L'oncle Harry

The Strange Affair of Uncle Harry (1945)

George Sanders is a wonder of subtlety, and he rules this movie almost from secrecy he's so quiet and nondescript to a T. He lives in a small town with all the usual small town ways, including insularity. There are three women around him: a plain sister who is simple and sweet and loves him, a beautiful sister who is obsessed with keeping him a bachelor, and a newcomer, a New Yorker who is in town because of the fabric factory that dominates the town.

This is pretty much the set up, and it's plenty because it is the subtle and not so subtle interactions and cross purposes of these three women and the somewhat hapless Mr. Sanders that makes the movie. It's really funny and sad and romantic in its own quirky way. It never loses its way, and the types that each women represent get developed with clarity enough to make you really want what Sanders wants. And doesn't get.

The director Robert Siodmak would be famous soon for a series of great film noirs, but it was his next film that seems to mark a transition, "Spiral Staircase." In that, the photography soars and the sinister aspects surrounding ordinary people add a level of intrigue and fear that this movie simply doesn't want to have. And so you might in some ways find it a little plain, a little sweet without the hard edge that the nasty sister is meant to alone supply. Still, she convinces me just fine, and I rather like the confident New York woman (a little like Bacall in this way).

It does come around to Sanders, the man who committed suicide with a note saying he was just a little bored with life. You can feel that in him here, remarkably. He's so perfectly weary, and yet rather content still. In fact, one treat in the middle of things is him playing piano (he does play) and singing. A remarkable man and unusual actor, worth seeing here.

The movie does a good job looking at both sides of small town life. Poor Harry, he's essentially a prisoner of his upbringing and the closeness of his small mill town community. Middle- aged, he's still a child in many ways. Lacking independent judgement, he depends on what's expected of him by others, especially his clinging younger sister Lettie (Fitzgerald). And, of course, there are the gossip mongers always ready to enforce the small town norms. In many ways, he's already an old man, but not resentful of his dull existence. After all, there's the fellow-good-feeling he shares with the guys in their informal singing group, plus the big family house and his good standing within the community. His may be a narrow existence, but it's not without compensations.

But then Deborah (Rains) (note the contrast in the girls' names—the provincial 'Lettie' and 'Hester' versus the uptown 'Deborah') enters his life. She's from New York, bringing with her the sophistication and independent thinking of a career-minded city girl. Surprisingly, she takes a liking to Harry, probably because he's so innocently appealing compared with the city wolves she's used to. And Harry's drawn to her independent ways and outside perspective. So, it's a budding romance despite the differences.

But this is where the movie really gets strange, especially for the 1940's. Lovely younger sister Lettie seems to have more than a sisterly attachment to brother Harry. Instead, it's one loaded with the forbidden. Thus, she views Deborah as not just a disruptive influence on Harry's settled life, but as a rival to his affections. Naturally, the script has to play this hint of incestuous attachment in a very careful way, given the prevailing Production Code of the time. Still, the implication is clear, thanks mainly to Fitzgerald's excellent nuanced performance. In turn, it's hard at times to read Harry's feelings toward Lettie. Nonetheless he's always ready to respond to her faked illnesses that she uses to manipulate him.

So now Harry is faced with a disruptive conflict—will it be Lettie or Deborah. Each is pulling in a different direction. In fact, the scenes between the two rivals are deliciously played by Rains and Fitzgerald, their smouldering dislike carefully concealed under a polite exterior. Then, there's one particularly decisive symbolic scene between Harry and Deborah on the hilltop when both finally tire of Lettie's obstructionism. There Deborah invites Harry to leave the narrow confines of the town below and go with her to New York to be married. Harry surveys the town, the only home he has ever known, and agrees to go. This is one of the few outdoor scenes of the film. But then it had to be outdoors in order to catch the hill-top symbolism as Harry finally manages to break out of his narrow confinement with an independent judgement. It's also meaningful that these scenes are inter-cut with church service scenes where the community has happily congregated, but from which, Harry is no longer a part. The question now is what will Lettie do since it appears Deborah has won. Also, now we know it's not the community that's holding Harry back, rather it's Lettie's manipulative attachment.

The movie has several unnerving twists that suggest a hand of fate hanging over Harry's head. And had the story been allowed to end where it appears to-- with a severe Lettie standing in the doorway—Harry's fate would have been sealed in a memorably ironic fashion, while Lettie would have gone down as one of filmdom's most perverse creations.

For some reason, the movie's more obscure than I think it should be. Perhaps it's the rather daring theme or perhaps it's that dreadful Code imposed ending (I'm glad producer Harrison quit Universal because of the travestied ending to an otherwise fine film). Anyway, if I were casting Harry's part the cynical, self-assured Sanders would never occur to me. Nonetheless, he's excellent in a highly subdued role that I'm sure really challenged him as an actor. It's Sanders as I've never seen him before. Then too, I suspect it's no accident that the lovely- looking Rains and Fitzgerald resemble one another, adding another possible dimension to the incest angle.

