Shortly
after his roaring success with The Great Dictator, in 1941 Charlie Chaplin was
approached with an intriguing offer by Orson Welles. He had an idea for a dramatized
documentary about the notorious French wife-murdering Bluebeard Henri Désiré
Landru, who preyed on wealthy widows between 1914-1919, killing ten plus one of
their sons and burning their bodies in his oven before being convicted and
guillotined in 1921. Chaplin paid Welles $5000 for his idea, though Welles
later claimed insubstantially he had written a script for the film.
Nevertheless, as agreed, the resulting film carried the credit ‘Based on an
idea by Orson Welles’. It took a further four years for Chaplin to write the
screenplay. The central character bore a strong resemblance to Landru as a
suave furniture dealer almost succeeding in managing a secure idyllic home life
whilst juggling numerous other wives and prospective rich partners unbeknownst
to his wife. His ultimate capture following the active suspicion of one of the
victim’s families was also used in his fictional downfall.
Partly the
delay in writing Monsieur Verdoux was
due to Chaplin grappling with the real-life distasteful details of a paternity
suit brought against him by ingénue actress Joan Barry, but in these years he
also found his happiest marriage of all with Oona O’Neill, daughter of the
celebrated playwright Eugene O’Neill.
Further
damaging controversy would dog Chaplin though from the submission of his script
through till the final film’s reception. Joseph Breen’s Production Code office
received the screenplay in March 1946 and initially refused it outright as “it
impugns the present-day social structure”, an unfair position as the film takes
between between WWI and WWII. In the end, the board relented yet still took
their pound of flesh by prudishly demanding the removal of any reference to the
screen couples sleeping together or any suggestion that Marilyn Nash as The
Girl would succumb to prostitution.
Whilst Chaplin negotiated with the Breen Office, there were storm clouds gathering that brought America into the war and brooded over a gradual industry shift toward paranoid levels of patriotism that targeted anyone whose work was critical of the war effort. Monsieur Verdoux and his creator would soon come under the spotlight for his sympathy toward Communism to ruinous effect.
Whilst Chaplin negotiated with the Breen Office, there were storm clouds gathering that brought America into the war and brooded over a gradual industry shift toward paranoid levels of patriotism that targeted anyone whose work was critical of the war effort. Monsieur Verdoux and his creator would soon come under the spotlight for his sympathy toward Communism to ruinous effect.
At least Chaplin’s
actual filming became his fastest and least troublesome of all of his features.
The previously elephantine schedules he had enjoyed as financier of his own
films had to be disciplined due to war austerity and the high cost of film
stock that had once allowed him the luxury of experimenting on film. Now for
the first time he was obliged to come to set with a finished script and precise
storyboards of camera angles to avoid unnecessary wastage. To aid him in the
design of authentic French sets, Chaplin brought in Robert Frankenstein Florey, whom we last saw directing The Face Behind the Mask (see my review
of 16/1/2017). Principal shooting wrapped in just three months.
Subtitled ‘A
comedy of murders’ Monsieur Verdoux
is a curiosity and not always easy to define. For example. the elegant French gent
he plays is an effete, somewhat camp individual and yet most definitely and
fatally a ladies man. Narrating after his death from a tombstone opening shot,
he declares in clipped tones that as far as being a Bluebeard goes, “liquidating
members of the opposite sex”, such business is so ultimately unrewarding that ““only
a person of undaunted optimism would embark on such an adventure”. The story
that unfolds though is a combination of lightness of morality from its hero and
a black-humoured, despondent gloom that permeates almost every character.
We are
introduced to the family of one of Verdoux’s wealthy, vanished victims who suspect
she has disappeared at the hands of her strange new beau. The Police Judiciare have
spotted the connection between twelve preyed-on females and what could be one
culprit but there is no enough evidence for Detective Morrow (an imposing
Charles Evans) to make an arrest.
We then get
to see the Monsieur himself in action as he shows Isobel Elsom’s Marie Grosnay
around the house he intends to sell her. Meanwhile, he quickly establishes with
overwhelming ardour that he is on the menu as well, to the point where she
leaves in decided uncomfortability. Chaplin’s characterisation is a graceful
dance partner of seduction, albeit a little too much for this prospective
conquest. He gushes with praise and fulsome attention, practically skipping
around his target like a maiden around the maypole. Clothed in exquisite
finery, often sporting a smoking jacket with cravat, he is a dapper dude of
refinery from his fingertips to the almost Dali-esque moustache (the first time
he had ever actually grown one for a part).
“You must
have made a killing”, observes an old employee friend from the bank where
Verdoux once clerked before being fired. He presents a meticulous image of
prosperity, one that Chaplin has also been careful to construct as funded by
ill-gotten gains that were morally acceptable in supporting a family – but potentially
which one?
It is easy
to see how so many ladies have fallen for Verdoux’s charm, especially those who
are widowed and vulnerable. Money gives no succour – and yet sucker it seems is
the approach on Chaplin’s mind when he sketches out his females in the film.
Most of them are drawn to represent unattractive and gullible marks to be
exploited while his machinations are drawn with maximum sympathy in mind. His
battle-axe wife Lydia Floray (a vivid Margaret Hoffman) is shrewd enough to
spit venom at him when he shows up after a long absence, and yet he easily cons
her out of her last 70,000 Francs with panic-mongering about a bank collapse
without any proof. His murder of her is undertaken with admirable restraint
though after he waxes lyrical to the moon outside her door: “How beautiful,
this pale Endymion hour”. It is a beautifully composed shot, lingering before
he enters the bedroom with off-screen homicide in mind. Floray’s mood-puncturing
response: “Forget about him and get to bed” was one of those resulting from the
censorship (the line should have been ‘and come
to bed’).
