The Letter (1929) with Jeanne Eagels: Could this face, these eyes, these lips belong to someone guilty of murder?
- The Letter (1929) movie review summary: Jean de Limur’s creaky dawn-of-the-sound-era crime/trial drama is a must-see as the sole extant talkie featuring Broadway star Jeanne Eagels, whose performance, though wholly of its time, culminates in a final emotional outburst that remains as impressive as it undoubtedly was nearly a century ago.
- The Letter synopsis: In Malaya, a British plantation owner’s wife (Jeanne Eagels) shoots her lover (Herbert Marshall) multiple times. In court, she justifies her trigger-happiness by blaming the deceased, accusing him of attempted rape. Her acquittal is certain – until her attorney (O.P. Heggie) learns of an incriminating letter.
The Letter (1929) movie review: Jeanne Eagels delivers a climactic tour de force in primitive early talkie
“Having watched William Wyler’s masterful 1940 film adaptation of W. Somerset Maugham’s 1927 play The Letter and having read quite a bit about Broadway star Jeanne Eagels’ remarkable talent, I was expecting to find at least a modicum of interest in Jean de Limur’s 1929 version of Maugham’s crime-of-passion melodrama. I’m sorry to report I was greatly disappointed, even though Garrett Fort’s screenplay is quite similar to the one used in the Wyler version.”
Thus began this reviewer’s original commentary on the first big-screen transfer of The Letter, a Paramount release that came out right at the dawn of the sound era.
What a difference a couple of centuries make.
Having finally rewatched The Letter – the available restored print (which itself needs a bit of cleaning up in terms of both picture and sound) – my views have dramatically changed. Hence this revised commentary.
Creaky but nice
Admittedly, as one of the first all-talking pictures, The Letter – which, as per the AFI Catalog, premiered on March 7, 1929, in New York City – is undeniably creaky.
As a result of the newfangled sound technology, the silent era’s peripatetic camera had become mostly stationary. Actors, about as immobilized as the equipment filming them, were forced to deliver their lines while standing facing one another so the microphone hidden nearby could register their voices (without also registering the rustling of their clothes).
Not helping matters, The Letter – though a star vehicle for a major Broadway name – looks like it was shot (at Paramount’s Long Island Studios) on a string budget: The sets look like sets; the painted backdrops look like painted backdrops; the cinematography (by future 13-time Academy Award nominee George J. Folsey) is mostly flat; the scenes are static,[1] with few cuts or different camera setups; the unfolding of the narrative has been shortened, as the film’s running time is only a minute or two over an hour; and so on.
But if viewers can accept these cinematic handicaps as part of The Letter’s “historical appeal” – as this reviewer was able to this time around – they should then be able to place their focus on the basic plot and the acting. And both, despite the aforementioned handicaps, offer much to be appreciated.
The Letter plot: Tropical crime passionnel
Beginning with the former, here is the gist of The Letter’s simple yet compelling narrative:
Stuck for seven years on a Malayan rubber plantation with her aloof and unattractive older husband, Robert (Reginald Owen) – whose only thought is “rubber, rubber, rubber, RUBBER!” – the good-looking blonde Leslie Crosbie (Jeanne Eagels) found the affection she craved in the person of handsome ladies’ man Geoffrey Hammond (Herbert Marshall), who talked to her of music and romance.
Now, however, Geoffrey has abandoned Leslie for another woman. Adding insult to injury, his new object of desire is a “half-caste” Chinese madam, Li-Ti (Lady Tsen Mei).
One fateful day, after Robert leaves home Leslie orders one of her servants to deliver a letter to Geoffrey, summoning him to her bungalow.[2] Ready to officialize the end of their relationship, Geoffrey heads to the Crosbies’ plantation. During an ugly confrontation, he tells Leslie, “If you ask me to choose between you and [Li-Ti], I choose her!”
Mad with jealousy, Leslie shoots him. As he stumbles, she shoots him again. And again. And again. And again.
