Stewart Hit His Stride in ‘Mr. Smith Goes to Washington’ 1939

James Stewart as Jefferson Smith, who's down but not out, in 1939's comedy-drama,
 "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington."

I never watched Mr. Smith Goes to Washington until 2025 for evolving reasons. First, I was not very political in my younger years, so the subject matter didn't interest me. Later, when I did become more invested in politics, I thought a Frank Capra movie on the workings of Washington, D.C. would be too sentimental and clichéd. Finally, after the last ten years of non-stop US political turmoil, I decided to seek comfort in Mr. Smith’s political journey.

I was taken aback watching Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. While there was sentiment in this cinema classic, it is heartfelt. What really surprised me was how strongly the political corruption was portrayed, and how powerful still is Mr. Smith's disillusionment with the system. The latter is especially so when he collapses on the senate floor, and only then is there a positive resolution. 

In Mr. Smith Goes to Washington’s last act, the naïve senator is railroaded by corrupt politicians, and it is great story telling. While some of the David and Goliath aspects of Smith and his young supporters versus the aging fat cats might be considered corny, there have been similar real life incidents in recent US election cycles that show dirty tricks haven't changed all that much: biased press inciting the masses, running the opposition literally off the road, and treating the opposition with aggressive strong arm tactics. 

James Stewart and Jean Arthur make a marvelous team in 1939's
"Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.

The political story of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington is surprisingly in-depth and adult. The scene where Washington insider Clarissa Saunders explains the cycle of creating a bill to Jefferson Smith is snappy and priceless. The opening, with a death of a politician, the first concern is who will replace him! Young Mr. Smith’s tour of the Washington monuments might make you feel downright patriotic. The scene where Smith is thrown under the bus in the Senate to deflect blame for corruption feels very current. And when Jefferson goes to lick his wounds at the Lincoln Memorial, with Saunders touched by Smith’s tears, it is genuinely affecting. So rare for an actor of this era to show his emotions, but that was one of James Stewart’s strengths as an actor. And of course, Stewart’s great monologue, where he filibusters to make his voice heard, and innocence believed. This set piece is very powerful, which we just witnessed the power of a filibuster in real life, recently.

James Stewart gives his heart and soul to the role of Jefferson Smith in 1939's
comedy-drama, "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington."

The entire cast of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington is terrific. In the title role as Jefferson Smith, this is the embodiment of James Stewart's screen persona. Director Frank Capra cast him because he immediately saw that Stewart’s small town genuineness was perfect for everyman Smith. Jimmy is authentic throughout, as his character is put through the wringer. Movie making in 1939 was considered the peak year in film. In any other year, Stewart would have won the Best Actor Oscar. He got a makeup award the next year for The Philadelphia Story. But hey, that guy who played Rhett Butler lost out in ’39, too!

Jean Arthur plays pragmatic yet spirited reporter Clarissa Saunders, who comes to
 believe in James Stewart's new senator, in 1939's "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington."

Jean Arthur plays the experienced, pragmatic reporter and performs in an understated style, rather than the quirky fusspots she later played. Jean’s nervous energy plays well against Stewart’s laid-back demeanor. Arthur’s Clarissa Saunders has a subtle character trajectory, going from cynical disbelief of innocent Smith to admiring his integrity, to falling in love with him. Jean plays each phase beautifully without a false note.

Frank Capra’s perennial favorites are here: This is Jean Arthur’s third time as a Capra leading lady; there’s Thomas Mitchell as Arthur’s fellow reporter; H.B. Warner as a politician; Edward Arnold, perfectly cast as charismatic but corrupt businessman named James Taylor; and Beulah Bondi’s first time out as Jimmy’s Ma. Stewart appeared in three Capra film, and like the later It’s a Wonderful Life, he's serenaded with Auld Langsyne. 

Beulah Bondi is once again Jimmy Stewart's loving Ma in 1939's comedy-drama,
"Mr. Smith Goes to Washington."

