Archive for John Longden

The Sunday Intertitle: Things I Read Off the Screen in Blackmail

Posted in FILM, Mythology with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 26, 2015 by dcairns

vlcsnap-2015-07-26-11h18m58s4

Glasgow! With silent film accompanist Jane Gardner, to see BLACKMAIL with live score by Neil Brand, under the baton of Timothy Brock. This was preceded by a special concert of Hitchcock scores — Webb, Rosza, Tiomkin, Waxman and of course Herrmann. It’s quite something to have VERTIGO blasted at you live. As for PSYCHO, a young couple to my left obviously regarded the shower scene as their song: as the violins shrieked, he mimed stabbing her in the back with an invisible knife, to her apparent delight.

Getting there, mind you, was a journey of Hitchcockian suspense — taking the bus to meet Jane we got caught in football traffic (ugh! the worst kind of traffic — even worse than badminton traffic) and arrived late, then scooted off in her Fiat 500, struggling to find a parking spot near the venue and then struggling to find the venue, eventually arrived seconds before the lights dimmed.

The BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra did us proud, and there was a surprise treat in the form of a theremin for SPELLBOUND — I wasn’t at all sure such a thing would be provided — there are, after all, entire recordings of the SPELLBOUND score without a theremin — some wretched fiddler taking the part, I guess, I haven’t troubled to listen to such abominations. This was a delight.

vlcsnap-2015-07-26-11h49m25s61

Then BLACKMAIL, which I hadn’t seen since Hitchcock Year, Maestro Brand’s score was thrilling, of course — with many playful references to the musical spirit of Hitchcock to come. The most overt was the extract from Gounod’s Alfred Hitchcock Presents theme (I know, I know, he didn’t write it for TV) played when Hitch makes his first true guest appearance. I wondered whether such references would distract me,  but in fact, the playfulness was discrete — it must have taken restraint not to turn the scene where artsy rake Cyril Ritchard waits while Anny Ondra changes into something more comfortable into a straight reprise of the similar scene in VERTIGO.

The score, in fact, worked wonderfully, the proof being that despite the visible presence of the orchestra between us and the screen — Brock’s hands would occasionally rise into the bottom of the frame as he signalled a particularly vigorous moment — for much of the show we forgot the music except as part of the enjoyable experience of watching a story unfold on a screen. A smooth artistic synthesis was achieved!

Hitch’s cameo got me noticing how incredibly well handled all the extras are. The small boy who torments Hitch on the underground ends the scene, having been told off, standing on his seat and simply glowering malevolently at Hitch, like a raven from THE BIRDS. He doesn’t realize that Hitch has a short way of disposing of children on public transport. From then on, I was aware that each individual walk-on character, however crowded the scene, had a bit of personal business to distinguish them, and each performed his role perfectly.

I also started noticing writing. Some of what follows was noted during the show, some found afterwords, perusing the DVD.

vlcsnap-2015-07-26-11h21m45s97

Receiving a radio message — “Flying Squad Van 68 — Proceed at once to Cambri” — the rest is unfinished — the van makes a 180 turn into Looking-Glass Land, where all the shop signs run backwards into a kind of cod-Russian cypher. Evidently nobody had shot a background plate traveling in the right direction, so they simply flipped the film. The store Dollond & Aitchison glimpsed here, is also advertised on the London Underground scene later.

Perhaps due to this confusion, when the Sweeney arrive at their destination, it isn’t Cambridge Street or Place or Circus of Terrace, it’s Albert Street. Perhaps close to Eastenders‘ Albert Square? Certainly in the mysterious East. Less salubrious than Hitch’s native Leytonstone.

vlcsnap-2015-07-26-11h22m38s121

A slew of text inside. The criminal is reading The Daily Herald. An ad for Wrigleys in the bottom corner. Another newspaper lies on his desk, bearing his watch and revolver. We can read a headline about MURDER TRIAL and, at the bottom, the words I’VE FOUND IT! — probably another advertisement. Most amusingly, above the bed is a religious motto, GOD HELPS THOSE WHO HELP THEMSELVES. Ironic, since it seems our friend in the nightshirt has been helping himself a little too freely.

vlcsnap-2015-07-26-11h27m06s182

The note Anny has received proposing a secret assignation ~

vlcsnap-2015-07-26-11h19m30s229

Torn from a cocktail menu, it suggests a whole furtive nocturnal backstory. I like the abbreviated slogan “NIPPY” COCK — a partial directorial signature?

