La feria de la vanidad

A lot of people tend to assume GONE WITH THE WIND or THE WIZARD OF OZ were the first color movies. Firstly, color film had been experimented with since the silent era, with a handful of features being made wholly in the old two-strip Technicolor process during the 1920s. Secondly, GONE WITH THE WIND and THE WIZARD OF OZ were merely early examples of the three-strip Technicolor process, but certainly not the first-- that honor goes to 1935's BECKY SHARP and to be honest, that's about all the honor the movie merits.

BECKY SHARP is an adaptation of the novel VANITY FAIR and while I have never read the book, this appears to be an extremely truncated retelling, jumping from plot point to plot point with little in the way of interesting characters to keep the viewer invested. Becky cons men into giving her money, behaves badly, spends too much, needs more money, cons men into giving her money, behaves badly, ad nauseum. There's little sense of character development there for any of the players involved, making the movie tiresome.

I love Miriam Hopkins, but I am shocked that anyone thinks this is her best performance: compared to her work in Rouben Mamoulian's DR. JEKYLL AND MR HYDE or in the haunting THE STORY OF TEMPLE DRAKE or in anything she did for Lubitsch, this is hammy, hammy work. Not that it isn't without its charms and humor (I love the scene where she turns on the waterworks to soften up her husband's hard-nosed spinster aunt), but Hopkins gets quite shrill at points, making her exhausting to watch.

Really, the saving grace is the Technicolor. The costumes and sets are quite gorgeous, which might explain the constant stagey-ness of the cinematography. Mamoulian's films of the early 1930s tended to be far more cinematic than their counterparts, less afraid of experimenting with camera movement and sound, but here, the blocking of the actors and the placement of the camera are very theatrical and stuffy, likely to show off the color of the sets. That might have been enough to astound an audience in 1935, but color in and of itself is less likely to impress anyone, even a classic film fan, these days.

Classic film nerds like me are really the only ones who will get anything out of BECKY SHARP. It's historically important and not without good moments, but it's hardly of the storytelling stature of the far better three-strip Technicolor movies which would follow it in the years to come.

Cut-down story of Becky Sharp is not based on Thackeray's mammoth novel but on a play by Langdon Mitchell which starred Minnie Maddern Fiske in three productions between 1899 and 1911.

This 1935 film is famous as being the first feature film shot in Technicolor. Current version has been restored a few times and boasts brilliant colors that sometimes vary between scenes but are mostly pleasing.

Miriam Hopkins won her only Oscar nomination as Becky Sharp and dominates the film in nearly every scene. She brings her fiery southern charm to the screen as Becky, a woman who charms and cheats and cajoles her way into early 19th century British society. The Napoleonic Wars serve as a mere background.

Film opens with Becky graduating from a girls' school where she has served as a teacher. She has befriended Amelia Smedley (Frances Dee) and their lives intertwine as the years pass. Becky starts out as a governess but quickly snags a son of the house (Alan Mowbray) as a husband. Trouble is they both like to live the high life and are always in debt.

Becky turns to charm and teases a series of men into giving her money. She is a scandal among the posh set but never looks back. After her husband dies in a faraway war, she turns to performing on the stage but is a failure. She is saved once again by an old suitor and plans to run away with him to India, where they can live well on a little money.

Lowell Sherman had started directing the film but died about a month into production. Rouben Mamoulian took over the production and started from scratch.

Hopkins is a house afire and deserved her Oscar nomination (losing to Bette Davis). Others in the cast include Billie Burke as a snotty hostess, Cedric Hardwicke as an old lecher, Alison Skipworth as Miss Crawley, Nigel Bruce as Joseph Crawley, and Tempe Pigott as the charwoman.

Historically important film, but don't overlook the great performance by Miriam Hopkins.

I just had the pleasure of seeing the restored version of "Becky Sharp", and, like others who had taped this back in the bad old days of nearly monochromatic, public domain copies of this title, the improvement amounts to seeing an entirely different film. The use of color was striking and surprisingly well considered. As a writer, I found the dialogue delightfully rich in the manner of what were admittedly more sophisticated films of the 30's. Make no mistake, other than the admirable use of 3-strip Technicolor on its first feature film outing, this is no masterpiece--Mamoulian's name in the credits notwithstanding. But compared to today, with dialogue now largely dismissed as unnecessary to filmed "entertainment", it was brilliant. I could finally hear 90% of it, whereas in the old Cinecolor print, most of it was unintelligible. What pains me is that audiences seem unable (or unwilling) to enjoy dialogue that was meant to be listened to and appreciated on its own account. I heard nary a chuckle during any the witty ripostes of which Beck Sharp has its(and her) fair share of. A shame.

