involved as their daily lives are disrupted, as their son enlists in the air force, as bombing raids destroy their house, as dad goes down the river to help the Dunkirk invasion, and as death strikes. After a slow start, the film gets progressively more involving up until a gut punch of a conclusion that still works surprisingly well despite the decades since the film’s release. A sequence between Mrs. Miniver and a German soldier is designed to infuriate the audience and reading contemporary accounts of reactions to the film, it’s clear that the film was deemed incredibly influential in rallying American audiences in the war effort. The film won the Best Picture Oscar that year (presenting an interesting counterpoint to the following year’s winning Casablanca). Even acknowledging its quality as propaganda doesn’t take away its emotional or narrative impact. Greer Garson is quite good in the title role, gradually showing inner reserves of strength as the war marches on and hits closer. Walter Pidgeon is also noteworthy at the husband, as are Teresa Wright and Dame May Whitty in very different roles. I defy anyone to listen to Mrs. Miniver’s closing speech and not feel even a little bit stirred toward Nazi-punching action even in a war won decades ago. It’s still that good.