Gurinder Chadha is a distinctive director. Ever since her first short, but important, first film I’m British, But . . . (1990), she has sought to make films that draw on her personal experience but which also reach out to audiences using music and strong emotions. From 2000’s What’s Cooking she has written scripts with her partner Paul Mayeda Berges and an American sense of the popular ‘feelgood’ formula has been melded with Chadha’s own sense of joyfulness. Perhaps as a result, her films have tended to fare better with broad public audiences than with critics. Nevertheless, her importance within British Cinema has been recognised. Viceroy’s House has been a long time in the making and it feels like the most personal of Chadha’s films. In the final credits, amongst all the archive photographs and newsreel footage of both the carnage and the celebrations that followed the partition of British India and the emergence of two new independent states, she tells the story of a woman who fled the Punjab. As the caption reads, that woman was the director’s grandmother.
There have been many films that have tried to deal with Partition and its aftermath. Gurinder Chadha is not alone in being a diaspora director ‘returning’ to the sub-continent to make a partition film using funding and infrastructure from Europe and North America. Other examples include Deepa Mehta’s Earth (1998), Jamil Dehlavi’s Jinnah (1998) and Vic Sarin’s Partition (2007). There are many ‘popular’ Indian films that include stories about partition and its aftermath, but some of the best are examples of art cinema or parallel cinema, such as Ritwik Ghatak’s trilogy of films about the aftermath of partition in Bengal, Pamela Rooks’ Train to Pakistan (1998) or a film like Garam Hava (Scorching Winds, 1973) by M.S. Sathyu. In this context, Gurinder Chadha’s film needs to be seen as an attempt to introduce an outline history of the process of Partition and British withdrawal to a broad audience. She explains all of this in an interview in the Observer (and see below for a video presentation of her motivations). The angry denouncements of Viceroy’s House by writers such as Fatima Bhutto in the Guardian seem to rather miss the point.
Chadha has based her film on a range of published histories and has used a romance between two Punjabis, a Hindu young man and a Muslim young woman, to provide an emotional charge that takes us into the ‘personal stories’. This romance is part of what she herself has referred to as a ‘below the stairs’ narrative to compare with the story of diplomatic negotiation hurriedly conducted by the ‘last Viceroy’, Louis Mountbatten, and Indian political leaders. Chadha also includes the activities of Lady Mountbatten, although not the rumoured flirtation with Nehru. In the space of only 106 minutes, Viceroy’s House tries to be both epic and personal. Inevitably, the historical detail is limited, but it serves as an introduction and as far as I can see it is fairly accurate. I was surprised to hear on the BBC’s Film Programme that the host Charlie Brooker didn’t know the history and found the politics interesting but as he put it, “heavy lifting”. So, perhaps Gurinder Chadha was wise to try to sugar the pill of a history that should be taught in schools (i.e. the history of the British Empire).
The ‘below the stairs’ reference is to the popular British TV series Upstairs, Downstairs (1971-75) that Chadha must have watched as a child (she was born in 1960). A re-boot of the series was attempted in 2010 which ran for two seasons. Inevitably, however, for many reviewers the reference point has been Downton Abbey (2010-15), especially with the portrayal of Louis Mountbatten by Hugh Bonneville, one of the stars of Downton as the Earl. My feeling is that Bonneville is miscast as the Viceroy. Although he is closer in age to the historical Viceroy than James Fox in Jinnah (1998), he feels rather ‘chummy’ and not like a successful military commander and second cousin of the King Emperor. From her various statements, it seems clear that Gurinder Chadha is much more familiar with the British ‘heritage’ films and TV programmes about the Raj than with the many Indian and diasporic films about the end of the Raj and its aftermath. However, the romance she conjures up does figure in some of those Indian films and I felt a sudden recognition in the closing scenes when the Hindu boy seeks and finds his Muslim girlfriend (e.g. in Train to Pakistan and in Earth, where the religious mix is reversed). I was suddenly reminded of scenes from Mani Ratnam’s Bombay (1995) in which a young Muslim-Hindu couple are caught up in communal riots in Mumbai. Both films are scored by A. R. Rahman. I found the score for Viceroy’s House to be conventional and almost lost in the presentation for much of the film, but it worked in those closing scenes. I’m aware that for some UK audiences, the romance seems ‘tagged on’ and unnecessary – but it is central to Chadha’s strategy. She wants audiences to both understand the complexity of the political negotiations and to feel the emotional torment on a personal level. I think she gets close to doing that. I’m not convinced though by the romance. The two actors don’t seem well-matched. I know Huma Qureshi from Gangs of Wasseypur, but I didn’t recognise the actor playing Jeet Kumar. It was only later that I discovered that Manish Dyal is an American actor. Gurinder Chadha appears to be concerned to use British or American South Asians or Indians who are used to working in ‘international productions’ rather than actors working in Indian film industries. I wonder if this will be a barrier to acceptance by Indian audiences? (There is, however, a brief appearance from Om Puri, who died recently, far too young, and who will be sorely missed.)