Anny’s despondent walk after she’s killed Ritchard is full of printed cues and clues. For one thing, she passes a poster advertising the climactic fight from THE RING, Hitchcock’s previous film, starring Carl Brisson, Anny’s lover from THE MANXMAN. The fight is staged at the Albert Hall, looking forward to THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH.

A neon sign in Piccadilly Circus, advertising Gordon’s Gin “The Heart of a Good Cocktail” dissolves so that a cocktail shaker outline becomes a hand stabbing with a kitchen knife — a ludicrous idea, but bold, and the call-back to the “nippy” cocktails is appreciated.

vlcsnap-2015-07-26-12h06m11s143

IS PRAYER ANSWERED? A significant question in Hitchcock, directly addressed at the film’s climax, when Ondra apparently prays, and her decision to confess her crime is answered with the death of the blackmailer. See also THE WRONG MAN.

vlcsnap-2015-07-26-12h18m36s161

Ondra’s family newsagent yields a plethora of signage! My eyeballs dart like frightened mice, from one corner of the screen to another to try and catch all the little textual nudges. Alice’s first sight of home is viewed through the reverse side of a shop sign, so we get mirrored lettering AGAIN — Alice is through the looking glass! The earlier accident begins to look deliberate. Confirmed when Alice stares at herself in her dressing table mirror just moments later.

vlcsnap-2015-07-26-12h28m45s127

PICTURE SHOW — lower right. Ah, if only Anny had gone to the pictures with John Longden, we wouldn’t be where we are now. The reference may also remind us of the pieces of art in Ritchard’s sex garret, each of which has an accusatory role in the narrative. One is a laughing, pointing jester, the other is a sketch on canvas signed by Ondra.

When we see the phone booth again, from Longden’s POV, that sign has vanished, in the best ROOM 237 manner. On the left of frame is a possible explanation — a MYSTIC ERASER. Just what Anny needs to obliterate the past 24 hours as neatly as she obliterated her incriminating signature from Ritchard’s canvas.

vlcsnap-2015-07-26-12h33m41s189

The booklets and other props around the phone booth will continue to change randomly throughout the scene, an uncanny peekaboo of discontinuity.

Ondra’s dad, Mr. White, is explicitly framed with a halo reading the word WARLOCK. Not sure why. But the shopkeeper dad is obviously a stand-in for Hitch’s own father, with whom he associated his fear of arrest. So although Mr. White is kindly, Hitch makes him a source of anxiety with this supernatural halo of occult lettering.

vlcsnap-2015-07-26-12h42m59s209

Ondra has mentioned Edgar Wallace earlier — now a poster at floor level refers to Sexton Blake, stalwart hero of schlock thrillers, whose exploits had been printed in the Union Jack since 1894. The threat from ‘D’ (no idea who he is), “If Sexton Blake comes to Yorkshire, I’ll get him!”, gives the blackmailer’s first appearance a further underscore of menace.

vlcsnap-2015-07-26-12h43m46s225

And finally ~

vlcsnap-2015-07-26-12h51m35s197

SHAG (middle left). Obviously a reference to another fictional detective, Sherlock Holmes, whose favourite pipe tobacco this was.

Advertisements

Hope you like Jam’ Inn too…

Posted in FILM, literature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 3, 2009 by dcairns

jam1

‘It is a wretched affair.’

Such was Daphne du Maurier’s verdict on JAMAICA INN, which must have left her anxious about what Hitchcock would do to her Rebecca. But at the time Hitch embarked upon this project for producer Erich Pommer (whose projects at UFA had done much to inspire the Hitchcock style), his first American movie looked like it was going to be TITANIC — an ill-omened project for a director who was going to have to sail across the Atlantic to make it. A more promising augury was the name of Pommer’s company: Mayflower.

