The Lady from Shanghai 1948

'The Lady from Shanghai's' visuals make this Orson Welles film noir memorable, especially those of Rita Hayworth.

I’d never gone out of my way to see 1948’s The Lady from Shanghai, though I admire Orson Welles’ storytelling style, and adore Rita Hayworth’s electric magnetism. Perhaps reading about the film’s original flop reputation, with Rita criticized as out of her dramatic depth, made me pass this Lady over for decades. The Lady from Shanghai’s reputation has risen over the decades, to the status it enjoys today. Long overdue, I watched Welles’ film noir and was surprised in unexpected ways.

Orson Welles in a scene that shows his talent for striking visual compositions.

*Beware, spoilers ahead. The Lady from Shanghai is certainly a mixed bag of cinematic treats. What’s most delectable is the movie’s visual style. Orson Welles takes an already familiar genre and puts his original spin on this film noir spider web. Lady feels like a gorgeous nightmare, filled with huge, sweaty close-ups, off-putting camera angles, and the bizarre juxtaposition of visuals, situations, and dialogue. The villains of this film noir are deliciously over-the-top, and there’s some choice campy dialogue for them to chew on.

On the half-baked side is Welles’ intrusive Irish accent and Orson trying to pigeon-hole his already larger-than-life persona and puffy physique into the standard film noir anti-hero. Also overstuffed is the convoluted story that literally has to be explained by Welles to baffled viewers. Still, The Lady from Shanghai, flaws and all, is spellbindingly watchable.

That Orson Welles eye: The sailor and the siren tryst at an aquarium, not some ordinary cocktail lounge!

The Lady from Shanghai is a precursor to Welles’ decade later A Touch of Evil. And both films feel like a later inspiration for David Lynch’s directorial eye. Visually, the movie is a feast of the eye: the ominous aquarium scene, the Chinese opera, and especially, the funhouse and house of mirrors finale, are all memorable. The languorous scenes on the yacht and down Mexico way are sensual, yet with an undercurrent of dread and ennui. However, the courtroom scene is downright silly, complete with a lively Greek chorus and the villainous lawyer who cross-examines himself!

An Orson Welles action scene means tipping over a bookcase on his opponent...how intellectual!

Orson Welles' strengths were strongest as a director. I'm always struck by how phony Orson’s film acting could be, full of theatrical accents, wigs, costumes, and wild over-acting. I know that Welles was capable of subtle performing, such as his classic role as Harry Lime in The Third Man. Here, as sailor Michael O’ Hara, his Irish accent inspires laughter, with no relief, from his constant film noir narration. Welles’ brogue is right up there with his unintelligible drawl for The Long, Hot Summer or his Hungarian hamming in The VIPs. Also eyebrow-raising is how often the other characters refer to Orson’s Michael as “big and strong.” I was surprised to read that Welles was over six feet tall, because Orson looks short and fat, and his billowy suits don’t help. The action scenes all involve Welles’ hero, and look cartoonish. The final fight, with Welles tearing apart a judge’s chambers to get away from a burly guard, is downright absurd.

Everett Sloane is the abrasive, shyster lawyer married to a sultry young woman who disobeys smoking signs.

Legend has it Orson turned in a 155 minute version of The Lady from Shanghai to Columbia Studios. The final version is just under 90 minutes, which some film folks decry as too bare bones. Well, Laura, perhaps the best film noir ever, clocks in at about the same running time. And Laura’s production was nearly as fraught as Lady. Frankly, the insanely twisted story is Lady’s least interesting aspect, so I can't imagine what another hour would have added. Fun as it would be to see a longer version of the climactic funhouse scene, or the deleted scenes, it’s also not essential to the final film.

Who's really captain of this ship? Rita's yachting ensemble would make RuPaul green with envy!

Much like The Big Sleep, it's the atmosphere that keeps viewers enthralled in The Lady from Shanghai. It doesn't have the sly repartee of Sleep, but Lady has some bizarrely memorable lines. And some seem so archly campy that you wonder if this movie is supposed to be a black comedy version of a film noir.

Glenn Anders in one of his many ominous but oddly hilarious uber close-ups, as Grisby.

Glenn Anders is fascinating as George Grisby, the villain's drunken partner. His creepy character and delivery of some of the film’s most loony lines are really out there. Lady also features some of the most uncomfortable close-ups ever on film, of Anders’ Grisby, especially as he is tries to intimidate Welles’ sailor stud. Everett Sloane has one of best roles as Bannister, the shady lawyer, who is memorably sinister, yet also pathetic. The shootout showdown with his seductive young wife in the house of mirrors is riveting, but also oddly touching. And one could have a drinking contest over who brays their character’s form of addressing Welles’ sailor or Rita’s siren more: George’s ‘fella’ or Bannister’s ‘lover!’

One of the most brilliant finales in movie history: the fun house mirrors sequence from 'The Lady from Shanghai.'

