It
was an unexpected pleasure to discover Guy Hamilton’s film version of J. B.
Priestley’s An Inspector Calls. The 1954 film is based on Priestley’s 1945
stage play and is a mostly faithful adaptation (by Desmond Davis), with some
“opening up†and invented flashback scenes featuring a character who, in the
play, is only talked about and doesn’t appear.
Hamilton
(who went on to make four James Bond films, including the iconic Goldfinger)
does a splendid job focusing on the tight-knit chamber piece that unfolds as a
murder mystery-meets-confessional family drama. The acting all around is
top-notch as well.
As
the film goes on, Poole deftly persuades each participant to tell his or her
story about Eva. At one point, though, we begin to suspect that Poole is not
who he seems. In fact, there is something rather supernatural about him. He
predicts actions before they happen, and he mysteriously comes and goes.
Perhaps he is really there to act as the conscience of these people who
may or may not bear some responsibility in Eva’s demise. The outcome of the
mystery is quite satisfactory, but it’s also open to interpretation. Brilliant
stuff, actually.
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray restoration (from StudioCanal) looks marvelous, and it
contains optional English subtitles for the hearing impaired. An audio
commentary by film historian David Del Valle is included as a supplement, along
with a short interview with actress Jane Wenham (who gave up acting and married
Albert Finney, a union that produced a son but ended in divorce after four
years). Trailers for this and other Kino Lorber releases round out the package.
An
Inspector Calls is
a terrific British drawing-room mystery/drama, and an admirable example of how
to adapt a story from stage to screen. Highly recommended.
British
noir is a slightly different animal than American film noir, which began in the
early 1940s in Hollywood and lasted until roughly 1958 (if one is considering
“pure†film noir and its singular traits). The British version, as well as the French
and Italian editions, usually concentrates on a more “straight†narrative form
with less melodrama. It is probably more true-to-life, drawing from the
naturalism of Italian Neo-realism, than its counterpart across the Atlantic. It
is certainly less histrionic and heightened. Nevertheless, British noir
contains hallmarks of noir everywhere—black-and-white, Expressionistic
photography; cynical and hard-edged characters; femmes fatale; brutality;
and, of course, a crime.
Pool
of London is
a 1951 Ealing Studios crime drama (the studio was still making other genre
pictures other than comedies at this time) that takes place in and around that
geographical site. The titular “Pool of London†is a shipping port of the
Thames that stretches from London Bridge alongside Billingsgate on the south
side of the City. At one time, it was ripe for criminal activities, mainly
smuggling. It is an ideal setting for a noir movie, especially with the
post-war dreariness that still hung over the area when the picture was made. This
gritty milieu serves as the movie’s own production design, as DP Gordon Dines
shot most of it on location.
The
film also has a couple of James Bond connections. Earl Cameron, the Bermudian
actor who worked for decades in Britain in film and television, was “Pinder†in
Thunderball. Coincidentally, the co-screenwriter (with John Eldridge) is
Jack Whittingham, the writer who worked with Ian Fleming and Kevin McClory on
the early drafts and screenplays of the same film, from which the 1965 Bond
movie was adapted.
Meanwhile,
acrobat/magician/music hall performer Charlie Vernon (Max Adrian) has plotted with
some local gangsters to steal a cache of diamonds. Because the Dunbar sailors
are accustomed to performing minor smuggling as favors for friends and
girlfriends, Dan is unwittingly enlisted by the criminals to smuggle the
diamonds out of London aboard the ship for delivery elsewhere. Unfortunately, a
night guard is killed during the burglary, so the heat to catch the bad guys is
intense. Only then does Dan realize what he’s carrying, and what he needs to do
to make things right.
This
is taut, engaging filmmaking that quickly establishes a mood and sense of place
that holds the viewer captive for nearly 90 minutes. The music by John Addison
is subtle and low key, and yet it contains a catchy orchestral riff that stays
with the viewer after the movie is over. Basil Dearden’s direction is
reminiscent of that of American Anthony Mann’s noir work. In short, this is a
good time at the home video theater.
Kino
Lorber’s new high definition restoration (from StudioCanal) looks great and is
properly gray and grainy. There is an audio commentary by entertainment
journalist and author Bryan Reesman, as well as an enlightening recent
interview with actor Cameron, who, at 102, is still alive at the time of
writing! An additional supplement is a locations featurette presented by film
historian Richard Dacre. Trailers for this and other Kino Lorber releases round
out the package.