Capra always had marvelous ensemble casts in his films, this may be the best: Guy Kibbee as the pliable politician who surprises by picking Stewart’s Jefferson Smith as the next senator; Harry Carey, so wryly expressive as the president of the Senate; Eugene Pallette, very funny as Chick, who’s in charge of herding Smith; and best of all, Claude Rains as Senator Joseph Paine, who was best friends with Smith’s father, but is now conflicted between corruption and conscience. Rains gets to run the gamut in his juicy supporting role: subtle, grand, gentle, glib, charming, rotten—everything! My only criticism with Claude is that his hair was dyed a distractingly snow white. At almost 50, Rains was still 20 years older than Stewart, believable enough as a contemporary of Smith’s father. Finally, look for a very young Jack Carson as a reporter.

Whose idea was it to dye Claude Rains hair snow white at 50 for his role in
1939's comedy-drama, "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington?"

There was a fair amount of location shooting for the era in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, and the images are powerful. In particular, those of James Stewart gazing at Abraham Lincoln—two lanky icons! This entire sequence evokes some powerful feelings. The meticulous reproduction of the senate chamber is striking, a most impressive and convincing set. The script is filled with memorable lines, several worth repeating today! Sidney Buchman and Myles Connolly were Mr. Smith’s screenwriters.

Two icons gaze at each other in 1939's "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington."

I love this scene, where Jimmy Stewart looks on in awe at the Lincoln Memorial,
in 1939's "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington."

At just over two hours, Mr. Smith sags just a bit in the middle. The Jean Arthur and Thomas Mitchell quasi-romance could have been trimmed a bit. And that cutesy bit with Stewart’s Smith continually dropping his hat in front of Senator Paine’s glamorous daughter is a bit much.

Frank Capra, an Italian immigrant who hailed America, created a great movie with Mr. Smith, about how the fight for democracy is never-ending. While the homespun aspects of this story might put some viewers off, the bigger picture of Capra’s storytelling still resonates deeply. Even for those who call his work “Capra-corn” or naively populist, well, the man had his point of view. And Frank Capra expressed it skillfully in his work.

James Stewart with director Frank Capra at the Lincoln Memorial
for a scene in 1939's "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington."

The machinations of monopolies, big business buying politicians, and dissenters getting crushed, all seems very familiar and timely, sad to say. To get his message across, Capra wisely didn’t pin identifying labels on the crooked politicians and money men.

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington was promoted and hailed as Capra’s best work in 1939. For once, the Hollywood hyperbole was correct. This indeed was Frank’s last film that was both critically and commercially successful. He had more money makers later, but very few critical hits. One film that was underrated at the time later became his signature film, It’s a Wonderful Life.

"Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" was indeed director Frank Capra's greatest hit!

Here’s my look at Frank Capra’s American version of A Christmas Carol, It’s a Wonderful Life: https://ricksrealreel.blogspot.com/2016/12/its-wonderful-life-still-has-wonder-70.html

And here’s Jean Arthur, where this time she’s the idealistic politician, visiting war-torn Berlin, in Billy Wilder’s comedy-drama, A Foreign Affair: https://ricksrealreel.blogspot.com/2023/05/billy-wilders-adult-foreign-affair-1948.html

 

Jimmy Stewart was perfectly cast as the idealistic new senator, Jefferson Smith,
in 1939's Frank Capra classic comedy-drama, "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington."

Now, Voyager 1942

Bette Davis in her greatest sympathetic role, as Charlotte Vale, in 1942's 'Now, Voyager.'

Warner Brothers’ most famous slogan for their top star, Bette Davis, stuck with her: “Nobody’s as good as Bette when she’s bad!” However, Now, Voyager is proof that nobody’s as good as Bette when she’s “good,” as well.

Bette's critics claim that Davis only shines when playing showy villainesses. True, some of Bette’s very best roles were bad to the bone, like Of Human Bondage, Jezebel, The Letter, The Little Foxes, and Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?

Bette Davis as browbeaten and beetle-browed old maid Charlotte Vale.

Now, Voyager shows that Davis could be just as brilliant playing a sympathetic, complex role. Bette’s Charlotte Vale goes from a neurotic spinster to a stylish but insecure socialite to finally, a self-assured, independent woman. Davis takes Vale through an emotional minefield: a monster mother, a kind but married lover, and a rich but dull fiancée. And Davis’ character evolves every step of the way. Even after her “cure,” Charlotte is still uncertain, a voyager in uncharted waters. Had this been a MGM production, with Joan Crawford or Norma Shearer, Charlotte Vale would have been fine and dandy after her therapy and makeover!

Paul Henreid as Jerry meets Bette Davis' Charlotte Vale on an ocean cruise. Yes, their journey becomes romantic!

