There are some themes that we can consider universal when it comes to understanding the root of what drives us to create art – and while there are the more obvious choices, such as love, family and death (the trio of topics to which nearly every work of art can be traced), others are slightly more abstract, but not any less fascinating. Two that I have found to be most intriguing are jealousy and madness, and while some may consider them essentially two sides of the same coin, others view them through a more divided lens – but its undeniable that one often influences the other, and while they’re not immediately easy to recognise in creative works, we do find they’re much more common than we may have initially imagined. This is where we can start a discussion on Devil and the Deep, in which director  Marion Gering and writer Benn W. Levy adapt the novel Sirenes et Tritons by Maurice Larrouy, which tells the story of Diana, the beguiling wife of a naval commander, and the victim of her husband’s ferocious jealousy – she is unable to speak to another man without her better half falling into a rage, and with his status as an officer in the navy, he is capable of punishing anyone who he considers a threat. However, when he discovers that his wife is actually gradually falling in love with his newest recruit, he decides to take matters into his own hands, intent on getting revenge, even if that means ending multiple lives in the process. A shocking and provocative blend of psychological thriller and romantic melodrama, Devil and the Deep is one of the most fascinating and unconventional films of its era, a work of unhinged brilliance that is not only formally quite exciting, but deeply compelling in terms of its narrative, which is bold and unconventional, and driven by a sense of complexity on which layers of sharp commentary is constructed, leading to one of the more intriguing works to emerge from this era.

The gradual categorisation of Hollywood history into several different eras is a fascinating endeavour, since not only does it allow us to very easily pick apart the change in style and storytelling approach, but it also gives us valuable insights into dominant points of conversation at different points. The Pre-Code era – defined as the four years in between the decline of silent cinema and the introduction of the Hays Code (which set out to dictate very strict rules on what should be allowed to be shown on screen), where filmmakers were given more freedom as a result of a diminished level of censorship, allowing more radical narratives to emerge during this period. While it was still restrictive in a way, we find several very interesting themes dominating during this time, with one of the most prominent being that of marital strife and infidelity, which went directly against the idealistic image of the happy married couple and nuclear family.  Devil and the Deep is one of the many fascinating films that addressed this subject, which it did through the story of a couple who appear to be loving on the surface, but who are secretly in combat with one another, a result of the husband’s jealousy and the wife’s refusal to subscribe to his cruelty, seeking validation and friendship elsewhere, which only exacerbates his disdain, leading to quite a difficult set of circumstances. It’s not the final word on any of these ideas, and it should be noted that this film is very much intentionally heightened – but there’s something so quietly intriguing about this film and its unconventional worldview, which we find is built from quite a solid conceptual foundation, the director and screenwriter working in tandem to capture the spirit of the original text, filtering it through a few compelling stylistic conventions that only highlight their unorthodox nature.

One of the great joys of watching a Pre-Code film is the likelihood of encountering some of the most iconic actors in Hollywood history, usually in smaller supporting roles. Some of the most brilliant performers of the Golden Age of Cinema had their start during this period, and while they may have initially been considered day players to an extent, their talent is still undeniable. Devil and the Deep has a blend of established names and newcomers, leading to one of the most impressive casts of the era. Tallulah Bankhead is the star, and as the most established of the core cast, she’s absolutely tremendous – the tragedy of living in the contemporary era is that we were not able to witness the true brilliance of Bankhead, who was primarily a stage actor and therefore most of the work that made her such a folkloric figure is not available to us. Her forays into film still do show her wide breadth of talent, and while she can only do so much with the role of a downtrodden wife, she is nonetheless absolutely exceptional, bringing the part to life with such vigour and complexity. Gary Cooper and Cary Grant play her love interests (albeit separately – they don’t share the screen in this film at all, with Grant only having a single scene), while the esteemed Charles Laughton makes his American film debut (do not be misled by the “introducing” billing he receives – as the credits mention, he was an established actor in his native England) in perhaps his most terrifying and unsettling role of his entire career, taking a one-dimensional villain and turning him into a horrifying, deeply repulsive character whose cruelty anchors the film, becoming its primary catalyst. The cast is fantastic, and the film revolves entirely around their performances, capturing every nuance and elevating Devil and the Deep to be much less shallow than it may have been in the hands of any other actors who did not understand the importance of nuance.

Devil and the Deep is not a particularly deep or challenging film from a contemporary perspective, but as with any Pre-Code film, we have to adjust our thinking to reflect dominant beliefs at the time – and from that point of view, we find that it is wildly inventive and quite daring. The simplicity of the narrative is a great merit, since it never seems to be striving to be more than what it appears to be on the surface, which is essentially a cautionary tale about an unhappily married couple who would much rather stew in their mutual disdain than dare reveal their volatility to the outside world, and the consequences that can emerge from such an approach. Driven by some exceptional performances, with Bankhead and Laughton in particular being magnificent (Grant is in too little of the film, while Cooper is as limited as ever, but still doing what was required with such a one-dimensional character), and comprised of some truly extraordinary narrative developments, Devil and the Deep is a fascinating work, with its themes being provocative and daring, and its execution challenging and unconventional in the most striking way imaginable. It has mostly been forgotten, despite being lauded at the time and being held in quite high esteem for several years, and the foundation on which the film is built is still very strong, earning our attention and admiration, making it ripe for rediscovery. Unconventional in structure and extremely straightforward in the message it wishes to communicate, it’s a strong work and one of the finest melodramas to emerge from this storied period in Hollywood history.