All in all, the movie's an excellent psychological drama, well-acted, and exceptional for its time period, despite the unfortunate last few minutes.

I saw this movie last night at an Austin Film Society screening, with a very receptive audience. I'm sure someone else will write the in-depth, perceptive review, but I happen to like the shallow stuff:

Whether intended by the makers or not, this audience found some hilarious double entendres (e.g. George Sanders showing off his 9-inch telescope).

A scene with inappropriate dubbing of Mr. Sanders' singing voice brought groans. I would have liked to hear him sing. (Audrey Hepburn's real voice should have been used in 'My Fair Lady', too!)

The older sister of the main character looked so much like Jessica Fletcher that my husband suspected a relationship and we looked her up. The actress was Moyna MacGill, the mother of Angela Lansbury... it was fascinating to see the similarity in motions and gestures.

The family's cook was played by Sara Algood. One of her other roles was as the matron Morton in 'Roxie Hart', the forerunner to 'Chicago'.

There was something very charming about seeing George Sanders without the cynicism.

I strongly disagree with Norm Vogel's comments regarding Leonard Maltin's remark about "censorship" and the ending. Without giving the ending away, I can only say that because of the strict censorship code that existed in 1945, the ending HAD TO BE CHANGED to conform with the rules involving crime and punishment. Thus, the film is weakened in straying from the original ending that was used in the stage play on which this is based--and which had more impact.

George Sanders gives a quietly effective performance as the harried man torn between two sisters, one of whom has a neurotic stranglehold on his affections (Geraldine Fitzgerald). Interesting melodrama given taut direction by Robert Siodmak. Ella Raines is effective in a sympathetic role and Geraldine Fitzgerald is fascinating as a hypochondriac, whining sister who makes Harry's life miserable.

Again, Leonard Maltin was right--censorship had everything to do with the ending.

I think that when we think of George Sanders we tend to see him doing some dirty business. He's cheating his nephew Tyrone Power out of a noble title and estate (SON OF FURY), or he's leading a pack of Nazi agents in London to track down Walter Pidgeon and Joan Bennett (MANHUNT), or he kills poor Nelson Eddy in a hopeless sword duel (BITTERSWEET). But there was always something more in his characters (even his villains). Take his Oscar performance (Addison De Witt in ALL ABOUT EVE). Yes, he puts his powers to the benefit of Eve Harrington, with an eye to her being his permanent partner (I don't think marriage is necessary - he doesn't look like he'd like a family, or domestic arrangement). But if you follow Joseph Mankiewicz's dialogue carefully, Addison is more complex and acceptable than Eve. He is in her corner because as a theatre critic he realizes that she is talented, and can bring back a youthful vigor to the parts that Margo Channing is constantly playing. Look at the scene where he tells Margo and Karen what a wonder Eve's performance is when she reads for the understudy position. It's not just sexual allure, but he really likes her talent. Moreover, Addison is a realist about himself and theatre people in general. He admits he has limitations (he's not a people person), but he does love good art. Actually, in some respects he is a better person than he admits. Karen goes to speak to him (we are told by Addison in his famous scene with Eve in the Hartford hotel) to find out what he knows about her husband and Eve. While he makes a snide comment about Karen telling more than learning, it's obvious Karen does consider Addison a friend - even an ally. And actually, by putting Eve into her place finally (Addison appears to be the only one with brains who could) he does save Karen's marriage as well.

It comes as a pleasant surprise to movie goers that Sanders could (given his talent and a good script) appear as a nice guy. He does so in this film. Uncle Harry is a decent man who lives with two sisters, and who keeps the family household going. The younger of the sisters, played by Geraldine Fitzgerald, is too attached to him - and for a 1940s film the clutching of Ms Fitzgerald spells out incest more than was usual (interesting to think that this 1945 film comes only two years after Hitchcock's SHADOW OF A DOUBT, where "Uncle" and "Niece" Charlie are very close - until Theresa Wright begins to wonder how Joseph Cotton makes his living). The arrival of Ella Raines as a love rival sparks all out warfare from Fitzgerald, with Sanders befuddled about which way to turn. Raines seems to leave town, and Fitzgerald seems victorious and Sanders is morose when he finds a bottle of poison in the house, and begins to reconsider his options.

It is hard to see now what ending could have been tacked on to the film to make it satisfactory to everyone in the audience. The moral code of the 1940s made it imperative that if a villain kills someone, no matter how lively, likeable, or sympathetic the villain was he or she had to pay. Fitzgerald could only pay if she were defeated by Raines. If Sanders died that would not have defeated Fitzgerald. If Sanders lived in despair after Fitzgerald's death that would not help either. I think the film's "trick" ending here is as good as it could be. But that is only my opinion.