Watch on the Rhine (1943)

• Directed by Herman Shumlin.

• Screenplay by Dashiell Hammett, with additional scenes and dialogue by Lillian Hellman, adapted from Hellman’s own stage play (which debuted on Broadway on April 1, 1941 – i.e., eight months before the attack on Pearl Harbor and the official entrance of the United States into World War II – and ran for 378 performances, closing in February of 1942).

• Another credit worth mentioning from the top, since – before arriving at the corresponding screen, within the opening titles – I was like, ‘I bet this is…’ [“Music by Max Steiner” appears on the screen] ‘Yep.’

(Steiner, my friends…remains consistently, magnificently everywhere.)

• Introductory text:

“In the first week of April 1940 there were few men in the world who could have believed that, in less than three months, Denmark, Norway, Belgium, Holland and France would fall to German invaders.

But there were some men, ordinary men, not prophets, who knew this mighty tragedy was on the way. They had fought it from the beginning, and they understood it. We are most deeply in their debt.

This is the story of one of these men.”

• This screenplay so impressively – breathlessly, but palatably – lays out scads of background details in its first 20 minutes. The conversations which communicate all of this take place between (I think) 15 different people, in various arrangements, taking place in (debatably) 7 different settings (one of which is a moving train car, one of which is a moving automobile, and three of which are locations within the same house). Anyhow – the way in which all of this information is shared feels lively, efficient, natural, and un-boring, and – perhaps in part because it’s split up as it is – it does not feel overwhelming in the least. From the start, all of the primary characters feel interesting and fully lived-in – not like they just woke up this morning in present-day MovieWorld and only exist within the ‘Beginning now‘ confines of the narrative, as many film characters seem to.

• From this opening section of film, we learn:

Sara and Kurt Muller (Bette Davis and Paul Lukas, respectively) and their three children are journeying to Sara’s American family homestead near Washington, D.C. via Mexican border crossing and (long-ass) train ride; Sara has been away from home and overseas for the last 17 years. Kurt is (on paper) a German engineer, but in practice – as he states to an inquiring, fellow-expat train passenger – he “fight[s] against fascism – that is my trade,” and over the last decade-ish, he has been a resident of Switzerland, Czechoslovakia, Denmark, and France.

Sara’s mother is Fanny Farrelly (Lucile Watson), her brother is David Farrelly (Donald Woods) – and those two are joined in residence at the family estate by longtime housekeeper/Fanny-pal Anise (who, we are informed with delicious specificity, routinely opens/reads other people’s mail and snores at a disturbingly loud volume)(she’s played by Beulah Bondi) and a married couple consisting of Marthe (who is A) the daughter of a dear, forever friend of Fanny’s, and B) rumored to be engaged in a love affair with David) and Teck de Brancovis (a prickly, unknowable sort of fellow who is possibly-but-probably-not Romanian royalty and who – despite only having $85 in American Express Travelers Cheques to his name – continues to engage in high-stakes poker games at the German Embassy, much to the distress and/or disdain of purposely-kept-at-a-distance wifey Marthe). (Teck and Marthe are played by George Coulouris and Geraldine Fitzgerald.)

We are afforded a deeper view into the current state of the Marriage and Finances de Brancovis, courtesy this line of Marthe dialogue (as delivered to Teck over breakfast one morning): “I’ve always wanted to ask you, since you play on so many sides, why we don’t come out any better. I’ve always wanted to ask you how it happened. I’m tired, see – and I just want to sit down. Just sit down in a chair and stay.”

We are also graced by two pieces of dialogue which succinctly define the personality of our story’s matriarch/host, Fanny Farrelly:

“This is one of mama’s screaming days.” — David

“Don’t use any of your dainty, sleazy materials.” — Fanny, to a visiting furniture upholsterer.

• A great example of the adeptness and efficiency with which this film lays its character groundwork is the presence of a plaque that Fanny touches (with a telling fondness) on her way into an office building, while running errands in D.C. with neighbor-lady gossipist Mrs. Sewell (Mary Young). It reads:

“This plaque in memory of Joshua Farrelly, Associate Justice, U.S. Supreme Court | Distinguished American Jurist – 1860–1919.”

