Feuilles d'automne

Joan Crawford aged like fine wine, and even at 51 she is quite believable as the romantic lead here. She plays Millicent Wetherby, a lonely 40ish woman who has sacrificed her youth taking care of her invalid father. Now he is gone and she feels like life has passed her by until Burt Hanson (Cliff Robertson in only his second film appearance) interrupts her chicken salad one night at a diner. He practically pries open her life, and they begin dating even though he is over ten years younger than she. She tries to be practical, but he sweeps her off her feet and the two elope to Mexico. Then she starts to notice little things...he has told her he was from Racine, now he says he is from Chicago. Burt meets Joan's employer and talks about all of the battles he saw in the military when he has told her previously that he was a supply clerk and never saw action during his time in the service, but the final straw is when an ex-wife she didn't even know about shows up at her door.

This is a hard film to characterize. It's definitely not a soaper, but it has aspects of that. It has romance, dealing with mental illness, and even elements of a thriller to it. It deals with the self-doubt we all have about the choices we have made in life. No high-camp Johnny Guitar is this film. Although, don't get me wrong, I love Joan in her campy 50's films too.

Cliff Robertson is almost at the bottom of the bill on this one, even though he really is the male lead. This is only his second film, yet he pulls off the part of the child-like Burt like a pro. It's also good to see Ruth Donnelly as Milly's ever-supportive older neighbor twenty years after she was a contract player over at Warner Brothers. I highly recommend this film for anyone who even remotely enjoys Joan Crawford's films. You don't have to be a big fan to appreciate this one.

I thought this movie was fabulous. It is a woman's picture, but the tag line made it seem like some William Castle horror flick. By no stretch of the imagination is this a silly little weepy. Parts of it seem to be designed to disturb (the typewriter scene), and even the tender moments are edgy to me. (I just used the word "tender" in a sentence. Kill me now.)

Joan Crawford (one of my favorites) plays Millicent Weatherby, a 40ish spinster who spent most of her life taking care of her invalid father and bemoaning her ridiculous name. Score one for Joan already, as she was not 40ish, but 50ish. Cliff Robertson (I tell everyone "Uncle Ben" from "Spiderman") is the 20ish fella she meets in a restaurant. I think he was 20ish, but score one for him too; he's adorable. Cliff hides some horrible secret, and he's a major liar, but Joan falls for him anyway. He takes her to the beach, where they make out in the sand. (I love it when the surf comes crashing up against Joan and boy! does she flinch. Must have been chilly out that day.) They trot off to Mexico and get hitched. Then Joan starts to realize that maybe she doesn't know Cliff as well as she thought she did. He lies and then tells the truth, and who's to know the difference? Even he doesn't. Eventually Cliff's relatives get involved and then things get really sticky. Is Joan out to get Cliff? Tune in to the next episode to find out!!! Seriously, I felt for Joan. She had a rough time. First the invalid father that caused her to lose all contact with the outside world, and then this guy who can't get his lies straight. Oh, but she manages beautifully. At this point in her career, Joan believed that acting and hand gestures didn't have to go together. You sometimes begin to wonder if her arms even function. (I suspect this was a jab at the arm-flailing Bette Davis, but that's just a hunch.) Just watching her stand there, all broad-shouldered and strong, makes you realize that of course she is going to get through. Former chorus girls always do, because they've got guts and know how. Best moment--after Joan decides she's no good for Cliff, she goes back to that aforementioned beach and just sits there. It's a lovely shot, and Joan looks less ironclad than usual.

By the by, a note to the other reviewer whose name I can't remember. Joan Crawford would not DARE say "And you, YA slut." She says, very precisely, "And you, YOU slut." Enunciation was very important to the Texas-born Lucille LeSueur/Joan Crawford. Bette Davis might say "ya slut," but never Joan Crawford.

Some movies make it especially easy to enjoy them. The first stretch, the first two-fifths, are endlessly charming, with strong good feelings counterbalancing the darker airs of loneliness. Joan Crawford, towering legend that she is, bears warmth and substantial presence at least as much if not more than she has elsewhere in her career; I readily admit I'm not used to seeing Cliff Robertson so young, but he matches Crawford toe to toe with a surprisingly versatile display. And between Robert Aldrich's welcoming, firm direction, and the rich screenplay of Jean Rouverol, Lews Meltzer, and Robert Blees, rather from the start 'Autumn leaves' is splendidly absorbing. As the turn in the narrative comes around the 45-minute mark, throwing everything into question, the mood entirely flips as piercing, ferociously darker airs take over and the warmth tries nevertheless to shine through. All the while the feature commands one's undivided attention, both for the excellence of everyone's contributions as well as for the severity of the story. This is all around superb!