Pool
of London is
highly recommended for fans of British crime pictures, Ealing Studios productions,
and film noir in general.
Mel
Brooks served as executive producer on this thoroughly delightful picture
released in 1982 and directed by actor/director Richard Benjamin. It feels
like a Brooks movie (but perhaps not as zany). In fact, My Favorite Year,
which was written by Norman Steinberg and Dennis Palumbo, from Palumbo’s story,
is loosely inspired by Brooks’ days as a writer on Sid Caesar’s early
television comedy/variety programs, Your Show of Shows and Caesar’s
Hour, in the 1950s.
The
year is 1954, New York City, and Benjy Stone (Mark Linn-Baker) is a young
comedy writer on “Comedy Cavalcade,†which stars the demanding and difficult-to-work-for
King Kaiser (Joseph Bologna). The studio is lucky to snare a guest appearance
on the show by the once hugely popular but now fading swashbuckling movie star,
Alan Swann (Peter O’Toole). Swann is a notorious alcoholic, is unreliable, and has
a reputation for major trouble. Stone is assigned the job of being Swann’s
babysitter during the rehearsal process to make sure the actor is on time, that
he stays away from the booze and women, and is present for the ever-important
live broadcast. Along the way, Stone falls in love with his co-worker, K.C.
(Jessica Harper), but she’s not impressed with Benjy—yet. Throw in a subplot
involving a mob boss (Cameron Mitchell) who wants to kill King Kaiser for
making fun of him on the show, and My Favorite Year becomes a laugh riot
that also manages to trigger a great deal of nostalgia for those halcyon years
of early TV.
O’Toole
received a deserved Best Actor Oscar nomination for his performance. The
character is based on Errol Flynn, who in reality was a guest on one episode of
Sid Caesar’s TV show. The Benjy Stone character is an amalgamation of not only
Brooks himself, but also Woody Allen, who worked on the same show. The
character of Herb (Basil Hoffman), is allegedly based on Neil Simon, who also was
a member of the Sid Caesar writing troupe. Simon tended to whisper his ideas to
a colleague, and that’s what Herb does throughout the movie.
The
film is full of comic set pieces, and every actor brings something humorous to
the table. A highlight of the film is when Stone brings Swann to his family
home in Brooklyn for dinner with his mother, Belle (Lainie Kazan) and Filipino
stepfather, and the party is crashed by Stone’s uncle (Lou Jacobi) and others. Look
for Gloria Stuart (the older Rose in Titanic) in a small role as a woman
who dances with O’Toole at a nightclub.
Warner
Archive’s high definition transfer is on par with other releases by the
company, which prints the disks on demand. It comes with a DTS-HD Master Audio
2.0 Mono soundtrack. An entertaining audio commentary by director Benjamin is
included, and it should be noted that he also displays an assured hand helming the
proceedings.
My
Favorite Year will
provide an evening of nostalgia, swashbuckling, and laughter. Especially
recommended for fans of early television, who will pick up on the various
references and Easter eggs.
CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM THE CINEMA RETRO MOVIE STORE
Having
never heard of this British production prior to the release of Kino Lorber’s
new high definition transfer of the picture, this reviewer approached it with
caution. It was much better than expected. Luckily, there is much to be said
about Connecting Rooms.
Based
on a stage play called The Cellist by Marion Hart, the screenplay was
written by director Franklin Gollings. It’s a low-budget affair that was shot
in London in 1969, and there is a decidedly TV-movie feel about it. The picture
was first released in 1970 in the United States, of all places, and didn’t
receive a U.K. release until 1972.
What
Connecting Rooms has going for it is the presence of the remarkable
Bette Davis, who delivers a note-perfect late career performance as Wanda, an
aging cellist who lives in a seedy boarding house in London. Every night Wanda
goes to “the theatre†to perform, but we never see this happening. We do witness
her practicing in her room, and she seems to be quite an accomplished musician.
It’s obvious, though, that Wanda is very lonely and yearns for some kind of
personal connection, and she has secrets.
Wanda’s
room connects to another one, and the door in-between does not lock. It also
easily swings opens when there’s a strong breeze through one of the windows in
either room, or if one leans on it. James (Michael Redgrave, who in the film
looks astonishingly like Alec Baldwin does now), moves in to the
adjoining flat. One can see there is something wrong. He is a schoolmaster, but
he is mysteriously out of a job and down on his luck. We learn later what the
malady is (he was falsely accused of an inappropriate relationship with a male
student but was sacked anyway).
