Archive for Esmond Knight

Film Club: “The years they whittle at you.”

Posted in FILM, literature, MUSIC, Mythology, Theatre with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 29, 2010 by dcairns

What a lovely thing to revisit ROBIN AND MARIAN — I hope any of you who did so agree. I found the film deepened with time, which doesn’t make sense so I suppose it must be me. A disturbing thought.

Let’s just jump in, shall we? I love the opening montage of ripening and rotting fruit, with the sword held like a cross against the sun, the nervous vulture, and the one-eyed visage of Esmond Knight, a veteran both of WWII and the film’s of Michael Powell (I wonder which was more traumatic?) — he plays the Old General in BLACK NARCISSUS, the  film director in PEEPING TOM (where the fact that he was actually blind may have been a wicked joke) and even turned up in THE BOY WHO TURNED YELLOW, staying loyal to Powell even as late as 1972. Knight lost his sight in the war, but courageously continued to act, and his actual lack of an actual eye gives his work here a daunting physical reality. But he’s also ferociously committed and fiery.

The grim tone of the imagery is sustained by the martial qualities of John Barry’s controversial score, and undercut by director Richard Lester with a few naturalistic jokes: soldiers helmets banging together as the kneel to dog up a boulder, one of them trapping his finger beneath it as he loads it into a catapult, and then the catapult’s spectacular misfire, the rock falling short of its target. And then the director’s credit comes up, it’s placement a modest joke in itself. (Where Lester puts his credits is often revealing, whether it’s over a pie in the face for SUPERMAN III or over a sedan chair in A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE FORUM, a sedan chair on a collision course with another sedan chair, which had the producer’s credit over it…)

And then we meet Robin Hood and Little John, two dour Scotsmen. What do you do about Sean Connery’s accent, anyway? Various attempts have been made to deal with it (John Milius, on Connery’s Arab in THE WIND AND THE LION: “We just assume he learned English from a Scotsman.”) but this one is quite extreme: all the Merrie Men have Scottish accents, although Nottingham is a pretty long walk from here. Sean Connery, nevertheless, is ideal casting here, and Nicol Williamson makes a brilliant Little John, glum and philosophical (daring heroes need reflective sidekicks).

Lester felt that ROBIN AND MARIAN went wrong in a few different ways, so he made CUBA with Connery again to make up for it. Unfortunately, everything went wrong on CUBA, and Connery vowed never to work with Lester again, which is an awful shame. As brilliant as he was in his Sidney Lumet films, for my money he’s even better in CUBA and R&M.

Williamson is the first of the movie’s hard drinkers. A friend of mine who worked alongside him in THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS (1996), to date his penultimate film, said he was just barely functioning. Williamson is known as a bit of a wild man… I hope he’s still together. On this shoot he caught the company spy phoning the day’s events back to producer Ray Stark in LA, so he tore the phone from the wall and threw it in a toilet. And I think tried to flush it.

The opening events of the movie, set in France at the end of King Richard’s crusade (but filmed in Spain for tax reasons), concern the quest for a mythical treasure, which turns out to be a carved rock. This is James Goldman’s way of establishing one of his key themes: the characters in the movie are fighting over myths. Arguably the whole crusade is mythologically motivated, and later Robin will attempt to recapture a glory he knows was never really his. Lester’s historical characters are often concerned with their place in history (“We’re gonna be famous!” declare Butch and Sundance in Lester’s prequel, before being caught in a freeze-frame that irresistably recalls their deaths at the end of George Roy Hill’s original movie), and this often makes them comical or tragical rather than seeming to possess any particularly useful foresight.

Now Richard Harris rides up. Another drunk, and another actor Lester worked with twice (maybe once wasn’t enough, but twice was?). The hero of JUGGERNAUT is a villain now, but in his brief time onscreen there’s a really remarkable relationship drawn: Robin is devoted to this tyrant, even as he tries to guide him towards a more humane course. The conscience of the king. It’s rather moving… but nothing compared to the messed-up relationship stuff that’s to come.

I love the stuff with Robin and John in jail, awaiting possible execution. Delightfully written in itself, it also encapsulates the central idea of the film, the theme of old age and approaching death. Lester had been offered a range of projects, and he seized on R&M after a one-sentence pitch: “Robin Hood in old age.” “That’s it, that’s for me!” he declared. Little John reminisces about how his father lived in own small town all his life. “I’ve met a king, traveled half the world, seen Jerusalem… although the sand was blowing and the walls were miles away.” He sounds like a disappointed tourist.

