The third film in the Small Axe ‘anthology’ is a form of biopic about the early working life of Leroy Logan. Logan is a hero figure who spent thirty years as a Metropolitan police officer, entering as a graduate recruit in 1983 and retiring as a Superintendent in 2013. He is played by John Boyega, the young actor who has become a major celebrity figure because of his roles in three recent Star Wars films. In 2020 his status was confirmed when he spoke to crowds during a Black Lives Matter campaign rally in London. Written by Steve McQueen and Courttia Newland and photographed by Shabier Kirchner with music under the control of Mica Levi, this was the third of the films to enjoy festival screenings in the US. It appears to have been shot on film and is presented in the theatrical widescreen ratio of 1:1.85. Compared to Lovers Rock, which was shot digitally and presented in the TV ratio of 16:9, film was presumably used for Red, White and Blue because more of the narrative uses exteriors? Unsurprisingly it turns out to be as successful in its storytelling and in terms of performances and techniques as the first two films. Why then do I feel slightly less ‘engaged’ or sympathetic towards the film?
I think the answer lies primarily in the ideas behind the story and how these have been worked out in the approach adopted by McQueen. I was taken by a review I read after I saw the film when it was first broadcast. It was the first of the five films that I watched, all the others came later via iPlayer. Sight & Sound invited Gary Younge, the celebrated former Guardian journalist and now Professor of Sociology at the University of Manchester, to review the film. Younge is very astute about issues within Black communities in the UK and the US and he argues that Logan’s initial aim on joining the police was always going to be problematic. Younge articulates this eloquently:
Logan, played by John Boyega, says he has applied to the force to “combat negatives”, and feels “he’s got to be a bridge”. But the negatives are everywhere, which means the bridge he seeks to be can find no firm land on either side. And so the space in which he stands is suspended, without visible support, leaving him precarious and isolated, perched on a flimsy structure he has wished into being.
To appreciate Younge’s comment, we need to be aware that the time period in the film is not clearly signalled. The same is true of the location of the Logan family within London’s then distinct West Indian communities, (the Guardian article referenced below suggests that Logan was based in Islington but there is little sense of the location in the film). The ‘real’ Logan joined the Met in 1983. The film narrative begins when Logan is still a young boy in the early years of secondary school. Standing outside the school gates, waiting for his father to collect him the boy is questioned and searched by two police offers. When Kenneth Logan arrives he is angry about what he finds. This is presumably around 1968 or 1969 (Logan was born in 1957). We next meet the grown-up Leroy working in a science research laboratory, a couple of years out of university. This must be 1980 or 1981. Over the next few months he will begin the process of joining the Met. Why is timing so important? In January of 1981 a fire at a house party in New Cross killed several Black youths and was believed to be a racist attack. The police investigation was criticised as inadequate. In April 1981 anger about policing in Brixton in South London developed into the ‘Brixton Uprisings’ with thousands on the streets. Later in the summer of 1981 similar ‘uprisings’ occurred in Liverpool, Birmingham and several other UK cities. The police generally and the Met in particular were viewed with fear and mistrust by Black communities and significant parts of the general population. These events turn up in the next Small Axe film but aren’t evident in this film. We don’t see the most notorious form of police action either, that carried out by the SPG (Special Patrol Groups) which made the practice of ‘Stop and Search’ allowed under the ‘Sus’ laws, so hated because of its arbitrary use.
Leroy joins the police force partly in response to his father being beaten up by two police officers when he challenges their allegation that he has committed a parking offence. He is also encouraged by his ‘auntie’, a family friend who works as a police liaison officer and is the mother of Leroy’s friend Leee John. Leee is another ‘real’ character, at this time the leader of the successful Black soul/funk group Imagination whose chart peak was in 1982 with the No. 2 single ‘Just an Illusion’. Leroy is sent to the Police Training Centre at Hendon where he excels as a student but still meets racist ideas and does not subsequently progress in the force as someone with his qualifications and success at Hendon might expect. I didn’t see any reference in the Hendon sequence to the furore surrounding the case of John Fernandes, a lecturer from Kilburn Polytechnic who was assigned to teach a course at Hendon. Fernandes was so shocked by the racist comments police cadets made in essays he asked them to write that he showed them to journalists. The reaction of the police authorities was to suspend Fernandes and his employers at Kilburn took action to dismiss him until action by grassroots trade union members in the lecturers’ union NATFHE prevented this. Ironically, the real Leroy Logan later found himself acting in the investigation into the handling of the Stephen Lawrence case, the murder of a Black teenager in 1993 which again showed the Met accused of inadequate and institutionally racist policing.
