In the annals of cinema history, instances of directors revisiting their own work are exceptionally rare, and even celebrated auteurs often struggle to elevate their second attempts beyond derivative status. Anatole Litvak, director renowned for his 1936 French period melodrama Mayerling, faced this challenge head-on two decades later when he revisited the same material for a television adaptation. The original film, a landmark in his career, propelled Litvak to Hollywood prominence and became a cornerstone of his reputation. Yet his 1957 television version, produced as part of NBC’s Producers’ Showcase, offered little beyond a nostalgic retread. Despite a star-studded cast and a modest budget, the remake failed to transcend its constraints, emerging as a curiosity rather than a meaningful reinterpretation. Litvak’s inability to innovate, coupled with the technical limitations of early television, rendered this iteration a pale shadow of its predecessor.
The 1957 Mayerling was conceived as a feature-length episode of Producers’ Showcase, an NBC anthology series renowned for its ambition in bridging the gap between cinema and television. Airing between 1953 and 1957, the series sought to attract audiences by offering high-quality programming, including some of the earliest colour broadcasts—a luxury reserved for the few who owned compatible televisions. For the majority, however, the show remained in black-and-white, a reminder of the era’s technological divides. NBC’s strategy was clear: by recruiting respected directors like Litvak and enlisting Hollywood’s top stars, the network aimed to rival the spectacle of contemporary studio films. Yet this fusion of theatrical ambition with the nascent medium of television proved fraught, as Mayerling demonstrates. The series’ live broadcasts, though innovative for their time, often prioritized immediacy over polish, leaving little room for the meticulous craftsmanship expected of cinema.
The 1957 Mayerling adheres almost slavishly to the 1936 film’s narrative, itself based on Claude Anet’s novel about the real-life scandal that shook the Austro-Hungarian Empire in the late 19th century. The story begins in 1881, with Crown Prince Rudolph (Mel Ferrer) defying his authoritarian father, Emperor Francis Joseph I (Basil Sydney), by joining radical student protests. Arrested alongside his liberal friend Moritz Zseps (John McGovern), Rudolph is pressured by his father to abandon his rebellious streak and marry Princess Stephanie of Belgium (Nancy Marchand). Years later, Rudolph’s marriage remains loveless, his life consumed by excess until he encounters 17-year-old Marie Vetsera (Audrey Hepburn) at Vienna’s Prater amusement park. Their ill-fated romance ignites, drawing the attention of Prime Minister Count Taaffe (Raymond Massey) and the imperial secret police. Confronted by his father’s ultimatum to abandon Marie or face her exile to a convent, Rudolph spirals into despair, culminating in the tragic double suicide at Mayerling Castle on January 30th 1889. This plot, while compelling in its tragic dimensions, lacks the dramatic nuance or narrative innovation to justify its reprise. Litvak’s 1957 version merely rehashes the earlier film’s emotional beats, offering no fresh perspective on Rudolph’s psychological turmoil or the socio-political tensions of the era.
The project’s viability hinged on the involvement of its leads: Mel Ferrer and Audrey Hepburn, then a married Hollywood power couple, signed on to play the doomed lovers. Their participation lent the production a veneer of glamour, and NBC allocated an unusually generous budget of $500,000—substantial for a television programme at the time. Yet this investment reveals itself as misdirected upon viewing the final product. Litvak, though experienced in cinema, struggled with the constraints of live television, necessitating collaboration with co-director Kirk Browning. The medium’s limitations were severe: the episode aired live, save for pre-filmed Vienna exterior shots. This forced the production to confine scenes to interiors, restrict set designs, and limit the number of actors on screen. The result is a visually constrained experience, with awkward camera movements and technical glitches betraying the challenges of live performance. Scenes occasionally freeze mid-action, as if the cameras have malfunctioned, underscoring the fragility of early television’s infrastructure.
The live broadcast format proved particularly punitive to Litvak’s vision. Without the luxury of post-production editing, errors were unavoidable, and the final product bears the marks of its hurried creation. Sets feel cramped and repetitive, with the same rooms reused across scenes through clever but strained blocking. The lack of outdoor sequences stifles the film’s grandeur, reducing Vienna’s opulence to static tableaux. Even the famed Prater scenes, a pivotal setting for Rudolph and Marie’s romance, feel constrained by the studio’s limitations. While Hepburn and Ferrer deliver earnest performances, the technical shortcomings distract from the drama. The absence of colour, despite NBC’s efforts to cater to early adopters, further diminishes the production’s visual impact. Litvak’s earlier 1936 film, though also in black-and-white, benefited from cinema’s fluid pacing and expansive sets, contrasts starkly with the TV version’s cramped staging.
The 1957 Mayerling was never intended for posterity. Like most live television of the era, it aired once and was discarded, surviving only through a kinescope recording—a primitive method of preserving broadcasts that yielded grainy, washed-out images. For decades, the version was considered lost, its existence a footnote in Litvak’s career. Its rediscovery in the 21st century, however, has done little to redeem its reputation. While Hepburn’s charm and Ferrer’s earnestness shine through, Litvak’s direction falters compared to his earlier work. The 1936 film’s tension and emotional depth are absent here, replaced by a plodding pace and dialogue-heavy scenes that test the viewer’s patience. The script’s reliance on melodrama, though typical of its era, feels unrefined, and the lack of political context weakens the tragedy’s resonance.
The story of Rudolph and Marie Vetsera resurfaced in 1968 with a colour feature film starring Omar Sharif and Catherine Deneuve. While this version, directed by Terence Young, fared no better critically, its lush visuals and star power offered a more polished albeit flawed interpretation. In contrast, the 1957 Mayerling remains a relic of its time—a curiosity for Hepburn completists and television historians. Its historical significance lies not in artistic merit but in its role as an early experiment in televised drama, demonstrating both the promise and the pitfalls of the medium’s formative years.
RATING: 4/10 (+)
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