Archive for Dennis Price

Things I Read Off the Screen in “Victim”

Posted in FILM, MUSIC with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 10, 2015 by dcairns


The first time I wrote a piece about “things I read off the screen” it was about SEANCE ON A WET AFTERNOON. It was a film which recreated vividly a lost world of Walpamur Liquid and other strange, esoteric substances, Basil Dearden’s VICTIM, a heroic movie to have made, one which helped bring about the decriminalization of homosexual acts in England and Wales (Scotland had to wait until, if you can believe it, 1980. Not a typo. 1980.) is set in a similar world. Both films give little typographical glimpses of what was playing in West End theatres at the time. They show a grey, dithering England, drizzled on and antsy.

The Dearden film is script by Janet Green and her husband John McCormack, a team who also wrote John Ford’s SEVEN WOMEN, his last movie and theirs too.

Of course it stars Dirk Bogarde, and was a fantastically courageous thing for him to have undertaken at the time. But then, he was sick of the pap the Rank Organisation had made him appear in, and wanted to make a decisive break. Some of those movies are not so bad, and some are bad but fun, but he had his sights set on higher things. Perhaps he thought that playing a character with homosexual impulses would be like hiding in plain sight — everyone would assume he must be straight, since otherwise the risk would be too great. But I suspect mainly he welcomed the opportunity to draw attention to a bad law which was destroying people’s lives — which could potentially destroy his.



Every public phone in this film — and there are many — comes with its own officious warning.



Motor Books??? Lionel Bart’s musical OLIVER!, later a Carol Reed film, is featured so prominently in this film it creeps into the dialogue, with the senior detective lamenting that a policeman’s lot would be happier if he only had to deal with Bill Sykes types. The implication is that there are those who are true criminals and those who are victims of the law. The pairing of coppers — one enlightened, one bigoted, is exactly the same as in the team’s earlier SAPPHIRE, which dealt with race. It’s a slightly obvious way of shoehorning in a debate about the issues, and subtly prompting the viewer towards a more mature view of the subject. Exactly the kind of thing Stanley Kramer gets knocked for.


OUT. While the expression “out of the closet” certainly existed in Britain at this time — you can hear it used in REPULSION, for instance — it’s not clear that the single word “out” by itself had any homosexual implication. I think the filmmakers have been careful to avoid flagrant double-entendres creeping into their signage, which is why this film is less cluttered with verbiage than many other urban movies of the era. So this is a case of a sign reaching for additional significance in a prophetic manner.



CAFÉ. Lovely chiaroscuro shot displaying Dearden’s noir style, displayed in a number of his films at this time. The earlier SAPPHIRE achieves gorgeous effects like this but in colour. Overall it seems to me slightly less successful at steering a path between the various misconceptions about its subject matter. Both films are flawed in ways that are not to do with insensitivity so much as incomplete understanding, and also censorship.

Part of the sign being occluded means that it actually says CAFF, which is how English people would pronounce it anyway, accent grave be damned.


MELVILLE FARR SHOCKS COURT. SHOOTING PARTY. And the rather vague MELVILLE FARR AWARDS PRIZE. From the scrapbook kept by Peter McEnery’s character, devoted to Dirk Bogarde’s. Bogarde/Farr explains this as “hero worship,” as if young men hero-worshipping barristers was a recognized thing. Making Farr a showbiz personality might have rendered this more plausible, and intensifed the blackmail angle, but would be too on-the-nose and too close for comfort.

Instead, Dennis Price, who had already been outed by an arrest for soliciting, plays the film’s token theatrical, part of a group of co-operative blackmailees who are presented by the movie as something of a sinister cabal. We’re encouraged to feel sympathy for Bogarde, but Bogarde is sort-of “innocent.” In areas like this, the film’s footwork is so fancy it can be hard to know if it’s progressive or reactionary. The answer has to be that it’s progressive just by virtue of the fact that it exists.

IIRC, Bogarde wrote in one of his autobiographies that in Price the film contained one actual homosexual. It also has Hilton Edwards (producer and partner to Michaeal MacLiammoir). Of course, Bogarde is excluding himself, as he always did. When the gay BBC presenter Russell Harty quizzed him on his private life, Bogarde responded with a virtual non-denial denial: “I’m still in the shell and you haven’t cracked it yet, honey!” A refusal to confirm, couched in the campest possible terms.


