Near the beginning, Kay Francis's daughter is pursued by the elegant musical genius, Basil Rathbone with the long hair that suits a musical genius. She's swept off her feet, almost swoons when he chalks some musical notations on the board which no one can follow, gathers her in his arms and smothers her with hot kisses. The director, Joe May, ex-German, shows us a close up of her hooded eyes during the kiss while one of Mozart's pretty sonatas thrums in the background, and then dissolves to a point-of-view shots of the chandelier over the girl's head. The dissolve fades for a moment then an overlapping dissolve brings us back to the chandelier. The overlapping dissolve was meant to signal the closing and opening of her eyes. I thought, "Hey! Pretty neat, these Krauts!"
Well, that was about it for directorial innovation. Joe May had shot his wad. There are noticeable effects afterward -- points-of-view, a double exposure of a spirit doing what the flesh-and-blood heroine would like to do, but the invention, any subtlety, is just about over. Joe May seemed stuck in the 1920s, while his contemporaries like Fritz Lang adapted to new techniques, a new and more insinuating ethos.
In this story, Kay Francis is seduced by Basil Rathbone in Poland in the era of World War I. Imagine being impressed by a talented musician who wrote mazurkas and opera. It's almost unthinkable today, in an age of electric percussion and groupies. Rathbone is pretty good, as far as that goes. He's not evil incarnate, like Mr. Murdstone or the Sheriff of Nottingham. He's just a guy who takes advantage of those perquisites his talent brings his way. But a swine, nonetheless. When he's finished with Francis, she marries a stolid soldier who returns from the war in a state of uncertainty and disability. She has a baby girl.
Rathbone continues to pursue Francis, writing her every day, calling frequently, and takes up with Francis's own daughter, a development revealed to Francis after her husband has left her and she's been reduced to the status of chanteuse.
Oh, did I mention that Rathbone, the lemuroid ape, had schtupped Francis after a ball, when Francis was too drunk on champagne to notice that someone was up to no good inside her? Well, it's true. He did. So he's no gentleman. However the calumny falls not upon Rathbone but Francis. This is known as a "double standard." Also note that all these major motion pictures of the period had to have a grand ballroom scene -- "Madam Bovary" and the rest.
When Francis begins her decline, after the discovery of her one assignation with Rathbone, her daughter is taken away from her, a fallen woman now. And the movie should have been called, "Non-Confession" because the whole point of the movie is that Francis' daughter, now ensconced in a loving family, should never find out that her biological mother is a whore and a dance hall singer. (Sob.) More of a curiosity, I'd say, than anything else. The afternoon domestic dramas deal with similar problems but on a much lesser budget.
Well, that was about it for directorial innovation. Joe May had shot his wad. There are noticeable effects afterward -- points-of-view, a double exposure of a spirit doing what the flesh-and-blood heroine would like to do, but the invention, any subtlety, is just about over. Joe May seemed stuck in the 1920s, while his contemporaries like Fritz Lang adapted to new techniques, a new and more insinuating ethos.
In this story, Kay Francis is seduced by Basil Rathbone in Poland in the era of World War I. Imagine being impressed by a talented musician who wrote mazurkas and opera. It's almost unthinkable today, in an age of electric percussion and groupies. Rathbone is pretty good, as far as that goes. He's not evil incarnate, like Mr. Murdstone or the Sheriff of Nottingham. He's just a guy who takes advantage of those perquisites his talent brings his way. But a swine, nonetheless. When he's finished with Francis, she marries a stolid soldier who returns from the war in a state of uncertainty and disability. She has a baby girl.
Rathbone continues to pursue Francis, writing her every day, calling frequently, and takes up with Francis's own daughter, a development revealed to Francis after her husband has left her and she's been reduced to the status of chanteuse.
Oh, did I mention that Rathbone, the lemuroid ape, had schtupped Francis after a ball, when Francis was too drunk on champagne to notice that someone was up to no good inside her? Well, it's true. He did. So he's no gentleman. However the calumny falls not upon Rathbone but Francis. This is known as a "double standard." Also note that all these major motion pictures of the period had to have a grand ballroom scene -- "Madam Bovary" and the rest.
When Francis begins her decline, after the discovery of her one assignation with Rathbone, her daughter is taken away from her, a fallen woman now. And the movie should have been called, "Non-Confession" because the whole point of the movie is that Francis' daughter, now ensconced in a loving family, should never find out that her biological mother is a whore and a dance hall singer. (Sob.) More of a curiosity, I'd say, than anything else. The afternoon domestic dramas deal with similar problems but on a much lesser budget.