Archive for Raymond Massey

Chromophobia

Posted in FILM, Theatre with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on December 14, 2020 by dcairns

Well, I figured Peter Sellers’ only film as director would be of SOME interest. The fact that, after the film flopped, he tried to destroy every copy, made it more intriguing. I’m not sure how he was able to do this — why would Twentieth Century Fox pass up the TV sales money, however little it might be? What about the royalties due the cast? Anyway, the BFI fortunately has preserved a print and made it available.

It’s a role, from Marcel Pagnol’s source play, that Louis Jouvet (in his debut), John Barrymore, Alexandre Arnaudy (don’t know who he is) and Fernandel had previously played on film. Only the geniuses seem to have succeeded in the part, and indeed Sellers, an undisputed genius, fails.

The performances are all good — the colour pallette is exceptional — Don Ashton (KWAI) designed it exquisitely and John Wilcox shot it — he was Freddie Francis’s operator and then shot a lot of FF’s films as director. Sellers’ camera direction is very plain — it befits a man who claimed to have no personality.

Sellers’ role is probably the problem — he has to play a nice, honest, innocent man, which worked for him in THE MILLIONAIRESS but there’s no Loren here to take up the slack. And, of course, THE MILLIONAIRESS was never really that exciting. Bosley Crowther for once in his life got it more or less right when he said that Sellers was boring in the role: he starts off OK, it’s intriguing to see him try this, he’s rather lovable, but as his problems mount, the film loses impetus, which is hard to understand. I may have to see the Jouvet again to find out what makes it so electrifying in the right hands.

The muted colour schemes probably don’t help, gorgeous though they are. Sellers had not yet, it seems, acquired his superstitious dread of green, which is allowed to creep in a couple of times, but mostly the film sticks with shades of brown, with a kind of strong tea hue being the richest shade on offer:

I like brown, when used with sensitivity. This is quite a lot of brown to consume at one sitting, admittedly. Sellers’ chromophobia may be his strongest stylistic quality as filmmaker.

A dialled-down central performance, a subdued colour scheme, a flat directorial style, a tricky play. And I wonder if Sellers’ cast and crew felt the transition from innocence to corruption take place in their director as the shoot went on?

It is nice to see Billie Whitelaw in a sex-bomb role, but Whitelaw is not Loren. She doesn’t have a lot of screen time, but she realizes she can go to town with the little she has: she makes an arresting cartoon character. Also revelatory: John Neville, in the best bit of work I’ve seen from him in his younger days, Michael Gough, having a huge amount of fun. Leo McKern is fun and Herbert Lom always a joy. Nadja Tiller is, I guess, the only surviving cast member and she’s excellent. She deserves more attention from film lovers.

At home with the Loms

The play had a checkered history, and you can see why — Raymond Massey did it and it died like a dog, progressively as it went on (a prog dog). The alternative title, I LIKE MONEY, makes it naked: it’s the story of an idealist who becomes an amoral, mercenary swine, and likes it. Sellers always had a strong sympathy for the theme of THE MAGIC CHRISTIAN — “people will do anything for money.” This movie affirms that, and suggests that dishonesty brings wealth and therefore happiness, but Sellers, exerting his mise-en-scene a bit for the last moments before fade-out, does show himself in extreme long shot, alone, stretching his arms in a show of satisfaction that rings a little hollow… the castle is placed at the side (outside the TV safe zone, though), reminding us of the hero’s material wealth, but this is definitely the last shot of a tragedy.

Hollowness, as well as chromophobia, may be a signature element of the Sellers style.

MR. TOPAZE stars Gustave Flournoy; Nadia Rokovsky, Number 8; Henry Fengriffen; Klang; Miss Havisham; Alfred Pennyworth; Sister Thornhill; Violet Kray; Lady Ruff-Diamond; Hieronymus Karl Frederick Baron von Munchausen; Religious Sandwich Man; and Nevil Shanks.

Einstein By Matchlight

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , on February 21, 2018 by dcairns

You can’t light a scene with a matchstick. The match will convincingly light itself — that is, the flame will photograph as a bright flare. But the light won’t carry any real distance, won’t give much appreciable light on anything else, except for the brief moment when it is struck: numerous films noir have made dramatic moments out of a cigar being lit.