GENTLE HAIRDRE. The film’s inclusion of stereotypes like gay hairdressers is forgivable, it seems to me. There WERE gay hairdressers. The IMDB says of actor Charles Lloyd Pack that he “invariably played Church of England ministers.” Not QUITE invariably. It is an odd feature of clerical life that the qualities required in an actor to play a camp hairdresser are exactly those also required to play a Church of England minister.




HENRY’S. A. PALA. GEL & SON. Don’t know what it means.

The first entrance of the actual blackmailer who, like the Boris Karloff in THE WALKING DEAD and the antagonists of KILL BABY KILL and Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s CURE, becomes a de facto serial killer without laying a finger on anyone. This is Derren Nesbitt, who was always on TV when I was growing up, and always in the most dismal things. He’s electrifying here. His wallpaper looks like pieces of correspondence with all the words redacted, and he has a punchbag and a framed print of Michelangelo’s David. Phys Ed and Art, the two suspect subjects. This wraparound ponce in his motorcycle jacket, exuding piss-elegant smarm and leering bullyboy malevolence, is in a very strange partnership with a latter-day puritan who believes in punishing “wrongdoers.” Though his partner’s sincerity in this quest is thrown into question by Nesbitt’s every mannerism. The character is listed in the credits as “Sandy Youth.”



An old theatre playbill provides gnomic hints. The letter must refer to the blackmail notes circulating throughout the narrative. Telephone calls are consistently ineffective in this film, plus you get shouted at by signs: NO PHONE CALLS AFTER 10PM; THIS TELEPHONE IS FOR THE USE OF OUR CUSTOMERS; PLEASE BE AS BRIEF AS POSSIBLE. But letters are effective. Letters make thing happen. A gratuitous subplot involves a fraud ring, operating in parallel with the blackmail, also utilising the postal system. “Words ARE important,” as Peter O’Toole teaches us in THE LAST EMPEROR. When Farr’s garage door is defaced (see top), his brother-in-law somehow knows it’s not the work of “hooligans” because it’s “too explicit.”


There’s more to this film than the writing on the wall. The gay bachelor flat Bogarde must visit (where he indulges in a bit of gay-bashing himself, slugging the rather frail Peter Copley on the jaw) is decorated in prints of lush foliage. In the stunning shot above, bare autumn trees visible through his front window surround him, creeping in, like cracks in a facade (or like the lines the makeup artist has darkened in his face to make him look older, to make it clear this is Dirk Bogarde playing a character).

Sylvia Sims, who today is a marvelous old bag, has spoken of the boredom of the wife roles she was usually saddled with in her glamorous youth. “Poker-up-the-arse parts,” she and Jean Simmons called them. She took this one because she recognized it was an important film. The mediocrity of her rather vapid character is scarcely felt because Dearden shoots the confrontation with Bogarde so dynamically. (“Because I WANTED HIM!” was Bogarde’s own addition to the script, which he felt was mealy-mouthed on this key point. They filmed the line without clearance from the censor and then simply fought it through.)

In the end, Farr sacrifices his career to do the right thing. He is rewarded by being allowed to keep his marriage. The suggestion is that this is a happy ending — certainly, the movie cannot be allowed to suggest that happiness for Farr lies in embracing his other instincts, which are described elsewhere as unfortunate, worthy of pity rather than censure, but in no way salutary. Is Farr gay? We tend to assume he is because of the casting, but the movie doesn’t come out and say so — he was attracted to McEnery’s “Boy” Barrett, and so stopped seeing him. This, he says, is quite different to what happened before his marriage — and incident his wife was aware of when they wed, and which he swore would never be repeated. So, in this cunning way, by repeatedly making it clear that nothing “happened” with McEnery, the filmmakers smuggle in the fact that something DID “happen” previously. And the result of all this finagling is that Farr gets to have had gay sex and doesn’t have to die. He gets off with life.

Background music from the transport cafe scene — pre-Beatles rock n roll, trying every so hard to pass for American. Kind of delightful, though.

Price Fixing

Posted in FILM with tags , , , on March 28, 2014 by dcairns


Seem to be having an unplanned J Lee Thompson session. I can’t love him — I’m too aware of his horrible late work with Charles Bronson which seemed to be omnipresent during my teenage years. But his early work has great energy, and after a few films he could harness that to a decent story and make sensible choices.

