Target #269: The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943, Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger)

TSPDT placing: #147

Directed by: Michael Powell, Emeric Pressburger

Written by: Michael Powell, Emeric Pressburger

Starring: Roger Livesey, Deborah Kerr, Anton Walbrook, Roland Culver, James McKechnie, Albert Lieven, Arthur Wontner

The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943) was produced at the height of World War Two, and that such an illustrious Technicolor production was completed amid both nightly London bombings and the opposition of Prime Minister Winston Churchill is a testament to the consummate professionalism of The Archers, producer/writer/director team Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger. Certainly one of the more magnificent British productions of the 1940s, the film starred Roger Livesey as Clive Wynne-Candy, an illustrious veteran who with the onset of WWII, to his dismay, finds himself ignored by those who should be respecting his military experience rather than dismissing it. Livesey (a replacement for Laurence Olivier) plays Wynne-Candy in three stages of his life, authentically and sympathetically tracing his fluctuating disillusionment with "honourable warfare" through years of hard-earned living. The portrayal sidles a delicate line between geniality and parody, and as a lifetime-spanning dramatic performance, it's easily on par with Robert Donat in Goodbye, Mr. Chips (1939) and Orson Welles in Citizen Kane (1941).

The film's title was borrowed from a comic strip by David Low, in which the titular Colonel Blimp was presented as dim-witted British reactionary, a bloated old man with a walrus moustache who issued absurd political commands from the comfort of a Turkish Bath – "Gad, sir," he once says, "we must have a bigger Army to protect the Navy, and a bigger Navy to protect the Army." As a political candidate, Low's Colonel Blimp proposes "shooting down politicians and establishing a Dictatorship of colonels to safeguard democracy." Contradictory and anachronistic, a symbol of both jingoism and complacency, the character epitomised Low's dissatisfaction with contemporary British politics. Powell and Pressburger's version of Colonel Blimp is substantially more sympathetic, tracing in flashback the leading character's transformation from a young, impetuous Boer War soldier to a pot-bellied veteran with an outmoded belief system. As the times changed, our Colonel Blimp didn't. But a new World War demands a new set of rules, and if Britain is to survive she must embrace the dishonourable tactics of her enemy.

I originally decided to watch The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp as a tribute to the recently-deceased cinematographer Jack Cardiff, but I apparently got the film confused with a later Powell and Pressburger production, A Matter of Life and Death (1946). Cardiff did, indeed, serve as a camera operator in 'Colonel Blimp,' but the praise for the film's breathtaking Technicolor photography must go to Georges Perinal, who captures and savours every vibrant hue, transforming each frame into a vivid cinematic canvas. If for no other reason, then the decision to shoot in Technicolor was worthwhile for capturing the stunning green eyes and red hair of Deborah Kerr in her first major role. As Clive Candy's "romantic ideal," to which all other women in his life must aspire, Kerr demonstrates such beauty, elegance and independence that you just about want to marry her – not once, but three times. Antony Walbrook also does an excellent job as the impressively-named Theo Kretschmar-Schuldorff, Candy's German duelling opponent and later best friend.

Powell and Pressburger, to their credit, didn't deal in stereotypes. Even in propaganda pieces like 49th Parallel (1941), the enemy Germans were portrayed as ordinary humans, with their own hopes and ambitions. Likewise in 'Colonel Blimp,' the character of Kretschmar-Schuldorff is inherently good, despite his occasional disenchantment towards the "winning" side. Note, for example, how readily Candy and his adversary reconcile their differences in the Berlin nursing-home, not with violence – as was forced upon them by their respective nations – but through mutual understanding; its with some irony that the filmmakers satirise how easily individuals, but not countries, can reach a satisfactory compromise. The manner in which Powell and Pressburger goodnaturedly (and even nostalgically) poke fun at the stuffy ceremonial formality of traditional warfare reminded me of the exploits of fictional French patriot Brigadier Ettiene Gerard. Pressburger must certainly have been aware of the stories, since he worked in a reference to Arthur Conan Doyle {and while we're on the topic, watch out for Arthur Wontner and Ian Fleming, who had previously played Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson, respectively}.

