The untold want by life and land ne’er granted,
Now voyager sail thou forth to seek and find.
Walt Whitman
One of the phrases that us cinephiles were longing to hear over the course of these torturous last 18 months was “In cinemas now!” Seeing a film on the big screen with an audience, even if one has used up the DVD copy, is a treasured and often unparalleled experience. Therein lies the magic of the cinema.
I often feel that I’m playing catch-up on new releases, often distracted and dazzled by old rereleases. It feels to me that a portal to the past has been opened and I must take advantage of stepping through to the other side. What a joy it is to walk the sacred ground of the movie theatre aisle, sit on the plush red velvet seat, and imagine that, for the next two hours, I am part of an audience who has possibly not seen this film, and I can enjoy their reactions and enjoy the same experience.
An opportunity for such an experience has arisen again. In one of their better decisions of late, Warner Bros have released a 2k restoration of a 1942 film called Now, Voyager. Faithfully based on a novel by Olive Higgins Prouty, the film, directed by Warner Bros. stock director Irving Rapper, has been often pigeon-holed as a melodrama (a woman’s picture), a makeover movie, or just another Bette Davis vehicle. Now, Voyager can be all those things, but for it to entice excitement almost 80 years since its first release, it has to be something more than a product of its time.
First of all, let’s get the melodrama part out of the way. One of the definitions of melodrama is “a work (such as a movie or play) characterized by extravagant theatricality and by the predominance of plot and physical action over characterization.” The melodramatic plot can be read as such: 30-something Charlotte Vale (Bette Davis) is on an ocean liner recovering from a bout of nerves. She meets and falls in love with a married man, Jerry (Paul Henreid), who, despite reciprocating, cannot leave his wife for her. Heartbreak ensues.
While this can be perceived as the usual forbidden love trope, there is more to the relationship than passionate glances between Charlotte and Jerry while sharing a sensual cigarette. As undeniable as the chemistry between the two leads is, successfully and tastefully sidestepping the Production Code, what Jerry signifies to Charlotte is first and foremost friendship and emotional support in the face of a state of mental fragility. Charlotte has lived most of her life being controlled by her overbearing mother (Gladys Cooper at her best), starved of the independence she needs in order to function in society. Her mother has been policing everything around Charlotte, everything but her thoughts and inner passions. Teased and tortured by her family, “poor aunt Charlotte” finally explodes into a nervous breakdown, from which she emerges a different, albeit still fragile and self-conscious, person. The possibility of stirring the interest of a handsome and intelligent man like Jerry makes Charlotte almost return to her previous self, a fragile, frightened ugly duckling. She needs a friend and a friend she gets. The melodrama factor lies in the almost unbelievable romance that unravels once Charlotte has accepted Jerry’s friendship and trust. And yet, what can be more believable than a pure expression of the untold want we, as romantic creatures, must strive to seek and find?
Now, Voyager has often been labelled as a makeover movie, and one not too believable. The story begins with a seemingly overweight, unibrowed, badly dressed Charlotte, teased and tortured by various members of her family. She is mousy in her demeanour, afraid to open her mouth in the presence of strangers, accepting the jibes of her relatives almost without incident. Davis’ appearance at the start of the film might prompt a snigger from the audience. Personally, I feel that with the restored version, certain details pertaining to her appearance make the performance as dowdy, frumpy Charlotte more convincing. While the padding under the badly cut dress is evident, the excess of facial hair is also more apparent and thus the “before” image is more effective (the radiance Davis exudes during her love scenes with Henreid, once her mind is settled, is palpable). Rumour has it that, ever so consummate an artist and so devoid of vanity, Davis had wanted even more padding under her dress to make her Charlotte truly the overweight aunt Charlotte, not the “rather plump” Aunt Charlotte that Warner Bros. producer, Hall B. Wallis, opted for. For all the excellence of Now, Voyager, one must remember that it is a product of its time, a time when film producers (i.e. the studio) had much more of a say on the look of the finished film than the director. There are exceptions of course, and truly great directors were able to shine through the assembly-line style of work that was imposed on them.
There are glimpses of that in Now, Voyager, making it more than a makeover movie. Rapper manages to make us understand that Charlotte’s transformation is more than just the physical aspects. Even with the physical transformation on the cruiser, Charlotte feels insecure and ready to snap back into her old self because she has no trust in her own power. She feels alone. She is alone. She is used to being laughed at by her closest family members so it would make sense for her not to trust a complete stranger like Jerry. Thus, her post-breakdown radiance appears as a light from within, showing how it takes all the strength in the world to finally be able to say “I am not afraid!”, to look and feel like a sane and healthy person, almost unrecognisable from the anxious 30-something spinster aunt Charlotte Vale who has lived most of her life in the shadow of her tyrannical mother. Indeed, the film is more than a romance. In a time when mental health issues were solved with electric shocks, the understanding that mental health could be seen as truly an illness that requires patience and understanding was revolutionary.
Finally, this film is a Bette Davis vehicle, there is no doubt about it. For those who aren’t familiar with her work, it is a good introduction. Her Charlotte is vulnerable, mentally frail, but possesses a passion and strength that were not unfamiliar to Davis herself. Known in Hollywood for playing strong, willful (Jezebel, Dark Victory, The Petrified Forest), at times despicable (The Letter) and even evil characters (The Little Foxes), Davis adds a layer of latent independence that makes audiences root for Charlotte from the first scene. We don’t pity poor aunt Charlotte; we believe in her.
You might go in for Davis, but you will stay rooted to your seat for the other stellar performances in this film: Gladys Cooper (also nominated for an Oscar alongside Davis) is exquisitely wicked as the autocratic mother who has enslaved her only daughter. Paul Henreid is as smooth as a summer breeze, aptly cast as the love interest (audiences will know him as Victor Laszlo from Casablanca, released the same year). Claude Rains also shines, as the good doctor that throws Charlotte a lifeline, aiding her to find her trust in human interaction once again.
For a film made during the much-constricting Production Code, Now, Voyager is almost as sexy as a Pre-Code film, unveiling Charlotte’s inner fire and the complex relationship with Jerry through a set of extremely sensual glances between the two leads while they share a cigarette. Their understanding is complete, transcending sex but not excluding it. Smoking has never been or will ever be sexier.
Now, Voyager is being released in UK cinemas nationwide. The BFI has also scheduled a full month of Bette Davis films, so if you’re in London in August, check it out. There are over 20 films spanning the 50+ year career of a Hollywood legend.
