Film Review
It was most probably the success of
Now, Voyager (1942) that led
Warner Brothers to reunite director Irving Rapper with the winning team
of Bette Davis, Claude Rains and Paul Henreid for what was to be one of
the studio's most costly woman's pictures. Although Davis was
still a box office magnet and Henreid's matinee idol status hadn't yet
deserted him, the film was a notable flop, the first of Warners' Bette
Davis films to lose money. The production was not a happy one -
Davis's personal problems (stemming from her turbulent marriage to the
artist William Grant Sherry) exacerbated the on-going deterioration in
her relationship with Jack Warner, and she fell ill several times
during the shooting of the film, causing the production schedule to
slip by several weeks. Although Davis enjoyed working with
Claude Rains and Paul Henreid, two of the actors she most liked and
respected, she had an intense dislike for Irving Rapper, one of the few
directors whom she failed to intimidate. The main cause of
contention was the very last scene of the film, which Davis always felt
was unconvincing, despite several rewrites.
Deception may have a reputation as
a
film maudit but it is a
popular one amongst Bette Davis fans, and it is not hard to see why.
The film originated as a French stage play entitled
Monsieur Lamberthier, written by
Louis Verneuil and first performed in Paris in 1927. The play, a
two-hander, was performed on Broadway under the title
Jealousy in 1927, and was
subsequently made into the film
Jealousy
(1929) by Jean de Limur, with Jeanne Eagels and Fredric March in the
main roles.
Deception
is a remake of the 1929 film, but differs in its ending, which was a
change required by the Hollywood censor. The production code of
the time was notoriously strict on sexual morality - it was simply not
allowed that a woman in an illicit relationship could go
unpunished. Consequently, the film's ending was altered so that
the Bette Davis character receives the appropriate sanction for her
immoral conduct (i.e. being a kept woman). The dramatic
denouement and its unlikely aftermath constitute the one notable flaw
in the film. Even with a performer of Davis's calibre,
Christine's sudden transformation at the end of the film is hard to
swallow.
Deception is
not the only film to have been derailed by the obsessive prudishness of
the censor, but it does a reasonable job of extricating itself from a
tricky situation (via the time-honoured method of using a sledgehammer
to crack a nut).
What makes
Deception such a
particularly enjoyable film is the insanely brilliant pairing of Bette
Davis with Claude Rains, for what is effectively the film noir
equivalent of a medieval jousting tournament. Claude Rains is one
of the few actors who was capable of holding his own against Davis,
and, more significantly, one of the very few actors whom Davis would
allow to steal the focus away from her. As superb as the film is
in its entirety, it only really comes to life when Davis and Rains are
brought together and the two start biting lumps out of each
other. More entertaining than a gladitorial combat, and certainly
more viciously played, the Davis-Rains encounters are what cinema was
invented for. Both actors are clearly having the time of their
lives, exchanging venomous quips with a sardonic relish, as only two
former lovers can after their passion has turned to ice. With
this histrionic hurricane breaking around him, Paul Henreid is almost
totally airbrushed out of the picture - no wonder he decided to give up
acting and become a film director. The highpoint is an
unforgettable restaurant scene in which Claude Rains, at his comedic
best as the king of the
bons vivants, does his utmost to
reduce Henreid to a gibbering wreck, by
ordering a meal (a light snack) as if he is preparing a great military
campaign. Rains succeeds in
relegating both Davis and Henreid to
the level of novice bit players as he shamelessly steals the scene,
chewing up every last inch of the set as he does so.
Bette Davis's performance in
Deception
is not generally regarded as one of her best. Indeed, some
consider it to be excessive, bordering on the self-mocking campery that
would gradually creep into her subsequent work. There is
certainly an edge to her performance, which may be attributable to her
domestic anxieties and her poor working relationship with Irving
Rapper, or it could be she just felt she had to 'up the ante' to avoid
being totally eclipsed by Claude Rains as he turns supernova.
Whilst Davis's performance may not be subtle, it is appropriate for the
part she is playing, that of a woman to whom duplicity is both second
nature and essential. If the actress sometimes comes across as
artificial, it is because her character is precisely that, someone who
must present one face to the audience (her true self) and another (the
perfect wife) to her trusting lover. Rapper's recurring use of
reflections throughout the film emphasises the dual nature of the main
protagonist, and it is this sense of a split identity which Davis
conveys so magnificently throughout the film.
Deception has two other great
assets - Ernest Haller's atmospheric film noir cinematography and an
equally evocative score from Erich Wolfgang Korngold, one of the
greatest of Hollywood film composers. Haller (a favourite of
Bette Davis) had a natural flair for drawing the greatest amount of
drama and emotional impact from each scene and his work here is some of
his best. With some skilful positioning of light and shade,
Haller creates a brooding noir-like dreamscape which reverberates with the story's
dark undercurrents and makes us aware of the sinister forces that are
slowly building to a deadly climax. This is most evident in
the two main sets - the lavish apartments belonging to Davis's and
Rains' characters, both of which resemble a gigantic spider's
web. Haller's artistry culminates in the climactic showdown
between Davis and Rains - the latticework of shadows which envelop
their characters reinforces the impression that they are victims in a
fiendish celestial engine, and that their fate is now
inescapable. Korngold's score is the perfect accompaniment to the
drama being played out on the screen, subtly heightening the
extraordinary power of the central performances. It was Korngold
who created the cello concerto for the film - he later expanded this
and published it as a complete opus.
With so much going for it, it is hard to fathom why
Deception was both a critical and
commercial failure (particularly when its previous manifestations had
been so successful). Critics were quick to point out the failings
in the narrative, its melodramatic contrivances and implausible
characterisation. Bette Davis's natural audience (working class
women) may have felt the film (with its classical music set-pieces) was
too highbrow and opted to give this one a miss. The film's
failure certainly had major repercussions for its star, hastening her
departure from Warner Brothers (not a bad thing, as it turned
out). It may not be Bette Davis's finest hour, but
Deception is easily one of her most
entertaining and most expertly crafted films. The film does have
its shortcomings, but the sheer pleasure that comes from seeing Davis
(at the height of her powers) in action against Claude Rains (at his
most gloriously uninhibited) makes it a classic that is simply too good
to miss. Expect a
very
bumpy ride when you climb aboard this one.
© James Travers 2012
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