the barefoot contessa

1954's The Barefoot Contessa treads on some pretty dangerous ground. Not only does writer / director Joseph L. Mankiewicz needle, jab and poke the very people responsible for his career, but the story involves a fiery Spanish dancer-turned-movie star-turned international royal whose sexual tastes never rose out of the gutter. Humphrey Bogart stars in one of his final roles as a washed up film director whose career reboots when he stumbles upon a camera-ready beauty (Ava Gardner) with no taste for fame...only fairy-tale happiness.

Harry Dawes (Bogart) is slumming as a hired hack for neophyte millionaire producer Warren Stevens (Kirk Edwards) on a trip to find a "fresh face" in the seedier clubs of Spain when they run across Maria Vargas (Gardner), whose aloof attitude and stunning looks drive every man wild. After a successful screen test, Maria becomes too big even for her producer to control, setting the stage for a battle of wills against a rival silver spoon millionaire from South America. But Maria refuses to settle down, biting the hand that feeds her at every turn until a chance run-in with an Italian Count (Rossano Brazzi) offers up the true love she's been searching for...but at a terrible price.

Opening with Maria's funeral, audiences are clued in from the beginning that things aren't going to end well. Mankiewicz's screenplay is structured around flashbacks and voice-over narration that relate Maria's rise and fall from a particularly masculine perspective, each player taking his turn. It's a wordy arrangement that suits Bogart well, his jaded commentary not too far removed from the world-weary smart-assery of Raymond Chandler. But, in this case, the Citizen Kane approach reveals much more about the participants in Maria's life than the character herself, who Mankiewicz paints as a frigid, psychologically-twisted tabula rasa, never earning the sympathy or understanding the film asks us to bestow up her. As a character, she just feels false.

The Barefoot Contessa is much lighter on its feet as a whip-smart criticism of Hollywood culture and the "necessary evils" of the creative process, namely producers, marketers and the assorted hangers-on who leach off the invention of others. It's shocking that Mankiewicz had the courage - and the financial independence - to tell it like it is. What's even more shocking is he got a cast to play along with him! Kirk Edwards portrays tyrannical producer Warren Stevens with convincingly cruelty and Edmond O'Brien's Oscar-winning performance as sweaty publicity man Oscar Muldoon makes one wonder just who the real life models were for such well-rounded characters. But it's Bogart and Gardner's names over the titles, both of whom bring their considerable talents to bear in skewering Hollywood's good name.

Twilight Time's 3000-copy limited edition Blu-ray is a bit foggier than their usual Fox transfers, often suffering from a Technicolor smearing that seems somewhat less than hi-def, then swinging back to the expected sharpness (source materials or technical issues; those more qualified than I can surely diagnose). But there's also a nice slate of extras including an isolated score track, audio commentary, still gallery, liner notes and theatrical trailer.