Though Now, Voyager’s plot is pure soap, the story still resonates with emotional truth and empathy. Bette Davis once wrote that she never received as much fan mail as she did for Now, Voyager, with people writing about their own tyrannical family members.

Now, Voyager is classic '40s cinema, yet certain attitudes are forward-thinking. Though some critics at the time complained that the finale reeked of soapy self-sacrifice, Charlotte’s decision to remain a single woman, instead of marrying for convenience, and enjoy what happiness she can, seems smart to me. Most significant is that Now, Voyager may be the first film to deal with psychiatry in a serious way.

Gladys Cooper is great as monstrous mother Mrs. Vale, to Bette's daughter.

At the core of Now, Voyager are two great performances, by Bette as the oppressed daughter Charlotte, and Gladys Cooper as the overbearing matriarch, Mrs. Vale. Davis, never afraid to look bad for a role, is an overweight, frumpy, beetle-browed old maid at the film’s beginning. Davis makes the metamorphosis from spinster Charlotte to stylish social butterfly, with the help of her great WB crew: Orry-Kelly’s brilliant costumes; Sol Polito’s beautiful cinematography; Perc Westmore’s expert makeup; and Maggie Donovan’s hairstyles.  

The other classic performance is by Gladys Cooper, as the monstrous mother, Mrs. Vale. Cooper was 54 at the time, but plays the aged Boston society woman with malice and occasional high-handed humor. I’m always riveted by Cooper’s Mrs. Vale, especially in the scenes where she browbeats poor Charlotte. Gladys Cooper gives a fully-dimensional performance, and is a great foil to Davis’ beleaguered heroine. No surprise then that Davis and Cooper were both Oscar-nominated.

Claude Rains, superb as always, as no-nonsense Doctor Jaquith.

However, the entire cast of Now, Voyager is terrific. Claude Rains as Doctor Jaquith is another one of his great star character roles. In an era of typecasting, Rains was so lucky to have reigned with the complex roles he got to play. His Doctor Jaquith is sympathetic but strong-minded, speaking his mind to the bully mother, while gently keeping the daughter on course. Paul Henreid earned his leading man stripes in Now, Voyager as Jerry, the married man saddled with a witch of a wife. Henreid has never been as warm and appealing as he is here—Paul and Bette make a memorably mature couple. I recall reading that Davis said she thought Charlotte would continue working with Doctor Jaquith, a lovely thought.

Ilka Chase and Bonita Granville are bright spots as always, as Vale family members who watch Charlotte's transformation with amazement.

Bette Davis with scene-stealer Mary Wickes as wickedly funny nurse, Dora.

A special shout out to Mary Wickes, who made her film debut in 1942, in six movies! The classic character comedienne plays Dora, the no-nonsense, sassy nurse who expertly deals with the cranky Mrs. Vale. Wickes' trademark humor took off from here, working all the way to her death in 1995, in Postcards from the Edge, Little Women, and the Sister Act movies. This is also one of three films she made with Davis—The Man Who Came to Dinner and June Bride, as well as Now, Voyager. Charlotte’s classic line to the crafty nurse, who runs interference: “Dora, I suspect you’re a treasure.”

And on a Michigan note, a nod to one-time Detroit TV 50 movie host, Bill Kennedy, who had a bit role as Hamilton Hunneker. He’s the polo player who escorts Davis' Charlotte off the cruise ship. Kennedy looks handsome in a Robert Taylor type of way, charming in his cameo role—certainly more appealing than wooden John Loder, who plays Bette’s prospective groom.

Now, Voyager is of the most romantic movies of the ‘40s, helped immeasurably by Max Steiner’s lovely score. The refrain became the hit song, ‘It Can’t Be Wrong,’ a wartime favorite. Steiner won an Oscar for his work here. Irving Rapper directs stylishly and Casey Robinson’s screenplay is filled with memorable lines. Now, Voyager is Warner Brothers’ studio era filmmaking cooking on all burners.

After the cinematic Cinderella makeover: Bette rarely appeared more beautiful on film.

The final scene of Now, Voyager is one of the most memorable in movies: Jerry lights two cigarettes, for both Charlotte and himself, while musing over their romantic dilemma. Charlotte replies, as the camera sweeps out the window, into the night sky: “Oh, Jerry, don’t let’s ask for the moon. We have the stars.”

