Pathé, 1930. Director: Edward H. Griffith. Screenplay: Horace Jackson, based on the play by Philip Barry. Camera: Norbert Brodine. Film editor: Daniel Mandell. Cast: Ann Harding, Mary Astor, Edward Everett Horton, Robert Ames, Hedda Hopper, Monroe Owsley.
December is the month when I often try to devote this space to a holiday movie, and what could be more fitting than a movie actually titled Holiday? Many of us are familiar with the 1938 classic of that name, directed by George Cukor and starring Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant. That film’s reputation is well earned, and any film enthusiast who hasn’t seen it recently (or at all) is encouraged to take a fresh look. Criterion has made that easy by issuing the film, in beautifully restored form, on a Blu-Ray disc. But the point of my “Movie of the Month” column is to celebrate lesser-known and obscure films, and the 1938 Holiday is anything but obscure. It doesn’t need my help to reach an audience.
On the other hand, our friends at Criterion have followed their usual generous practice and included a precious bonus feature on the Holiday disc: the earlier 1930 film version of the same story. That original film adaptation is certainly a little-known film, and that’s the one we’re going to focus on here. Is it as entertaining as the 1938 remake? Not even close. But as an historical sidelight, as an exercise in stage-to-film adaptation, as an opportunity for the diehard film enthusiast to study the underpinnings of a known classic, it’s fascinating.
Philip Barry’s play, Holiday, was just over a year old when Pathé mounted its film adaptation early in 1930. By 1930 the talking-picture revolution was complete and the talkies were unmistakably here to stay, but it’s important to remember that filmmakers in 1930 were still struggling with the cumbersome early sound equipment. Major strides had been made to adapt to the new technology, but it was still far easier to film actors speaking dialogue than to attempt elaborate visual storytelling. Not surprisingly, many filmmakers turned to the stage for story material, and produced what amounted to filmed theatre. Holiday (1930) falls into that category; it’s essentially a filmed record of Barry’s play.
Viewing it with that in mind, it’s intriguing to see the small ways in which director Edward H. Griffith tries to inject a cinematic sensibility. The craft of film editing had become slightly more flexible since the earliest talkies, and long dialogue passages in Holiday are at least broken up by somewhat fluid editing. Cameramen, too, were increasingly able to break the tyranny of rigidly fixed camera positions. Here Norbert Brodine essays some simple moving-camera shots, and even ventures a modest crane shot in one scene. And while the film remains scrupulously faithful to the play for the most part, Griffith does “open up” the play to the extent of staging a couple of key scenes inside moving vehicles, their moving backgrounds supplied by process screens (still a relatively fresh innovation at this time).
One of the most intriguing aspects of this film is its cast. Admittedly, Ann Harding and Robert Ames as the romantic couple at the center of the story are no match for the dynamic performances of Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant in the 1938 version. But it would be a mistake to dismiss Ann Harding’s performance too quickly without looking at it on its own terms (the recurring theme of this column). After achieving success on the stage, Harding was enjoying a vogue in the early years of talking pictures, bringing to her performances a quiet, understated strength. As the misfit daughter of the wealthy family in Holiday, fighting to maintain her own identity in the face of family pressure, she invests the role with a nervous energy that earned her an Academy Award nomination.
To today’s eyes, two other members of the cast stand out more prominently. One is Mary Astor as the more conventional daughter of the family. This is the role played by Doris Nolan in the 1938 version, but Nolan’s performance, although very good, is scarcely remembered at all today, eclipsed as it is by Katharine Hepburn. Here, playing the same role in the 1930 version, Mary Astor practically steals the show.
Astor had already logged an impressive list of credits in the silents, and in 1930 she was embarking on what would be an even more distinguished career in sound films, of which The Maltese Falcon is only perhaps the most famous. Here she delivers a nicely shaded performance, shifting effortlessly from a façade of warmth and charm to cold thoughtlessness.
Another noteworthy cast member is Edward Everett Horton, cast as friend of the family Nick Potter—the same role he would play in the 1938 version! This is more than a pleasant coincidence; it’s an index to the transformations wrought by the successive adaptations. The 1938 classic retains the character, with the same name, but the script shifts his relationship to the main characters in an important way—I’m avoiding spoilers here—and that change, in turn, works a fundamental change in his persona. To see what amount to two different interpretations of the same character, both performed by the same actor, gives us an unusual glimpse behind the scenes at the creative choices at work in golden-age Hollywood.
To the film enthusiast who thrives on the history of the classics, these and other aspects of the 1930 Holiday mark it as a delightful discovery. As we luxuriate in the joys of the season, this often-overlooked movie is a holiday gift that the film lover can unwrap with pleasure.
