Il lutto si addice ad Elettra

It is difficult to understand why this film is SO rare and forgotten. I myself had to wait over 40 years to finally see it, when, one of our TV channels, realising what a rare and unusual film they had (!), screened it at 4:00 a.m. in the morning! Thank goodness for video!

It was such a commercial flop in Britain when first shown in 1947, that after a brief showcase screening in London, it sank without a trace and has remained a "lost" film ever since. Based on Eugene O'Neill's play, it is slightly flawed in places I must admit, but what is so staggeringly remarkable is that it ever got made in the first place!

Clocking in at almost three hours running time in the days when a 75 minute feature might induce ennui, and 95 minutes was a marathon, and so WORDY, and, in a climate just slowly emerging from WW2, so GLOOMY, one should not perhaps be surprised that it did flop commercially, but, seen now, one can realise just how very good it is. Perhaps RKO were motivated by, and mindful of the fact that O'Neill had then just recently been awarded the Nobel Prize for literature, but could they ever in their wildest dreams have imagined such a film would ever go into profit? Had they learned nothing from CITIZEN KANE five years earlier?

What was also remarkable however, considering when the film was made, was its frank and quite powerful depiction of the Oedipal/Electra complex. No doubt the American censors at the time felt they could be more than customarily lenient with a "classic" work, (as they indeed had been with GONE WITH THE WIND), and, no doubt, in 1947, Freud's teachings were still pretty much the esoteric, clinical knowledge of a small minority, so perhaps the censors of the day "read" these dark passions merely as melodrama, but the ensemble playing is so strong and competent that the film leaves you know doubt about just what forces are in play, even if most people at that time weren't perhaps universally aware of them.

Also, it so vividly confirms my long-held contention that any film is only ever as good as its script!!! What rare bliss it is nowadays to hear intelligent, thoughtful, meaningful dialogue! To witness characters riven by dark, deep passions of the heart and soul rather than by mere carnal lust Unfortunately, Rosalind Russell as Lavina wasn't too competent in the strong passion department, and regrettably was way out of her depth in her part, but Michael Redgrave (making his Hollywood debut) was a revelation, and his performance is one of the very best I have ever seen from him. But, in this particular work, all the acting parts are difficult, demanding swift changes of emotion, and the need to depict turbulent psychological undertows through body language. Vivien Leigh was probably the only screen actress from that era who could have done full justice to the role of Lavina.

Katina Paxinou undertakes her role as the unfaithful mother with flourish and conviction, and Raymond Massey as the father is, as always, reliable and sound, and even the incomparable Sarah Allgood makes an all too brief appearance. A very young Kirk Douglas acquits himself well, and although technically you can see the studio budget wasn't huge, the overall result is extremely satisfying, and illustrates well what a great debt the world owes to American playwrights of O'Neill's calibre, and too, to Hollywood for making them available to a world-wide audience.

It is a genuinely moving and powerful film, and it is a shame that it has become such a neglected and forgotten orphan. No doubt had it been made in France or Britain, it would now be hailed by movie snobs as a great Art Film, which it is, and just because it originated through the Hollywood studio system doesn't make it in the least bit less brilliant and dynamic. And whatever else, it is certainly one of the most LITERATE films ever made! Well worth searching for. Or, come to that, waiting 40 years for!

The script reduces the stage original by approximately two-thirds. The cinematography is clunky and the production values are weak. Direction is indifferent and the acting styles are all over the map. Even so, the 1947 MOURNING BECOMES ELECTRA is a startlingly powerful film, a melodrama that leaps and crackles and which will hold the attention of discerning viewers through two and a half hours to its remarkably bitter end.

Loosely based on the ancient Greek tragedy THE ORESTIA, Eugene O'Neill's 1931 drama was and is an extraordinary creation. Strangely ritualistic in tone and requiring approximately six hours to perform, it stunned audiences upon its debut, was a powerful factor in O'Neill's winning of the Nobel Prize for Literature, and remains one of the great pinnacles of American theatre to this day. It is also a warped, sick, and twisted tale of adultery, incestuous affections, blackmail, murder, and suicide, and as such it held Hollywood at bay for close to twenty years.

The story concerns the Mannons, a family that has dominated a small New England town for more than a hundred years, dominating through social status and supposed family and civic duty even as they conceal several internal scandals. The film opens with father Ezra (Raymond Massey) away from home, acting as a leader in the Civil War; in his absence wife Christine (Katrina Patinoux) has taken a lover who visits the house under the guise of courting daughter Lavinia (Rosalind Russell.) When Lavinia discovers the truth, she attempts to blackmail her mother into giving up the relationship--but the attempt backfires into a horrendous cycle of murder and revenge that ultimately destroys the family and drives Lavinia to her her doom.

The script actually does manage to encompass all the primary plot points of O'Neill's original, and although the result is a bit talky in a forced sort of way the story itself possesses a relentless quality that does indeed approximate the stage original. Even more surprisingly, the script makes no effort to soften the incestuous nature of the various relationships that characterize the tale, relationships that increasingly pervert and twist the family as the story progresses. This is dark, dark stuff indeed.

