Hollywood in 1960 was a weird place. The studio system was gasping its last breath, but they were still pumping out these massive, glossy melodramas that felt like they were trying to be "prestige" and "pulp" at the exact same time. From the Terrace is the poster child for that era. It has Paul Newman at his most smoldering, Joanne Woodward at her most vicious, and enough mid-century angst to power a fleet of Cadillacs.
Honestly, if you only know Newman from Cool Hand Luke or Butch Cassidy, seeing him in this is a trip. He isn't the charming rebel here. He’s a guy named Alfred Eaton, a WWII vet coming home to a family that basically hates him. It’s heavy.
The Brutal Chemistry of Paul and Joanne
Most people forget this was the third time Newman and Woodward shared the screen. Usually, they played the "it" couple of the century. In The Long, Hot Summer, the sparks were real. But here? Director Mark Robson had them playing a marriage that was basically a slow-motion car crash.
It’s uncomfortable to watch, mainly because you know they were madly in love in real life. Woodward plays Mary St. John, a socialite who defies her "old money" parents to marry Alfred. At first, it's all steam and passion. Then, Alfred gets obsessed with outdoing his father. He turns into a workaholic. Mary turns into... well, a "bitchy socialite" is the polite way the critics put it back then.
Woodward is incredible. She’s icy. She wears these Travilla gowns—the guy who dressed Marilyn Monroe—and spews venom with a smile. It’s an atypical role for her, and she sinks her teeth into the "villain" label. You kinda can't blame her for straying when her husband is spending months on the road just to prove a point to a dead man.
Why the Plot is So Messy
The movie is long. Like, 144 minutes long.
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That’s because it’s based on a massive, 900-page novel by John O'Hara. Trying to squeeze that much plot into a single film is like trying to fit a king-sized mattress into a Mini Cooper. Screenwriter Ernest Lehman—who wrote North by Northwest, so he knew his stuff—had to cut out decades of back-story.
In the book, Alfred is a bit of a tragic figure. In the movie, he’s a "go-getter." He rescues a billionaire's grandson from a frozen lake. Seriously. It’s a total "save the cat" moment that feels a little too convenient for a serious drama.
The Supporting Players You Missed
- Myrna Loy: She plays Alfred’s mother, Martha. She’s an alcoholic who’s been ignored for years by her husband. Seeing the "perfect wife" from The Thin Man play a broken, drunken mess is heartbreaking.
- Leon Ames: He’s the father, Samuel. He’s a monster. He literally tells Alfred that he doesn't care about him because his "real" son died years ago.
- Ina Balin: She plays Natalie, the "good girl" Alfred meets when his marriage is falling apart. She won a Golden Globe nomination for this, and you can see why. She’s the anchor of the second half of the film.
- Barbara Eden: Look closely and you’ll see a very young Jeannie (from I Dream of Jeannie) hitting on Newman in an early scene.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Ending
If you’ve read the John O'Hara novel, the movie’s ending will probably annoy you. The book is cynical. It’s dark. It basically says that you can’t escape your class or your baggage.
But this was 1960. 20th Century Fox wanted a "movie star" ending.
In From the Terrace, Newman’s Alfred gets a big, dramatic moment in a boardroom. He’s being blackmailed because of his affair with Natalie. A rival named Creighton Duffy (played with peak snivel by Howard Caine) thinks he has Alfred cornered.
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Instead of folding, Alfred basically tells the high-society board of directors to shove it. He chooses love over the partnership. He chooses Natalie over the money. It’s very "Hollywood," but Newman sells it because he looks like he actually believes it.
The "E-E-A-T" Factor: Why It Still Ranks
Critics at the time, like the folks at Variety, thought the movie was a bit of a soap opera. And they weren't totally wrong. It has those sweeping Elmer Bernstein scores and over-the-top dramatic pauses. But looking back, it's a fascinating study of post-war American ambition.
It asks a question we’re still asking: How much of your life are you willing to set on fire just to "succeed"?
Alfred’s obsession with money isn't about the money. It’s about the hole his father left in him. That’s a nuanced take for a 1960 blockbuster. The film handles infidelity in a way that was pretty bold for the Hays Code era, even if it does eventually "punish" the wife while giving the husband a pass.
Critical Insights for Film Buffs
- Watch the eyes: Cinematographer Leo Tover used CinemaScope and DeLuxe color specifically to make Newman’s blue eyes pop. It’s distracting, honestly.
- Location scouting: They filmed a lot of this on Long Island, in places like Glen Cove and Old Westbury. It captures that "Gold Coast" wealth perfectly.
- The Lehman touch: Notice the dialogue. Even when it's melodramatic, it's sharp. Lehman hated "boring" scenes, so he keeps the pace moving even when the plot is looping.
Actionable Takeaways for Your Next Watch
If you're going to dive into this Newman classic, don't expect a fast-paced thriller.
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Treat it like a limited series compressed into one afternoon. Pay attention to the way the rooms get bigger and colder as Alfred gets richer. It’s a visual metaphor for his soul.
Next Steps:
- Compare the Media: If you can find the O'Hara novel, read the last chapter. It changes how you view the movie's "happy" ending.
- Double Feature: Watch this back-to-back with The Long, Hot Summer. It’s wild to see Newman and Woodward go from the beginning of a romance to the bitter end of one in just two years of filmmaking.
- Listen to the Score: Find the isolated score track on the Blu-ray if you can. Elmer Bernstein was at the top of his game here, and the music tells a better story than the dialogue sometimes.
This isn't just a "Paul Newman movie." It’s a time capsule of a world that was obsessed with status, terrified of scandal, and just beginning to realize that the American Dream might actually be a bit of a nightmare.
To fully appreciate the era, look into the production of other John O'Hara adaptations like BUtterfield 8. You'll find a recurring theme of the "gilded cage" that defined the late 1950s cinema. Focus on the costuming by Travilla to see how visual storytelling signaled character shifts before the actors even spoke.