This gorgeous film, the first full length Technicolor feature, does a fine job of capturing the spirit of Thackeray's "Vanity Fair", but the story is so rushed and condensed that it registers more as a series of incidents, rather than a flowing narrative. The only character that really registers is Becky herself - but what a character she is! Thanks mostly to its production values, the movie is very enjoyable, if not completely satisfying. Hopefully watching it will inspire more people to read the sprawling yet immensely entertaining book.

You see, it's not so much the stories that count, it's the way they're told. Becky Sharp, the motion picture, came to be by a convoluted route. William Makepeace Thackeray's mid-19th century novel Vanity Fair was used as the basis for Langdon Mitchell's late 19th century stage play, which was in turn adapted for this 1935 movie. What have we lost and what have we gained?

Of course, books, plays and pictures are very different things, and certain changes have had to be made so that each adaptation works for its particular medium. Becky Sharp bears all the hallmarks of a lengthy novel reworked for the stage. A play can't be over a certain length because it has to be seen in a whole evening, and yet individual scenes tend to be fairly long because of the disruption of having to change sets. Becky Sharp, perhaps surprisingly, changes very little of the basic plot, but it condenses the entire (900+ page) tome into a series of dramatic vignettes. Because the novel tends to tell of many important events in a by-the-by fashion, Mitchell was also forced to come up with a lot of his own dialogue. Finally, the play differs from the novel in that every episode is told from Becky's point-of-view, whereas Thackeray's narrative travels with a range of characters.

So far, so disappointing (perhaps). But what was most important here was not that the story survived intact, but that the tone of Thackeray's masterpiece carried through. What is so special about Vanity Fair is the author's cynical, sarcastic tone, which makes a comedy out of these unpleasant goings-on. This is not an easy task in a motion picture, unless you were to resort to voice-over narration with passages from the novel (not especially en vogue in the 30s). But as it happens this motion picture does not do a bad job.

Firstly, we have the right cast. Miriam Hopkins's Oscar nomination has raised a few eyebrows here and there, and it's true her performance is hysterically hammy. But that is Becky Sharp, a cheat and a liar whose entire life was an act. When she breaks down in false tears over her late mother's possessions, the moment seems silly, but it is supposed to be funny. The bulk of the cast are overblown caricatures, but again this is faithful to the novel. Thackeray wasn't subtle. Look at those names – Pitt Crawley, Lord Steyne… even a minor character who didn't make it to this version called Sir Huddleston-Fuddleston. And most of the players are spot-on. Nigel Bruce simply is Jos Sedley, and George Hassell is perfect in his unfortunately brief appearance as Sir Pitt.

Then there is Rouben Mamoulian's direction. His flamboyant visual style could be disastrous in the wrong picture, but here all his extroverted camera moves and trick shots pay off. With the condensed storyline, the overt technique helps to keep the flow. We are brought closer to the spirit of the original text by the fact that we are constantly aware of the director's touch, just as Thackeray constantly addresses his reader with a sly wink. This again highlights the fact that Becky Sharp is more enjoyable if it is taken as a comedy, not as a drama. It's just as well – Mamoulian let loose on a pure drama could be awful.

This was famously the first picture in three-strip Technicolor, and as the use of colour here is especially good I'll devote a few lines to that too. Whereas some early colour pictures used blaring shades, Becky Sharp is filled with subtler tones – for example those rusty browns and greyish blues in the opening scene, much more effective than bold blue and red. And rather than simply colour-coding a character's costume or a set, we here see the tones flowing on and off the screen. To again take that opening scene, we begin with the warmer hues of Amelia and her friends, and then slowly move, via various different shades of dress and the growing amount of the stark wall that can be seen, to the cold blue-grey of Becky. Later in the first scene at the Crawley residence, all the colours are very plain, which gives more impact when Rawdon walks in in his bright red uniform. It's hard to say who is responsible for this smart handling of colour. Production designer Robert Edmond Jones is the celebrated inventor of "simplified realism", whereby sets complement action, but Mamoulian appears to have done a very similar job with the colour on the 1941's Blood and Sand. We'll assume it was a joint effort.

Really, the only major flaw in Becky Sharp (and it is, I'm sorry to say, a very major one), is that the paring down of the narrative to 84 minutes without actually cutting much of the plot makes for somewhat confusing viewing. It's difficult to keep up with time and place, and the novel's legion of characters pop up then disappear before they have made an impression. Personally, I found Becky Sharp fun to watch because I am familiar with the novel and it was nice to see these figures brought to life so accurately. However, I first saw it before I read the book, and recall finding it bizarre and boring, as I suppose would the majority of viewers. For this reason, it fails in itself as a motion picture.