Desire Under the Elms

This movie was made primarily as a star vehicle and things like the artistic integrity of the plot were thought of as unimportant. Needless to say, the movie suffered noticeably.

I saw this movie originally as part of a course on plays made into movies. Though this wasn't the most badly manhandled of the plays that we studied, it is a close second to "Sexual Perversity in Chicago" which became "About Last Night" staring Rob Lowe and Demi Moore.

Don't get me wrong, it's not a bad movie, but it could have been great.

As much as I hate to say it, this is one of the rare cases where a remake might be in order. It is possible to imagine that a director willing to make a more faithful rendition could easily create something better than the original.

I'm partial to any film in which Sophia Loren appears. And, I like the work of Eugene O'Neill, arguably America's finest playwright of the twentieth century.

So, it's a sad to admit that, although Burl Ives is superb as the irascible old father, and Sophia does her best – given that she'd only been part of the Hollywood scene for about a year – this rendition of the story of mad love is good, but not great.

The problem, in my opinion, is Tony Perkins: he's just not up to the task of playing opposite Sophia Loren, a more experienced performer (she'd already appeared in over thirty Italian movies before starring in Elms), and a lusty, fiery woman who just exudes sex appeal like it's the only thing to think about. In contrast, Perkins allows his distracted, tortured persona to intrude to the point of annoyance – for me; others might find him adequate to the role, however, as he first attempts to fob off the apparently unwelcome sexual innuendo of Loren, but then succumbs all too easily, I think, to her temptations.

Most of the story revolves around those three; the other main players, Pernell Roberts and Frank Overton as the two older step-brothers to Perkins, exit to California in the first act (and don't return until the third). Thereafter, the second act – the entrapment of Perkins in Loren's arms and their deepening romance about which the father knows naught – lays the groundwork for the inevitable tragedy to come. As the viewer, I found it interesting to speculate about the outcome as the third act started, especially after experiencing the excruciating suspense of an earlier Act II scene in the barn – a scene through which I actually stopped breathing, as I watched, fascinated...

But, what a third act it was from Burl Ives, as he danced and pranced around with much of the village folk, to celebrate the birth of his new son, provided by Loren, but fathered by...whom? Without a doubt, something's got to break, I thought.

As I continued to watch, I kept thinking: I've seen this before. But, this was my first viewing. Then it came to me: a story of two lovers, embroiled in dark, mad love and with mounting intent to murder has been done before – in 1867, Emile Zola wrote a book called Therese Raquin. In 1950, it was an American TV movie, followed in 1953 with a French version with Simone Signoret. I've read Zola's novel, but I can't vouch for the films. I could suggest, also, that The Postman Always Rings Twice (made many times, first in 1946) has a similar story and plot.

O'Neill's play, however, has an horrific twist – unlike any of the other stories. So, it's worth seeing for that alone. The bonus is watching Sophia Loren as a delectable temptress and Burl Ives as a pathological caricature of all that a good father should not be – a grand piece of acting by Ives, and more murderous than his performances in, say, Cat on a hot tin roof (1958) or The Big Country (1958). What a banner year for that great performer.

Being a stage play, the film version faithfully adheres to that format: small sets, obvious backdrops, deep shadows, very obvious multiple lighting – all that you'd expect, as if you were in a theater, front row center, and as it should be for all O'Neill's plays.

Get it out from your video store or library, see it and enjoy; but don't expect too much from Perkins.

Ephraim Cabot is an old man of amazing vitality who loves his New England farm with a greedy passion. Hating him, and sharing his greed, are the sons of two wives Cabot has overworked into early graves. Most bitter is Eben, whose mother had owned most of the farm, and who feels who should be sole heir.

This is a great cast all around, with Burl Ives and Sophia Loren. But Anthony Perkins is the star of the show and really excels as a conflicted son and love interest. Over the years, he has become increasingly synonymous with Norman Bates, but films like this show he is more versatile than his later horror career suggests.

I wonder how audiences viewed the morals of this film in the 1950s. While not quite incestuous, there is a very questionable morality. If not from the son, at the very least from a wife who is romantically linked to two generations of the same family.

After a couple of studio films shot on location, Italian actress and sex symbol Sophia Loren finally made it onto Hollywood soil for this uneven, uncertain melodrama adapted from Eugene O'Neill's controversial play. A tyrannical New England farmer (Burl Ives), who apparently worked his past two wives to death, brings home a new wife to meet his sons--two of whom take off for California and the third (Anthony Perkins) who stays and eventually falls in love with the Mrs. The performers seem to be at a mismatch with this very strange material; though they try hard, the heavy prose and illogical situations would be enough to defeat anybody. The character motivations aren't always clear, not helped by the narrative which, at a crucial point, jumps ahead in time and nearly alienates the audience. Ives gives a full-throttle, blustery-old-windbag performance which infuses the scenario with a prickly tension (and the screenplay surprisingly never scores points against him), but glinty-eyed Loren is a bit out of her depth. Still, she survives the absurd final reel with her dignity intact, while the picture ends on such a dour note that the overall impression is one of supreme dissatisfaction. Daniel L. Fapp won an Oscar nomination for his handsome (if overlit) photography; Delbert Mann directed in an awkward and stagy fashion. **1/2 from ****

Desire Under the Elms is one of those films that is a lethal combination: sordid and sluggish. It's not as though it would have been much better or less offensive if it went at a faster clip, but the funereal pacing only makes you recognize how hopeless it all is. The three leads try (and Burl Ives in particular gets well into the part), but at this point, the tale of a forbidden love affair and its consequences, once a much praised play by Eugene O'Neill, feels more like one of those horribly overheated and vulgar true crime stories that feature on TV as you race to move on to another channel. What can you really say when you can't stand any of the parties in this love (or is it lust) triangle? As Audrey Hepburn might have said in Breakfast at Tiffany's, they are all "superrats". What little there is that is salvageable to some degree is the remarkably crisp black-and-white cinematography and yet another fine musical score by Elmer Bernstein. Otherwise, a complete wash.