9/10

Currently my #1 film of 1943:

1) The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (Michael Powell, Emeric Pressburger)
2) Five Graves to Cairo (Billy Wilder)
3) Shadow of a Doubt (Alfred Hitchcock)
4) Sherlock Holmes Faces Death (Roy William Neill)
5) This Land is Mine (Jean Renoir)
6) Journey into Fear (Norman Foster)
7) The Seventh Victim (Mark Robson)
8) Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon (Roy William Neill)
9) Hitler’s Children (Edward Dmytryk, Irving Reis)

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Target #225: The Innocents (1961, Jack Clayton)

TSPDT placing: #552

Directed by: Jack Clayton

Written by: Henry James (novella), William Archibald (screenplay), Truman Capote (screenplay), John Mortimer (additional scenes & dialogue)

Starring: Deborah Kerr, Peter Wyngarde, Megs Jenkins, Michael Redgrave, Martin Stephens, Pamela Franklin, Clytie Jessop, Isla Cameron

WARNING: Plot and/or ending details may follow!!!

The secret to mastering the horror genre is atmosphere. Modern directors can keep their unrealistic monsters, their overuse of gore, their sudden cheap scares – great horror is all about atmosphere. For this very reason, Alejandro Amenábar's The Others (2001) is one of the finer chillers to have come our way in the last decade, and it's not altogether unsurprising to discover that the film borrowed extensively from an earlier film, Jack Clayton's masterful ghost story, The Innocents (1961). Adapted from Henry James' 1898 novella "The Turn of the Screw," the film's screenplay was co-written by William Archibald and Truman Capote. Like James' original story, which has been endlessly debated by literary critics for over a century, Clayton's film has, after all these decades, retained its tone of ambiguity. Is it a ghost story? Is it a psychological exploration of a sexually-repressed woman? Whichever way you interpret it, 'The Innocents' remains one of the horror genre's landmark achievements, and the secrets of an old, dark mansion have rarely been more sinister, nor indeed, more beautiful.

The elegant Deborah Kerr stars as Miss Giddens, the reserved daughter of a country parson, who agrees to become governess to two orphaned children in the care of a wealthy, indifferent businessman (Michael Redgrave). After travelling to a remote country mansion, Miss Giddens meets Flora (Pamela Franklin), a warm and vivacious young girl with a fondness for her pet tortoise. However, when Flora's brother Miles (Martin Stephens) is mysteriously expelled from school and sent home early, life at the house begins to take a sinister turn, despite the boy's charming and seemingly-innocent demeanour. Peculiar apparitions begin to appear, supplemented by an unnerving selection of unidentifiable creaks, voices and music. Large homes, it seems, breed large secrets, and it doesn't take long before Bly House reveals its tragic past, a scandal involving the former valet Peter Quint (Peter Wyngarde) and Miss Giddens' predecessor Miss Jessel (Clytie Jessop), who were romantically involved and who both died in bizarre circumstances. Could the mansion's past, long thought forgotten, be returning to haunt and corrupt its current residents?

Placing Kerr in the main role was a very deliberate and effective casting decision. Few actresses are able to project such grace and reverence, and, consequently, the audience is expected to treat her character's suppositions as sensible and well-founded suspicions. But, indeed, is it sensible to suppose that two former lovers, to allow their continued romance, have inhabited the souls of two young children? Why has Miss Giddens alone witnessed these perplexing manifestations? The participation of author Truman Capote contributes elements of Southern Gothic literature, and the perceived haunting might justifiably be approached as the metaphorical personification of Miss Giddens' repressed sexual desires. Having endured a confined childhood with a smothering religious father, she has taught herself to suppress these desires, and her feelings towards Michael Redgrave's prosperous businessman instead manifest themselves in the form of the ghost of Peter Quint, a handsome rogue who represents everything from whom her parson father had shielded her; Quint's former lover, Miss Jessel, could conceivably have been her in different circumstances.