We’re talking 35mm here, but I think even on digital you’d be struggling to get an image like this. Peter Lorre, as “Dr. Einstein,” descending staircase in ARSENIC AND OLD LACE. Frank Capra is minus his usual camera genius, since he’s now at Warners, where a hard-edged but glossy style prevails. Sol Polito lensed this shot.

In some movies, fake candles have been fitted with fluorescent tubes, shining from one side to give off a glow from roughly the right direction. A cable typically runs down the actor’s sleeve to a power source somewhere. There’s no room for such a contraption inside a matchstick, but Lorre MIGHT have a light in his palm. He might even have a glove to protect him from the heat.

This frame gives away part of the trick. Look at Dr. Einstein’s shadow on the wall on the right. Obviously the match could not cast the shadow of his arm in that direction. So a much more powerful lamp is being trained on Lorre’s face from the lower left, a tight spotlight following him down, trying its best not to hit the back of his hand. They might even have painted the back of his hand black to help the illusion.

Since Lorre turns two corners, it’s possible that more than one lamp was used, in relays, fading up and down to give the impression of a single, continuous roving light, but no trace of this trick is apparent. In some of Freddie Francis’s horror films you’ll see similar tricks, and he didn’t always have time to make it perfect. You FEEL the action of the dimmer-switches.

NO WAY could a match be lighting Raymond Massey, lurking behind Lorre (he does a lot of lurking in the picture).

And it certainly seems like Lorre has something in his hand that’s lighting his jacket and face — but one could still believe it was the match if one didn’t know better.

That’s good stuff. The public doesn’t really think about the cinematographer’s job being, besides making attractive and dramatic shots, the simulating of light sources.

Return to Zenda

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , on December 20, 2016 by dcairns

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“Why are old films so much better than new films?” asked Fiona in wonderment, as John Cromwell and David Selznick’s film of THE PRISONER OF ZENDA (1937) unspooled before us. It may or not be true, but it’s the kind of thought that certainly FEELS true when you’re seeing a classic Hollywood movie in which all the elements have come together. “The genius of the system” is the usual phrase on these occasions, because John Cromwell is not an auteur, because the source novel was adapted by a pretty big roomful of scribes, because “One-Shot” Woody Van Dyke handled some unspecified reshoots, because Selznick was very hands-on. “A good film can be made good by anybody – the writers, the actors, the editor,” said Orson Welles. “Great films are made by the director.” So in a case like this, the film is ascribed either to providence, an impersonal system, or else we downgrade the movie to just “good.”

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Well, whether or not ZENDA deserves the weighty name of Greatness, it is definitely excellent. Everybody in it is perfect. Ronald Colman gets to be dashing but also soulful; Madeleine Carroll gets to be beautiful but also alert and alive in a way people in costume dramas often aren’t (acting in the past tense); David Niven gets to be funny; Raymond Massey snarlingly villainous in a monocle; Mary Astor tragic; and Douglas Fairbanks Jnr. seems to be having the time of his life. Funny thing about Jnr. — he had big shoes to fill (although: “How did he perform such amazing stunts with such tiny feet?” ~ Hedley Lamarr) and when cast as roguish heroes he sort of doesn’t quite make it, but cast as outright rogues, something is UNLEASHED.

Great fights in this movie. Colman evidently can’t fence like Flynn, even with the aid of undercranking, so he’s doubled in the wide shots, and then we get quick cut-ins to tighter frames in which a few slashes are exchanged. It’s tremendously dynamic and effective, even if it’s born of necessity. The huge wide shots mean the misty backlighting and Gothic sets provide much of the drama. Colman’s character is also a master of bricolage, enlisting tables and chairs to help him fend off bullets and blades and opponents. He does this so consistently that Fairbanks complains he can’t get used to fighting furniture.

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But despite all the action, the film is at heart a love story: the true effect of all the plot is to bring a pair of lovers together in an untenable situation. It works admirably, even though stories that have people sacrificing happiness for the throne do leave me asking “Why?” a little. But the movie has done such a good job of presenting the conceit that being an English gentleman is the best thing you can possibly be, that it even makes me swallow this final silliness. Besides, if you don’t put Ronald Colman through some romantic agony, you aren’t really making the most of his unique gifts (even if he’s playing a dual role).