Parents, let's not try to run our child's life -- we could ruin it instead!
How sad that Monsieur Duval (Lionel Barrymore) so mistrusts his son that he manipulates him out of a great chance at love.
Robert Taylor is wonderful as Armand Duval, the title-less Parisian who falls in love at first smile with dazzling, tubercular Marguerite Gautier (Greta Garbo), who has sold her attentions to the nobleman with the thickest wallet, the Baron de Varville (Henry Daniell).
Those of M. Duval's ilk may view Marguerite as a lowlife, but Armand's love elevates her -- all too late, alas, and thus the tragedy here.
There are some stunning scenes in this production, such as when Marguerite flees the ardor of Armand, hastening across moonlit fields toward the horizon and Varville.
She had escaped the farm of her youth to take her place among Parisian glitterati. "I never read anything," she shamelessly tells Armand, when he offers a book. "It's a beautiful color, and it should be a good story," she says, yet she's not as unwise as she sounds.
"I'm not to blame," she tells Armand as she prepares to run from him again. "We don't make our own hearts." (Which does make sense.)
"Everybody quarrels," she tells a startled and concerned Armand. "It keeps people from getting bored." (Correct, perhaps.)
And later, "People say some things they don't mean at night." (Sadly, another bit of truth.)
How incredible in this film to observe the lovers' final few minutes of genuine intimacy.
"Forget you? As if I could," says Armand.
"It's my heart -- it's not used to being happy," Marguerite replies.
Armand wants to call a doctor, but, "If you can't make me live, how can he?" asks Marguerite.
Our heroine dies too young, but in her true love's embrace. If ever a movie ended bittersweetly!
How sad that Monsieur Duval (Lionel Barrymore) so mistrusts his son that he manipulates him out of a great chance at love.
Robert Taylor is wonderful as Armand Duval, the title-less Parisian who falls in love at first smile with dazzling, tubercular Marguerite Gautier (Greta Garbo), who has sold her attentions to the nobleman with the thickest wallet, the Baron de Varville (Henry Daniell).
Those of M. Duval's ilk may view Marguerite as a lowlife, but Armand's love elevates her -- all too late, alas, and thus the tragedy here.
There are some stunning scenes in this production, such as when Marguerite flees the ardor of Armand, hastening across moonlit fields toward the horizon and Varville.
She had escaped the farm of her youth to take her place among Parisian glitterati. "I never read anything," she shamelessly tells Armand, when he offers a book. "It's a beautiful color, and it should be a good story," she says, yet she's not as unwise as she sounds.
"I'm not to blame," she tells Armand as she prepares to run from him again. "We don't make our own hearts." (Which does make sense.)
"Everybody quarrels," she tells a startled and concerned Armand. "It keeps people from getting bored." (Correct, perhaps.)
And later, "People say some things they don't mean at night." (Sadly, another bit of truth.)
How incredible in this film to observe the lovers' final few minutes of genuine intimacy.
"Forget you? As if I could," says Armand.
"It's my heart -- it's not used to being happy," Marguerite replies.
Armand wants to call a doctor, but, "If you can't make me live, how can he?" asks Marguerite.
Our heroine dies too young, but in her true love's embrace. If ever a movie ended bittersweetly!