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By
NICK ZEGARAC
Rarely does a star of
Garbo's caliber and illusively memorable charm
grace us with such enigmatic presence… okay,
never; except this once. Born in Stockholm Sweden
in 1905, Greta Lovisa Gustafsson was a
not-so-successful actress until famed Swedish
director Mauritz Stiller cast her in two of his
most profitable films. Stiller was shortly
thereafter offered a contract by L.B. Mayer, and
agreed to a four picture loan out on the
understanding that MGM would take Gustafsson (by
now, both his protégée and lover) as part of the
deal. Mayer agreed, but was shortly thereafter
dismayed by the 'awkward peasant girl.' Never one
to mince words, the mogul's opener to Gustafsson
was "Americans don't like their women fat, and get
your teeth fixed." Few could have foreseen the
zeitgeist of smoldering sensuality that would
emerge from beyond the façade of that 'peasant
girl.' After a gross misfire, in which MGM's
publicity department attempted to fabricate an
athletic persona for their fledgling starlet,
within a few short years Gustafsson (now Garbo)
would be considered by many to be the premiere
movie actress, the seemingly liquid embodiment of
mystique, passion and, above all else, ubiquitous
sexuality.
And now, after what can only be described as a
prolonged absence, the divine Garbo emerges on DVD
in a formidable collection of her best loved movie
favorites from Warner Home Video. Garbo - The
Signature Collection aptly unites ten classics for
the first time; three silents and seven talkies.
Because all of the silent films generally have the
same image and sound quality a review of that
quality will immediately follow a brief synopsis
of all three movies included herein.
The collection begins in earnest with 'The
Temptress' (1926) director Fred Niblo's
impassioned tale of seduction and self-loathing.
Garbo is Elena. Accused of destroying one man's
wealth, she ravenously pursues Manuel Robeldo
(Antonio Moreno) an impressionable romantic fop
whom she meets at a masked ball. But the plot
thickens when local heavy, Manos Duras (Roy
D'Arcy) challenges the young lothario to a whip
duel. The Temptress is therefore a film where
fortunes are made, but lives are lost in a
whirlpool of aggression and lust.
The next silent entry is worthy of its own back
story: Flesh and the Devil (1926) was Garbo's
first teaming with co-star John Gilbert (a silent
matinee idol of the first order who was deposed
from his throne of adoring admirers by the dawning
of sound). In this film Garbo and Gilbert are Leo
and Felicitas. She's married to Ulrich (Lars
Hanson), Leo's best friend. But that doesn't stop
her from seducing Leo -- a move that eventually
destroys their lifelong friendship and results in
Ulrich's death. Dramatically speaking, Flesh and
the Devil is not very engaging, but when one
realizes that Garbo and Gilbert were heavily
involved at the time (a tryst that dissolved like
cotton candy when Gilbert announced to the
tabloids that he was marrying his costar…only she
never showed up to the alter), the film takes on
special meaning. It represents a very intimate
portrait of a very public affair -- at the end of
which Gilbert's reputation as a leading man was
irreversibly damaged and Garbo moved on to greater
heights in the talkies.
Niblo's The Mysterious Lady (1928) is, in
retrospect, a film reminiscent of Mata Hari (which
Garbo would make in 1931). Here, she's Tania
Federova, a Russian spy who seduces her victims.
Her first conquest is Captain Karl Von Raden
(Conrad Nagel) whom she meets during an opera and
shortly thereafter has an affair with. But by the
time the two meet again on a train, Karl has
learned that Tania is a spy. He refuses to believe
that she loves him; and he's probably right --
since Tania steals some valuable secret plans that
Karl is carrying. Karl is eventually
court-martialed for his stupidity and stripped of
his military rank -- a move that sets up for the
revenge tragedy that follows.