All five Small Axe films focus on a ‘moment’ in the history of West Indians in the UK in the 1970s and 1980s. In most cases this moment becomes a narrative that produces an optimistic ‘possibility’ of a better future. How does that work in this film? If we compare the first and last sequences of Red, White and Blue they both feature Kenneth and Leroy – father and son. The conflict between first and second generation migrants is a familiar element of migrant stories. In the opening sequence after Kenneth has discovered the police treatment of his son, he starts to talk to the boy who asks to turn off ‘This World Is Not My Home’ by Jim Reeves on the cassette player and he replaces it with ‘Tainted Love’ by Gloria Jones (which causes his father to turn off the music altogether). This sums up a family conflict, perhaps too obviously? For the rest of the film, father and son will remain distanced. In the final scene (apologies for the spoiler, but this is a biopic so we know that Leroy survives to become successful), Leroy sits and drinks rum with his father. Kenneth now appears a broken man but he explains that he must accept that Leroy has got the education that the family has urged him to do. His father must now accept that Leroy had the right to choose to become a police officer. The narrative seems to have justified Leroy but possibly diminished Kenneth. Is this optimistic? I think what I took from this story is that Leroy attempts to do everything himself. The Metropolitan Police and its ‘canteen culture’ is so riddled with both institutional racism and overtly racist officers that Leroy’s crusade seems doomed. During his induction, when the new recruits are required to say a little about themselves, Leroy announces first that he “hasn’t joined to make friends”. This seems an odd way to set about his task. The events that follow then demonstrate that without support Leroy will find his police work very difficult (if not dangerous). Later on the ‘real’ Leroy Logan would become one of the founder members of the Black Police Association. This Guardian piece outlines some of the main points of Logan’s career in the Met and answers some of the puzzles I found in trying to read the film. Leroy Logan is credited as a consultant on Red, White and Blue.
My wariness about this film is not meant to imply a criticism of Leroy Logan’s actions nor to suggest that this is a ‘bad film’. On the contrary, it is a film that works very well in its own terms, with strong performances and an exciting and gripping narrative. However, it is not like the other four films in its conception and I’m not sure that McQueen and Courtland approach it in the same way. The narrative doesn’t seem rooted in a specific West Indian community like the other stories. Leroy’s ‘difference’ does seem to be carried by the changes in music with Al Green and Marvin Gaye replacing the reggae tracks. I think in the end I wanted to know more about Kenneth’s story and about the others in the family and the wider community (which does appear briefly in Leroy’s attempts to talk to local teenagers).
‘We Are One: A Global Film Festival’ last week offered a wide range of films ‘donated’ by various well-known international festivals, but they were only available for a few days. I headed straight for Mabo as a film which, although I knew nothing about it, seemed like a ‘must watch’. I have recently been introduced to various Australian films by the BBC4 screening of David Stratton’s 3-part series on Australian cinema. The series is on iPlayer for the next 11 months. I discovered major directors who were new to me and films that have had very little exposure in the UK. Perhaps the most important gap in my knowledge concerns Rachel Perkins and her production company Blackfella Films. Perkins founded Blackfella Films in 1992 and has since been joined by other filmmakers in making a range of feature films and documentaries for both cinema and TV.
Blackfella Films has been responsible for bringing Indigenous Australian stories to a wider audience both in Australia and internationally. I’m not sure how I missed the importance of this company. I realise now that at least one of Blackfella’s TV series, Deep Water (Australia 2016) has been on BBC4 in the UK. More surprising perhaps is that Perkins’ own films haven’t had a higher profile in the UK. Indigenous stories have mostly arrived in the UK via film festivals and occasional arthouse releases. Mabo is described as a ‘television movie’, aimed at a mass audience in Australia and telling the story of Koiki Eddie Mabo (played by Jimi Bani) as the Torres Strait Islander who became the central figure in a court case which overturned the legal precedent of terra nullius – ‘nobody’s land’. The Torres Strait Islands had been claimed by European ‘explorers’ in the late 18th century and subsumed into the British colonial territory of Australia since they were not constituted as a national state. This meant that Indigenous people who may have occupied their lands for hundreds of years before white settlement could not obtain rights for their own land under Anglo-Australian law. Similar issues arise in other countries that have been colonised and ‘settled’.
