Coquete

I caught this film on TCM recently. This was actress Mary Pickford's first 'talkie.' At times, the acting is rather wordy and staged, but then it was a stage play before the film. But Pickford does shine in certain scenes, showing us why she was a superstar. In the film, Pickford plays Norma, a southern belle type whom we assume can have her pick of any beau in town. But she falls hard for handsome working class Michael (Johnny Mack Brown)someone her father considers beneath her. Things come to a boil when Norma spends the night with Michael at his cabin, and her father explodes with anger, killing Michael. Pickford is riveting in the death scene, and the courtroom scenes later where her father is on trial for killing Michael. This is not a perfect film by any means, and at times the actors' voices fades - not certain is this is the age of the film or the creaky new sound technology of the day. Either way, I had to crank up my television to hear what the actors were saying from time to time. Pickford's Oscar for this film was probably a way of honoring her for her many films and stardom rather than for her actual performance here. Still, the film is worth catching - despite its flaws.

It's rather unfortunate that this is the only film for which many current movie fans remember Mary Pickford, because of the neglect of silent films and because of the undue weight given to well-known but arbitrary motion picture awards. While she is often unfairly blamed for the mediocre quality of "Coquette", the fault really lies elsewhere. Without a thorough adaptation of the material to make it more suitable for the screen, hardly anyone could have performed well enough to make this much better.

The story did hold possibilities, but it's the kind of familiar, rather routine melodrama that needs interesting characters, unusual situations, or snappy dialogue to make it work. There is none of that here - only a talky and generally predictable script, which would work better as a stage play or even a radio play. Neither Pickford nor Johnny Mack Brown has much of a chance to give it life. They do their best, and they simply perform their roles as they were written. Nor is it one of the worst movies ever - it does contain some stretches of genuinely good acting, and the story is at least a little better than the warmed-over scenarios of so many recent movies.

Pickford deserves to be remembered for her many fine performances during the silent era. She could also have made top quality talking films if she had been given the chance, but she was never given roles that allowed her to use her greatest strengths. Further, in the early sound era, producers and directors were overly interested in dialogue-heavy pictures like this, which seemed impressive at the time only because talking pictures were still a novelty. Audiences of the day enjoyed them, but now they look as dated and dull as today's over-praised computer-imagery extravaganzas will look in fifty years or so. None of that is the fault of the actors and actresses of the era.

The chief flaw of Coquette is the generally poor quality of the sound which sometimes fades entirely, making it difficult to follow the plot which is propelled mostly by spoken exposition as opposed to purely cinematic techniques. The play on which it is based was a hit for Helen Hayes on Broadway but was sanitized and oversimplified for the screen (not at all unusual in those days). Dialogue and acting are florid and broad but nevertheless the story does manage to hold the attention. A doctor's daughter (Mary Pickford) outrages her tradition- bound father (John St. Polis) by falling in love with an uncultivated fellow from "the hills" (John Mack Brown). A fatal shooting results, but I won't give away the exact circumstances here.

Although she was in her mid-30's at the time of filming, Pickford is convincing, if somewhat mannered, as the maiden with one foot still in girlhood, displaying wide emotional range and a masterful command of her body, no surprise considering the physicality of her long silent film career. Her diminutive stature also works in her favor. When she sits in the maid's lap for consolation she really does look like the little girl she had played for so many years. Sadly, she is made to spend a great deal of time sobbing hysterically. (Vivien Leigh had to deal with the same requirement in Gone with the Wind ten years later.) Although not much of an actor, John Mack Brown has a kind of animal appeal, with a relatively deep, strong voice which registers clearly; one can understand why he became a popular player in talking films. Here, he seems to seesaw between menace and tenderness and you just have to give him the benefit of the doubt. Otherwise you cannot believe Pickford's feelings towards him. St. Polis has a stately presence and a sonorous, trained voice and seems the most comfortable of the supporting players in his role. The character of the black maid played by Louise Beavers departs from the norm; she moves torpidly and even talks back to the master's teenage son when he tries to rush her through her chores.

There is a lively scene at a country club featuring a jazz band and young revelers stomping to the hotsy-totsy musical numbers with wild abandon, suggesting that the later jitterbug and sixties dances did not come out of nowhere. The courtroom climax is hard to swallow – did judges in the South or anywhere else ever allow witnesses to sit in the laps of defendants for long personal dialogues while on the stand?

