The Heiress

 William Wyler's The Heiress (1949) exudes prestige and importance from all of its pores.  The movie features an ultra-literate, if highly affected, script derived from a success d'estime of the Broadway stage that was, itself, an adaptation "suggested by" Henry James' novel, Washington Square.  The film features an astonishing performance by Olivia de Havilland (for which she was awarded an Academy Award) as well as a ripely theatrical turn by Ralph Richardson as the heroine's soul-destroying father.  Montgomery Clift appears as the heiress' suitor, providing a rather stiff performance -- Clift seems to have wandered in from a Western (indeed, he goes to California in the movie) and his "method" acting clashes with the line-readings of his co-stars.  He seems to  not understand the role -- with the effect, that we don't understand the character either.  But this makes the film all the more effective because the enigma intrinsic in the part played by this character is central to the film, and, indeed, must remain a riddle through the end of the picture.  For this reason, Clift's cluelessness actually enhances the film, and makes it deeper and more alarming.

The Heiress is immediately gripping and, in fact, has something of the fatal mood of horror pictures and film noir of the era.  The movie presents a situation in which the characters are doomed to damage and destroy one another.  (Another picture that the movie resembles is Welles' The Magnificent Ambersons with its theme of helplessness -- the Indians named this place, Welles says, with words meaning that "they couldn't help themselves."  This is a succinct summary of the tragedy that the film presents.)  Everything in the picture is understated and emotions are kept off-screen, but the ultimate effect is quietly devastating.

Catherine Sloper is an heiress, almost middle-aged, and reputed to be quite remarkably plain in appearance.  She has a fortune of $10,000 a year from her deceased mother's estate and expects to receive another $20,000 annually when her father dies.  Catherine's father, Austin, is a prominent New York surgeon and lives in a mansion on Washington Square with her servants, his sister, the chatty Aunt Lavinia (Miriam Hopkins), and daughter.  Sloper idealizes the memory of his dead wife and casually insults his daughter with a serious of derogatory and invidious comparisons with Catherine's adored mother.  Sloper bullies Catherine, regards her as useless, ugly, and socially inept.  And, indeed, de Havilland minimizes her beauty in playing the role and acts mostly with her large, luminous eyes.  (She''s playing the kind of part for which the Academy members are suckers -- the actress is said to be "brave" when performing a role that requires her to seem "plain.")  Catherine is completely dominated by her father:  he mocks her subtly and emphasizes her worthlessness in comparison with her glamorous dead mother.  (The writing is sophisticated and Austin conceals his disdain for his daughter with a veneer of gallantry -- this is characteristic of the film:  the characters speak in one  register, but, we learn that they act in a different way than their words would suggest.  In this film, words are either dissembling or weapons.)  At a ball, Catherine shows herself to be socially incompetent --she can't dance and men of her own class are repelled by her; they literally flee from her..  But, just when things seem most hopeless, Catherine is rescued by the chivalrous and flattering Morris Townsend (Clift).  Townsend professes to be enthralled by Catherine, courts her assiduously, and, after only three or so encounters,proposes marriage.  Catherine is swept off her feet and accepts the proposal.  Suspiciously, we learn that Morris has not first asked for Catherine's hand from her imperious father and that, although he has expensive tastes, seems to be impecunious.  The doctor immediately diagnoses Morris as a mercenary fortune-hunter and takes an instant dislike to him.  Austin interviews Morris' sister, who is supporting the young man , and learns that he has squandered a small inheritance and hasn't contributed to their household -- the sister is, nonetheless, loyal to her brother and extols his virtues.  There is a horrible confrontation  between Morris and Dr. Sloper in which the older man brutally abuses the young suitor and bullies him out of the house.  At this point in the movie, our sympathies are firmly invested in Morris and his loving courtship of the poor, lonely Catherine.  Morris' motives are unclear, but he seems so sincere that the audience wants to believe that he is, in fact, somehow in love with Catherine.  Austin opposes the marriage so vehemently that he and Catherine go to Europe, ostensibly for a six month grand tour.  But Catherine remains true to Morris, corresponds with him and continues the love-affair by mail.  Austin is melancholy because Paris reminds him of his idealized wife -- and so the two return to New York.  There, Morris persists in his courtship and the couple plan to be married.  When Catherine confronts her father, he disinherits her.  Catherine tells Morris that she has been disinherited and they make plans to elope later that night -- but Morris doesn't appear, seemingly dismayed by the fact that Catherine has given up an income of $20,000 a year to be with him.  (She is still entitled to the income of $10,000 a year -- at the time that the movie represents, a large mansion could be purchased for about $3000).  Another hideous confrontation occurs between Catherine and her father.  Austin tells Catherine that "he can't possibly love you.  You have nothing to offer but your money."  Catherine has planned to revenge herself on her father "by disgracing his name"-- but, now, the vehicle of her revenge has vanished.  Catherine repairs to her embroidery and bitterly tells her father that it was her right to be exploited by Morris if this was her desire:  "If I am to buy a man, you should have let me buy Morris," she says.  Austin gets sick and diagnoses,characteristically, his own fatal illness.  Catherine refuses to come to his death bed although he has pleaded for her presence.  She has now become a monster of cruelty.  When her father asks her how she can be so cruel, she says:  "I was taught by masters" -- presumably meaning both her father and Morris.