There
are other colorful characters in the boarding house. Mickey (Alexis Kanner) is
an obnoxious, but charming, young songwriter/playboy who uses Wanda for what
little money she has, and is also doing everything he can to get one of his
compositions to a famous French singer, Claudia (Olga Georges-Picot), including
seducing her. The landlady, Mrs. Brent (Kay Walsh), is a nosy parker who simply
walks in on her tenets any time she pleases and isn’t beyond criticizing what
she perceives as flaws in their personal lives.
Of
course, as the story unfolds, Wanda and James develop an attraction and we
learn the truths about our lead characters. As previously noted, Davis is quite
good and carries the film. Redgrave also delivers a heartbreaking performance,
and it is the chemistry of these two that elevate the picture above Lifetime Channel
Movie status.
Of
possible note to James Bond fans—there is a connection. The hands (and sounds)
of classical cellist Amaryllis Fleming—Ian Fleming’s half-sister—appear in
place of Davis’s when she’s playing the cello.
Kino
Lorber’s presentation looks fine, and it comes with an audio commentary by film
historian David Del Valle. There are no other supplements other than trailers
for this and other Kino releases.
An
effective study of “boarding house blues,†Connecting Rooms is worth it
for the acting by two cinema veterans.
The
famous British studio, Ealing, made many kinds of pictures and became a major
force in the U.K.’s film industry, especially after producer Michael Balcon
took it over. While the studio had already made a few comedies, for some reason
in the late 1940s it started producing more of them. The natures of these
comedies shifted and became more intelligent, dry, and focused on underdog
characters who valiantly attempt to overcome a series of obstacles. Sometimes
the protagonists are successful—and sometimes not. Along the way, though, a
series of misadventures occur. They range from “amusing†to “riotously funny.†It
all worked, and the Ealing Comedies became a sub-genre unto themselves,
especially when they starred the likes of Alec Guinness, Alastair Sim, or
Stanley Holloway.
The
year 1949 is generally considered the beginning of the run, which lasted until
around 1957. In ’49, one of the best Ealing Comedy, Kind Hearts and Coronets
(directed by Robert Hamer), was released, but so was Whisky Galore!,
with Alexander Mackendrick making his directorial debut. From the accounts told
in the documentary supplements contained in this marvelous new Blu-ray package
from Film Movement, Mackendrick had a difficult time with the production. Shot
entirely on location in remote areas of Scotland, there were over-schedule and
over-budget problems, and the director himself tended to downplay the picture’s
quality in his later years.
That
said, Whisky Galore! (released as Tight Little Island in the
U.S.) ended up being a hit at the box office and is today fondly remembered as
one of the great Ealing Comedies. Its success assured Mackendrick’s place in
making future films for the studio, like The Man in the White Suit (1951)
and The Ladykillers (1955), as well as The Maggie (1954), which
is also included in this Blu-ray two-movie set.
Based
on true events, it’s the story of a Scottish isle called Todday and the inhabitants
who love their whisky. During World War II, the island goes dry and it’s near
impossible to obtain the magic nectar. One night a ship carrying cartons of
whisky meant for another port wrecks on the coast. While Captain Waggett (Basil
Radford, of “Charters and Caldicott†fame), the English head of the Home Guard
on the island, attempts to safeguard the whisky cases, everyone else is
determined to confiscate it and hide what they can in secret places. The comedy
comes with Waggett’s frustration at constantly being foiled, and with the
various eccentric and colorful characters that populate Todday.
Every
cast member is wonderful in the movie, but Joan Greenwood, who had starred in Kind
Hearts and Coronets, is a standout with her sultry, sexy low voice and
delivery.
The
Maggie
(released as High and Dry in the U.S.) also has a Scottish seafaring
theme, with the stubborn Captain MacTaggart (Alex Mackenzie) and his pitiful
“puffer†cargo boat attempting to haul expensive furniture owned by American
millionaire and businessman, Calvin Marshall (Paul Douglas) from one port to
another. At first the captain gets the job due to a misunderstanding and his
own perpetuation of it, but ultimately Marshall allows the Maggie to
haul his possessions. Everything that can go wrong does.
Film
Movement’s new high definition digital restorations from StudioCanal are
excellent. Whisky Galore! comes with an audio commentary by British film
expert John Ellis. Supplements include a 52-minute documentary, “Distilling
Whisky Galore!â€, “The Real Whisky Galore!†(about the shipwreck of the original
whisky-carrying vessel upon which the film is based), and a colorful booklet
containing an essay by film scholar Ronald Bergen. There are no supplements
associated with The Maggie.
