The Two Mrs. Carrolls
Cashing in on a trend has been a thing that happens in every era of Hollywood. From musicals and epics in the 50's to slashers and teen sex comedies in the 80's to superhero movies in the 2010's, Hollywood has never been too ashamed to treat a success story as a blueprint for repetition.
There were quite a few genres that exploded in popularity in the 1940's, and one of them could be summarized as "paranoid woman movies". These movies often had a dark romantic edge, a noir aesthetic, and centered around a woman whose life is experiencing enough instability as to make her paranoid, usually about her new husband. Rebecca, Suspicion, Gaslight, Secret Beyond The Door, and a whole host of other movies played on the paranoia of a woman in a new relationship and a man who plays everything a little too close to the vest. Sometimes it worked; Gaslight, Suspicion, and Rebecca won Academy Awards either for acting or production. And sometimes, you got something derivative of what came before, coasting on vibes or some kind of stunt.
That's the issue with The Two Mrs. Carrolls. It is, unapologetically, a clone of Suspicion and Gaslight, but done with an insultingly small amount of flair or talent, given the names involved in front of the camera. To watch 2MC is to watch someone try to use Play-Doh instead of real clay in a pottery class.
The problems begin at the script (but they don't stop there). The whirlwind-romance-leads-to-danger storyline was done to death by 1947. There was still room to innovate, but 2MC makes no attempt at such heretical ideas as originality. It takes the framework of what came before and haphazardly mashes together their elements without a care for how they fit, like trying to put a GI Joe rifle in Barbie's hand. Gaslight made Gregory Anton just suave enough so that his manipulations of Paula were sinister and his evil was calculated. We, the audience, had to watch helplessly as Paula was twisted and buffaloed into thinking she was losing her mind. 2MC decides a slow, subtle approach is for cowards; Humphrey Bogart's Geoffery is maniacal and tempestuous, setting off warning bells that would drown out London's raid alarms during the Blitz. He is not measured or suave; he is petulant and mercurial. There is nothing about him as a character that should be to the interest of any woman. In fact, his constant outbursts and temper flares are as bright a warning sign as one could get, and yet he is the object of love and interest from every woman he meets. 2MC doesn't hint at his madness, it advertises it, but then expects us and the rest of the characters to ignore it.
Barbara Stanwyck's Sally is, too, done a disservice in comparison to women in similar movies. These movies function largely on the woman having some sense of something being wrong all throughout but unable to make the dots connect; think of how the new Mrs. De Wynter feels out of place and unable to meet expectations in her new home because the specter of Rebecca hangs over, or in Suspicion, how Lina keeps seeing red flags about Johnnie that escalate in severity, but she doesn't want to admit the marriage was a mistake. 2MC doesn't bother with that; Sally is somehow unaware her husband is an unstable, murderous lunatic despite the mushroom cloud-sized signs right in front of her, until a chance conversation an hour in suddenly makes all the pieces come together in the span of about five minutes. Instead of a slow build of tension, there is a ludicrous and unnecessary rush to re-arrange the furniture all so the third act can happen. There is no sense of pacing, no ratcheting up of suspense. I may have issues with how drawn out Suspicion was (and its deeply unsatisfactory ending), but it was still constantly laying breadcrumbs to make you suspect Johnnie while also giving you enough wiggle room to hope it wasn't as bad as it seemed. 2MC thinks just showing you Geoffery being crazy is enough until it's time to race to the end.
