Director: William Wyler
Writers: Ruth Goetz, Augustus Goetz, Henry James
Photography: Leo Tover
Music: Aaron Copland
Editor: William Hornbeck
Cast: Olivia de Havilland, Ralph Richardson, Montgomery Clift, Miriam Hopkins, Vanessa Brown, Mona Freeman, Ray Collins
The short novel Washington Square by Henry James remains one of my favorites by him, even if James later sniffed at it himself, calling it “poorish.” What a loon! I suspect his problem may have been that the story depends very much on moral wrongs and attendant high emotions, much like the overheated revenge story. Certainly that is the source of the overwhelming and powerful final scenes of the movie version. Washington Square was adapted (with alterations) for a Broadway production in 1947 that cast Basil Rathbone as the smug controlling father and Wendy Hiller as “the girl” (as James describes her). Robert Osborne strolls into a DVD introduction to share some anecdotes about Olivia de Havilland and director William Wyler seeing the stage show and deciding to make a movie of it.
And what a movie! I’ve seen it several times and it only gets better, one of those silvery black-and-white midcentury Hollywood shows that make you glad you love the movies. Note that we are already a couple of removes from James now. The husband-and-wife team of Augustus and Ruth Goetz adapted his tale for the stage and then, with Wyler, for the movies. So no, it does not have the delicate shadings that James prized so highly (and may have found missing in Washington Square). It is instead a blunt and harrowing tale of all love gone between a domineering father who has lost the plot, his timid daughter, and a fortune-hunting cad. These three performances—Ralph Richardson as Dr. Austin Sloper, a wealthy and discriminating surgeon, Olivia de Havilland as his daughter Catherine, and Montgomery Clift as hound dog Morris Townsend—have a lot to do with it.
The short novel Washington Square by Henry James remains one of my favorites by him, even if James later sniffed at it himself, calling it “poorish.” What a loon! I suspect his problem may have been that the story depends very much on moral wrongs and attendant high emotions, much like the overheated revenge story. Certainly that is the source of the overwhelming and powerful final scenes of the movie version. Washington Square was adapted (with alterations) for a Broadway production in 1947 that cast Basil Rathbone as the smug controlling father and Wendy Hiller as “the girl” (as James describes her). Robert Osborne strolls into a DVD introduction to share some anecdotes about Olivia de Havilland and director William Wyler seeing the stage show and deciding to make a movie of it.
And what a movie! I’ve seen it several times and it only gets better, one of those silvery black-and-white midcentury Hollywood shows that make you glad you love the movies. Note that we are already a couple of removes from James now. The husband-and-wife team of Augustus and Ruth Goetz adapted his tale for the stage and then, with Wyler, for the movies. So no, it does not have the delicate shadings that James prized so highly (and may have found missing in Washington Square). It is instead a blunt and harrowing tale of all love gone between a domineering father who has lost the plot, his timid daughter, and a fortune-hunting cad. These three performances—Ralph Richardson as Dr. Austin Sloper, a wealthy and discriminating surgeon, Olivia de Havilland as his daughter Catherine, and Montgomery Clift as hound dog Morris Townsend—have a lot to do with it.
A friend clued me that a recent piece by culture critic Greil Marcus brought up The Heiress in connection with Martin Scorsese’s latest, Killers of the Flower Moon. Marcus and a correspondent, James Stacho, were discussing how The Heiress is the source of a specific scene in Flower Moon. Stacho makes the key point: “Scorsese's version of the Old West has nothing on author Henry James’s drawing room Hell.” To which I can only add, the Goetzes and Wyler have something to do with it as well, along with Richardson, de Havilland, and Clift.
Set in 1840s New York City, the picture is all sumptuous interiors and genteel high living. Dr. Sloper is at his fatuous middle-aged ease in his mansion across the street from Washington Square. He is a widow. He overvalues the qualities of his dead wife as much as he undervalues those of his daughter. Richardson is icy-cold and exacting. De Havilland plays Catherine as clumsy, timid, and naïve, in her mid-20s at least but just a day or two past believing in Santa Claus. De Havilland is perfect, down to the smallest gestures. Dr. Sloper at best has pity for her lack of social graces, forever comparing her unfavorably with her mother. Really his feelings are closer to contempt or something worse.
