Another enormous set was the two-story main hall of the mansion, with its massive pillars and high, curving staircase; the dolly was brought into play for long takes in this space as well.
Contrasting such opulence were scenes within Leonora's rented rooms, which are cramped and dark; accenting these spaces are patches of bright light under mazda lamps, which lend the sequences a noir atmosphere. As Leonora discusses her dreams of wealth, she toys with a flyswatter, the shadow of which moves back and forth ominously across her face. Even Leonora's large bedroom in the mansion is made claustrophobic by heavy shadows above the bed, which fill much of the frame. For several scenes in the doctors' offices and waiting room, the filmmakers utilize a technique traditionally associated with British director James Whale: the camera moves parallel to the action, past walls or seemingly through them.
Enterprise Productions was rapidly running out of money, so much to Ophuls' chagrin, the notion of reshooting any of Berry's additional footage became financially impractical. Retakes also had to be held to a minimum, and further set construction was curtailed. Garmes, thanks to his work with Hecht and MacArthur, was experienced at improvising fragmentary sets and making them look decent; he had created the nightclub set for Crime Without Passion, for example, out of a few tables, some chairs and well-placed shadowplay. Art director Frank Sylos possessed similar abilities, since he was an alumnus of the most penurious of studios: PRC. For one Caught sequence that transpires in a crowded bar, large bottles and glasses in the foreground and the movement of extras in the background cover the set's simplicity. On the dance floor, the camera stays close to Leonora and Quinada usually above eye-level with the heads and shoulders of other dancers filling out the frame; fragmentary glimpses of the "set" are of a wild wall and some black scrim. This scenario was shot hurriedly in long takes, with the actors indulging in some improvisational dialogue.
Another effective makeshift setting is the fog-shrouded dock where Leonora first meets Ohlrig. A portion of the dock was constructed on a stage backed by black velvet, with the approaching motorboat's light represented by a bobbing spotlight offscreen. Coupling this source with an overhead dock light created shafts in the fog that provided the lonely girl with dramatic illumination. Elsewhere in the film, Quinada and Leonora meet secretly in a garage that adjoins the mansion; this car stall was actually a building on the lot which was dressed up by the placement of some expensive vehicles within it.
As Ohlrig, Ryan is seen mostly from below eye-level often via wide-angle lenses to create the impression that he is taller and more powerful than the other players, and to grant him an angularity which symbolizes his warped mind. Conversely, Mason's Dr. Quinada was photographed mostly at eye level with lenses of 50mm or longer.
"Without a doubt, I think [Max Ophuls] was one of the greatest filmmakers we had," Garmes said when interviewed by David Prince, Peter Lehman and Tom Clark in Wide Angle (Vol. 1, No. 3). "A sweet, sweet man, he got a very raw deal in Hollywood. But if you look at Caught you'll feel that the camera was looking through a crack of a window or a crack of a door, or that the camera was never placed in a spot in the whole picture that was conventional, like most directors do. He has a wonderful knack for saving his scenes and saying, 'I think it would be nice to do it from here.' And we'd do it from there."
Caught wrapped on October 5, two days after Enterprise relinquished the studio to Harry Sherman. The negative cost was $1,574,422, including retakes and two days' worth of studio rent. Although a far cry from the originally earmarked $2.5 million, the reduced budget still constituted a major expense for the rapidly crumbling company.
Having seemingly placated the censors during production, MGM was surprised after a New York screening to receive word from the National Legion of Decency, a powerful Catholic organization, that Caught was slated to be stamped with their dreaded "C" rating: Condemned. Theaters which showed "C" pictures were deemed off-limits to all Catholics in the United States. The picture was called "a clear-cut plea for the acceptability and justification of divorce" a judgment exacerbated by the ending, which made it clear that Ohlrig's heart attack was not fatal but that Leonora and Quinada would soon marry.
The NLD withdrew its threat after MGM and Enterprise agreed to remove the dialogue indicating Ohlrig's recovery, so that audiences would assume that he had died thus leaving Leonora free to marry Quinada. (The currently available Republic videotape retains the original dialogue, which was replaced by Bob Gitt of UCLA's film restoration program in 1988.)
A sneak preview of the picture held at Pasadena's Alexander Theater yielded enthusiastic report cards; impressed executives decided against any further previews or revisions to the film, and hopes arose of Enterprise's imminent financial recovery.
The bubble burst, however, when the picture, given little fanfare by MGM, opened in New York to sparse audiences and hostile critics. The London opening, despite Mason's popularity there, also suffered a frigid reception. Though Mason's American film debut had been eagerly awaited, fans were disappointed by his comparatively colorless role, however well-played it may have been. In rather acerbic British fashion, the Daily Mail reported, "It will be particularly depressing to women who have come to regard an annual vicarious beating from Mr. Mason as essential to a full and happy life."
And so Enterprise, a noble but doomed concept, sank out of sight, while Caught, branded as one of the reasons for its demise, drowned along with it. Ophuls returned to France and attained new glory there, but before his death in 1957 he was in the midst of a desperate attempt to procure a contract with an American studio.
A curious thing about movies is that yesterday's failures occasionally become modern classics. Such is the case with Caught. Today's audiences would not be offput because Mason chose to deviate from his patented portrayal of romantic evil, that Bel Geddes wasn't a glamourpuss, or that Ryan portrayed a psychopath. The pleasure of watching performers acting against type, the subtleties of Ophuls' direction, the artistry of Garmes' cinematography, the richness of Frederick Hollander's Continental-styled music all of which went largely unsung in 1949 have proven to be of greater lasting importance than whatever fads prevailed a half-century ago.
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