Absolutely the greatest single image of 1976.

King John’s court: gay courtiers, a castrato singing, and a man with a duck on his shoulder. We’ve already had CARRY ON regular Peter Butterworth as a barber-surgeon, faffing over the King’s fatal injury, and we also get Bill Maynard as a knight — the cream of British acting, padding the background. Harris’s last scene is a stormer, he’s somewhat out of control, but still effective, as only he could be. He tries to run Robin through and ends up collapsing in his arms. “What will you do without me, Jolly Robin, now I’m dead?” On other words, end of prologue, beginning of Act One.

Realism and surrealism are interchangeable in Lester — it may seem odd that King Richard’s coffin is drawn by oxen, but at the same time it’s not implausible. Exposure to the mishaps and desperate improvisations of live television’s early days instilled in the director a vivid sense of the presence of the absurd in the everyday. Meticulous historical research allowed him to create moments of madness with an authentic edge.

We may have notice by this point that when anyone opens their mouth in this movie it’s for a gag or an epigram or a philosophical sound bite. Many of the lines are written in a deliberately casual way to undercut the sense of Important Historical Personages and their Lives, but “deliberately” is n important word here: none of it is exactly naturalistic. It’s the Goldman style. Katherine Hepburn in THE LION IN WINTER does, after all, say, “Of course he’s a barbarian! It’s 1183, we’re all barbarians!” Personally, I enjoy it. (When Richard Lionheart talks about his mother, “the bitch,” that’s Katie H in LION he’s talking about.)

A Bruegelesque image: the addition of a Celtic cross turns Spain into –

Merrie England! A sudden blast of green — ace cameraman David Watkin discovered that the same filter than boosted the tones of the parched Spanish countryside also faded Sean Connery’s inappropriate Marbella tan, so it was win-win. Unlike the weedy woods in ROBIN HOOD: PRINCE OF THIEVES, here we see a long-shot of a gigantic forest, somewhere a band of outlaws could realistically disappear, or wage guerrilla war on government forces.

And here we meet the other two famous Merrie Men, Friar Tuck, he of the amusing spoonerism, and Will Scarlett, the one everybody forgets about. Tuck should by rights have been played by regular Lester funnyman Roy Kinnear, but for some reason isn’t, so we get Ronnie Barker, a TV legend, in one of his few major movie roles. When I met a sound mixer who’d worked for Lester, he described him as “a very clever man,” with a slight air of suspicion, as if that wasn’t what one expected to be  dealing with in films. Barker said the same thing in his autobiography, going on to observe that when, during the dub, Lester suggested adding an ad-lib  line, Barker protested it wouldn’t work because his lips weren’t moving onscreen. “no one will notice,” claimed Lester, who was fond of stamping all his films in this way, but Barker held firm. The result was that Lester redubbed the whole performance, using another actor, David Jason, who ironically would later co-star with Barker in a popular British sitcom, Open All Hours.

Will Scarlett is the great Denholm Elliott, who returned to work for Lester in CUBA. Another confirmed alcoholic, Elliott swiftly discovered a Spanish monastery where the monks concocted a potent home brew of their own devising. Elliott swiftly moved out of his hotel and into the monastery (perhaps also for the male company?) but somehow managed to find his way to the set everyday and perform his screen duties admirably.

Robin learns that he’s become a legend, his deeds celebrated through the land. “But we didn’t do them,” he protests. “I know that,” laughs Will. I love the faux-casual way Connery asks after Marian. “I haven’t thought of her in years,” he adds, and on earlier viewings I took this straightforwardly, assuming that Lester and Goldman were undercutting the expected romance. But Connery’s shifty look after he speaks shows that he’s really trying to cover deeper emotion in front of the boys. (The detail in Connery’s perf is marvelous.)

I like how Shaw’s cowl makes him seem like a monk.

Meanwhile, we meet Robert Shaw, the last of our quota of boozers, as the Sheriff of Nottingham, nominally the film’s villain — but in fact, he doesn’t perform a single villainous act in the whole film. He’s learned to read, he seems to be administering the district’s laws as fairly as he can, under a weak and despotic king, and is really about the only character in the film who’s both good at his job and capable of doing some good for the country. Until Robin blunders in and spoils everything.

An early clue to the new direction.

