The success of Hitchcock's 'Rebecca (1940)' triggered a mighty insurgence of similarly-themed Gothic post-marriage melodramas in which naive young women mistakenly fall in love with wealthy but secretly-disturbed, and usually recently widowed, husbands. They were whisked off the production shelf with admirable efficiency, each title starring a promising or established young beauty of the decade: Fontaine in 'Rebecca,' Bergman in 'Gaslight (1944),' and Bennett in 'Secret Beyond the Door (1947).' John M. Stahl's 'Leave Her to Heaven (1945)' is notable in that it turns the gender tables, emphasising the lovely Gene Tierney as the spouse whose dubious intentions could destroy an innocent lover's life. The following year, in 'Dragonwyck (1946),' Tierney appeared in a more conventional variation of the theme, as an inexperienced Connecticut farm girl who falls for Nicholas Van Ryn (Vincent Price), an aristocratic patroon who represents arrogance, injustice and everything against which her strictly-religious father (Walter Huston) had warned her. This, the fourth and final film to co-star Tierney and Price, features one of the latter's most demented, unforgettable performances.
I could tell you that I watched 'Dragonwyck' to enjoy the earliest available film from director Joseph L. Mankiewicz, but you and I both know this to be untrue: I watched it because of Gene. Her mere presence is enough to brighten up even the darkest drama, displaying a graceful poise even as the picture's innocent and vulnerable heroine. Price, in one of his early, largely-neglected roles, is absolutely wonderful, a simmering melting-pot of self-pride and contempt, obscured behind a icy blue-eyed stare. He obviously relished the opportunity to play a tyrannical aristocrat wife-hater, though his drug addiction (presumably to opium) regrettably remains unexplored beyond a brief mention. Glenn Langan, playing the obligatory nice-guy character, is a largely uninteresting creation, serving only to remind us that it's the raving maniacs whom we enjoy watching the most. Cinematographer Arthur C. Miller pulls out the usual photographic tricks, turning the looming Dragonwyck estate into a moody mansion of shadows and suffused light.
The screenplay was adapted by Mankiewicz from a novel by Anya Seton, and, despite the story's clear derivation from previous films, his writing is adequate if unremarkable. Some elements have undoubtedly aged, most especially Miranda Wells' ecstatic Bible-school exclamation of "golly Moses!," and nowadays Nicholas' fervent atheism doesn't seem like quite the evil quality it was sixty years ago. The story itself also feels half-cocked, the screenplay skipping key moments of the narrative, as though with the understanding that we've seen enough of these sorts of films to fill in the gaps ourselves. Additionally, and perhaps most damningly, the supernatural subplot of the tragic Van Ryn ancestor who can occasionally be heard playing beautiful music is underexplored to such an extent that I wonder why this was even included to begin with. But, of course, in my haste to criticise, I'm neglecting to mention the finer points of Mankiewicz's screenplay, with plenty of sharp dialogue and strong characterisations for the most part. This isn't 'Rebecca,' but it's worth a look.
I could tell you that I watched 'Dragonwyck' to enjoy the earliest available film from director Joseph L. Mankiewicz, but you and I both know this to be untrue: I watched it because of Gene. Her mere presence is enough to brighten up even the darkest drama, displaying a graceful poise even as the picture's innocent and vulnerable heroine. Price, in one of his early, largely-neglected roles, is absolutely wonderful, a simmering melting-pot of self-pride and contempt, obscured behind a icy blue-eyed stare. He obviously relished the opportunity to play a tyrannical aristocrat wife-hater, though his drug addiction (presumably to opium) regrettably remains unexplored beyond a brief mention. Glenn Langan, playing the obligatory nice-guy character, is a largely uninteresting creation, serving only to remind us that it's the raving maniacs whom we enjoy watching the most. Cinematographer Arthur C. Miller pulls out the usual photographic tricks, turning the looming Dragonwyck estate into a moody mansion of shadows and suffused light.
The screenplay was adapted by Mankiewicz from a novel by Anya Seton, and, despite the story's clear derivation from previous films, his writing is adequate if unremarkable. Some elements have undoubtedly aged, most especially Miranda Wells' ecstatic Bible-school exclamation of "golly Moses!," and nowadays Nicholas' fervent atheism doesn't seem like quite the evil quality it was sixty years ago. The story itself also feels half-cocked, the screenplay skipping key moments of the narrative, as though with the understanding that we've seen enough of these sorts of films to fill in the gaps ourselves. Additionally, and perhaps most damningly, the supernatural subplot of the tragic Van Ryn ancestor who can occasionally be heard playing beautiful music is underexplored to such an extent that I wonder why this was even included to begin with. But, of course, in my haste to criticise, I'm neglecting to mention the finer points of Mankiewicz's screenplay, with plenty of sharp dialogue and strong characterisations for the most part. This isn't 'Rebecca,' but it's worth a look.