Mabo is a film that has an engaging narrative and two great central performances and it tells a story that everyone should know. It isn’t without its flaws but I think these are mainly concerned with the problem of juggling three central narrative strands with different generic elements. First, this is a form of biopic of Koiki Eddie Mabo, following his development as a young man forced by circumstance to leave Mer/Murray Island in the 1950s and look for work in Queensland. He works on trochus boats (molluscs harvested for ‘mother of pearl’), track-laying on the railway and eventually as a gardener at a library. Here he begins investigating the history of the islands and meets two white characters who become interested in his story and together the trio formulate a local campaign which will eventually lead to a final legal victory 25 years later. As a young man Koiki meets Bonita, who he marries. Together they have children and Bonita works to support the campaign, but the marriage has many strains and pressures. Deborah Mailman who plays Bonita is one of the best known Indigenous performers in Australia on stage and in film and television. I remember her role in The Sapphires (Australia 2012). The struggles in the marriage form a second strand which perhaps should have developed into a family melodrama if there had been more time to focus on the children (the couple had ten in all). The third strand is the campaign itself and this did cause me some problems. I think legal dramas focusing on the courtroom are difficult to condense into easily accessed narratives. I lost my way in some of the debates about the traditions concerning family life and land rights in the islands, which were complicated by Koiki’s adoption at an early age by a different family member.
The legal case required hearings in both the Queensland courts and the High Court in Canberra. For an outsider, the process appears to follow generic lines in that a ‘good result’ is more likely to be achieved at national/federal level rather than locally. Koiki had several problems as a young man in Queensland, including paternalistic but highly exploitative relationships with white employers, direct racism in the form of a colour bar (operating much as it did in the UK in the 1950s and in many British colonial territories) and further isolation as a Torres Strait Islander because he didn’t share language, culture or history with the indigenous peoples of Northern Queensland. Bonita Mabo was herself from a bi-racial background with ancestors who were coerced in a form of indentured labour from the Vanuatu group of islands to work in the Queensland sugar cane fields.
Because this film was a ‘telemovie’ it hasn’t been reviewed in the same way as international cinema features. IMDb carries only a World Socialist Website piece which has some good points to make but is very negative about the political importance of the film. Scanning reviews available from Australian media sites, it is apparent that the film was a political football at the time. The Australian, a Murdoch News Corp right-wing paper, claimed the broadcast was a ratings flop. It hides behind pay-walls like Murdoch’s UK broadsheet so I don’t know what this claim means. Other reports are more welcoming and more appreciative. Viewing the film and its context from a UK perspective is difficult because of lack of sufficient knowledge of Australian politics. I do remember the reputation of Queensland politics and racism back in the 1980s but I don’t know enough to follow all the arguments. Mabo is a ‘well-made’ mainstream TV movie. The script by Sue Smith, direction by Rachel Perkins and outstanding central performances by the two leads create a very watchable film that tells an important story. I haven’t mentioned the relatively starry cast of white actors who portray the lawyers and some of the employers and political figures but they also contribute to the quality of the storytelling. On the weekend when #BlackLivesMatter activists in the UK dumped a statue of a notorious British slave trader into the Bristol dock it was sobering to learn more about the history of racist exploitation in Australia.
I can’t find Mabo on any UK streaming sites but Amazon UK are selling a Region 4 Australian DVD. There is also a film called Mabo – Life of an Island Man which I haven’t seen, but this is unavailable on Amazon. The Blackfella Films website lists other film titles made by Rachel Perkins’ company.
All three of us currently contributing to this blog have written about Ingmar Bergman’s films. I think Keith would be happy to accept the position of fan. But I and possibly Nick are more wary. I admire the skills of his filmmaking and I like some of the early films, but I struggle to enjoy the later films I’ve seen. Margarethe von Trotta, however, is a filmmaker I certainly admire and I’ve found all her films interesting. This is her documentary and therefore I approached it with some trepidation, knowing that she was a Bergman fan too.
