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Introductory preface: This piece is part of Dr. Annette Bochenek’s Biopic Blogathon, something in which I’m delighted to partake. You can learn more about the Blogathon here at her website HOMETOWNS TO HOLLYWOOD– and while you’re at it, give her site a thorough read: she’s a wealth of knowledge and continually provides thoughtful write-ups!
With her dark eyes, raven hair and stronghold over the box office, it was only natural that Kay Francis would be elected to portray Florence Nightingale. Both women were proud and stoic, noble and undaunted in demeanor. It had been over twenty years since Nightingale’s life had been last adapted and dramatized for the screen, a 1915 silent release titled “Florence Nightingale,” directed by Maurice Elvey. The industry had entirely revolutionized in the two decade span between both productions, and Warner Brothers was eager to prove that it, too, was capable of producing prodigious biographical pictures on par with MGM despite their bare-boned budget. In 1936 — four years after controversially snatching half of Paramount’s roster with promise of higher pay (Francis among them) — they’d acquired a formidable company of players on par with that of their studio rivals. Francis was cresting the zenith of what would be her ephemeral reign as Warner Brother’s leading lady, beginning with Ruth Chatteron’s retirement in 1934 and waning shortly thereafter, when Davis stunned the ranks of Hollywood with her breakout performance in OF HUMAN BONDAGE. Tinseltown erupted in commotion when Davis was a last minute write-in for Best Actress, and reached a fever pitch when Colbert won instead for IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT. She’d go on to win a consolation Oscar for 1935’s DANGEROUS, and by 1937 had undisputedly eclipsed Francis to become one of cinema’s most enduring icons, surmounting even studio prestige in her momentous renown.
A side-by-side comparison of the real Florence Nightingale (in a photo dated around 1860) and Kay Francis, pictured in a publicity still promoting THE WHITE ANGEL.
THE WHITE ANGEL was released in 1936, and historically has been cited as the picture that irrevocably altered the trajectory of Francis’ career to a state of disrepair. Such a claim is unfair and ignorant, as it oversimplifies the many factors at play to a point of faux revisionism that in turn slanders both Francis and her trade by its deliberate framing. It’s been increasingly taken at face value, and often weaponized to convey a false reality, cited heavily with the film’s box office failure in what is accepted as irrefutable fact. The story is far more complex and nuanced: while THE WHITE ANGEL did perform poorly in contrast to other 1936 releases, it is not the anathema history has made it out to be, and certainly not the lone culprit for the downshift in Francis’ career.
The vilification is so pervasive, in fact, that it equitably marred the reputation of both Francis and the film itself. Just months earlier, Warners rejoiced in the success of another biographical medical drama, THE STORY OF LOUIS PASTEUR, helmed by none other than would-be director of THE WHITE ANGEL, William Dieterle. The chameleonic Paul Muni headlined and garnered effusive praise for his performance as the eponymous scientist, leading Warner’s to believe they struck a golden niche that would guarantee continued success. Why, then, was THE WHITE ANGEL received so poorly despite being similarly competent in every aspect of production? How could it result in such a cataclysmic disappointment with PASTEUR veterans Dieterle and Gaudio, framing and lighting each scene to perfection? And why has Muni’s performance been celebrated while Francis’ is panned, despite the overt parallels between the two? Both surpassed the bare minimum of physical resemblance to emotionally embody the role to enhance the authenticity and resonance of their character.
THE WHITE ANGEL is visually striking and deftly paced, didactic at some parts but never taking to egregious extremes in the presentation of its virtues. Its ruling motif equates the color white to purity — evident not only in the film’s title (and Nightingale’s epithet), but additionally in her robes, the lighting, and climatically when she waits silently for admittance to the cholera ward in bitter snowfall, undeterred even in light of illness and death.
Even if one were to argue their preferential proclivity for PASTEUR over ANGEL, there’s no denying that both films are highly embellished to hyperbolic lengths. ANGEL takes considerable liberty in inflating Nightingale’s importance, yet its efforts are in earnest. Whereas the real Nightingale was actively engaged in charitable work long before the Crimean War, ANGEL’s narrative frames it as such to imply that she was a powerless family pawn bereft of her own resolve, a touch that adds intentional gravitas to her rejection of feminine tradition in a bid to martyrize her image. The story’s focal point additionally revolves with the intense, bureaucratic masculinity driven opposition that Nightingale systemically faces from medical superiors, the bulk of which was fabricated for melodramatic enhancement. Ian Hunter’s steadfast journalist, too, is a fictitious addition employed for similar reasons. No such figure existed, and even if he did he most certainly would not have boasted such an instrumental role in ensuring Nightingale’s success.
These are all valid criticisms without question, but lack the necessary gravitas to take accountability for the way the film was received. Though THE WHITE ANGEL is far from the stuff of well-regarded legendary films, its legacy is cemented firmly enough to distort and ripple even those well-versed in the canon of studio era Hollywood. Even I found myself apprehensive prior to my first watch, deliberately postponing it as I steadily worked my way through Francis’ filmography. Any reluctance I’d harbored prior rapidly evaporated as I let the story envelope me wholly, indulging in its thoughtful artistry and Francis’ somber yet resolute performance. By its conclusion some ninety minutes later, I was absolutely floored — not because the film was a masterpiece, but rather because it was a far cry from the disaster I’d anticipated.
