Bette Davis, Paul Henreid, Claude Rains. Dir. Irving Rapper, Warner Bros., 1942 I knew one thing about Now, Voyager before today, the infamous scene in which Paul Henreid lights two cigarettes at one before passing one to Bette Davis, a moment paid homage and parodied hundreds of times since 1942. I did not know the scene plays out three times, and that in two of them Davis and Henreid share a look so carnal it's as if their eyes make love. That's why the scene's so famous. Lighting both cigarettes is smooth, turning the first puff into a sex scene the Hays Code censors couldn't touch is moviemaking genius. I also didn't know that Now, Voyager is sort of a road movie, progressing along the route Davis's Charlotte Vale's, unmarried spinster of an ancient Boston family, life following her treatment for a nervous breakdown brought on by her cruel, domineering mother, passing through the stages of her transition to full, functional adulthood. These include ...
The sporadic utterances of Russ Wait, an unhinged mind who, lucky for us all, is only interested in movies. All content here is mine.