At the ensuing trial, the respectable Mrs. Crosbie is defended by the honorable Mr. Joyce (O.P. Heggie), who also happens to be a friend of the family. Everything seems to be going well: The all-white male jury eyes this exemplar of British womanhood with kind interest; the prosecutor seems embarrassed to be going after her; and even though Geoffrey was generally well-liked while alive, “respectable” people had lost all sympathy for him because of his association with Li-Ti.
An acquittal is thus certain. That is, until the defense is made aware of the letter that Leslie had written to Geoffrey on the day she shot him.
East strikes West
The letter reads: “Robert will be away for the night. I absolutely must see you. I shall expect you at 11. I’m desperate, and if you don’t come, I won’t answer for the consequences.”
The owner of the letter, Li-Ti, wants 10,000 (Straits) dollars – in cash – for it. Else, she will hand the evidence to the prosecutor’s office. That would most likely mean the death penalty for Leslie.
So, will Joyce sacrifice his professional ethics to save his client’s neck? If he does, what will Robert Crosbie have to say once he finds out why that particular piece of paper was worth all of his savings?
And there’s something else Li-Ti wants: If they agree to her proposal, Leslie herself must hand her the money. At her brothel, where sex workers are kept in a large cage so prospective customers can pick the one(s) they want.[3]
Pre-Code sensibilities
Unlike Warner Bros.’ William Wyler-directed 1940 remake, this version – made several years before Hollywood’s Production Code was fully enforced – retains the play’s original ending, with Leslie’s crime going unpunished (from a legal standpoint). That’s one important improvement over the remake, in which Leslie had to get her comeuppance before the final fadeout so the Code’s morality police could be pacified.
Needless to say, in every other respect the 1929 The Letter is far inferior to the remake. But then again, let’s be sensible: Not only had film technology vastly improved during the intervening 11 years but Warners’ 1940 production – directed by one of the top filmmakers in Hollywood and starring the Queen of the Lot, Bette Davis – was obviously a far more elaborate endeavor.
Indeed, as indicated further up, the 1929 The Letter feels like a (bare-bones) filmed play. And here’s where we get to the performances.
The Letter with Herbert Marshall and Lady Tsen Mei: In their first (and only) scene together, Geoffrey recites Oscar Wilde: “Each man kills the thing he loves.” He would soon discover that each woman does the very same.
Naturalistic Herbert Marshall
First of all, it must be pointed out that the cast of The Letter mostly consists of stage-trained actors: Jeanne Eagels (doing a believable English accent) and Lady Tsen Mei from the U.S.; Reginald Owen, Herbert Marshall, and Irene Browne from England; and veteran O.P. Heggie (the only supporting cast member to receive screen credit below the opening title) from Australia.
With one notable exception, none of them seems to have been made aware of the difference between acting for the camera in a talking picture and acting for a theater audience.
Although Lady Tsen Mei is “exotically” effective – speaking babyish pidgin English, wearing gaudy jewelry and tons of Chinesefying make-up[4] – and Irene Browne is perfectly acceptable in a brief role as the barrister’s wife, only Herbert Marshall, making his U.S. film debut at age 38, succeeds in delivering his lines in a naturalistic manner, even while stuck in one spot during his confrontation scene with Jeanne Eagels’ Leslie Crosbie.
A capable performer who would go on to have a lengthy and distinguished Hollywood career (Trouble in Paradise, The Letter 1940, The Little Foxes, etc.), Marshall exudes such easygoing charm that, rubber plantation “prison” or no, it’s easy to understand why Leslie is so mad about him. (In the remake, Marshall plays Leslie’s henpecked husband – a far more appealing portrayal than Reginald Owen’s in the original. Also, in that version Geoffrey Hammond is only fleetingly seen as Leslie’s bullet-riddled murder victim.)
Jeanne Eagels showcase
Now, moving on to The Letter’s raison d’être, 38-year-old[5] Jeanne Eagels – so big a name that she was billed in large letters above the title. This is actually significant. Generally speaking, up until the mid-1930s or whereabouts, only superstars had their names placed above the title in big-studio releases. Their star vehicles were just that, personal showcases.