No matter how many times I watch that scene, my heart always melts. Now, Voyager is a movie trip well worth taking.

The stars shine brightly in 'Now, Voyager.'

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Deception 1946

1946 'Deception' recap: Bette with gun & shoulderpads, conductor Claude killed, & Paul Henreid as a jealous cellist!

I often watched 1946’s Deception, a twisted triangle set to classical music, on the afternoon movies while growing up. This Warner Brothers melodrama seemed very grownup to a ‘70s high school kid.

After not seeing Deception for decades, I re-watched the sudsy drama recently, and managed to make it half way through, before giving up in exasperation.

Claude Rains steals 'Deception' as the catty conductor, Alexander Hollenius.

Deception has a dazzling cast—Bette Davis, Paul Henreid, and especially Claude Rains—tangling with one another in a jealous triangle that leads to murder. The acting is fine, but the trio is done in by a premise that is patently unbelievable.

Bette Davis is Christine Radcliffe, a struggling pianist who lost her lover, cellist Karel Novak (Paul Henreid), in Europe five years ago to a concentration camp. Relocated in post-war NYC, Christine rediscovers Karel after the war, when she sees his name in a concert review. Speaking of names, Christine tells Karel that she took Radcliffe as her “professional name.” I guess Christine Sarah Lawrence sounded too pretentious!

Bette Davis and Paul Henreid as musical lovers reunited in post-war NYC.

Christine’s first line is as declarative as only Davis can be: “I thought you were dead!” Equally subtle is when Karel takes her hand, and Christine holds both up: “No rings.” Reunited, they return to her apartment. On the way up the stairs, Christine tells Karel that she struggles to make ends meet as a pianist, by giving lessons. Unfortunately, once they walk through the door, her apartment is actually a luxurious loft. Hanging up his jacket, Karel notices several fur coats in the closet. Looking around the loft, the cellist sees lots of lovely paintings and sculptures. Christine soft pedals all this obvious luxury. However, Karel is not just a cellist, but a jealous cellist! He attempts to choke her to stop her barrage of non-stop lies. 

After apologies, Henreid’s Karel decides the best thing for them to do is marry as quickly as possible. Bette turns her big eyes away from Henreid, and pops them for the camera…uh-oh.

The deadly...dull triangle that is 'Decption.'

You see, Bette’s been living large due to a beau, egomaniacal maestro Alexander Hollenius. And the maestro is mad as hell about getting dumped by Christine, on her impromptu wedding day, practically. Despite Karel telling her that it tortures him when he feels she’s not telling the truth, and with numerous opportunities to do so, Christine refuses to fess up.

What transpires is a prolonged cat and mouse game: Can Christine keep piling on lies to pacify jealous and insecure Karel? Can she keep equally jealous and self-centered Hollenius from spilling the beans? Can Christine keep the cellist and the conductor from killing each other as they collaborate? About half way through, I decided I didn’t care anymore and ditched Deception.

The most fascinating part of 'Deception' is the loft, that Bette's pianist tries to tell Henreid is paid for by giving lessons!

I’m pretty good at suspending disbelief and not imposing today’s social mores onto old movie conventions and morality. Here’s the big problem I have with Deception: the premise makes ZERO sense. This was also the critics’ problem with Deception over 70 years ago. Why should Christine try to hide a lover from Karel? They weren’t married when the war separated them. She thought he was dead—for five years! Was she supposed to become a nun? First off, Christine’s living situation is suspect. Also, all the people that she invited to her and Karel’s wedding know…because they were her and Hollenius’ friends! What’s to keep any of them from spilling? Plus, the maestro crashes the couple’s reception and acts absurdly jealous. Finally, Hollenius threatens to tell Karel from the get-go.

Paul's Karel is constantly jealous; Bette's Christine endlessly lies!

Most importantly, Bette’s character has NOTHING to feel guilty about, even by 1940s standards. Still, many film write-ups I’ve read about Deception refer to Christine as the conductor’s mistress. According to good old Merriam-Webster, a mistress is a woman who is having extra-marital relations, usually with a married man. Neither character was married during their affair. Yet Davis’ Christine lies her head off, just to keep two hot-headed men appeased. 

