In Hollywood's classic age Columbia Studios was infamously dubbed "poverty row", because of its low budget prodcutions and lack of star power. However it did prove itself a fertile ground for talent and a lot of up-and-comers who would later be big names got their first break there. Such a one was Barbara Stanwyck, here on the ascendant as The Miracle Woman.
Unlike most of the bigger studios, Columbia's biggest asset during the 1930s was not a star but a director. Just like Stanwyck, Frank Capra was just starting to make a name for himself. For The Miracle Woman Capra demonstrates his increasingly passive camera positioning, often putting us audience members in the place of observer amid the crowd, which is rather appropriate for this picture all about display and performance. Capra still has something of the naïve show-off about him however, and there are quite a few attention-grabbing whip-pans and "impossible" shots like the one staring up through the fireplace, which don't really add a lot. And Capra's camera perhaps hangs back a bit too much, making the romantic scenes a little cold. Perhaps this picture of one-on-one relationships is not really suited to him. Capra really came into his own when dealing with groups, families and communities.
Ms Stanwyck however barely has any need of a decent director, being absolutely able to command our attention when she is on the screen. Her standout scene is actually her first, when she vehemently addresses a congregation after the death of her father. She manages the difficult task of being passionately enraged, for a good few minutes, without becoming hysterical, a particular rarity in this age of hammier acting. And throughout the picture she proves herself to be deep and subtle with her emotion, with a performance that is convincing and totally absorbing. Unfortunately the same cannot quite be said of her co-stars. David Manners was fairly popular at the time, and he was pretty good in the somewhat phoney world of Dracula (1931), but here he is rather wooden. He's certainly a good ventriloquist, but his ventriloquism act seems to have been shoehorned into the plot simply because it was something he could do. He doesn't really convince as a blind man either, more than once making eye contact with Stanwyck or obviously seeing his way around the set.
And apart from Stanwyck's performance there is very little to recommend about The Miracle Woman. The plot is a second-rate rip-off of Sinclair Lewis's novel Elmer Gantry (which, incidentally, was so controversial it was not filmed until 1960) and while the very competent Jo Swerling has adapted the John Meehan/Robert Riskin* play lucidly for the screen, it remains a rather lacklustre affair. There is some potential for pathos, but sadly the script is not lively enough to bring it out. Yet amid it Stanwyck stands out like a fiery beacon, and the picture is just about worth seeing for her alone. Hollywood honchos would be taking note as well, and the young actress would soon be bound for big roles at the major studios.
*Later a crucial yet unsung Capra collaborator, Riskin would write some of the finest screenplays of the 1930s. We can only assume that his ability was not fully fledged at the time he was writing The Miracle Woman, which is supported by the fact that he and Meehan chose to steal most of their plot from a popular novel of the day rather than coming up with something original. Nevertheless Riskin would soon go on to great things, and he deserves this footnote by way of a disclaimer. Oh, and John Meehan later did some pretty good screenplays too.
Unlike most of the bigger studios, Columbia's biggest asset during the 1930s was not a star but a director. Just like Stanwyck, Frank Capra was just starting to make a name for himself. For The Miracle Woman Capra demonstrates his increasingly passive camera positioning, often putting us audience members in the place of observer amid the crowd, which is rather appropriate for this picture all about display and performance. Capra still has something of the naïve show-off about him however, and there are quite a few attention-grabbing whip-pans and "impossible" shots like the one staring up through the fireplace, which don't really add a lot. And Capra's camera perhaps hangs back a bit too much, making the romantic scenes a little cold. Perhaps this picture of one-on-one relationships is not really suited to him. Capra really came into his own when dealing with groups, families and communities.
Ms Stanwyck however barely has any need of a decent director, being absolutely able to command our attention when she is on the screen. Her standout scene is actually her first, when she vehemently addresses a congregation after the death of her father. She manages the difficult task of being passionately enraged, for a good few minutes, without becoming hysterical, a particular rarity in this age of hammier acting. And throughout the picture she proves herself to be deep and subtle with her emotion, with a performance that is convincing and totally absorbing. Unfortunately the same cannot quite be said of her co-stars. David Manners was fairly popular at the time, and he was pretty good in the somewhat phoney world of Dracula (1931), but here he is rather wooden. He's certainly a good ventriloquist, but his ventriloquism act seems to have been shoehorned into the plot simply because it was something he could do. He doesn't really convince as a blind man either, more than once making eye contact with Stanwyck or obviously seeing his way around the set.
And apart from Stanwyck's performance there is very little to recommend about The Miracle Woman. The plot is a second-rate rip-off of Sinclair Lewis's novel Elmer Gantry (which, incidentally, was so controversial it was not filmed until 1960) and while the very competent Jo Swerling has adapted the John Meehan/Robert Riskin* play lucidly for the screen, it remains a rather lacklustre affair. There is some potential for pathos, but sadly the script is not lively enough to bring it out. Yet amid it Stanwyck stands out like a fiery beacon, and the picture is just about worth seeing for her alone. Hollywood honchos would be taking note as well, and the young actress would soon be bound for big roles at the major studios.
*Later a crucial yet unsung Capra collaborator, Riskin would write some of the finest screenplays of the 1930s. We can only assume that his ability was not fully fledged at the time he was writing The Miracle Woman, which is supported by the fact that he and Meehan chose to steal most of their plot from a popular novel of the day rather than coming up with something original. Nevertheless Riskin would soon go on to great things, and he deserves this footnote by way of a disclaimer. Oh, and John Meehan later did some pretty good screenplays too.