The Letter was no exception: Jeanne Eagels is its very dramatic core, its beginning and its end. Everything revolves around her.
The three paragraphs below are from my original take on Eagels’ star turn:
“Low-key … is hardly the appropriate manner to describe Jeanne Eagels’ bombastic talkie debut in a role played in London by Gladys Cooper and on Broadway by Katharine Cornell. Eagels, a sensation on stage as Sadie Thompson in W. Somerset Maugham’s Rain[6] and the star of a handful of silent films (e.g., The World and the Woman; Man, Woman and Sin), acts the part of the adulteress-murderess as if she were playing to the far corners of the gallery […].
“Eagels’ performance is all mannerisms – hand to forehead to show distress, trembling voice to show despair – and no emotional core […].
“Especially upsetting is that Eagels’ screeching all but ruins what should have been the film’s climactic last scene, in which the unpunished Leslie defies her husband, society, and morality to declare, ‘With all my heart … and all my soul … I still love the man I killed!’”
Once again, what a difference a couple of centuries make.
Uneven yet powerful volcano
But first, let’s get Bette Davis out of the way.
Here it goes: Bette Davis’ vixenish Leslie Crosbie remains one of the greatest characterizations of the 1940s (the same goes for James Stephenson’s Howard Joyce); by comparison, Jeanne Eagels’ portrayal is markedly less satisfactory despite her undeniable charisma and the fact that she’s physically more appropriate for the role, being prettier and more girlish – thus more “innocent-looking” – than her successor.
Whether a consequence of Jean de Limur’s mishandling of his actors, the need to wrap up shooting on the modestly budgeted film (which meant few[er] retakes), or Eagels’ own decision to play Leslie as an unemotional liar, one key gripe is that the trial scenes aren’t as engrossing as they should have been because there’s little to no sense of Leslie’s inner turmoil. Instead of a simmering volcano, what we get is a placid lake.
In fact, Leslie is so cool on the stand that, paradoxically, her matter-of-factly delivery makes her story seem false; after all, she is recalling what is supposed to have been an attempted rape. Have no doubt that had Eagels’ Leslie been anything other than a well-mannered, good-looking Englishwoman, she would have been hanged then and there.
Having said that, the scenes in which Leslie loses it – begging Geoffrey to stay with her and then shooting him multiple times as he is leaving; freaking out when Mr. Joyce tells her about the incriminating letter; calling Li-Ti to her face “a vile yellow thing” – are warnings that the placid lake may actually be the water-filled crater of a still-active volcano and the area should be evacuated immediately.
The eruption finally takes place in The Letter’s final scene, when Leslie, now unfettered by social, legal, and personal constraints, screams at her husband – and at all of society, everywhere – that she still loves the man she killed.
Theatrical? Yes. Shrill? Yes. Genuine, memorable, and moving? Yes!
Revelatory cinematic record
More than Leslie Crosbie, that scene seems to reveal Jeanne Eagels herself: A troubled heroin and alcohol addict who would die of an overdose of chloral hydrate about six months after The Letter came out. (Considering her addiction issues, Eagels looks shockingly youthful in the movie. And she would have looked fantastic in color.)
Underneath her theatricality and trembling body, there’s raw honesty and steely strength. Eagels’ Leslie is not only spitting on her husband’s face but also on the faces of everyone who might have the gall to judge her actions: Come spend seven years living mostly alone on a tropical rubber plantation, with rubber-obsessed Reginald Owen as your husband, and see what you will be capable of doing.
Lastly, there’s also the fact that Jeanne Eagels’ Leslie Crosbie – which earned her a posthumous “unofficial” Academy Award nomination (see further below) – remains the legendary actress’ only extant talking performance.[7] Even if we were to set aside Maugham’s engrossing tale and Eagels’ explosive final scene, that in itself would be enough to make The Letter a must.