The film opens with von Trotta on the beach where Bergman shot The Seventh Seal (1957) as she takes us through her first experience of watching his films and then moves to Paris as she tells us how in 1960 she intended to study at the Sorbonne. She then admits that, after meeting some young French cinéphiles, she spent much of her time in cinemas catching up on la nouvelle vague and, through the young directors like Truffaut, discovering Bergman. We realise that this will be a ‘personal journey’ type of documentary and what follows sees the German director discussing Bergman with other directors, several of his female actors and then several members of his family as she visits Bergman’s home on Fårö, the small island in the Baltic where he spent most of his later life. As several reviewers have pointed out, this is a performative documentary – Margarethe von Trotta appears in the film herself and we see her interacting with her interviewees. What could have been a dull series of talking heads interspersed with clips from the films becomes something more personal and engaging. It’s good to see von Trotta talking with, for instance, Liv Ullman. Here are two successful female filmmakers, both of whom have been actors as well as directors, talking about a man who seemed to have the ability to find strong, beautiful and intelligent women (and skilled actors) to be the leads in his films – something eloquently confirmed by the Spanish director Carlos Saura. Bergman was also a man who married five times and seemingly left his wives after they gave birth, unable to engage in any way with his young children.
We do meet Daniel Bergman, one of Bergman’s sons who had a difficult time in later life working with his father on Sunday’s Children (1992), a film written by Ingmar and directed by Daniel and drawing on memories of Ingmar’s father, the cleric Erik Bergman. Von Trotta also shows us a photograph of the whole Bergman clan, over three generations, taken when they travelled to Fårö. On this occasion several of the eight Bergman children met each other for the first time. The documentary does also begin to explore Ingmar’s deep psychological problems with his father and his own need to endlessly explore his childhood rather than engage with his children. This is just one example of how the documentary doesn’t ignore Bergman’s darker side but this isn’t enough to appease some of the film’s reviewers and several see von Trotta as creating a hagiography. She is a fan and she shows us Bergman’s list of films he selected for a publication related to the 1994 Göteborg Film Festival. It reveals that von Trotta’s own film The German Sisters (1981) is the only film in the list directed by a woman and the only one by a filmmaker who is still alive.
I’m not sure that it is fair to describe the film as a ‘hagiography’. Von Trotta does interview two of Bergman’s prominent contemporary disciples in the shape of the French directors Olivier Assayas and Mia Hansen-Løve. The latter made a visit to Fårö to make a (fiction) film which appears to be still to be released. However, another director of a ‘post-Bergman generation’, Ruben Östlund, points to the split in Swedish film culture that came about in the 1960s. Östlund explains that he was trained at the Göteborg film school where there has been more of an influence of the younger directors from the 1960s, led by Bo Widerberg, whereas in Stockholm there is still the sense that Bergman is the important figure. This view, which I confess I have long held, preferring Widerberg to Bergman, is confirmed by the writer, director and critic Stig Björkman who explains that in the 1960s Bergman began to feel threatened by the rise of a new generation. To be fair to Bergman though, he did include one of Widerberg’s films in that 1994 list.
I think Margarethe von Trotta could have delved a little deeper into some of Bergman’s darker places and it’s unfortunate that she doesn’t/couldn’t interview some of Bergman’s male actors. Many of them are no longer with us. Perhaps my major disappointment with the film is that it fails to fulfil the blurb in the sense that although Margarethe von Trotta does probe a little about Bergman’s childhood, she doesn’t attempt to say anything about Bergman’s early work. He had made 16 feature films between 1946 and 1956 when he started on The Seventh Seal and Wild Strawberries. Apart from Summer with Monika (1953), which was a big influence on Truffaut and Godard, there is no mention of the early career in film – or theatre. It is the early films that I have enjoyed most. There is a clue as to why the early films are excluded. What does emerge from the documentary is that above all, Bergman saw himself as a writer. In those early films he was often constrained by working on somebody else’s original material. Von Trotta’s film does feel like a gathering of auteurs. It is an entertaining gathering and I was most impressed by the directors fluency in discussing the life and work of Bergman in French, German and English and at least I now know how to pronounce properly a range of names and titles in German and Swedish. In summary, this is a film that will interest Bergman’s fans and anyone interested in the history of European cinephilia. But if you don’t know Bergman that well it might not be the best place to start? On the other hand, it is a well-made documentary and Margarethe von Trotta is an engaging guide.
