A Lady to Love

Swedish filmmaker Victor Sjöström made many outstanding, artful silent films in both his homeland and the United States before the advent of talkies. Given the many differences in production between styles, one can understand why he was perhaps less than enthused about the new trend, and ultimately gave up direction. As if to illustrate the point, as 'A lady to love' progresses it looks and feels very different from any of the man's prior works. By all means, it's fairly solidly made, and an entertaining, relatively lighthearted drama. Whether it's a question of the content, however, and/or being Sjöström's first foray into new techniques, what also comes across is that this seems peculiarly common compared to the likes of 'The wind' or 'The outlaw and his wife,' if not altogether unexceptional - and less than stellar.

Some early sound films haven't fared well with the passage of time and struggle with noticeable deficiencies of audio or image quality. Gratifyingly, this is not one of those. Perhaps with the resources of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer on hand, recording engineers James Brock and Douglas Shearer were able to capture the sounds and dialogue of this 1930 picture with swell clarity. Only in sparing instances of especial cacophony is the audio troubled, and in fairness, this isn't a problem that's exclusive to early sound features. Likewise, taking advantage of the best equipment the studio's money could offer, cinematographer Merritt B. Gerstad demonstrates fine skill with smart, mindful camerawork, and there's no loss of fidelity in what we see. To that point, the carefully crafted sets and costumes are also fantastic, further demonstrative of the hard work of all those behind the scenes.

Things get a little more thorny from there. Edward G. Robinson was a very highly regarded actor active across several decades, and he showed again and again why he was so beloved. Here, his performance comes across as weirdly halfhearted and inauthentic, like something is holding him back such that the contrivance of the acting rises to the surface. Vilma Bánky, similarly, enjoyed great success in silent movies, and though by whatever combination of factors her career didn't extend far into the sound era, I don't doubt she could have made a go of it. In this instance her acting quite seems to split the difference between styles; it's mostly fine but sometimes feels forced, and I wonder after all if she wouldn't have been more comfortable if this weren't still a silent picture. Those in smaller supporting parts are less noteworthy all around, though incidentally, Robert Ames seems to be the one person on hand who by this point already had a firm grasp and sense of ease with weaving speech into his acting - yet even that's not true across the board.

How much of this can be chalked up to the efforts of the cast, however fruitful they are or not? How much of it can be accounted for by Sjöström's own misgivings about the new paradigm? Maybe I'm reading too much into it all, or projecting the trajectory of the filmmaker's career onto this singular title. Be that as it may, I swear I see a distinct stiffness in his direction that's a far cry from the absolute expertise and finesse that he illustrated in 'He who gets slapped,' or 'A man there was.' I discern a measure of discomfort, and unnatural blockiness, in the orchestration of shots and scenes, and in the guidance of those in front of the camera - that is, movement, comportment, and progression that's unnatural compared to real life, and the nuance that viewers are broadly accustomed to in sound cinema, and even somewhat unnatural compared to the fluidity of silent features. Everything about the execution feels strangely off-kilter, as though those involved - primarily either Sjöström and or the cast - couldn't figure out the precise needs of the medium moving forward, and what worked best. And I feel all this is cemented by the fact that Sidney Howard's screenplay, based on his own stage play, seems wholly robust and ripe for cinematic treatment. This presents the early twentieth century version of catfishing, and of two principles learning to love each other nonetheless. It's a terrific story, honestly, with strong scene writing, characters, and dialogue. Somehow, its translation into the audiovisual format in 1930 just rather feels like a series of fits and starts.

This isn't to say that 'A lady to love' is bad. Far from it! This is enjoyable, and more well made than not. Some scenes are done particularly well, and in the last third of the runtime it really seems like Sjöström, Robinson, Bánky, and the rest have at last found their proverbial feet. All the same, it remains true that for most of these ninety minutes, most everyone involved is grappling with the shift to sound, and they've not yet discovered how to navigate that space. With one last damning emphasis of these difficulties, the climax is sadly perhaps least convincing of all as it presents. Robinson seems to be plainly overacting, Bánky is weak, and Sjöström is just scattered. Right when it matters most is when the execution falters the most.

Whether one is a big fan of one participant or another, or just an ardent cinephile generally, this is still worth checking out. It's enjoyable on its own merits, and interesting for a peek at the state of a few chief figures at so significant a point in their careers. It's also well removed from the tremendous heights that all have achieved elsewhere, and in my opinion is an unmistakable exhibition of how the film industry had a hard time making peace with such huge changes. Watch 'A lady to love,' but don't necessarily go out of your way for it, and keep in mind the contemporary circumstances of its production.

I knew this story first from the musical version, THE MOST HAPPY FELLER, with its great Frank Loesser score. Later, I saw the straight remake, THEY KNEW WHAT THEY WANTED, with Carole Lombard's best straight dramatic role. This version, directed by Victor Sjostrom, is very primitive. Oh, Vilma Banky, despite the claims that her sound acting was always bad, is quite good, although she's best in the sequences in which she says nothing or spends her time mumbling her lines; Edward G. Robinson's portrayal is so stereotypical that it seems almost comical for most of the movie, until the finale, when he plays it big and is very affecting; still, I thought it would have been better played by Henry Armetta -- until I realized that Armetta was still playing bit roles under a different name at this point.

It's Robert Ames as Buck, the casual trouble-maker in this triangle, who is infuriating in this movie. He doesn't start any of the trouble. He doesn't care. He wanders in and out, and Ames plays him as a completely uninvolved drifter, which is completely appropriate, so why does everyone invest so much in him? Yes, he's good-looking in an unkempt way, but there's nothing noteworthy about him. We're supposed to imagine that Miss Banky has talked herself into marrying the man in the photograph, and he's simply taking advantage of the situation, but he's played as not a heel for sleeping with her, nor a good guy for leaving.