Having discussed the film with friends, I think there is a consensus that although the mis-castings are a barrier and the romance could have been better handled, overall the film has attracted a popular audience and it does deliver that basic history lesson. The trailer perhaps inadvertently provides the key to the problems Gurinder Chadha faced. She has explained how difficult it is to sell a story like this to funders for mainstream films and I’m assuming that the UK trailer is the price you have to pay to satisfy a conservative distribution/exhibition environment. Several people have told me that the trailer put them off seeing the film or that it nearly stopped them (and they said that would have been a shame).
The film has received quite a lot of coverage in the UK media, with Gurinder Chadha responding. Yesterday, when I thought all had quietened down, another over-the-top piece was published in the Guardian by Ian Jack. I was particularly disappointed to read this as I usually enjoy Ian Jack’s writing. He is an ‘old India hand’ and therefore perhaps emotionally involved, but he claims the film as ‘fake history’ and detects that Chadha and her fellow writers, her husband and the British playwright and scriptwriter Moira Buffini, have been too reliant on a 2006 book The Shadow of the Great Game: The Untold Story of India’s Partition by Narendra Singh Sarila. The two central findings of this book that Jack finds objectionable/not proven/not credible are 1) that the British government’s long-term policy was to support a separate Pakistan as an ally against Soviet influence in South Asia and that 2) that this was Churchill’s policy formulated before he lost power in 1945 and introduced secretly into the 1947 negotiations by Lord Ismay, Churchill’s wartime military assistant after 1940. By 1947 he’d become Mountbatten’s Chief of Staff. The point about British policy seems to me to be not really an issue. After 1947 Pakistan became a Western ally, India became a non-aligned nation with ‘normal’ relations with the Soviet Union. Ismay and Churchill’s role in all this (in the film, it is a document supposedly drawn up for Churchill that provides the basis for the Partition boundaries in Punjab) is obviously more debatable. But then, as most historians would agree, Churchill’s racist comments about India and Indians as well as his extreme anti-communism were well-known and it certainly seems plausible that his influence may have been felt on men pressurised to make decisions in July/August 1947. Ian Jack attempts to discredit Sarila by quoting various British historian’s reviews of the book. I haven’t read either Sarila’s book or the full reviews Jack mentions (I have read other quite favourable reviews, but possibly by less distinguished reviewers) so I’m not going to comment further. I only wish to point out that where anyone stands in these debates about Partition depends to a certain extent on where their broader sympathies lie with Indian, Pakistani or British positions. Again I don’t favour one over another, but I do feel for Gurinder Chadha in her attempt to view her personal story in the context of all of these political machinations.
On one score, Ian Jack is certainly on shaky ground. He asserts: “The film is unlikely to do very well at the box office”. In fact it has had a ‘wide’ UK release and after two weekends (i.e. ten days in cinemas) it has made £2.34 million. Given that the film did quite well in the first week with older audiences, the full two week total might be closer to £2.8 to £3 million which is more than OK for a UK release. I will be intrigued to see how the film does in other territories and especially what happens when it reaches India. Indian media company Reliance is a production partner and should promote the film, but so far there seems to be confusion about when an Indian release might happen. I’ve seen March, June and August mentioned.
