James Whale | The Kiss Before the Mirror / 1933

forgetting to be a lady

by Douglas Messerli

 

William Anthony McGuire (screenplay, based on the play by Ladislas Fodor), James Whale (director) The Kiss Before the Mirror / 1933

 

As the cinematic creator of Frankenstein (1931), The Old Dark House (1932), and The Bride of Frankenstein (1935), openly gay director James Whale needs no introduction to LGBTQ audiences. Or perhaps he does still, since, although admitting his “camp” sensibility, even today there still seems to be an attempt to deny that his clearly gay myths and characters were intentional or even existent.

     Consider, for example, the Wikipedia entry for Whale which uses comments by fellow gay filmmaker Curtis Harrington and a friend of Whale in his later years to denigrate contemporary queer theorists pretty straight-forward readings of Frankenstein and The Bride of Frankenstein:

 

“With knowledge of his [Whale’s] sexuality becoming more common beginning in the 1970s, some film historians and gay studies scholars have detected homosexual themes in Whale's work, particularly in Bride of Frankenstein in which a number of the creative people associated with the cast, including Ernest Thesiger and Colin Clive, were alleged to be gay or bisexual. Scholars have identified a gay sensibility suffused through the film, especially a camp sensibility, particularly embodied in the character of Pretorius (Thesiger) and his relationship with Henry Frankenstein (Clive).

     Gay film historian Vito Russo, in considering Pretorius, stops short of identifying the character as gay, instead referring to him as ‘sissified’ (‘sissy’ itself being Hollywood code for ‘homosexual’). Pretorius serves as a ‘gay Mephistopheles,’ a figure of seduction and temptation, going so far as to pull Frankenstein away from his bride on their wedding night to engage in the unnatural act of non-procreative life. ...Russo goes so far as to suggest that Whale's homosexuality is expressed in both Frankenstein and Bride as "a vision both films had of the monster as an antisocial figure in the same way that gay people were 'things' that should not have happened.’

      The Monster, whose affections for the male hermit and the female Bride he discusses with identical language (‘friend’), has been read as sexually ‘unsettled’ and bisexual. Writes gender studies author Elizabeth Young [in her essay “Here Comes the Bride”]: ‘He has no innate understanding that the male-female bond he is to forge with the bride is assumed to be the primary one or that it carries a different sexual valence from his relationships with [Pretorius and the hermit]: all affective relationships are as easily 'friendships' as 'marriages'. Indeed, his relationship with the hermit has been interpreted as a same-sex marriage that heterosexual society will not tolerate: ‘No mistake—this is a marriage, and a viable one.’ writes cultural critic Gary Morris for Bright Lights Film Journal. ‘But Whale reminds us quickly that society does not approve. The monster—the outsider—is driven from his scene of domestic pleasure by two gun-toting rubes who happen upon this startling alliance and quickly, instinctively, proceed to destroy it." The creation of the Bride scene has been called ‘Whale's reminder to the audience—his Hollywood bosses, peers, and everyone watching—of the majesty and power of the homosexual creator.’

     However, [Curtis] Harrington dismisses this [in David Del Valle’s ‘Curtis Harrington on James Whale’ in Films in Review] as ‘a younger critic's evaluation. All artists do work that comes out of the unconscious mind and later on you can analyze it and say the symbolism may mean something, but artists don't think that way and I would bet my life that James Whale would never have had such concepts in mind.’ Specifically in response to the ‘majesty and power’ reading, Harrington states ‘My opinion is that's just pure bullshit. That's a critical interpretation that has nothing to do with the original inspiration.’ He concludes, ‘I think the closest you can come to a homosexual metaphor in his films is to identify that certain sort of camp humor.’

     Whale's partner David Lewis stated flatly that Whale's sexual orientation was ‘not germane’ to his filmmaking. ‘Jimmy was first and foremost an artist, and his films represent the work of an artist—not a gay artist, but an artist.’ Whale's biographer Curtis rejects the notion that Whale would have identified with the Monster from a homosexual perspective, stating that if the highly class-conscious Whale felt himself to be an antisocial figure, it would have been based not in his sexuality but in his origin in the lower classes.”

