Being a huge fan of Charles Dickens, I have, of course, read A Tale of Two Cities. I've even taught it a couple of times in English literature classes. However, I had never seen this film adaptation before. It was produced during that mid-1930s era of big-budget literary adaptations, many of them (like this one) produced by David O. Selznick. Naturally, taking a Dickens novel and trimming it down to about two hours of screen time means leaving out a lot of the action of the book, but this film's makers have managed to retain much of the spirit of the source material. It's an enjoyable version of Dickens' book on the different ways that London and Paris responded to the French Revolution although the movie spends much of its time in France rather than England. That was, after all, where the more interesting action was taking place.
The plot is likely familiar to many of you, but here is a brief overview. The film begins with Lucie Manette (the charming Elizabeth Allan) returning to France to be reunited with her father, who has been imprisoned in the Bastille and is now a free man but a bit disoriented and helpless. The revolution, at least in terms of the strong feelings against the aristocracy, has already begun in Paris, and events such as the accidental death of a child who is hit by the carriage of the Marquis St. Everymonde (Basil Rathbone, later to be best known for his portrayal of Sherlock Holmes) only add to the growing distaste for the rule by the wealthy, the members of which seem increasingly out of touch with the reality of everyday life.
The Marquis' nephew, played by Donald Woods, changes his name to Charles Darnay and tries to distance himself from his uncle's way of life. The uncle had already disowned Charles because of their differences of opinion and had even planned to have his nephew arrested. Charles falls in love with Lucie, but before the story can have a happy ending, Charles is hauled into court on suspicion of having incriminating British documents. He has Ronald Coleman's Sydney Carton as his attorney, and even though his character seems to be drunk for most of the picture, Coleman manages to find the heart at the center of his world-weary lawyer. It's particularly touching to see how much he feeds his unrequited love for Lucy into his defense of Darnay.
The greatest character in the novel--in the dramatic sense--is, of course, Madame DeFarge. So cunning and manipulative is the character, and so filled with hatred for the indignities she and have family have suffered, that you expect an actress in the part to chew more than a little of the scenery. The film makers cast the little-known stage actress Blanche Yurka in the role, and she is the most compelling aspect of the movie, in my opinion. Always thinking of how an action might benefit her, Yurka's Madame DeFarge gets to shine, in particular, during her courtroom testimony against Darnay. It's one of the few times she puts down her knitting, but Yurka makes the moment one of the most engrossing in the movie. She's meant to be the great villain of the movie, which she most certainly is, but you also understand just how much pain she has suffered. A lesser actress than Yurka might have faltered, but this performance is quite assured.
I also have to mention the great Edna May Oliver. She plays Lucie's companion, Miss Pross. Oliver was like an earlier version of Thelma Ritter. You always knew you were in for a treat when she appeared on screen, which she did regularly in small supporting roles. The Academy had just created the categories for Best Supporting Actress and Actor in 1936, but sadly, its members did not select Oliver to be in the inaugural group. That's too bad because she deserves recognition at least for the scene in which she single-handedly takes care of Madame DeFarge.
The film has numerous moments meant to show the gap between the wealthy citizens of Paris and the impoverished regular people. One moment has the poor swiping food that had been meant for dogs, so hungry are they. This is all meant as a backdrop to the French Revolution, of course, an event that seems to have horrified Dickens himself, given the severity with which he portrays the members of the revolution. For example, Madame DeFarge's desire to see Lucie Manette (now Darnay) and her child killed in order to exact even more retribution for her family's past mistreatment is meant to show just how blinded many people became to the depths of their bloodlust.
Throughout the film, the image of the guillotine keeps reappearing. Many of the revolutionaries even take to wearing necklaces with small versions of the execution device. If you've read the novel, you know how prominently the guillotine figures in the climax of the narrative. The film is faithful to the novel's version of events, for the most part, allowing a sympathetic character to make an overwhelmingly generous sacrifice on behalf of a loved one. The way the climactic scene is shot, with its mix of shadows and light, is quite stunning, an almost perfect example of classical Hollywood cinematography.
Interestingly, A Tale of Two Cities was actually released in 1935, but it was nominated for Best Picture of 1936. Maybe its December 25 release date made it eligible for the later year. I don't think the film would have won in 1935 either, a year that was filled with other literary adaptations like David Copperfield and Les Miserables and A Midsummer Night's Dream. The eventual winner for 1936 was The Great Ziegfeld, another big-budget film but with musical sequences (and released by the same studio, MGM). Adaptations of Dickens novels have been nominated several times for Best Picture over the years but have never won. Now they seem to be relegated to occasional BBC miniseries productions with airings on PBS.
Oscar Nominations: Picture and Film Editing
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