In the film's most shocking and unsettling twist, Miss Giddens' ill-directed sexual desires transfer themselves from the absent businessman to his roguishly-charming nephew, Miles, a pre-pubescent boy. Their frictional relationship, which must have caused severe headaches for the censors, culminates in a alarmingly-sensual kiss, which Miss Giddens' feebly returns in the film's final moments. If we were to exclude for the moment the possibility of ghostly possession, the perceived "corruption" of the two young children could be viewed as a result of their abuse by the now-deceased lovers, and it is strongly implied that the children may have been present when the pair performed sexual acts; it is only when forced to confront these memories that the children finally deteriorate into hysterics, and permanent emotional damage is done. Both children are excellent in difficult roles, but Martin Stephens is the genuine sensation, approaching the role with maturity and assuredness that suggests an actor twice his age. Stephens recognises perfectly that young Miles should not be an openly sinister character, and yet every charming complement is undertoned by the subtlest hint of sardonic menace.

At the end of the day, whether one accepts The Innocents as a psychological thriller or a traditional ghost story, the unambiguous truth is that Jack Clayton's film is brilliant. The black-and-white Cinemascope photography by Freddie Francis {who also worked on The Elephant Man (1980), and has directed his own share of films} is breathtaking to behold, with many scenes seemingly lit only by the flickering flame of a single candle. The sound design, particularly in a virtuoso sequence of "things that go bump in the night," employs bird and insect calls, wind and faceless human voices to evoke the desired atmosphere, and Georges Auric's musical score complements the tone beautifully. The film is similar in style to Robert Wise's haunted-house chiller The Haunting (1963), itself one of the horror genre's greatest entries. Surprisingly underseen in most circles, The Innocents deserves to be lauded among cinema's finest horror movies, not just due to its extensive creepiness, but because of the film's impeccable artistry and thematic depth. What a treat this would be on the cinema screen.

9/10

Currently my #1 film of 1961:

1) The Innocents (Jack Clayton)
2) One, Two, Three (Billy Wilder)

What others have said:

"Our vote for the most intelligent and evocative ghost story ever filmed, Jack Clayton's adaptation of Henry James' The Turn of the Screw is cryptic in ways that force us to find clues insinuated in single lines of dialogue, or in the spaces between the lines. It's a movie that speaks in ellipses, not exclamation points. It sneaks under your skin, subtly and suggestively portraying something sinister and perverse that may exist only in the protagonist's head, but that doesn't mean it can't mess with yours."

Mark Bourne

"This unresolved mystery charges the events of THE INNOCENTS with a dreadful sense of uncertainty far more thrilling than the simple supernatural chills of a typical haunted house movie – another “turn of the screw,” as James would have said. At the same time, the ambiguous narrative serves up its share of suggestive shivers; its ghostly apparitions, achieved without special effects, convey a palpable sense of horror... Their supernatural stillness, as much as anything else, sends shivers down the backbone, playing the vertebrae like a skeletal hand tapping on a xylophone."

Steve Biodrowski

"This creepy but ultimately perplexing thriller was one of the first films designed to scare you without showing, say, severed limbs and nonstop gore. The Innocents features a wide-eyed Deborah Kerr as a governess sent to a stately manor where she will care for two children. When they start communicating with ghosts, demons, dead people, the devil -- what they are, we'll never find it -- the poor governess comes unhinged. Not altogether frightening, but it has a few creep-out moments that mostly redeem its totally ambiguous ending."

Christopher Null

Also recommended:

"Gaslight (1944) is shot beautifully in black-and-white, with cinematographer Joseph Ruttenberg making excellent use of shadows and lightning to create the ominous and silently threatening atmosphere of the old home. The whole film has the subtle feel of an Alfred Hitchcock picture: it includes two actors who would star in the director's films, and the mysterious plot always keeps us wondering whether what we are seeing is real. Overall, Gaslight is a wonderful and engrossing psychological thriller, with stunning photography and great performances. Not that you need an excuse to spend 100 minutes watching the lovely Ingrid Bergman…"

"Secret Beyond the Door... (1947) borrows elements from the then-prevalent film noir movement, adding shades of post-marriage paranoia from the likes of Rebecca and Cukor's Gaslight (1944). Lang also mixes in snippets of Freudian psychoanalysis, not unlike what I find be found in Hitchcock's own Spellbound (1945). The final product is not without its charm, and contains various moments of precisely-articulated suspense, but you can never overcome that niggling feeling that you've seen it all done better."

