July 31, 2021
Blind Husbands –
US, 1919
It is said that upon its release, Erich von Stroheim’s Blind Husbands was an instant success and that the film announced to the world the arrival of a new and innovative director, one who was not afraid to tackle tough issues. Fast forward 102 years, and the question becomes how we should best evaluate the film. Should we, for example, try to look at it through the eyes of an audience member from 1919 and reflect upon what were then bold themes and creative camera techniques? Or do we look at the film through contemporary eyes and assess it based simply on its content? If, as Roger Ebert wrote, a film should feel brand new each time we see it, how should we assess a movie that we know was important historically, but which feels more than a little too dated in its understanding of the human psyche and is much less audacious than the films that proceeded it?
Blind Husbands
is the story of Dr. Robert Armstrong (Sam De Grasse) and his wife, Margaret
(Francelia Billington). They have been married long enough for the spark that
initially brought them together to need a lot of effort to remain burning, and
in the film’s prelude, we are asked whether an inattentive husband deserves as
much of the blame when his wife strays as the outside who came between them.
This notion is further enforced in the film’s opening scene. Set in a carriage,
the scene presents us two contrasting couples. The doctor and his wife are one;
the other is a younger couple whose hands and eyes are constantly locked and
whose lips curl into joyous smiles at just the sight of the other. The doctor
and his wife have long passed that stage. Well, one of them has anyway. The
doctor’s eyes are buried in a book, while his young wife appears lost and
lonely. Sure, her arm is in his, but that seems more indicative of her continued
efforts rather than his. A question she asks him is answered by someone else. Sitting
on in the opposite side of the coach is Lieutenant Eric Von Steuben (von
Stroheim), whose keen eyes notice the distance that exists between the doctor
and his wife. Perhaps more tellingly, they also notice the wife’s legs.
Just prior to this, we have witnessed something that
until the introduction of the lieutenant has not made a lot of sense. A rugged mountain
guide referred to as “Silent” Sepp (Gibson Gowland) has received a letter, the
contents of which have produced a look of indignation. For the rest of the
first half of the film, Sepp acts as a kind of restrained chaperone, always
around to observe the movements of the lieutenant and inferring that what looks
genuinely innocent – such as bringing Margaret a blanket - is, in actuality, anything
but. The character is interesting, and moments in which he throws mental darts
in the direction of the lieutenant let us know exactly how we should interpret
his acts of “kindness.” The problem is that we’ve known not to trust him since
he ogled Margaret in the coach.
Blind Husbands was
revolutionary in its time. Here was a movie that acknowledged that a woman
could be dissatisfied with her marriage and, even more shocking, that that displeasure
could lead her to consider infidelity. But does Margaret every really contemplate
that? Von Stroheim shows us Margaret reflecting on the changes that have taken
place since she got married, but we never actually see mental images in which her
husband has been replaced by the lieutenant. In fact, all we’ve seen from Margaret
is a desire to get away from the lieutenant, and the sentiments she expresses
when the lieutenant is in her room can hardly be said to have been expressed
under the most romantic of circumstances.
So, in other words, I never thought Margaret was truly
interested in the other man, and without that buy-in, you don’t really have any
suspense. Perhaps as a result, the film’s final act is to add jealousy and homicidal
impulses into the mix because apparently a lecherous flirt always has to be
capable of murder and a man drawn into the service of others must always end up
being a slave to his own foolish emotions. It would have been more realistic to
present the lieutenant as a coward and the doctor as a man whose passion has
been eclipsed by overconfidence. Alas. Exactly
where, I can hear studio executives saying, is the drama is that? And they’re
right. Audience in 1919 flocked to the film, and if box office results are any
indication of satisfaction, they liked what they saw.
Nonetheless, there’s no getting over the tameness of the
film. This is a film what wants you to imply interest on the part of the wife
when there are no real signs to infer it from. It wants to you to assume the
worst of the lieutenant, but refuses to show him doing anything that would help
explain why he is suddenly overrun by murderous impulses at the end, and it
wants you to believe that a man as decent as the doctor could be completely undone,
both emotionally and mentally, by the words of someone he only met a few days
earlier. I just didn’t buy it, but then again, I’m looking at the film from
contemporary eyes. (on DVD from Kino)
2 and a half stars
It is said that upon its release, Erich von Stroheim’s Blind Husbands was an instant success and that the film announced to the world the arrival of a new and innovative director, one who was not afraid to tackle tough issues. Fast forward 102 years, and the question becomes how we should best evaluate the film. Should we, for example, try to look at it through the eyes of an audience member from 1919 and reflect upon what were then bold themes and creative camera techniques? Or do we look at the film through contemporary eyes and assess it based simply on its content? If, as Roger Ebert wrote, a film should feel brand new each time we see it, how should we assess a movie that we know was important historically, but which feels more than a little too dated in its understanding of the human psyche and is much less audacious than the films that proceeded it?