 

    I quote this long passage since it represents an attempt to downplay how Whale’s homosexuality played a role in his filmmaking and seeks to somehow separate out the idea of being an artist from also being a “gay artist,” as if the other were secondary and clearly inferior to the former.

    Certainly, there may be some overstatement of gay themes in Whale’s works, and even some “reading in” of the texts in a manner which does some harm to the original; but “reading in’” as I always argue. is far better than “reading over” or simply blocking out the many queer references and myths that are played out in any work, and most certainly in Whale’s case.

    One must also remember that Harrington, David Lewis, and perhaps even James Curtis are of a generation that was still fearful of speaking fully out about their gay interests, as if to do so would take attention away—as if often did—from the serious intentions of their art, “gay art” obviously not being perceived of as being “serious.”

     These attacks against gay interpretations have long been common, even coming, as in this case, from homosexuals themselves.

     In the Wikipedia essay, although the gay argument is at least presented, the conclusion is to dismiss such queer interpretations as simply being beside the point, a totally wrong and dangerous proposition, when, in fact, such issues are often very much central to the art. To say such issues are unimportant would be similar to claiming that the heterosexual relationship between Rick and Elsa was not really central to Michael Curtiz’ Casablanca or that Nickie and Terry’s relationship was of little interest to Leo McCarey in his making of An Affair to Remember, to argue that these were simply artists not truly interested in sex.

     One might note that I have not included a full essay on Whale’s Frankenstein in these pages because—although queer references are very much embedded in the work even in Mary Shelley’s version (indeed they appear in the majority of the works of the horror genre simply in their monsters’ being dangerous outsiders)—to me they do not seem central to the film or even important enough within the work justify my focusing on them. There is no doubt that the monster and the hermit most certainly do hit it off in their short time together, but I would not describe their relationship, as does Gary Morris, as a “viable marriage” or even a full-fledged relationship. We might simply observe it as one of many possible human relationships offered to the monster which for a number of reasons he cannot comprehend or easily embrace. And the “friend” he constantly seeks is of any sex or age, since he is basically a newborn without yet the ability to distinguish gender or sex.

     But in The Old Dark House, The Bride of Frankenstein, and others of Whale’s works, being gay or lesbian does truly matter, and I resent those who would wash away any of that importance the way Joseph Breen and Hays Code board tried to cut away all even subtle gay references to hundreds of films, including the Whale film I am about to discuss, The Kiss Before the Mirror (1933), which in for its 1935 reissue as Wives Under Suspicion, the director was forced to savagely cut both regarding the heterosexual melodramatic relationships and the other LGBTQ scenes I describe below. Queer critic Richard Barrios describes the situation: “In 1938, when James Whale remade his provocative 1993 The Kiss Before The Mirror...the material was so denatured that one can sense Whale’s dejection in every frame of the film.”

     In main, Whale’s original version is a melodramatic heterosexual tale about a man, Dr. Walter Bernsdorf (Paul Lukas) who discovers that his wife, Lucy (Gloria Stuart) is seriously cheating on him and kills her, who immediately after calls the police to come and arrest him; and his friend and lawyer Dr. Paul Held (Frank Morgan) who becomes his lawyer who will attempt and succeed in acquitting his client despite his confessed guilt.

     In the process of learning the details of the reasons for his friend’s murder of his wife, however, Held begins to perceive that his own wife, Maria (Nancy Carroll) may be involved in an illicit relationship as well, and plans, after making his plea for and freeing his friend to also commit just such a murder, hopefully feeling justified by his acts.

    The entire film is centered around two incidents: Bernsdorf’s observation, as he arrives home unexpectedly, to observe his wife making herself up in the mirror, which reflects back her true beauty and her own excitement in enhancing that beauty for another man. Her behavior, upon her discovering that her husband has returned and is watching her, further reveals her disinterest in her husband—although the day has been a pleasant and loving one between them. Indeed, it’s gradually revealed, despite their perfect life together he has long before suspicious, having purchased a gun. And the  new realization that her joy in the mirror is all on account of another man, makes him so very jealous that he cannot help but follow her to her lover’s house (the lover played Walter Pidgeon) and after seeing her in his arms shoots.