The Letter (1929) cast & crew
Director: Jean de Limur.
Screenplay: Garrett Fort.
From W. Somerset Maugham’s 1927 play, itself based on a Maugham’s “The Letter,” found in the 1926 short story collection The Casuarina Tree.
Note: As found in the AFI Catalog (but not on screen), The Letter has dialogue by Jean de Limur and Monta Bell, and titles by Mort Blumenstock. The Catalog’s source for this information is unclear.Cast:
Jeanne Eagels … Leslie Crosbie
O.P. Heggie … Joyce
Reginald Owen … Robert Crosbie
Herbert Marshall … Geoffrey Hammond
Irene Browne … Mrs. Joyce
Lady Tsen Mei … Li-Ti
Tamaki Yoshiwara … On Chi SengAccording to unverified online sources, Fredi Washington (Imitation of Life) is one of the three uncredited exotic dancers seen performing at Li-Ti’s saloon. None of the dancers, however, resembles Washington.
Cinematography: George J. Folsey.
Film Editing (uncredited): Jean De Limur and Monta Bell (according to the AFI Catalog; their source is unclear).
Producer: Monta Bell (at Paramount’s Long Island Studios, where The Letter was shot).
Running Time: 62 min.
Country: United States.
The Letter with Jeanne Eagels and Herbert Marshall: Leslie can’t stand the fact that Geoffrey has left her for a “common, vulgar” local woman. Regarding the titular missive, she later tells her attorney, “Well, I admit that it’s all extravagant and emotional, but I write like that, you know.”
“The Letter (1929) Review” notes/references
Silent mobility
[1] The Letter does feature several scenes in which the camera moves about, but these were shot without any sound equipment. (It’s possible that some of them are from older movies set in Southeast Asia.)
Indeed, in one brief scene outside Leslie’s bungalow we see two locals playing musical instruments that make absolutely no sound, while the cacophony of voices heard in Li-Ti’s saloon was obviously a post-production addition.
Sound issues also plague several bits of dialogue. For instance, when Geoffrey arrives at Leslie’s bungalow, we see his lips move but nothing comes out of them.
Note: At least in the available restored print, The Letter features no score. Not even during the opening credits.
More circumspect 1940 version
[2] In Warner Bros.’ 1940 version of The Letter – screenplay credited to Howard E. Koch – the movie begins with Geoffrey Hammond being shot multiple times. We barely see what he looks like.
Our understanding of his relationship with Leslie Crosbie comes through her “recollections.” The incriminating letter is revealed only later on.
Another key difference between the two movies: O.P. Heggie’s barrister believes Leslie’s story, whereas James Stephenson’s is suspicious of her pretty much from the start.
The Letter had two other notable remakes:
- The Unfaithful (1947), set in Los Angeles. Ann Sheridan stars opposite husband Zachary Scott and attorney Lew Ayres. In this version, Sheridan’s character is more sympathetic: She’s not just a – however passionate – self-centered, calculating liar; instead, she’s more than anything a victim of circumstances. Vincent Sherman directed from a screenplay by David Goodis and James Gunn.
- The Letter (1982), a Malaya-set made-for-television movie starring Golden Globe nominee Lee Remick as Leslie, Jack Thompson as her husband, Ronald Pickup as her attorney, and Ian McShane as her lover. John Erman directed from Lawrence B. Marcus’ screenplay.
Mongoose v. snake
[3] Inevitably, Leslie and Li-Ti do meet at the latter’s den. Although lackluster in terms of both direction and lighting, it’s a fascinating sequence:
After we’re treated to (documentary footage of) an ugly fight between an actual mongoose and an actual snake – evidence of both the decadent cruelty of Li-Ti’s customers and the filmmakers’ lack of subtlety – Leslie finally finds herself face to face with Li-Ti.
As the white, civilized Englishwoman, Leslie feels superior to her “yellow” counterpart. But the latter is the one who dominates the scene. After all, she is the one holding the letter.