Morris comes back to New York after a lapse of several years.  He hasn't made his fortune in California and has had to work as a laborer to earn his passage back to Manhattan.  Once, again, he comes to see Catherine who agrees to his visit.  Again, he uses pretty words to flatter her and she seems to encourage his wooing.  She notes that she was not disinherited and that she has, in fact, acceded to an income of $30,000 yearly.  Morris says that he abandoned her years before for her own good -- he didn't want to see her disinherited over his love.  Catherine gives Morris a token of her love (some ruby buttons for his coat -- she purchased these years ago in Paris).  She tells him to return at midnight and they will once again elope.  Catherine's hopelessly romantic Aunt Lavinia is "over the moon" at all this romance and encourages the couple.  Morris returns at midnight and my readers have probably guessed already what happens in the film's denouement. 

There is much to admire in this film.  During the period when Catherine and her father are in Paris, Morris hangs around the mansion chatting up the voluble Aunt Lavinia.  We see that he has very expensive tastes, likes fine brandy and port, and helps himself to Dr. Sloper's expensive cigarettes.  Later, when he returns from California, there's a shot of him swaggering around the sitting room in Catherine's mansion -- he's alone and there's a distinctly proprietary aspect to his demeanor and the way that he eyes the expensive furnishings in the room.  In the first elopement scene, when the couple are planning their getaway, Catherine says that she has voluntarily disinherited herself, that is, given up the additional income of $20,000 a year to be with Morris.  There's a jump cut of the kind that didn't exist in cinema in the late forties and fifties -- the camera maintains the same general frame on the two-shot, but jumps to a closer image.  It's jarring and signifies that Morris is horrified at Catherine's willingness to give up the extra income.  In one scene, when the revenge-crazed Catherine climbs stairs -- the stairs are a sort of leit motif in the film -- we see a very slight smirk of pleasure sneak across her face as she feels herself revenged.  (Earlier when Morris didn't show up for the first elopment, we have seen her creeping up the steps, a flight of stairs that seem endless, a kind  of Calvary that she must ascend.  The film is unsettling because its villain's appraisal of Morris apparently turns out to be right -- however, at no point, does Morris ever actually say anything to reveal to us his true feelings and, in fact, he's the sort of avid con-man who has persuaded himself that he both desires the 30,000 inheritance yet also sincerely loves Catherine.  

The film's mise-en-scene is extremely subdued.  There are no fancy shots, very little in the way of a moving camera, and the picture prefers to make its points through dialogue as opposed to pictorial imagery.  The Heiress has a spectacular score by Aaron Copland that sometimes sounds very much like the composer's "Appalachian Spring" suite -- the ebb and flow of the music is so insistent that at times the film seems similar to films by Spike Lee featuring Terence Blanchard's continuous and, sometimes, invasive, orchestrations. (Lee and Blanchard have both expressed admiration for Copland.)  Copland plays variations on the song Plaisir d' amour, the film's love theme, and this is an effective device.  It is worth knowing that the song's lyrics provide that "the pleasure of love lasts but a moment / but the grief of love lasts a lifetime."