Swedish filmmaker Victor Sjöström made many outstanding, artful silent films in both his homeland and the United States before the advent of talkies. Given the many differences in production between styles, one can understand why he was perhaps less than enthused about the new trend, and ultimately gave up direction. As if to illustrate the point, as 'A lady to love' progresses it looks and feels very different from any of the man's prior works. By all means, it's fairly solidly made, and an entertaining, relatively lighthearted drama. Whether it's a question of the content, however, and/or being Sjöström's first foray into new techniques, what also comes across is that this seems peculiarly common compared to the likes of 'The wind' or 'The outlaw and his wife,' if not altogether unexceptional - and less than stellar.
Some early sound films haven't fared well with the passage of time and struggle with noticeable deficiencies of audio or image quality. Gratifyingly, this is not one of those. Perhaps with the resources of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer on hand, recording engineers James Brock and Douglas Shearer were able to capture the sounds and dialogue of this 1930 picture with swell clarity. Only in sparing instances of especial cacophony is the audio troubled, and in fairness, this isn't a problem that's exclusive to early sound features. Likewise, taking advantage of the best equipment the studio's money could offer, cinematographer Merritt B. Gerstad demonstrates fine skill with smart, mindful camerawork, and there's no loss of fidelity in what we see. To that point, the carefully crafted sets and costumes are also fantastic, further demonstrative of the hard work of all those behind the scenes.
Things get a little more thorny from there. Edward G. Robinson was a very highly regarded actor active across several decades, and he showed again and again why he was so beloved. Here, his performance comes across as weirdly halfhearted and inauthentic, like something is holding him back such that the contrivance of the acting rises to the surface. Vilma Bánky, similarly, enjoyed great success in silent movies, and though by whatever combination of factors her career didn't extend far into the sound era, I don't doubt she could have made a go of it. In this instance her acting quite seems to split the difference between styles; it's mostly fine but sometimes feels forced, and I wonder after all if she wouldn't have been more comfortable if this weren't still a silent picture. Those in smaller supporting parts are less noteworthy all around, though incidentally, Robert Ames seems to be the one person on hand who by this point already had a firm grasp and sense of ease with weaving speech into his acting - yet even that's not true across the board.
How much of this can be chalked up to the efforts of the cast, however fruitful they are or not? How much of it can be accounted for by Sjöström's own misgivings about the new paradigm? Maybe I'm reading too much into it all, or projecting the trajectory of the filmmaker's career onto this singular title. Be that as it may, I swear I see a distinct stiffness in his direction that's a far cry from the absolute expertise and finesse that he illustrated in 'He who gets slapped,' or 'A man there was.' I discern a measure of discomfort, and unnatural blockiness, in the orchestration of shots and scenes, and in the guidance of those in front of the camera - that is, movement, comportment, and progression that's unnatural compared to real life, and the nuance that viewers are broadly accustomed to in sound cinema, and even somewhat unnatural compared to the fluidity of silent features. Everything about the execution feels strangely off-kilter, as though those involved - primarily either Sjöström and or the cast - couldn't figure out the precise needs of the medium moving forward, and what worked best. And I feel all this is cemented by the fact that Sidney Howard's screenplay, based on his own stage play, seems wholly robust and ripe for cinematic treatment. This presents the early twentieth century version of catfishing, and of two principles learning to love each other nonetheless. It's a terrific story, honestly, with strong scene writing, characters, and dialogue. Somehow, its translation into the audiovisual format in 1930 just rather feels like a series of fits and starts.
This isn't to say that 'A lady to love' is bad. Far from it! This is enjoyable, and more well made than not. Some scenes are done particularly well, and in the last third of the runtime it really seems like Sjöström, Robinson, Bánky, and the rest have at last found their proverbial feet. All the same, it remains true that for most of these ninety minutes, most everyone involved is grappling with the shift to sound, and they've not yet discovered how to navigate that space. With one last damning emphasis of these difficulties, the climax is sadly perhaps least convincing of all as it presents. Robinson seems to be plainly overacting, Bánky is weak, and Sjöström is just scattered. Right when it matters most is when the execution falters the most.
Whether one is a big fan of one participant or another, or just an ardent cinephile generally, this is still worth checking out. It's enjoyable on its own merits, and interesting for a peek at the state of a few chief figures at so significant a point in their careers. It's also well removed from the tremendous heights that all have achieved elsewhere, and in my opinion is an unmistakable exhibition of how the film industry had a hard time making peace with such huge changes. Watch 'A lady to love,' but don't necessarily go out of your way for it, and keep in mind the contemporary circumstances of its production.
