O Sétimo Pecado

Hardly similar to the 1934 film The Painted Veil, Eleanor Parker starred in a 1957 remake, The Seventh Sin. I saw the cast list of Bill Travers and George Sanders, and naturally I assumed George would be the rigid, unforgiving husband with Bill as the young lover. Imagine my surprise to find that Bill was cast as the husband!

Eleanor's young lover was a French actor, Jean-Pierre Aumont, and George played a friend in their new surroundings when they relocate to treat the cholera epidemic. I absolutely loved George in this movie, both his character and the spunky delivery he brought to his lines. He's funny and charming, but without the acerbic Addison Dewitt typecast. Eleanor and Bill are also very good in the film, and with both characters being extremely flawed, it's hard to make them likable. But you feel very sorry for Bill, and Eleanor is so beautiful, it's hard to believe she ever does anything wrong. Even though Bill treats her infidelity as justification for a thinly-veiled death penalty, he acts out from being in pain rather than from cruelty. If you have never seen version of this classic story, you can try either film. This one has a different ending than the original, but don't let that stand in your way. Pick which cast appeals to you and get ready for a very good acting and in a very heavy story. And just forget about Ellen Corby's "French" accent.

Originally, I had no intention of watching this film on TCM, but the presence of Bill Travers got my attention, and I gave the movie a shot.

Frankly, I am surprised at how much I enjoyed it. All of the leading performances are excellent, and the back lot filming appropriately evokes the implied locations. Sanders is, indeed, the most thoroughly explored character, supporting or not. Travers portrays the brooding husband quite effectively, and Parker has perfected the role of a selfish woman in many films.

Having not read the original novel, I cannot comment on the translation to the screen. However, as a stand-alone film, the results are intriguing, and well done. "The Painted Veil" certainly makes a better title, however.

I love Somerset Maugham's novels, but they tend to be full of internal monologues and emotional and spiritual struggles that can be difficult to dramatize (his short stories make much better material for movies). THE PAINTED VEIL is a terrific book and a good read, veering from sexual melodrama to spiritual regeneration, full of psychological insight, tension and vivid descriptions of life in China during a cholera epidemic.

But this movie is just dreadful. It's dull, literal-minded and a travesty of a great story and promising concept. The credibility problems start (but don't end) with the fact that handsome Bill Travers was miscast as the cuckold. Tall and masculine with sensual features, a brooding sexiness, and a resonant, beautiful voice, it's absurd that we are expected to believe he is unappealing to Eleanor Parker. How can she not want to grab him and ride him ten ways from Sunday? I have often liked beautiful Eleanor Parker, but her archness here is hard to take and not what the part needs. The only bright spot is George Sanders, cast against type as a warm, sympathetic guy.

One thing I'm curious about is why Vincente Minnelli abandoned the project (his name appears nowhere in the final credits). Had he directed it (preferably in Technicolor) it might at least have been more enjoyable. Skip this dreary soap opera. Or if you see it and actually like it, read Somerset Maugham's novel, which is far better and certainly more entertaining.

Given the premise I expected this to be high camp. It wasn't. I'm sure the Garbo version was over the top.

The actors do a good job. The director kept everyone reigned in. The script isn't too bad. You don't feel like you're watching some tawdry melodrama.

The film is about maturing and forgiveness. About the difference between infatuation on love.

Will Eleanor Parker repent and ask her husband's forgiveness and grow to love him and want him back? Will her doctor husband forgive her infidelity? Does Ellen Corby speak with a believable French accent? Do they survive the cholera outbreak?

You'll just have to watch and find out.

Somerset Maugham's novella from 1925, inspired by an episode in Dante's 'Purgatorio', has been filmed three times over a period of seventy years with decidedly mixed results.

This second version credits Ronald Neame as director but for reasons which are not readily apparent but can easily be guessed at, he left the production which was then assigned to Vincente Minnelli. Anyone curious as to the extent of Minnelli's contribution should read the earlier review by John Howard Reid who got it straight from the horse's mouth.

By Hollywood standards this adaptation by Karl Tunberg is reasonably faithful to the original with a few exceptions. Selfish social climber Kitty has now become fundamentally decent and self-effacing Carolyn of Eleanor Parker whilst the love rat is no longer a suave Englishman but a suave Frenchman played by Jean Pierre Aumont. The character of Carolyn's husband has become rather one-dimensional in the hands of Bill Travers and this actor's limitations are all too obvious. As Waddington the inveterate gossip, George Sanders is excellent and reminds us once again what a very fine actor he could be when granted the opportunity whilst the always-good-value Francoise Rosay lends gravitas to the proceedings as Mother Superior.

Miss Parker had earlier played Mildred in Maugham's 'Of Human Bondage' which was shelved for two years and badly received on release and the reception given to this one was not much better. These disappointments do not reflect badly on her performances and she remains one of Hollywood's finest, if somewhat underrated actresses who always gave her best regardless of the material.

As one would expect from MGM the production values are first class with Miklós Rozsá providing one of his best scores. Although not as entertaining as Boleslawski's bowdlerised version with Greta Garbo it is, for this viewer at any rate, far more engrossing than the more recent attempt by John Curran.

Somerset Maugham's novella is highly recommended and one in which he draws upon his own loveless marriage, his knowledge of medicine and of course his customary scalpel-like dissection of the human species.