A Closer Look At Jezebel (1938) Part II

Director: William Wyler
Starring: Bette Davis, Henry Fonda

Picking up where I left off yesterday, I’m continuing with my look at William Wyler’s Jezebel. With its focus on the fall and redemption of its protagonist Julie (Bette Davis), the element that stands out is its treatment of gender. However, its treatment of race and slavery is equally interesting and directly linked to its representation of women.

Golden Age Hollywood isn’t exactly known for its sensitive and positive representations of people of color, but there are things here that particularly stand out. There are four slave characters who get to play prominent roles: Uncle Cato (Lew Payton), Zette (Theresa Harris), Gros Bat (Eddie Anderson), and Ti Bat (Matthew Beard). Each of these depictions is problematic on one level or another, especially for the way that they work to underscore the innate “badness” of Julie. The treatment and use of Zette, Julie’s maid, is particularly troubling because it links so directly to the establishment of Julie as corrupt. Julie’s red dress is the visual manifestation of her wickedness and the characters around her, including her Aunt Belle (Fay Bainter) and Preston (Henry Fonda), recognize it as such. Zette, however, does not and gushes to Julie about its beauty and then agrees to help Julie in an attempt to manipulate Preston in exchange for Julie’s promise to give her the dress after the Olympus Ball. Zette’s enthusiasm for the dress is a sign of how inappropriate it is and how negative Julie’s subversion really is. In choosing the dress, Julie isn’t simply setting herself apart from other women, she’s also setting herself apart from her class and race. Julie’s dealings with Gros Bat have similar consequences. It’s Gros Bat who shows her how to sneak across the fever lines so that she can return to New Orleans, thus undermining the white, male authorities. In a world ordered according to black and white, where black is equated with bad and white is equal to good, Julie’s behaviour, which ties her so closely to the black characters, is a mark of her immorality.

Generally speaking, the film is guilty of infantalizing the slave characters. Cato, for example, is given a title of ironic deference in being called “Uncle,” but he’s also shown to be child-like in his fear of ghosts, which amuses Julie and her circle, who are themselves beyond such superstitions. Prior to this, there’s a scene in which Cato and Ti Bat are on the lookout for arrivals at the plantation in the country. The film can’t really be accused of infantalizing Ti Bat, as he is in fact a young boy, but the behaviour of Cato is indistinguishable from that of Ti Bat in this scene, implying that intellectual development amongst slaves is arrested at childhood.

Later, in what is perhaps the most egregious moment of racial insensitivity, the plantation’s slaves are gathered together to sing for the entertainment of Julie and her guests. In this depiction of slaves as jolly and carefree, the film supports anti-abolitionist justifications for slavery which hinge on the idea that not only are slaves far from mistreated but they are in fact being “protected” by their white owners. This attitude that one segment of the population is incapable of caring for itself and therefore needs to be taken under the protective wing of a stronger, more able group that will guide it with a firm hand, is an attitude applied as much to women during this era as to people of color.

In the grand scheme of the film, race and slavery play a very small role but one which is important for the way that it informs how Julie as a character is coded. In linking Julie so closely to characters that are consistently characterized as child-like, the film suggests that what Julie is ultimately lacking is maturity. Her defiance, her petulant outbursts, her scheming and plotting are not part of a genuine battle for autonomy, but an indication that she needs the guardianship she so desperately fights against. Her narrative arc, then, is not just one of redemption, but of coming-of-age. To achieve this goal she must break away from the child-like manners associated with the slave characters and align herself with the more mature minds of men like Preston without actually seeking to become the equal of men like Preston.

A Closer Look At Jezebel (1938) Part I

Director: William Wyler
Starring: Bette Davis, Henry Fonda

Maybe I’m weird, but I’ve never been inclined to see Bette Davis as the villain of Jezebel. I don’t know that I’d go so far as to call her a hero, but at the very least she’s a victim of rigid societal rules and expectations which guarantee that no matter what she does, she’s bound to lose in some way. William Wyler’s film is interesting on a number of levels, but particularly in its exploration of the fuzzy morality which makes the oppression of entire sections of the population feasible. The picture it paints of a woman’s place in the world is bleak, but it deftly illuminates the often fraught relationship between women and “society.”

