In the 1930s, the first decade of the talkies, Hollywood saw a big shift in cinematic acting styles. The early 30s were dominated by the hammy theatricality of obvious gesture and blunt emoting, a combination of the old silent movie style and that of the legion of stage actors brought in at the dawn of the sound era. Gradually however a more naturalistic style – always there, even in the silent era – started to become the norm. This did not mean however that we also saw a rise in what we now think of as realist filmmaking. Hollywood cinema was a world away from what would be going on in Italy a few years later. No, this was the age of movies like Stella Dallas; big, emotional slices of pure Hollywood melodrama.
And yet, melodramatic as it is in outline, Stella Dallas is one of those naturalistic productions. A lot of the realism is thanks to its star, Barbara Stanwyck. Stanwyck had always been a fantastic actress, even in her earliest appearances, but now it seems Hollywood – and the right roles – had caught up with her. Stanwyck's best asset was her ability to display the heightened emotions necessary for a picture like this without appearing overwrought or unrealistic. It's quite amazing to see how she does it, a delicate balance between herself go and reining things in before they reach a point of exaggeration. She never plays to the camera as hams do to an audience; it's as if she is really living her role. She is ably supported here by Anne Shirley, who proves herself as good at transitioning from a teen to a young woman as Stanwyck is at ageing herself from a young woman to a middle-aged mother. Key supporting player Alan Hale is a shameless old scenery-chewer, but he has just enough self-control here to stop his antics unbalancing the picture, and his larger-than-life presence actually makes his character's eventual fate rather poignant.
Director King Vidor typically oversaw such natural yet compelling performances. Crucial to Stella Dallas is also how Vidor foregrounds certain actors and sidelines others. In Stanwyck's first scene the camera remains fixed on her as other players walk on and off around her. Then look at how Stella's father often has his back to the audience, and while her brother has his face to us he is further back in the shot. Because of this these characters don't make too much of an impression on us, and we don't find ourselves wondering what became of them after they disappear from the narrative. We barely even notice that the Dallas family's maid is played by the great Hattie McDaniel, because we hardly catch a glimpse of her face. Everything is geared towards our focus on Stanwyck and Shirley, and to a lesser extent Hale and John Boles. Throughout Vidor's camera is relaxed and unobtrusive, moving little and only closing in on the action at the most intense points, allowing the drama to unfold before us, to make us forget we are watching a movie. At one point Stanwyck fluffs her lines – "I'll fit {the dress} to you rather than
this thing
uh
dummy". It was rare in those days for a take like that to be kept, let alone used in the final cut, and despite sounding like a realistic mistake it would normally stand out amid the clear and perfect dialogue. However, by this point we are so hooked into the story and the characters' lives it seems absolutely natural.
To some, Stella Dallas might sound like an odd experiment, mixing as it does such raw naturalism with the oft-told tale of tragic love across social strata, replete with sweeping strings and soft focus photography. Instead, the two trends produce a beautiful synthesis, a burning melodrama in which the people seem genuine and the emotions true. It's a powerful drama that will bring the tears out in streams, and shows just what was so great about this time in cinema history.
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