In the last few years we’ve seen three films which build stories around the later careers of Hollywood stars visiting the UK and now we have a fourth. Judy‘s narrative deals with Judy Garland’s last singing engagement at The Talk of the Town in London in December 1968, a few months before her death aged 47. The film follows Stan & Ollie (UK 2018) and Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool (UK 2017) (the last days of Gloria Grahame). My Week With Marilyn (UK-US 2011) is perhaps slightly different, set in 1957 when Marilyn Monroe’s career still had four more years to run, but there are still some common elements. None of these films are biopics as such, focusing on distinct periods towards the end of a star’s career. Judy seems the oddest of the quartet, possibly because it is adapted from a West End play by Peter Quilter and also because it is even more focused on the star performer at its centre. I think it suffers because there is no one who is able to stand up against Renée Zellweger as Judy, whereas in the other three films there is either a second character (i.e. Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy) or a key figure with whom the character has a ‘special’ relationship throughout the film. As Nick said as we came out of the cinema, “it wouldn’t be anything without Zellweger” (or words to that effect). This isn’t a criticism of Zellweger or the supporting cast, but rather a function of the script and the narrative structure. In practice that ‘second character role is split between an under-used Jessie Buckley as Rosalyn, the woman who is charged with making sure Judy is in a fit state to get on stage – and that she gets there – and Finn Wittrock as Mickey Deans, Judy’s fifth husband. The script moves the wedding forward to make it happen during Judy’s run at The Talk of the Town. It actually took place a few weeks after Judy had been ‘stood down’ by Bernard Delfont. (See this ‘Flashback’ blog story.)
In 1968 Judy Garland was at a low ebb. She had no money (never able to deal with her own financial affairs, the millions she earned were mismanaged by various agents) and she was fighting for custody of her children with her third husband Sid Luft. She was also homeless. London had offered Garland salvation on previous occasions when she sold out the London Palladium both on her own in 1951 and for a 1964 recording with her daughter Liza Minnelli. Bernard Delfont’s ‘supper club’ venue offered good money and a potentially receptive audience. Judy follows the events of this ultimately tragic series of shows, although several details are changed. It also includes flashbacks to Judy’s early career at MGM in the late 1930s, suggesting that the trauma of her early stardom haunted her to the end. The film says virtually nothing about the intervening 30 years. How could it? There is too much to fit in to create a biopic. In any case, there are several Garland bios already (both documentary and fictionalised) on YouTube recordings of US TV material.
Renée Zellweger certainly gives the part everything she’s got. She doesn’t necessarily look or sound like Judy but she presents the star’s emotions and her psychological state very impressively. The film looks as if there wasn’t much spare cash in the budget. The Hackney Empire stands in for The Talk of the Town. In some ways it’s a good substitute but in other ways not (The Talk of the Town was completely converted to ‘dining’ as a supper club, but the Empire still has a circle of theatre seats and one sequence uses these seats). I wasn’t sure if we were supposed to be in New York or LA in some American scenes and apart from some ‘tourist shots’ it didn’t feel like London for most parts of the narrative. Some surprising things about the events depicted turn out to be ‘true’ – Lonnie Donegan with his guitar was indeed a stand-in act for Judy when she didn’t show. Some of the changes don’t make much sense so Judy’s children with Sid Luft are left back in the US because they need to be in school. Lorna was 16 and her brother Joey 13 but the film represents them as much younger children, emphasising the pain felt by Judy forced to leave them with Sid. I think this particular change is meant to link to the flashback scenes when 16 year-old Judy is suffering what we would now call abuse from MGM studio boss Louis B. Mayer during the production of The Wizard of Oz. The young Judy is played by Darci Shaw who I now realise is a young actor who first appeared in the TV drama series The Bay. I didn’t recognise her at all. She was 16 or 17 during the shoot but looked younger in the Oz period scenes.
Judy does represent Garland’s status as an icon for gay culture with the inclusion of a gay couple who are big fans of Judy. I thought this worked well. The other aspects of the legend – Judy’s reliance various forms of uppers, downers and sleeping pills plus alcohol is also covered and related back to her teen stardom, as is her problem with her self-image, especially her weight. Zelwegger appears half-starved in order to be convincing as Judy. Ironically Garland’s 1951 Palladium triumph was when she was considered overweight – it’s staggering to think that she was only 29 in 1951 and making a ‘comeback’.