Hitch blamed JAMAICA INN’s problems on Pommer and Charles Laughton, “two very difficult men,” and upon compromises forced upon the film by censorship. Du Maurier’s novel had to be ammended because the BBFC wouldn’t allow a clergyman to be a villain, which if you think about it points to the kind of insidious class prejudice that has always lurked behind film censorship: it was perfectly OK to have a villainous priest in the novel, which provoked no outrage, but in films, which are seen by those who don’t read books, such a concept was suddenly deemed dangerous.

My viewing experience got off to a shaky start when I belatedly found I didn’t possess a copy of the film — one of the perils that could jeopardise Hitchcock Year at any moment (reminder: we are watching all of Hitchcock’s films, one a week, for a year). Then I found my old VHS, which turns out to be a Rohauer Collection copy which means old Raymond R has been up to his old tricks and spliced a couple of hideous new title cards on front of the print. But apart from that, it seemed to be intact, apart from a disturbing moment when Laughton is bearing down on ingenue Maureen O’Hara and some seriously weird continuity suggests he’s attempted something unspeakable which the censor has frown upon. But they can’t censor the glint in his eye, as he once boasted.

I was kind of dreading this film. Even Charles Barr can’t find much to be enthusiastic about in English Hitchcock, my bible for this part of Hitchcock Year (every Hitch buff needs to acquire a copy). I first saw it with my late friend Lawrie, and we actually thought it was underrated. Then I watched it with Fiona, priming her for something better than its reputation suggests, and we both found it worse than even its reputation suggests. And that was only a year or two ago, so seeing it again seemed like a potential ordeal. On the other had, seeing it again after running every previous extant Hitchcock movie (I’m still annoyed that LORD CAMBER’S LADIES, his sole credit as producer for another filmmaker, is not available, and of course it’s tragic that THE MOUNTAIN EAGLE is lost) seemed like it might offer fresh insights or pleasures.

The movie can be enjoyed on at least one level: as a valediction to British cinema. At the time of THE LADY VANISHES, Hitch knew he wanted to move to America, but had not clinched a deal. By the time of JAMAICA INN, the emigration was virtually certain, and Hitch stuffs the film with actors from his previous work. Barr counts eleven, but with the aid of the IMDb I’m able to make it twelve. Given the patchy credits available for Hitch’s early films (who are the kids playing Nova Pilbeam’s brothers in YOUNG AND INNOCENT? We don’t know) it’s almost certain there are more.

jamy

Frederick Piper had been the smutty milkman in THE 39 STEPS, the kindly, smithereened bus conductor in SABOTAGE, and a bit part (unspecified on the IMDb) in YOUNG AND INNOCENT — I’d guess a customer at the greasy spoon cafe.

A. Bromley Davenport was in LORD CAMBER’S LADIES, and George Curzon popped up in YOUNG AND INNOCENT and THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH. William Fazan was a juror in MURDER! and also played a bit in YOUNG AND INNOCENT. Aubrey Mather was the greengrover in SABOTAGE, who suggests that Oscar Homolka has been showing films that are “a little too ‘ot!”

Basil Radford had an avuncular pert in YOUNG AND INNOCENT before achieving immortality as one half of Charters & Caldicott in THE LADY VANISHES. Leslie Banks, a slightly unsuitable hero in THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH, makes a suitable villain here.

The impression that Hitch is strolling down Memory Lane with his casting here is strengthened by the reappearance of Mr. Memory himself, Wylie Watson from THE 39 STEPS.

Emlyn Williams, intriguing and underused in this film, had contributed as a writer to THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH, a role that hadn’t even gotten him introduced to Hitchcock. Edwin Greenwood was likewise better known as a writer (and director), and had contributed to the scripts for THE MAN WHO and LORD CAMBER’S LADIES.

Marie Ault, uncredited here as a coach passenger, had played major roles in THE LODGER (as the landlady) and THE RAT, an early Ivor Novello film upon which Hitch and Alma worked together.

