"Anna Karenina" was such a soporific (and let's say it) disappointing experience that I wasn't too enthralled by the premise of "Camille", the "next" costume romantic drama starring the great Greta. Yet I decided to watch the two films almost back-to-back because I felt the former didn't do justice to the acting potential of the alliterative icon, and there were many other personal reasons.
First, the film is included on the American Film Institute's Top 100 Romances (if you check many reviews I wrote, you'll see I'm a big AFI buff).
And there's the tragic story of Marguerite Gautier, a high-class courtesan who was putting on a generous and bon-vivant front in her inner circle only to make up for her own insecurities, in other words, a complex performance, made of hopefulness and poignancy, adoration and desperation, where Garbo would demonstrate that the face of the 'Face' could be the underrated container of genuinely true and truly genuine emotions.
Finally, there's the name of George Cukor who was competent enough not to have a dull movie as an offering. The film is immune to dullness and despite a few low spots, I wasn't disappointed.
Yes, the film has the look of these MGM period productions that would make a name out of William Wyler in the early 40s, but what strikes first is the way Garbo starts as an all-smiling, all-greeting woman whose charm is made of a positive attitude irradiating all around her. She doesn't need to overplay the emotions: a simple glimpse, a witty retort, an intonation can convey all the needed emotions and belie the 'I vant to be alone' reputation and the whole publicity around "Ninothcka".
Indeed, Garbo didn't wait for Ernst Lubitsch to laugh and glide with positiveness: any smile from Marguerite, the Lady with the camellias was sincerer than the so-called breakthrough moment where she laughed at Melvyn Douglas' fall in the restaurant. So the reason to watch "Camille" is Garbo's acting, that's her movie and she's so expansive, generous and versatile that every other actor pales in comparison... except maybe for the female players.
"Camille" is also a splendid, though not too showy exhibition of the decadence that prevailed during the 19th century within the Parisian high society... and decadent isn't just a fancy word: there's a party sequence with hysterical screams, naughty jokes, drunken games and debauchery I didn't expect to emerge from such a respectable MGM production and certainly not under the Hays Code guidance. There are moments where you're literally caught in that wave of subversion and let yourself transported so enthusiastically that even the handsome Armand Duval (Robert Taylor) feels like a party-pooper when he asks Marguerite to dismiss the guests. I wish that party could last longer, it was so exhilarating I almost forgot a plot had to move on.
Yes, it was so fun to enjoy the jovial, rotund and gossipy Prudence Duvernoy played by Laura Hope Crews; Lenore Ulric also steals the show as the manic Olympe. Garbo, in contrast, looks more distinguished and dignified but as the film goes on, it becomes obvious that the happy-go-lucky nature is only there to hide a deep stigma and a low self-esteem. Marguerite is courtesan, much more she's full of debts, which means she's a woman in the lowest position of the highest society, and whose beauty is the only asset she depends on, after her man's wealth. With the stiff and pompous Baron de Varville (Henry Daniell) she was doomed to contemplate a potential freedom in any smooth talking playboy and then fate struck with the young Armand Duval (Robert Taylor).
There's something tragic that emerges from their initial exchanges. At first, he's courting her but she dismisses his attempt and reduces it to mundane flirting, is she tempted or does she know nothing good can come out of their relationship? In fact, she's too depressed deep inside to let any intrusion of love, and yet she starts to believe and abandon her soul because the need for love in her heart is the only thing that doesn't decline in her body, her healthiest spot. And so we're transported in that tale of deception and self-abandonment, so regretful to watch the spectacle of Marguerite's descent into hell but consoling ourselves with the certitude that Garbo was a true first lady of cinema.
As Anna Karenina, she was the Garbo mocked by the Looney Tunes cartoons, in this film, she's just an acting monument who fully deserved her Oscar nomination. The flipside of the coin is that it's truly a woman's movie, all actresses are great, but I wasn't as impressed by Taylor's acting as I was by his looks, he's incredibly handsome but he's simply dwarfed by Garbo's intensity. As the Baron, Daniell has a glorious acting moment where he confronts Marguerite and tests her loyalty while frenetically playing the piano and the sexual tension was as thrilling as the crescendo of a can-can dance. But I'm afraid that the romance between Camille and Armand can only offer a few bucolic pictures and a sight of passion sterilized by a Hays Code injection.
Indeed, there's more in her eyes and words than anything the poor playboy can give. So the ending which seems to be the apotheosis of a gripping romance ends up being a rather anticlimactic despite all the intentions of Cukor to make it an emotional climax. Lionel Barrymore also makes a honourable presence as the man who'll lead the plot to its fatal conclusion, making Camille that tragic heroine who sacrifices love out of love, and the great measure of love lies in the ability to renounce to it.