Specifically, I gave up after Deception’s famous “dinner scene.” Claude Rains as Hollenius has a field day here. The conductor treats the couple to dine at a fancy French restaurant and proceeds in taking great delight in showing off his talents as a gourmand. The maestro’s game becomes so protracted that Karel becomes unglued—perhaps he was just “hangry.” Though devilishly performed by Rains, and with increased agitation by Davis and Henreid, the whole scene feels as forced as the film’s premise. There’s no story to go forward, so Deception is just all snarky cocktail party chat.

Joan loved to talk about Bette's B.O.! 'Deception' was Davis' first 'disappointment'for WB, and the beginning of her box office slide.

If you can get past the major plot obstacles—there’s fun to be had. The three leads, who all worked together in far better films, do well with the rather unappealing characters they’re playing. The dialogue is sharp—especially the digs by the catty conductor. The sets that depict upscale NYC life are marvelous, especially Bette’s loft with a skylight that covers the entire living room. The classical music and film’s score, by Erich Wolfgang Korngold, set the mood.

Bette's character tries everything to soothe Claude's maestro...even grovelling!

Claude Rains does a delicious turn as Alexander Hollenius: childlike, sexy, jealous, devilish, sarcastic, egotistical, spiteful, and funny. Despite an intense performance by Paul Henreid, his character frequently comes off as peevish. Even with fits of violent jealousy, he ultimately just stews. In the original play, the Henreid’s character rises to the occasion and kills Hollenius. Wait just one minute! Since this a Bette Davis movie, where nobody is as good as Bette when she’s bad, Davis gets to do the dirty deed. Even so, Christine is a thankless character and Davis can’t do much more than to work herself up in a dither of denial.

Irving Rapper, who always seemed good with actors, does what he can with his collaborators, and gives Deception a smart visual style. The screenplay moves heaven and earth to compensate with occasional sharp dialogue to make up for the lack of story. My favorite credit for Deception is Jack Daniels listed as dialogue director—indeed!

Bette Davis as Christine, with a Rita Hayworth pompadour!

Bette Davis often played older and in period pictures. But when Bette essayed modern roles, she kept her look simple. Here, for the only time in her career, Davis sported shoulder pads, a hugely popular but short-lived trend. In fact, in the climactic scene, Bette sports a white fur over her shoulders, and I thought of Carol Burnett’s “curtain dress” take-off on Scarlett O’Hara. And through most of the movie, Bette sports a WWII-era pompadour, with an uncharacteristically lush mane that Rita Hayworth would have envied.

Bette Davis prays that Ernest Haller's noir-style lighting hides all that's going on off-camera!

Perhaps Bette overcompensated because she wasn’t looking her best. Davis’ character is amusingly described as a music student when she met the maestro four years earlier—struggling and taking “rich, untalented students” to get by…and pushing 40! Pregnant and ill during Deception, plus her new marriage was to jealous, violent artist William Grant Sherry—life imitating art? Davis’ favorite cinematographer, Ernest Haller, did what he could. Note that in certain scenes, especially evening shots, Bette’s face is totally surrounded by shadow. Bette admitted later that she wasn’t at her best here. Perhaps driving Davis was that Joan Crawford was following up her Mildred Pierce comeback in a romantic melodrama with a classical music backdrop, Humoresque. Neither films were smash hits, but Joan’s came off better and also turned a better profit, since Bette ran up her film’s budget by her pregnancy, plus emotional and health issues.

Deception isn’t a dud, just an exercise in style—great style, for sure—but no substance. 

The happy newlyweds are taken out for dinner by the maestro, not realizing they're the main course!

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Mr. Skeffington 1944

Bette Davis' famed portrait as Fanny Skeffington, her society belle at age 20.

Bette Davis is definitely the belle of the ball in Mr. Skeffington, but Claude Rains in the title role is the heart of this 1944 film. Mr. Skeffington is remembered as one of Bette Davis’ big hits for Warner Brothers, but there were also telltale signs that Queen Bette’s rule at WB was beginning to wane.

Mr. Skeffington was one of those episodic bestsellers that Hollywood loved to turn into epic movies. The book was obliquely titled, because Mr. Skeffington never actually appears in the book, only recalled by his wife, Fanny Trellis Skeffington. Once Bette Davis got wind that WB optioned the novel and expressed her desire to play Fanny, I’m surprised the title wasn’t changed to MRS. Skeffington. 