In the video clip below, Gurinder Chadha describes the long preparation process for her film which she started mainly because of her experience in travelling back to Kenya and then to her family’s home in Punjab as part of the BBC TV series Who Do You Think You Are? in 2006. The whole of that episode is online and it’s a fascinating watch. When she reaches Pakistan and finds the family house which was allocated to Muslim refugee families fleeing in the opposite direction to her grandparents in 1947, she knows she must tell the story of Partition.
Denial is a strange film – a star-laden ‘independent film’, conventional in style and approach but with an intriguing mix of genre elements. Always engaging and involving it certainly delivers for audiences while being dismissed by some mainstream critics. Its release in the UK at the end of the first week of the Trump presidency proved timely as it offers an opportunity to explore concepts of ‘historical truth’ and the difficulty of ‘proving’ it in a court of law.
Denial is another ‘based on a true story’ narrative. It follows the legal proceedings set in train by the British ‘historian’ David Irving who alleged damage to his reputation caused by published statements by the American academic scholar Deborah Lipstadt in her book Denying the Holocaust (1993). Under English law, a libel action such as this is heard in the High Court and the onus of proof is on the defendants (in this case Ms Lipstadt and her publishers Penguin Books). The danger of defending the action was that Irving, a notorious right-wing Holocaust denier, would get the chance in court to expound on his own views and attack the statements of defence witnesses. In many cases libel actions are ‘settled’ out of court but would this be acceptable/advisable in this case. Deborah Lipstadt decided to fight and the film narrative is based on her book about the case.
The production did not have major studio backing but the three US and UK companies did receive support from BBC Films in the UK. In the US the film was released by the independent Bleeker Street but in the UK it is an eOne release, i.e. from one of the two ‘mini-majors’ (eOne is a Canadian-US-European multinational). The film’s cast boasts four central performances from acclaimed actors. Rachel Weisz plays Deborah Lipstadt, Tom Wilkinson plays her barrister Richard Rampton and Timothy Spall plays David Irving. All three are very good and deliver the performances their reputations suggest. But for me the standout, in a smaller role, is Andrew Scott as Anthony Julius, the solicitor who Lipstadt turns to first. Irish actor Scott is currently being feted for his Hamlet at the Almeida in London and his performance in the difficult role of Julius is very impressive. David Hare adapted Lipstadt’s narrative (the courtroom dialogue is taken from the court transcript). Hare is a distinguished British playwright who is also well-known for his screenplays and for his films as a director. I haven’t seen much of his recent work but I remember his 1980s films such as Paris By Night (1988) and Plenty (1985) (directed by Fred Schepisi, written by Hare from his own play). I thought both films struggled to utilise the powers of their leads (Charlotte Rampling and Meryl Streep respectively). Rachel Weisz does better in this new film. Denial is directed by Mick Jackson. I was surprised to find that back in the 1980s Jackson directed the Barry Hines scripted Threads (1984) – one of the great British TV films about the possible effects of nuclear war. In the 1990s he went to Hollywood and scored with The Bodyguard (1992) with Whitney Houston and Kevin Costner but in 1997 he the disaster movie Volcano proved to be his last cinema film for nearly twenty years (all spent on TV projects). Why did the producers choose Hare and Jackson as a team?
The key to Denial is, I think, the generic mix and how it works with the Holocaust discourse. At the centre of Denial is a courtroom drama with very high stakes. But the film is effectively a drama-doc – a dramatised reconstruction of actual events. So, although the trial is gripping, we know the outcome already and there are no real surprises. The trial was finally held in 2000 by which time the discourse of Holocaust studies/films/books etc. was developing further. Steven Spielberg, whose 1993 film Schindler’s List raised the profile of Holocaust narratives is mentioned in Denial‘s script. The Holocaust narrative in Denial is focused on the dilemma for Lipstadt and her defence team about how they should deal with the emotions and hurt that Irving’s vile outpourings were bound to threaten. The script veers towards making this a conflict between British and American attitudes to the libel case and this in turn means that the narrative must include an explanation for audiences of the crucial difference between English and American law, despite the fact that American law is based on English Common Law principles. (I can’t remember if the script refers to ‘UK law’, but American readers should note that Scottish law is a different beast altogether.) This conflict is neatly symbolised (or ‘heavily signalled’) by a tiny action in which at the beginning of the trial Deborah Lipstadt refuses to bow to the presiding judge when the trial begins, but at the end of the trial seems to have become ‘anglicised’ and bows like everyone else. I’m not sure how much patience American audiences will have for this narrative, but for me it was the most interesting part of the film. The emotion is carried partly by the existence of Holocaust survivors who the defence team, to Lipstadt’s dismay, are reluctant to use in court. For narrative convenience, only one such survivor is singled out (played by Harriet Walter, one of several well-known British actors playing smaller roles.) Rampton must refute Irving’s claims by conducting a case which shows evidence that buildings in Auschwitz were used to gas Jewish (and other) inmates of the concentration camp. This isn’t straightforward.