     Upon hearing his friend’s story, the lawyer Held returns home to see his own beautiful wife sitting at her vanity table, playing out a scene so similar to the one Bernsdorf described that he also suspects her, and following her on her afternoon appointment discovers that she too is seeing another man (Donald Cook), and cannot restrain himself from having the same feelings as described by his friend.

     Held does not even try, however, to plead Bernsdorf’s temporary insanity—although withholds the information of his friend’s careful planning—but attempts to demonstrate to the jury that the act is based on a love intense that when it is betrayed the lover had no other choice. Although the movie does not repeat Oscar Wilde’s famous statement, one might argue that the sole cause of the murder is a love so intense that it is inevitable, the epic force by the notion that

 

                                               “Yet each man kills the thing he loves,

                                                 By each let this be heard,

                                                 Some do it with a bitter look,

                                                 Some with a flattering word,

                                                 The coward does it with a kiss,

                                                 The brave man with a sword.”  

 

    As this short outline might reveal, Whale’s story (based on a play by Ladislas Fodor with a screenplay by William Anthony McGuire) is not only a bit hysterical at points, particularly with regard to both Held’s and Bernsdorf’s reaction to their wives’ unfaithfulness and, most clearly in Held’s courtroom plea for his friend’s innocence, but is also highly misogynistic. The women in Held’s point of view deserve to die for their lies and treachery. Fortunately, Held does carry through with his own murder, the lawyer finally finding a way to forgive Maria and even, at the very last moment, to take her back into their long-time relationship.

      One might effectively argue that the intense mirror image of the whole work is reminiscent of the incidents of Whale’s own life as portrayed in the film Gods and Monsters (1998), based on Christopher Bram's 1995 novel Father of Frankenstein, wherein it is suggested that in the trenches of World War I, Whale’s lover was killed under German fire, trapped in the no-man’s zone of the barbed wife where he body was left hanging to torture his lover for days before it could be brought down. However, the incident in both the movie and the original book is entirely fictional and did not occur in Whale’s imprisonment in German war camp where he began producing plays—although it has some similarity to incidents in R. C. Sherriff’s 1928 play Journey’s End which Whale successfully directed in many stage renditions—the source of his early wealth—and on screen in 1930.

      We can only perceive the mirror images as suggesting the myth of Narcissus in which the lovely being must prove his/her beauty by seeking out an “other” again and again. But in this instance it doesn’t take us very far into the male/male love of the original myth. The shattered mirror in this film represents the destruction of the lie of the wives’ inner beauty and a revealing of love’s transitory nature.

      As Bernsdorf makes clear, he may be freed from death, but he is forever trapped in its memory and consequences. Without love, for either another or himself, he might as well be dead.

      Yet Whale introduces other elements to this work that have nothing to do with the central story but surely introduce us to other possibilities and expressions of love.

    The director openly embraces the recent trend, by 1933 about to be banned by Breen and the Hays Code, of placing a sissy in his tale. During the trial a journalist is introduced surrounded by a cub reporter and a sketch artist, the latter of which, when the journalist insists of the crowd, “They want blood. They want to see the murderer,” the young sketch artist in the most mincing of voices and with hand gestures to match bolding declares, “So do I!”

     Later, in the courtroom as Maria Held enters in her newest outfit, the artist asks of his journalist friend, “Who is the beautiful lady in the Russian sable?, the reporter answering. “That’s Mrs. Held, darling. Get a sketch of her and write under, ‘wife of the counselor wearing one the smartest gowns of the season.’” He goes on, but quickly stops himself, admitting he’s getting the event all confused with the Charity ball, suggesting that he himself, obviously a connoisseur of female costume, is a fellow sissy.

