Die Lügnerin

You've got to hand it to dear Joan. At this stage of her career, she was willing to take on the most unflattering roles-- as long, I think, as they had a good change of wardrobe. Here, her Harriet Craig is the worst type of petty household tyrant, treating the help like unfeeling objects, and her husband (Corey) like a pet dog who must keep his place in her immaculate, precisely ordered mansion. In short, Harriet's a control freak.

It's hard to work up the least bit of sympathy for Harriet, so complete are her demands and obsessions. Clearly, the perfectly arranged household and dutiful husband represent a profound need in her. In the end, however, she confuses people with objects, at the same time, she confuses her pet vase with people. She also lies to herself and others at the drop of a hat in order to keep up the pretense that this obsession amounts to a happy home. It's like she's idealized some pages in a woman's magazine. In a weird sense, Harriet represents the wifely homebody of the 1950's gone berserk.

The production comes up with a number of nice touches that include the winsome KT Stevens as the sweet-tempered cousin Clare, (at times I wanted to reach through the screen to rescue her from Harriet's abusive clutches). But my money's really on the relatively unknown Viola Roache as the resentful maid Mrs. Harold. You can just feel her seething under some of Harriet's drill-sergeant demands. It's a nicely shaded, yet forceful performance. Anyway, it's also Wendell Corey in an uncharacteristic meek and mild role, though you might wonder why it takes his Walter Craig so long to catch on to Harriet's wiles. And of course, above all, there's the commanding Joan in a role patented for her fiercely formidable side, a gutsy role for her superstar status.