We promptly find out that this is the building in which afore-introduced son David currently works. “I don’t like that picture of your father; I’ve told you before,” says Fanny, from his office’s doorframe. “It’s not big enough. Get a bigger one. Goodness, my Joshua was handsome, wasn’t he?”

Fanny then turns and walks away down the hallway, onto a new pursuit. My God, this is a masterclass in the delivery of exposition! From this tiny bit of dialogue, one can immediately characterize the relationship of both Fanny and David, to/with the no-longer-present patriarch Joshua, as a positive one of enduring respect and admiration. Bam! One snap of the fingers, and a multi-layered family history has been fucking built.

• I love Lucile Watson in the scene in which David drives Fanny home, and she questions/warns him about the gossip centered on him and Marthe that is – at present – running rampant about town. “I only wanted to say, David,” she offers regarding Teck, to end the exchange, “that I have a feeling that he isn’t really a very good-natured man. Underneath the manners, and the calmness, I have feeling he isn’t good-natured, at all.”

(The screen fades ominously to black, only to re-open on the facade of the previously referenced German Embassy – clearly labeled as such, and adorned, quite prominently, with a swastika.

And that, my pals – is the power of great editing. (Nice work, Rudi Fehr.))

(As an aside, because you may not know his name – Fehr was (not insignificantly, please note the content of the above bullet point) born in Berlin, and was the editor of such films as KEY LARGO (1948), DIAL M FOR MURDER (1954), and PRIZZI’S HONOR (1985), for which he was nominated – and won! – an Academy Award.)

• This film also has engagingly dynamic (yet totally in-control) camerawork; the way the camera sticks with characters as they walk and move is really adeptly handled. (Cinematography credit(s): Merritt B. Gerstad and Hal Mohr – who, at the direction of an initially displeased Shumlin – replaced Gerstad at some point during the film‘s production.)

• The scene in which, upon the Mullers’ arrival at the Farrelly homestead, Sara and Kurt jointly – and with a comfortably alternating style of delivery – explain the focus of their lives for the last 17 years, is terrific. It is crafted with such layered, realistic delicacy, and follows exactly the sort of course you’d expect a careful – yet frank – conversation with family about difficult, complex subject matter to take. The evolution of it – guided by questions of Fanny’s and of David’s, which are answered by both Sara and Kurt, in a cooperative, yet occasionally corrective, way – feels plausibly, intricately true-to-life.

“It is bad for my people those years,” Kurt explains, “but always, I have hope. In the festival of August, 1931, more than a year before the Nazi storm – I find out that hope, by itself, is not enough.”

• Oooh, y’all – the shot of Sara standing in front of the two-pane, hinged mirror, admiring the white gown Anise has crafted for her! Reflected in one pane, we see Kurt walk in (and his dazzledly dear reaction), while in the other, we see Proud Anise. Then, both figures move, and their reflections cross the mirror panes as they do it. This is A++ camerawork, and I am thoroughly in love with it (!!!).

• Fucking Teck the Sneak. Not only does he unclandestinely break the lock on Kurt’s briefcase whilst attempting to spy-snoop – but he also puts the gun back in the wrong fucking pocket! No wonder none of these European diplomats want to claim him – he’s a fucking inept!

P.S. – I can think of another thing the spied initials M.F. might stand for, Teck. You Nazi-wannabe motherfucker.

P.P.S. – Subtlety is not my strong suit.

• The blocking within these scenes is so tightly, exquisitely executed, to beautiful result…though in more than one of these shots/scenes, I’ve found myself begging for Gregg Toland’s deep focus. It’s almost there, sometimes – but not quite – which I suppose, in the end, might speak more to Toland’s mastery, rather than to any deficiency present in the work of Mohr and/or Gerstad.