As previously noted, the cast is all over the map in terms of acting style and indeed each of the principles seem to be performing for a different film. Rosalind Russell is distinctly "classic Hollywood;" Michael Redgrave is distinctly "English theatre." Katrina Patinoux, a memorable performer, is Greek and therefore somewhat out of place as the matriarch of a New England family; Raymond Massey, an equally memorable performer, seems to reprise his earlier portrayal of Abraham Lincoln. Each and every one of them, in their own different ways, play at white-hot intensity, and many find the resulting mix too uncomfortable. I myself did not: if anything, I felt it added to and intensified the overall strangeness of the piece.

Eugene O'Neill dramas do not, as a rule, film extremely well: they are too clearly designed for the stage and as such they work best in front of a live audience. All the same, and in spite of its numerous flaws, this is one of the few film versions of an O'Neill play that actually manages to capture the intensity of the stage original. Dark, brooding, and deeply disturbing, MOURNING BECOMES ELECTRA deserves a great deal more attention than it has ever received.

When the film failed at the box office, RKO responded by cutting it in re-release. This Image Entertainment DVD restores those cuts, and that is a very good thing indeed. Unfortunately, it is also the only good thing that one can say for the DVD. The print quality is at best mediocre, a bit fuzzy, occasionally streaked, and riddled with artifacts. There are no extras of any kind. But just as the film transcends its own flaws, so too does it transcends this poor transfer. Strongly recommended.

GFT, Amazon Reviewer

Miscast, stagnant version of something that's heavy going to begin with. Redgrave is good as Orin the haunted son. Rosalind tries but is just the wrong actress for the part, ideally it should have been Katharine Hepburn or Olivia de Havilland. She owed Dudley Nichols a favor for adapting and directing the story of Sister Kenny, a dream project for her and this was his but could only get it made with her participation, she even admitted that she was wrong for it but felt a sense of loyalty and went forward. Katina Paxinou gives an overblown operatic performance in a part that would have fit Garbo perfectly. The play is really too complex for a standard film version, the extended PBS production in the late 70s with Joan Hackett and Roberta Maxwell got it right but that one clocks in at just under five hours.

I have seen this movie in bits and pieces over the years and therefore had seen the entire film before. But not all at once. Tonight I did. For those who know the original ancient Greek plays that this was taken from, it enhances the modernizing that Eugene O'Neill did with his treatise. It is, in and of itself, a brilliant literary work. This story, whether in the old Greek, or the 20th century version (the writing of it), is a daunting tale to tell for any actor. For my tastes, the women in this film were over the top. Fine actresses both, Katrina Paxinou as Christine the mother, and Rosalind Russell as Lavinia the daughter (or Electra), they perhaps could have used the help of a better director. The men were all fine. Though Raymond Massey's greatest contribution was his wonderful movie presence. But to watch Michael Redgrave's amazing performance was worth every other flaw. He took a part that was, indeed, full of words, and made them flow so naturally from his mouth, that I believed people DID speak that way. And with that wonderful naturalness, he achieved such depth of emotion! Love, anger, fear, hatred, and guilt to the point of paranoia and virtual insanity. I have seen other movies of his, and have always understood, simply enough, how his progeny became such fine actors. Sir Michael Redgrave was an actor that could bury himself in any part. But I saw this performance, just now, as if for the first time. So real, so believable, so brilliant.

I found this film fascinating, stimulating, and a thoroughly enjoyable experience. Though I have not ever seen a stage production of the O'Neil original, this nearly 3 hour long film seemed to be essentially a filmed version of that play. And for that I thank the filmmakers of this production, actors, directors, producers and studio. In reviewing other's opinions about this film, I am amazed that so often the negative criticisms concern exactly those strengths I found in this film. That it was not full of artificially cooked-up "atmosphere" from Steiner (whom I do truly respect and enjoy elsewhere), that it was not full of quick cuts and microscopic closeups was something I found wonderful. That it was confined essentially to a very few sets was also wonderful. Those sets were very detailed and not skimpy at all. This was a filmed play! That some should state that as a negative is beyond me. There are so many films (even in this film's release era of 1947) available to so many people in so many areas, but how many of us have been lucky enough to experience a great playwright's work, brought to life by great acting and delivery? Far far fewer folks, in far far fewer venues, and far far fewer locations. This then is what I mean when I say that this film was one example of something Film can offer and so rarely does. The opportunity to experience a play!

And what a wonderful experience it was. The acting was terrific. After more than one scene between Christina and Lavinia, I fairly exclaimed with pleasure at the dramatic interplay between the two. What some called disdainfully "overacting", I found thrilling and stimulating. After all, one is not watching a home movie of one's family or friends. So called "realism" in many modern films is in my mind vastly overrated. A work of film, or of the stage, should be "realistic" it is true, but should not ever be so real as to distract from the art itself.

Tastes change and film-making is an industry to make money like other manufacturing methods. But part of the admiration for what is often called the "Golden Age of Hollywood" is attributable to the then less uncommon understanding that "Art" was as valid the goal as earning a profit! At least by the people involved in the acting and production, if not by the investors themselves. Sure there are occasionally great films made today, and there were plenty of "B" pictures made then too, but to critically dismiss this film for not being something other than what it was, is to miss the point I feel.

Rosiland Russell Rules! JACK in Maine