Word: bront
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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Peering through grillwork gates, over garden walls and from doors, windows and moving dollies, three television cameras probed last week into the anguished doings at the great house at Thornfield in Studio One's dramatization of Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre. Not all of Studio One's hour-long shows are as moving and well-integrated as was Jane Eyre; like all TV dramas the quality wavers up & down from week to week. But what makes Studio One (Mon. 10 p.m., CBS-TV) outstanding in television is its invariable high technical polish...
...that label. It's obvious I'm a woman, but what does that have to do with it?" She is well aware that few women have made their mark in the arts, and that they are mostly singers (Schumann-Heink), dancers (Pavlova) or novelists (Jane Austen, the Brontës, George Eliot). There have been women composers like Cécile Chaminade, but no Bachs or Beethovens; painters like Mary Cassatt and Georgia O'Keeffe, but no Rembrandts or Michelangelos; poets like Sappho and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, but no Dantes; a few top women pianists* and virtually...
Alluring Strangeness. Nicolson admits that all great writers have been the least bit peculiar, at that. Germany's Schiller whetted his inspiration by keeping rotten apples in his writing table drawer. Charlotte Brontë often mooned about the house for months without being able to put pen to paper. Milton could write only between October and March; Balzac, Byron, Dostoevsky and Conrad, only at night...
...bark off Warners' wartime backlog. Actually rather better than the average movie, it only looks worse because 1) it is so self-consciously serious, 2) it turns a good movie subject into a peculiarly lifeless romance. The highly romantic subject: the lives & loves-particularly the loves-of the Brontë sisters...
...judge by the film, the sisters were rather like Little Women on an overcast day. Father Brontë (Montagu Love), though a grouch, was not really a bad old sort. Emily (Ida Lupino) found stimulation in a skyline wreck which she called "Wuthering Heights," and frequently flared her nostrils at the moors. Charlotte (Olivia de Havilland), a pretty, man-apt, comfortable soul, was the last sort of girl in the world you would expect to write a novel, even Jane Eyre-which, one gathers, was just a drugstore romance. Arrogant Brother Branwell (Arthur Kennedy), more true to history, drowned...