We saw the silent version of this film, and it is quite simply shimmeringly beautiful. It's quite hard to see how a sound version could have been created, since it is shot with pure silent technique, long wordless sweeps of narrative without a single intertitle -- save for a few disconcerting sequences where Louise Brooks, playing a French typist, is quite visibly speaking in English... The only section that obviously cries out for sound is the final scene, where Brooks is watching the rushes for her test 'for a sound film': footage which plays constantly in the background as the action unfolds, with her mouth moving in ceaseless soundless song. I was unsurprised to learn afterwards that this passage alone in the talkie version had been hailed as an exemplar of new technique!
In the sunny beauty of its opening scenes and the fairy-tale inevitability of what follows, the film resembles a dream. As a 'Louise Brooks movie' it was not at all what I was expecting, either from her Hollywood comedies or from G.W.Pabst's German melodramas: I found the idiom more fluent and enjoyable than either, and Brooks herself is a different creature, a sturdy laughing young animal rather than a shop-window vamp or manipulated doll.
But what gives this film greater depth than at first appears is the unexpected second half; repelled by the rich parasites who cluster around her beauty, the pauper princess returns to a tear-stained reunion with her humbly-born true love... and the tale might very well have been ended there. Fairy-tale, however, turns to tragedy. The dilettante Grabovsky, confident in his ability to manipulate the woman he desires, is yet all too correct in his self-interested prediction -- the young lovers cannot make each other happy -- and André, ironically, was right to mistrust the social influence of beauty contests: after the intoxication of her moment's glory, Lucienne frets herself to despair over the humdrum routine of married life while her husband, in turn, is driven wild by any reminder of the whole affair. If it were a simple case of a mis-matched marriage, that would be one thing... but the true tragedy is that they do love each other.
In many ways "Prix de Beauté" reminds me of Murnau's "Sunrise". But if so, the fairground and photographer scenes here would form a distorted mirror-image of the joyous reconciliation in "Sunrise"; no dream but an alienating nightmare. And the following dawn brings not a miraculous reunion but an empty bed and deserted home. Leaving a letter to say that she loves him and will always love him, Lucienne vanishes again from André's life in quest of brightness and freedom; and this time she will never come back.
Gossip columns confirm all André's worst convictions, as he learns of his wife's whereabouts through reports coupling her name with Grabovsky. When the young workman penetrates at last to the lavish sanctum of the screening-room, it is with drawn gun -- to be greeted by the sight of his rival courting and caressing a laughing Lucienne, the same woman who had pledged her undying affection as she left him. He kills her, but even as he kills is transfixed by the living image on screen, Lucienne in all her transformed glory as he never saw her. The two women are juxtaposed in an endless, powerful moment, as André is seen, seized, unresisting, and pulled away: the dying girl and her singing self still projected above, caught unknowing out of time into celluloid eternity, playing on unconscious of life or death or love beneath her...
The main jarring element in the film is the character of André's co-worker Antonin, who appears to serve no role throughout other than to be the licensed butt of his contemporaries' malice. He is the ugly one who can never get the girl, the ungainly wimp who is tripped and tormented in the washrooms and at work, and must take it all with an uncertain ingratiating smile in his fruitless hope for social acceptance: a typical product of the bullying of the more gifted and popular, in other words, but one the audience is apparently being invited to laugh at along with his tormentors. Unless the intention is to expose a darker side to the protagonists (for which I perceive no sign), the character seems to exist merely as comic relief, but comic relief with a distinctly nasty edge. When we know him only as an inept Peeping Tom at the waterside, it's easy to laugh, although the others' revenge seems a little over the top; when we discover that he is no chance-met stranger but André's colleague and regular sidekick, the continuing attacks rapidly cease to be very funny.
But it is the images that remain. Beauty, nightmare, and dream.

I am commenting on this miniseries from the perspective of someone who read the novel first. And from that perspective I can honestly say that while enjoyable, I can see why it hasn't been rebroadcast anytime recently. More specifically, this mini has some serious problems, such as:
1) It is terribly miscast. The actors who played the younger generation were all 15 to 20 years older than the characters. Ali McGraw (45 at the time) was playing Natalie Jastrow who was supposed to be about 26. Jan-Michael Vincent (39 at the time) was playing Byron Henry who was supposed to be about 22. The other Henry children, and Pamela Tudsbury, were also played by actors way too old for characters who were supposed to be in their 20's.
2) Some of the acting was absolutely awful. Ali McGraw at times almost made this mini unwatchable. I have seen more convincing performances in high school plays.
3) The directing was poor. To be fair to Ali McGraw, the bad acting and character development were probably the directing. The portrayal of Hitler was way overdone. His character came off looking and behaving more like a cartoon villain than the charismatic, sometimes charming, but always diabolical genius Herman Wouk painted him as in the novel. Some of the other characters are done so stereotypically (Berel Jastrow) they do not gain the depth of character that Wouk created for them.
4) This mini is very dated. The hokey music, the pretentious narration (it sounded like a junior high school history film narration), and the entire prime-time soap opera feel of the mini made it almost comical at times. Also, too often Byron and Natalie are costumed and made up to look like they are in 1979 rather than 1939.
Someone who watches this without the benefit of reading the novel first will probably not sit through it all, because it will come off more as a late 70's / early 80's "take myself too seriously" prime-time soap drama, rather than the television version of what is certainly a modern American classic.
Remakes of older movies and the like are sometimes poorly done, but this is probably one case where a creative and inspired director could make a very stunning, memorable, and critically acclaimed production. I don't ever see that happening since a remake would have to be just as long (15 hours) or longer to do it right, and given the short attention span of most of the current American viewing public, it wouldn't fly.