For
fans of Ealing Comedies, Scottish history and atmosphere, and well-written and
performed British cinema, the Whisky Galore!/The Maggie combo
pack is for you!
Only
serious film history aficionados and perhaps viewers of Turner Classic Movies
will be aware that there was once a live-action version of Lewis Carroll’s
Alice in Wonderland adapted by Hollywood in the early pre-code years. It was
released in 1933 by Paramount and directed by Norman Z. McLeod, the guy who had
helmed the Marx Brothers’ comedies Monkey Business (1931) and Horse Feathers
(1932). McLeod would go on to make such titles as It’s a Gift (1934), Topper
(1937), The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (1947), and The Paleface (1948).
The
production of Alice in 1933 boasts a screenplay by none other than heavyweights
Joseph L. Mankiewicz (you know, the fellow who wrote and directed All About
Eve) and William Cameron Menzies, the man behind Things to Come and a
production designer whose hands were all over Hollywood and British productions
over the next two decades. The script also borrows heavily from the popular and
then-current stage production written by Eva La Gallienne and Florida Friebus, although
they do not receive screen credit.
The
main thing the movie has going for it is the spectacular roundup of Hollywood
stars who play all the fantasy characters in brief vignettes. Gary Cooper, W.
C. Fields, Cary Grant, Edward Everett Horton, Edna May Oliver, Richard Arlen,
Jack Oakie, Sterling Holloway, Roscoe Karns, Baby LeRoy, Charlie Ruggles, Ford
Sterling, and Ned Sparks are just a few of the “VIPs†who appear in the
picture, all stalwart or rising stars in Tinsel Town at the time. Alice is
played with conviction by Charlotte Henry, who enjoyed a decent career as an
ingenue and young woman throughout the 1930s, but she retired from acting in
the early 40s.
The
film is not particularly good—in fact, it was a major bomb for Paramount at the
time—but take heart! The “WTF? VALUE†of this movie is tremendously high. In
fact, if a viewer is in that altered state (not that Cinema Retro is condoning
such a thing!), the experience of viewing this short (76 minutes) feature, with
its extremely surreal costumes and makeup, Betty Boop-style sets come to life,
and just plain weirdness, would be elevated.
Suffice
it to say that Alice in Wonderland is worth the price of admission for its
succession of bizarre cameos, especially Fields as Humpty Dumpty, Oakie and
Karns as Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee, and Horton as the Mad Hatter. It’s a
shame, though, that we only hear some of these actors’ voices because they are
heavily made up or wearing full head costumes (such as Cary Grant as the Mock
Turtle). One highlight is the “The Walrus and the Carpenter†animated sequence
created by the innovative Harman-Ising Studio.
Kino
Lorber’s new high definition transfer looks good enough, and it comes with an
audio commentary by film historian Lee Gambin. There are also theatrical
trailers for this and other Kino Lorber releases.
If
you’re a fan of pre-code Hollywood, Salvador DalÃ-like surrealism, and of Lewis
Carroll’s classic dream tale, you owe it to yourself to see this jaw-dropping
curiosity.
(A
personal note: This reviewer has a history with the La Gallienne/Friebus stage
play. I was a theatre major in college (way back in the mid-1970s), and my
first job after graduating was serving as an Apprentice Director (and
composer/musician) for the Alley Theatre in Houston, Texas for the 1978-79
season before moving to New York City. The Alley did a production of Alice in
Wonderland, and I was in charge of composing the songs—set to Carroll’s lyrics,
the same words used in the 1933 film—and incidental pieces. The actors sang the
songs, and I accompanied them on keyboards and a variety of other instruments.
There were several more songs in the stage play than were utilized in the film.
The production was a major hit for the Alley, and we performed it over 150 times
in the one season. Watching the Kino Lorber release brought back a flood of
memories, especially since I recognized the lyrics—but I heard them in my head
with my tunes, which I dare say were much better than the melodies in the movie
(composed by Dimitri Tiomkin, no less!). That aside, it is indeed remarkable
how closely the film adaptation really is to the stage play.)
Alastair
George Bell Sim, popularly known as Alastair Sim, was one of those great
British actors famous for his remarkable facial features, physical presence,
and vocal delivery. Primarily a renowned stage performer from the 1930s to the
1970s, Sim also made several films—mostly comedies, because he could do “ironyâ€
as well as, say, Alec Guinness. Sim is perhaps best-known for his definitive
Scrooge in A Christmas Carol (1951, titled Scrooge in the U.K.),
but his work portraying acerbic and sarcastic characters in other pictures in
the late 40s and through the 50s, is outstanding.
