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The Seventh Sin is a reasonably faithful adaptation of Somerset Maugham's novel, "The Painted Veil," about the redemption of a hedonistic woman. Dr. Walter Carwin (Bill Travers) discovers that his wife, Carolyn (Eleanor Parker), is having a torrid affair with a married man, Paul Duvel (Jean-Pierre Aumont). He demands that she choose, and, as he expected, she chooses Duvel who then dumps her. Bereft, she resentfully goes with her husband to rural China, where he joins the forces fighting a cholera epidemic.

There they meet Tim Waddington (George Sanders), a government functionary who takes Carolyn under his wing. They visit to the local convent, which is also an orphanage and hospital where we witness this vain, shallow woman's abrupt metamorphosis: her maternal instincts bloom at the sight of all the newborns in the maternity ward, and she offers to volunteer. Sudden satori? It happens, I gather, but Carolyn has never seen babies before? I'll give it the benefit of the doubt and assume it's the circumstances-- i.e., her boredom.

Never mind. It's a wonderful development, no? No. The Mother Superior (the legendary Françoise Rosay) refuses Carolyn's offer on the grounds that it isn't properly motivated. Seriously. She echoes the original novel: "You know, my dear child, that one cannot find peace in work or in pleasure, in the world or in a convent, but only in one's soul."

Wrong. In fact, on the contrary, doing good work is a source of both peace and pleasure. That would be a worthy theme for a movie about a woman finally realizing that giving is more satisfying than receiving. But-- and here's the underlying problem-- Carolyn isn't a credible woman, she's a construct similar to most of Maugham's women, and not a few of his men: European expats immersed in a foreign culture-- more like a Petri dish of anonymous humans than an actual civilization-- that nurtures their growth. "A Passage to India" is arguably an exception. Even so, when it comes to writing about White people unmoored in the world, give me Andre Malraux or Graham Greene.

THE SEVENTH SIN is a remake of the Greta Garbo vehicle, "The Painted Veil", taken from a Somerset Maugham novel about a woman's journey to redeem herself. This time the unhappily married woman is ELEANOR PARKER and the husband is played by BILL TRAVERS (rather than the jilted dullard Herbert Marshall played in the Garbo version). Obviously designed to satisfy movie-goers who loved romantic stories of this sort, it manages to hold interest without ever becoming a great film.

Parker is poised and beautiful throughout, giving a very understated performance as a woman caught in the throes of what she believes is a great romance with JEAN-PIERRE AUMONT, who disappoints her when he refuses to divorce his wife. She flees to China with her doctor husband who is going to administer to those caught in a plague of cholera, eventually realizing that her selfish nature is capable of undergoing a change and working at a convent for orphaned Chinese children.

The plot resolution is a bit disappointing for anyone expecting a happy ending, but it's all tastefully handled material performed admirably by Parker and Travers. GEORGE SANDERS, as a brandy guzzling friend with some acid comments (in the Sanders manner), gives the story a lift with his wit and cynical charm.

Not bad as these sort of melodramas go, but nothing really special.

Originally, I had no intention of watching this film on TCM, but the presence of Bill Travers got my attention, and I gave the movie a shot.

Frankly, I am surprised at how much I enjoyed it. All of the leading performances are excellent, and the back lot filming appropriately evokes the implied locations. Sanders is, indeed, the most thoroughly explored character, supporting or not. Travers portrays the brooding husband quite effectively, and Parker has perfected the role of a selfish woman in many films.

Having not read the original novel, I cannot comment on the translation to the screen. However, as a stand-alone film, the results are intriguing, and well done. "The Painted Veil" certainly makes a better title, however.

Given the premise I expected this to be high camp. It wasn't. I'm sure the Garbo version was over the top.

The actors do a good job. The director kept everyone reigned in. The script isn't too bad. You don't feel like you're watching some tawdry melodrama.

The film is about maturing and forgiveness. About the difference between infatuation on love.

Will Eleanor Parker repent and ask her husband's forgiveness and grow to love him and want him back? Will her doctor husband forgive her infidelity? Does Ellen Corby speak with a believable French accent? Do they survive the cholera outbreak?

You'll just have to watch and find out.

I love Somerset Maugham's novels, but they tend to be full of internal monologues and emotional and spiritual struggles that can be difficult to dramatize (his short stories make much better material for movies). THE PAINTED VEIL is a terrific book and a good read, veering from sexual melodrama to spiritual regeneration, full of psychological insight, tension and vivid descriptions of life in China during a cholera epidemic.

But this movie is just dreadful. It's dull, literal-minded and a travesty of a great story and promising concept. The credibility problems start (but don't end) with the fact that handsome Bill Travers was miscast as the cuckold. Tall and masculine with sensual features, a brooding sexiness, and a resonant, beautiful voice, it's absurd that we are expected to believe he is unappealing to Eleanor Parker. How can she not want to grab him and ride him ten ways from Sunday? I have often liked beautiful Eleanor Parker, but her archness here is hard to take and not what the part needs. The only bright spot is George Sanders, cast against type as a warm, sympathetic guy.

One thing I'm curious about is why Vincente Minnelli abandoned the project (his name appears nowhere in the final credits). Had he directed it (preferably in Technicolor) it might at least have been more enjoyable. Skip this dreary soap opera. Or if you see it and actually like it, read Somerset Maugham's novel, which is far better and certainly more entertaining.