I was engaged throughout by the film and I did get a little emotional at the end. It is hard not to respond to the tragedy of someone so talented with one of the great singing voices of the 20th century reduced to the state Judy Garland was in during the last few months of her life – and to know that the abuse meted out to her as a teenager was the cause. My main interest in the film is really in who the audience is and what they made of it. The small but enthusiastic audience in our tea-time screening on a Wednesday were mostly older and mostly women. I expect that this has often been one of the audience groups during its run. Should we expect gay men and younger women to be attracted to screenings? A quick glance at the box office returns suggests that the the film has attracted audiences of all kinds. It opened at No2 with The Joker opening at No1. Was this clever on behalf of distributor 20th Century Fox? Judy made over £2 million from a saturation release of 633 screens with a high screen average of £3,297. That fell 46% in Week 2, but Judy still held No 4 in the chart. Figures like these suggest a fairly standard trajectory but the mid-week figures reveal something else. After 10 days the film has made £4.7 million, but unusually £1.5 million came from the Monday-Thurs screenings suggesting that the audience does skew older. This was confirmed when the daily figures last Monday showed Judy back at No2 in the chart. Judy looks like joining that group of films buoyed by the over 50 audience. Unfortunately it is up against Downton Abbey that is still raking it in nearly £1 million on its 5th weekend. Still, Judy looks like being one of the biggest ‘UK only’ hits of the year.
I am intrigued to know what younger audiences made of Judy. I researched Judy Garland’s career just before the film came out and I learned a lot by reading across several sources. Without that research I might not have understood everything that happened in Judy, even though it was something that happened only a few hundred yards from where I was studying as a university student in 1968. My memories of the events are hazy at best.
I haven’t said anything about Judy in terms of its ‘look’. Director Rupert Goold and cinematographer Ole Bratt Birkeland both have backgrounds in television as well as some key film titles. As I’ve indicated, I think the budget has possibly constrained any kind of expressionist devices being employed with the emphasis on Renée Zellweger (with a fetching Elvis-like outfit for the ‘Trolley Song’ number) rather than the theatrical backgrounds or the choreography of the performance. The costume design is probably the standout aspect of the film. I understand that Judy’s clothes were not ‘imitations’ as such but new creations using similar approaches. They worked well but I felt for Jessie Buckley with her underwritten part, no opportunity to use her great singing voice and one hideous suit I remember (though she looks good in the dress above). Music for a film like this is problematic I think. Gabriel Yared is an experienced film composer but because I haven’t heard Garland’s performances in the 1960s, I don’t know how the arrangements stand up. By the end I suspect Judy Garland could still express the emotion but not necessarily hit the notes as she wanted to.
Devotion is a film seemingly disowned by Warner Bros and derided by critics – but enjoyed by many audiences (though perhaps not devoted fans of the Brontë Sisters). Warner Bros. was a studio known for biopics and this one features the best known members of the Brontë family, starring Ida Lupino and Olivia de Havilland as Emily and Charlotte. It was potentially a prestige production with Paul Henreid as the curate Rev. Collins, Sidney Greenstreet as William Thackeray and Arthur Kennedy as the dissolute brother, Branwell. Olivia de Havilland was at this point in dispute with Warners over her contract and Jack Warner, in a typical move, ‘punished’ her by giving her third billing. For the second time (after High Sierra), Ida Lupino found herself with top billing by default – which is equally demeaning. She does however, come out as the best performer in the cast (and that’s not just my opinion). Whether Jack Warner’s action was also the reason for holding back the film’s release until 1946 (it was made over the winter months of 1942-3) is not clear, but in his biography of Ida Lupino, William Donati states that Warner Bros. did not even tell Olivia de Havilland about the film’s première. She only learned about it when Ida Lupino phoned her to compliment her on her work on the picture. There is a new biography of de Havilland by Victoria Amador, entitled Lady Triumphant, University Press of Kentucky, 2019. Perhaps this will reveal more of exactly what happened when de Havilland took Warner Bros to court in August 1943? She won her case and the so-called ‘De Havilland Law’ of 1944 restricted the studio’s contractual hold over players to seven calendar years. Since de Havilland signed in 1936 she was thus free of Warners’ control. Lupino benefited from this when she left the studio in 1947.