With Shaw is Kenneth Haigh as “the oaf,” Sir Ranulf de Pudsey, the one major character not drawn from the Hood legend. Maybe they could have used Sir Guy of Gisbourne as their baddie, but that character has a history with Robin, and it’s important that Sir Ranulf is ignorant of what he’s fighting. It might actually have been better if the knight were played by a younger actor, boosting his rivalry with the Sheriff, but Haigh is very good. He’d worked for Lester before in A HARD DAY’S NIGHT, refusing a credit because he was afraid acting in a pop musical would harm his career. He was happy to be named here though.

Lester was unhappy with Shaw’s performance throughout filming, but couldn’t get him to change it — reading between the widely spaced lines, I think Shaw was pissed as a newt — so he called him back in after to re-dub every single line. Shaw was horrified by what he saw onscreen and couldn’t stop apologising for his sloppy work. Lester found the end result, the laid-back, slightly listless appearance and the tense, taut voice, “absolutely electrifying.” I’m inclined to agree. We do find Shaw looking a bit uncoordinated at times, but really, it’s not a problem.

Enter Audrey. Nervous at returning to the screen for the first time since WAIT UNTIL DARK nine years before. It wasn’t the happiest of shoots for her. Lester works fast, and doesn’t let anyone see the rushes (he doesn’t go himself, either). Sometimes actors feel rushed (Anthony Hopkins didn’t enjoy JUGGERNAUT for that reason). Sometimes, if Lester knows he has a good first half of a take one, and a good second half of a take two, he won’t shoot a take three in order to get it perfect because he knows he can cut them together. And actors often don’t like that. Some directors would shoot another take just to please them — not Lester, who would feel physically ill if he didn’t complete every set-up on the day’s schedule in time. As far as budget and schedule go, the most reliable director in the business.

Of course Hepburn looks stunning, but of course, after nine years away, she worried about how she would look. She asked cinematographer David Watkin how he would light her. Watkin wasn’t a Hollywood-style glamour photographer, he was a self-trained “primitive.” He told her, “You’ll just have to take your chances with the rest of them, luv.” Not really the most diplomatic answer.

Despite this, Hepburn is transplendent, and perhaps her nervousness even aids her performance at times. In her very first scene, when she tells Robin she doesn’t want him, she looks up sharply as soon as she’s spoken: “Did he believe me?” Both Connery and Hepburn do great lying in this film, where we read every thought in their faces. (Stephen Frears remarks that a film about lying needs close-ups so you can see the actors think.)

ALL the big R&M scenes in this had us on the brink of tears, if not actually plunging over the cataracts into weepy helplessness. Lester does get to indulge his atheistic side, debunking the church’s role in the crusades even as he allows the lovers to catch up on their recent history and grow closer together (Lester is almost as anti-clerical as Bunuel, although without the edge of obsession).

The first big action scene is motivated by the need to rescue Marian’s fellow nuns from the Sheriff, leading to some brisk comedy and painful violence, and the protracted escape up the portcullis — “The swashbuckling excitement of old men climbing a wall,” as Fiona put it. On the one hand, the slow, miserable struggle upwards, emphasizing the characters’ age, is pretty much the opposite of what we expect from a Robin Hood climax. One the other, the struggle atop the battlements, once they eventually get there, is like a key scene in the Douglas Fairbanks ROBIN HOOD, as rendered by Peckinpah. I know Lester viewed every Musketeers film he could get his hands on in preparation for his own, so I expect he was similarly thorough in preparing for this. And in each case, very little direct influence can be found, the research being more about what to avoid.

I just love the way David Watkin’s long lenses fragment the dappled light in the backgrounds of close-ups.

Ian Holm as King John, who’s always the baddie in Robin Hood films but here is basically a querulous pup — his weakness and stupidity push the story towards its tragic ending without him having to show any competence as a villain whatsoever, which is pretty pleasing, since the movie has already turned Richard into a bloodthirsty psychopath. Also in this scene (1) Fiona’s favourite exchange in the movie: “Where’s the king?” “In the biggest tent, or course.” and (2) Victoria Abril as the King’s pre-teen bride. She’s credited under her real name, Victoria Rojas, and she wholeheartedly plays the character as a half-witted sexpot.

