Strange Interlude

Trying to bring any Eugene O'Neill story to the screen is probably challenging; such is the case with "Strange Interlude" released by MGM in 1932. The actors thoughts are voice-overs, forcing the actors to pause on screen, sometimes with odd looks on their faces. This was probably pretty daring stuff by 1932 standards, with sound films still relatively new. Anyway, Norma Shearer is the lead character, Nina, and she brings out all of her theatrical mannerisms to the role. The story is basically of three men who are in love with Nina. The most compelling is a doctor, played nicely by Clark Gable. The story is complicated, to say the least, with Shearer marrying a man she later realizes she is not in love with, has a baby by Gable, but never tells her husband it is not his baby, and on and on. Pure soap opera for sure. Still, although the story is tough to swallow, I must say in particular I liked Clark Gable in this role. This is easily one of his best early performances. Norma Shearer is always good, even if the story is lacking. It is easy to see why this film flopped in 1932; it was likely too different (or perhaps too sophisticated) for audiences of that era.

Norma Shearer, still carrying torch for handsome Gordon, who died in WW1, marries another guy on the rebound, only to find that insanity runs in his family and she can't have children with him (but how will she ever be the mother of a son as handsome as dear, dead Gordon?), and she can't leave him because the shock would certainly send him over the edge into terminal wacked-out nuttiness. What to do? Gimmick here is that, along with the spoken dialogue, we share the inner thoughts of the characters -- presented as V.O. while the actors stand around mute, making faces as if somebody just broke wind on the set. Did anyone watch this with a straight face in 1932? Film goes on long enough that the sanity of the audience is tested much more severely than that of Shearer's husband, but was reportedly 5 or 6 hours in theatrical production. (Any cries of "Author! Author!" at that premiere came, no doubt, from a lynch mob.) It's an MGM, so of course the cast is first-rate, but is it their fault the act is a louse?

Eugene O'Neill's 4 and a half hour 1927 play brought to the screen in less than two hours. The play's combination of symbolic dialogue and gothic melodrama hasn't aged very well and the cast has some difficulty with it, especially Norma Shearer's Nina and Ralph Morgan's Marsden. Clark Gable as Ned Darrell comes off better but mostly because his is a gruff character not given to the philosophical musings of the others which better fits Gable's range. Once the plot settles down to the love quadrangle and the audience adjusts to the voiceover asides the film does become more enjoyable. The technique used here for the asides is another problem. On stage the action froze while the actors spoke their thoughts to the audience. Here they're done as voiceovers. You'd think that would work better but since the action no longer freezes the actors are forced to pause speaking and grimace at the camera to match the emotions in their thoughts. Plus it's difficult for any movie buff to watch this film and not think of Groucho Marx's hilarious parody version in "Animal Crackers." Added to these drawbacks are some cuts made for censorship reasons (Nina's promiscuity is soft-peddled and there is no mention of her getting the abortion that is more central in the play) and a wretched score (uncredited) that sounds like background music to a turn-of-the-century weepie. O'Neill called this film "a dreadful hash of attempted condensation and idiotic censorship," and although "Strange Interlude" is nowhere near as great as his later "The Iceman Cometh" and "Long Day's Journey Into Night," it certainly deserved better than this.

Horrid. Truly, stultifyingly, wretchedly horrid. The "idea" (of having the inner thoughts of the characters spoken aloud for the audience) is a stilted one which doesn't work on stage either. But in a movie, where the voice-overs are added later, it forces the actors to create responses to feelings they are not having, and also prompts the actors into providing rather charmless and ugly facial "clues" to their inner thoughts. It makes for a bad cinematic experience. The story itself - adapted by Eugene O'Neill from a Greek play)is the purest "eternal triangle" tripe, and tripe which never really explores any true psychological impetus, but only deals with the thinnest of human motivations, so being "let in on" these great human secrets is no grand privilege. Norma is at her worst here; stagy and melodramatic, and most of the cast comes off equally badly. An experiment gone horribly wrong. I felt - at times - like slapping any or all of the characters, just to awaken them from their banal self-pity and deep delusions. And the only fun to be gotten from it is to replace the "inner speech" with phrases of your own. Otherwise, a very bad film.

Eugene O'Neill's nine-act theatrical experiment created quite a stir in 1928, so it was inevitable that Hollywood would snap it up. The play's novelty was that the characters spoke their thoughts aloud in the manner of asides. On the stage, some of these speeches went on for quite some time while the other actors in the scene froze in place; on film they are reduced in length and pre-recorded so that while we hear the words we see the appropriate facial expressions on both the speaking and the listening actors. Nothing about these spoken thoughts expands our understanding of the thinkers in ways that good acting or deft direction couldn't have done just as well. The story, actually a saga, concerns a woman (Norma Shearer) unhinged by the death of her dashing aviator fiancé in the World War; she sets out to salvage her connection to this lost ideal man by marrying a lesser specimen, bearing his male child and naming it after the deceased. Along the way she learns from her mother-in-law (May Robson) that insanity runs in the husband's family. Convinced that this undesirable genetic trait will show up in her offspring, she aborts the child she is carrying and mates with a virile doctor friend (Clark Gable, who else?) to produce a healthy son which she then passes off as the husband's. Hard to believe? You bet. But it worked fascinatingly on the page, and perhaps even on the stage, but not on screen where it becomes just a series of mostly attractive talking heads. It is dramatically effective only in spots. Shearer is by turns compelling and strained. Clark Gable handles the material well until he encounters some overwrought plot contrivances near the end whereupon he is further hobbled by unconvincing old age makeup.