“Oh What Tangled Web We Weave”-With The Film Adaptation Of
W. Somerset Maugham’s “The Letter” In Mind
By Josh Breslin
“I swear I wish sometimes I could be a woman. NO I am not
talking about turning from male to female or anything like that [revealing true
sexual identity which some people are now in 2017 correctly asserting their
right to do -JB]. Society in the year of our lord 1936 would not put up with
it, would not put up with such an idea even though anybody who is anybody who
has read any amount of history, the history of sexual experiences anyway knows,
that cross-dressing, cross-sexing I guess you could call it has been going on
since Eve came out of Adam’s rib, maybe before,” Roger Saint John mentioned in
passing to his dear friend Bernard Baron.
The causes for Mister Saint John’s comment were two-fold. He
had just read his close friend Somerset’s latest novel, The Letter, after having avoided the pleasure as long as possible
since he did not like the subject matter as a rule of whatever concoction
Somerset had cooked up to titillate the literate reading public here adultery
and murder, murder most foul. Moreover this same Bernard Baron had insisted
that they go see the opening of the film adaptation of Somerset’s novel starring
Bette Davis and he had had quite enough of the whole thing. However Roger was
intrigued by the craziness, his term, that the woman would go through to hold a
man, a man who was no longer interested in being with her.
This Clara, Bette Davis’ role in the film, starts off
directly in scene one doing her version of rooty-toot toot on her paramour who
went south on her, Steven something. Yes, dear Clara was in a tizzy over hard
fact than this Steven cad was smitten by another woman. Maybe it was that Steven
had gone “native” on her, had taken up with a beautiful Polynesian woman whom
he swore he was pledged to eternal devotion. For that transgression he paid
with about two fistfuls of bullets and plenty of splattered blood (to speak
nothing of the defamation of his character as this Clara came up with the usual
tart story that this Steven had made improper advantages toward her and she had
to defend her honor, her womanhood in the only way that woman can-with a handy
revolver.]
But Saint John once he started to get up a head of steam
decided that perhaps it would be better for the reader to have a little
background as to why he was at pains to try to figure out what made the female
sex tick. The ploy was pretty simple. Clara, married, unhappily married to
Donald Smythe, the famous geological engineer for the East Coast Oil Company,
was stuck unto death in dreary Indonesia where Donald was often called away on
business for his company out in the boondocks. Clara none too strong on Donald
anyway except as a meal ticket out of the West End of London from whence she
came got easily bored and started hanging around the Leeward Inn where she met
this guy Steven who would wind up with many holes in him
before Clara was through with him. They became hard and fast lovers for over a
year and Clara, at least had dreams of getting out from under her Donald burden
and leave the goddam archipelago and then Steven lowered the boom on her. Told
her that he was in love with his native woman, Sisil. End of story. No, end of
Steven. Clara was going to have her man or else she was going to take care of
business her own way.
Here’s where things got dicey, where Saint John was at a
lost to figure out what was running behind a woman’s mind when she has been
unceremoniously dumped. She developed this whole elaborate plot about how her
lover, now dead, and unable to contradict her had really been public nuisance
number one, had thrust himself upon her. This weak sister of an alibi which anybody who ever spent ten minutes
at the Leeward Inn would know was false since Clara and Steven had their little
corner love nest spot in the bar got her easily past her gullible and witless
cuckolded husband, no problem. More importantly got her past the friendly
constabulary which was friendly with Donald and wanted to be friendly toward
whatever wishes East Coast Oil had. She was ready to walk after a perfunctory
trial which was necessary given the death in the case,
Then the fucking letter came to light, the letter where
Clara expressed her undying devotion to Steven and gave the back of her hand to
the foolish Donald. She moved might and main to get that fucking letter back
from whoever had found it. Of course it was Sisil who figured to cash in on
Clara’s school girl indiscretion, cash in for ten thou in cold hard cash. So
the suppression of the letter got her off the murder rap. Didn’t get her off
the rub out list which Sisil who was as crazy about Steven as she had been compiled
just for her. Go figure.
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