The Picture of Dorian GrayAppearances can be deceiving; for Dorian Gray (Hurd Hatfield), his deception is his appearance. Adapted from the novel of the same name by Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray is a moral tale of the dangers of wantonness and vice, and of how our vanity and pride can be ruinous, to ourselves and to others. Dorian is a warning, a cautionary avatar to deter us from basing our judgments of others solely on appearances. As time marches on, Dorian remains frozen in his youth, a vampiric immortal, unchanged by time and the decadence and corruption through which his soul is disintegrated.
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When we are introduced to Dorian Gray, it is upon a visit by Lord Henry Wotton (played by the irrepressible George Sanders) to his friend of the painterly persuasion, Basil Hallward (Lowell Gilmore), as he is putting the finishing touches on a portrait which seems to have taken on a life of its own, possessed by a supernatural call--you can guess who the portrait is of. Henry is a self-avowed hedonist, one who takes on the persona of an "unmitigated cad", espousing the virtues of self-indulgence and operating solely for the glory of pleasure. Henry's witticisms and propensity toward the frequent bon mot marks him as a surrogate for the Irish originator of the story, who is often remembered for similar declarations. Dorian--who appears to be as innocent as a newborn babe, takes great interest in the sentiments expressed by Henry, and mistakes his wit for wisdom. Henry's droll comments and flippant behavior get a rouse out of high society, but Dorian fails to grasp the irony in his remarks, and begins to mold his life around his suggestions. In Henry's own words, "all influence is immoral", but can Henry really be held responsible for Dorian's gradual descent into depravity? As a fellow social butterfly observes to her fellow at a party--after Henry's comments have ruffled his quail feathers--that "Lord Henry's remarks are demoralizing and delightful--not to be taken seriously"...it is a shame for Dorian that he didn't get that correspondence. Yet Dorian is an adult...a very young one, but still responsible for his own actions, and passing the blame for Dorian's inner devil onto another denies that Dorian may very well have had this evil lurking within him, merely looking for the justification to escape. Dorian is quick to consider the value of Henry's remark about the pricelessness of youth, and he is also quick to part with his immortal soul, just to remain young while his portrait should age in his stead...a mad wish, but one which has the arcane assistance of an exotic cat god, ubiquitous in the film like a sentinel of some forgotten magic.
But while Dorian sets out to explore life beyond the ivory tower of his Mayfair homestead with the best intentions, there is a saying about the "road to hell" which proves astute here. Dorian descends to visit a small pub--The Two Turtles--where he attracts the eye of a performing singer of unblemished virtue, the lovely Sybil Vane (Angela Lansbury). Sybil performs a song, "Goodbye, Little Yellow Bird", which tells a tale of a common sparrow who is entreated to become a prisoner in a cage of gold, in an act which would compromise the bird's virtue. The song and the events which occur parallel Sybil's eventual tragedy, although are not so cruel to start; rather, Dorian is as gentlemanly as any kind knight--he is called "Sir Tristran" by Sybil--and their innocent romance blossoms. I've found it ironic that when Dorian makes a point to buy the caged bird for Sybil, it is as if he were missing the deeper meaning of the song...but then Dorian often seems to miss the implied message, and that is one of his most tragic shortcomings. Prior to meeting Sybil, Henry makes an off-the-cuff remark that if Dorian should wish to discover if she is truly virtuous, he should tempt her to elicit her reaction. Regrettably, Dorian takes Henry's council, but then rejects her in a soul-crushing fashion, equating her love to that of a prostitute. Yes, Dorian is savage in his judgement of Sybil, but he chooses to respond this way, he chooses to put Sybil to Henry's "test", and he sets her up to fail when he lures her back into his sanctum, with Chopin's "Prelude" a siren song which he played for her on the night before their first kiss. It could be argued--to a point--that Dorian is under the influence of some kind of supernatural power to thrust him toward evil. The presence of the cat statue is ominous, and featured in the infamous painting, remarked by David Stone (Peter Lawford), the unrequited suitor for the hand of Basil's niece, Gladys Hallward (Donna Reed) as possessing "evil eyes". Over time, after the inception of the mystical cat and painting into Dorian's life, he begins to surround himself with objects of the orient, mysterious eastern totems, and soliciting performances in his home of what could be described as a kind of Buddhist ceremony. Is the iconography meant to also suggest that Dorian is under the sway of this foreign kind of influence, and that unfamiliar gods and powers have spurred this vanity in Dorian? Perhaps, and there is certainly the persistence of the supernatural, something about a painting which can warp ones appearance by adopting the physical manifestations of hard living in lieu of its original. I, however, prefer the idea that is expressed by Dorian as he quotes the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, "I myself am Heaven and Hell", meaning that within each of us is a great capacity for good and evil, though it is our choice which makes it so. Eventually, Dorian begins to feel remorse for his poor choices in life, and tries to rectify them...but as he has observed about his good intentions, they are always made too late. It's hard to feel good about anything when you've given yourself so completely to darkness.
