If there's a cinematic equivalent of 'all dressed up and nowhere to go,' it's got to be Rouben Mamoulian's 1941 bullfighting story Blood and Sand. Lord, this film is beautiful. Every Technicolor frame of it offers new delights to the eye. The contrast of color and shadow is phenomenal, giving weight and majesty to the familiar tale of how one man gains and loses glory. In fact, the film deservedly won an Oscar for its cinematography and even in the formidable lineup of '40s Technicolor entertainment, it still gives great pleasure. However, the weird truth of Blood and Sand is that the cinematography and set design raise the bar far higher than the film's conventional storyline reaches. The film's artistry commands my admiration but the actual things happening on-screen left me cold. This leaves me in the odd position of telling people to go and see a film, not because I think it succeeds on all levels, but because the look of it is just too good.

For Blood and Sand, director Rouben Mamoulian wanted to create a vision of Spain that was beautiful, somber, and pushed the boundaries of what Technicolor had done so far. He achieved this effect by taking inspiration from the paintings of Goya, Velasquez, and El Greco. Mamoulian even alternated between the painters for various scenes and moods he wanted to create, borrowing the silvery tones of Velasquez for a rich woman's mansion, evoking Goya's vivid colors for the bullfighting scenes, and nodding to El Greco for scenes set in the chapel. Mamoulian later recalled that he used a spray can on set for emergency touch-ups on-set and in one memorable instance, ended up dousing a gleaming white hospital set with greens and gray streaks because 'if El Greco had painted it, it wouldn't look white.' After looking at his now totally messed-up set, Mamoulian was convinced he'd ruined it, but when he viewed the daily rushes, the result 'came out beautifully.'

Blood and Sand tells the story of Juan Gallardo, a great bullfighter who knows nothing about life outside the bullring. As a child, Juan (played awkwardly by Rex Downing, as an adult by Tyrone Power) is a cocky dreamer, eager to carry on the bullfighting legacy of his dead father, while his mother (Alla Nazimova) watches with quietly contained anguish. He brushes past the contempt of a famous bullfighting critic (Laird Cregar), the greed of his money-grubbing sister (Lynn Bari) and her husband (William Montague), and the countless examples of other once-famous, now-forgotten bullfighters to become the most celebrated bullfighter in the country. As if that weren't enough, he also wins the hand of his beautiful childhood sweetheart Carmen (Linda Darnell). However, Juan's notoriety also grabs the attention of the rich and rapacious Dona Sol (Rita Hayworth), who's set on adding Juan to her collection of famous lovers. She succeeds, but it isn't long before Juan finds that very fame spilling through his fingers. His abilities start to slip, his bullfighter friend Manolo (Anthony Quinn) is now grabbing all the attention, and Juan realizes too late that he's alienated the one true love of his life. As it usually does in sports stories, it comes down to one final match that will decide Juan's fate once and for all.

The one great defining flaw of Blood and Sand is it cleaves so tightly and humorlessly to such a standard plot with its basic, unchangeable characters. Our hero Juan is, for all his talent in the ring, a complete glory hound who never gets any smarter, stronger, or more complex. Carmen is unshakably devoted. Dona Sol is heartless. They never change either. The sheer overwhelming beauty of its cinematography is enough to carve Blood and Sand a chunk of cinematic immortality, but it isn't enough to let the film break free of its stodgy plot. It's like commissioning Monet or Matisse to paint you a masterpiece but first insisting they'll have to use the paint-by-numbers kit.


Given the archetypal cutouts they're given to play, Tyrone Power and Linda Darnell are the least interesting part of their own film. Still, Power's sheer likeability propels the story forward, although he'd have been better served with a story that delved fully into the character's grimy opportunism as Nightmare Alley did. Darnell is there to look pretty, but she does get one sizzling scene. Not with Power, but with Rita Hayworth, as they sit down in business-like fashion to discuss the man they both want. 'Senora Gallardo, is there anything I can offer you?' Hayworth offers with a wave of her hand. 'Yes,' Darnell replies, cold amusement flickering across her face, 'My husband.' Unfortunately, for Darnell, she ends up getting steamrolled in this movie by the force of nature that is Rita Hayworth.

Hayworth's rich seductress Dona Sol is no more nuanced than Darnell's character (she's kind of a cross between the Biblical Delilah and Veronica Lodge from the Archie comics), but every time she walks into the frame, your eyes can't help but follow her. No other actress moves with the easy confidence that Rita Hayworth does and it makes utter sense that Power, even married to someone who looks like Linda Darnell, would be unable to resist her. In one memorable scene, Dona Sol proves her power over Juan by teasingly encouraging him to make a run at her 'bullfighter's cape' and then slowly drawing her red-tipped nails into his scalp and pulling him into an embrace. Hayworth gets an even better showcase in a scene where she dumps Power for Anthony Quinn. Hayworth shows up with Power to a shadowed old tavern in a drop-dead, floor-length, sparkling black-and-gold wrap. She then whips it off to reveal an equally breathtaking tight pink dress (Hayworth in this dress puts Marilyn Monroe in Niagara to shame) and goes into a scorching dance with Quinn. It's enough to convince the audience Power's childish character doesn't deserve this woman.

The film gets a big boost from its able supporting cast, who all do an excellent job at making Mamoulian's stately set pieces come to life. Aside from Hayworth and Quinn, the other standouts include Laird Cregar as the smugly superior bullfighting critic, John Carradine as Power's sadder and wiser friend, and Alla Nazimova as his mother. In one scene that really drives home the cost of Juan's single-minded ambition, Nazimova and Darnell have a conversation about fear. Nazimova asks the younger woman what she prays for when Juan enters the ring. Darnell replies she prays to the Virgin Mary for Juan's safe return. Nazimova lowers her head and says bitterly that she used to make those prayers for Juan's father. Now, she prays 'to a man God' that Juan will be gored by a bull. Not to death, but just enough to keep him out of the bullring for the rest of his life. In moments like these, Blood and Sand achieves the weight of a proper tragedy.

However, the lion's share of credit for everything the film does right goes to Rouben Mamoulian and his team of filmmakers, including cinematographers Ernest Palmer and Ray Rennahan. Every time I felt my attention flagging, I couldn't look away for fear that I would miss a single shot; like the moment where Tyrone Power stumbles through the blue-lit mansion to find Rita Hayworth, lying asleep in the shadows like the world's most dangerous Sleeping Beauty; or the scene where Power and the other bullfighters kneel in prayer to a statue of Jesus on the cross, the sickly gray light of the chapel turning them into a bunch of marble statues. Or a shot of Power left alone in the dark, his bullfighter's costume catching the last flickering motes of light as the door closes behind him. Blood and Sand is a must-see for lovers of Technicolor and for all those who need further proof that yes, Hollywood technicians were just as eager to do art for art's sake as the Europeans. Sometimes, beauty is its own reward.

Aubyn Eli blogs about color movies-and a whole of black-and-white ones-at The Girl with the White Parasol.