At first, Li-Ti makes Leslie wait as she has business to attend to. A prospective East Asian customer, apparently believing Leslie to be another of Li-Ti’s employees, eyes her as the companion of his choice. She looks disgusted, but Li-Ti is there to remind her of who and what she is: “White lady very proud, but not too proud to share same man with Li-Ti” and “Cheap woman! Liar woman! Murder woman!”
Later on, Li-Ti doesn’t hand the letter to Leslie. She throws it on the floor. “White woman at Chinese woman’s feet,” she sneers.
Another important element in this sequence is that Leslie isn’t there just for the humiliation. She’s also there to remind viewers that she is not a totally self-absorbed monster.
At one point during the confrontation, as Leslie is ready to flee without the letter – which would likely mean her being sentenced to death – Li-Ti reminds her that Robert will also suffer the consequences of her being found guilty.
Perhaps that was just the excuse she needed to come back. Perhaps. Either way, Leslie does return to get the letter that will save not only her neck, but her husband’s career and social standing as well.
Philadelphia Lady
[4] In The Letter, Lady Tsen Mei (born Josephine Augusta Moy on March 28, 1888, in Philadelphia) is seen under heavy makeup, which not only is supposed to make her look more “exotic” but also more Chinese. Mei, whose mother was (at least part-)Caucasian, looked ethnically mixed.
Curiously, Li-Ti is not a young thing. Despite her girlish voice, she looks like a woman in her 40s.
Also worth noting, unlike Gale Sondergaard’s creepy Mrs. Hammond – in the 1940 version, Geoffrey is married to the (also middle-aged) “Chinese woman” – Mei’s Li-Ti, at least at first, doesn’t look at all menacing or mysterious. That changes after she reads the letter Geoffrey had dropped on the floor; facing the camera in close-up, she hisses, “He lied to me.”
According to unverified online sources, Lady Tsen Mei died in July 1985.
How old was the star?
[5] Jeanne Eagels’ birth year ranges from 1888 to 1893, though June 26, 1890, seems to be the generally accepted date.
Rain
[6] Based on another W. Somerset Maugham tale (“Miss Thompson,” 1921) about Euro-rooted social hypocrisy in the tropics, John Colton and Clemence Randolph’s Rain, originally staged on Broadway in 1922–1924, was unavailable for the screen at the dawn of the sound era because Gloria Swanson had produced and starred in the United Artists-distributed 1928 silent hit Sadie Thompson, directed by Raoul Walsh.
In 1932, Joan Crawford would star in the first talkie version of the story – which used the play’s title – under the direction of Lewis Milestone. Rita Hayworth would star in the 1953 color remake, Miss Sadie Thompson, directed by Curtis Bernhardt.
Jeanne Eagels’ other talkie
[7] During his brief directorial career in Hollywood, Jean de Limur also handled Jeanne Eagels’ other talkie, the now lost Jealousy. (The jealous party here is Fredric March, who confesses to killing Eagels’ older benefactor Halliwell Hobbes.)
Curiously, Jealousy would also be revamped as a 1940s star vehicle for Bette Davis: Irving Rapper’s sumptuous Deception (1946), costarring Paul Henreid and Claude Rains.
Academy Awards
Although there were no official nominees for the period 1928–1929 (only the winners were announced), The Letter was a finalist in one category:
- Best Actress (Jeanne Eagels).
Jeanne Eagels thus became the first posthumously “nominated” performer. The winner was Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences co-founder Mary Pickford for Sam Taylor’s Coquette.
More awards & nominations
Besides Jeanne Eagels’ Academy Award “consideration,” The Letter received at least one other mention:
- National Board of Review: Top Ten Films.
Note: The comments further below refer to the author’s original review of The Letter 1929.
The Letter (1929) movie credits via the American Film Institute (AFI) Catalog website.
Lady Tsen Mei, Herbert Marshall, and Jeanne Eagels The Letter images: Paramount Famous Lasky Corp. | Warner Bros.
“The Letter (1929) Review: Jeanne Eagels” last updated in November 2024.