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5.8/10
Senior Film Conservator
A definitive 5.8/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. My Marriage remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
Honestly, only if you have a soft spot for 1930s melodrama that moves at a frantic, almost confusing pace. If you’re looking for a grounded crime thriller, skip it. If you want to see a mother-in-law so cartoonishly evil she makes Disney villains look like saints, you’re in the right place.
The whole thing kicks off with a bang—literally—as the patriarch gets taken out. It’s a bit jarring how quickly the movie pivots from a gritty gangster setup to a stiff, high-society romance. One minute we’re dealing with the underworld, the next we’re watching folks sip tea in oversized hats.
Carol, played by Claire Trevor, seems exhausted from the start. Can you blame her? Her dad is a mob boss, her husband is a spineless aristocrat, and her mother-in-law, Mrs. DeWitt Tyler II, is basically a human parasite. The scene where the mother-in-law just stares down Carol at the dinner table? Yikes. It felt like the air left the room.
The pacing is a bit weird. It feels like the writers realized halfway through that they had too much plot and not enough runtime. Suddenly, Roger shows up at a hotel room, confesses to being a pawn for the mob, and before you can process that, bullets are flying again. It’s like the movie remembered it was supposed to be about gangsters and panicked.
It’s not as interesting as something like Molodost, which feels much more intentional, but there’s a certain charm to the chaos here. It reminds me a bit of the frantic energy in Fugitive Lovers, where everyone is just running around trying to keep their secrets from exploding.
It’s not a masterpiece. It’s barely even a coherent movie by modern standards. But there’s a weird thrill in watching the social hierarchy crumble because of a few mob goons and a very judgmental mother. 🎭
