The best efforts of studio, director and actors are, sadly, ultimately sunk by the script.
This is as a glossy a production as you'd expect from Hollywood in that era, with (uncredited) orchestra schmaltz borrowed from composers far and wide to lay over the soundtrack, dramatically poised black and white photography, and carefully dressed sets -- take a look at the sentimental Victorian clutter of the Italian immigrant's parlour, or the litter of linctus bottles in the boxer's dressing-room. The tale of the prize-fighter who makes it into the big time but loses his soul in the process is a familiar one, done elsewhere (try "Body and Soul", 1947) but here trotted through competently. Perhaps the major twist in this version is that the girl is genuinely attached to her middle-aged lover and reluctant to throw him over for Our Hero's boyish charms; an excellent performance by Adolphe Menjou (a piece of astute casting), along with Joseph Calleia, who manages to infuse the character Fuselli with menace despite the fact that he never actually does anything. (I couldn't help feeling that young Bonaparte gets off awfully lightly from that final confrontation, when Fuselli simply slaps him in the face and lets him go!)
Despite what was apparently major surgery work on the original play-script, however, traces of it still show through: the character of Mr Carp, who seems to serve no purpose other than to act as the author's mouthpiece, coming out with political slogans that jar at inappropriate moments. Glutinous sentimentality for the part of the Italian Poppa -- Lee J. Cobb gives it every ounce of sincerity he's got, and the character is still all but impossible to take. The hero himself is largely a cipher swayed this way and that by those around him, and by the end I was frankly hoping that Lorna would go off with the loyal Tom rather than falling for this boorish and rather unlikable boy. Every so often, a character will come out with something so corny that I just can't swallow it, stopping the illusion dead in its tracks. The script rings false. It's a dud, and a preachy dud that ultimately pulls a handsome and well-staged production down with it.
(As a violin-player, I have to say that the musical scenes are well done. Holden handles his instrument with confidence, and looks as if he is really playing in the scenes where we see his technique -- although I noticed that they wisely chickened out of having the character play the harmonics at the end of "Thaïs"! But I'm afraid Bonaparte's future musical career isn't ever going to be a bright one. A broken right hand, for bowing, he might overcome; with a broken left hand he'll never make professional standard again. My playing has never been as good again since I broke my left wrist, and that didn't even affect the fingers...)
This is as a glossy a production as you'd expect from Hollywood in that era, with (uncredited) orchestra schmaltz borrowed from composers far and wide to lay over the soundtrack, dramatically poised black and white photography, and carefully dressed sets -- take a look at the sentimental Victorian clutter of the Italian immigrant's parlour, or the litter of linctus bottles in the boxer's dressing-room. The tale of the prize-fighter who makes it into the big time but loses his soul in the process is a familiar one, done elsewhere (try "Body and Soul", 1947) but here trotted through competently. Perhaps the major twist in this version is that the girl is genuinely attached to her middle-aged lover and reluctant to throw him over for Our Hero's boyish charms; an excellent performance by Adolphe Menjou (a piece of astute casting), along with Joseph Calleia, who manages to infuse the character Fuselli with menace despite the fact that he never actually does anything. (I couldn't help feeling that young Bonaparte gets off awfully lightly from that final confrontation, when Fuselli simply slaps him in the face and lets him go!)
Despite what was apparently major surgery work on the original play-script, however, traces of it still show through: the character of Mr Carp, who seems to serve no purpose other than to act as the author's mouthpiece, coming out with political slogans that jar at inappropriate moments. Glutinous sentimentality for the part of the Italian Poppa -- Lee J. Cobb gives it every ounce of sincerity he's got, and the character is still all but impossible to take. The hero himself is largely a cipher swayed this way and that by those around him, and by the end I was frankly hoping that Lorna would go off with the loyal Tom rather than falling for this boorish and rather unlikable boy. Every so often, a character will come out with something so corny that I just can't swallow it, stopping the illusion dead in its tracks. The script rings false. It's a dud, and a preachy dud that ultimately pulls a handsome and well-staged production down with it.
(As a violin-player, I have to say that the musical scenes are well done. Holden handles his instrument with confidence, and looks as if he is really playing in the scenes where we see his technique -- although I noticed that they wisely chickened out of having the character play the harmonics at the end of "Thaïs"! But I'm afraid Bonaparte's future musical career isn't ever going to be a bright one. A broken right hand, for bowing, he might overcome; with a broken left hand he'll never make professional standard again. My playing has never been as good again since I broke my left wrist, and that didn't even affect the fingers...)