• Oh, by the way, this matters: the initials M.F. – present within Kurt’s briefcase – actually stand for Max Friedach, a rebel BFF of Kurt’s who – they all find out one tense, sad evening o’ confrontation and blackmailery – has just been (re?)captured by the Nazis.

• First off – Paul Lukas is fucking fantastic in the bit at the piano, after he finds out Teck the Dishonorable Sneak has been tampering with his briefcase; the intensity he succeeds in building as he recites the words to the different versions of the German song he’s playing – eventually translating them into English – is mesmerizing.

• Second off – Bette Davis’s tearfully fervent declarations about how successful she believes Kurt’s (now-impending, thanks to Friedach’s capture) return journey to Germany will be are spectacularly performed.

• Third off – the Steiner Score™ that backs the above sequence is perfectly suited for the moment, and does not get too emotionally dramatic, which – given what Davis is doing in the scene – might have amounted to total tonal overkill.

(Did you know…that Max Steiner did not receive an Oscar nomination for this score?

Don’t fret yet – as this fact becomes way less tragic when you realize/remember that he was instead being nominated for a tiny little baby of a film called – oh, that’s right – CASABLANCA.)

(Rather ludicriously, in my opinion – both of these scores would eventually wind up losing that year’s Oscar to Alfred Newman and his score for THE SONG OF BERNADETTE.)

(Have I ever seen THE SONG OF BERNADETTE?  Um, no. But Alfred Newman won nine Oscars over the course of his life, while Max Steiner only won three – so this would’ve evened the…score…a bit, which – again, just in my opinion – would’ve been dope.)

(But! I suppose I digress.)

• “We don’t like to remember, do we, that they came in on the shoulders of some of the most powerful men in the world. That makes us feel guilty, so…we prefer to believe that they are mysterious men from other planets. But they aren’t. They’re smart. And they’re sick. And they’re cruel.” — Sara, regarding the Nazis that “have done well for themselves” – “unfortunately.”

Woof, is Bette Davis’s line delivery perfect here.

• Fanny: “You are brave men.”

Kurt: “I do not tell you this story to prove that we are remarkable – but to prove that they are not.”

• Fanny: “But must it always be your hands?”

Kurt: “For each man, his own hands…he has to sleep with them.”

“My children are not the only children in the world, even to me.”

• Fuck, I love this dialogue from (recently arrived home) Marthe, as delivered by Geraldine Fitzgerald:

“I don’t know what this is all about, but I’m guessing, because I know Teck. I have nothing to do with any of it and I have nothing to do with Teck, anymore.”

The way she says his name with such articulated disdain is spectacular.

Further: “We will not leave here together, and we will not meet again.”

(This is the point at which an enamored, concerned David crosses the room, to attach himself to her side. “Not now,” says Marthe like a GODDAMN BADASS QUEEN.)

• “I haven’t often in my life felt what I feel now,” spits Fanny at Blackmailer Teck the Certified Evil. “Whatever you are – and however you became it – the picture of a man, selling other men’s lives.”

“It is very ugly, madam,” provides The Evil. “And I do not do it without some shame. And I must therefore sink my shame in large money.”

(A freeze frame of the group wideshot that follows this line shows just how talented an ensemble this is; all five actors present – Woods, Coulouris, Watson, Lukas, and Davis – are 100% locked into the roles they are playing, and it is a bonafide treat to watch.)

• Fanny and David are like, ‘Fuck you, you fucking smarm! You want money? We’ll fucking pay you money, if it means you’ll leave Braveling Kurt and his refugee funds alone!’

“My mother and brother feel shocked that you’re in their house. We have seen you in so many houses,” Sara states exhaustedly, once they have left the room.

So many houses, indeed.

• The concluding action (and speech by Lukas) is not an easy thing to summarize – but, in the simplest, clearest terms: Teck’s a fucking deadster, and everyone’s glad. (Okay, no – “glad” is not the right word. Perhaps we, as an audience, are glad – but everyone else is distraught, and disappointed, and somewhat broken by it.)

• Davis’s delivery of the ‘Sara quotes her father’ portion is a bit too much, in the melodrama department – but the Steiner Score™ that backs it is gorgeous, and made me teary witnessing the moment(s), anyway.