All three silent movies have a decidedly thick
image characteristic; exemplified by weak contrast
levels, not very solid blacks, a considerable
amount of film grain and some very nasty
age-related artifacts. These films are more for
the die-hard Garbo-phile or film historian. Their
merit as pure entertainment is limited and, in
their present condition, not indicative of all
that DVD can offer the consumer. The audio scores
that accompany the films are newly recorded
offerings (thanks to Turner Classic Movies Young
Composer's competition), and they are quite good,
capturing the vintage feel of the films without
seeming maudlin or overly melodramatic.
Garbo turned her proverbial professional corner
with her first talkie; Clarence Brown's Anna
Christie (1930). A seedy waterfront drama, the
tale revolves around a used-up waif (Garbo) who
returns to live with her father, Chris (George F.
Marion) on his riverboat. To accommodate her,
Chris moves his alcoholic live-in, Marthy (Marie
Dressler) off the barge. But the plot takes an
unexpected turn when Chris and Anna rescue three
seamen in peril. The lumbering Scot, Matt Burke
(Charles Bickford) pursues Anna, even going so far
to declare he will marry her. Chris's rejection of
the offer causes undo friction between the three
-- a maelstrom tempered only after Anna decides to
reveal a deep dark secret she's been carrying
since her return. Garbo's husky vocal is an ideal
fit for the careworn Anna. Bickford is perhaps a
poor choice to play a strapping sailor, but
Dressler more than makes up for any miscasting.
She's marvelous.
The DVD transfer on Anna Christie is better than
expected. Though blacks are weak and whites are
rarely clean, reduced film grain, considerable
fine detail and overall acceptable contrast levels
generally sell this image. Age-related artifacts
abound but strangely are not distracting --
perhaps because of the pale image. The audio is
decidedly dated ergo you won't be listening to it
for fidelity. But it's nicely presented and gives
an accurate representation of early sound
recordings and their limitations.
Anna Christie may have convinced movie exhibitors
that their most exotic silent star could handle
the microphone, but Mata Hari (1931) can safely be
said to be Garbo's first sound box office dynamo.
It's Paris, circa 1917 and Mata Hari is a
notorious erotic dancer. But the dance is an
illusion -- a front for her spying for the German
government. Russian General, Sergi Shubin (Lionel
Barrymore) is taken with Mata Hari. She pretends
affections toward him but falls in love with his
courier Alexis Rosanoff (Ramon Novarro) instead.
Learning of Rosanoff's secret mission to fly back
to Russia with crucial dispatches, Mata Hari must
choose between her public life of intrigue and
private need to be loved.
The image quality on Mata Hari suffers from
age-related artifacts. Though the B&W image is
nicely contrasted, there is a considerable amount
of film grain that, at time, is most distracting.
Whites are never clean, though black levels are
often deep. Fine detail is present but marred by a
hint of edge enhancement that periodically crops
up throughout the transfer. Not exactly the way
I'd like to remember history's most notorious
female spy.
Grand Hotel (1932) was producer Irving G.
Thalberg's ensemble production based on a novel
and play by Vicki Baum. It stars Garbo as
Grushinskya, a temperamental ballerina whose
frequent bouts with nervous tension contribute to
her almost being fired from the ballet. That is,
until she meets her grand paramour in Baron Felix
Von Geigern (John Barrymore). The two become
romantic soul mates, a move threatened when it is
revealed that the Baron is really a jewel thief,
who is being blackmailed to steal money and gems
from patrons in the Grand Hotel. Meanwhile -- in
another room -- Preysing (Wallace Beery), a German
industrialist has received very bad news. A merger
that he was counting on to save his company from
bankruptcy has fallen through. Throwing caution to
the wind, Preysing decides to escape his creditors
with stenographer, Flaemmchen (Joan Crawford) who
has little interest in Preysing as a man, but
likes his money nevertheless. Playing as very much
the forerunner to today's soap operas, the whole
mess culminates in a murder that has the potential
to destroy Grushinskya's faith in humanity and
send her fragile ego into an irreversible tale
spin.
