Letter From an Unknown Woman (1948, Max Opuls) [sic] (Patreon)

67/100

[I guess there's a SPOILER here.]

Second viewing, last seen at Theatre 80 St. Marks in 1992. (Very first film I ever saw at a rep house after moving to New York City, in fact.) I briefly considered writing my entire review as a parody of "Stan," since the two are kinda similar both structurally and tonally—just one mammoth letter here rather than several, and the writer's death isn't deliberate murder/suicide or anything, but it's still essentially a lovestruck fan's passive-aggressive complaint at having been ghosted by a musician. Not having read Zweig's novella, I don't know whether it suggests self-delusion on the part of its unnamed correspondent; this adaptation, however, tends to endorse Lisa's ardor, which is founded upon absolutely nothing of substance. We're by no means intended to nod along with her husband when she says (of Stefan) "I've had no will but his, ever" and he brusquely replies "That's romantic nonsense." It is! Not to this movie, though, which positively quivers on her behalf throughout. Ultimately, I can't fully surrender myself to a story about unrequited love when that love is, to my mind, clearly a mirage—I need the film itself to recognize that, on some level, and Letter does not. That's especially true of Lisa and Stefan's penultimate meeting, outside the opera house, when he not only pursues her and alllllmost recognizes her but also speaks of a special connection between them ("It was as though I'd found that one face, among all others") with a conviction that transcends any pick-up artist's facile bullshit. His failure to perceive Lisa as his destined paramour, even as she keeps making herself known and available to him, is the movie's grand tragedy, and I'm afraid there's just a brutally pragmatic part of me that keeps asking "Based on what?" (As you might imagine, this impediment pops up in most romances; it's a big reason why Brief Encounter, which actually takes the time to show its lovers fall for each other, is among my all-time faves.)

Still, Ophüls (or Opuls, as he's credited here) orchestrates this shallow melodrama with such rich, dreamy elegance that I do surrender myself—just not fully. Paradoxically, while my ideal Letter From an Unknown Woman would keep Lisa at an forlorn remove from Stefan at all times (i.e., it'd be a lot more like "Stan," showing us Stan's whole self-delusional existence while perhaps also throwing a few jabs at Eminem's privileged indifference), my favorite stretch of the actual film is their single night together, which obviously gives Lisa legitimate reason to hope. All I vividly remembered from my previous viewing, 31 years ago, was Fontaine and Jourdan on a train, and it was hilariously surprising to discover that it's not a real train but a carnival ride in which you pay to have someone cycle painted backdrops of notable world cities past your unmoving window. Which of course beautifully symbolizes Stefan's phony professions of undying passion. Fontaine gets a tad too recessive for my taste when Lisa's masochism really kicks in—I like her performance best early on, when she's giddy and swooning (and playing probably 15 years younger than her own age at the time)—but Jourdan does a superb job of making Stefan's sweet nothings seem wholly credible in the moment while also coming across as a man who acts entirely on whim. If anything, he underplays the casual flippancy that finally penetrates Lisa's fantasy world and drives her away. (Though I'm confused by the subsequent voiceover narration in which she whines "You didn't even remember me," as that had already been established at the opera house.) Great fatalistic ending, too*, even if there's no way in hell that the letter would have taken him three full hours to read. 

* Note to Theo: Based on your ancient review, I think you may have misunderstood what happens at the end, though I'm not sure in what respect. "Details which promise to be significant—like the framing device of Jourdan waiting to fight a duel as he reads the titular letter—prove merely incidental." Not at all bud. He's planning to duck out on the duel, skip town...but he gets her letter, spends the whole three hours before his seconds are scheduled to pick him up reading it, and then decides to go duel after all, knowing that he'll almost certainly be killed. Her story made him feel that he doesn't deserve to live. I don't see how one can call that incidental. Did you perhaps think that her husband sicced the cops on him? I know, it was Florence Pugh's entire life ago.