The waiting game: Shaw and Haigh camp out at the fringes of Sherwood Forest while Robin and his men ponder their next move. As the Sheriff has noted, Robin is “a little bit in love with death,” so he can’t resist the challenge, even though it makes no sense. “We’d be slaughtered,” says Little John, and in Nicol Williamson’s accent it sounds like he’s talking about a football match (Scottish football supporters routinely use the expression “slaughtered,” for some reason). Marian tries to get John to talk Robin out of it, and we get another devastatingly emotional scene where he confesses his unrequited love for her, shyly and indirectly: “You’re Rob’s lady. If you’d been mine… I never would have left.”

The final battle — a lovely detail where Robin helps the Sheriff up after they’ve been kneeling in prayer. Hard work, moving in that armour. The fight is realistically slow and exhausting, the only element of movie exaggeration being that they probably fight for longer than any two men could while wearing full armour and carrying broadswords. The bloodstained grass around them is an eloquent touch.

It’s fascinating that Lester had such success making action movies in the 70s an 80s, when he rarely if ever moves the camera. I’m not sure but I don’t think there’s a single tracking shot or crane movement in R&M. There are about two apiece in the MUSKETEERS films. Lester was dumbfounded that he had a reputation among critics for visual pyrotechnics and “fast camerawork” when he was known in the industry as somebody who never required extra tracks. His theory is that he creates an impression of speed by crowding the edges of the frame with movement.

This final duel is a model of clarity and restraint compared to the incoherence of modern fight scenes. And it’s not even overly concerned with being “exciting” — it takes the mature view that if the action IS exciting, then just watching it is enough, and if it isn’t exciting, no amount of jiggle and swish will add drama. Really, the fight is painful, earnest, anxiety-provoking and desperate.

So, Robin, having returned from the wars, kills the Sheriff of Nottingham, who’s actually got himself an education and is the county’s best chance for social progress. Robin achieves nothing except a memorable fight, and staggers off, seriously wounded. Marian, rather than see him slowly wither away to a shadow of himself, and perhaps rather than let him do any more damage, poisons herself and then him. Connery’s performance here is remarkable, exactly capturing the delirium of a man high on adrenalin and oxygen starvation (I’ve seen my dad this way after a particularly strenuous bout of cycling). And with surprising generosity, he accepts Marian’s murder as a romantic gesture…

The Death of Robin Hood is a major part of the legends, but nobody before or since seems to have filmed it. Robin fires an arrow and asks to be buried where it lands. (In the legend, it’s another woman who poisons him: this version improves on the folk tale, and Robin asks for Marian to be laid by his side.) Connery fires the arrow out the window and it simply disappears into the sky, in a moment  critic Neil Sinyard rightly calls screen poetry.

UK: Robin And Marian [DVD] [1976]

The Lion In Winter [DVD] [1968]

US: Robin and Marian

The Lion in Winter

Waltz and All

Posted in FILM, MUSIC, Theatre with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 15, 2009 by dcairns

‘When I mentioned to Hitchcock that I’d never seen WALTZES FROM VIENNA, he said, “That’s a good girl. Don’t.”‘

~ Charlotte Chandler, It’s Only a Movie, Alfred Hitchcock, A Personal Biography.

waltz6

It’s tempting to regard WALTZES FROM VIENNA, directed by Hitchcock after his relationship with producer John Maxwell at British International Pictures had gone into a decline. According to John Russell Taylor’s authorised bio, Hitch, Maxwell had passed on a screenplay called Bulldog Drummond’s Baby, which Hitchcock had developed with BLACKMAIL’s original author Charles Bennett, with the words, “It’s a masterpiece of cinematics, dear boy, but I’d rather have the £10,000.” The screenplay would be revamped, losing the familiar character of Drummond, and become THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH, the film which sparked Hitch’s renaissance.

waltz4

Meanwhile, the only offer on the table was a musical-comedy life of Strauss the younger, produced by an independent but umbrellaed by the sizable Gaumont-British. Hitch would always dismiss the film in later years, and was heard to vocally denounce it even while it was in production: “I hate this sort of stuff. Melodrama is the only thing I can do,” a remark overheard and recorded by the film’s star, Esmond Knight.

Yet as Charles Barr points out, melodrama is exactly what WFV is, in the literal sense of being a musical drama. It introduces the idea of a musical leitmotif woven into the story (in this case, the writing of The Blue Danube) which became a favourite Hitchcock device, deployed in both versions of THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH, as well as THE LADY VANISHES and REAR WINDOW, a film which can be viewed as the story of the composition of its own theme song.

