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| Fannie Ward and Sessue Hayakawa in 'The Cheat.' |
The Cheat
Dir: Cecil B. DeMille
(uncred.)
Prod: DeMille, Jesse
L. Lasky (uncred.)
Scr: Hector Turnbull,
Jeanie Macpherson
Phot: Alvin Wycoff
Premiere: December 13,
1915
59 min.
From the start, Sessue Hayakawa was under the gun. The son
of a powerful Japanese official, he intended to join the military, but a
ruptured eardrum prevented him, after he dove too deeply on a dare. His shame
led him to attempt suicide. After his recovery, it was decided he would become
a banker, so in 1911 he was sent to the University of Chicago for studies.
After two years, he decided to quit school and return home.
While waiting for a ship in San Francisco, he joined an amateur theatrical, The Typhoon. Producer Thomas Ince, always
on the lookout for material to adapt, offered to make a film out of the
production. It was a hit, and Hayakawa was a hot property, an early star who
made ungodly amounts of money playing the prototypes of film’s “exotic” lovers
and Oriental villains.
Hayakawa was charismatic, and a quiet and controlled actor.
His underplaying (he later became a Zen priest, and cited its influence as a
factor in his subdued acting) was perfect for film, and had a bit of impact in
the transition from stage acting to a toned-down, more naturalistic acting
style in film.
Nonetheless, he was chained to stereotypes. His work was
despised and even banned in Japan, where it was felt he was reinforcing
prejudices. He was hugely popular in America, but despite his stardom, the laws
of the day wouldn’t allow him to become an American citizen and marry outside
his “race.” He was a human place marker for the Other in American film culture.
(He turned down the lead in 1921’s The
Sheik, thereby making the career of the then-obscure Rudolph Valentino, who
then became the stereotypical “Latin lover.”)
The Cheat could be
a standard melodrama – the Asian villain is the only fresh element of a stale tale.
The cheat of the title is Edith Hardy, the flight wife of hard-working
stockbroker Richard. She spends his money as fast as he makes it, and seems to
be perpetually dressed like a decorative top or Dresden doll. When she finds
herself in a financial jam (she speculates on the market with the Red Cross
funds!), one of her wealthy society friends Hishuru Tori offers to help her out
– for a price (wink, wink).
When Edith tries to return his borrowed money to him, an
enraged Tori tries to have his way with her, as they used to say. When she
resists past the point of his tolerance, he grapples her and thrusts the
burning, red-hot metal stamp bearing his seal into her shoulder. Gadzooks! She
shoots him in the shoulder.
Fortunately, her suspicious husband is close behind, and
Tori’s doors are made of rice paper. He bursts into the room, and quickly takes
responsibility for the shooting. An extravagant amount of suffering goes on for
a time save for the imperturbable Tori, who sullenly smokes with his arm in a
sling.
Of course, Richard goes on trial for shooting Tori, and in a
sweeping climax Edith leaps to her feet, confesses all, and bares the insidious
mark on her scapula. Pandemonium erupts, as all the right-thinking people
watching the trial spring to their feet as one and become a lynch mob hot for
Tori’s blood. The verdict is set aside, and husband and wife embrace.
Clearly, insufferable Edith to blame for all that ensues
here, but in keeping with American melodrama and racism, the villainy is
projected onto the Other. As Tori, Hayakawa is scornful, haughty,
untrustworthy, lustful, sly, mysterious, and grim – all qualities ascribed to
any despised minority. When he is provoked, a sadistic streaks manifests itself
– a kind of “barbaric” behavior that illustrates the idea that Asians are not
quite human. His branding of Edith is like his branding of his collectibles
earlier – “That means it belongs to me,” he says in intertitle – reduces her to
an object, if not more accurately livestock.
But is the salvation much better? Throughout the film,
Richard treats Edith like a silly, wayward child, which is disturbing when you
remember that they are playing grown-up, married characters. Is it better for a
woman to be treated like a slow child or an object? This no-win situation has
not improved much in cinema down the decades.
The brisk story is expertly directed by Cecil B. DeMille,
who made a splash the previous year with his rookie effort The Squaw Man, the first feature film to be made in Hollywood. (To
show you the pace of production in early Hollywood, The Cheat was DeMille’s 23rd film in less than a year.)
DeMille had much experience in theater under such top impresarios of the day as
Charles Frohman and David Belasco. DeMille’s solid visual sense makes maximum
use of silhouette and shadow, key lighting, close-ups, and pacing to create and
effective and entertaining story. This quality, linked to others and harnessed
to bigger and bigger extravaganzas, soon made DeMille the most successful
producer-director of his era.
The racism is unfeigned and palpable. Complaints from the
Japanese-American population led the villain’s identity being changed for the
1918 re-release. Instead of a Japanese person, Haka Arakau, a “Burmese ivory
king” (presumably there was an insufficient amount of Burmese-Americans to be
concerned about). Despite this distinction, the cultural damage is the same.
The phrase in the air at the time was “Yellow Peril,” a fear
of Asian immigrants’ “invasion” (sound familiar?) common to Western culture but
seeing its most intense manifestation in xenophobic America. It was encoded in
prejudicial laws, immigration restrictions, and mob violence. Anti-Asian
portrayals and caricatures continued at least until 1961, when Mickey Rooney’s
“yellowface” performance in Breakfast at
Tiffany’s became the proverbial straw.
So did Hayakawa help or hinder Asian perceptions? He used
his profits not only to live lavishly but to form his own independent film production
company, and made 32 films in four years, Asian-American films that attempted
to get beyond Asian stereotypes. They failed.
He became a journeyman artist. Trapped inadvertently in
France when the Nazis invaded, he promptly joined the French underground. He
gave an Oscar-nominated performance as Colonel Saito in Lean’s great 1957 The Bridge on the River Kwai, then retired
and focused on business and spiritual matters. He wrote, he painted, and he
lived. He was quite a Renaissance man. Only lately are we able to see the man
through the mas of contradictions he endured.
The NFR
Project is an attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film
Registry, in chronological order. Next time: ‘Fatty’s Tintype Tangle.’
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