This wouldn’t happen to be your glass slipper, would it?
When it comes to The Late Edwina Black (1951), a good idea, proven by its later use by Alfred Hitchcock in an award-winning film, has its promise ruined by a poor script. As the film opens, we learn Mrs. Black has died, informed of the long-anticipated tragedy by her long time nurse, Ellen, who uses the moment to lash out at Mr. Black’s secretary, Elizabeth, for some obscure offense. Gregory Black, Edwina’s husband, is informed as well, to which he responds with a subdued sense of doom.
Quickly, we learn that Gregory and Elizabeth have been carrying on during the illness of Edwina, much to grievance of Ellen. But their plan to leave on a vacation together, during which they’ll marry, is soon foiled when Inspector Martin of the police shows up: Edwina’s corpse is full of arsenic, and he’s suspicious of the lot of them.
Soon enough, everyone is sniping at everyone, their suspicions mutual and emotionally devastating; even the Inspector gets a few delicious shots in. All of this is the lead up to the second poisoning, that of Elizabeth, who ends up collapsed in bed. But the big reveal is on its way, and we’re wondering not whether there’s a big vacation coming, but if the would-be lovers can even stand the sight of each other, regardless of their relationship to guilt. Did he? Did she? Will they? What are these remarks about last night and passion and all that sort of thing in a movie of this age, anyways?
While the tension could have been delicious, the role of Elizabeth is ridiculously sloppy. She’s emotional, suspicious, vulnerable, accusatory, passionate, and nearly dead from poison – and that’s all in a sixty second span. The result is not sympathy, but a feeling of disgust in the audience. Gregory’s actions are also questionable, as we never get any sense of his emotional relationship to his ex-wife.
The problem with a plot such as this is that the characters must be strictly believable. The plot must withhold information from the audience, while keeping the apparent character reactions believable, and that’s no mean feat. This story doesn’t really achieve it, and while I appreciated the climax, the rough climb up the mountain more or less ruined it for me.
But as a predecessor to Hitchcock’s masterpiece, which shall remain nameless, it’s still interesting to see the difference between this flawed effort and Hitchcock’s more successful result.
