Whenever the world becomes too bleak to behold - which, alas, is often - when I want to kick in the TV set because I can't take the news, I call up this film on my computer. When the final credits roll I am mellow again. There is some beauty in life. I have heard this film deprecated. I can only say that those who do so have misunderstood it completely. Two faults are held against it: it fails as a film noir; its story in inconsequential. Neither point is justified.
First of all, it is not a film noir. It has no intention of being a film noir. It does not pretend to be one. True, there are scenes in a waterfront gin joint. Yes, the fog machine works overtime while Thomas Mitchell's "Tiny" is herded over the end of the jetty and into the waves. If those were the criteria for a Noir many other pictures not Noir would be called Noir. Had the studio wanted to film a noir (and in 1942 we are only at the very verge of the era of films noirs) could it have called upon a director less inclined to that spirit than Archie Mayo? If you want a film noir with Thomas Mitchell, a waterfront locale and fog, see "Out of the Fog," which even adds Ida Lupino into the mix. "Moontide" is a love story, a sweet, sweet, simple, love story. Take it as that. Take it for what it is, and you will not be let down. You may even, as I am on a bad day, be uplifted.
Second quibble, the story is meager, inconsequential. Inconsequential is merely a pejorative word for something that is, in all innocence, simple. Simplicity becomes a sin. Yes, the story is simple. The essence of a love story is simplicity. Lovers meet. Lovers part. Lovers are reunited. What more, at bottom, is Wuthering Heights? What makes a love story work? A pair of lovers who merge into one. No pair, in my opinion, did it better than Jean Gabin and Ida Lupino in "Moontide." Theirs is not a fiery, frenzied passion. It is, to repeat the word, sweet; to repeat again, simple, and tender. But it is never "mush." King George V, so the story goes, prayed every night that he might uphold the difference between sentiment and sentimentality. Here we uphold the essence of tenderness without the excesses of the maudlin. No one, in French or English, could play it better than Jean Gabin. Ida Lupino adds a heartbreaking upward intonation to her voice. Simple words become a sort of plea, a plea that she will not be abandoned. A plea for love.
The protagonists are magnificent. Likewise the antagonist. Thomas Mitchell must have relished a chance to do the part of a heavy, though his character is not truly evil but, as Gabin says, weak. (This is not the only chance Mitchell had to delve into villainy; he does it perfectly again in "Dark Waters" a few years later.) As for Ida, she must have relished her chance to play opposite Jean Gabin. Only the year before she came out of her greatest role, opposite Bogart in "High Sierra," with a sour taste. Bogart, peeved apparently that once again he was balked at getting the first credit, treated her badly, belittled her, especially in the last scene, such that she refused ever again to work with him. Her chemistry with Gabin (on and off the set evidently) is of a far finer nature. If you feel low, find this movie and relax.
One more word, anecdotally. Fritz Lang was set to direct the picture. He began, but quit abruptly. He found it hard to work with Jean Gabin, the reason being that they both were lovers of, and rivals for Marlene Dietrich. If so, Marlene apparently made her choice, and it was not Fritz Lang. Mercedes McCambridge in her autobiography (a fascinating book) recalled a party at her house. Among those present were Nicholas Ray, Rita Hayworth, Judy Garland and Michael Wilding, and Marlene Dietrich, Mercedes' close friend. Marlene, after a few drinks, held everyone captive while she declaimed a fantasy version of her eventual funeral. It was to be in Paris, filmed of course, a procession down the Champs Elysees, a packed Cathedral of Notre Dame. "The camera picks up a lone figure. It is a man in a rumpled suit ... he is leaning against the wall in an insolent manner, one foot braced against the stone.... Unmoved by the tolling bells and the booming organ, he stands alone ... He is Jean Gabin!"
First of all, it is not a film noir. It has no intention of being a film noir. It does not pretend to be one. True, there are scenes in a waterfront gin joint. Yes, the fog machine works overtime while Thomas Mitchell's "Tiny" is herded over the end of the jetty and into the waves. If those were the criteria for a Noir many other pictures not Noir would be called Noir. Had the studio wanted to film a noir (and in 1942 we are only at the very verge of the era of films noirs) could it have called upon a director less inclined to that spirit than Archie Mayo? If you want a film noir with Thomas Mitchell, a waterfront locale and fog, see "Out of the Fog," which even adds Ida Lupino into the mix. "Moontide" is a love story, a sweet, sweet, simple, love story. Take it as that. Take it for what it is, and you will not be let down. You may even, as I am on a bad day, be uplifted.
Second quibble, the story is meager, inconsequential. Inconsequential is merely a pejorative word for something that is, in all innocence, simple. Simplicity becomes a sin. Yes, the story is simple. The essence of a love story is simplicity. Lovers meet. Lovers part. Lovers are reunited. What more, at bottom, is Wuthering Heights? What makes a love story work? A pair of lovers who merge into one. No pair, in my opinion, did it better than Jean Gabin and Ida Lupino in "Moontide." Theirs is not a fiery, frenzied passion. It is, to repeat the word, sweet; to repeat again, simple, and tender. But it is never "mush." King George V, so the story goes, prayed every night that he might uphold the difference between sentiment and sentimentality. Here we uphold the essence of tenderness without the excesses of the maudlin. No one, in French or English, could play it better than Jean Gabin. Ida Lupino adds a heartbreaking upward intonation to her voice. Simple words become a sort of plea, a plea that she will not be abandoned. A plea for love.
The protagonists are magnificent. Likewise the antagonist. Thomas Mitchell must have relished a chance to do the part of a heavy, though his character is not truly evil but, as Gabin says, weak. (This is not the only chance Mitchell had to delve into villainy; he does it perfectly again in "Dark Waters" a few years later.) As for Ida, she must have relished her chance to play opposite Jean Gabin. Only the year before she came out of her greatest role, opposite Bogart in "High Sierra," with a sour taste. Bogart, peeved apparently that once again he was balked at getting the first credit, treated her badly, belittled her, especially in the last scene, such that she refused ever again to work with him. Her chemistry with Gabin (on and off the set evidently) is of a far finer nature. If you feel low, find this movie and relax.
One more word, anecdotally. Fritz Lang was set to direct the picture. He began, but quit abruptly. He found it hard to work with Jean Gabin, the reason being that they both were lovers of, and rivals for Marlene Dietrich. If so, Marlene apparently made her choice, and it was not Fritz Lang. Mercedes McCambridge in her autobiography (a fascinating book) recalled a party at her house. Among those present were Nicholas Ray, Rita Hayworth, Judy Garland and Michael Wilding, and Marlene Dietrich, Mercedes' close friend. Marlene, after a few drinks, held everyone captive while she declaimed a fantasy version of her eventual funeral. It was to be in Paris, filmed of course, a procession down the Champs Elysees, a packed Cathedral of Notre Dame. "The camera picks up a lone figure. It is a man in a rumpled suit ... he is leaning against the wall in an insolent manner, one foot braced against the stone.... Unmoved by the tolling bells and the booming organ, he stands alone ... He is Jean Gabin!"