     But Whale goes much further in his introduction the most intelligent and certainly the wittiest figure of his work, Hilda (Jean Dixon), Held’s fellow lawyer assistant. It is she, presumably, who argues most of the case, with Held only delivering the final summary.

     Dressed quite smartly, but in an entirely different manner from the “frou-frou slinky” gowns of the wives Lucy and Maria, Hilda upon meeting the prosecutor for the first time responds to his question about her involvement in the case: “A woman has been killed. That interests me quite a bit.”

     The moment he leaves the room, she reacts, rather sarcastically, in an aside to Held, “Charming man,” to which he replies, “Yes, I had an idea you’d like him.”

      Indeed from that moment on one recognizes that Hilda is capable of saying one thing that might have several other possible meanings. In the Held home, waiting for her fellow law-partner to show up, she converses with Mrs. Held.

     Talking about the “murdered victim,” a word Maria cannot even bear to hear, Held’s wife comments:

 

            Maria: She was so excited about a new dress she’d ordered.

            Hilda: Did she get the dress, madame?

            Maria: Certainly, she wore it on the day she was murdered.

            Hilda: Well, that’s something. She did wear it. It’s originally when

                       buying a dress to be shot in. But if one’s going to murdered it’s nice

                       to dressed for it.

           (Maria looks strangely at her, not knowing what to make of her

             comments)

           Hilda: You knew Madame, didn’t you, that she was having an affair?

           Maria: Well I sensed it. We women always sense it before our husbands.

           Hilda: I wonder.

 

     Hilda’s last comment, I suggest, should not be interpreted as a statement of doubt, but as a true wonderment, an astonishment that is out of her experience, she not being a wife and never have sensed that another woman was having an affair.

     Finally Held shows up and they make a few comments, before he turns toward Hilda, observing as if for the very first time:

 

          Held: You’re a funny creature. What are you? Lawyer, or a new kind of 

                    women.

          Hilda: By day I’m a lawyer. By night...well you might be surprised.

          Held: Why don’t you get married.

          Hilda: Well, being single has its points. At least no one will ever murder me.

          Held: You may have the night off Hilda.

          Hilda: Why thank you. I’ll make the most of.

          Held: Doing what? I’m curious to know what a lady lawyer does in her spare

                    time.

          Hilda: Probably forgets that she is a lawyer. And sometimes forgets that she

                     is a lady.

 

      This clever conversation can, of course, be perceived as a mere discussion in which Hilda is simply suggesting that she may not be as prudish, spinsterish, or uninterested in male companionship as her daily job might indicate. But far more likely, I believe, the script suggests that the Helds are asking these questions about her “outside” life because they may suspect, what she hints at, that she is a “different kind of woman,” not just “a new kind of woman,” as Held implicates, not only liberated but lesbian. As she suggests, sometimes she forgets that she’s a “lady,” either implying that her morals are much looser than they appear in her role before the bench or, far more likely, that she is a “manly” woman, the way lesbians were generally described in the 1930s.

       Hilda plays an important role, accordingly, in this film, as both a woman who sees things from a female viewpoint and a lesbian, who perceives things about other women in a manner that neither of the two unfaithful wives can imagine. Outside of the bounds of marriage, Hilda sees through both her partner Held’s hyper-macho reactions and the dissimulation of his wife.

       As Held returns to the judge’s chamber after his impassioned plea on part of his client Bernsdorff, Hilda brings a perspective to the melodramatic scene just prior that balances this film in a way that without her would make it seem almost like a “male weepie,” the men crying for the evil women have done them.

        As he enters the chambers, she looks Held in the eyes saying: “As a lawyer I congratulate you. You probably won. But as a woman I didn’t believe a word of your argument.”

        If such statements as these, from alternative gender and sexual viewpoints, do not really matter, then, I’d argue, the viewer has no more ability to read a movie than the Hays Code board or passive viewers who watch movies for their quality as moving pictures instead of enjoying it as a form of literate art.

 

Los Angeles, March 25, 2022

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (March 2022).