MOVIE OF THE DAY: "THE LETTER" (1929)

It's a tale as old as time, or at least Hollywood. A young wife, ignored by her older husband, finds solace in another man's, er, arms. When her lover tires of her, she empties a revolver in him. Placed on trial, she gets off the hook by reciting a cock & bull story about how she had to save herself from the actions of the drunken brute. 

Too bad she forgot about that love letter she had written him before he died.

The Letter was a first on more than one count. The first talkie shot at Paramount's Astoria Studios. The first talkie starring Broadway star Jeanne Eagels. And, ultimately, the first movie featuring an actress posthumously-nominated for an Academy Award. Sorry you couldn't stick around for the ceremony, Jeanne! But don't worry, you lost to Mary Pickford anyway.

Clocking in at a mere 65 minutes, The Letter undoubtedly moves a lot faster than the original stage version written by W. Somerset Maugham (which, as time goes by, sounds more and more like a character from a Cohen Brothers picture). At the same time, being a product from the early days of talkies, nobody hurries their dialogue when speaking slowly and clearly will do. Nor does the director play around with fancy edits. In fact, much of Eagles' courtroom statement plays out in one very long take, as if you were watching a Broadway show.

"Frankly my dear, I don't give --
whoops, wrong movie."

This isn't a bad thing, for it gives you a pretty good idea of what the already-legendary stage actress Jeanne Eagels was like nearly 100 years ago. As with early George Arliss talkies, The Letter is a time machine of sorts to study the once-great, now nearly-forgotten actors in the early decades of the 20th century. 

Yet it also offers the rare chance to see how another actor -- in this case, Herbert Marshall -- has already adapted to the more subtle art of movie acting. In their one scene together, Eagels' desperate amorous declarations contrast mightily with Marshall's quiet, bored responses. (During my dating days, the roles were usually reversed.)

Languid, thy name is Herbert Marshall

Taking place in a Malaysian rubber plantation, The Letter, being a pre-code melodrama, gladly offers us negative Asian stereotypes. Marshall's "half-caste" mistress, with whom he lives in unmatrimonial sin. A brothel featuring prostitutes kept in a giant cage. The use of the word "yellow" (and they don't mean scared). The repeated use of the classic phrase, "Damn clever, these Chinese." Hey, it's a compliment, right?

Really, he had it coming.

But the big gaping hole in The Letter is the letter itself -- or, rather, how it comes into the hands of Eagels' lawyer. Eagels wrote the letter to Marshall, who was at home with his mistress. Why would Marshall casually drop it to the floor before visiting Eagels for the final time when his gf is right there watching him? Had we seen them smoking opium, perhaps this would be explanation enough. (I probably did worse under the control of grass.) I mean, the guy is literally asking to be found out. 

White lady red in the face and feeling blue.

No matter. It's what gives the movie its name and most eye-opening scene. Having blackmailed Eagels and her lawyer for handing over the letter for $10,000 -- a price that no letter on Wheel of Fortune would cost -- the mistress toys with her, allowing Eagels to be gaped at by a john and laughed at by her caged prostitutes. For the first time, the Asian woman is on top while her white rival is the object of derision. 

And if to drive the point home further, Eagels watches the analogous entertainment (and The Letter's most bizarre moment) going on for the johns: a giant rodent fighting and ultimately swallowing a hapless snake. I have no idea if this footage was taken from a documentary or staged for the movie. Either way, I thank the snake for his service to his studio.

Ahhh, tell it to the judge! Oh wait, you are.

Its 1929 release edit long lost, a work print of The Letter was discovered some years ago. Being a work print, it lacks an underscore (there's not even music during the credits) and most sound effects, so that there are moments (like the rodent and snake fight) that play out in dead silence. While this wasn't the way The Letter was supposed to have been seen -- there are editing marks from time to time -- it gives the movie a dreamy quality that the "real" print likely lacked.

The unintentional silence plays particularly well after Eagels' climactic speech to her

"The good news is, I'm not going to jail. The bad news
is, I screwed your best friend for five years!"

husband, who, following his wife's acquittal, learns of her years-long infidelity. I hate to give it away -- although some movie fans already know it as one of the most famous lines of dialogue of its time -- but trust me, when "The End" appears, you're left stunned in a way that closing credit music would have negated.


And unlike the 1940 remake starring Bette Davis, the wife gets away with murder! Show the 1929 version of The Letter to a group of women today -- you'll be deafened by their cheers.

Jeanne Eagels had one more movie, Jealousy, left in her before a combination of heroin, chloral hydrate, and "alcohol psychosis" did her in a few months later at 39. Lady Tsen Mei, who played the damn clever mistress Lin-Ti, outlived her by over half a century, dying in 1985 at age 97. Ha! How you like that, white lady?

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