Selznick’s attempt to out-epic Gone with the Wind tells you everything about the ambition here and quite a lot about the results. Before anyone appears on screen there’s a Prelude, an Overture, title cards, voiceover, more voiceover — nearly fifteen minutes of throat-clearing that must’ve felt like a dare in 1946 and is basically a provocation now.
Once it gets going, Jennifer Jones earns her place at the centre of it. Pearl Chavez is coiled energy and bad decisions, exactly what the film needs. Peck is cast against type as the villainous Lewt, and the slight sense that he doesn’t belong in the role turns out to be its own kind of menace. The photography is the other achievement: sunsets and rock formations lit like a fever dream, with the final sequence on the rocks deranged in the best possible way. Those images have stayed with me longer than the plot.
The trouble is it wants to be tragedy but keeps stumbling into pantomime, and doesn’t always seem to know which one it’s going for. Too much of everything — fatal flaw or entire appeal, depending on your tolerance for melodrama at full volume.