There's nothing new about the story. Naive young Emma Bovary married older man, finds he's not very exciting, leaves older man, finds younger man, drops mescaline, smokes rainbow, paints political slogans on body, goes back to older man -- no, he dies, that's right, of a "self-inflicted gunshot wound" -- nibbles madeleine cake dipped in tea, broods over lost love who dumped her for cheerleader, meets movie mogul, is morphed into Hedy Lamarr, is busted for shoplifting -- and the rest you know.
I hadn't seen this for a generation. The last print I saw was chopped to pieces and was a lousy print. This one, which appeared on Turner Classic Movies, is about as good as we're likely to get now. And it's not bad either.
Definitely a chick flick though, rather like "Lady Chatterly's Lover" or any one of a number of stories with similar themes. The horny young man is not named Count Vronsky but he might as well be.
The director, whom I'd never heard of, does the best he can with this slightly shapeless script. I don't mean the nude scenes which by today's standards are dismissible. I mean the way he allows Hedy Keisler turn away from the camera and hide her face behind a door jamb when she must register shock and guilt. And -- good grief -- what he does with symbolism! When the young couple are developing the hots for each other -- let me think -- he's got a bee pollinating a flower, a male horse huffing and puffing around a mare in estrus, a rising wind, a burning lantern -- please, I'm trying to remember. Yes, when she is suddenly rendered virgo no-longer intacta, her pearl necklace breaks and the pearls roll around on the floor.
The old guy knows who the young guy is and gives him a ride in his six-cylinder convertible. The car picks up speed in a truly excitingly photographed and very tense scene as the old driver is deciding whether or not to kill them both by running into a train. He stops short, at the same time as the locomotive, and the locomotive boiler releases its pressure in a plume of steam and a terrifyingly exhausted hiss.
Not much acting is called for, this being on the cusp of talking and silent movies at that time and in that place. Hedy Lamarr was only twenty and a little plumper and sexier than we are used to seeing her, though that description doesn't extend to her bosom, kind of a nice touch.
It's worth seeing. It's not just an historical curiosity. If you're in the right mood you'll be caught up in the story, sad as it is.
I hadn't seen this for a generation. The last print I saw was chopped to pieces and was a lousy print. This one, which appeared on Turner Classic Movies, is about as good as we're likely to get now. And it's not bad either.
Definitely a chick flick though, rather like "Lady Chatterly's Lover" or any one of a number of stories with similar themes. The horny young man is not named Count Vronsky but he might as well be.
The director, whom I'd never heard of, does the best he can with this slightly shapeless script. I don't mean the nude scenes which by today's standards are dismissible. I mean the way he allows Hedy Keisler turn away from the camera and hide her face behind a door jamb when she must register shock and guilt. And -- good grief -- what he does with symbolism! When the young couple are developing the hots for each other -- let me think -- he's got a bee pollinating a flower, a male horse huffing and puffing around a mare in estrus, a rising wind, a burning lantern -- please, I'm trying to remember. Yes, when she is suddenly rendered virgo no-longer intacta, her pearl necklace breaks and the pearls roll around on the floor.
The old guy knows who the young guy is and gives him a ride in his six-cylinder convertible. The car picks up speed in a truly excitingly photographed and very tense scene as the old driver is deciding whether or not to kill them both by running into a train. He stops short, at the same time as the locomotive, and the locomotive boiler releases its pressure in a plume of steam and a terrifyingly exhausted hiss.
Not much acting is called for, this being on the cusp of talking and silent movies at that time and in that place. Hedy Lamarr was only twenty and a little plumper and sexier than we are used to seeing her, though that description doesn't extend to her bosom, kind of a nice touch.
It's worth seeing. It's not just an historical curiosity. If you're in the right mood you'll be caught up in the story, sad as it is.