The
impressive Film Movement label has released this 4-disk package that highlights
a quartet of notable Alastair Sim appearances in what are deemed to be among
the best post-war “very British†comedies. This was a time when Ealing Studios,
for example, was making its mark in the genre. These four movies capture a
Britain still recovering from rationing and regaining a foothold in the
international scene. Here lie the catalysts for later, more abstract 1960s
British humor such as The Goon Show and Monty Python’s Flying Circus.
The four titles also come with over two hours of supplements.
The
Belles of St. Trinian’s (1954) is the first—and best—of the hugely popular St.
Trinian’s series based on Ronald Searle’s drawings and cartoons about a boarding
school for girls in which the students are unruly delinquents and the teachers
are just as bad. Directed by Frank Launder and written by the formidable team
of Launder and Sidney Gilliat (The Lady Vanishes, Night Train to
Munich), Belles features Sim in dual roles—as Millicent Fritton, the
headmistress of St. Trinian’s (yes, Sim is in drag, and he’s hilarious), and as
her twin brother, Clarence, a gambler and bookmaker whose daughter, Arabella
(Vivienne Martin) is in the sixth form of the school. The plot involves Fatima,
a new student who is the daughter of the “Sultan of Makyad†(Eric Pohlmann). Everyone
around Fatima is attempting to get information on the sultan’s horse that will
be competing in the Cheltenham Gold Cup. British stalwart comic actor George
Cole plays Flash Harry (a role he would repeat in subsequent entries in the
series), a shifty sort who sells gin to the science department. There can be no
doubt that Michael Palin channeled Cole in some of the television Python sketches
fifteen years later. Wildly funny comedienne Joyce Grenfell is police sergeant
Ruby Gates—she also returns for further adventures at St. Trinian’s. The
picture is slightly ribald (probably an eye-raiser in 1954!), full of eccentric
and amusing personages and situations, and is a joy to watch. Supplements
attached to this title are a making-of featurette, separate interviews with
film historian Geoff Brown, film lecturer Dr. Melanie Williams, Sim’s daughter
Meredith McKendrick, and Steve Chibnall, professor of British Cinema at De
Montfort University.
Laughter
in Paradise (1951)
finds Sim as one of four distant relatives of the recently deceased Henry
Russell (Hugh Griffith), a notorious but wealthy prankster. In order to inherit
£50,000 of the old man’s money, each of the
four cousins (Sim, Fay Compton, Guy Middleton, and George Cole) must perform a
public act designed to turn their lives upside down. For example, Sim is a
retired officer who now writes “penny dreadful†crime stories. His task is to
commit a crime and spend 28 days in jail. Compton, a stuffy spinster who treats
her servants horribly, must gain employment as a servant in a household for a
month. Cole, a meek and introverted bank manager, must pull an armed robbery prank
on his beast of a boss. Middleton, a womanizer, must propose to the next female
he sees—and he must get her to agree to marry him. Director Mario Zampi pulls
off some mighty funny stuff here. The scene in which Sim attempts to shoplift
in a jewelry store is comic gold. Alas, there are no supplements accompanying
this title.
Hue
and Cry (1947)
is important in the pantheon of British cinema in that it is considered the
first of the comedies produced by Ealing Studios, although it is more of a Boys’
Own adventure tale. The protagonist is teenage actor Harry Fowler as Joe
Kirby, who is part of a gang called the Blood and Thunder Boys (that also
includes a girl or two) who rummage around the bombed-out ruins of post-war London
and environs (shades of John Boorman’s Hope and Glory!) and always
narrowly escape getting into trouble. One day, after reading a pulp comic
(ironically called “Trumpâ€!) and its detective story contained within, Joe
begins to suspect the same crime being committed out of a furrier shop in
Covent Garden. Thus begins a “ripping yarn†in which Joe and his young cohorts
attempt to solve the puzzle. Sim has a small role as the author of the mystery
stories appearing in Trump. Directed by none other than Charles Crichton (The
Lavender Hill Mob, A Fish Called Wanda), the picture is great fun
and also provides an extraordinary street-scene depiction of war-torn Britain
at the time. Supplements include an interview with Professor Chibnall again,
and a locations featurette comparing the movie’s settings with what they are
today.
Film
Movement’s high definition digital restorations (from StudioCanal) are
spectacularly good. If this is an example of the company’s quality control,
then Film Movement will be a major competitor to other classic film Blu-ray/DVD
labels.