Previously released, this is the identical
transfer of Grand Hotel as before. It suffers from
considerable grain and a highly unstable image
with considerable fading in spots and overall soft
and poorly contrasted image. There are quite a few
age related tears and speckles that crop up as
well. The audio is sometimes inaudible with a
decided background hiss. Considering that Grand
Hotel was a big money maker for MGM, an Oscar
winning Best Picture and an enduring staple on
television, fans of this movie deserve a better
image and new digital transfer.
Rouben Mamoulian's Queen Christina (1933) is a
cinematic masterpiece of sublime erotic
subversion. Young Swedish monarch, Christina
(Garbo) becomes a dominant European power at the
end of the Thirty Years War. She is pressured into
a political marriage but falls madly in love with
Spanish emissary, Antonio (John Gilbert). Aghast
that their Protestant queen might marry a
Catholic, the court of Sweden does everything in
its power to ruin the match. Ultimately, both the
court and Christina lose what they most desire in
life and the queen departs her homeland for an
unknown future, with only the betrayal of her
country and memory of a dead lover buried deep in
her heart. Garbo's gender-neutral performance is
sublime. Her asexual aloofness is at once strange
and wondrously at odds with her innate need to be
admired as a woman first and ruler second.
The image quality on Queen Christina appears to
have been the benefactor of some digital clean up
but its still a far cry from where it should be.
Though the picture is far from perfect, source
material is largely free of the age related garble
that plagued earlier described releases in this
box set. Black levels are, for the most part, deep
rich and solid. Whites are clean. Fine detail is
generally nicely realized. The audio is mono but
very nicely cleaned up and will surely not
disappoint.
Clarence Brown's Anna Karenina (1935) bears little
resemblance to Tolstoy's Russian melodrama. But
the discrepancies hardly matter. Garbo is, of
course, Anna -- a beautiful, congenial and much
beloved wife to senior Russian statesman and all
around bore, Karenin (Basil Rathbone). And
although her virtue is beyond question,
speculations begin to mount when Anna takes an
interest in a member of the Imperial Guard,
Vronsky (Fredric March). The two quickly develop
as lovers, a move that places Anna's future with
her son, Alexei (Freddie Bartholomew) in peril.
You just know this is going to end badly. Of all
the Garbo classics, this film most brilliantly
opens up its cinematic space and develops a real
flare for storytelling that goes beyond the
acting. Brown's initial establishing shot -- a
lavish tracking over a seemingly endless dinner
table decked out for the soliders -- is both
impressive and commanding. Ditto for his handling
of Anna's exile from her home at the hands of her
husband (another marvelous tracking shot) and her
fatal final moments on the railway tracks. David
O. Selznick personally supervised and produced
this spectacular entertainment under the aegis of
his MGM contract and the same meticulous attention
to detail that would exemplify his own productions
by the end of the decade is present here. This is
a marvelous film.
Warner's DVD transfer is the second most
impressive one in the bunch. A generally clean
image with minimal grain, exceptionally fine
detail, solid blacks and clean whites greets the
consumer. Age-related artifacts are present but
sufficiently tempered so as not to distract from
the presentation. The audio is mono but very
nicely balanced and presented at an equitable
listening level.
George Cukor's Camille (1936) is probably the film
that most people identify with Garbo today. It is
a bittersweet and tragic love story set in 1847's
gay Paris where gentlemen by day meet girls of the
moment for a little badinage behind closed doors.
The most popular gal du jour is Marguerite Gautier
(Garbo), whose sparkling wit and way with dapper
men is dampened by a diagnosis of tuberculosis.
Surrounded by a couturier of fair weather
mongrels, including Prudence Duvernoy (Laura Hope
Crews) and Baron De Varville (Henry Daniell),
Marguerite meets at least one man who isn't out to
use and abuse her -- the handsome and respectful
Armand Duval (Robert Taylor -- never looking more
dashing). Knowing what Marguerite is, Armand's
family is dead set against the match; a move that
forces Marguerite to sacrifice her own happiness
so that Armand's reputation might not be sullied.