And on that end, good lord, the performances here. I've seen a lot of criticism that the roles were miscast here, and I don't think that's necessarily true. The last few minutes show that Bogart could definitely pull off the role of a dangerous, deeply disturbed man. But the preceding hour and a half shows that the direction he was given -- or the latitude he was allowed -- would have you think Bogie is a rank amateur pulled off the street. Godzilla chews less scenery than Bogart does. His performance is so manic and over the top, I wondered if it was some kind of satire or intentional sabotage on his part, because it is nowhere close to being a serious performance. Bogie mugs and flails like he's auditioning for a Three Stooges short, not portraying a homicidal psychopath. Stanwyck's Sally is given three phases; dewy-eyed devoted wife, icy (when she finds out her husband's secrets), and panic during the final confrontation. She does them all well enough, but the borders between them are so distinctive, it feels like three different roles. Sally doesn't feel like a character, she feels like a prop. And I'd comment on Alexis Smith's role, but for being advertised on the poster, her role has less depth than a guest on Maury. She's there to serve a plot purpose, not be an actual character, and when the movie doesn't need her anymore, she's just forgotten. If Sally feels like a prop, Smith's Cecily IS a prop. The supporting cast gives equally baffling performances, from Ann Carter (a girl of maybe nine or ten) speaking like an adult in long, drawn-out sentences, or Nigel Bruce trying to out-ham Bogie.
If it all sounds lurid and amateurish, well, it is. The movie was loaded with A-list stars, but the studio hired a B-movie director, and it shows. The noir elements feel perfunctory and haphazard, applied with little understanding of how to use them. Suspense is as foreign a concept to director Peter Godfrey as metallurgy is to a marmot. It feels very much like someone saw nuts and bolts and reached for a hammer.
I had high hopes considering the names involved here and the description. The idea of Bogart as a villain was interesting, and the plot summary was intriguing. But at every turn, The Two Mrs. Carrolls was let down by the incompetence of a director trying to punch above his weight class. Bogart was either encouraged or allowed to turn in a performance that breezes past comedic and ventures into pathetic, and Stanwyck isn't allowed to give the movie the tension it needs. The direction misunderstands the movie's needs, and the script misunderstands the needs of the characters and the story. It is really only through the grace of the sets, the lighting, and the natural charisma of two accomplished actors that, even in lesser performances, they manage to hold attention at all. But that is by no means a selling point. It's more of an indictment.
There were quite a few genres that exploded in popularity in the 1940's, and one of them could be summarized as "paranoid woman movies". These movies often had a dark romantic edge, a noir aesthetic, and centered around a woman whose life is experiencing enough instability as to make her paranoid, usually about her new husband. Rebecca, Suspicion, Gaslight, Secret Beyond The Door, and a whole host of other movies played on the paranoia of a woman in a new relationship and a man who plays everything a little too close to the vest. Sometimes it worked; Gaslight, Suspicion, and Rebecca won Academy Awards either for acting or production. And sometimes, you got something derivative of what came before, coasting on vibes or some kind of stunt.
That's the issue with The Two Mrs. Carrolls. It is, unapologetically, a clone of Suspicion and Gaslight, but done with an insultingly small amount of flair or talent, given the names involved in front of the camera. To watch 2MC is to watch someone try to use Play-Doh instead of real clay in a pottery class.
The problems begin at the script (but they don't stop there). The whirlwind-romance-leads-to-danger storyline was done to death by 1947. There was still room to innovate, but 2MC makes no attempt at such heretical ideas as originality. It takes the framework of what came before and haphazardly mashes together their elements without a care for how they fit, like trying to put a GI Joe rifle in Barbie's hand. Gaslight made Gregory Anton just suave enough so that his manipulations of Paula were sinister and his evil was calculated. We, the audience, had to watch helplessly as Paula was twisted and buffaloed into thinking she was losing her mind. 2MC decides a slow, subtle approach is for cowards; Humphrey Bogart's Geoffery is maniacal and tempestuous, setting off warning bells that would drown out London's raid alarms during the Blitz. He is not measured or suave; he is petulant and mercurial. There is nothing about him as a character that should be to the interest of any woman. In fact, his constant outbursts and temper flares are as bright a warning sign as one could get, and yet he is the object of love and interest from every woman he meets. 2MC doesn't hint at his madness, it advertises it, but then expects us and the rest of the characters to ignore it.
