Douglas Sirk once considered the essential elements of cinema: “Cinema is blood, is tears, violence, hate, death, and love.” In brief, cinema is everything with life; a life that is, nonetheless, constantly verging on the limits of human life. Such extreme case of existentialism that Sirk posits in his film is rather a point of departure for a more pressing concern: the feverish pursuit for self-autonomy, which is invariably negated by the primacy and the necessity of staying content within one’s own assigned space. A common trait with Sirk’s characters is this seething rebelliousness, either against the societal prejudices or one’s inner demons, that rages beneath an outward show of sense and urbanity; occasionally they are driven to the brink of despair, but always to be saved by their strength and an incurable sanguinity for the future. The state of defeat is rarely the conclusion to which they bow easily, regardless of how inevitable the circumstances have unravelled, and yet, too cautious of the caprice of fate, they also retain an uncomplaining resilience to life’s hardships.
This is precisely why the word “melodrama” in Sirk’s film entails more than the emphatic display of tears and violence – what underlies is the more important lesson of the futility of man’s eternal fight against fate and destiny, and how a positive outcome might occur the moment the person simply stops fighting. In this regard, however, Sirk seems to favour a miracle that, at times, borders slightly too much on the implausible.
Implausibility is both the main headache and the recurrent fascination with Magnificent Obsession (1954). The story follows Bob Merrick, a brazen playboy who is saved from a speedboat accident by Dr. Phillips, who dies on the scene whilst trying to resuscitate Merrick. Feeling guilty and responsible for the death of a well-loved doctor known for his munificence, Merrick tries vainly to make peace with Phillips’s widow, Helen, who, as a result of the former’s untimely interference, is left blind after a motorcar accident. From this point on, everything seems to hinge solely on what can only be described as the beauty of providence: love soon blossoms between Merrick and Helen, with the former soberly studying his way to become a doctor. The lovers are temporarily separated when Helen, not wanting to be a nuisance, runs away after Merrick proposes. They are eventually reunited on Helen’s sickbed, after a successful brain operation performed by Merrick, who also miraculously restores Helen’s sight.
Sirk has never been known for his attention on the authenticity of characterisation. He proclaims that one cannot make films about things or people, but “can only make films with things, with people, with light, with flowers, with mirrors, with blood, in fact with all the fantastic things which make life worth living.” In other words, the characters in his films should serve primarily as props; their individual personalities will come to light gradually, but only to the extent of not overriding the story itself and the director’s creative vision. Therefore, it is less with the audience’s identification with the protagonists (neither Rock Hudson nor Jane Wyman was given much to make his and her character distinctive), than with the powerful fusion of sensational storytelling and dazzling visuals (the lurid colour scheme creates an overall effect of unremitting emotional tumult) that Sirk’s melodrama retains its unparalleled brilliance.
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