Any dislike we
may have of Verdoux’s duplicity is cunningly managed by supplying him with a lovely
and devoted wife Mona (Mady Corell) - disabled as well – and a charming son
Peter (Allison Roddan) for whom he works so secretively. “What a relief to get
away from the jungle fight”, he affects as he slumps in affected tiredness into
a homely armchair. Whilst preserving his family arguably gives him motive – “It’s
not easy for a man of my age to make a living” - there is a flip-side of conned
innocence in her that could incur a debatable charge of misogyny in the
writing.
This subtext
potentially gains more traction when we see that even Mme Grosnay, the
house-hunter of the tingling spider-sense, has her suspicions erased by a few
deliveries of flowers. She is soon also won over, as is the florist in a subtle
moment when Verdoux multi-tasks his wooing by dictating an accompanying note for
Grosnay and looking at her at the same time.
The other
wife victim painted in less than wholly sympathetic terms is famous comedienne
Martha Raye’s marvellously brassy dame Annabella Bonheur. A former big band
vocalist with a celebrated mouth to match, Raye is perfectly cast as a coarse energetic
vulgarian but with the street smarts to protect her own business. Through her, we
fittingly get one of the film’s most physical comedy scenes when there is a
mix-up of Hydrogen Peroxide bottles between he and the maid that scuppers his latest
wife poisoning and backfires into convincing him he has become the victim. He
gasps out loud for his wife, Annabella not realising he doesn’t mean her.
The one
female in the cast who is shown as a match for Verdoux is the aforementioned
Marilyn Nash. She is a pivotal character in that when he takes her in off the
street from an artfully-disguised hint of prostitution (the Production Code
again), she does not accept his hard-bitten view of women or the world as a
whole. Somehow with her Verdoux’s veneer of success and charm cracks and we,
through her, are allowed into his overt misogyny and cynicism:
“I love
women, but I don’t admire them. Women are of the earth, realistic, dominated by
physical facts. Once a woman betrays a man, she despises him - in spite of his
goodness and position, she will give him up for someone inferior. That someone
is more, shall we say, attractive…”
The Girl
(she has no script name) gently disagrees, citing love for its sacrificial
value, giving the example of a mother’s selfless love for a child. This would
seem lame were it not for the fact that much later she will meet him again when
their circumstances are reversed and she can repay his nourishing kindness a
little.
Raye gets
another chance to lighten the doom-laden tone when she and Verdoux take a boat
out together. As he attempts in vain to lasso Annabella with a rope-tied stone
to drown her, Chaplin hilariously recalls his Little Tramp’s desperate bid for
the telephone, unseen by the glowering Eric Campbell, in Easy Street (1917). Alas, she is unsinkable.
The final
act has one more relatively upbeat farce sequence during Verdoux’s wedding day
with Mme Grosnay. The chickens almost come home to roost when Annabella shows
up as a guest, yet Verdoux pretends a bout of cramps to dodge being recognised by
her.
Ultimately
crime must not pay; the stock market crash wipes him out, and after a montage of
stock footage indicating the rise of Hitler, Mussolini and advancing age, our Monsieur’s
race is run. The loss of his wife and child after the Depression has pierced
his survivalist’s armour, and the reunion with the Girl has restored some
humanity to him: “Everyone needs love” he admits to her.
Inevitably
Verdoux must face his life’s consequences and he is tried and sentenced for his
murders. There is an indomitable quality in the final statement to his peers in
the court-room where he still clings to the life philosophy that has justified
him to the mirror every day since he embarked on the mass-murderers’ path. He
invokes the hypocrisy of governments who sanction killing under the guise of
war: “As a mass killer, I’m an amateur by comparison” before leaving them a
defiant parting shot: “I shall see you all very soon”.
This unapologetic
commentary is expanded in Verdoux’s cell to a reporter before his execution in
the most quoted dialogue of the film: “One murder makes a villain. Millions a
hero. Numbers sanctify, my good fellow”. As a companion piece to The Great Dictator, the dark spin he
puts on society’s own moral justifications is fascinating. Whereas in the
previous film he was, in a sense, an innocent appealing to the corrupted to
change their ways and his fellows to defy those who would pervert us, now he
was of the dark side and unrepentantly claiming “You made me this way. Don’t judge
me for my response. You are far worse”. For good measure, he even challenges the
priest that he would have no role if there were no sins to absolve. And with
that, Monsieur Verdoux exits the cell in a pristine white shirt reminiscent of
Charles I’s dignity at all costs, and takes his logic to the guillotine.
Believed in its maker’s characteristic self-confidence to be:“the cleverest and most
brilliant film of my career”, Monsieur
Verdoux’s release was very successful in Europe. However, the American
reception was overshadowed by a press conference during which journalists ignored
the film and instead used the platform to interrogate about his taxes,
political affiliations and why he had never sought American citizenship.
Demonstrations attacking him were organised outside cinemas; one newspaper reported
that he had ‘offended the Independent Theatre Owners of Ohio. The group, owners
of 325 movie houses, urged all other U.S. theatre owners to boycott Chaplin’s Monsieur Verdoux’.
The year of the film's release also saw the first hearings of the infamous House Un-American Activities Committee that would tear apart the fabric of Hollywood, turning many creative artists against each other and devastating the livelihoods in a dubiously motivated search for Communist sympathisers.
No comments:
Post a Comment