Bette, nearly as painted up as the portrait, as Fanny at 20.

Never mind that Fanny was a beautiful belle of 20 at the book’s beginning—Davis was 36 and frankly, looked every year. While attractive, nobody ever considered Bette a great beauty, either. In fact, WB planned on borrowing MGM’s gorgeous Hedy Lamarr to play Fanny Skeffington. However, at early ‘40s WB, whatever Bette wanted, Bette got.

Another negating factor during Mr. Skeffington’s pre-production was that Bette Davis’ husband, businessman Arthur Farnsworth, collapsed on a L.A. sidewalk and died shortly after. Despite being extremely distraught, Davis insisted that the show must go on, with her. Amazingly, Bette came back to work a week later. 15 years later, when Elizabeth Taylor’s husband, Mike Todd, was killed in a plane crash, Taylor was back on the set of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof less than three weeks later. That’s how divas rolled back in Hollywood’s golden era!

Bette, in old-age makeup, putting out 
good vibes on 'The Mr. Skeffington' set.

Whereas Liz was vulnerable on Cat, Bette was venomous, and took out all her grief on the set of Mr. Skeffington. Davis herself admitted in her memoirs, The Lonely Life, that at that point, she was somebody “only a mother could love.” Between her age and Bette’s stressful life, Davis’ favorite makeup man and cinematographer, Perc Westmore and Ernest Haller, had their work cut out for them. First, these two long-time Davis collaborators had to make her look like the 20-ish toast of New York, circa 1914. Much has been made of the makeup Bette Davis wears when she plays 50-year-old Fanny. But Davis also looks heavily made up as the younger Fanny, especially in close-up. Davis once told a film writer, that on the set of Deception two years later, Bette cried when she saw Haller bring on the gauze covered lights for her. Well, Bette must have been butting in elsewhere on Mr. Skeffington, because Bette’s Fanny is swimming in a glowing soft haze that Barbara Walters would envy. That said, Davis was frank in her memoirs 15 years later, stating that she was no raving beauty, they used every trick in the book to convey the illusion, giving Bette the confidence to feel lovely as Fanny Skeffington. I agree, to a point. But buying Bette as the most beautiful woman in New York City is still a stretch, no matter how much makeup Perc painted on her and the gauzy haze that Haller employs.

Bette as Fanny, & Claude Rains, aptly named Job!

As Fanny Skeffington, Bette’s character is like Scarlett O’ Hara, but without brains: charming, vain, and shallow, but with no depth of character or survivor’s instinct. This must have been a difficult character to play, in terms of audience sympathy. Bette never worried about the audience adoring her, and like Vivien Leigh and later, Elizabeth Taylor, managed to create empathy for playing women dissatisfied with their men or lot in life.

Bette as flapper Fanny, & director Vincent Sherman.

Bette pulls out all the stops as Fanny, fluttering her long lashes and speaking in a high-pitched, girlish voice. It’s a trick Bette used play another flirty, younger character, in 1942’s In This Our Life. Later Davis used a similar tact, when she played another character that she was too old for, small-town sex bomb Rosa Moline in Beyond the Forest. Unfortunately, by mistake or design, Davis’ Fanny affects those mannerisms right up to her middle years.

What brings balance to Bette’s grand performance is the warm, wry performance by Claude Rains as the title character. Bette’s society belle is actually broke and marries the rich, Jewish Job Skeffington for his money. While Fanny is fond of him, she seeks fun elsewhere, with a succession of suitors—just like when she was single. Job goes gradually from indulgent to disappointed, and finally, fed up. Claude Rains was Bette’s favorite leading man, probably because he didn’t try to upstage her, but also because of his versatility. Here, as Job Skeffington, he is wounded by her hurtfulness, but not a wimp. Rains also worked well with Davis on Juarez, Deception, and especially, Now, Voyager. The Skeffingtons’ story spans three decades, starting just before World War l through the middle of WW ll.

Davis as Depression-era Fanny Skeffington.

Like many golden era movies, personal crises conveniently happen during the same time as historical moments. However, director Vincent Sherman keeps things moving at smooth clip and Mr. Skeffington never drags during its 2 ½ hour running time.

The script, by twins Julius and Philip Epstein, is clever and adult for its era. Mr. Skeffington manages to avoid the censorship trap that adulterous Fanny must pay for her sins. Near the end of the film, Fanny contracts diphtheria and loses her looks practically overnight. I guess this was considered punishment enough in during Hollywood’s glamour era!