MURDER WITHOUT CRIME was J. Lee Thompson’s first film, based on a play what he wrote. Interestingly, the film has all the snap and thrust and oomph of his best work, directorially, but is a fairly wretched piece of writing: a tricksy plot devised to jerk pasteboard characters through their paces. Nobody is sympathetic, and the casting is so on-the-nose that even Dennis Price, the one “name,” can’t breathe much life into his oily aristo role. But the visuals are fun. It’s the kind of movie where you can lay odds within minutes of the start that somebody will knock a lamp over in a struggle, and half an hour later they do.

It also has a weird VO but an unnamed yank who doesn’t appear, half in the vein of Carold Reed’s chummy THIRD MAN narration, half simply describing what we see with startling literalness. It doesn’t help anything. Giving the VO to Price might’ve been nice, but that would have made his decadent toff even more of a second-string Waldo Lydecker.

The low-angle shots and dutch tilts are lovely, though so persistent that alien archeologists recovering this film from the ruins of human civilisation will be forced to conclude that British movies were photographed by a dwarf with one leg shorter than the other. There’s also a lovely transition, and I can’t quite decide how planned it was. Generally in movies, though, if something looks like a happy accident, you find it was entirely deliberate.


oh my god there’s a car coming out of my eyes help I hate this kind of thing

In Possession

Posted in FILM, literature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on December 28, 2013 by dcairns


A PLACE OF ONE’S OWN — the genteel title suggests that this ghost story is going to be more DEAD OF NIGHT than THE FRIGHTENERS — in fact, it’s even more restrained than that. Made in 1945, the same year as Ealing’s scarifying ghost omnibus, it’s the product of the notoriously racy (for their day) Gainsborough Pictures, yet the supposedly sedate Ealing made by far the more overt, shamelessly terrifying film. But the lesser-known one does have its points of interest.


The film gathers together several of the studio’s top stars — Margaret Lockwood, the Wicked Lady herself, a very young and skinny Dennis Price, and James Mason, who plays way older than his real age in a slightly comical wig and whiskers, for no reason other than it’s the best role and it allows him to use a version of his native Yorkshire accent for once (Mason could be very good with accents — Paul Duane tells me his Irish one in THE RECKLESS MOMENT is pitch-perfect). Retired businessman Mason and his wife Barbara Mullen, who lost both their children in infancy, move to the country and buy one of those suspiciously cheap houses one is always coming across in ghost stories. Then they engage Lockwood as a lady’s companion. And then the haunting begins, and Lockwood is possessed by the spirit of a dead, possibly murdered, former inhabitant…

The film, from a novel by Osbert Sitwell, is a little inert in its narrative — people are always saying “We must do something!” and the ghost, reportedly manifesting via the servant’s speaking tube, says “Fetch Doctor Marsham,” in act one but it’s act three before anybody thinks to attempt this — but director Bernard Knowles, a former director of photography for Hitchcock (THE 39 STEPS, SABOTAGE, etc) works hard to compensate for this with complex, fluid and dynamic camera movement, taking frequent advantage of the large mansion set, with its staircase and surrounding gallery. The tracking shots and crane shots, the whip pans and elaborate blocking of the performers, is quite dazzling. Sadly, I get the impression Knowles abandoned this approach pretty quickly — I recall nothing of interest in the other Gainsborough picture of his I’ve looked at, JASSY.

Knowles is doing a Scorsese before there was a Scorsese to do!

Marsham, when he shows up, is impersonated by Ernest Thesiger, which is very good news, but his appearance is practically subliminal — a minute of screen time with not a single closeup and most of his lines delivered with back to camera. And the pay-off is something that would probably work better in a compendium short story rather than a feature. One might also regret that Ms. Lockwood’s possession falls rather short of the gold standard set by Linda Blair with the active collusion of Mercedes McCambridge. MADONNA OF THE SEVEN MOONS, another Gainsborough flick that year, used split personality to allow demure Phyllis Calvert to unleash the kind of pent-up passions the studio delighted in unleashing, and offered the British public what was likely their first cinematic glimpse of what could be taken for a female orgasm. Whereas here, Lockwood falls deathly ill, and under the influence of the ghost, who is also deathly ill (or, rather, is reliving her own mortal illness), resulting in one layer of wanness being overlaid upon another — a shame, with such a vibrant performer to hand.


Interestingly, both Knowles and MADONNA helmer Arthur Crabtree went rather psychotronic in their late careers, with Crabtree bringing us FIEND WITHOUT A FACE and HORRORS OF THE BLACK MUSEUM, which neither Ealing nor Gainsborough ever dreamt of, and Knowles taking charge of FROZEN ALIVE (cryogenics) and SPACEFLIGHT IC-1 (see yesterday’s posting).


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