Rather than a Warners biopic, it is more likely that the studio saw Devotion as a response to Goldwyn’s adaptation of Wuthering Heights (1939) with Merle Oberon and Laurence Olivier and also as competition for Fox’s Jane Eyre with Orson Welles’ and de Havilland’s sister Joan Fontaine (which opened in the UK and Ireland on Christmas Eve 1943).
Donati, like many others felt that it was a mediocre picture that doesn’t work. But is it that bad? To add to the prestige cast, the film was photographed by the great Ernie Haller and it had an Erich Wolfgang Korngold score. Director Curtis Bernhardt had an impressive back catalogue in Germany, the UK and France but he had only been at Warner Bros since 1940 so perhaps he wasn’t able to stand up to Jack Warner or to demand changes to the preposterous script. Presumably, to fit the Brontë story into a mainstream generic narrative, the script contrives a scenario whereby Emily falls for her father’s new curate but cannot express her love and in effect becomes involved in a contest with Charlotte (who did actually marry the historical figure of Arthur Nicholls). The other historical events are moved around to suit the construction of a conventional narrative. This is not necessarily a problem for most audiences but the way the conflict between Emily and Charlotte is represented surely is. I feel that there is a strange contradiction in the casting. In one sense Lupino and de Havilland are cast as characters who do match each star’s own screen persona. Ida Lupino is the passionate and intense Emily and Olivia de Havilland is the colder, more rational Charlotte. That’s fine and so is the age difference. Olivia de Havilland was a couple of years older than Lupino and that fits with Charlotte as the older sister. But the performances contradict this.
For me Lupino feels older, or more precisely, more ‘mature’. Olivia de Havilland comes across as a head girl type, a little prissy and certainly bossy but not really aware of what she is doing. Lupino is more ‘natural’ and ‘spiritual’. She also has a deeper voice and, as several commentators have pointed out, although the script is not very good, Ida Lupino manages to handle it much more effectively – it seems to make some sense when she speaks the lines. Other aspects of the production seem to confirm the distinction. Olivia de Havilland was at this point much more experienced in historical roles (all those prestige adventure pics with Errol Flynn) and her hairstyle and dresses in Devotion are not unlike those of a cavalry officer’s wife in They Died With Their Boots On (1941). Lupino’s hair and dress are more simple and more appropriate for a young woman on Haworth Moor – though the dress that laces up the front looks like a costume from The Adventures of Robin Hood.
The script is indeed terrible, but the cinematography, of mainly studio sets, is excellent and all the performances are better than the script deserves. It’s interesting to see Arthur Kennedy as Branwell. He seems to have spent a long time as a ‘junior’ figure in Hollywood films even though he was 29 when he took on this role. In one of his later roles, in The Lusty Men (1952), he plays the novice to Robert Mitchum’s ‘veteran’ rodeo rider (Mitchum was three years younger). It makes me wonder if the delayed release of Devotion held Kennedy’s career back. Nancy Coleman as Anne Brontë is marginalised by the script. Anne was herself a novelist, possibly the first of the three sisters to complete a book (Anne Grey, published in a ‘triple volume’ with Emily’s Wuthering Heights). Later she wrote the Tenant of Wildfell Hall (1848). Presumably the intention was to streamline the biopic narrative so that Anne’s position in the family is diminished. Again the casting seems odd. Anne, the youngest sister, was played by the eldest of the three actresses, although the one with least experience.
Everything comes back to the script. It appears to derive from a story written by the Romanian-born Theodore Reeves which was then worked into a screenplay by Keith Winter and Edward Chodorov. There is no reason to question the good intentions of these two writers. Winter was Welsh and had already worked on Forever and a Day which included a Lupino cameo in 1943 (though, because it was a ‘compendium film’, they might not have met). Chodorov would later become the writer for one of Ida Lupino’s most successful films, Road House in 1948. I can only assume that it was ‘front office pressure’ that produced such a strange script. Looking at the cast in 1943, it may have been that Warner Bros thought an ‘English story’ using several of Hollywood’s pool of British acting talent would work well in the context of America’s entry into the war.
I shouldn’t end without some praise for Curtis Bernhardt’s direction. I enjoyed the film despite the silly script and read it as a ‘romance melodrama’ edging towards the ‘woman’s picture’ of the period. There is a Region 1 DVD from Warner Brothers – see the second trailer above. If you are in the UK, the Parsonage Museum in Haworth puts on screenings of the US DVD fairly regularly. I saw it in Haworth a few months ago.