Rita Hayworth as the seemingly saddest femme fatale in the world.

I had no doubt that Rita Hayworth would fulfill the female aspects of her femme fatale just fine. However, I was surprised by Rita’s striking performance as Elsa Bannister. Filmed on the heels of her signature role as Gilda, Hayworth is again the mystery woman tied to an older, ominous man, and a younger man drawn into their orbit. Unlike defiant Gilda, Hayworth's Elsa seems incredibly sad and defeated. Elsa seems like the wounded women Rita played after her return to Hollywood in the '50s, after her disastrous marriage to Prince Aly Khan. That steamy sequence on the yacht, with Rita lounging in a swimsuit, driving all the men wild, reminded me of Ava Gardner’s scene later in The Barefoot Contessa, a film loosely based on the life of Hayworth.

Bang, bang, my hubby shot me down: Rita rocks the stone cold villainy as Elsa Bannister.

To then see Rita revealed as the stone cold, stone-faced villainess at the finale is a jolt. Hayworth’ performance made me wonder if her acting was that good, or did Orson change the story as he went along—as he was known to do. Either way, Rita is riveting, going from melancholy and mysterious to murderous. The finale, with Rita crawling across the floor, screaming, ‘I don't want to die!’ as Orson walks out the funhouse door, is a stark departure from most '40s movies, even for film noir.

Nobody’s particularly likeable here, typical of film noir, but Orson Welles really pushes the envelope here. Despite the conniving characters and the convoluted plotting, there’s much to admire about this stylish Lady from Shanghai.

Elsa and Michael soon bid farewell in 'The Lady from Shanghai.' Before the film's release, so did Rita and Orson.

The Enchanted Cottage 1945

Dorothy McGuire and Robert Young 'feel pretty' when they're in 'The Enchanted Cottage.' 

One way to look at 1945’s The Enchanted Cottage is pure Hollywood golden era fantasy.  Another way—beauty is literally in the eye of the beholder—is that the film’s message is timeless.

The British government commissioned playwright Sir Arthur Wing Pinero to write The Enchanted Cottage, to uplift WWI’s returning soldiers, after many men returned home physically and emotionally shattered. First a play, then a silent movie, The Enchanted Cottage was remade two decades later for WWII audiences, with Dorothy McGuire and Robert Young. 

Dorothy McGuire as lonely Laura Pennington looks on at the cottage's latest lovebirds, Beatrice and Oliver.

Oliver Bradford brings his lovely fiancée, Beatrice, to a cottage where honeymooners once nested, on the New England coast. The tradition was broken 25 years earlier when the last groom died tragically; the bride is now the cottage’s taciturn owner/housekeeper, Mrs. Minnett. The current couple's plans are put on hold when Oliver is sent off to war after the Pearl Harbor attack. Tragedy strikes when he is injured and left disfigured. His lovely bride-to-be bails and Oliver later arrives alone at the cottage.

Mildred Natwick and Dorothy McGuire as the lonely housekeeper and maid, keepers of the cottage.

The soldier meets the housekeeper's maid, Laura Pennington, a girl with a homely face and the heart of a romantic. They bond and Oliver proposes. Sadly, Laura is more in love than Oliver; for him, it's a marriage of convenience. Yet, on their honeymoon, he sees past his self-pity and realizes how loving Laura is. Miraculously, they begin to appear physically beautiful to each other. Laura attributes this to the enchanted cottage. Hedging their bets, they keep to themselves, not wanting to jinx their good fortune. Finally, the newlyweds decide to face his parents. Their sympathetic pianist pal, Major Hillgrove, who is blind, tries to warn the visiting family. However, Oliver's childish mother and boorish stepfather react badly, breaking the couple's romantic spell. Oliver and Laura are crushed. The housekeeper passionately tells them that their love for each other is what makes them beautiful, not the cottage. They realize that she is right, and the newlyweds renew their bond.

Robert Young & Dorothy McGuire are Oliver and Laura, who see each other's inner beauty.

Cottage hosts a small but stellar cast: Robert Young, who found later renewed fame on TV in Father Knows Best and Marcus Welby, was an intelligent leading man whose unmannered work looks better to modern audiences’ eyes. Young plays charmingly cheerful and later bitter and disillusioned equally well. Interestingly, this was Robert Young's favorite film, for its romantic message, and later told Leonard Maltin that he didn't want filming to end.

Herbert Marshall is the blind pianist who befriends the reclusive couple.

Herbert Marshall, with that mellifluous voice, is the perfect storyteller here and as usual, plays with authority. Though blind, his character has more of a clue than the others. It’s ironic that Herbert Marshall himself was an English WWI veteran who lost a leg in service.

Spring Byington is a scene stealer as the shallow, clueless chatterbox mother. Byington gives Billie Burke a run for her money in the flighty department here. Hillary Brooke manages to remain sympathetic as Beatrice, the beauty who leaves the soldier after his injuries leave him scarred.

