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Cult Review
Archivist John
Senior Editor
Is 'Solomon's Children' worth your time in an age of endless streaming options? Short answer: yes, but with significant caveats that depend entirely on your appetite for challenging, character-driven dramas. This isn't a film for casual viewing; it's a demanding, often uncomfortable exploration of human nature that rewards patience and a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths about family and wealth. It’s a film for those who appreciate a slow burn and moral ambiguity, not for audiences seeking clear-cut heroes or a feel-good resolution.
At its core, Solomon's Children, penned by Hugh Herbert, is a stark, almost parable-like examination of a patriarch's ultimate test of his offspring. The premise is deceptively simple: a wealthy Jewish father, played with a searing intensity by Jacques Rollens, orchestrates a series of events designed to expose whether his children's love is genuine or merely a calculated performance for the sake of his substantial fortune. It's a cruel exercise, undoubtedly, but one born, we are led to believe, from a deep-seated fear of betrayal and a yearning for authentic connection.
The film doesn't shy away from the ethical quagmire inherent in such a test. Rollens' performance as the father, Solomon, is the anchor, portraying a man simultaneously vulnerable and tyrannical, whose wisdom is tinged with a profound cynicism. He is not merely a rich man; he is a man haunted by the potential for his legacy to overshadow his person, a fear many can relate to, regardless of their financial standing.
Yes, Solomon's Children absolutely holds up, though it demands a specific kind of viewer. Its themes of greed, familial obligation, and the search for authentic love are timeless. The film’s deliberate pacing and focus on character psychology make it a compelling watch for those who appreciate depth over spectacle. It's an uncomfortable mirror, reflecting society's enduring obsession with wealth and its corrosive effects on personal relationships. You will not leave this film feeling light, but you will leave it thinking, and that, for a critic, is a mark of true value.
This film works because: Its central premise is universally resonant, tapping into primal fears about legacy and loyalty, elevated by powerful, nuanced performances.
This film fails because: Its deliberate, almost austere tone can feel ponderous at times, potentially alienating viewers accustomed to faster-paced narratives or more overt emotional catharsis.
You should watch it if: You are drawn to intense character studies, moral dilemmas, and films that prioritize thematic depth over plot-driven excitement, particularly if you enjoy the psychological weight of dramas like The Violinist of Florence or the familial tension of Big Jim Garrity.
Jacques Rollens, as Solomon, delivers a performance that borders on the iconic. His Solomon is not a caricature of the miserly rich man, but a figure of immense internal conflict. The subtle shifts in his gaze, the way his shoulders slump when alone, betray a profound loneliness beneath the facade of control. It's a masterclass in conveying immense emotional weight with minimal, yet impactful, gestures. One scene, where he merely observes his children from a distance during a seemingly innocuous family gathering, speaks volumes about his distrust and pain, without a single line of dialogue.
Patricia Caron, as the eldest daughter, brings a brittle elegance to her role, portraying a woman torn between genuine affection and the societal pressures of expectation and inheritance. Her performance is a delicate balance, hinting at both her character's ambition and her underlying filial duty. Hugh Herbert, who also penned the script, takes on a role as one of the sons, injecting a layer of cynical pragmatism that contrasts sharply with Caron’s more conflicted portrayal. His character often acts as a foil, articulating the very materialistic desires Solomon fears most.
Guy D'Ennery, as the youngest child, provides a much-needed touch of youthful idealism, however naive it might seem against the backdrop of his siblings' more complex motives. His scenes offer fleeting moments of potential redemption, a glimmer of hope that perhaps not all is lost to avarice. The ensemble works cohesively, each actor contributing a distinct shade to the film’s moral tapestry.
The direction is marked by a palpable sense of restraint, allowing the psychological drama to unfold without unnecessary flourish. The camera often lingers on faces, capturing the unspoken thoughts and internal battles of the characters. There’s a particular shot, a long take of Solomon at his desk, bathed in the dim light of a single lamp, that perfectly encapsulates his isolation and the weight of his self-imposed burden. This directorial choice reinforces the film's intimate, almost claustrophobic focus on the family unit.
The cinematography in Solomon's Children is stark and purposeful. It favors deep shadows and muted tones, creating an atmosphere that mirrors the somber psychological landscape of the characters. Indoor scenes are often lit in a way that emphasizes the opulence of Solomon's home, yet simultaneously highlights the emotional distance between its inhabitants. The grand, ornate rooms feel less like a comforting sanctuary and more like a gilded cage, trapping both Solomon and his children in a cycle of expectation and resentment.
There's a recurring visual motif of reflections – in polished wood, in window panes, in mirrors – that subtly suggests the characters are constantly observing themselves, or being observed, perpetually aware of their public image versus their private desires. This is particularly effective in a scene where Patricia Caron's character catches her own reflection, a fleeting moment of self-doubt crossing her usually composed features.
The pacing is undeniably slow, a deliberate choice that allows the audience to fully absorb the gravity of Solomon's test and its gradual impact on his children. This isn't a film that rushes to its conclusions; instead, it allows tension to build incrementally, like a pressure cooker slowly heating. Some might find this approach challenging, especially those accustomed to the rapid-fire editing of modern cinema. However, it is precisely this unhurried rhythm that gives the film its potent, almost suffocating, sense of realism.
It allows for moments of quiet observation, where the audience can infer more from a prolonged silence or a lingering glance than from pages of dialogue. This deliberate pacing ensures that when emotional breakthroughs or betrayals do occur, they land with maximum impact. It’s a bold artistic choice that, while not for everyone, ultimately serves the film’s profound thematic ambitions.
The overriding theme of Solomon's Children is, of course, the corrupting influence of money and the true nature of love. But it also delves into the burden of expectation, the legacy of a parent, and the generational divides that wealth can exacerbate. Solomon's test isn't just about his money; it's about his identity, his struggle to be seen and loved for who he is, rather than what he possesses. It’s a tragic, self-inflicted wound, a desperate cry for validation disguised as a punitive trial.
The tone is predominantly somber, almost elegiac, yet punctuated by moments of sharp, cynical wit, often delivered by Hugh Herbert's character. There's an underlying current of melancholy that permeates every frame, suggesting that even if Solomon finds the love he seeks, the path to it is paved with irreparable damage. This isn't a film that offers easy answers or saccharine resolutions. It's brutally honest. It works. But it’s flawed.
One could argue that the film occasionally veers into melodrama, particularly in its depiction of the children's more overt reactions to Solomon's manipulations. However, this is largely mitigated by the nuanced performances and the film's commitment to exploring the psychological toll of such a test. It reminds me in some ways of the stark moral choices presented in When Fate Decides, though Solomon's Children maintains a more internal, familial focus.
Solomon's Children is a challenging, yet profoundly rewarding cinematic experience. It is not a film you passively consume; it demands engagement, introspection, and a willingness to sit with discomfort. Jacques Rollens's performance alone is a compelling reason to seek it out, anchoring a story that, despite its specific cultural context, speaks to universal truths about family, inheritance, and the eternal human quest for unconditional love. While its deliberate pace and somber tone might deter some, those who commit to its vision will find a rich, complex drama that lingers long in the mind. It’s a testament to the power of character-driven storytelling, proving that sometimes, the most profound narratives are found not in grand spectacles, but in the quiet, agonizing tests of the human heart.
This film might not be for everyone, but for those it resonates with, it will feel deeply personal. It’s a stark reminder that some questions, especially those concerning love and money, rarely have simple answers. And sometimes, the act of asking the question itself is the most destructive, yet revealing, act of all.
IMDb 5.9
1924
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