W. Somerset Maugham

  • The Letter (1940)

    The Letter (1940)

    (On Cable TV, February 2020) If you’re looking for a defining sequence from Bette Davis’s career, you could do a lot worse than the opening moments of The Letter, in which she viciously unloads a gun into a man we don’t know yet. Explaining how we got to that point (and whether the titular letter undermines her claims of self-defence) is the bulk of the narrative, which adapts a play from W. Somerset Maugham and heads to Malaya for an exotic setting. An early film noir, The Letter is merciless in its conclusion and in describing the corruption of its protagonist. A moody atmosphere from director William Wyler completes the package. Davis is exceptional here, taking on a protagonist’s mantle with typical skill and determination. It’s easy to see why The Letter is held in high esteem today, and how it influenced the film noir subgenre in the decade that followed. I defy anyone to watch the opening scene and not go “All right, tell me more.”

  • The Painted Veil (1934)

    The Painted Veil (1934)

    (On Cable TV, August 2019) It’s completely unfair to compare a film with another adaptation made decades later, but here we are—I can help but measure the 1934 version of The Painted Veil with the 2006 adaptation of the same novel by W. Somerset Maugham, and being overly critical of the earlier film. There’s some logic to it, though: as a tough drama taking place in a picturesque location, this is a story that benefits from the increased technical sophistication of twenty-first century cinema. The colour cinematography, ethnic-appropriate casting, enhanced sense of place and ability to squarely tackle topics without skirting around censors and impressionable audiences (especially in a film focused on an affair) are undeniable strengths of the later film. What this version has is Greta Garbo in the lead role (admittedly an advantage only if you really like Garbo) and an ending that could be described as a happy one, avoiding the tragic finale of the novel and later adaptation. I’m normally someone who likes happy endings—even to the extent of defending some of the most outrageous ones imposed by Hollywood adaptations—but I can’t muster much enthusiasm for this one, so integral does the tragedy feel to the work. There’s also a fair point to be made that this version seems to be all about Garbo, Garbo, Garbo to the extent of minimizing the work it’s supposed to adapt. It does make an interesting contrast, though—between the studio-bound techniques of the 1930s versus the unlimited palette offered to 2000s filmmakers, between a cast-member taking over the story versus a team effort, between the emphasis that a version can place on sections of the story compared to another. I would have written another review had I not seen the 2006 adaptation of The Painted Veil first, but again—here we are.