In addition to the composition story, there’s romance, with Knight’s Strauss torn between romance with baker’s daughter Jessie Matthews, who wants him to get a straight job, and an affair with countess Fay Compton, who wishes to nurture his talent and also to cheat on her husband. A further layer of complication is added by Strauss’s fraught relationship with his father, Edmund Gwenn, who feels threatened by his son’s talent.

waltz8

Cries and Vosper.

Does any of the film work? Yes, any of it does. But certainly not all of it. The early parts of the film attempt Lubitschian comedy, and despite Hitch’s well-known puckish sense of humour, much of this falls flat. Frank Vosper as the cuckolded husband gets the only laughs, with some beautifully timed physical playing. There’s a heaviness to the story and characterisation that tends to crush the attempts at gaiety. Esmond Knight would be blinded in the war and make a heroic come-back as a character player (riding a donkey through a forest in BLACK NARCISSUS, he declined the use of a stunt double: “The donkey doesn’t want to run into a tree any more than I do!”) but he’s not quite a light comedian yet. Jessie Matthews certainly could be, but her contemporary musicals kept her informal, to counterbalance her highly coached vocal delivery. Here, the costumes and pomp seem to stiffen her, and she gets little comedy to play and surprisingly little to sing. Fay Compton, so moving and natural in Welles’s OTHELLO, years later, is somewhat floaty and somnambular as the Countess, who ought to be a bit flightier, one would have thought.

The pleasure of the film is in little flourishes concocted by Hitchcock, like the naive but fun scene where Strauss conceives his waltz by watching the work in a bakery, and a couple of bold jump-cuts:

waltz11

In this one, Hitch achieves an impossible rack-focus into a close-up on the fleeing Jessie Matthews, by the expedient of cutting sharply from blurred to focused.

In another scene change, Hitch tracks in on a rolled-up score clutched by one character, then cuts directly to an identically composed shot of a matching score held in the same way by someone else — then he tracks back, mirroring the earlier track in.

waltz10

Hitchcock was without his usual cinematographer, John Cox, on this movie, which may have added to his sense of alienation from the project. Cox wouldn’t return to the fold until THE LADY VANISHES, but Hitch would soon forge a productive collaboration with cameraman Bernard Knowles.

My favourite moment was the ending, which is not intended as a glib dig: I genuinely like the ending. After a rousing performance of his new composition (Hitch’s low-budget version is like a rough sketch for Duvivier’s delirious THE GREAT WALTZ, with both filmmakers cutting to the beat to create visual music), Strauss’s personal problems are wrapped up with a certain amount of effort and contrivance, but Hitchcock leaves the oedipal drama unresolved until the last moment.

Strauss the elder walks disconsolately through the beergarden, scene of his son’s triumph, as the lights are turned out one by one around him. A little girl asks for his autograph. He signs it, “Strauss”, then calls her back and amends it. “Strauss Snr.” He walks on, reconciled to his place, and his son’s place, in history. Not only is it a good piece of Hitchcockian (and Lubitschian) indirect storytelling, it unleashes the wealth of sweetness which Gwenn possesses as an actor, and which his director will not allow him to use fully until THE TROUBLE WITH HARRY, twenty years later.

waltz14

Uncle Silas

Posted in FILM, literature, Television, Theatre with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 20, 2008 by dcairns

Silas of the lambs

Adapted from the novel by J. Sheridan LeFanu (CARMILLA), this maybe misses real greatness but has some great stuff in it. Produced by Two Cities, who also made Olivier’s Shakespeare films, Carol Reed’s ODD MAN OUT, and David Lean’s first Noel Coward films (before Lean branched out with cinematographer/producer Ronald Neame to make BRIEF ENCOUNTER), this emerges from the immediate post-war period when british cinema was enjoying a boost in confidence and ambition. Overall, UNC SILAS has elements of Lean’s evocatively textured Dickens films, and a little of Michael Powell’s hallucinatory surrealism.

Genre-wise, it’s straightahead gothic melodrama. Jean Simmons, a rising young star at the time, plays an innocent young thing foisted upon her sinister relative who lives at Scary Hall (not its real name). He plots to Do Her Into get her inheritance. There’s a simple Locked-Room Mystery thrown in for good measure (which is probably the best thing to do with L-RMs, since if made the basis for an entire story they tend to reduce the narrative to puzzle-solving). As stories go, it’s all pretty generic and linear.

Director Charles Frank (a Belgian with a fragmentary and puzzling non-career) compensates for a rather basic story by throwing style at the film. He’s like a matador decorating a cake. Even the heroine’s French lessons get treated to an expressionist dream sequence — and a damn good one.