Masterfully directed, and delivered with a tense
sense of immediacy and shattered grace, Camille
stands as one of the finest movies ever made.
The DVD transfer is surprisingly clean. Though
this is the absolute best this film has ever
looked for home video, contrast levels are still
relatively weak in spots and age-related artifacts
abound. Blacks are deep or solid. Whites are
generally clean. Film grain is obtrusive in spots.
The audio is mono but fairly accurate in its
representation of vintage sound recordings from
this period. Overall, the satisfaction level
attained from this transfer is just a little above
average; a shame, since the film itself is head
and shoulders above most romantic tripe of the
period. An interesting extra on this disc is the
1921 Nazimova and Valentino 'contemporary' silent
version of Camille. It's campy good fun even if
the quality is quite grainy and dull.
Ernest Lubitsch's Ninotchka (1939) effectively
rounded out Garbo's MGM tenure with a colossal
bang, and it is the last great film to be included
in this collection. A scathingly funny romantic
comedy, it stars Garbo as a Russian commissar who
is dispatched to Paris when three of her fellow
comrades are suspected of defection. Installed
inside Paris's most opulent hotel, she soon
discovers debonair playboy, Count Leon D'algut
(Melvyn Douglas), a man of considerable suave
sophistication who is at first in pursuit of the
Grand Duchess Swana (Ina Claire), but easily
switches in mid-ride to tackle the immense
obstacle of melting Ninotchka's heart. Throughout,
the film is peppered is charming dialogue and
situations that continue to tickle the funny bone;
such as the moment Leon, observing Garbo studying
a city map, tenderly indicates for her where they
are standing by taking Ninotchka's index finger in
his hand. "Are you flirting with me?" she asks.
"Absolutely," he declares. "Suppress it!"
The image quality on Ninotchka is bar none the
best in this box. A very clean, solid and nicely
contrasted film like transfer with fine detail and
a minimal amount of film grain all add to the
sparkle of the occasion. The audio is mono but
exceptionally well balanced.
In 1940, Garbo made what ultimately turned out to
be her last movie; Two-Faced Woman -- an
unqualified disaster. She departed MGM for what
was then described as an extended rest from which
she never returned. After World War II, Garbo
officially retired. And although choice projects
were constantly being pitched to her, she denied
us all the luxury of ever standing before the
cameras again, forever perpetuating that ethereal
mystique that plagued her desire for a quiet life.
Upon moving to New York City Garbo played up to
her reputation as a recluse with some very
prominent jet setters and, in 1954 she was
bestowed a special Oscar for 'unforgettable
performance' -- an honor she didn't show up to
collect. On April 15, 1990, Garbo succumbed to
pneumonia at the age of 84. Yet her legend has
endured -- grown even, to embody all that is
illusive, haunting, intellectual (perhaps far more
than she ever was in life) and tragically poetic.
As such she remains the consummate embodiment of a
great actress. She is, after all, one of only a
handful of stars from Hollywood's golden age that
needs no first name introduction to be immediately
identified.
Extras on this divine Warner box set are fitting
for a star of Garbo's magnitude. We begin with
TCM's stunning feature length biography; a
thorough and intriguing investigation of the lady
and her legend that is both comprehensive and
entertaining. Next is nine minutes of footage from
the 1928 lost film, The Divine Woman (long
heralded as one of Garbo's best performances that
sadly, we will never get the chance to see).
Nearly four hours of audio commentaries on Garbo's
silent movies are extremely thorough to say the
least. And finally, of merit is TCM's featurette
'Setting the Score' that showcases the young
composer's responsible for rescoring Garbo's
silent movies. Theatrical trailers are also
included. Long live the great lady of American
cinema. |