Into this fragile attachment comes bounding Morris Townsend, who quickly sizes up and seizes the opportunity to pursue Catherine aggressively. He boldly calls on her at home, sits at the piano, plays her a romantic song in French. Comically, he can barely play the piano. But Catherine doesn’t notice or care because he has set her back, put her all in a tizzy, with his hot pursuit. Another good player here is Miriam Hopkins, beaming in from the early 1930s, aged but durable. She plays Dr. Sloper’s widowed and somewhat simple-minded sister Lavinia (whole lotta widowin’ goin’ on here), who conspires with Catherine in Townsend’s favor before she realizes Dr. Sloper is having none of it. Lavinia is the force of gravity that holds this story together, and the oil that makes these characters work together.
Of course Townsend is a rake and bad news, a grasping fortune-hunter as Dr. Sloper quickly surmises. It’s still early in Montgomery Clift’s career but he is virtually perfect. We see him manipulating Catherine as well as Dr. Sloper, and Lavinia is the first he wins to his side. He’s handsome and debonair and he has an answer for everything. Much like Lavinia, we find ourselves hoping that he’s not too bad, feeling sorry for Catherine, who deserves better but does not seem to know that herself. She learns. Everything Dr. Sloper finds out about Townsend rings true and only makes Townsend look worse. But his treatment of his own daughter is measurably worse, though he doesn’t have the capacity to see that himself.
All these elements move toward their inevitable conclusions as the pieces fall and things only get worse for all of them. The ending, perhaps a little rushed after seeing it a few times, is nonetheless titanic and iconic. The Heiress is one of those movies that hurtles to its end, finishing on perhaps its highest point. You may need a few moments to compose yourself as “The End” comes up on the screen. The Heiress doesn’t make you cry. It stuns you.
Set in 1840s New York City, the picture is all sumptuous interiors and genteel high living. Dr. Sloper is at his fatuous middle-aged ease in his mansion across the street from Washington Square. He is a widow. He overvalues the qualities of his dead wife as much as he undervalues those of his daughter. Richardson is icy-cold and exacting. De Havilland plays Catherine as clumsy, timid, and naïve, in her mid-20s at least but just a day or two past believing in Santa Claus. De Havilland is perfect, down to the smallest gestures. Dr. Sloper at best has pity for her lack of social graces, forever comparing her unfavorably with her mother. Really his feelings are closer to contempt or something worse.
Into this fragile attachment comes bounding Morris Townsend, who quickly sizes up and seizes the opportunity to pursue Catherine aggressively. He boldly calls on her at home, sits at the piano, plays her a romantic song in French. Comically, he can barely play the piano. But Catherine doesn’t notice or care because he has set her back, put her all in a tizzy, with his hot pursuit. Another good player here is Miriam Hopkins, beaming in from the early 1930s, aged but durable. She plays Dr. Sloper’s widowed and somewhat simple-minded sister Lavinia (whole lotta widowin’ goin’ on here), who conspires with Catherine in Townsend’s favor before she realizes Dr. Sloper is having none of it. Lavinia is the force of gravity that holds this story together, and the oil that makes these characters work together.
Of course Townsend is a rake and bad news, a grasping fortune-hunter as Dr. Sloper quickly surmises. It’s still early in Montgomery Clift’s career but he is virtually perfect. We see him manipulating Catherine as well as Dr. Sloper, and Lavinia is the first he wins to his side. He’s handsome and debonair and he has an answer for everything. Much like Lavinia, we find ourselves hoping that he’s not too bad, feeling sorry for Catherine, who deserves better but does not seem to know that herself. She learns. Everything Dr. Sloper finds out about Townsend rings true and only makes Townsend look worse. But his treatment of his own daughter is measurably worse, though he doesn’t have the capacity to see that himself.
All these elements move toward their inevitable conclusions as the pieces fall and things only get worse for all of them. The ending, perhaps a little rushed after seeing it a few times, is nonetheless titanic and iconic. The Heiress is one of those movies that hurtles to its end, finishing on perhaps its highest point. You may need a few moments to compose yourself as “The End” comes up on the screen. The Heiress doesn’t make you cry. It stuns you.
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