So what are we left with? A bit of a curiosity, with the MGM staff still learning how to handle the sound equipment and a fine final two or three minutes from Robinson. It's not enough to make it a good movie, but since it's Edward G. Robinson, it's worth looking at once.

Starring vilma banky, edward robinson, and robert ames. Early role for robinson, also an early talkie for him. Tony places an ad for a bride, but uses a photo of brother buck instead of himself. When lena and tony meet, she is angry, but agrees to marry anyway. Of course, tony has been injured in a car accident, so it won't be much of a honeymoon celebration. And lena ends up falling for the guy in the photo. Can all this be ironed out? This was made way before the film code was being enforced, so they were able to speak about things pretty openly. It's all okay. The fake accents keep changing. Except for lena's... she was genuinely struggling with the english. Some over-acting, when tony reacts to getting a bath, but robinson was just starting his acting career. A funny moment near the end, when buck says "i don't let no lady give me the gate like you're trying to do, and get away with it, see?" robinson must have picked that up here, since he said "see" so often in his gangster movies over the next fifteen years. Directed by victor sjöström. Based on the play by sidney howard. Ames had married and divorced four times by the time he was forty. Sadly, he died young at 42, just a year after this film was released! Banky was a huge silent film star, and had made two films with valentino. Apparently she didn't speak much english, so she retired soon after the talkies appeared. Anderson lawler and henry armetta both died in their fifties. Sidney howard, the author, died even younger at 48, apparently run over by his own tractor. Howard posthumously won his oscar for the screenplay "gone with the wind".

For one thing, this film seems to be an anachronism itself. A film about a grape grower in the Napa valley in the middle of Prohibition, and not one mention about Prohibition in the film, with wine bottles flowing left and right. Edward G. Robinson plays Tony, the grape grower in question. He is a middle aged man and has decided to go to San Francisco to find a young wife. The priest tells him nothing good ever came from an older man marrying a younger wife, but Tony forges ahead. He finds Lena (Vilma Banky) working in a San Fran restaurant, and decides she is the one with no more conversation between them than "Here's your check".

Back home, Tony has his field hand, Buck (Robert Ames), help him write a romantic letter proposing, but then Buck says it will never work without a photo. They both go into town and get their pictures taken, but Tony does not like his photo at all. He looks at his photo, he looks at the photo of handsome Buck, and makes the bad decision of mailing Buck's photo to Lena along with his letter. Lena is apparently from Switzerland - she has a picture of a Swiss farm on her night table, and responds in the affirmative.

Buck doesn't know what Tony did with his photo, Lena is for sure in the dark, and Tony is wondering how to break the news when his bride arrives. Complications ensue. Now this entire film is based on the premise that Tony is older, Lena is younger, and so is Buck. But that is not exactly true. Vilma Banky, playing Lena, is actually only four years younger than Edward G. Robinson, who is playing Tony. And Robert Ames, who is playing Buck, is actually five years older than Robinson!

Note that they try to keep Vilma from talking as much as possible, and she is pretty good at pantomiming around the part, although her thick Austrian accent actually works for her here. Also note the habit of Italian Americans at that time of keeping portraits of the heads of both America and the home country proudly displayed. They were very proud of both countries. However, in 1930, it is the unfortunate fact that Herbert Hoover is president of the United States and Benito Mussolini is in charge of Italy. You'll miss their portraits sitting side by side in Tony's living room it if you don't look around on the set!

Recommend as one of the better early talkies with good direction by Victor Sjöström. I believe this was the last film he directed in America, disheartened by the American studio system ever since he had to tack on a feel good ending to 1928's "The Wind".

There have been a few adaptations of the play They Knew What They Wanted, and if you're interested in seeing a non-musical, pre-Code version, check out the 1930 talkie starring Edward G. Robinson as the "most happy fella". Aged up as the old Italian winery owner, he's gregarious, loving, and full of energy. He's made up his mind to get married, and when he sees a waitress he thinks is pretty, he writes her a letter offering his hand and home. However, insecure about his age and appearance, he sends her a picture of his young friend instead. When she arrives for the wedding, imagine her confusion and disappointment!

Vilma Banky's performance was actually good, but it detracted from the story for her to have an accent of her own and to be a foreigner. As a pseudo-mail order bride, she's repulsed by her husband-to-be. She's overwhelmed by the foreign culture of his family and friends, and doesn't know if it was worth it to abandon her old life. However, with a thick accent and Swedish background, it made less sense for her to feel all those things.

Eddie G's performance couldn't have been any better. Fluent in Italian in real life, his natural warm screen presence made his nationality completely believable (although his accent did slip one or two times). His gestures and expressions were not only authentically Italian - but old as well! He was a young man in 1930, but no one would know it. When he's injured and whining about getting a sponge bath or taking his medicine, it both breaks your heart and grates on your nerves: exactly his intention. He completely understood the character and, as always, made it easy to root for him.

As we frequently say at the Hot Toasty Rag Awards, "What does it take?" Edward G. Robinson had so many varied talents to give to the screen, and he was never nominated for an Academy Award; yet people like Ernest Borgnine and Gloria Grahame won statuettes. Our mission is to right the wrongs, and it gave us great pleasure to not only award Eddie G. Two newspaper trophies but also bestow our highest honor and welcome him into the Hall of Fame.