I certainly wanted to like this movie, in no small part because of its cast. However, despite the great esteem Ibsen was held in -- and still is -- the censor's hand lays heavily on this version of his play. With all mention of syphilis removed, it becomes a story of hereditary madness and incest: just the thing to suit a movie industry still subject to fits of outright melodrama, but lacking the moral component of the play. Henry B. Walthall and the title writers work hard to suggest the disease to anyone familiar with it, but that results in a bit of overacting, as the slow course of the disease first suggests a pain in the neck. Perhaps if Hollywood had tried to do this in the Pre-Code era it might have worked. They didn't.
I came to this movie knowing Ibsen's play, and that informs my impression of it, like understanding a veiled reference to an absent individual from the speaker's tone of voice and a raised eyebrow. Undoubtedly the audience for this movie understood it by the same cues. However, given the fact that it tells its story through the chapter-heading style of movie-making tells us that this was intended for an audience who knew the play and would now have a chance to see it performed in pantomime. As an independent work of cinema, it doesn't quite work, in large part because of its mandated coyness.
I came to this movie knowing Ibsen's play, and that informs my impression of it, like understanding a veiled reference to an absent individual from the speaker's tone of voice and a raised eyebrow. Undoubtedly the audience for this movie understood it by the same cues. However, given the fact that it tells its story through the chapter-heading style of movie-making tells us that this was intended for an audience who knew the play and would now have a chance to see it performed in pantomime. As an independent work of cinema, it doesn't quite work, in large part because of its mandated coyness.