All
four titles in this wonderful package are gems. Towering over them is the charismatic
presence of the amazing Alastair Sim, who commands the screen and will make you
laugh. Highly recommended.
There
exists a period in the career of the great David Lean in which several of his
pictures are today more or less forgotten, especially in the U.S. After the one-two
double punch of Brief Encounter and Great Expectations in the
mid-40s, Lean directed several pictures that were less than stellar in terms of
popularity and critical acclaim (e.g., The Passionate Friends, Madeleine)
before he hit a spectacular stride with Hobson’s Choice, Summertime,
and The Bridge on the River Kwai in the mid-50s.
Nestled
neatly in this middle period is The Sound Barrier (titled Breaking
the Sound Barrier in the U.S.), released in 1952. Despite doing very decent
box office on both sides of the Atlantic, the film isn’t one that comes to mind
when considering Lean’s genius.
It's
the story of how the sound barrier was broken in Britain post-World War II,
loosely based on real events and personages. Ralph Richardson stars as John
Ridgefield, an airplane manufacturer and pioneer in jet engine technology. His
daughter, Susan (Ann Todd, who was married to director Lean at the time the
film was made), marries a crack-shot pilot, Tony (Nigel Patrick), and
Ridgefield promptly hires Tony to be a test pilot.
But
after Susan’s brother Chris (a very young Denholm Elliott) is killed in a flight
accident, the story turns more intense and becomes a thriller with a
documentary feel. To reveal how the characters achieve their goals and how the sound
barrier is actually broken would be major spoilers. Suffice it to say that The
Sound Barrier is an engaging, exciting picture that is exquisitely filmed. It’s
a sort of British version of The Right Stuff, made thirty years prior to
that landmark title. The aviation sequences are very impressive, given the time
the movie was made.
There
is one problem with it, though. The picture leaves the impression that the
sound barrier was first broken by a British pilot. After the film’s release,
many British subjects believed this to be true. This notion is patently
false—it was Chuck Yeager in the United States who initially achieved the feat!
Kino
Lorber’s new high definition transfer looks good, although one wishes that Lean
had waited another year or two to make the picture so that he could have
utilized a widescreen aspect ratio. It comes with an audio commentary by film
historian and critic Peter Tonguette, as well as a ten-minute vintage interview
with Lean about the picture and theatrical trailers.
For
aviation aficionados and fans of David Lean and British cinema, The Sound
Barrier will take viewers on a soaring flight above the clouds.
Once
again, Kino Lorber, a company grandly competing with other “Cadillacâ€
DVD/Blu-ray publishers, has released an esoteric non-mainstream title from
yesteryear that might have otherwise have remained under the radar screens of
retro movie lovers.
The
filmography of Joseph Losey, the American expat who fled the U.S. to Britain after
being blacklisted in the early 50s, has been duly represented by Kino. The
company has released several of his titles, a recent one being Secret
Ceremony, a British production starring American actors in the three lead
roles.
Made
in 1968, the picture is one odd duck, but it’s got quite the cast—Elizabeth
Taylor, Mia Farrow, Robert Mitchum, Peggy Ashcroft, and Pamela Brown. Based on
a novel by Marco Denevi, Secret Ceremony resembles some of the
avant-garde stage plays by the likes of Harold Pinter or Jean Genet; in fact,
the movie reminded this viewer of Genet’s The Maids, in a way.
Unfortunately, Ceremony is in no way as successful or admirable as any
of the works by these writers.
Taylor
plays Leonora, whom we are led to believe might have been a former prostitute.
She’s a little unbalanced because her only daughter died some years ago. Farrow
plays Cenci, a wealthy but childlike young woman who lives alone in a huge
mansion. Coincidentally, she’s a bit unbalanced as well because she lost
her mother in the past. And wouldn’t you know it? Cenci resembles Leonora’s dead
daughter, and Leonora looks like Cenci’s deceased mom. After Cenci stalks
Leonora on the streets for a time, the older woman finally succumbs and moves
into the mansion with Cenci to be her “mother.†Meanwhile, Cenci’s aunts
(Ashcroft and Brown) make trouble by trying to steal some of Cenci’s belongings
and money, and then there’s the estranged stepfather, Albert (Mitchum) who unexpectedly
shows up. Oh, and of course he apparently sexually abused Cenci back in the
day.
It's
all about role-playing, fantasies, repressed sexuality, psychological and
physical abuse, and power games, and the freaky family dynamics stretch the
drama to an almost interminable 109 minutes.
