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OTTO’S CARDINAL SINS Otto Preminger’s The Cardinal and Fred Zinnemann’s The Nun’s Story are His & Hers companion pieces: Catholicism the central theme and target, with both respectfully handling their criticisms; both episodic, with travelogue-like transitions between periods; both have “guest star” performers who know what to do with Catholic lingo. There are, to be sure, some differences and the most crucial is the central star: Audrey Hepburn has been lovingly nurtured by Zinnemann in the latter, and you can see how it blooms in just about every detail of her performance, whereas Tom Tryon as The Cardinal has been browbeaten by Preminger—he’s humiliated into submission, into what some of the nuns wanted to make of Sister Luke. The director’s tirades against Tryon are not only well-documented, you also see the affects in just about every detail of his performance. It’s tormenting to watch him in some scenes—particularly the Doubting Thomas moments with John Huston—and come very close to feeling his real agony; his pocky face could be stigmata. (Calling Preminger a tyrant didn’t prevent Tryon from working with him again in 1965’s In Harm’s Way.) Ridged from apprehension, but his sinewy tallness giving the cassocks and waistbands and hats dignity, he’s deserving of sympathy for being at least satisfactory as moral guide to get through the episodic calamities and is surprisingly effective in the cautionary and concluding summation about recurrence of fascism. The critics of influence at the time of the movie’s 1963 release were less than honest in their humorous floggings. In his essay “The Preminger Problem,” Dwight Macdonald derided it as “a Guntheresque tour Inside Catholicism,” and Stanley Kauffmann, in his essay “The Preminger Paradox,” railed it was “a polychrome heartstring-tugger, nothing else.” They seemed perturbed over the blowhard director’s failure in not revealing the dirt on Catholicism and its inner workings. Whether they deigned to read or skimmed or skipped the Henry Morton Robinson novel, they certainly don’t mention it much in their lengthy copy, as they seem more concerned about others’ opinions and the director’s filmography. Robinson didn’t write, even implicitly, an attack on the Church; as seen through the eyes of a young Francis soon-to-be Cardinal Spellman, he was writing about the moral, racial and geopolitical issues the Church’s international hierarchy administratively dealt with during the 1920s, 30s and early 40s. Maybe not surprising, Macdonald and Kaufmann couldn’t move beyond the widescreen trappings to notice The Cardinal is cunning enough for agnostic audiences to deduce what the director was striving for—a period piece on the morality wars caused by expensively robed celibates who, with presumed carnal-free experience in matters of sex, nevertheless issue proscriptive canon on sex, marriage and birth. (Tryon is allowed to briefly express some personal misgivings.) Absolutely not the impression the Vatican, said to have helped finance the movie and for which it gave Preminger a medal, wanted but inevitable for viewers who see the self-exposure in all the ecclesiastical chat and reverence, supplied not by the credited writer Robert Dozier but by uncredited Gore Vidal and Ring Lardner, Jr., both atheists. (Some of us believe The Cardinal will be one day accepted as Preminger’s subversive scold on Catholicism’s infantilism; though the movie sanctifies him as a future saint, the real Spellman, a supporter of fascists Joseph McCarthy and Spain’s Franco, went to considerable length to dissuade Hollywood from making the movie, particularly vocal in Boston.) Introduced as Cardinal Glennon at the ivories attempting Bach’s “Chromatic Fantasy,” Huston is authoritative and congenial; he has to enforce the obligatory Catholic tests of humility and pride-busting—in self-recognition he says to Tryon, “Ambition is a disease in any man, in a priest it can be fatal; we should begin your treatment at once.” Didn’t stop him from becoming highly indignant when balloting for a new pope went on without him. Love interest for the conflicted Tryon, Romy Schneider emits a Viennese spell of resignation as martyr. Carol Lynley redeems herself after what she pulled in Return to Peyton Place, and at her career best in a confessional. Providing solid support are John Saxon, Burgess Meredith, Jill Hayworth, Raf Vallone, Tullio Carminati. With Dorothy Gish in her last role, Maggie McNamara (looking like Sandy Duncan, several steps down after looking like Jean Simmons in Three Coins in the Fountain), Bill Hayes, Cecil Kellaway, Chill Wills, Patrick O’Neal, Murray Hamilton and, uncredited, David Opatoshu. In lieu of salary, Huston, whose scenes were written by Lardner, received two Jack Yeats paintings. At IMDb, there’s mention of Pope Benedict, as a young man, acting as the Vatican’s liaison during the production; you can’t help thinking about him as the kind of Nazi ass kisser Josef Meinrad’s Cardinal Innitzer plays. Originally given very limited, short-run reserved seat treatment, running at 175 minutes. youtube offers a very satisfactory roadshow print. Filmed in Panavision, with 70mm blowup. (Opened 1/03/1964 at the Woods, running 12 weeks.) Oscar nominations for best director, supporting actor (Huston), color cinematography (Leon Shamroy, who won that year for Cleopatra), color art direction, film editing, color costumes (Donald Brooks). ROLL OVER IMAGES / POSTERS (at left)OLL OVER IMAGES
Text COPYRIGHT © 2001 RALPH BENNER (Revised 3/2010) All Rights Reserved.
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