French with tears 

The credits suggest the involvement of a storyboard artist (“Script Illustrator”), and the mise en scene slots together with pre-planned precision and nicely designed angles. Cinematographer Robert Krasker (THE THIRD MAN) lights the doomy sets beautifully, and has a particularly nice approach to fireplaces, blasting light through them from behind to make flickering shapes on the floor.

John Laurie buttles

Based on his work here, it’s criminal that Frank didn’t make more films in Britain. I’ve never seen his scanty Belgian oevre, and it’s uncertain I’ll ever get to, but this movie has moments of incredible brio and gets so many things dead right that with slightly more complex material I can’t help but feel that Frank could have made a truly Great Film.

Jean Genie

The cast is marvellous, with Simmons breathing vivacity into the dull protag, Derrick DeMarney crepuscular and oleaginous as the eponymous Unc, and John Laurie as a hilariously odd, lopsided butler, materialising in rooms without warning, like Mrs Danvers, or Jeeves. My friend Lawrie Knight’s abiding memory of his quasi-namesake and fellow Scot was J. Laurie’s tendency to start every acquaintanceship with an account of his success in the lead role of Hamlet. If you watch RETURN TO THE EDGE OF THE WORLD, you can see John Laurie actually do this.

A fellow called Manning Whiley does good work as Silas’ awful, horny son, making great use of a powerful voice, and the great Esmond Knight brings his customary strength to the role of Simmons’ sympathetic family doctor. All the more impressive when we recall that Knight was blinded in the war. He continued playing sighted parts in films like THE RED SHOES and BLACK NARCISSUS, using sheer dramatic skill and self-confidence to make the audience believe he can see. In the latter film, he had to ride a donkey through a forest. “Don’t you want a stand-in?” “No, no, the animal doesn’t want to bump into a tree any more than I do.”

(Casting a blind man as a film director seems a fairly sick joke, but it shouldn’t surprise us that this is just what happens in PEEPING TOM. Knight’s character, Arthur Baden, a frenzied bully, is a parodic self-portrait by director Michael Powell [the character name derives by way of Robert Baden-Powell, founder of the scout movement. Furthermore, studio boss Don Jarvis is a "spoonerism" of real Rank Studios president John Davis, who is viciously and accurately parodied throughout, and the name of Mark Lewis, the film's titular voyeur, is a reversal of screenwriter Leo Marks' name.])

The only film where I’ve ever seen Knight play a blind man (in Olivier’s T.V. King Lear he plays the old man who actually LEADS the blinded Gloucester) is Richard Lester’s witty and touching ROBIN AND MARIAN, where Knight actually popped his glass eye out in order to be even more convincingly disabled. But to return to UNCLE SILAS –

– Best of all, Katina Paxinou is the scary French mistress, Madame de la Rougierre. Alternately shrieking and muttering, she is terrifying in her malice, offensive familarity and sheer stupidity — you may not think of stupidity as naturally frightening, but it can be, just look at our world leaders. 

K.P. submits to being made truly grotesque by Frank and Krasker’s leering use of wide-angle lenses: she lurches into close-up and makes things happen with her corpse’s teeth, or else she stands swaying on the spot and lets the camera rocket drunkenly in on her. Either way, she was born to alarm.

Pax-O

the sort of window faces appear at

Katina turner

The film’s only trouble is its inability to accomplish anything beyond suspense and slick visuals. It has a compelling baddie in the hypocrite and schemer Silas, but his bad qualities never amount to a coherent whole. The leading lady is trusting, then figures things out, then gets rescued, which robs her of the opportunity to fend for herself and grow as a character. It’s one of those films that can quickly fade to black after the villains are vanquished, because there’s nothing else to sort out.

One possible half-solution to this poverty of theme is to throw in some spuriously ambiguous final moment, tenuously connected to any old motif established earlier, and leave the audience with a faux-poetic puzzle. This is known (by me) as the Coen Coda, but I guess nobody was buying that one back in the ’40s.

I don’t mean to be down on this film AT ALL, because it’s a great directorial box of tricks — students of cinema (which I hope includes all of us) could probably learn more technique from this than from an acknowledged masterpiece like Lean’s OLIVER TWIST. But O.T. is the better film for narrative and thematic reasons, which lend it greater impact and make it satisfying in a way that UNCLE S. cannot aspire to be, for all its visual and aural dexterity.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 362 other followers