The earliest sound movies quickly became known as "talkies", as oppose to "soundies" as one might expect them to be called. It makes sense though, because these pictures tended to have a lot more talking in them than did the sound films of a few years later. The reason is most of them were culled from stage plays (where speech largely takes the place of action) because this was seen as the most appropriate material for the new technology. And back then, theatre was not the prestigious medium it is today. Just as there have been B-movies and dime novels, so too were there plenty of cheap and cheerful stage plays ripe for adaptation to the screen.
Coquette comes from a play by the rarely-remembered theatre legend George Abbott along with Ann Preston Bridgers, and is essentially a melodrama-by-numbers. All the familiar hackneyed elements are here – a flirtatious young woman, a disapproving father, a gun going off and so on. It is all a rather silly affair, putting some rather large strains on credibility in its final act. And in its translation to the screen it has retained the structure of a theatrical play. On the stage you can't cut back-and-forth from one place to another, so big chunks of plot will take place consecutively, often in the same room. And this looks odd in a movie.
Coquette is probably best remembered now as the movie for which (mostly) silent star Mary Pickford won her only Oscar for acting. The deservedness of this award has since been called into question. Her performance is an abundance of mannerisms, but while certainly overt it never quite goes over-the-top, which is a fair feat given the plot requires her to go through every conceivable emotional state. She is actually at her best when saying nothing, such as the odd little expression that crosses her face at the end of the court scene. The best turn however belongs to John St. Polis, who gives a nice solid performance. Theatrical, but solid. By contrast though, the unbearable woodenness of John Mack Brown is like an acting black hole, threatening to drag what little credibility the movie has left into oblivion, and would have succeeded if someone hadn't had the good sense to pop a cap in his ass halfway through. Ironically Brown was to have the most lucrative post-Coquette career of all the cast, albeit largely in B-Westerns.
The director may seem like a strange choice. Sam Taylor was first a gag man and then a director at Hal Roach's comedy studios, but lately he had got into drama. Staging in depth was always one of his fortes, and he makes some neat little compositions which really give definition to the limited number of sets. For example when Brown first comes on the scene, he has him in the background with Pickford on screen right and Matt Moore a little closer to the screen on the left, creating a zigzag pattern. He also makes some attempt to bring a bit of cinematic dynamism to what is essentially a filmed play, making sharp changes of angle at key moments such as St. Polis's walking in on Pickford and Brown, but by-and-large the fact that nearly everything takes place in one room – or rather a frontless set – is inescapable.
Perhaps we shouldn't be too hard on Coquette, as its flaws are really only the flaws of its era. And in all honesty, if you try not to take it too seriously it can be enjoyed on a certain level, especially since it runs for a mere 75 minutes. But then again, there were also plenty of pictures from this early talkie era – yes, even as early as 1929 – that managed to rise above their circumstances. And after a look at how much talent and imagination there really was in Hollywood at the time, it's not difficult to see how Coquette could have been so much more.
Coquette comes from a play by the rarely-remembered theatre legend George Abbott along with Ann Preston Bridgers, and is essentially a melodrama-by-numbers. All the familiar hackneyed elements are here – a flirtatious young woman, a disapproving father, a gun going off and so on. It is all a rather silly affair, putting some rather large strains on credibility in its final act. And in its translation to the screen it has retained the structure of a theatrical play. On the stage you can't cut back-and-forth from one place to another, so big chunks of plot will take place consecutively, often in the same room. And this looks odd in a movie.
Coquette is probably best remembered now as the movie for which (mostly) silent star Mary Pickford won her only Oscar for acting. The deservedness of this award has since been called into question. Her performance is an abundance of mannerisms, but while certainly overt it never quite goes over-the-top, which is a fair feat given the plot requires her to go through every conceivable emotional state. She is actually at her best when saying nothing, such as the odd little expression that crosses her face at the end of the court scene. The best turn however belongs to John St. Polis, who gives a nice solid performance. Theatrical, but solid. By contrast though, the unbearable woodenness of John Mack Brown is like an acting black hole, threatening to drag what little credibility the movie has left into oblivion, and would have succeeded if someone hadn't had the good sense to pop a cap in his ass halfway through. Ironically Brown was to have the most lucrative post-Coquette career of all the cast, albeit largely in B-Westerns.
The director may seem like a strange choice. Sam Taylor was first a gag man and then a director at Hal Roach's comedy studios, but lately he had got into drama. Staging in depth was always one of his fortes, and he makes some neat little compositions which really give definition to the limited number of sets. For example when Brown first comes on the scene, he has him in the background with Pickford on screen right and Matt Moore a little closer to the screen on the left, creating a zigzag pattern. He also makes some attempt to bring a bit of cinematic dynamism to what is essentially a filmed play, making sharp changes of angle at key moments such as St. Polis's walking in on Pickford and Brown, but by-and-large the fact that nearly everything takes place in one room – or rather a frontless set – is inescapable.
Perhaps we shouldn't be too hard on Coquette, as its flaws are really only the flaws of its era. And in all honesty, if you try not to take it too seriously it can be enjoyed on a certain level, especially since it runs for a mere 75 minutes. But then again, there were also plenty of pictures from this early talkie era – yes, even as early as 1929 – that managed to rise above their circumstances. And after a look at how much talent and imagination there really was in Hollywood at the time, it's not difficult to see how Coquette could have been so much more.