Speaking of great, isn't that remarkable (and fitting) that it's the anagram to Garbo's name.
First, the film is included on the American Film Institute's Top 100 Romances (if you check many reviews I wrote, you'll see I'm a big AFI buff).
And there's the tragic story of Marguerite Gautier, a high-class courtesan who was putting on a generous and bon-vivant front in her inner circle only to make up for her own insecurities, in other words, a complex performance, made of hopefulness and poignancy, adoration and desperation, where Garbo would demonstrate that the face of the 'Face' could be the underrated container of genuinely true and truly genuine emotions.
Finally, there's the name of George Cukor who was competent enough not to have a dull movie as an offering. The film is immune to dullness and despite a few low spots, I wasn't disappointed.
Yes, the film has the look of these MGM period productions that would make a name out of William Wyler in the early 40s, but what strikes first is the way Garbo starts as an all-smiling, all-greeting woman whose charm is made of a positive attitude irradiating all around her. She doesn't need to overplay the emotions: a simple glimpse, a witty retort, an intonation can convey all the needed emotions and belie the 'I vant to be alone' reputation and the whole publicity around "Ninothcka".
Indeed, Garbo didn't wait for Ernst Lubitsch to laugh and glide with positiveness: any smile from Marguerite, the Lady with the camellias was sincerer than the so-called breakthrough moment where she laughed at Melvyn Douglas' fall in the restaurant. So the reason to watch "Camille" is Garbo's acting, that's her movie and she's so expansive, generous and versatile that every other actor pales in comparison... except maybe for the female players.
"Camille" is also a splendid, though not too showy exhibition of the decadence that prevailed during the 19th century within the Parisian high society... and decadent isn't just a fancy word: there's a party sequence with hysterical screams, naughty jokes, drunken games and debauchery I didn't expect to emerge from such a respectable MGM production and certainly not under the Hays Code guidance. There are moments where you're literally caught in that wave of subversion and let yourself transported so enthusiastically that even the handsome Armand Duval (Robert Taylor) feels like a party-pooper when he asks Marguerite to dismiss the guests. I wish that party could last longer, it was so exhilarating I almost forgot a plot had to move on.
Yes, it was so fun to enjoy the jovial, rotund and gossipy Prudence Duvernoy played by Laura Hope Crews; Lenore Ulric also steals the show as the manic Olympe. Garbo, in contrast, looks more distinguished and dignified but as the film goes on, it becomes obvious that the happy-go-lucky nature is only there to hide a deep stigma and a low self-esteem. Marguerite is courtesan, much more she's full of debts, which means she's a woman in the lowest position of the highest society, and whose beauty is the only asset she depends on, after her man's wealth. With the stiff and pompous Baron de Varville (Henry Daniell) she was doomed to contemplate a potential freedom in any smooth talking playboy and then fate struck with the young Armand Duval (Robert Taylor).
There's something tragic that emerges from their initial exchanges. At first, he's courting her but she dismisses his attempt and reduces it to mundane flirting, is she tempted or does she know nothing good can come out of their relationship? In fact, she's too depressed deep inside to let any intrusion of love, and yet she starts to believe and abandon her soul because the need for love in her heart is the only thing that doesn't decline in her body, her healthiest spot. And so we're transported in that tale of deception and self-abandonment, so regretful to watch the spectacle of Marguerite's descent into hell but consoling ourselves with the certitude that Garbo was a true first lady of cinema.
As Anna Karenina, she was the Garbo mocked by the Looney Tunes cartoons, in this film, she's just an acting monument who fully deserved her Oscar nomination. The flipside of the coin is that it's truly a woman's movie, all actresses are great, but I wasn't as impressed by Taylor's acting as I was by his looks, he's incredibly handsome but he's simply dwarfed by Garbo's intensity. As the Baron, Daniell has a glorious acting moment where he confronts Marguerite and tests her loyalty while frenetically playing the piano and the sexual tension was as thrilling as the crescendo of a can-can dance. But I'm afraid that the romance between Camille and Armand can only offer a few bucolic pictures and a sight of passion sterilized by a Hays Code injection.
Indeed, there's more in her eyes and words than anything the poor playboy can give. So the ending which seems to be the apotheosis of a gripping romance ends up being a rather anticlimactic despite all the intentions of Cukor to make it an emotional climax. Lionel Barrymore also makes a honourable presence as the man who'll lead the plot to its fatal conclusion, making Camille that tragic heroine who sacrifices love out of love, and the great measure of love lies in the ability to renounce to it.
Speaking of great, isn't that remarkable (and fitting) that it's the anagram to Garbo's name.