A stark retelling of Theodore Dreiser's naturalistic novel about love and social status. The author sued the production company for the liberties they took with the story. If Dreiser thought that von Sternberg's "An American Tragedy" took too many liberties, he must be known to the other cadavers as Ol' "Pinwheel" Dreiser after 1951's "A Place in the Sun," directed by George Stevens in an echt-romantic mode.
Well, just look at the name changes from Dreiser to Stevens, for instance. "Clyde Griffiths" becomes "George Eastman." That in itself is an improvement over Dreiser. Who wants to sympathize with a guy named Clyde? Besides, the story -- in the book and in both films -- is set in upstate New York. And Rochester is in upstate New York, where "Eastman" is a name to conjure with. Look up Eastman School of Music in Rochester, or Eastman-Kodak. If George is less alienating than Clyde, then certainly Alice Tripp in 1951 is a quantum leap in pathos beyond 1931's Roberta Alden, and Angela Vickers is a rich improvement over Sondra Finchley.
But the 1931 version, whatever Dreiser may have thought of it, is by no means bad. It's not nearly as manipulative as the later version, with Montgomery Clift looking so young, beautiful, and brooding. It's important to remember that von Sternberg was operating under the technological strictures of the period. The sound is crummy. That's because recording techniques were primitive in 1931. There were mikes hidden in boutonnieres, coffee cups, table lamps, and various other props like toilet facilities. (Well, not that.)
In this movie, Clyde (Philip Holmes, Philip Holmes in a deliciously ambiguous performance) comes from a stern but loving religious family. He runs into a rich relative who gives him a job out of pity in a factory in New York state, near the town of Fonda, named after THAT family. Clyde is a lonesome young fellow, naive with a dash of the engaging charm that obvious ignorance sometimes brings with it. Against the rules he courts and seduces factory girl Roberta (Sylivia Sidney) and she winds up preggers. This puts Clyde's morality in a vice. Illegitimate children weren't looked on with pride in 1931 and their mothers were a disgrace in every respect. Meanwhile, Clyde is more and more estranged from Roberta because he's fallen in with the rich crowd of his relatives and because he's now in love with Sondra Finchley (Frances Dee, looking good. In fact, she looked even better with the passage of years: check out "I Walked With a Zombie"). Sondra takes Clyde out in a speedboat for a spin on the same lake where the other girl is about to meet her fate.
What to do, what to do? The obvious answer is to take Roberta out in a rowboat to an isolate bay then throw the unswimming slut overboard. Clyde initiates the plan but once out in the boat finds himself incapable of murder. He spills the beans about his situation. Roberta, understandably upset, leaps to her feet and advances towards him until not only she but the rowboat are upset. She drowns while Clyde swims towards shore.
It doesn't take the law long to pin it on Clyde, who is not only morally weak but pretty dumb. The courtroom scenes that follow may strike a modern viewer as overblown -- all the shouting and nastiness -- but a peek at the trial proceedings of Bruno Richard Hauptmann in the case of the Lindbergh baby kidnapping reveals that trials weren't nearly as decorous then as they are now. At any rate, both fictitious Clyde and factual Hauptmann suffer the same fate.
And it's in these last scenes that Dreiser's novel beats both film versions. His description of the prison is captured with precision, the floor plan, the stone walls, the bars. His sketch stands out because elsewhere his prose can become unbuttoned: "She wore ruby earrings in her ears." And the somewhat air-headed rich girl, who speaks baby talk to Clyde, as in, "Is my widdle pooky wooky saddy waddy?", disappears from the plot at the first hint of scandal, never to be heard from again, thank God. That's as it should be.
You won't regret having watched this if you have the chance.
Well, just look at the name changes from Dreiser to Stevens, for instance. "Clyde Griffiths" becomes "George Eastman." That in itself is an improvement over Dreiser. Who wants to sympathize with a guy named Clyde? Besides, the story -- in the book and in both films -- is set in upstate New York. And Rochester is in upstate New York, where "Eastman" is a name to conjure with. Look up Eastman School of Music in Rochester, or Eastman-Kodak. If George is less alienating than Clyde, then certainly Alice Tripp in 1951 is a quantum leap in pathos beyond 1931's Roberta Alden, and Angela Vickers is a rich improvement over Sondra Finchley.
But the 1931 version, whatever Dreiser may have thought of it, is by no means bad. It's not nearly as manipulative as the later version, with Montgomery Clift looking so young, beautiful, and brooding. It's important to remember that von Sternberg was operating under the technological strictures of the period. The sound is crummy. That's because recording techniques were primitive in 1931. There were mikes hidden in boutonnieres, coffee cups, table lamps, and various other props like toilet facilities. (Well, not that.)
In this movie, Clyde (Philip Holmes, Philip Holmes in a deliciously ambiguous performance) comes from a stern but loving religious family. He runs into a rich relative who gives him a job out of pity in a factory in New York state, near the town of Fonda, named after THAT family. Clyde is a lonesome young fellow, naive with a dash of the engaging charm that obvious ignorance sometimes brings with it. Against the rules he courts and seduces factory girl Roberta (Sylivia Sidney) and she winds up preggers. This puts Clyde's morality in a vice. Illegitimate children weren't looked on with pride in 1931 and their mothers were a disgrace in every respect. Meanwhile, Clyde is more and more estranged from Roberta because he's fallen in with the rich crowd of his relatives and because he's now in love with Sondra Finchley (Frances Dee, looking good. In fact, she looked even better with the passage of years: check out "I Walked With a Zombie"). Sondra takes Clyde out in a speedboat for a spin on the same lake where the other girl is about to meet her fate.
What to do, what to do? The obvious answer is to take Roberta out in a rowboat to an isolate bay then throw the unswimming slut overboard. Clyde initiates the plan but once out in the boat finds himself incapable of murder. He spills the beans about his situation. Roberta, understandably upset, leaps to her feet and advances towards him until not only she but the rowboat are upset. She drowns while Clyde swims towards shore.
It doesn't take the law long to pin it on Clyde, who is not only morally weak but pretty dumb. The courtroom scenes that follow may strike a modern viewer as overblown -- all the shouting and nastiness -- but a peek at the trial proceedings of Bruno Richard Hauptmann in the case of the Lindbergh baby kidnapping reveals that trials weren't nearly as decorous then as they are now. At any rate, both fictitious Clyde and factual Hauptmann suffer the same fate.
And it's in these last scenes that Dreiser's novel beats both film versions. His description of the prison is captured with precision, the floor plan, the stone walls, the bars. His sketch stands out because elsewhere his prose can become unbuttoned: "She wore ruby earrings in her ears." And the somewhat air-headed rich girl, who speaks baby talk to Clyde, as in, "Is my widdle pooky wooky saddy waddy?", disappears from the plot at the first hint of scandal, never to be heard from again, thank God. That's as it should be.
You won't regret having watched this if you have the chance.