Joan Crawford was made for movies. There's something so extreme, so garish about her face that it almost seems right when punishment is inflicted on her.
And what manners of misfortune visit her as Mildred Pierce! There's more misery packed into its 109 minutes than you'll find in a week's worth of Lifetime weepers.
Yes, this is the kind of movie where a character coughs three times and then two scenes later dies of pneumonia. Lots happens in Mildred Pierce, but it remains dramatically inert; most scenes consist of two characters talking about another.
Talk, talk, talk. The people in Mildred Pierce tell each other what they're going to do (or what they've just done) and make pronouncements about themselves at every opportunity. It's a wonder any of them can stand each other for five minutes, much less the years the story covers.
I understand that James M. Cain, who also gave us Double Indemnity and The Postman Always Rings Twice, considered his novel a departure from his usual fare. But this exposition-filled adaptation gussies up what's fundamentally a straightforward women's drama with seedy, sordid intrigue and a whodunit.
You can call Mildred Pierce a film noir, but that doesn't make it one. It's *shot* like noir, but in every other respect is a standard melodrama. Michael Curtiz, who just three years before had delivered all-time classics Casablanca and Yankee Doodle Dandy, no doubt made the movie he wanted to. It just doesn't stand the test of time. What heralded contemporary movies will play, 60 years from now, like this Mildred Pierce does?
Two other demerits for Mildred Pierce:
Its racist, comic-relief treatment of Butterfly McQueen- at one point, we're even supposed to believe that she doesn't know how to answer a telephone! The actress, well-known by 1945 for her performance in Gone With The Wind, goes uncredited; a slight at the time, Mildred Pierce is so now unintentionally funny that this omission seems almost merciful.
And the second black mark is Crawford's rep as Mommie Dearest. Since the movie hinges on the inherent awfulness of Mildred's daughter and yet can assign neither blame nor credit to Mildred's parenting, it's almost impossible for the knowing viewer not to invoke Ms. Crawford's alter ego. (No wire hangers here, though.)
And what manners of misfortune visit her as Mildred Pierce! There's more misery packed into its 109 minutes than you'll find in a week's worth of Lifetime weepers.
Yes, this is the kind of movie where a character coughs three times and then two scenes later dies of pneumonia. Lots happens in Mildred Pierce, but it remains dramatically inert; most scenes consist of two characters talking about another.
Talk, talk, talk. The people in Mildred Pierce tell each other what they're going to do (or what they've just done) and make pronouncements about themselves at every opportunity. It's a wonder any of them can stand each other for five minutes, much less the years the story covers.
I understand that James M. Cain, who also gave us Double Indemnity and The Postman Always Rings Twice, considered his novel a departure from his usual fare. But this exposition-filled adaptation gussies up what's fundamentally a straightforward women's drama with seedy, sordid intrigue and a whodunit.
You can call Mildred Pierce a film noir, but that doesn't make it one. It's *shot* like noir, but in every other respect is a standard melodrama. Michael Curtiz, who just three years before had delivered all-time classics Casablanca and Yankee Doodle Dandy, no doubt made the movie he wanted to. It just doesn't stand the test of time. What heralded contemporary movies will play, 60 years from now, like this Mildred Pierce does?
Two other demerits for Mildred Pierce:
Its racist, comic-relief treatment of Butterfly McQueen- at one point, we're even supposed to believe that she doesn't know how to answer a telephone! The actress, well-known by 1945 for her performance in Gone With The Wind, goes uncredited; a slight at the time, Mildred Pierce is so now unintentionally funny that this omission seems almost merciful.
And the second black mark is Crawford's rep as Mommie Dearest. Since the movie hinges on the inherent awfulness of Mildred's daughter and yet can assign neither blame nor credit to Mildred's parenting, it's almost impossible for the knowing viewer not to invoke Ms. Crawford's alter ego. (No wire hangers here, though.)