Recommended for: Fans of a moving and haunting tale of vanity and pride overtaking even the best of us, and a cautionary tale about the unseen price of sin. A sharp and thrilling tale, which is still engrossing after these seventy years.
But while Dorian sets out to explore life beyond the ivory tower of his Mayfair homestead with the best intentions, there is a saying about the "road to hell" which proves astute here. Dorian descends to visit a small pub--The Two Turtles--where he attracts the eye of a performing singer of unblemished virtue, the lovely Sybil Vane (Angela Lansbury). Sybil performs a song, "Goodbye, Little Yellow Bird", which tells a tale of a common sparrow who is entreated to become a prisoner in a cage of gold, in an act which would compromise the bird's virtue. The song and the events which occur parallel Sybil's eventual tragedy, although are not so cruel to start; rather, Dorian is as gentlemanly as any kind knight--he is called "Sir Tristran" by Sybil--and their innocent romance blossoms. I've found it ironic that when Dorian makes a point to buy the caged bird for Sybil, it is as if he were missing the deeper meaning of the song...but then Dorian often seems to miss the implied message, and that is one of his most tragic shortcomings. Prior to meeting Sybil, Henry makes an off-the-cuff remark that if Dorian should wish to discover if she is truly virtuous, he should tempt her to elicit her reaction. Regrettably, Dorian takes Henry's council, but then rejects her in a soul-crushing fashion, equating her love to that of a prostitute. Yes, Dorian is savage in his judgement of Sybil, but he chooses to respond this way, he chooses to put Sybil to Henry's "test", and he sets her up to fail when he lures her back into his sanctum, with Chopin's "Prelude" a siren song which he played for her on the night before their first kiss. It could be argued--to a point--that Dorian is under the influence of some kind of supernatural power to thrust him toward evil. The presence of the cat statue is ominous, and featured in the infamous painting, remarked by David Stone (Peter Lawford), the unrequited suitor for the hand of Basil's niece, Gladys Hallward (Donna Reed) as possessing "evil eyes". Over time, after the inception of the mystical cat and painting into Dorian's life, he begins to surround himself with objects of the orient, mysterious eastern totems, and soliciting performances in his home of what could be described as a kind of Buddhist ceremony. Is the iconography meant to also suggest that Dorian is under the sway of this foreign kind of influence, and that unfamiliar gods and powers have spurred this vanity in Dorian? Perhaps, and there is certainly the persistence of the supernatural, something about a painting which can warp ones appearance by adopting the physical manifestations of hard living in lieu of its original. I, however, prefer the idea that is expressed by Dorian as he quotes the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, "I myself am Heaven and Hell", meaning that within each of us is a great capacity for good and evil, though it is our choice which makes it so. Eventually, Dorian begins to feel remorse for his poor choices in life, and tries to rectify them...but as he has observed about his good intentions, they are always made too late. It's hard to feel good about anything when you've given yourself so completely to darkness.
Recommended for: Fans of a moving and haunting tale of vanity and pride overtaking even the best of us, and a cautionary tale about the unseen price of sin. A sharp and thrilling tale, which is still engrossing after these seventy years.