While
the film does not work in any way, shape, or form in terms of story or acting
(both Taylor and Farrow are, frankly, terrible, and Mitchum seems to be in the
wrong movie), it does look gorgeous. Kino Lorber’s new high definition master
is sharp, colorful, and quite attractive (the cinematography was by Gerry
Fisher). This is accompanied by an audio commentary by Tim Lucas, and it has
optional English subtitles for the hearing impaired. The only other supplements
are trailers for this and other Kino Lorber titles.
Strictly for fans of Taylor, Farrow, or Losey, perhaps
Secret Ceremony might be an entry as one of those “so bad it’s goodâ€
pictures. Masochists will experience much revelry in
its campiness.
Despite
its grammatically incorrect title, The Lives of a Bengal Lancer is
considered one of the great old-school Hollywood epic adventure movies, and it
remains so to this day. It was released very early in 1935 after a long
gestation period and became one of the most popular pictures of the decade. It was
nominated for the Oscar Best Picture, Best Director (Henry Hathaway), Best Adapted
Screenplay, and four other awards, but it won only one—Best Assistant Director?
(Obviously a now defunct category.)
What
are Bengal Lancers, you ask? They were British soldiers serving in India in
those days of the British Raj between the two world wars. Apparently, one
didn’t have to be British to serve. The protagonist, Lieutenant Alan McGregor
(Gary Cooper), is Scottish-Canadian. Lieutenant John Forsythe (Franchot Tone)
seems to be American, but maybe the actor just didn’t attempt to master an
English accent.
The
story is adapted from the memoir by Francis Yeats-Brown, although none of the
book’s material made it into the movie. Colonel Tom Stone (Guy Standing) and
his right-hand man, Hamilton (the always wonderful C. Aubrey Smith), run the
41st Bengal Lancers with strict discipline and by-the-book no-nonsense. It’s a
rough life, especially for newcomer, Lieutenant Donald Stone (Richard
Cromwell), a “cub†(a newly commissioned officer), who happens to be the
colonel’s son. The younger Stone wants to impress his father, of course, but
the colonel will have nothing of it. Instead, both McGregor and Forsythe take
young Stone under their wings.
The
soldiers are fighting Indian rebels led by Mohammed Khan (Douglass Dumbrille, a
British white actor with dark makeup). The rebels want the British out of their
country, just like Americans wanted the British out of theirs in 1776, but in
this case, the Indian rebels are the “bad guys.†In the 1930s, the British
Empire was generally looked at favorably by Western civilization, but that’s a
historical/political discussion that needs not be had here.
At
one point, Khan uses a beautiful Russian spy (played by Kathleen Burke) to
seduce young Stone and capture him. Because the commander won’t rescue his own
son, it’s up to McGregor and Forsythe to save the hapless prisoner before he is
tortured and made to reveal military secrets. “We have ways of making men
talk,†Khan famously says before sticking bamboo slivers under fingernails and
lighting them.
There’s
plenty of action and depictions of the “exotic†lifestyle of a Bengal Lancer.
The battle scenes are remarkably well done for the time. The second unit
material, filmed in India, went through some growing pains. The movie was
supposed to have been made in 1931, and Ernest B. Schoedsack and Rex Wimpy were
sent by the studio to shoot stuff. Unfortunately, their footage was destroyed by
the elements… but some of it still exists in the picture.
Kino
Lorber’s new 4K master of the film is impressive, and it comes with an audio
commentary by film history Eddy Von Mueller. There are English subtitles for
the hearing impaired, and theatrical trailers for this and other Kino titles.
The
Lives of a Bengal Lancer, like other movies of its ilk—The Charge of the Light
Brigade, Beau Geste, and Gunga Din—is part of a Hollywood
legacy of delivering an audience to a far-away place and time, and entertaining
them, too. Great stuff.
Sir
Carol Reed made many fine British films, among them Odd Man Out and The
Third Man in the 1940s, and the Oscar-winning Oliver! in the 60s…
but among his lesser known pictures from the 1950s sits this gem of an
adventure yarn based on Joseph Conrad’s novel, An Outcast of the Islands,
first published in 1896.
While
many interiors were filmed at Shepperton Studios, much of the picture was made
on location in Sri Lanka (then called Ceylon), a British colony at the time.
That alone provided the contemporary audience with a view of an exotic world
that few had seen. Given that the tale is a period piece that takes place in
the late 1800s, Outcast of the Islands is truly of a time and place
along the lines of the 1935 version of Mutiny on the Bounty, but on a
smaller scale.
