mildred pierce
this movie surely holds the coveted record for "movie i've recorded off tcm the most times but have never got around to watching before it gets deleted due to lack of space," so i was very happy to finally have an excuse to pull the trigger on it. perhaps unsurprisingly, the noir passages are more my speed than the melodrama, but it's all still very well-acted and curtiz always knows how to frame a scene. this is my 17th curtiz film and the dude just doesn't really miss. it's practically a given that he's not an auteur on the level of ford, hitchcock, etc., but there's really nobody better when it comes to wielding the machinations of the studio system to create a clean piece of hollywood entertainment that ticks all the boxes it needs to.
with that said, there are long stretches in the middle for which curtiz's hand is almost too steady, the melodrama too controlled and respectable, leaving me longing for something closer to douglas sirk than john m. stahl. the performances are very good (it goes without saying that crawford is incredible, but jack carson in particular nearly steals every scene) and the characters fulfill their function, but it lacks the dynamism of the opening scenes. i think i might just generally have a hang-up with movies that follow the ups and downs of a character's life over a period of years, as the periodic emotional resets tend to dampen whatever tensions the film had built up in me (not that there aren't countless great movies within this mode). there was still plenty to like about these parts however, and i was particularly holding on to its conception of all relationships as driven by financial negotiation in place of love, excepting the (unrequited) devotion of mother to daughter. in that sense it's one of the most cynical films i've ever seen really, and i was quite taken by every moment in which ann blyth reveals herself to be an even bigger monster.
also of interest is the pretty straightforward feminist reading of the film, showcasing a truly independent woman living for herself and her shitty daughter. sure there are men in her life, but she never relies on them except out of convenience and by choice, and her character arc isn't defined by them except as plot devices. this also ties into the queer subtext made obvious in eve arden's character, as we get a glimpse of a somewhat masculine, independent woman for whom men are barely even a consideration at this point.
the final revelation isn't the most shocking thing in the world, but it is inevitable and necessary considering all that had come before. it's a strong ending, but perhaps i was just relieved to be back under the oppressive shadows of pure noir as opposed to its intimations. the final shot in particular is quite lovely.