Barbara Stanwyck's Sally is, too, done a disservice in comparison to women in similar movies. These movies function largely on the woman having some sense of something being wrong all throughout but unable to make the dots connect; think of how the new Mrs. De Wynter feels out of place and unable to meet expectations in her new home because the specter of Rebecca hangs over, or in Suspicion, how Lina keeps seeing red flags about Johnnie that escalate in severity, but she doesn't want to admit the marriage was a mistake. 2MC doesn't bother with that; Sally is somehow unaware her husband is an unstable, murderous lunatic despite the mushroom cloud-sized signs right in front of her, until a chance conversation an hour in suddenly makes all the pieces come together in the span of about five minutes. Instead of a slow build of tension, there is a ludicrous and unnecessary rush to re-arrange the furniture all so the third act can happen. There is no sense of pacing, no ratcheting up of suspense. I may have issues with how drawn out Suspicion was (and its deeply unsatisfactory ending), but it was still constantly laying breadcrumbs to make you suspect Johnnie while also giving you enough wiggle room to hope it wasn't as bad as it seemed. 2MC thinks just showing you Geoffery being crazy is enough until it's time to race to the end.
And on that end, good lord, the performances here. I've seen a lot of criticism that the roles were miscast here, and I don't think that's necessarily true. The last few minutes show that Bogart could definitely pull off the role of a dangerous, deeply disturbed man. But the preceding hour and a half shows that the direction he was given -- or the latitude he was allowed -- would have you think Bogie is a rank amateur pulled off the street. Godzilla chews less scenery than Bogart does. His performance is so manic and over the top, I wondered if it was some kind of satire or intentional sabotage on his part, because it is nowhere close to being a serious performance. Bogie mugs and flails like he's auditioning for a Three Stooges short, not portraying a homicidal psychopath. Stanwyck's Sally is given three phases; dewy-eyed devoted wife, icy (when she finds out her husband's secrets), and panic during the final confrontation. She does them all well enough, but the borders between them are so distinctive, it feels like three different roles. Sally doesn't feel like a character, she feels like a prop. And I'd comment on Alexis Smith's role, but for being advertised on the poster, her role has less depth than a guest on Maury. She's there to serve a plot purpose, not be an actual character, and when the movie doesn't need her anymore, she's just forgotten. If Sally feels like a prop, Smith's Cecily IS a prop. The supporting cast gives equally baffling performances, from Ann Carter (a girl of maybe nine or ten) speaking like an adult in long, drawn-out sentences, or Nigel Bruce trying to out-ham Bogie.
If it all sounds lurid and amateurish, well, it is. The movie was loaded with A-list stars, but the studio hired a B-movie director, and it shows. The noir elements feel perfunctory and haphazard, applied with little understanding of how to use them. Suspense is as foreign a concept to director Peter Godfrey as metallurgy is to a marmot. It feels very much like someone saw nuts and bolts and reached for a hammer.
I had high hopes considering the names involved here and the description. The idea of Bogart as a villain was interesting, and the plot summary was intriguing. But at every turn, The Two Mrs. Carrolls was let down by the incompetence of a director trying to punch above his weight class. Bogart was either encouraged or allowed to turn in a performance that breezes past comedic and ventures into pathetic, and Stanwyck isn't allowed to give the movie the tension it needs. The direction misunderstands the movie's needs, and the script misunderstands the needs of the characters and the story. It is really only through the grace of the sets, the lighting, and the natural charisma of two accomplished actors that, even in lesser performances, they manage to hold attention at all. But that is by no means a selling point. It's more of an indictment.
Mini Review: Cashing in on a trend has been a thing that happens in every era of Hollywood. From musicals and epics in the 50's to slashers and teen sex comedies in the 80's to superhero movies in the 2010's, Hollywood has never been too ashamed to treat a success story as a blueprint for repetition. There were quite a few genres that exploded in popularity in the 1940's, and one of them could be summarized as "paranoid woman movies". These movies often had...