A star vehicle for Joan Crawford, who plays Margaret O'Neal, daughter of an inn-keeper, adoptive niece of Andrew Jackson (Lionel Barrymore), hopelessly in love with Virginia Senator John Randolph (Melvyn Douglas), married first to the dashing naval lieutenant Timberlake (Robert Taylor), and then after turning down Randolph because he's intent on breaking up the Union, to steadfast John Eaton (Franchot Tone). The cast is made more lively by the presence of Beaulah Bondi as the pipe-smoking backwoods Rachel Jackson, by Sidney Toler as Daniel Webster ready to orate at the drop of a hat, by Alison Skipworth as the gossiping Mrs. Beall, and the gosh-shucks comic interludes of a very young James Stewart as Rowdy Dow. This is a sentimental melodramatic revision of history, with historical figures gravitating or (perhaps) orbiting about a beautiful, headstrong, smart young woman. But though she's smart and loyal, possessing all the same political convictions of most of the male characters, the only real scope she has is to marry, or not to marry, somebody whose politics she agrees with. And then the worst she has to endureother than the heartbreak of not being able to marry Randolph because he's an incipient secessionistis the petty nastiness of stuck-up Washingtonians who despise her because of her humble origins (she's "Pothouse Peg" to them) and because of what they imagine is scandalous behaviourespecially visiting Randolph's deathbed after he's assassinated by a really vile, sneaky rebel. Jackson intervenes, dismissing his entire cabinet, and Margaret sails with her husband for Spain.
Somehow, I have reservations about Crawford hereand not just the part written for her. True, she is very good-looking indeed, but she doesn't seem to inhabit the part as much as she moves and holds still for the camera, and employs the appropriate facial expressions, the big sad eyes, the sparky impish look, the indignant glare, the soft yielding gaze, the angry flounce. She's overdressed (by Adrian) for the part, and so is her accent. If the dialogue didn't mention it from time to time it would be hard to remember she's not supposed to be a "lady." Her carriage reflects this problem, too, until it seems that everybody else in the cast is acting while she is delivering Joan Crawford content.
And now the other problem with this movieAndrew Jackson. Lionel Barrymore does a great job making him a crusty but kind-hearted and principled backwoods original, with his colourful curses and idioms, with his corn-whiskey voice and with his bushy white eyebrows. But this is a sentimentalized Jackson, retooled in a process of romantic primitivization: he is made up of equal parts of federalist principles, loyalty to his hayseed origins and his beloved hillbilly wife, avuncular kindness to Margaret, and huffing-and-puffing temper. He is made out to be a proto-Lincoln,determined to Save the Union. I suppose he might have been, but I am so angry with the real Jackson about manifest destinythe banishment of Indians from the east and the Trail of Tearsthat I find this soppy idolatry rather creepy.
Somehow, I have reservations about Crawford hereand not just the part written for her. True, she is very good-looking indeed, but she doesn't seem to inhabit the part as much as she moves and holds still for the camera, and employs the appropriate facial expressions, the big sad eyes, the sparky impish look, the indignant glare, the soft yielding gaze, the angry flounce. She's overdressed (by Adrian) for the part, and so is her accent. If the dialogue didn't mention it from time to time it would be hard to remember she's not supposed to be a "lady." Her carriage reflects this problem, too, until it seems that everybody else in the cast is acting while she is delivering Joan Crawford content.
And now the other problem with this movieAndrew Jackson. Lionel Barrymore does a great job making him a crusty but kind-hearted and principled backwoods original, with his colourful curses and idioms, with his corn-whiskey voice and with his bushy white eyebrows. But this is a sentimentalized Jackson, retooled in a process of romantic primitivization: he is made up of equal parts of federalist principles, loyalty to his hayseed origins and his beloved hillbilly wife, avuncular kindness to Margaret, and huffing-and-puffing temper. He is made out to be a proto-Lincoln,determined to Save the Union. I suppose he might have been, but I am so angry with the real Jackson about manifest destinythe banishment of Indians from the east and the Trail of Tearsthat I find this soppy idolatry rather creepy.