Haute société

Fascinating, richly-textured morality play by the great Somerset Maugham, acted to perfection by a first-rate cast including Constance Bennett at her absolute peak. George Cukor directed with a master's touch, Max Steiner provided the score, and David O. Selznick's production was polished. Constance Bennett plays the disillusioned American wife of a British aristocrat, who finds out on her wedding day that her husband married her only for her money. She decides to take life on their terms, and becomes a cunning seductress among a large group of wealthy and cynical people. Her scheming, combined with the sharp, cynical dialog worthy of Oscar Wilde, and the general irony of the whole affair, makes for an amusing and intelligent film. The witty one-liners are to be cherished, as are the fabulous gowns, and the glowing beauty of Constance Bennett. The film was also one of the first to feature an openly gay character. It's a great treat to view the film 75 years later. Although society may have changed, human behavior has not.

This movie haunts me in a way and fills me with questions. Why did Selznick make this screen version of a 1917 Maugham play right in the middle of the Great Depression in America? I wonder what was on his mind -- to make people angry enough to bring their friends for another look? To let them scoff at the foibles of the impossibly idle rich? This movie primarily is about American expats who've found a place among a jaded British aristocracy (which, at the time of Maugham's stage play, were, with the rest of England, at the height of a bloody world war that would cost Britain almost an entire generation of its young men). But this film version was brought to the screen in 1933, at the height of a crushing Depression that left so many millions jobless and homeless and lucky to have the price of a night at the movies. Contrast that with the sly comic turnings of a very young Gilbert Roland as the Chilean idler Pepi, whose pouty side-glances as he manipulates his very rich and titled benefactress were elegantly applied and flawlessly aimed, no doubt, at enraging most any Depression-oppressed American of the day. I'm sure Roland (no idler himself) and Cukor had a lot of fun filming Pepi. I loved the steady Grant Mitchell, elegantly playing a happy snob who unashamedly admits that he'd come to England from Ohio, and has "lost any trace of an American accent." No apologies from his character, who lends the picture a decorum and good-humored tolerance, all in the cause of maintaining these high-blown dodgy "friendships," deftly working to keep things on a happy note, despite bothersome indiscretions. Others have written here of the remarkable performance of Violet Kemble Cooper as the Duchess, and I heartily agree. And what a happy surprise was the very late entrance in the picture of Tyrell Davis (one of the famous tailors from Wellman's "The Public Enemy" two years earlier) as the unabashedly delightful pouffe Ernest, brought in by Bennett's character to salvage a nearly wrecked country weekend. Ernest was summoned hastily from a busy Sunday schedule in London, still attired in his city-best, flawlessly coiffed, with dark heart-shaped lip rouge, more eye shadow than Bennett, and powdered like a pastry. He carried his look as proudly, happily and effortlessly as did the elegant Bennett in her timelessly smashing Hattie Carnegie gowns. Across the Channel, he'd have been exterminated by the Nazis, but in his place among a protective British aristocracy, Ernest was obviously a most happy man, allowed to act out himself completely and taking his place as a favorite among the ladies. I'm astonished that Davis, whose Ernest hilariously capped the picture and who uttered its naughty closing line, was not credited for this fresh and pleasing (or shocking) performance. Have you ever seen such a face in the movies? Or anywhere else? Such a happy individualist in a society that outlawed some of his assumed after-hours behavior. Without the protection of the aristocracy, Ernest, like Wilde, likely would have spent part of his life in prison. This picture contains some dated stage business and moves a bit too slowly for us today, but I'm so happy that it survives. I still wonder, though, what was the aim of making this movie at this time in the American experience? Hughes and Selznick wanted and expected an audience and a profit, after all. Was a Maugham play burning a hole in their pockets? Were generous eyes-full of Constance Bennett in clingy satin gowns enough to draw 'em in? I suspect there was a social aim here, but I'm not sure what it is.

Constance Bennett is a disillusioned socialite in "Our Betters," based on Somerset Maugham's play. Bennett plays a beautiful woman (in absolutely knockout gowns) who, on her wedding day, discovers that her husband has a mistress, a Charles-Diana-Camilla thing. Bennett's got the cash, and the girlfriend's poor. Constance, who plays Lady Pearl, throws herself into the London social scene, where nobody behaves. Her husband is always off with his girlfriend, and she has a lover who keeps her since her husband went through her money. And everyone else behaves the same way. The only thing that matters is knowing the right people, having money, getting invited to the right parties, and marrying titles. When Pearl's sister arrives from America, she's dazzled by the life and brushes off an old beau, played by Charles Starrett, who is the moral voice of the movie.

This was the world of Elliot Templeton in "The Razor's Edge" and it's visited here fully with a brittle humor but not a great deal of energy. Bennett is perfect in her role. There are some scenes between Violet Kemble, who plays Minnie, and her much younger gigolo boyfriend, Gilbert Roland, where he manipulates her, that are overly long but quite funny. The final scene, with the dancing Ernest, is the best in the film.

This is a delightfully bitter and witty play by Maugham, adapted to film almost exactly as it appeared on stage. Kemble as Minnie steals the show. And the last scene, between Minnie and the dance instructor, is simply hilarious. Charles Starrett, later a Western star in "B" movies, is wooden, and poor Gilbert Roland doesn't have a lot to work with in the script. But the others sparkle and shine, telling us what sophisticated light comedy can be at its best. What a shame this has not appeared on VHS.

No, it's not brilliant, although it has the woman-friendly stamp of director George Cukor all over it. If for nothing else, in fact, watch it for Hattie Carnegie's exquisite gowns, worn to perfection by the exquisite Constance Bennett. But if you give it half a chance, you might find yourself quite caught up in this tale of upper-class English morality, and the success it can bring to an early-disillusioned woman. Like "What Price Hollywood?" this is a collaboration of director Cukor, writer Jane Murfin, and star Constance Bennett, and they all shine. Bennett is especially adept at conveying the brittle facade that her character has constructed to hide the pain of an empty life.

The dialogue is as crisp as it gets in the 1930s. Oh, and don't miss that final line. Too fab!