At the start of this Paramount drama from director Frank Borzage, bestselling author Lloyd C. Douglas, who wrote the novel on which Disputed Passage is based, is shown literally signing his approval of this production—which was, nonetheless, a box office disappointment. It is a somewhat bifurcated narrative that starts off as a stateside hospital drama with religious overtones before confronting the developing roots of what would become the Second World War, with the Japanese invasion of China.
Seminarian John Beaven (John Howard) enters American medical school and his brilliance makes him an adjunct to the most feared instructor at the university, Dr. Forster (Akim Tamiroff), a peerless neurosurgeon but a bitter cynic whose worldview leaves no room for tender emotions (his backstory is that he lost his sweetheart as a youth).
Beaven tolerates his crusty mentor—until the appearance of a love interest of his own. She's played by long-typecast "exotic" actress Dorothy Lamour, here essaying a character described (faithful to the novel) as an orphaned white girl raised among Chinese; thus she uses the name (`Lan Ying') and speaks and dresses with formal affectations—manners in sync with public perceptions in this movie era, but for modern audiences seem more Vulcan or Romulan than Manchurian.
With an ardent suitor in John Beavan and her Shanghai homeland under siege from Japanese bombers, Lan Ying is torn between two worlds. And Dr. Forster does not want to see his protégé devoted to anything but science...
War scenes actually are quite powerful, as are Tamiroff's early lecture-harangues against greed, stupidity, and inadequacy in the health profession (these might have been symptomatic of the character's chronic ill disposition, but now sound current indeed). Yet the sutures never quite seem to come together as intended.
In a commentary track, knowledgeable film critic Nick Pinkerton neatly dissects Disputed Passage like a lab specimen, emphasizing the insidiously clever dodge (nonetheless faithful to Douglas' prose) of an "interracial" romance, forbidden in Golden Age Hollywood, now allowed by not making the lead girl actually Asian.
Pinkerton also fills in the fascinating backstory of bit player Lee Ya-Ching, onscreen for a few seconds as a Chinese pilot; she was a Chinese actress who once portrayed the iconic folk-heroine Mulan, and became a courageous pioneering aviatrix on the side. One suspects a drama about her life might prove more compelling than this one. A strong optional purchase.