Most of the critical attention given to Vice has focused on Christian Bale’s remarkable performance as Dick Cheney in this biopic, of sorts, about the American politician. It is an extraordinary performance, not least in dealing with all the prostheses and make-up necessary to represent the older Cheney. Equal praise should go to Amy Adams, also unrecognisable in her depiction of Cheney’s life partner Lynne. But I think the real questions to ask about this film are to do with its purpose. As I used to suggest to media students, the best starting place is to discuss the purpose of a media text and also to examine who made it.
I should point out that I watched this film with a group of friends on a social night out (screening and meal) and it wouldn’t have been my choice, but I went along with a group decision. I therefore watched the film with a slight prejudice and the knowledge that I have mainly avoided films about US politicians and especially about Republican politicians. But here I’ll try to be objective. This film, written and directed by Adam McKay focuses on Dick Cheney’s rise to become arguably the most powerful Vice President in US history during the two George W. Bush administrations from 2001-9. It begins with a brief look at Cheney as a student thrown out by Yale and then given a dressing down by Lynne before a recovery at the University of Wyoming and an eventual internship in Washington DC. Cheney’s starts a political career during the 1968 Nixon presidency.
Is this meant to be ‘entertainment’ or is it first and foremost a political satire aiming to expose Cheney’s shenanigans? I guess that many audiences (apart from die-hard Republicans) will find it entertaining. I did laugh, but mainly ironically at the acute analysis. Mackay adopts an approach utilising a range of devices which arguably ‘distance’ us from the realism of events. There are some surreal moments of editing, there is a character who talks to camera and there are some bravura casting decisions which I took to be deliberate exaggerations. The comic actor Steve Carell plays Donald Rumsfeld and Sam Rockwell gives a performance as George W. Bush, both of which seem broad satire to me. There are some animated characters plus the use of archive footage and there are other ‘whacky’ devices that I won’t describe so as not to spoil your possible enjoyment. But do all of these devices and the coherent satire of monsters like Dick and Lynne add up to a politically challenging exposé? I’m genuinely not sure.
Political satire has become a difficult business. The film opens with a statement along the lines of “This is all true, or as true as is possible in discussing someone as secretive as Dick Cheney. We did our fucking best!” And that seems a reasonable statement. But when you consider that Cheney is not in prison and that he still has the millions he ‘earned’ as a result of Halliburton’s commercial interest in the post-invasion clear-up in Iraq – and that Donald Trump is still the current President despite all the charges against him – the reality of American political life seems beyond satire.
I will admit that I learned things about the foundation of Fox News and the de-regulation of American broadcasting that I didn’t know and I should have known and for that I’m grateful. Perhaps there is an argument that the film is ‘educational’? When it comes to who made it, the film appears to be a Hollywood ‘art film’ production as an ‘independent film’ that cost $60 million according to IMDb. I wonder if the huge budget for an ‘independent’ undermines the credibility of the film? Personally, I found the casting of Steve Carell, Sam Rockwell and the bizarre presence of Eddie Marsan as Paul Wolfowitz, a neocon academic and politician, each fitted in with the satire but also drew attention away from the exposé. I realise that I’m probably guilty of criticising this film for things that I would find acceptable in other, non-American, films, but that’s my problem with American politics.
Perhaps the main problem with Vice is that in trying to cover such a long period of American politics (and aspects of Cheney’s personal life) it’s inevitable that some issues are left out or dealt with in a perfunctory way. That is in its own way quite proper when the major issues need more time.
I know audiences will have enjoyed the film. I wonder what they will take away from it beyond the laughs and the performances of Bale and Adams? In North America audiences are holding up after 8 weeks on release but I think the film will need to do well in the international market to at least cover its costs if that budget estimate is correct. So far, it is doing well in many territories. What I don’t know is whether the audience in the US is only the ‘libtards’ (a term used in the film) or whether audiences outside the US are thinking ‘OMG!’ or laughing nervously at the thought that someone like Cheney could discover ways of gaining so much power. Seeing an archive clip of Tony Blair supporting the Bush-Cheney war in Iraq is possibly the worst moment in the film for many of us Brits.