There were a few really fabulous films made in 1929 but most were dreadful. This is not one of the worst but it's still one of the dreadful ones. Only if you like cringingly sentimental Victorian melodrama made by people who don't know how to make pictures should you brave this one.
To be fair, this was Victor Saville's first full talkie and only the fifth film he'd ever directed so he was still finding his feet - Gainsborough's head of production had clearly not fully developed any directorial skills yet. To learn the ropes, he'd set up yet another company where he'd produce and direct talkies in collaboration with the equally ambitious Tiffany-Stahl company over in America.
Unfortunately for all concerned, T-S's sound recording system was RCA Photophone. Like Warner's Vitaphone, this was a cumbersome sound on disc system which meant that the film's dialogue had to be delivered at a glacial pace giving the film a horribly stilted feel. The sound on disc system also didn't allow for any editing or re-takes so once it was shot, that's what you got.
So this picture isn't terrible simply because of poor direction and poor acting - although the direction and the acting were exceptionally poor! Curiously however the first half hour of this, the scenes set in France aren't too bad - in fact I'd go as far as saying, quite impressive and even engaging. I was actually thinking: Hey, this is quite good for 1929. Were this just my review of the first half hour I'd say that Betty Compson is lovely and I can understand why George Barraud would fall head over heels for her. I'd say that the picture cleverly shows how his feelings develop and loads the screen with tension for the inevitable catastrophe.
Unfortunately you get the impression that Mr Saville went back home to England half way through this picture because once the story has moved on to London, that lively style of delivery, that interesting and imaginative camerawork and that empathy with the characters completely vanishes. It feels like a different film all together - a really bad one! Everyone suddenly starts speaking like they've some horrible disease and Betty Compson forgets she's meant to be doing a French accent.
If you can overlook the awfulness of the production (of the last 2/3 anyway) what is quite interesting is to note that whereas in the original wrote just after the war, soldier David was already married and playing away from home with Lola whereas in this film, such immorality could never be shown - certainly not with a British officer. It's also fascinating to see that the whole crux of the sad denouement relies on the almost impossible to accept today fact that the future of a child born out of wedlock could be so awful that you'd sacrifice your life to avoid it! I'd imagine crowds would have burned down London and hanged Ramsay MacDonald had the original story been filmed! (Or does the example of that beloved Prime Minister disprove this?)
It's weird how in the late twenties a handful of silent movie stars and theatre luvvies suddenly made it big in to the talkies - they were for a few years at the top of the tree, but within a couple of years they were history. Those big new superstars of 1929 of that transition stage between 1929 and 1931 when some great movies were made but most filmmakers were just learning on the job, just vanished. Even the sexiest, cutest and prettiest woman in the world, Alice White who came from nowhere to be absolutely massive in 1931 but was virtually forgotten by 1933. Unlike the divine Alice, Betty Compson was a big silent star - one of those who became a superstar of the talkies. She was perfect for them but as the talkies of 1929 evolved into the talkies of 1931, as they became films we'd recognise as films today, she just couldn't adapt. Most (but not all) of the moving pictures made before about 1931 were essentially silent films with sound. It wasn't really the advent of sound which somersaulted filmmaking, like life in general, the massive social changes in the early 30s were the main driver....... but back to this film - I think I'd prefer George Barraud's amnesia than remember this.