Ralph
Richardson received top billing, although in reality his is a supporting role;
he appears only in the first and last quarters of the movie. It is Trevor
Howard who dominates the story, a rare case in which the villain is the
protagonist. He plays a truly despicable character, and much of the forward
drive of the picture is in our hoping he will get his comeuppance by the film’s
end.
Richardson
is Captain Lingard, and elderly commander of a trading ship that sails the seas
of Indonesia. Years earlier, he had “adopted†a homeless young English boy of
twelve, Peter Willems, and brought him along on a few routes. Now, in the
present day, the adult Willems (Howard) is a scoundrel, a cheat, and a cunning
soul in Singapore. Lingard stops at the port and agrees to take Willems—who has
just lost his job—to a remote island trading post so that he can work for the
manager there, Lingard’s son-in-law, Elmer Almayer (exquisitely played by
Robert Morley). Almayer, who lives among the native population with his wife
(Wendy Hiller) and young daughter, reluctantly takes Willems on as an
assistant. Willems then proceeds to thwart Almayer’s business, seduce the local
chieftain’s daughter (portrayed by Kerima, an Algerian actress who had a brief
career playing “exotic†types), and anger everyone around him. Everything goes
to pot until Lingard finally returns and he realizes the mistake he had made in
trusting his former ward.
Director
Reed does a splendid job in managing the native crowd scenes, some with tropical
dance sequences, and rendering the tale on a large canvas (albeit in black and
white and preceding the advent of widescreen). Howard is quite good as the cad;
he and Morley give the picture its punch with their palpable rivalry. Beloved
British character actor Wilfred Hyde-White makes a welcome appearance early in
the film; he is surely one of the best purveyors of the ironic smile.
Unfortunately, as was the style at the time, some native characters are
portrayed by British white actors wearing dark makeup, such as George Coulouris
as the chief’s spokesman.
Kino
Lorber’s new high definition transfer looks remarkably good, and it comes with
an audio commentary by film historian and critic Peter Tonguette. There are
English subtitles for the hearing impaired, plus theatrical trailers for this
and other Kino Lorber titles.
Outcast
of the Islands may
not be a well-known motion picture today, but it is indeed a solid entry in the
extraordinary filmography of Carol Reed.
Of
special note is the casting of Louis De Funès as police Commissaire
Juve, who has also made it his life’s mission to capture Fantômas.
Juve is inept and bumbling and, in a way, France’s answer to The Pink
Panther’s Inspector Clouseau. While Funès had made many films
prior to the Fantômas trilogy, the actor suddenly shot into the
stratosphere of popularity and became one of the country’s top comedic stars.
His energetic, frustrated, and explosive portrayal of Juve steals the show in
all three movies—he is very, very funny.
Fantômas appeared late in 1964, around the time that Goldfinger
was hitting the screens. This picture establishes the relationships between
all the characters and illustrates how the villain uses disguises (with very
impressive makeup work on Marais) to pull off thefts, including impersonating
both Fandor and Juve. The Bond influence is palpable. Fantômas’
lair resembles the Ken Adam sets of Dr. No, especially No’s dining room,
and there is an abundance of the not-quite-sci-fi gee-whiz technology going on.
Fantômas Against Scotland Yard (Fantômas contre Scotland Yard) was released in early
1967 and is the wildest and weirdest of the threesome. Our intrepid heroes
pursue Fantômas to Scotland and a “haunted†Scottish
castle, where there are plenty of hijinks involving mediums and phony ghosts
and such, as the villain attempts to extort millionaires to pay him “tax†or
die. Still enjoyable and a hoot, it’s apparent that the filmmakers probably
couldn’t have sustained the success had the series gone on. De Funès
was receiving offers for bigger and better things, and Marais had other
interests to pursue as well. While recasting and retooling the James Bond
series was fine for Eon Productions, breaking up the band and bringing in new
talent would not have been wise for Fantômas.
Kino
Lorber’s new 2-disk Blu-ray package presents all three movies in excellent
restorations (the second picture looks the best, and the third one, oddly, is
grainier than the others). An audio commentary by film historian Tim Lucas
accompanies Fantômas, but there are no
other supplements except for theatrical trailers of these and other Kino Lorber
releases (such as the OSS-117 French films of the 60s).
The
Fantômas Three Film Collection is a slice of French
cinema history, a reflection of that crazy decade of the 1960s, and a treat for
fans of the 007 and Pink Panther flicks. Recommended!