The first few Oscar ceremonies were, perhaps inevitably, characterized by films whose appeal has faded with the passage of time; this one – which gave "America's Sweetheart", Mary Pickford, her Best Actress nod – is certainly among the biggest culprits in this regard! Indeed, the film has virtually no reputation outside of this fact – and it is not even favourably discussed among its leading lady's most representative work! Incidentally, this marks my introduction proper to this most beloved of Silent stars – having previously only watched her in a couple of D.W. Griffith one-reelers from the early 1910s and her uncredited cameos in two of even more iconic husband Douglas Fairbanks's vehicles; for the record, I do own SPARROWS (1926; her best-known effort), THE TAMING OF THE SHREW (1929; the only official pairing of the famed Hollywood couple) and SECRETS (1933; Pickford's swan-song).

Back to COQUETTE: the plot is redolent of the hoariest stage melodramas – and the treatment is accordingly antediluvian. A flirtatious girl turns the heads of many local boys, but herself has her heart set on ne'er-do-well John Mack Brown (another popular name back then, but subsequently forgotten); however, their romance finds strong opposition from her doctor father – because the old man deems him below her station. Though Brown accepts to undergo a period of separation in which to prove his self-sufficiency and commitment, he turns up at a party three months in advance and even persuades Pickford to spend the night with him at a remote cabin. The next morning all hell breaks loose, as he presents himself before her father intent to ask for her hand, but the gruff patriarch will have none of it, goes after Brown with a gun and fatally shoots him! The lawyer father of one of the heroine's rejected beaux pleads with Pickford to save her dad from the gallows by making a "beast" of Brown; she refuses at first but relents when taking the stand at the subsequent trial. The doctor, understanding the nature of his daughter's sacrifice and mortified of his own actions, then takes the matter in hand and shoots himself on the spot with the very same gun that instigated the tragedy.

Despite having such luminaries as cinematographer Karl Struss and art director William Cameron Menzies among the credits, as I said, there is nothing remarkable about the film's style: actually, the whole Southern atmosphere drowns the interest all the more with the embarrassing repetition of such corny phrases as "honey precious" (the way in which Pickford addresses her father!), her pet phrase "adowable {sic}" and that of her younger brother, "jiminy"! With respect to the actress' personal contribution, I concede that the last act gives her ample opportunity to display a fair level of histrionics – but, having just watched fellow nominee Corinne Griffith in THE DIVINE LADY, I feel that the latter (mostly silent) performance, survives much better at this juncture…though I have yet to check out Ruth Chatterton in MADAME X, Jeanne Eagels in THE LETTER and Norma Shearer in THEIR OWN DESIRE (while the Betty Compson nod in THE BARKER, regrettably, seems lost to the ages)!

Mary Pickford won the Best Actress Oscar for her performance in this film - and this fact has dominated the way people have treated it over the years. Yes, perhaps her award had more to do with her power than her performance - but the performance is actually pretty good. At times she rises to great emotional heights - the death scene is quite extraordinary and the court-room sequence powerful. Of course she's too old for the role - but she was too old for nearly every part she ever played, and just a few years later Leslie Howard and Norma Shearer played Romeo and Juliet to great acclaim - so such age issues were probably not issues in 1929.

It is true that she talks a little like an adult Shirley Temple (did Shirley model herself on Mary - they certainly played many of the same roles?)- but her silent acting is excellent - her looks can really kill.

The supporting cast is not very good, except for the wonderful Louise Beavers, - but Johnny Mack Brown is devastatingly handsome as Mary's love interest. The script betrays its stage origins, and the film suffers the same problems most early talkies suffer - inadequate use of music, poorly synchronised sound effects, completely absent sound effects (eg doors opening and closing silently), and limited movement of both actors and camera.

But all things considered this is a worthwhile little film - certainly not great but not as bad as myth would have it. And the ending is really gorgeous. Watching the great silent stars struggling in early talkies, I always feel that they were learning a new craft, just as the cameramen, directors and writers were. Sadly the audiences were less forgiving of their beloved stars than they were of those unseen behind the camera, and rejected them before they had a chance to develop a new acting technique. I can't help thinking that, if they had been given the chance, many of these actors would have been great talkie actors. The technicians were allowed to develop but, by the time they were skilled enough to make the actors look and sound good, most of the old stars had gone. The supreme example of a silent star who was allowed to develop is, of course, Garbo - and, to a lesser extent, Ramon Novarro (but he could sing - which helped). Is it possible that, given the same opportunities as Garbo, we may have seen Fairbanks, Pickford, Talmadge, Swanson, Bow, Brooks, Gish, Gilbert, Colleen Moore, Leatrice Joy etc for many more years than we were allowed? But within ten years of this film being made Gilbert and Fairbanks were dead, Gish was carving out a new career on the stage, Pickford, Swanson, Bow, Talmadge, Brooks and Moore had retired, Joy was doing the occasional character role and even Ramon Novarro was out of work. What a waste!