It's hard out there for a femme fatale. 1947's Ivy gives us her point of view, for once, as we follow the machinations and misadventures of Ivy Lexton in her attempts to secure a vast fortune via a road of besmitten beaux. The first half of the film is much better than the second as we find ourselves contemplating just what Ivy's capable of. The second half settles into dull, moralistic plot mechanics.
We meet Ivy (Joan Fontaine) on her visit to a fortune teller (Una O'Connor), a handy way to deliver a little exposition and to set a cloud of doom over her head. We learn that not only does she already have a husband, she's already having an affair. The fortune teller predicts wealth is coming her way but only if she can break up with her lover. But then, after Ivy leaves, the fortune teller predicts an even greater misfortune to come, so great she refrained from telling the wicked woman.
How wicked is she? She does seem reluctant to poison her husband when the time comes. She really doesn't seem to like seeing him suffer.
Meanwhile, breaking up with her lover, Roger (Patric Knowles), isn't so easy as the guy is really pushy, calling her constantly. And yet the heavy handed moralistic ending lets him off the hook, which kind of annoyed me.
This is one of those American movies set in England filled with English actors who are forced to speak with American accents. One exception is Herbert Marshall who plays Miles Rushworth, the wealthy gentleman who takes a shine to Ivy, despite his morals prohibiting him from making love to another man's wife. Marshall was established enough to sound as English as he damned well pleased (and was).
Ivy is too much of a temptation for him to resist, though. And sure it's credible; Fontaine is absolutely stunning in those Edwardian summertime getups.
Ivy is available on The Criterion Channel.
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