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Kay’s initial encounter with THE WHITE ANGEL was not exactly auspicious, as evidenced by her own journaling. It was presented to her just after the New Year, on January 2nd, 1936. It would be completed in just five months. “Read my new script,” Francis scrawled. “Dear God!” Because this sentiment was of her own (private) admission, it carries considerably more weight than other anecdotal references — which is fair and just, when examined contextually. Unfortunately, exaggeration is not a tool exclusive to the studios, and media sensationalism in turn has constructed the false idea that Francis loathed the picture through and through. I vehemently despise this careless oversight, as it not only fails to consider the depth of her performance but additionally her changing attitude toward the film itself. From start to finish, she’s thoroughly engaged, both cerebrally and emotionally. She speaks her lines with intention, gently at first and then austerely as male authority continues to deliberately undermine her. She’s never disengaged or disinterested, emoting effusively through body and expression as toil surmounts and fatigue sets in. Just as Florence soldiers on, so does Kay — and Gaudio’s camerawork takes on a magical, fluorescent air as it illuminates her worried eyes and contours her furrowed brows. It is in these moments that Kay and Florence are one, scintillating beacons of hope in a squalid wasteland of death and decay.
One scene remains forever embedded in memory, where Florence ever so dutifully pays her respects to a lost soldier on behalf of his ailing family. The viewer is presented with a graveyard designed in angular severity in the style of Weimar expressionism before Francis traverses the frame, solemn and contrite. She lays a bouquet of flowers at the grave and utters a short prayer before the framing changes so that she is front and center, collapsed at the knees in sacrificial symbolism — a scene which contemporary critic Grahame Green cited as ‘dreadful’ in his laconic review for The Spectator in November of 1936, amongst other slights concerning Francis’ beauty in relation to her acting ability. Not all critics were as harsh as Green, however — a Photoplay review from August of 1936 offers glowing praise: “With quiet dignity, moving in its simplicity, Kay Francis … who succeeds in infusing with warmth and humanness the character of the nurse.”
Francis was not alone in being unfairly underestimated on account of her physical charm, but unlike Joan Crawford purposefully eschewed glamour despite the studio’s merciless attempts to frame her as a clotheshorse. Though Francis repeatedly proved both her dramatic and comedic competency, she was typed into one of three limiting roles: the devious debutante, the suffering fallen woman, or the estranged mother. Audiences played such a large role in shaping star personas to the point where the studios were receptive to their attitudes. Francis’ decision to play a role that was not only biographical but additionally chaste and virtuous created a cacophonous schism in her stardom. Viewers were disappointed to find her playing noble, choosing to disregard the risk and ambition involved with such a departure.
It is one of many factors that would contribute to and eventually precipitate her downfall, yet is all too often overlooked in favor of the simpler and flashier version that erroneously attributes all culpability to THE WHITE ANGEL’s failure to bring in a profit. This singular narrative disregards and denies Francis any humanity and glosses carelessly over significant details integral to comprehending and respecting her personhood. Unlike Davis and Crawford, Francis never craved the stardom that accompanied acting — if anything, it was a byproduct that could prove equally beneficial and detrimental. Often left out of the discourse as well is Jack Warner’s tyrannical treatment of her following the film’s failure, wherein he tried to force her out by offering only abysmal roles. Francis, who preferred the money and vocation to fame, stubbornly stayed on. Warner was so insistent on ousting her that he ignored Davis and Cagney, both of whom came to her defense.
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My efforts to revitalize interest, repute and prestige in Kay Francis as a person and an artist are ongoing, with this being just a taste of what’s to come. So much of a film resides within the energy and performance of its leading star, yet few approach their analysis in such a fashion. There is realism present in every fantasy by virtue of the actor alone, who to some extent must draw upon their own experiences in order to commit authentically to their job. Francis’ journals remain largely unexplored, and I’ve yet to visit them myself — but even if no further entries regarding THE WHITE ANGEL exist, it doesn’t detract any from the growth and change she underwent from the production’s start to finish. Upon finishing my second viewing last evening, I marveled at the broad yet admirable similarities between Francis and Nightingale — ones far more subliminal than the obvious physical resemblance. Both women were fiercely independent, unafraid to court masculine ideals in order to make their livelihood. Francis notoriously referred to herself as a “swell bachelor girl,” and despite a few ill-fated marriages was vocal in detailing her indulgent sexual liaisons with both men and women — something unthinkable for a woman at the time. While Nightingale didn’t exercise her autonomy in such a way, she defied societal comportment by taking matters into her own hands to rectify the long incompetent nursing system that was still in place as late as the Victorian age. Both Francis and Nightingale eschewed convention with grace, drive, and aplomb. Though Francis never pursued a medical profession, her profound sense of dignity and empathy would take her front and center stage during World War II, where she volunteered to entertain troops despite hazard and violence. Whether she was aware of it or not, I do believe that Kay found a great kinship and respect with Florence Nightingale while working on the film. It’s evident in each still of her performance, even down to the way she meticulously enunciates each and every ‘R’ with committed consistency.
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Works Cited
Photos and Photoplay review courtesy of http://www.kayfrancisfilms.com, an invaluable resource
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