One might reasonably ponder if the drama doesn't become too intense for its own good, becoming overbearing and melodramatic as the third act slowly rolls around. Even within the last ten minutes, through to the ending, there are times when it seems like the movie has a hard time finding exactly the right tone. As great as this is at its best, I can't say it's 100% perfect. Even at its most difficult, though, the proceedings are tremendously compelling, tragic and heartrending but also endearing. And everything about this film is marvelous, each part in and of itself making a bigger impression than I ever anticipated from the outset, bent toward amplifying the torrent of emotions on hand, and working in concert to complement one another. Aldrich is all but brilliant in orchestrating scenes, imbuing even some specific shots with outstanding personality, though his task is made easier by an exceptional cast that reaches deep to give sharp, complex performances on down the line. Crawford, Robertson, Vera Miles and Lorne Greene, Sheppard Strudwick - no matter the size of the part of the nature of the role, from one to the next every actor is terrific, and I adore them all. Hans J. Salter's original score lends powerful ambience to the course of events, and Charles Lang's cinematography is just as vivid as Aldrich's direction. Production design, art direction, hair and makeup, Michael Luciano's editing, and more are all fantastic.

And still none of this would be possible without tight writing, but Rouverol, Meltzer, and Blees have indeed done a fine job. The dialogue is vibrant, and the characters come off as very real and complicated. The tale at large is relatively small, concise and specific, yet in both its lighter facets and in its more tense, harrowing aspects there's a measure of universality in the telling that makes the plot terribly engrossing. And along with all this, I must also point out the scene writing, which at select points is especially crucial to the impact that the film has. The "walk" that leads to an injury is almost excruciating for the turns that are taken in the span of a few minutes; a later moment in which certain sounds trouble Milly emphatically recalls one of the most resonant, haunting moments from all six seasons of 'Breaking bad,' and took my breath away. As if all this weren't enough, I must also compliment the writing team, and all involved, for delicate handling of subject matter that even today is often managed poorly in cinema; for the 1950s, 'Autumn leaves' feels well ahead of its time. There is no judgment, no condescension, and no prejudice or persecution, except from those who are clearly awful people. The feature tries very hard to be balanced and considerate, presenting such a condition in a way that serves up the intended drama for storytelling while very pointedly never losing sight of the character's humanity. I'm in no position to offer absolute judgment, but I'm inclined to think the movie has a definite leg up on many others in this matter.

I can safely say I didn't know anything about this before I sat for it, save for the involvement of the chief stars. I'm so pleased with what this feature actually is. From the blithely pleasant first length, to the dire, heavy turns to follow, this is overall exceedingly well-rounded and thoughtful, and crafted with care and intelligence. There might be instances when the saga doesn't meet with total, pure success, yet these are fleeting and minor in comparison to the wonderfully robust viewing experience it otherwise represents. Everyone in front of the camera and behind it turned in stupendous work to make this just about the very best picture it could be, and the result is unquestionably enjoyable as a movie-goer, satisfying, and rewarding. I suppose a content warning may be necessary for those with particular sensitivity to topics of mental illness, but beyond this 'Autumn leaves' is so very well done that as far as I'm concerned it earns a solid recommendation for all comers. If you have the opportunity to watch, this holds up quite well even decades later and is certainly worth checking out!

Trashy delight about the ill-fated marriage of a naïve middle-aged woman and an enigmatic younger man. Director Robert Aldrich worked surprisingly well with a latter-day Joan Crawford, taming the Hollywood queen bee and bringing her volatile personality down to scale. This gusty, absorbing nonsense gives Crawford a solid role as a single, stay-at-home typist who falls for shifty Cliff Robertson, a pathological liar. Florid melodrama filled with overripe dialogue, overheated set-ups (like the infamous thrown typewriter), fluttering hands and fluttering eyelashes. Aldrich keeps it all simmering nicely, and the entertaining results are certain to please soap buffs. *** from ****

This 1956 drama was directed by the re known Robert Aldrich. He brings the old and the new to this film. The old, being the professionalism and experience of Joan Crawford and matching her with the new, up and coming young talented Cliff Robertson. This was his first starring role. Coming from Broadway he brought a very strong presence to the part. He and Joan were splendid together. In one of her rare underplayed roles, where she isn't playing the queen bee, she gives a sensitive and honest portrayal of a lonely woman who accidentally meets a young man and falls in love. Crawford and those wonderful expressive eyes are beautifully photographed with shadows in glorious black and white. Playing opposite her and definitely holding his own, Robertson goes from nice guy to a sort of psychotic mess. His slow changing from one to the other was masterful. He showed his abilities and what was yet to come his way, including his Academy Award performance in CHARLY. Together Joan and Cliff light up the screen in an almost melodramatic way, yet quite realistic. Reminded me of another Crawford film and another new young actor, Jack Palance in SUDDEN FEAR. Rounding out the cast is Lorne Greene as Cliff's no good father, Vera Miles as the wife asking for a divorce and veteran actor Shepperd Strudwick playing the doctor who heals our hero. Look for two well played supporting roles in this. Bringing comedy relief to the drama is veteran actress Ruth Donnely, as the manager of the apartment building Joan lives in. She just walks into the apartments, picks up newspapers and magazines and makes herself at home bringing all the gossip with her. She's a hoot. There's also a cameo performance by Marjorie Bennett as the waitress of a diner. Just her facial expressions as she waits on our lovers is worth the entire scene. She walks off with it. Remember her as the mother of Victor Buono in BABY JANE? Hats off to a seldom seen movie and one of Crawford's best.