Danny (August 2005)

[Warning: Review contains spoilers.]

This one always frustrates me because the first 25 minutes are so boring until Joan finally makes her appearance during the party scene.

She plays Helen Wright, a rich society lush in love with a tough-guy violin player, Paul Boray (John Garfield), who is in love with his music. Fine support is offered by Paul’s parents played by Ruth Nelson and the fabulous chameleon-like character actor, J. Carroll Nash. Oscar Levant is the sarcastic, wisecracking piano player, who plays his part to the verge of annoyance. The scenes between Paul and his mother are very intriguing in their complexity. I like the way his mother conveys her objection to Helen:“There’s something wrong with a woman like that!” she laments. Those scenes ring true for me. But the highly anticipated confrontation scene between the old lady and Helen ends much too abruptly, with no resolution.

Then comes the concert! That famous Crawford puss goes to work in the close-up. She visually looks as though she is having an orgasm as she watches him play, with her eyes closed and her mouth open. It’s so sensual. Joan never looked better, especially in all those black, tailored dresses she wears.

But I always wonder why the supposed near-sighted Helen isn’t wearing her glasses in that scene, unless she’s afraid her sultry look would steam them up. Anyway, the glasses seem to be a metaphor for her character’s near-sightedness in not being able to see that Paul’s music comes first.

Lastly, we get one of the most romantic suicide scenes in celluloid history. Joan walks into the ocean and drowns to the strains of Tristan and Isolde as her lover performs a concert on the radio. As far as I know this is the only movie where Joan Crawford dies at the end. [Editor's note: She also dies in Queen Bee, Esther Costello, Baby Jane, and I Saw What You Did.]

The only thing that bothers me about the violin scenes---which are very good---is that I keep imagining Isaac Stern standing behind Garfield with his arms wrapped tightly around him and manipulating his instrument.

I’d love to have seen those rehearsals.

James (March 2005)

Rating: of 5

[Warning: Review contains spoilers.]

Humoresque, based on the Fanny Hurst novel and previously filmed as a silent in 1920, centers around Paul Boray, a gifted violinist from a poor immigrant family in depression-era New York. John Garfield, a brilliant and vastly under-appreciated actor, stars as Boray, and his performance is shaded with nuance and realism not often seen in motion pictures made during the 1940s. Garfield, primarily a stage actor who appeared in many productions for the controversial Group Theater in the ‘30s, was Hollywood’s first "rebel", and his honest, sensitive performances paved the way for Brando, Clift, and James Dean a decade later. After giving such memorable performances in The Postman Always Rings Twice and Humoresque, it is indeed tragic that Garfield died so young and that his career was adversely affected by Communist allegations, as he surely would’ve risen to even greater heights later on.

In Humoresque, Garfield delivers a thoughtful performance as a young musician whose passion for classical music fuels his life. Boray is a purist who believes that music should be performed as it was written, and he puts his heart and soul into perfecting his talent in the midst of numerous obstacles and discouraging set-backs. He is encouraged along the way by his friend Sid Jeffers, played by Oscar Levant. Levant, who was a friend and collaborator of George Gershwin’s in real life, has many scenes in Humoresque which beautifully showcase his skills as both a pianist and a humorist, and his character in the film provides witty, sophisticated comic relief amidst the drama of the plot. It is through Levant’s character that Paul Boray encounters Helen Wright, and the subsequent relationship between Boray and Helen forms the basis of the film’s story.

Fresh from her Oscar-winning performance in Mildred Pierce the year before, Joan is nothing short of amazing as the troubled, alcoholic socialite Helen Wright. Bitter, jaded, and fully cognizant of her emotional problems and her fondness for booze, Helen is locked in a dispassionate, loveless third marriage with a much older and decidedly ineffectual wealthy man {intriguingly and somewhat ironically named "Mr. Wright"}. She’s unhappy but resigned to her indolent lifestyle, and she spends her days drinking cocktails, being catered to, and openly engaging in flirtations with younger men in the presence of her very tolerant husband, who chooses to look the other way while she embarrasses him in public. Bored and usually drunk by the evening, Helen often acts out and behaves in a bitchy, combative manner which she inevitably regrets the next morning. Filled with remorse, she drinks to forget, thus establishing the unhappy pattern of her life.

