The chief flaw of Coquette is the generally poor quality of the sound which sometimes fades entirely, making it difficult to follow the plot which is propelled mostly by spoken exposition as opposed to purely cinematic techniques. The play on which it is based was a hit for Helen Hayes on Broadway but was sanitized and oversimplified for the screen (not at all unusual in those days). Dialogue and acting are florid and broad but nevertheless the story does manage to hold the attention. A doctor's daughter (Mary Pickford) outrages her tradition- bound father (John St. Polis) by falling in love with an uncultivated fellow from "the hills" (John Mack Brown). A fatal shooting results, but I won't give away the exact circumstances here.
Although she was in her mid-30's at the time of filming, Pickford is convincing, if somewhat mannered, as the maiden with one foot still in girlhood, displaying wide emotional range and a masterful command of her body, no surprise considering the physicality of her long silent film career. Her diminutive stature also works in her favor. When she sits in the maid's lap for consolation she really does look like the little girl she had played for so many years. Sadly, she is made to spend a great deal of time sobbing hysterically. (Vivien Leigh had to deal with the same requirement in Gone with the Wind ten years later.) Although not much of an actor, John Mack Brown has a kind of animal appeal, with a relatively deep, strong voice which registers clearly; one can understand why he became a popular player in talking films. Here, he seems to seesaw between menace and tenderness and you just have to give him the benefit of the doubt. Otherwise you cannot believe Pickford's feelings towards him. St. Polis has a stately presence and a sonorous, trained voice and seems the most comfortable of the supporting players in his role. The character of the black maid played by Louise Beavers departs from the norm; she moves torpidly and even talks back to the master's teenage son when he tries to rush her through her chores.
There is a lively scene at a country club featuring a jazz band and young revelers stomping to the hotsy-totsy musical numbers with wild abandon, suggesting that the later jitterbug and sixties dances did not come out of nowhere. The courtroom climax is hard to swallow did judges in the South or anywhere else ever allow witnesses to sit in the laps of defendants for long personal dialogues while on the stand?
