Review of Craig's Wife

Rosalind Russell acting. *Imagine*. The very woman for whom the word "madcap" was coined, the woman whose giddy portrayals of fast-talking, double-dealing dames with machine-gun delivery -- *acting*! Well, she *could* act, she just didn't get the chance very much, once she'd been typecast as the motor-mouthed madonna. And in this movie, she acts her little heart out in playwright George Kelly's (mysteriously) Pulitzer prizewinning story of an overbearing, scheming matron who is a little *too* involved with her possessions. Mr. Kelly, uncle of Princess Grace, and by all accounts a big queen, has written one of the all-time great female roles, one that any actress would give her eyeteeth to play. Along with a host of meaty supporting roles, Kelly's sculpting of the role of Harriet Craig is masterful, though at times, it *does* seem a bit dated, now (IMDb.com lists a silent 1928 version, presumed lost, that would be a treat to see). The sensitive and well thought out, yet cold and detached qualities in the movie are a gift from pioneering director and avowed lesbian Dorothy Arzner, who was also the first woman to direct a talkie. Harriet, to whom appearances are *everything*, rules her adoring husband and their house with a velvet fist. When a well-meaning neighbor bring over fresh flowers as a gift, Harriet immediately disposes of them, saying "I can't go around picking up rose petals all day." But her wealth, through marriage, has brought her (*bought* her?) all the things most important in life – a beautiful home and social respect, and she's determined to remain in control of that as long as possible. But all good things must come to an end. After Harriet has isolated her husband, alienated their friends, and lost all her servants, she gets caught up in some ridiculous plot contrivance (that Joan Crawford *completely* does away with in *her* version *Harriet Craig), that serves to bring all her manipulations and machinations to light. Predictably, her husband leaves her, and we see her crack, and realize she's lost everything and that the thing that ostensibly means the most to her – the house – is cold consolation. But the last scene, where her sanity dissolves before our eyes is a glorious and delirious spectrum of emotions in which we see all her defenses and fantasies crumbling before her, as she just as quickly, installs new ones. An overlooked tour-de-force, and jewels in the crowns of Rosiland Russell *and* Dorothy Arzner.