The Letter
1940
We begin with a moonlit night on a rubber plantation in Singapore. A shot rings out. A man staggers from a doorway across a veranda. Bette Davis follows, wearing a diaphanous gown and firing a gun until she empties it.
Fix yourself a gin sling, my friends, and settle in for some DRAMA. Because what we have here is The Letter.
This is high Bette Davis. She gets to be bad, and she gets to be calculating, she gets to play the innocent, and she gets to suffer for love. She is glorious.
But back to the plot: Yes, she killed him. She sends one of the workers for the police. “Tell them there’s been an accident and Mr. Hammond is dead.” An accident, Bette? She sends for her husband and the family lawyer. Everybody knows the victim. He was part of their expat social circle. So what happened? “He tried to make love to me and I shot him.”
The men’s reactions demonstrate how swell the patriarchy can be when it’s on your side: “May I say that I think you behaved magnificently… It’s obvious the man only got what he deserved.” Sure. Then she dons a frilly apron and makes them all breakfast. Seriously. Of course, she’ll have to be arrested, but she’s not to fret about it. “The attorney general is a decent chap.”
We might relax at this point, but the next shot of her shows the light through the louvered windows creating the effect of bars. Visual cues, people. Notice them.
Herbert Marshall, as her husband, comes off as noble, stalwart, and not terribly bright. “You’ve been the best wife a man could possibly have,” he tells her. Has she, Herbert? We’ll see.
Flash forward. Bette’s been in jail for a while as the investigation takes place. They’ve found that the victim, Hammond, was married. But more than that, he was married to a “Eurasian woman,” described as “all covered with gold chains and bracelets and spangles,” which sounds pretty fabulous to me, but it’s totally turned public opinion against the victim. Now Bette has racism as well as the patriarchy on her side.
Until! Late at night an Asian clerk (wearing glasses, because this is 1940 and all Asian clerks wear glasses) comes to see the lawyer. There is in existence a letter. Written by Bette on the night of the murder. The original is in possession of the Eurasian wife. Uh oh.
Our noble lawyer goes to see Bette. He’s got a copy of the letter. In it, she invites Hammond to come see her while her husband is away. Oops. “Howard, I swear to you I did not write this letter,” she says. Two minutes later: “I did write that letter.” Ultimately, she faints. I mean, what other choice does she have?
Sadly, the lawyer has principles. Even though the Widow Hammond is willing to sell it to them, that would be wrong. Bette does not understand how he could be so cruel (pronounced with two syllables). Surprise: she talks him into negotiating for the letter. Turns out the widow has only one condition: Bette has to bring her the money in person. It’s on!
Another moonlight night. Bette, released into the lawyer’s custody, will go to the Chinese Quarter to see the widow. The Chinese Quarter is clearly where the fun is. And I bet the best food. But I digress. The car moves slowly down crowded streets. Bette looks ridiculous wrapped in an enormous lace scarf.
As they wait for the widow in an antiques shop, Bette is drawn to a set of matching engraved daggers. Yup. Noted. They’re led through the back door to an opium den. Because let’s not leave any Asian stereotypes unturned.
And THEN—Through a sparkling beaded doorway appears…Gale Sondergaard! Because if you’re making a movie in the forties on the Warner Brother’s lot, and you need a sinister female, you go with Gale every time. You may gather from her name that she’s a white lady, but she’s all done up in bejeweled Asian drag and lit to personify Exotic Evil. Okay, but let’s not forget who killed whose husband here.
The first thing she does is have Bette remove the preposterous lace shawl. Thank you, Gale. And now we have a Diva-off. Looks are exchanged. Eyebrows are incredible. Gale throws the letter to the floor. Bette has to kneel before her, after which she primly says, “Thank you” and leaves Gale to glower in rage and fabulous accessories.
And we come to the trial. “If ever there was a simple, uncomplicated case, it’s this one,” the lawyer says. Sure, once you’ve bought the evidence. But if you think the trial is where this story will end, you have not seen nearly enough Bette Davis movies. She needs her big moment, her Movie Star scene, and oh, yes, people, she will have it. And you will love it.
Racism, oh, racism:
What’s so shocking about the racism here is that it’s so casual. It’s just assumed that the audience will understand that the community of white planters is the only community that matters. The people who actually lived here before them, live here with them, and will be here long after they’re gone, are either servants, mild irritants, or inherently evil. I mean, all they have to say about Hammond’s wife is “Eurasian” and he’s condemned. What would it have been like if he’d married a full-blooded Asian? Or was that just too unthinkable at the time?
You should still watch this movie. And then you should go out and support any recent movie that was written by, directed by, or stars an Asian cast. Because Bette is eternal, but Hollywood still needs to hear a few things.
