This is director/producer Frank Borzage's most lavishly opulent sound film. It's a curio of a time long since past, when romanticism was celebrated and even the most wildly unrealistic moments seemed perfectly natural within their filmic contexts. Myra (the luminous and talented Catherine McLeod) is an aspiring concert pianist who comes to study under the imperious maestro Goronov (Philip Dorn), who was an admirer of her father (Felix Bressart) many years ago when the father was a professional pianist in Europe. But the father has since retired to rural America after meeting Myra's mother and forsaking his career for her 20 years earlier. (The mother has since died, and Myra's "maternal guidance" in the film is provided by the dimunitive powerhouse Maria Ouspenskaya, here playing Goronoff's mother and "the woman behind the great man.") As Myra is molded by Goronoff (who doesn't hold women in any high regard at all and goes through them like he would pairs of underwear, but who does respect talent) into a superior pianist, Myra falls in love with her Svengali. But Goronoff refuses to admit how much Myra has come to mean to him, and when her father dies, the grief-stricken Myra must choose between the man she has loved unrequitedly and a local farmer, George (Bill Carter) who has loved her all her life. Which one will she choose?

This is a classic woman's-film dilemma, and the characters in it are more mythical "types" than the flesh-and-blood, warts-and-all characters we would expect to see today. But that's not a problem for Borzage, whose intensly romantic, lushly envisioned films have always put love on the highest pedestal. What brings this film truly to life is the nuanced, deeply felt performances by all involved. Even the seemingly serene, uncomplicated George comes to life when declaring his hidden love for Myra. No matter how surreal the story may seem (especially if you're not used to seeing and enjoying classic cinema melodramas), the actors' and the director's commitment to it is absolute, giving the film an interior life and intensity that have made it a cult favorite and guilty pleasure, especially for Borzage fans. The classic Borzage theme: that metaphysical love can (and should) conquer all is ever present, as are the typical Borzagian dichotomies (e.g., between artist and simple country folk, passionate love and companionate love, men and women, and country versus city, etc.)

Borzage had just signed a multipicture deal with the fledgling Republic studios in 1945 when production began, and it's clear the studio spared no expense with their Academy-Award winning director. Lavishly photographed in Technicolor with colossal classical sets, exquisite costumes, and extensive piano doubling by Artur Rubinstein, I'VE ALWAYS LOVED YOU will definitely appeal to classical music lovers familiar with the backbiting world of professional music. All others need to watch not only with an open mind, but with an open heart.

Despite the somewhat contrived ending, I'VE ALWAYS LOVED YOU is worth seeing as one of Borzage's peniultimate films, and one he was able to make his most lushly romantic. To this day, few directors can boast such an incredible command of both the visual and emotional elements of almost every film (with the possible exception of Douglas Sirk). As Rainer Fassbinder once said of Douglas Sirk, you can tell from his films that he (Sirk) "really loves people, and doesn't depise them, as we do." The same could be said of Borzage--one of the cinema's first, last, and greatest romantics.

Kudos also go to the UCLA Archives for a superb Technicolor restoration. This VHS is definitely the version to watch. Beware of old black and white TV prints..