John Longden had been of service to Hitchcock since BLACKMAIL, in which he’s the leading man. He provided a cameo in ELSTREE CALLING, was one of only two non-Irish players in JUNO AND THE PAYCOCK, and was a supporting cast member in THE SKIN GAME and YOUNG AND INNOCENT. Here he’s uncredited as the coachman, but he’d continue to play small roles for Michael Powell — it’s his voice you hear at the beginning of A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH — the greatest thing Longden ever did as an actor. “This is the universe…”

Clare Greet was the fortune teller in THE RING, the mother in THE MANXMAN, a juror in MURDER!, a conspirator-in-bloomers in THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH, and Sylvia Sidney’s cook in SABOTAGE, all colourful roles that enhanced the world of Hitchcock’s films. She’s also in LORD CAMBER’S LADIES, but she goes all the way back to NUMBER THIRTEEN, Hitchcock’s first, lost, and probably never-completed short. JAMAICA INN was her last film.

So this really is a sort of compendium of Hitchcockian bit-part players. If he’d managed to cast Gordon Harker it wouldn’ve been perfect: CHAMPAGNE and THE FARMER’S WIFE are two of the few Hitch films not represented above. RICH AND STRANGE, DOWNHILL, EASY VIRTUE, NUMBER 17, WALTZES FROM VIENNA, SECRET AGENT and the two German productions are the others. Mostly films Hitchcock had problems with, either because he didn’t like them, or they flopped. Throw in Percy Marmont and Hitch himself and nearly every Hitch film could’ve been represented here.

And the valedictory aspect of the film is strengthened by the fact that I don’t think anoy of these actors, to whom Hitch had been quite loyal, ever worked with him again. Of all the people in this movie, ironically it was only Laughton who returned, in THE PARADINE CASE.

The preceeding passages are dedicated to Diarmid Mogg of The Unsung Joe, the interweb’s finest resource for bit-part player stories.

jam3

A young girl from Ireland (Maureen O’Hara) comes to stay with relatives in Cornwall and uncovers a gang of wreckers, led by the local squire (Charles Laughton).

A digression on the art of wrecking: Interestingly, I once heard that there’s no evidence that wrecking — the deliberate luring of ships onto rocky straits for piratical purposes — ever took place. Since I can’t imagine any crime being conceived without there being somebody loathsome enough to carry it out, I have to assume that wrecking simply isn’t practical. Of course, you could crash a ship that way — my old friend Lawrie was on a boat in WWII and they accidentally lined up, not on the harbour lights as they thought, but on the lights of a moving car. Ended up in the middle of a coastal road. But maybe the problem is getting to the cargo after the ship has foundered. If the ship is sinking, you’re not going to manage it. If the ship isn’t sinking, the crew will likely stay aboard and cause you problems…

Running the movie for the third time, I was really  impressed by it. Perhaps you have to notice and be annoyed by all the things that are wrong with it in order to get past that and appreciate its considerable virtues. The things that are wrong with it include ~

An unsuitable leading man. This kind of thing had plagued Hitchcock throughout his British period. The UK talent pool was just not that full of suitably dashing male leads, and actors were often chosen who had succeeded in the theatre, where the requirements are a bit different. Here we get Robert Newton, who would have been fiercely compelling as a vicious wrecker, but is somewhat muted as a dashing secret agent. He’s just too repellent, physically, even though his nose is not yet fully radioactive with booze. In any case, the hero plays third banana to the heroine and the villain in this one, so I guess top stars would not have been attracted to the part.

Implausibilities. These seem more bothersome in a period romp than they would be in a nightmarish contemporary thriller. When conjuring a historical world onscreen, it seems to help if the filmmakers pay attention to niceties, and Hitch certainly damages the credibility of the characters by having Newton foolishly allow his rowing boat to drift away, or by letting O’Hara escape a crowd of bandits just by sneaking off when their backs are turned.

jam7

The gratuitous. In a fairly tight film (even if marred by too many escapes and recaptures) it’s a surprise when the film pauses to allow a captured young wrecker throw a fit of hysterics. “I’m too young to hang!” He’s a character we haven’t even noticed before. What’s he doing here? One can only assume he was somebody’s boyfriend.