Also noteworthy are costumes that Orry-Kelly, another Davis devotee, designed. They range from dramatically wow to drag queen wowza.

Backed by the studio system resources—lavish sets and costumes, a great cast, a skilled studio director and screenwriters—all help Mr. Skeffington richly recreate an era. Mr. Skeffington was a big success for Warner Bros., plus Bette Davis and Claude Rains rightly received Oscar nominations.

However, in retrospect, Mr. Skeffington shows the beginning of Bette’s decline. The film took forever to make, because of off-camera drama by Davis. It’s noteworthy that Bette never received another Academy Award nomination during her Warner years, especially for her subtle turn in The Corn is Green the next year. And it’s especially notable that the new gal at Warner Brothers, Joan Crawford, won the Oscar that year for Mildred Pierce. Don’t think that went unnoticed. Also, when Bette insisted on playing a young and beautiful character at 35, she may have prematurely planted the seed that Davis was swiftly becoming past her prime.

Fanny at 50, trying to hide the after-effects of illness.

Another huge debit was that both Jack Warner and director Vincent Sherman hated the old age makeup Bette insisted on as the withered Fanny. Since Bette’s character insists on trying to fool everybody by wearing heavy makeup to disguise illness, audiences are treated to Davis sporting gaudy glamour makeup on top of old age makeup. The look eerily predicts her look as Baby Jane Hudson. Also, Davis’ character loses most of her hair, so Bette sports a tightly curled wig. In short, Bette looks startling, especially surrounded by fellow cast members—even those in their old age makeup!

It’s a sign of how much power Davis wielded that tough studio head Warner deferred to her during this time. And while Sherman is a far more talented director than Hollywood historians give him credit for, he was no William Wyler. When Davis sported extreme makeup playing older in 1941’s The Little Foxes, Wyler and Davis came to such blows that they never worked together again. After Mr. Skeffington, Davis never worked with a strong director like Wyler again for the duration of her Warners’ contract.

Fanny at 40 looks like a young Baby Jane!

Bette insisted, saying her audience loved seeing her play roles that required “character” makeup. Hmmm, maybe… Still, nobody can accuse Bette of being afraid to go there, playing an unlikeable character, no matter how extreme. If the final result is somewhat indulgent, Bette Davis’ commitment to creating a full-bodied character and not just coasting on glamour is admirable. The fine supporting cast also balances out Davis’ diva performance.

For those Bette Davis critics who think she went too far, can you imagine if Hedy Lamarr had played Fanny Skeffington? Hedy was heavenly looking, but she seemed to mistake sedate for sedated. Lamarr was no actress, and I can’t even imagine her playing a 50ish ex-beauty.

Vivien Leigh, when 'Mr. Skeffington' was filmed.

Still, in my alternative casting universe, here’s my choice for the perfect Fanny Skeffington: Vivien Leigh. A great beauty and actress, playing a high-strung, vain vixen would have been right up Viv’s alley. Plus, Leigh was five years younger than Davis, and still gorgeous. In real life, Leigh and husband Laurence Olivier chose to tough it out in England during WW ll. Ironically, two years later, Vivien co-starred opposite Claude Rains in a British production of Caesar and Cleopatra. I can totally see Vivien as Fanny, coming down the top of those stairs, fending off suitors—and a brave enough actress to play her later, when Fanny’s looks have vanished. It was only six years later when Leigh played the ravaged Blanche DuBois in A Streetcar Named Desire—coincidentally, a role that Warners’ considered Bette for. Film history checks and balances have a way of working out, I guess.

Bill Kennedy, kissing Bette's hand, as one of Fanny's suitors.

P.S.—When I was a kid, I watched Bill Kennedy at the Movies on Detroit’s superstation, TV-50. Kennedy introduced me to all these great old movies and he was once an actor himself, at Warner Brothers. Bill appears in Mr. Skeffington as one of Fanny’s many beaus. Bill Kennedy looks very handsome in a Robert Taylor way, and every time Bill showed this or other movies that he appeared in, the TV camera guy would spotlight his scenes with a halo. Now, that’s lighting Bette Davis would envy!

Claude Rains, whose warm performance as Job Skeffington is the heart of 'Mr. Skeffington.'