"Fortunately, multi-talented director Robert Wise understood that there is little more frightening than what we can't see, and I was pleased to discover that The Haunting (1963) is one of the most frightening horror films ever made, a masterpiece of paranoia, suspense and near-surrealism. Throughout the film, an always-nervy Nell (Julie Harris) narrates her character's thoughts, perhaps a slightly intrusive and distracting film technique at first, but it later becomes imperative to the narrative, as we slowly realise the importance of her character, and how Nell's mind is gradually becoming unwound amid the mystery and paranoia."

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Target #196: An Affair to Remember (1957, Leo McCarey)

TSPDT placing: #452
Directed by: Leo McCarey
Written by: Delmer Daves (screenplay), Leo McCarey (story), Mildred Cram (story),
Donald Ogden Stewart (uncredited)
Starring: Cary Grant, Deborah Kerr, Richard Denning, Neva Patterson, Cathleen Nesbitt, Charles Watts

Well, consider me surprised and very impressed. After delivering two considerable disappointments in Duck Soup (1933) and The Awful Truth (1937), director Leo McCarey well-and-truly redeems himself with one of the finest romances I've ever seen, one of the few pictures with enough emotional depth to challenge City Lights (1931), The Apartment (1960), or even Casablanca (1942). Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr illuminate the screen as two strangers who meet on an trans-Atlantic luxury cruise and finds themselves falling in love, only to be faced with their own impending marriages to other people. Funny, sensitive and extremely touching, An Affair to Remember (1957) rarely puts a foot wrong in its stirring exploration of mature romance, with both stars delivering rich and authentic performances that complement the pleasant, bittersweet tone of the film. Milton R. Krasner's cinematography, captured using DeLuxe colour, gives the film – particularly the scenes set in New York City – a cold, wintry feel, making the ending even more poignant as the two lovers come together for a warm embrace. An Affair to Remember was a remake of McCarey's own 1939 film, Love Affair, which starred Irenne Dunne and Charles Boyer. Then-acting veteran Cary Grant, who received his big break in the director's The Awful Truth, plays Nickie Ferrante, a witty and debonair social playboy/failed artist, who, in the wedding event of the year, is due to marry wealthy socialite Lois Clark (Neva Patterson). On his luxury cruise to greet his would-be bride in New York, Nickie meets Terry McKay (a lovely Deborah Kerr), who is initially too proud and sensible to have anything to do with the notoriously charming Nickie, but nonetheless slowly falls for him. The pair attempt to hide their budding romance, to the amusement of their nosey fellow passengers, but soon they realise that their situation is simply inescapable. They plan a rendezvous in six months' time, on the 102nd floor of the Empire State Building, giving each other the opportunity to repair their uncertain lives and decide if they truly are in love with each other.

What impressed me the most about McCarey's direction is how seamlessly he was able to blend together comedy, romance and drama. The first half of the film is very much a light-hearted romantic comedy, but the pair's departure from the ship proves an important turning-point in the tone of the story, and the audience is left gripping their seats, wondering anxiously "will they ever get together again?" The film's single misstep lies with the addition of two children's choir musical numbers, performed by a group of freckle-faced urchins under Terry's instruction. These songs have absolutely nothing to do with the story, and I suspect that their inclusion was purely a matter of extending the running time. Conversely, Kerr's musical numbers {her vocals dubbed by Marni Nixon} are touching and beautiful, fuelled with intense emotion, and lovely to listen to. The film's most tender sequence undoubtedly takes place at the the residence of Nickie's grandmother (Cathleen Nesbitt), who plays the piano as Terry begins the sing, the defining moment when we realise that Nickie and Terry are destined to fall in love.
9/10

Currently my #5 film of 1957:
1) 12 Angry Men (Sidney Lumet)
2) The Bridge on the River Kwai (David Lean)
3) Det Sjunde inseglet {The Seventh Seal} (Ingmar Bergman)
4) Letyat zhuravli {The Cranes are Flying} (Mikhail Kalatozov)
5) An Affair to Remember (Leo McCarey)

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