Review of All That Heaven Allows (1955) by David H — 31 Aug 2010

With All That Heaven Allows, Douglas Sirk and cinematographer Russell Metty (perhaps most laudable for his exquisite work in Kubrick's Spartacus) do for Technicolor what Peter Paul Rubens did for oil paint. Jane Wyman's lips are not merely red; they become vermillion, and the autumnal background of the opening credits is a kaleidoscope of luminous oranges and yellows. The entire world of this quainter than quaint, Thomas Kinkade-esque New England becomes a boscage of vibrant autumn- and winter-scapes. What is more, Frank Skinner's music, dripping with unquenchable yearning akin to Rachmaninov's Piano Concerto No. 2 (a la Brief Encounter) envelops the viewer in a world of Romantic longing and possibility.

Of course, the film is, at heart, a melodrama, and Peg Fenwick's screenplay is appropriately comatose in that respect; the supporting performances (particularly Gloria Talbott and William Reynolds as Cary's children Kay and Ned) are generally dreadful (excluding Agnes Moorehead's spirited confidante Sara), and Rock Hudson's virile but rather dull Ron Kirby leaves a great deal to be desired. Jane Wyman, however, reveals her brilliance as an actress here. Her manipulation of the saccharine dialogue, her wonderfully subtle physicality, and her old world Hollywood charm combine gloriously throughout the film. Wyman elevates the work from a mire of treacle. Cary's struggle against her children (consider the scene when she is gifted with the television set - the scene guaranteed to reduce the viewer to tears), against the confinement of bourgeois society helmed by proverbial men in grey flannel suits, and against her own inability to see the innate, simple value in her own happiness becomes extremely powerful in the film's final moments. Nonetheless, this is, if anything, cinematic comfort food, and it should be relished as such...and only as such.