Blood and Sand, Warner Bros., 1941, produced by Daryl F. Zanuck


Sometimes it’s hard to get into old movies. Blood and Sand, a film about bullfighting in early 20th century Spain, starring Tyrone Power, Linda Darnell, Rita Hayworth, and Anthony Quinn should not be overlooked, though, for being 80 years old. So many times last night, I said – out loud as I watched it alone – “that was bad-ass!”

Maybe because it is a remake of a silent movie, there are three scenes in particular that struck me for being so powerful with almost no dialogue.
First, Power has returned to Seville from Madrid. He has begun to realize his dream of being a great matador and has come home to propose marriage to his childhood sweetheart, played by Darnell. With his acquired winnings, he has brought presents for numerous family and friends. After he distributes those in the public square, he goes to Darnell’s family home. First he gives her a beautiful veil, which she is impressed with. He also has a large package, three by two by one foot in size, which he never mentions in their conversation. Finally Darnell asks what it is. He opens it. It’s a dress.
Now comes the wordless part. Darnell rushes excitedly to a mirror and holds the dress up to herself to see how it will look on. She discovers it’s a wedding dress. She is beaming into the mirror. Then she turns to Power with love in her eyes and rushes to him. Nothing else is said. The scene ends. It would have been much less powerful had the film had her say some version of, “why yes, I have waited for this day for years, my dream has come true, I love you, and I will marry you.” Instead, Darnell conveys all of this and so much more with just her facial expressions and her movements. And I, the viewer, got to create all of this. That was the key, I think. Engaging audience empathy by having us feel the emotion along with the character without being led with words.
There are other mostly wordless scenes as we approach the nadir of Power’s arc. He has nearly abandoned Darnell for Hayworth, who set her sights on him one day in the Plaza de Toros. He is quick to seize on her glamour and return her desire. She invites him to a party that evening at her mansion, where we meet her current French lover. The assemblage, including the lover, decides to go out on the town. Hayworth begs off with an entirely transparent excuse of a headache. The French lover, knowing the game, realizes his time is up. He goes to Hayworth and hands her a ring. She slides it onto her finger where it meets its mate. The Frenchman leaves. Power stays behind. One affair is off; the other is on.
There is dialogue in between these actions but it is mostly party chatter involving the evening’s plans. And as he returns the ring, the Frenchman says something to Hayworth along the lines of have a nice life, no hard feelings, and off he goes.
The third scene calls back to this second one. Quinn is now the new number one matador in all of Spain. Hayworth is eager to ditch Power for him, and Quinn knows it. After a victorious afternoon in the bullring, Power and Hayworth arrive at a nightclub, claim the best table and order champagne. Quinn makes his move. He joins their table and asks Hayworth to dance. The rest of the scene is wordless.
Hayworth and Quinn dance. It’s close and sultry. Power is furious. The dancing goes on. Power crushes the champagne glass in his hand. The dance goes on. Now the ring is thrown at Hayworth’s feet onto the dance floor. She picks it up and slides it onto her finger. It’s over for Power. Nothing else is said. Bad-ass.
There is a poem by Rumi that goes,

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field.
I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase “each other” doesn’t make any sense.

Rumi is saying the fullness of human experience can not be corralled by language. Blood and Sand, in these scenes and others, bows to that truth.

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