The film begins on a theme which will inform the rest of the story: Antebellum Southern chivalry. When Julie’s name is brought up in a bar as a way of teasing Buck Cantrell (George Brent), Buck takes offense to it, deeming it disrespectful. Buck challenges his rival to a duel in order to defend Julie’s honour, though he later admits that as far as he’s concerned the duel has nothing to do with Julie and everything to do with the fact that he just generally dislikes his rival. This is the first glimpse we get of “chivalry” as a means of healing wounded male pride disguised as protecting the delicate sensibilities of women, but it won’t be the last. This first scene also establishes the general opinion that Preston Dillard (Henry Fonda) will need to keep “a tight rein” on Julie, his intended bride. When we first meet Julie, she’s riding a colt that hasn’t yet been broken. The implication of this is pretty clear: like the colt, Julie is wild and must be broken before she can be of any proper use.

Preston and Julie are an on-again, off-again couple who are currently on and engaged. Julie’s headstrong ways, however, are a constant stumbling block and their battle of wills comes to a head the night of the annual Olympus Ball. It is customary for all unmarried women to wear white to the ball, but Julie decides that she will wear red. Preston reluctantly escorts her to the ball and, as expected, her dress creates a scandal. People literally shrink away from her as if she has a contagious disease. There’s an interesting shot in this sequence, as Preston and Julie dance, where Davis, who is wearing a low-cut dress which leaves her shoulders bare, is framed in such a way that it appears as if she’s wearing nothing at all. She might as well be naked, she’s so indecent to the people around her. Mortified, Julie wants to leave but Preston insists that they stay, thus prolonging Julie’s humiliation. Afterward he leaves her and goes to New York to attend to business. A year later he returns to find a chastened Julie, who declares herself ready to submit to his will and judgment. There’s just one problem: he’s returned married to Amy (Margaret Lindsay), a New Yorker. Julie, however, isn’t deterred and is convinced that his marriage is only a small obstacle impeding their reunion, which she believes to be inevitable.

The relationship between Preston and Julie is closely tied to and influenced by the traditions of chivalry, which the film shows to be very contradictory in nature. Time and again the concept of a woman’s honour is invoked in order to justify bad behaviour towards women. Preston’s friend, Dr. Livingstone (Donald Crisp) decries the lack of “respect for Southern womanhood” in Preston’s generation by telling him that the only way to deal with a difficult woman is to beat her then buy her some jewellery to put her in her place. Following this conversation, Preston pays Julie a visit, making sure to bring a cane, which he abandons when he sees her. As the scene progresses, she puts him in his place and remarks as he leaves that he “forgot [his] stick.” It’s a scene of emasculation which suggests that a man who can’t “control” his woman isn’t really a man at all. Julie’s desire to think for herself, which means undermining the traditions and conventions of her society, is not just a sign of her “badness,” but also a reflection of Preston’s weakness.

The key scene in the film, the one which solidifies Julie’s badness, is the duel between Buck and Preston’s brother, Ted (Richard Cromwell). With some prodding from Julie, Buck and Preston spend an evening circling around each other, setting the stage for a fight. When Preston is called into the city to tend to business matters, Ted steps in to take his place and he and Buck agree to a duel. Julie, realizing that things have gotten out of hand, tries to talk them both out of it, but both stubbornly insist on following through with it. When all is said and done and Buck ends up dead, Ted rails at Julie, placing the blame firmly at her feet. What is actually a matter of obstinate male pride is chalked up to Julie’s “evil” streak. Buck and Ted are given multiple opportunities to walk away from this fight, both of them know that the reason behind it is fraudulent and contrived, and yet they’re determined to go through with it and this is Julie’s fault. Despite the fact that as a woman in 1852 she has no tangible rights and whatever power and influence she has rests precariously on her ability to live up to societal expectations, she’s held responsible for the actions of two independent men.

Even though the film endorses patriarchal norms by structuring its story around the tried and true formula of an unconventional woman who overreaches and is punished and ultimately redeemed, I think that in the final analysis, the film is on Julie’s side. Yes, she is penalized for her initial refusal to conform and for her later manipulations, but her redemption directly arises from her disobedience. Sneaking across the fever lines, she returns to New Orleans to tend to Preston and then accompanies him to the island where fever victims are being sent, an island populated by lepers. It isn’t simply a moment of redemption, it’s a moment of incredible courage in which her contravention of the rules is presented as admirable.

Since this has run on a bit long and there’s still so much I want to touch on, I’ve decided to split it into two parts. Tomorrow my focus will be on the film’s problematic treatment of race and how it ties in to the film's view of gender relations.