Désir sous les ormes

I'm partial to any film in which Sophia Loren appears. And, I like the work of Eugene O'Neill, arguably America's finest playwright of the twentieth century.

So, it's a sad to admit that, although Burl Ives is superb as the irascible old father, and Sophia does her best – given that she'd only been part of the Hollywood scene for about a year – this rendition of the story of mad love is good, but not great.

The problem, in my opinion, is Tony Perkins: he's just not up to the task of playing opposite Sophia Loren, a more experienced performer (she'd already appeared in over thirty Italian movies before starring in Elms), and a lusty, fiery woman who just exudes sex appeal like it's the only thing to think about. In contrast, Perkins allows his distracted, tortured persona to intrude to the point of annoyance – for me; others might find him adequate to the role, however, as he first attempts to fob off the apparently unwelcome sexual innuendo of Loren, but then succumbs all too easily, I think, to her temptations.

Most of the story revolves around those three; the other main players, Pernell Roberts and Frank Overton as the two older step-brothers to Perkins, exit to California in the first act (and don't return until the third). Thereafter, the second act – the entrapment of Perkins in Loren's arms and their deepening romance about which the father knows naught – lays the groundwork for the inevitable tragedy to come. As the viewer, I found it interesting to speculate about the outcome as the third act started, especially after experiencing the excruciating suspense of an earlier Act II scene in the barn – a scene through which I actually stopped breathing, as I watched, fascinated...

But, what a third act it was from Burl Ives, as he danced and pranced around with much of the village folk, to celebrate the birth of his new son, provided by Loren, but fathered by...whom? Without a doubt, something's got to break, I thought.

As I continued to watch, I kept thinking: I've seen this before. But, this was my first viewing. Then it came to me: a story of two lovers, embroiled in dark, mad love and with mounting intent to murder has been done before – in 1867, Emile Zola wrote a book called Therese Raquin. In 1950, it was an American TV movie, followed in 1953 with a French version with Simone Signoret. I've read Zola's novel, but I can't vouch for the films. I could suggest, also, that The Postman Always Rings Twice (made many times, first in 1946) has a similar story and plot.

O'Neill's play, however, has an horrific twist – unlike any of the other stories. So, it's worth seeing for that alone. The bonus is watching Sophia Loren as a delectable temptress and Burl Ives as a pathological caricature of all that a good father should not be – a grand piece of acting by Ives, and more murderous than his performances in, say, Cat on a hot tin roof (1958) or The Big Country (1958). What a banner year for that great performer.

Being a stage play, the film version faithfully adheres to that format: small sets, obvious backdrops, deep shadows, very obvious multiple lighting – all that you'd expect, as if you were in a theater, front row center, and as it should be for all O'Neill's plays.

Get it out from your video store or library, see it and enjoy; but don't expect too much from Perkins.

Desire Under the Elms is one of those films that is a lethal combination: sordid and sluggish. It's not as though it would have been much better or less offensive if it went at a faster clip, but the funereal pacing only makes you recognize how hopeless it all is. The three leads try (and Burl Ives in particular gets well into the part), but at this point, the tale of a forbidden love affair and its consequences, once a much praised play by Eugene O'Neill, feels more like one of those horribly overheated and vulgar true crime stories that feature on TV as you race to move on to another channel. What can you really say when you can't stand any of the parties in this love (or is it lust) triangle? As Audrey Hepburn might have said in Breakfast at Tiffany's, they are all "superrats". What little there is that is salvageable to some degree is the remarkably crisp black-and-white cinematography and yet another fine musical score by Elmer Bernstein. Otherwise, a complete wash.

If you imagine yourself in a 1950s New York theatre surrounded by American anti-Communists wearing narrow ties and wanting to be cultured, you'll be able to connect with this wooden, would-be Greek tragedy. If not, don't go there, and get on board with TV's the Cartwrights, who seem to inhabit identical territory and period because they were performing almost simultaneously for an audience thousands of times bigger. It's worth watching for Antony Perkins, who is superbly mixed-up as an anti-authoritarian rebel determined to secure ownership of the family farm, but driven a bit strange by anxiety, paternal neglect and the early death of his mother. See him exit his lover's garden gate, pirouetting as he goes; or spinning in place before rising from his bed. It's so graceful you barely notice. He's like an 11 year-old, changing his mind every five minutes, madly self-conflicted as a result of his irresistible lust for the maid, sorry, his father's third wife. Sophia Loren is powerful in this picture, if you can follow her English. She really occupies her part and fills her space. The passion between her and Perkins would be almost believable, if it weren't expounded in this stagey setting, with neither Loren nor Perkins exposing any skin, which just adds to the sense of attending a school play. Actually, the basic material of Desire Under The Elms is purely adult, but somehow this production renders it about as sinful as Agatha Christie.

When "Desire Under the Elms" came out at the end of the 1950s, it was dismissed by critics who were more interested in parading their education and artistic credentials than in assessing the movie sensibly. In particular, they commented on how far the film fell short of the original stage play. Nearly fifty years later, a more balanced perspective is possible.

Regardless of how it compares with the theatrical original, "Desire Under The Elms" works successfully as a dramatic movie. There is real tension as the drama unfolds, and the audience feels a sense of horror when it realises what Anna (Sophia Loren) is going to do to prove her love. The resolution is genuinely tragic, and this is reinforced by the fact that the two lovers were unlikable people until love entered their lives and gave them humanity and consideration for others.

The acting is quite good all round, and presumably much of the credit goes to the director Delbert Mann. (Some of his other films during this period were also well-acted: "The Dark At The Top Of The Stairs"/"The Bachelor Party"). Sophia Loren is a real surprise. I have never worshipped at her throne, but she is excellent in this movie, playing a greedy, calculating woman who marries a much older man merely to have a comfortable home. At the beginning, her venality and disregard for other people make her highly unpleasant, and she is not particularly attractive physically either. As love gradually dominates her, she becomes physically very attractive - her fans, no doubt, will say she becomes beautiful - until the circumstances she has helped create imprison her. Then once again, her physical allure subsides and she becomes gaunt and drawn. Obviously this play with Sophia Loren's looks was a joint effort, and presumably the camera department, costume department and make-up department all deserve credit.

Daniel L. Fapp's Vista-Vision cinematography is crystal clear and a major asset. The film's only big failing is the blatant artificiality of the back drops. "Desire Under The Elms" was obviously made in a studio.

After a couple of studio films shot on location, Italian actress and sex symbol Sophia Loren finally made it onto Hollywood soil for this uneven, uncertain melodrama adapted from Eugene O'Neill's controversial play. A tyrannical New England farmer (Burl Ives), who apparently worked his past two wives to death, brings home a new wife to meet his sons--two of whom take off for California and the third (Anthony Perkins) who stays and eventually falls in love with the Mrs. The performers seem to be at a mismatch with this very strange material; though they try hard, the heavy prose and illogical situations would be enough to defeat anybody. The character motivations aren't always clear, not helped by the narrative which, at a crucial point, jumps ahead in time and nearly alienates the audience. Ives gives a full-throttle, blustery-old-windbag performance which infuses the scenario with a prickly tension (and the screenplay surprisingly never scores points against him), but glinty-eyed Loren is a bit out of her depth. Still, she survives the absurd final reel with her dignity intact, while the picture ends on such a dour note that the overall impression is one of supreme dissatisfaction. Daniel L. Fapp won an Oscar nomination for his handsome (if overlit) photography; Delbert Mann directed in an awkward and stagy fashion. **1/2 from ****