Declining tension. In a complex plot of cross and double-cross, the most satisfying ending is the one which, like the famous climax of NORTH BY NORTHWEST, wraps things up neatly. But JAMAICA INN spends an unconscionable amount of time in the third act having the heroes repeatedly win — first the menacing Leslie Banks (I admired his ability to hurl trunks upstairs) is converted to the cause of good, and then killed. Then the wreckers are rounded up. Now all that’s left is to catch Charles Laughton, who has conveniently gone mad. He’s abducted Maureen, and intends to whisk her to the continent, but that won’t do, you see  — a climax depends upon imminent peril, not longterm possible jeopardy. Consider: supposing Laughton succeeds and takes Maureen away with him. What then? At some point in the future, she may escape. Our palms remain dry.

Trapped aboard ship by the military, Laughton aims his flintlock at O’Hara. This is more like it. But he soon abandons this plan and climbs the rigging. Now O’Hara calls for the men not to shoot, because Laughton is insane and not responsible. Are we supposed to be rooting for Laughton at this point? The big chap leaps to his death and —

–t he other great observation Charles Barr makes is about the ending of this film, comparing Barbara Harris’s wink at the end of FAMILY PLOT, the final Hitchcock movie, with the last gesture of JAMAICA INN — Horace Hodges, as Laughton’s butler, stares at his fallen master and shakes his head sadly. Both gestures are intended more for the audience’s benefit than for anyone else in the movie, and so if we take Hodges’ shake as Hitchcock’s comment on his British period, or at least this movie, it becomes an amusing and cynical put-down by the departing master.

jam14

But, weighed against the above weaknesses are many notable strengths, from the Germanic design (the Inn seems to be melting in the rain) to O’Hara’s perf, for which the word “feisty” would be all too inadequate (she barely flinches when Emlyn Williams tears open her top [Emlyn Williams? Are you sure?]) and of course Laughton himself. 

Although ~ the great man’s makeup never really stopped annoying me. Both he and Banks sport thick dirty eyebrows which aren’t where they ought to be, and Laughton’s strange plastic forehead meets his owl’s beak nose in a big wrinkle which creases up in moments of high emotion and then stays like that when he relaxes. It’s a film of queer makeups. Emlyn Williams’s five O’clock shadow just looks like somebody’s turned the brightness down on his chin.

jam4

But the actual acting from Charles defies his ludicrous appearance, and dialogue wiz Sidney Gilliat (in sadly his only job for Hitch apart from the sublime LADY VANISHES) provides “Sir Humphrey Pengallon” with some fine fruity speeches. When Banks tells him of the sailors who were butchered to facilitate the theft of some plush fabric, he retorts, “Well what have they to live for, poor scum, you were right to put them out of their misery. Look at this exquisite stuff, worth the miserable lives of a thousand rum-rotten sailors, perfection of its own kind. That’s all that matters, Merlyn, whatever is perfect of its kind. I’d transport all the riff-raff in Bristol to Botany Bay to save one beautiful woman a single headache. Something you don’t understand, never will. Because you’re neither a philosopher nor a gentleman.” Laughton’s phrasing is magnificent, running sentences together, as I’ve tried to suggest in my transcription. Also, he makes the speech while sauntering around the room, caressing the fabric and then holding his arms aloft as if to either flex his biceps like a bodybuilder or dance the tarantella. It’s arresting.

Along with the things that are right and the things that are wrong with the film (and the bad things are mainly in the last third, which explains why people tend to remember the film with such slight affection), there are the things which are not wrong with it. Hitchcock was concerned that revealing Laughton to be the villain would surprise nobody, and he’s right. But he solves the problem nicely — Sir Humph is practically introduced as villain, a debauched nobleman calling for his “figurine” (not sure I can explain that one — you just have to see it). Hitch then plays the dramatic irony for all its worth, as O’Hara and Newton put their faith in Sir H and he stabs them in the back at his leisure.

