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The Heiress (William Wyler, 1949)
As much as The Heiress
presents a battle of wills, it also is a battle of acting styles. The film’s
four leads (de Havilland, Clift, Richardson and Miriam Hopkins) each perform
with entirely different mannerisms and vocal rhythms, not only giving the
impression that these characters are ill-matched as societal equals, but almost
that they are in different films. Clift’s method suaveness clashes with de
Havilland’s stagey awkwardness, and both seem uncomfortable around Richardson’s
imported propriety. This friction only intensifies the drama, turning what is
already a tightly focused script into an almost unrelenting attrition of
Catherine’s dignity and faith in others. Even as it is made evident how
mismatched Catherine is for her role in life, the possibility of hope persists. The Heiress is
immaculately constructed and performed, making it a classic of its genre. The
deservedly Oscar-winning art direction emphasizes staircases, doors, and
mirrors, respectively emphasizing freedom, confinement and duplicity. These
instances of editorializing are typical of Wyler’s deep focus style, which is
somewhat reduced in power here when compared his very best moments, but
unobtrusive enough to allow the story and performers to remain the focal point.
Fortunately, each is in fine form in The
Heiress, an outstanding literary adaptation and a superb example of
Hollywood fare at its most intelligent and sharply honed. 82 Jeremy Heilman 08.14.12 |
William
Wyler applies the full power of his directorial precision to
The Heiress, a close adaptation of
Henry James’ novel Washington Square.
Telling the tale of Catherine Sloper (Olivia de Havilland), a dowdy but wealthy
heiress who becomes the target of a playboy (Montgomery Clift) whom her father
(Ralph Richardson) suspects of being a gold digger, this is a costume drama that
remains tightly focused on its central conflict. Indeed, after an early sequence
at a dance, the bulk of the narrative unfolds in the Sloper family’s expansive
New York home, which grows increasingly claustrophobic as Catherine becomes more
aware of her paucity of options. The style becomes so oppressive, and
Catherine’s circumstances are so geometrically defined by the other characters,
that The Heiress feels like a chamber
drama by its end. At every step Wyler charts the characters’ deliberate slide
into venomous territory, resulting in a work that feels meaner in tone than
James’ novel (Typical line: “My father wouldn’t abuse you… he doesn’t know you
well enough.”), if only because it allows us to hold out hopes for a happy
ending for a longer time. Wyler still locates the sadness here, though, spinning
Catherine’s hardening of feeling into an odd mix of tragedy and emancipation.