At no point in history has it ever been easy to be a woman – whether it is the fact that society seems to think that it has any right to dictate the lives of half the population through laws that govern their bodies and freedom, or simply the staggering number of acts of violence (whether physical, emotional or psychological) that they have to endure. While it is shocking to say, this has led to an active interest in stories of women who rebel against society and decide to take matters into their own hands, whatever it may entail in each individual situation. A very interesting story is that of Madeleine Smith, a 19th-century Scottish woman who murdered an abusive former lover after he tried to force her into marriage. Her story has been dramatised on a number of occasions, and has been the source of inspiration for a few others, as is the case with Letty Lynton, in which Clarence Brown directs an adaptation of the novel by Marie Adelaide Belloc Lowndes, which follows the titular character, a cosmopolitan young woman, who decides to leave her morally corrupt boyfriend in Venezuela by returning to the United States, but upon her arrival finds that he has followed her and is not willing to go down without a fight. In an act of poor judgment, she inadvertently causes his death, but rather than accepting the consequences, she decides to do whatever is possible to avoid punishment (which most certainly means death – the authorities have never been particularly kind to women who commit acts of violence against their partners, even if abuse is part of the motives behind their actions), in the hopes of proving that she was the true victim in this situation. A film that takes a very simple approach to quite a challenging subject, Letty Lynton is a peculiar work, an offbeat blend of romantic drama and psychological thriller, all bound together to form an intriguing character study that appears straightforward on the surface but has layers that only reveal themselves as the story gradually progresses.
At a glance, we may think Letty Lynton is yet another conventional melodrama that was at its peak during this period, a story of a young woman caught between two men and forced to choose one of them, while also fending off the intimidating advances of the other. This may be a shallow reading, but it is the element that ultimately does serve as our entry point to the story, which eventually reveals itself to be oddly more complex than it seems on the surface. The core theme that the film is exploring, and the reason it has become something of a marvel considering the period in which it was made, is the theme of female autonomy – the titular character is a woman who knows exactly what she wants, and refuses to allow herself to be defined by the men whose company she keeps, viewing them as merely companions rather than ways to validate her place within society. This leads to some fascinating conversations around feminist issues, some of which were still quite revolutionary for the period, and which open the film up to some fascinating conversations that are very much ahead of their time. However, context is also important, and this does eventually become a story of someone put in a position where they have to defend themselves after being accused of murder – and it becomes quite clear that the film does not have easy answers, since we know that the protagonist did indeed cause the death of her ex-lover, albeit entirely unintentionally, but which doesn’t matter all that much, because the harsh treatment of women was only compounded when dealing with one who committed a heinous crime, something that this film explores in fascinating detail, showing Letty’s journey to prove that she was a victim, albeit not in the sense that those around her perhaps may have expected.
Letty Lynton is working with some complex issues, and it is understandable why this would be considered quite a novel film at the time, since it is handling some intimidating themes that were very much not commonly discussed. It’s worth noting that the film was produced in the Pre-Code era, that ambiguous period of a few years in between the end of the silent era and the adoption of the Hays Code, where the industry was allowed to take a more laissez-faire approach to how they told their stories, being able to cover more scandalous topics without the risk of being censored or facing consequences that come with challenging conventions. At first, it doesn’t seem like Letty Lynton is doing anything particularly incendiary – it does centre around a protagonist who is not only unmarried, but relishes in leading a life filled with torrid affairs, all of them purely carnal rather than existing for the sake of settling down. This alone understandably would’ve ruffled a few feathers, and it’s made even more complex when we consider it eventually becomes a story of murder, which is even more controversial. The film does exceptionally well to skirt around the edges of vulgarity by embracing the story as not one that promotes or glamourises these issues, but rather as a character study of a woman pushed to the very edge, forced to reckon with her choices while also refusing to allow society to paint her in one way, since there is a lot more to her actions than they are willing to admit. It’s a fascinating and complex exploration of the inner psychology of someone processing some very challenging circumstances, and under the watchful gaze of Brown, a reliable journeyman director with a very unique perspective, the film proves to be quite effective in looking beyond the obvious and finding interesting ways to deliver this story without becoming overly heavy-handed, focusing on the smaller details, which often contain the most interesting and nuanced layers.
Even by modern standards, the titular role in Letty Lynton seems quite intimidating – this is a character who has to undergo a considerable change, moving from a life of carefree hedonism to potentially facing the death sentence, solely because of one poor choice that leads her down a destructive path. It makes absolute sense that the person who was tasked with bringing the character to life ended up being Joan Crawford, one of the most fascinating performers of her generation. It is difficult to imagine many other actors at the time being able to play the part quite as well as Crawford, since it required someone who could run the gamut of emotions while also maintaining a degree of distance, since this was equally as important considering the subject matter. Crawford’s steely gaze intersects with her capacity for extraordinary emotional vulnerability, making her interpretation of Letty a far more complex one than it would appear to be on the surface, a quietly devastating portrait of a woman trying desperately to maintain her grasp on reality while also bringing a deeply provocative quality to life on screen. It’s a wonderful performance from an actor who has been appropriately celebrated as one of the titans of the era, but who we often forget had the ability to surprise us in ways that we may not initially expect. Robert Montgomery is not quite as interesting as her romantic interest, nor is Nils Asther as her doomed ex-lover, but they do relatively well to support her, as does the always reliable May Robson, whose performance as Letty’s stern and distant mother may be brief, but has a complexity that a slightly more immersive film may have been able to expand on. It’s overall a terrific cast that works to bring these complex themes to the screen without ever veering towards the overwrought, which is a very important quality when handling such intimidating ideas.
Much of the interest surrounding Letty Lynton has to do with it residing in relative obscurity for several years, due to the studio being unable to showcase it beyond its original theatrical release due to a copyright issue, leading to a ninety-year legal battle that has now mercifully come to an end, allowing this film to be shown to audiences for the first time in nearly a century. The wait was certainly worth it, since the film is a fascinating and scandalising character study that challenges and provokes in equal measure, proving that even in its earlier years, Hollywood was still capable of finding ways to shock the viewer. By modern standards, the film seems relatively tame – a mostly straightforward romantic melodrama that quickly pivots into a tense legal thriller; there is nothing about this story that seems entirely unique. However, assessed alongside the era in which it was made, its complexities become more evident – the bold storytelling techniques intercut the more intense storyline, creating a fascinating dynamic that is far more nuanced than it appears to be on the surface, and which quickly establishes itself as having far more detail than we may have initially expected. Anchored by tremendous performances from Crawford and the supporting cast, and helmed by someone who knew how to bring these complex ideas to life on screen, Letty Lynton was certainly in good hands throughout – and its this fervent commitment to the material, and the willingness to challenge and provoke, that immediately helps us understand why this film has remained such a fascinating novelty, and now that we can see it for ourselves, it is entirely clear why it has maintained such a curious reputation, its bold ideas interweaving with some very resonant themes, all of which go towards making Letty Lynton a peculiar gem of a film, and one that tends to be a lot more enticing than it initially appears to be based on a cursory glance.