The rich supporting cast also offers many pleasures. Marie Ney gets the most emotional scenes, as Banks’s put-upon wife. Intriguingly, the absuive relationship is neatly mirrored by Laughton’s interactions with his long-suffering butler. The wreckers are a fabulous assortment of swine and psychopaths, with Salvation Watkins (Wylie Watson), the religious zealot and career criminal, getting many of the best lines, and Mervyn Johns and Morland Graham also effectively grotesque. Emlyn Williams is really striking, even with the strange dark-glowing designer stubble and an accent that fluctuates from the Welsh valleys to Cornwall by way of Bow Street.

jam6

JAMAICA INN, I’ve come to realise, is no disgrace. Through Maureen O’Hara (by far the toughest Hitchcock heroine), we could write about Hitchcock getting in touch with his Irish roots again, and through Laughton we could examine issues of class in Hitchcock. Laughton is also the first major character in a Hitchcock film who looks somewhat like Hitch, and possibly something could be made of that. But I’m content to remark that the film has a lot more on its side than I had previously thought.

Hitch Year, week 10: Juno and the Hitchcock

Posted in FILM, Theatre with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 11, 2009 by dcairns

vlcsnap-363171

“Of no interest whatsoever,” — Hitchcock’s peremptory summation of ELSTREE CALLING seems rather harsh. And in fact, what he really means is, “A bunch of crap,” since the film is basically without merit, but very far from being without interest. I mean, how could you say THIS is of no interest ~

Rubbish, possibly, but it’s eye-poppingly interesting. And then there’s the Friese-Greene colour process, with its shimmering tones (much faded now, I fear) which seem to be fighting to escape the outlines of the figures and blaze across the screen and out into the auditorium ~

But Hitch didn’t direct this stuff. He shot the framing bits, in which Gordon Harker (THE RING, THE FARMER’S WIFE) returns for his last Hitchcock performance, struggling to get his anachronistic television to work. Hitchcock is terrible at slapstick here (there were some fine bits with Harker in THE FARMER’S WIFE, though) — something about early sound, in conjunction with Hitchcock’s use of closeups, and some woeful writing, contrives to make it all seem painful and upsetting.

And who was broadcasting TV in 1930? The Nazis, possibly, but nobody else. If someone asks you to name a Hitchcock musical, you could stretch a point and maybe offer a few possibilities (the second MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH, WALTZES FROM VIENNA), but this seems to me the only true Hitchcock sci-fi film.

vlcsnap-362371

A terrifying vision of the future.

The film also features BLACKMAIL’s Donald Calthrop and John Longden and, in a sequence that could conceivably have been directed by Hitch but probably wasn’t, Anna May Wong in a Flash Gordon costume kicking a hen:

vlcsnap-365187

I mention all this, even though ELSTREE CALLING isn’t part of the canonical 52 Hitchcocks I’m duty bound to watch and write about this year, purely because it’s a lot more fun than JUNO AND THE PAYCOCK. I “studied” Sean O’Casey’s play in school, which aversion therapy may have prejudiced me against it, but coming back to the thing did give me a sinking feeling. It’s one of very few Hitchcock films I wouldn’t watch for pleasure. But it is pretty interesting as early talking cinema, and as an example of a direction Hitch could have gone off in. Thankfully, he didn’t.

Look at Anthony Asquith. After the blazingly cinematic, expressionistic UNDERGROUND (haven’t seen it, but the clips look spiffy) and A COTTAGE ON DARTMOOR, Asquith approached sound cinema in a completely different way, abandoning his powerful visuals and simply photographing actors reciting dialogue by Shaw, Wilde and Rattigan. Apart from some exciting montage sequences (sometimes the work of a young David Lean), there’s little of filmic interest, and the choice of writers is suspect: I’m not sure Shaw and Rattigan CAN be cinematic, and while Wilde clearly can be adapted into cinematic language (look at any version of Salome), Asquith carefully avoided doing so.

paycoc

Cinematographer John Cox seems to have been almost as fond of cameo appearances as Hitch.

