Stroheim

13. The Descent

13 The Descent Tht collQPst of Qoun /IllIll inJanuary 1929 was more than just another unhappy event in Stroheim's directing career. It heralded its end. Like the main character in Blind Husbands, he had fallen from the pinnacle, not to death, but to a life ofcontinued disappointment.As if the superstitious man had broken a mirror, the next seven years would bring only bad luck-domestic problems, professional humiliation, and growing poverty. At first, the failure ofthe Queen Kelly project seemed only a minor setback to Stroheim. However, as the months drew on, he began to realize that no producer was interested in his directorial skills. N eeding money, he reluctantly turned to acting as a temporary solution. Who could have guessed that he would sustain himselfin this profession for the rest ofhis life?What roles might he play? His reputation as the "man you love to hate" was only momentarily softened by the lead part in The Wedding March. Now, with his unhandsome looks and his age (forty-four), his opportunities as a rake were limited. But there was another role as well, one that drew on aspects ofthe real or perceived-to-be-real Stroheim. His stormy reputation as an impossible madman prompted screenwriters to fashion stories that capitalized on that "legend." These scripts-at least in most of his American films-usually concern an extremely talented egomaniac (a stage performer, movie director, scientist, writer, or military officer) who also is jealous, vindictive, and almost always cruel-particularly 291 292 STROHEIM to his women. Each of these films has Stroheim's character repeat the same primal arc: he would soar high, bask in the sun for a moment, and then be dashed to the depths. Stroheim's first sound film, The Great Gabbo, was also the first to employ this format. Although he knew that a return to acting in other directors' films would not enhance his Hollywood career, Stroheim reluctantly accepted this role of a mad ventriloquist. The Great Gabbo (released in September 1929) was an independent production made for Sono-Art, a poverty-row firm, and directed byJames Cruze (once a major figure but by this time on the decline). For status-oriented Hollywood, an involvement with such a production suggested that a performer or director was on the way down. Still, the facts that Stroheim was allowed to rewrite much of the script and that he would be in almost every scene-except for the musical numbers starring Cruze's wife, Betty Compson-convinced him that this leading role would not be too detrimental to his reputation. Static and stagy like most early sound films, The Great Gabbo betrays little inventiveness and shows few of its actors to advantage. In fact, its budget was so low that occasional line-flubs were allowed to pass. The story and the dialogue are generally pedestrian in terms of dramatic values and audience appeal, but the film proves interesting because it not only exploits aspects of the Stroheim persona but also contains remarkably insightful autobiographical elements. At times, Stroheim seems to be encapsulating and objectifying certain confessions that he could have related on a psychiatrist's couch. Gabbo is egotistical, stubborn, and mean, yet he also reveals a vulnerable and sensitive side through his dummy. Furthermore, the picture also contains a number ofhis private obsessions. As the film opens, Gabbo (smoking incessantly) is playing solitaire in a shabby room.When his female companion, Mary (Betty Compson), gives him flowers in remembrance of their being together for two years, he replies nastily that flowers are for dead people. A moment later, when she throws his hat on the bed, he jumps up in fear and rage, claiming that such actions bring "bad luck." She then speaks words of wisdom that apply not only to Gabbo but to the man playing the part: "Oh, hats on the bed, and black cats, and spilling the salt, and walking under ladders-you make your own bad luck!" Gabbo bitterly complains that he is performing in Paterson, NewJersey, instead ofthe big The Descent 293 time. Mary replies, sensibly, that he should call his agent, but again the response is typical of Stroheim himself: "Why should I call him? Let him call me! They should be glad to get an act like mine. They can't get Gabbos every day." Then he angrily states that the coffee is cold, and when she...