One of the later of Bette Davis' Warner Brothers melodramas and not, in my opinion, in anywhere near the same league as "Jezebel", "Dark Victory" or "Now Voyager", to name but three. This feature wants so much to be an up-market morality tale, with more than a nod to Oscar Wilde's "The Picture of Dorian Grey" along the way, but falls considerably short under the weight of its own pretensions. Although beautifully shot with no expense spared on costumes or sets, the film seems more a vanity piece for Ms Davis as much as anything as she gets the "Scarlett O'Hara" treatment denied her some five years earlier, when she was reportedly disappointed not to get the lead opposite Gable at that time. Ironically, the famous quote, I believe attributable to producer David O Selznick, that he couldn't imagine Gable pursuing Davis as Scarlett down the years, is put to the test and unconvincingly at that as a succession of young and not so young suitors hang on her every word and gesture as she plays the empty-headed coquette into her old age, where an attack of diphtheria befalls her and prematurely ages her appearance to the shock and repugnance of her till then still avid admirers. Davis to me has a striking appearance and certainly star quality but a traffic-stopping beauty she never was (as Selznick's remark clearly implies) and it's silly to think that she could carry a feature on this premise. It's all too ridiculous for words, from her misplaced devotion to her dishonest, wimp-ish younger brother Trippy (the name says it all), the coincidence whereby she sees him again in a newsreel from the First World War ("Of all the Wars...), her extreme reaction to his death in action, her easy seduction of her daughter's soon-to-be fiancé, Claude Rains slavish devotion to Davis from start to finish - it's all unbelievable tosh and really too much to digest. None of the leads garners much sympathy or admiration, Davis affecting an irritating clipped high-pitch accent which sets the teeth on edge from the start and I reluctantly include in that group the redoubtable Rains as her gullible, long-suffering husband in the title role; his character seems far too intelligent and sensible to fall for such a facile, indolent character as Davis' Fanny never mind his fantastical tolerance of her continued flirtations with every male who steps into their house. Perhaps only Walter Abel, as Davis' truth-telling confidant, cousin George, emerges as a believable likable character, alongside Marjorie Riordan as her unloved daughter who grows up to steal her last beau. There are some nice scenes between Rains and the child actress playing his daughter, plus I also liked Davis' "Citizen Kane" moment as she wanders alone through her mirror-bedecked mansion, unable to bear her own altered appearance, but the final ridiculous scene where she and a now beggared and blinded Rains are reconciled caps an overlong and at times unpleasant viewing experience, far from the heights of earlier glories reached by this considerable star.
Review of Mr. Skeffington