• “It’s a fine thing to have you for a daughter, Sara. I would like to have been like you.”

My lord, Lucile Watson. Weepsville.

• “Well, we’ve been shaken out of the magnolias.” — Fanny

• David: “Mama, we’re going to be in for trouble – you understand that.”

Fanny: “I understand it very well; we will manage. I’m not put together with flour paste. And neither are you, I’m happy to learn.”

• Jesus Christ. This movie would be close to perfect, were it not for these terrible child actors. The three of them are like goddamn robot-aliens. So chirpily stilted and unnatural.

(I’ve done my best to leave out any harsh criticism of the severely frustrating un-talent of the youth-actor trifecta present in this film, so as not to be needlessly cruel to the poor, well-meaning helplessists, one of whom *might* still be alive…)

However.

The filmmakers had no business ending such a phenomenal film on that bit of teen-performance tomfoolery conducted by Donald Buka (“Joshua”), opposite Bette Davis. Paired with anyone, the kid was gonna be bad – so the fact that he’s sharing the screen with Bette Fucking Davis, just makes his “acting” in the scene seem infinitely worse.

A little research instructs us that such a scene is not, in fact, how Hellman’s play ended – and I feel as though Dashiell Hammett and Herman Shumlin owed it to this story and its potential impact to end the film in an alternate way – especially once they’d seen how ineffective poor Buka was, attempting to participate in this one.

Might they have edited or written a scene to be performed by Davis alone, or perhaps rearranged things so that some aspect of Kurt’s danger-bound departure served as the conclusion, instead? Might they have communicated the (unconfirmed, but possible)(thanks, Production Code!) death of Kurt by some other, non-child-incorporating means?

Look, all I know is: compared with the high level of quality achieved by the rest of the film – the end that was used is a major letdown.

• So. For better or worse, Paul Lukas’s performance in this film will always be remembered, as it’s the one that beat out Humphrey Bogart’s performance in CASABLANCA to win the Best Actor Academy Award for this year. Independent of that fact, Lukas is tremendous in this film, and – as a real-life Hungarian expat, making this film in the middle of World War II – it’s a performance that is nearly untouchable, for its emotional authenticity, rawness, and power.

Is Lukas’s performance excellent enough to be remembered based on its own merits, and not simply within the trivia-question shadow of the masterpiece, golden-child that is CASABLANCA? Fuck yes! Absolutely.

That firmly stated – I suppose, regardless of reason, the important thing is it’s remembered, period.

(You go, Paul Lukas.)

• It is frighteningly concerning to me how negative some of the modern-day responses are to this film – with recent reviewers calling it, over and over again, “boring” and “talky.”

The point of this film – and how detailedly, focusedly mundane the scenes set in Virginia and with this richling family feel – is precisely that. How mundane and boring this privileged Farrelly bubble feels – until one day, it’s not anymore. The bubble bursts, and you realize that the annoying, shit-husband dullard who’s been sleeping under your roof for the last six months is not just a shit-husband dullard, and stands for something far more rotten – and far more pressingly important – than that.

“We have seen you in so many houses,” says Sara. When you are confronted by the person you find in yours – metaphorically or otherwise – will you call them out and fight them on it – or will you just take another bite of your breakfast and think, ‘Well, my children are fine’?

• There is no. goddamn. way. that that message – delivered in any movie, let alone one filmed and released in the fucking midst of an as-yet-unresolved World War can be passed off today as being “boring” or “outdated.”

• What this film communicates – and what Paul Lukas’s performance fights for – will never, ever be tired, irrelevant, or dated. And for viewers who don’t understand that: I wish for you to pull your heads and your hearts out of your fucking sandboxes and learn how to watch films in a way which employs a little more historical empathy.

In other words: shake yourselves out of the goddamn magnolias, and start showing some respect for the playwrights and filmmakers who proved themselves, quite impactfully, not to be made of flour paste.

What mattered then still matters now – and it’s our responsibility to not forget that.