For something made in 1936, this caught me off guard by feeling familiar. Not with a row, but with that slow “when did we become polite roommates?” drift. Wyler directs like a man allergic to fuss: he places people in rooms and lets the gaps between them do the talking. A step back here, a pause too long there, and I felt the relationship coming undone.
It’s glossy in that studio-luxury way — European hotels, ocean-liner poshness — but it never becomes postcard fluff. The shine makes the emptiness louder: you can upgrade the wallpaper, but you can’t redecorate a dead marriage. Walter Huston is warm and grounded as Sam. Ruth Chatterton, stuck with the “wife as problem” part, keeps slipping fear beneath Fran’s flailing. Mary Astor’s Edith is so natural the film seems to exhale whenever she appears.
The film turns judge and jury on the split. Fran’s desire for more is framed as vanity, while Sam’s complacency is framed as maturity. Edith arrives as the approved model: independent, clever, and conveniently low-maintenance. It’s sharp, adult, and directed with such quiet precision you can enjoy it while side-eyeing the sexism.