JUNO AND THE PAYCOCK is a step towards Hitchcock’s metamorphosis into Asquith, a transformation that was thankfully never completed. While Hitch was a theatre-lover, and believed in fidelity to the source when transferring plays to the screen (quite the opposite of his approach to literature), his later filmed plays all have cinematic energy and dramatic tension. That tension is something I find missing in most of this play. True, it does build to a conclusion in which tragedy piles up on top of tragedy, but in a way that depends upon theatrical compression to appear remotely plausible. In screen terms, for the daughter to fall pregnant and be abandoned, the legacy to prove false, the son to be murdered, all at the same time, stretches credibility more seriously than the murder plot in VERTIGO.

vlcsnap-372872

vlcsnap-372847

Representative Types of Irishman.

Hitch begins with an opening-out sequence, according to a scheme he often promulgated: start with something exterior and dynamic, telling the audience they’re getting a film; then give them the play. I’ve already blogged about this opening sequence here, but note the cutaways of grizzled and degenerate Irishmen as Barry Fitzgerald is talking about the nobility of the Celtic race. Hitchcock is always rather mean to public speakers, but this heavy-handed irony almost smacks of racism, which is not the overall point of the film or the play. As a Catholic, Hitchcock has some connection to the characters in the play, but the Hitchcock family appear to have been long-standing English Catholics*, so the connection is not ethnic. I don’t think Hitchcock regards the Irish as inferior (why would he make the film if he did?), in fact he relates to working-class life in Dublin as similar to working-class life in London (Hitchcock’s family was never as poor as the Boyles, but he must have known poorer families), but I guess he couldn’t resist the “joke”. I think he probably should have.

(I remember a TV interview with Cyril Cusack, saying he thought at the time that JUNO AND THE PAYCOCK was the worst film ever made. I wonder why? I don’t think it’s too brilliant, but that’s a very strong reaction. Possibly the situation of an English director tackling an Irish play, and making the kind of possible misjudgement cited above, is part of it.)

vlcsnap-373245

Icon of Grief.

Hitch’s most impressive moment in the film, and one worthy of Bunuel: a shot of a plaster Virgin Mary, accompanied by a burst of machine-gun fire.

The cast is worth commenting upon: Sara Allgood returns from BLACKMAIL, and from the original stage production. she would soon head for Hollywood, but her path did not professionally cross Hitchcock’s again once there. Too bad. John Laurie makes his first appearance in a Hitchcock. A Scot by both race and inclination, he attempts a vaguely recognisable Irish accent, and swings between conviction and pose-striking drama-queenery. It’s a shock to see him young and somewhat handsome though — within a few years he would be cast as an elderly crofter in THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS (his father was a crofter for real), and would never play young again.

jlaurie1

“We’re all doomed!”

All in all, the acting here smacks of the stage, with over-precise enunciation through the accents, and very deliberate, self-conscious moving about from everybody. Plod from Position A to Position B, declaim line, await response. The compositions are generally very nice, and it would be unfair of me to slam the thing too hard, since I just looked at Peter Hall’s film of A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM. Now there’s theatrical acting. Vanessa Redgrave’s lips move like copulating serpents.

O’Casey’s comedy always struck me as totally unfunny. I know that’s the kind of purely personal response that isn’t much help to anybody else, but isn’t it all just either paddywhackery or reverse-paddywhackery? It feels like a series of responses to the concept of Irishness, rather than to actual life, but maybe the production’s to blame. What does feel true is my original objection to the thing back in school: the comedy is just a bunch of eejits saying stupid things — nothing happens for most of the play, and nothing much is expected to happen. The Master of Suspense has nothing to be master of.

But — I welcome more informed, enthusiastic or insightful comments. Let’s see what we can make of this thing.

*This is according to John Russell Taylor’s authorized biography, but Patrick McGilligan dug deeper. It appears that Hitch’s mum was London Irish, and there was some Irish blood on his father’s side. I was also interested to learn that Hitch’s maternal grandfather was a policeman, which seems significant in the light of the director’s oft-expressed fear of cops.