Spotlight

Spotlight Date: 3-October-04
Spoiler Rating: High

Jezebel (1938)

En route to her second Oscar, Bette Davis starred in "Jezebel" as a wealthy orphan whose intractable nature destroys her hopes of happiness. In antebellum New Orleans, Davis' Julie Marsden begins as a spoiled young woman about to transfer guardianship from a loving aunt (Fay Bainter) to an up-and-coming banker (Henry Fonda). But, being a character well suited to Davis' spirit, Julie chafes at the limitations that the need for guardianship represents, the million and one rules and expectations imposed upon members of proper Southern society, particularly those who are female. Thus, while she adores her fiancé, she tests the limits of his tolerance and submission until she finally drives him away. Chastened, she vows to toe the line in the future but drops this resolution after discovering that he is lost to her for good. She then channels her pain and anger into careless acts of cruelty that lead to ruinous and intensely melodramatic consequences.

The first half of "Jezebel" is wonderfully absorbing, delving into the auspicious (though tempestuous) relationship between Julie and her lover and offering a close look at a society whose foundations are barbaric but whose reality possesses the allure of doomed grandeur. Perhaps because Davis is such a convincing life force, the scenes of groveling blacks and a family doctor (Donald Crisp) who counsels the fiancé to tame Julie with a beating followed by diamonds ("she'll love it") didn't elicit my disgust; instead, they seemed like exotic hallmarks of an (appropriately) ephemeral age. It wasn't until the second half of the movie that I started to take offense, when the story leaves the confines of the lost American South and enters thematic territory seemingly without borders and without end, the world where women are simultaneously pitied, condemned, and lusted after because they have the juicy misfortune of being the Weaker Sex.

As in countless other tales, the heroine of "Jezebel" (so dubbed in contempt by her very own aunt) suffers because she doesn't like being told what to do and, when at bay, resorts to the only weapons at her disposal, which are by nature underhanded and immoral. Unquestionably we're meant to feel sorry for Julie when her heart and future crumble around her (a marvelous scene), but the drama's succulence derives from the fact that she cannot take it lying down in a state of somber, passive resignation and is therefore screwed. Unlike the beau she repeatedly toys with (George Brent), she can't relieve herself by challenging her enemies to a duel, so she does what all such feisty, desperate women do: she puts on her best dress and makes life hell for those around her. Of course, she hurts herself most by squandering the virtuous reputation on which her existence depends, until her only way to salvation is a good, strong dose of feminine martyrdom. (This comes courtesy of a yellow fever epidemic.)

Gripping dramas often involve people whose natures and fates seem tragically stacked against them, so it's understandable why storytellers gravitate toward the gender whose biological or cultural restrictions readily evoke sympathy (either because you think they deserve them or because you think they don't). But even though "Jezebel" holds an undeniable fascination, I wish it found a way to a different conclusion, as with all stories that have been played to death.

Copyright © 2004 The Jujube (M. I. Kim). All rights reserved.