Was der Himmel erlaubt

Cary Scott (Jane Wyman) is a middle-aged, wealthy woman whose husband recently died. Ron Kirby (Rock Hudson) is Cary's younger, independent-minded landscape gardener. Ron reads Thoreau, respects nature, and values simplicity and honesty. Cary and Ron are attracted to each other. For Ron, marriage to Cary is an easy decision. But for Cary, the decision to marry Ron is harder. She must confront the disapproval of her grown children, and the disapproval of friends whose materialistic, country club values are inconsistent with the values of Thoreau.

In a town where people know each other's business, tongues wag. Feelings get hurt. Conflict erupts. The film's subdued lighting and vivid colors, combined with soft piano and velvety violin background music, create a tone that is sad and sentimental. Viewers are right to say that this Douglas Sirk directed film is a melodramatic soap opera.

Thinly veiled behind the simple plot, however, lies a profound message: "to thine own self be true". It is a message totally out of sync with 1950's America. Yet, the message would surface a decade later as the 1960's youth mantra: "do your own thing".

As an archetype, Ron seems too pure. And Cary's children and friends, shallow, selfish, vain, gossipy, and judgmental, are easy to dislike. This sharp dichotomy is somewhat unrealistic. But it gets the point across. And that point is a blistering indictment of 1950's American materialism and mindless conformity.

The film was thus ahead of its time. Despite its high technical quality, it was snubbed by the Oscars. In retrospect, "All That Heaven Allows" is superior to all five of the Oscar best picture nominees from that year. And its message is just as relevant now as it was fifty years ago.

All That Heaven Allows is a darker, more cynical film than Douglas Sirk's previously more conventional and successful Magnificent Obsession. Because of that film's attraction, Sirk was reunited with the two leads, Rock Hudson and Jane Wyman. The result is a more potent story and much stronger social criticism. From the opening shot, in all its Technicolor glory, we see an overhead view of a small, self-contained American town, idyllic in its existence with all the right colors and characters in their proper place. However, look a little closer and you will see the glistening of the plastic leaves and matte paintings as backdrops. Sirk shows us the surface of a seemingly perfect society while slightly skewering it by also revealing its artificiality and decadent skeletal structure.

To continue this deconstruction of 1950s America, we see a newly made widow, Cary Scott, who is now resigned to living her life according to the pleasures and approval of her ungrateful children and her condescending circle of friends. On the surface, this appears to be nothing more than fodder lifted out of typical gossip magazines of the era, but Sirk with his wildly imaginative visual style gives us something more to chew on. It soon becomes clear, especially once she strikes up a romance with her muscular gardener (Rock Hudson), she is unable to truly break free from the bonds of social convention and have a true sense of understanding the world Ron gives to her.

Sirk won't even let Ron off the hook. As in Magnificent Obsession, none of the character are so wonderful and virtuous that we should completely enamor ourselves to them. He himself is rather forceful, unmovable in his intentions to wed Cary without any understanding of her situation. Simply put, they both have deeply embedded flaws to deal with, a most shocking and unfortunate conclusion Sirk flaunts in front of us.

If you are in the mood for a good old-fashioned melodrama, Douglas Sirk is certainly your most popular option and just might be the best. Unlike other films of its type and time like the enormously successful Peyton Place or A Summer Place, Sirk goes much deeper than anyone else. Often, his films require several viewings to get a true understanding of what he is saying about these people, this time and this place. One final note; the ending will seem to many modern audiences as simple contrivance by the studio to assure profits. However, whether or not it was what Sirk intended, looking closer may result in seeing exactly what he wants us to see: unbridled selfishness for various reasons by all types of people.

"All That Heaven Allows" is a film about risks, regrets, and unexpected second chances. We all have had something beautiful, exciting, and wonderful in our grasp, but some of us were foolish and scared enough to let that splendid something escape. Maybe we'll get another chance, maybe we won't, but the pain of regret in between can become unbearable.

