Movie Maven

The Three Faces of Eve (1957)
Starring: Joanne Woodward, David Wayne, Lee J. Cobb
Written by: Hervey Cleckly, Corbett Thigpen (book,) and Nunnally Johnson
Directed by: Nunnally Johnson
IMDB listing

The first time I ever saw Joanne Woodward in a film was when my Art, Drama and Music professor showed The Fugitive Kind, a humid, glorious retelling of the Orpheus myth adapted from Tennessee Williams's play Orpheus Descending. I've watched it many times since then- at first I was understandably preoccupied with a very young, very beautiful Marlon Brando, who played the tragic hero. But after awhile, I began to notice Woodward's fabulous performance as a wild New Orleans party girl. Woodward thrashed around barefoot in an old party dress through most of the movie, loud and obnoxious and entirely captivating.

Since then I've seen her in several other films, including Empire Falls, Philadelphia, and Sybil. But never have I seen her talents employed in such brilliant quality as in The Three Faces of Eve. Woodward is Eve White, a mousy housewife unwittingly suffering from multiple personality disorder. It's interesting how almost frivolous the plot seems now. The worst thing that came of her illness was her idiotic husband (David Wayne,) and the film fast-forwards through many of Eve's breakthroughs, making the entire process of personality integration seem a lot easier than it actually is. The movie also skirts completely around the issue of sexual abuse (the typical trigger of dissociative identity disorder) and tries to convince us that Eve's illness was caused by a far more innocuous experience. It may have played in 1957, but after the main viewing public got a load of Sybil (coincidentally in which Woodward played the title character's psychiatrist,) the movie has a bit of a dated feel.

But that's not to say it isn't worth viewing; quite the opposite. Woodward is a lone star in this movie. Her three characters are the only principles. Her husband, doctor and daughter all revolve around her like planets around the sun- they become part of the scenery around which Woodward tells her story. As she shifts between each of her personalities, she closes her eyes, like a young actress preparing for an audition. Her rhythm between the beaten Eve White, the tumultuous Eve Black, and the elusive Jane is impeccable. It's pure classic Hollywood- you know the entire time that you're watching a trained actress in a performance. But the illusion of it is so well-played, it makes absolute realism or even scientific accuracy unnecessary.