The Bride Wore Red

Synopsis: Count Armalia believes that the luck of birth is all that separates the rich from the poor. To test his theory, he sends Anni, who is a singer in a dive, to a ritzy resort for two weeks. With fancy new clothes and ersatz status, Anni decides that she likes the rich life. But with time running out, she needs a rich husband and Rudi is the one she chooses. Only it takes longer than two weeks for Rudi to dump his fiancée and propose to her. In the weeks that she has been there, she finds that she loves Giulio, the postman with the small house and the donkey cart. But will she give up love for wealth....
Genre: Comedy, Drama, Romance
Director(s): Dorothy Arzner
Production: MGM
 
IMDB:
5.8
PASSED
Year:
1937
103 min
8 Views

1

'Make your bets.'

'That's all, no more bets.'

Number 30.

Number three repeats.

Armalia, your luck improves

with every glass of champagne.

And, Rudi the champagne improves

with every roll of the wheel.

Cash those for me.

Place your bets.

- Very superior, waiter.

- Thank you, sir.

Probably, very superior man.

Pity, no one let them know.

Please don't stop

playing for my sake.

As a matter of fact

I happen to be up and gone.

I do nothing for

anyone else's sake.

The last time I did,

I got married.

I mean I could take a taxi home.

No, Rudi, these are not hours

to be wasted in playing.

Into each life, there come

a few nights, such as this night

in which everything

you touch is gold.

Everything you do is right.

Invariably followed the next

morning by a severe headache.

What do I do with my power?

What do I do

with my omnipotence?

Dine anddebate with a

love-sick young aristocrat

whose only thought is

of the model and the Tyrol

and his lovely Maddalena.

You'll admit,

with all that to think of

I've listened very attentively

to your naive

champagne philosophy.

Naive? What's so

naive about it?

You promised we wouldn't

go into it again.

I insist on knowing.

- Sir?

- Well, oh!

- You save money, young man?

- No, sir.

- Support a sick mother?

- No, sir, no one.

Perhaps you're working

your way through school?

- No, sir.

- No ambition of any kind?

- No, sir.

- Good.

Here's a enormous tip

for you, squander it.

- Yes, sir.

- What do you mean, naive?

Well, after all, all that about

life, the great roulette wheel.

Life is a great roulette wheel.

And the human is a little ball,

worthless in himself

bouncing helplessly

from slot to slot.

Where will he aim?

In wealth or poverty.

Is Rudi Pal

the desirable young aristocrat

or...is our friend the waiter?

Your number, my friend

didn't turn up, more champagne.

- And the check.

- Yes, sir.

Now, Rudi Pal and the waiter.

Alike at the start

and now so different.

You'll go on from there

about the one

where all men are created equal.

- Which they are.

- Which they are not.

Do you suppose there's

anything to distinguish you

from that waiter?

Except your clothes and the fact

that you sit while he stands?

There's everything,

the breeding.

Waiters are notoriously better

mannered than those they serve.

Breeding means

more than manners.

Nonsense. Rudi, as a favor

to me, stand up.

Sit down, my friend, sit down.

You're a gentleman

for the time being.

Waiter, pour the

gentleman a drink.

This is not particularly

embarrassing to me.

Think you're being deliberately

cruel to the waiter.

'For the moment he is no waiter,

he's much at home as you or I.'

Oh, no, my friend, you can do

everything but drink.

That would be cruel.

Let's get out of here.

- Rudi, I have an idea.

- No more please.

I'm going home like a good

little roulette ball.

The train for Turin

leaves so early in the morning.

By that time I shall

change a dozen lives.

Lead me till the destitute.

The destitute

sleep after midnight.

Some other time, old man.

Now this very instant take me to

the lowest dive in all Trieste.

The very lowest,

the lowest of the low.

This is a great honor,

Your Excellency.

I hope you will like

my little place.

Everything refined and tasteful.

Is this the lowest, the

most decrepit dump in Trieste?

This is, Your Excellency.

You won't find a more

decrepit bar in the..

- Nothing is decent here.

- Including the champagne.

It's all the matter of luck,

Armalia.

If that champagne had only

bounced into the lucky slot.

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Tess Slesinger

Tess Slesinger (16 July 1905 – 21 February 1945) was an American writer and screenwriter and a member of the New York intellectual scene. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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