This is what our protagonist, Cary Scott, goes through. Cary (Jane Wyman)is a widow of a certain age, who feels trapped by her pristine, suburban existence. She has two children who are away at college, and she is beginning to realize that all her neighbors who claim to be her friends are a bunch of shallow, phony elitists. Cary is unexpectedly swept off her feet by dashing nature lover Ron Kirby (Rock Hudson, as ridiculously charming and brawny as ever). They fall instantly in love and Cary's zest for life is restored by Ron's kindness and simple life values. The fact that Ron is Cary's gardener and over a decade younger than she is doesn't sit well with her neighbors, her callow, eggheaded daughter, or her boorish son. Cary tries to be strong, but her role as the perfect, 1950s suburbanite blinds her to her heart's desire. Cary ends her relationship with Ron... and soon sees how stupid she was to care about others' opinions. Will she get another chance at love, or is she doomed to waste away all alone in a small-town Purgatory?

Douglas Sirk drenches "All That Heaven Allows" in lush, autumnal hues and sweet, somewhat ironic, orchestral score. If it's not one of the best films ever made, it certainly is one of the most beautiful to look at. Wyman and Hudson ooze with romantic chemistry, and the supporting cast of actors are all deliciously hateful as the antagonists who try to tear our lovers apart. Hudson is charming and earthy as always, and with his soothing voice, broad shoulders and ready smile, you don't blame Cary at all for falling for him (who wouldn't??). I liked Jane Wyman as Cary, but found myself wishing she'd stop being so damn nice and just give her horrible kids and friends a good smack in the face and a proper chewing out for trying to dictate her life.

There is so much more going on beneath the surface of "ATHA": Sirk, without being preachy, shows us the common, conformist attitude of the 1950s. How many people saw their loved ones be blacklisted during the McCarthy years... and cruelly abandoned them just because of fear of rumors and speculation? How many husbands kept mum when women were practically forced to be only wives and mothers? "ATHA" doesn't bring up these issues, but it does make one important point: Conformity, injustice, and bitter silence ran rampant during that time. Yet older generations foolishly pine for the '50s with rose-colored nostalgia.

But throwing away your dreams because of what others' think is an ancient problem in human nature, which Sirk primarily addresses. We must learn, sooner or later, that it is more important to do what we feel, not what others tell us, is right. Follow you heart, Sirk urges us. This is what Cary must learn, what we must all learn.

I'll simply align myself with the other commentators who are bowled over by this Sirkfest's vibrant colors, use of lush fake-Liszt and Rachmaninoff, and surprising willingness to attack materialistic '50s values (in this last instance, the film's hardly dated a bit). True, the central romance isn't always convincing -- what does Ron see in Carrie, anyway? -- and the film has to oversimplify its characters to make its points. Carrie's daughter, a social-working bobby-soxer who quotes Freud and wears unflattering glasses, is meant to be something of a joke (until she sheds some feminine tears and suddenly becomes sympathetic); while Carrie's older suitor, underplayed by Conrad Nagel, is looked on as less than a desirable man simply because he limits himself to one drink. (In common with many films from this period, an awful lot of liquor is consumed.) Too, there's an impossibly melodramatic third act, where the circumstances of Ron's accident are howlingly implausible. Nice, though, that the always-reliable Agnes Moorehead plays a socialite who's not as shallow as she first seems, and that Wyman gets to model some attractive '50s fashions. Also note the sumptuous midcentury interiors -- whether the happy couple ends up living in Wyman's suburban mansion or Hudson's renovated barn, I want to live in them both.

Due to the success of 1954's "Magnificent Obsession", Universal once again called on Jane Wyman, Rock Hudson, Agnes Moorehead, and director Douglas Sirk for this passionate, heart-gripping look at the hypocrisy of small-town America. Wyman, a rich widow in this well-to-do New England town, falls in love with her gardener (Hudson) and all hell breaks loose. Her community ridicules her and her grown children are horrified by her. She finds herself having to choose love or the respect of those around her.

The cinematography is beyond extraordinary, the score by Frank Skinner is unbelievably moving, Wyman is exquisite, and Sirk gives some of the best direction of his career. A really classy melodrama and completely worthwhile.