Some Thoughts
Call of the Flesh is the first musical at MGM to combine popular songs with extracts from Grand Opera, in the way so beloved of producer Joe Pasternak in the 40s and 50s. Sadly, the three Stothart-Grey numbers are instantly forgettable. Ramon Novarro was no Lauritz Melchior, but his renditions of Donizetti and Massenet at least deserve an A for effort.

Tonally, the film shifts from being the light-hearted story of an arrogant young singer and his growing love for an innocent novice from the local convent, to a near-tragic final twenty minutes. It all works thanks to the acting of Raomon Novarro and Renée Adorée, and in spite of that of Dorothy Jordan. Jordan was not a bad actor, but her performance here is very laboured and one-note. She leaves inexplicable pauses before picking up her cues and relies too much on looking innocent.
Novarro, however, gives one of his best performances in a sound picture. The scene in which he heartlessly rejects Jordan because her brother has persuaded him she should return to the convent, is genuinely touching. Elsewhere, he succeeds in the difficult task of making a conceited, unlikeable character likeable and amusing.
Renée Adorée is also very good as Jordan’s jealous rival, but her performance is quite painful to watch. She was very ill with tuberculosis during the making of the film, to the extent that her friend Novarro tried to persuade her to stand down. She declined, but is visibly unwell. It was her final film, and she died a couple of years later.
Adorée does, however, combine with Novarro to deliver the MGM musicals’ first genuinely entertaining dance number. Both had worked as dancers when young, and it shows in the comic routine they deliver in the cantina.

The Technicolor sequences have not survived, but Call of the Flesh looks really good without them. Cedric Gibbons’s design is excellent and well photographed by Merritt B Gerstad. The scene in a church that looks like a cathedral is particularly impressive. There are even one or two stylistic flourishes from director Charles Brabin (or editor Conrad Nervig, perhaps). For example, the scene where the brother is persuading Juan to give up Maria Consuelo is truncated with dissolves, to force home the sense that Juan is being worn down.
Overall, Call of the Flesh–its terrible sexed-up title notwithstanding–is much more entertaining than might be expected.