Mildred Natwick is a standout as the heartbroken housekeeper.

Mildred Natwick deserved a best supporting actress Oscar nomination for her role as the brusque housekeeper with a broken heart. Natwick’s big scene, when Mrs. Minnett tells the new couple the true secret of the cottage, is moving and beautifully performed.

Dorothy McGuire gives a soulful performance as the homely maid with a beautiful heart.

However, the jewel in the crown is Dorothy McGuire. A popular star in her day, Dorothy should have been even bigger. Amazingly, McGuire did not receive an Oscar nomination for her soulful performance as lovelorn Laura, nor for her tough tenement mother Katie Dolan, in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn—both released in 1945. Perhaps that’s because McGuire was under contract to producer David Selznick, and not to RKO or Fox respectively, as all studios encouraged their blocs of voters to support their own stars. Selznick star Jennifer Jones had recently snagged an Oscar at Fox for The Song of Bernadette—but she was his protégée and future wife. While 1945 was Joan Crawford’s year for Mildred Pierce, a number of the other nominees were Hollywood’s perennial pet nominees, and Dorothy should have made the cut. As Cottage’s Laura Pennington, McGuire is as soft and gentle as she was tough and hurting as Tree’s Katie Nolan. The scene at the canteen, when no soldier will ask the homely housekeeper to dance, is a reverse-Cinderella moment where she doesn’t become the belle of the ball, and is a classic tearjerker moment. McGuire reminds me of Eva Marie Saint—an appealing, classy, smart leading lady who was perhaps too “normal” to be a larger than life movie diva.

The dreamy photography of 'The Enchanted Cottage' softens Robert Young's & Dorothy McGuire's harsh looks.

My one quibble: From today’s viewpoint, Laura is hardly hideous, and Oliver's scars and limp arm aren’t very horrifying. But for a '40s film, when beauty and perfection were everything, McGuire and Young gamely present themselves as imperfect. McGuire's pain at being rejected is palpable, and Young's self-pity at no longer being perfect and carefree is realistic.

What makes The Enchanted Cottage work is the taste level of everyone involved. Director John Cromwell was always terrific with actors. He was also a strong storyteller and very adult in the handling of material. Of Human Bondage, In Name Only, and Caged come to mind, where he shows strong emotions without going over the top.

'The Enchanted Cottage' is both haunting and a honeymooners' haven!

The Enchanted Cottage’s score and tone poem for Robert and Laura was created by Roy Webb, who received the film's sole Oscar nomination. The cinematography by Ted Tetzlaff is soft focus perfection. The score and photography together create a romantic atmosphere in which this dream-like story is played out. The nearly poetic screenplay was written by DeWitt Bodeen and Citizen Kane’s Herman Mankiewicz.

A remake of The Enchanted Cottage has been discussed several times. First, in the early '70s, there was talk of McGuire and Young playing the older roles of the housekeeper and pianist. That fell through when Dorothy, after a screening, declared the story a product of its time. I think in terms of the story—if not the sentiments—McGuire was right. In the mid-1970s, Cher wanted to get into movies, starting with a remake of Cottage, a project she pursued for years. She owned the rights twice! Other great stars like Streisand, Midler, and Spielberg have remade their favorites, A Star is Born, Stella (as in Dallas), and Always (A Guy Named Joe). Sometimes, it's better just to watch your film faves and not remake them in your image.

Dorothy McGuire's Cinderella gone wrong moment, when the canteen hostess gets her to go dance with the soldiers.

I noticed in research for The Enchanted Cottage some people feel that the message of the movie is that unattractive people need to hide away. I’m not sure why, because the film’s final scenes are clear. Once the couple's spell is broken by family members, the housekeeper tells them the truth, and declares that their love is what makes them beautiful to one another. Alone, Oliver and Laura talk it over, and reaffirm their love. They then write their names on the cottage's glass panes like past newlyweds. The film ends with the couple joining the pianist and his guests at a dinner party, ending their seclusion.

Eventually, Oliver and Laura's names join the other newlyweds' names on the cottage's window panes.

The other complaint is confusion over the film’s POV, when the couple shows off their “new” selves. It’s simple: the damaged soldier and homely girl appear the way to whoever is looking at them. When the husband is looking at his bride, she is beautiful. When the stepfather listens to their story, he sees their actual appearance. Once the couple realizes that there is no miracle, they see their actual themselves. When Oliver and Laura reaffirm their love, they're beautiful again. To nitpickers, I think they just confirm the film's message about people seeing what they want to see!

The real charm of The Enchanted Cottage is that it is one of the most genuinely romantic movies ever. For a studio era movie, it’s quite subtle. This film may be a product of its time, but it’s also timeless.

Here's my own little 'enchanted cottage' in Upper Michigan!