Sam Goldwyn's production of the Emily Brontë novel (or part thereof) plays up the already overlarge element of pulp-gothic in it. On that level, it is well done. In particular the darkly glowering Laurence Olivier does well. As does Alfred Newman with his achingly Tchaikovskian accompaniment. Merle Oberon, though, is …
This is John Ford’s America, so buttons burst and suspenders stretch and you leave the theater enlarged all ’round. There are some lovely, studied scenic effects, brawnily sculpted or deftly draped, before Ford settles down, as he is prone to do, to a blustery courtroom carnival. With Henry Fonda as …