Archive for Michael Relph

Pg. 17, #3

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 4, 2020 by dcairns

Mackendrick accompanied Relph to Prague to scout locations. As always, his enthusiasm was tireless: Relph describes him “rushing up every steeple in Prague when you could see perfectly well from the ground that it wasn’t any good. But he would never take anybody else’s word.” Mackendrick, for his part, retorts that “Michael is covering up for the fact that he doesn’t like heights. One of the spires was very tall, with a tiny balcony and this terrific bird’s eye view of Prague. I managed to get Michael up the stairs, but when he got outside he turned his face to the wall and wouldn’t turn around. So he never saw the view.”

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Checkmate. When you were interviewed by Bianco e Nero in 1958 you said that modern directors had eliminated the “problem of the bicycle.”

*

…Morning sunlight at the Onwentsia Club, where Father has just given me a beautiful pony of my own, a retired polo pony. I go riding with a groom from the club’s stables. My retired polo pony is, of course, neck-broken, he works with one hand, but I don’t know this and I must do something with the reins, because abruptly the pony has started back where we came from and I am swinging in the air on the other end of the reins doing the big loop.

*

It was altogether different in those days, because we had no dialogue or anything. I learned a great deal about pantomime from him, people telling the story just by their looks, their eyes and their hands. I learned about movement from him, of course, because most of his pictures were what we always called a “run-to-the-rescue.” That means that the girl is on the railroad tracks, the train is coming, her lover is coming on the horse and he gets her off just as the train goes by. All the pictures in the early days had that.

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Most of the writers who have contributed to this dictionary belong either to the generation for whom Citizen Kane was the first great revelation of the cinema or to the generation for whom Godard’s A Bout de Souffle performed the same function. But they are alike in one very important respect: neither generation was brought up on silent film. Almost all the writers in the Dictionary discovered silent film after their experience of sound film. This is important, because they are therefore almost obliged to have a different view of montage.

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The weird part of it is that it never occurred to anyone, including Clark and me, that all this might have had a bad effect on the mood, or on our ability to play a love scene convincingly. But that’s the way it was. The way it always is. The way it is today, on any movie set…

*

Of course, there was the zoo, with caged lions — that was before those ridiculous concrete rocks were built for them — and they made me cry. The seals, on the other hand, seemed to me to be happy; at least they had their water, and kilos of fish thrown to them by a keeper who addressed them only in German.

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This week I excerpted only film books. It makes it harder to create a crazy mixed-up storyline or conversation, but what surprised me is that the coincidental connections created have little to do with film and more to do with transport.

They are: Lethal Innocence: The Cinema of Alexander Mackendrick, by Philip Kemp; Encountering Directors, by Charles Thomas Samuels (being flummoxed by Antonioni); Preston Sturges on Preston Sturges by Preston Sturges; Film Crazy: Interviews with Hollywood Legends, by Patrick McGilligan, interviewing Raoul Walsh (pictured) with Debra Weiner about D.W. Griffith; Cinema: A Critical Dictionary, edited by Richard Roud, from his introduction; Film Makers Speak, edited by Jan Leyda (the speaker is Mary Astor, referencing Clark Gable); Nostalgia Isn’t What It Used To Be, by Simone Signoret.

Boom Bang a Bang

Posted in FILM, literature with tags , , , , , , , , on March 8, 2011 by dcairns

With THE ADJUSTMENT BUREAU heading our way, let’s dodge the “BOURNE meets INCEPTION” juggernaut by heading back in time

We have to refer to THE ASSASSINATION BUREAU as a Michael Relph-Basil Dearden film, because although Dearden directed, Relph not only produced as usual, but scripted (from an unfinished Jack London novel) and designed it. Relph’s script is a little uneven but serves up some good lines (Oliver Reed’s arch-assassin is against war, because “How can we charge our rates with everyone killing each other at a shilling a day?”), and his design is sumptuous, combining with the luscious costumes to serve up an Edwardian Europe, sixties-style, that’s nostalgic and colourful and a little bawdy.

Though Dearden heaps largesse on the movie by stuffing the cast with familiar faces, some of whom are true archetypes of British filmmaking in that era — Clive Revill, Roger Delgado, Warren Mitchell, Curt Jurgens, Philippe Noiret (!) with Kenneth Griffith as an excitable Rumanian — but his actually filming is disappointingly dependent on the zoom lens in nearly every scene. The lens flattens the wonderful sets, and fails to create the air of liveliness the film is hankering for. Another excitable Rumanian, editor Teddy Darvas, attempts to add gusto by cutting everything to the bone, adding energy by playing fast and loose with continuity, but his rhythms are sometimes wearisomely repetitive.

Still, there’s Oliver Reed, Diana Rigg and Telly Savalas, cast against type as an English press baron. One of cinema’s great smokers, Telly here has a long cigarette holder to conjure with, and promptly holds it alongside his big bald head — but vertically, rather than the more traditional horizontal approach (doesn’t the ash fall down his sleeve?). Always something fresh with Telly. The screen lost an inventive talent when he switched from cigarettes to lollypops. Best moment, as Curt Jurgens lists the members of European royalty about to assemble below his airship bomb — “Spare me this parade of mediocrity!”

Illustrations of the Bureau’s previous triumphs.

Reed and Rigg make an intriguing couple, and there’s the possibility of sparks flying due to her character’s suffragette politics and Ollie’s real-life chauvinism, but the romance, like the main plot, doesn’t quite catch fire. The story requires Rigg to slowly lose her principles as she’s dragged along on Ollie’s comic killing spree, but the necessary beats of this throughline are neglected in favour of local colour and incident.

Still, this is an occasionally bright,  always brisk entertainment in the company of charming players, and it evokes not only nostalgia for bomb-hurling anarchists of the early 20th century, but also for swinging 60s all-star romps with more gusto than reason for existing.