Blu-ray Review: John M. Stahl’s Imitation of Life on the Criterion Collection

The time it’s taken for John M. Stahl’s reputation to catch up with the times has been a lot more elongated than that of the auteur, Douglas Sirk, who remade many of his films two decades later. Whereas Sirk’s pedal-to-the-medal, distancing approach to women’s weepies was recognized, by some, quite near contemporaneously, Stahl’s films to this day struggle to sit alongside the likes of Stella Dallas, Now, Voyager, and Sadie McKee, much less the now revered ’30s works of Frank Borzage, Josef von Sternberg, and George Cukor. If, indeed, he has an audience in this era, it’s largely through his association with the Sirk remakes—maybe also for helming one of the great Technicolor noirs, Leave Her to Heaven.

Similarly, novelist Fannie Hurst has languished in comparative obscurity for a writer who was ahead of her time in both gender representation and the progressive nature of her politics. That her predominately out-of-print works, respected by the literati though they weren’t, aren’t at least as well-known as the artless, proselytizing scratchings of one Upton Sinclair is a pretty damning snapshot of the sexism that drives canonical maintenance.

And yet, there but for the grace of astute programming goes Imitation of Life, written by Hurst, then adapted by Stahl in 1934, and then again by Sirk in 1959. It’s the Eisenhower-era version of the material that’s endured as a lasting landmark; it figured onto more than one Slant writer’s Sight & Sound ballot of the Greatest Films of All Time. But Criterion (the label that once shunted Stahl’s version of Magnificent Obsession into the bonus features of their release for the Sirk remake) now belatedly plants a flag for Stahl’s own worthiness, releasing a new standalone edition of Stahl’s earlier version of Imitation of Life.

Stahl’s version hews closer to the original novel than Sirk’s, though it’s worth noting that the 1934 version already trims away much the novel’s considerable focus on the character of Bea Pullman (Claudette Colbert), a widowed mother pounding the pavement selling maple syrup and just barely keeping her home in order, and instead homes in on her relationship with Delilah Johnson (Louise Beavers). A Black woman also caring for a young daughter, Peola (played by Dorothy Black at age 9 and Fredi Washington at age 19), who, by virtue of her complexion, passes for white, Delilah prods Bea into accepting them both as members of the house, in exchange for Delilah’s services as a domestic.

Being Hurst’s notion of a modern woman, Bea balks at first but eventually relents. Delilah’s secret family recipe for flapjacks spurs Bea into opening up a boardwalk restaurant (signage indicates that the location is the Jersey Shore in Pleasantville), which becomes an immediate hit with tourists. Even then, when Bea tries to get Delilah to sign a contract for her “fair share” of the profits (20 percent), the latter refuses, seemingly out of deference to her social position. No matter; Bea keeps Delilah’s portion safely kept, as their story flips from rags to riches.

It would be a stretch to say screenwriter William J. Hurlbut’s adaptation takes the full measure of turning Delilah from a supporting character into the leading one she would become, Oscar categories be damned, as played by Juanita Moore in Sirk’s version. But Stahl’s film is, for a studio picture in its time, an unambiguously bold step in the right direction. Even more notably, Beavers doesn’t soft-pedal the uncomfortable aspects of her character’s overall function. One early scene finds Bea struggling to figure out what to put on her restaurant’s mast until she locks eyes with Delilah. “Smile,” she begs. Beavers volunteers a standard-issue, human smile. “No,” Bea counters, asking for a, you know, smile, upon which Delilah immediately flashes a grimly beaming caricature, which becomes the signpost for a restaurant primed to print money.

Bea’s success and courtship with Stephen Archer (Warren William), an ichthyologist whose profession exists primarily for a series of bewildered gags, garner maybe two-thirds of this Imitation of Life’s overall runtime—which would be a far bigger problem were it not for Colbert’s warm, winning performance—but even critics at the time recognized that the film’s heart was to be found in the drama of Delilah’s strained relationship with Peola, who from childhood on has worked to pass in white society and who, aided along by Stahl’s almost religiously acetic style, may well be responsible for literally breaking her mother’s heart. (Fans of Sirk’s film might be surprised by just how much of the 1959 version’s climactic, casket-side breakdown, as mortified daughter belatedly comes to terms with the pain she’s inflicted, comes directly from the Stahl version, right down to the stark blocking.)

It’s true that, whether as a function of the times or, more to the point, the newly installed Hayes Code, this Imitation of Life winds up in a less satisfactory position than its remake, both in terms of exposing the great American hypocrisy and in terms of delivering the melodramatic goods. But every scene involving Beavers (an actress who, being before her time, was never given the chance she was due) and Washington (an actress who, ahead of her time, refused to play the Hollywood game and instead returned East to spearhead the Negro Actors Guild of America) is as precise on the cost of racism as any mainstream movie of its era could be.

Image/Sound

Boasting a new 4K restoration, the Criterion Collection’s presentation of Imitation of Life is rich with detail for a film now nearly 90 years old. There are some odd transitions in and out of both the opening and closing credits that are given away by the abrupt audio fades in and out, but otherwise this appears to be a very well-maintained print given all the care that’s made Criterion’s reputation all these years. The black-and-white cinematography of Merritt B. Gerstad (who also lensed such diverse titles as Seventh Heaven, A Night at the Opera, and Freaks) is absolutely ravishing, and gets the full range of silvers and grays here. Artifacts are few, focus is tight, and grain is good. There’s a surprising dearth of musical cues throughout the film, and as such, the audio presentation actually comes off a step up from most other titles of Imitation of Life’s vintage; the dialogue doesn’t have to compete with shrill strings.

Extras

In some ways, John M. Stahl’s filmography almost comes off as tastefully modest, and so I guess it’s fair that Criterion’s selection of bonus features is similarly simple but appropriate. Best of all is a double dose from historian and author Miriam J. Petty, who supplies a full introductory essay in the included booklet as well as a roughly half-hour deep dive featurette on the performances of Louise Beavers and Fredi Washington, both in terms of Imitation of Life as well as their place alongside such contemporaries as Hattie McDaniel. Petty’s research is comprehensive and approachable. She was previously featured on Criterion’s release of High Sierra, and I look forward to more appearances from her in the future. The other major feature comes from a Criterion veteran, critic Imogen Sara Smith, who explicates Stahl’s underrated career. Lastly is an oddity from the archives: a trailer Universal specifically cut for Black, southern audiences, once the studio caught wind that the film had legs among that audience.

Overall

John M. Stahl’s Imitation of Life walked so that Douglas Sirk’s version could run, but even in that context the 1934 version remains among the most conscientious of Golden Age Hollywood depictions of the bitter realities of race in America.