It is through such an encounter that she meets Paul Boray, and after exchanging words with him during a party at her home, she sends him a gift the next day to apologize for her bad manners. Entranced by his talent and drawn to him like a moth to a flame, Helen becomes his benefactor and uses her wealth and social connections to help advance his career. Helen and Boray soon fall in love, which Helen resists at first, knowing in her heart that she’s all wrong for the young musician and believing that her character flaws will only bring him grief and disappointment. But Boray is like a drug to her, and she eventually succumbs to his charms, even though she’s tortured by jealousy and uncertainty. With class and dignity, Helen’s husband admits defeat and offers to give her a divorce so she can be with Boray. But their love is not meant to be, and the ending is tragic, effective, and deeply moving.

Joan’s performance as Helen Wright is unusually subdued and restrained in comparison to her work in other films. She doesn’t yell once, no one gets slapped, and she only throws two drinks to punctuate her angst. Her skillful delivery of the sophisticated, complex Clifford Odets-penned dialogue is impressive, and the clipped, mid-Atlantic accent she adopts is appropriate for a society woman of great wealth and stature. She makes the audience believe that she’s aristocratic and urbane, and no traces of the brassy shopgirls Joan so often portrayed or Mildred Pierce’s commonness can be detected. She is Helen Wright, and she plays the role magnificently and with conviction.

In addition, never was Crawford’s beauty more striking as it is in this film. Her hair and make-up are natural and highly flattering, and her costumes are stunning in their glamorous simplicity. Yes, her shoulder pads are huge and her infamous ankle strap shoes are firmly in place, but Adrian out-did himself this time and the overall look is uncontrived and classic. Of particular note is the white sequined outfit Joan wears in her first scenes, which is iconoclastic and memorable as one of Adrian’s very best designs. Even in glasses Joan looks stunning, and her jewelry {most of which was from her own personal collection} is gorgeous, especially the large emerald-cut ring she wears in the final scenes.

The ending of the film is a tribute to Joan’s incredible talent and the skillful direction of Jean Negulesco. I’m always stunned by Crawford’s ability to wordlessly convey complex emotions with only her face and her eyes, a skill which harkens back to her beginnings in silent films. In a brilliantly filmed and edited sequence, Helen gets drunk while listening to a Paul Boray concert on the radio at her beach house. As her lover’s music overtakes her, Helen’s misery and torment become tangible through Joan’s vivid facial expressions, and she walks silently to the beach with the moonlight illuminating the tears on her face. Standing at the water‘s edge, she doesn’t move as a giant wave comes towards her. The camera slowly closes in on an extreme close-up of Joan’s face, which hauntingly conveys Helen’s submission to her fate. As the music reaches a crescendo, Helen walks towards the wave and the murky ocean engulfs her. The strains of violin music then poignantly come to a close, and we see the empty beach where she once stood as the waves gently lap the shore. Helen’s pain is over, and the viewer’s realization of what she has done is moving in the extreme.

The musical scenes in Humoresque are of special note, especially the manner in which Jean Negulesco filmed John Garfield playing the violin. Because Garfield did not know how to play the violin, he was shown in close-up with the violin tucked under his chin while one violinist {who stood out of view} played the part of his right arm and another violinist {again out of view} played his left. The two violinists then strummed and bowed in unison, effectively creating the illusion that Garfield was indeed a skilled musician. Long-shots and rear-views were also used to great effect. The actual music was performed by the renowned musician Isaac Stern, and the classical pieces, which feature the work of the composer Antonin Dvorak, are beautiful and greatly enhance key moments in the plot. The cinematography of Ernest Haller is also magnificent, and the film’s visual style is evocative of the work of European film-maker Jean Renoir {son of the impressionist painter Pierre Auguste Renoir}, which contributes to the movie’s overall sophistication and tone.

As well, Haller brilliantly captured Joan’s beauty at its peak, and his use of extreme close-ups is an essential component of the movie’s emotional sub-text. It’s interesting to note that Paul Boray as a young boy was played in Humoresque by a twelve-year-old Robert Blake, billed in the credits as "Bobby Blake". He only appears in a few early scenes, but his performance skillfully and deftly conveys young Paul’s passion for the violin. Considering the tragic circumstances Blake would encounter in his later years, his appearance in Humoresque adds an additional element of tragedy to the character of Paul Boray which fits quite well within the context of the film’s emotional tone.

Humoresque is often referred to as "one of Crawford’s best". In this reviewer’s opinion, Humoresque IS Crawford’s best. They just don’t make films like this any more, and it’s an essential classic in the Crawford library which is often sadly overlooked. In order to fully understand how immensely talented Joan was, Humoresque is a definite must-see.