The potential Anglo-American split is also played out in the relationship between Lipstadt and Richard Rampton. Wilkinson’s Rampton is initially seen by Lipstadt as cold, detached and lacking compassion. There is no suggestion of any kind of romance between the two but the script displays what might be thought of as tropes of a romance narrative as Rampton visits his client’s room with a bottle of wine and she seeks him out in a café. Part of the conflict revolves around the social class distinctions of the English legal profession and alongside the emotional questions this is brought out first on a trip to Auschwitz which, as Rampton himself points out, is not for “memorialising” but for forensics – it is a crime scene and he must prove what happened.
Denial has done steady but not spectacular business for a narrative of this kind in the UK, making £730,000 in five weeks. I suspect it appeals mainly to older audiences and that it will find a wider audience on TV, where its star names will attract viewers who will be rewarded by the script and performances. As a cinema film it does feel a little ‘clunky’ but in truth Mick Jackson has only limited opportunities for visual display. He focuses on a foggy Auschwitz visit with some success but primarily this is about skilled actors and a highly literate script delivered in meeting rooms and Kingston County Hall masquerading as the High Court on the Strand.
The Overlanders is a highly significant film, an Australian classic helping to re-establish filmmaking in Australia after 1945. The Australian government approached the British Ministry of Information in 1943 in the hope of producing a film celebrating the Australian war effort. The MoI passed the request to Michael Balcon at Ealing Studios and Harry Watt was eventually despatched to Australia. Production began in 1945 at the time the war was coming to an end in Europe. It was released in September 1946 when the war had been over for a year (though ‘policing’ duties carried on in the Dutch East Indies during the Indonesian War of Independence). The film was extremely successful in Australia and sold well around the world. (See this Australian Screen website for more background information.)
Harry Watt was one of the most distinguished filmmakers of the British documentary movement of the 1930s, probably best known for Night Mail in 1936, co-directed with Basil Wright. After directing the documentary Target For Tonight in 1941, Watt moved from the Crown Film Unit to Ealing and in 1943 directed Nine Men, a fictional war combat film set in the North African desert in which a small British squad hold off an Italian attack. In 1945 he was not yet 40 and quite prepared for a gruelling shoot in Australia. He took some Ealing personnel with him but recruited local Australian talent as well.
The story, written by Watt, was based on real events suggested by the Australian authorities. The film opens in 1942 in Wyndham, the centre for meat-packing in the Kimberley region of Western Australia (but in effect on the North coast of Australia). Bill McAlpine (Chips Rafferty) a cattle ‘drover’ has just delivered 1,000 local cattle for slaughter and processing, but the perceived threat of Japanese invasion following the bombing of Darwin in February 1942 sees McAlpine ordered to shoot and burn the cattle as part of a ‘scorched earth policy’. The whole area is being evacuated. McAlpine refuses to abandon the cattle and declares that he will drive them over 2,000 kms to the outskirts of Brisbane. It’s the worst time of year to cross a huge expanse of brush and mountains and rivers and McAlpine struggles to put together a motley crew that includes a sailor (‘sick of the sea’), a gambler, two Aborigine stockmen, two horse traders (facing the same problem) and a local family fleeing south. The family includes an experienced man and wife and their two daughters, one a 20 year-old rider. What follows is a form of ‘Australian Western’ that actually predates the classic Hollywood ‘trail Western’ Red River (dir. Howard Hawks, 1948) with John Wayne.
Chips Rafferty, destined to become one of Australian cinemas first international stars, is an interesting actor – physically tall but here proving a strong leader because of his calm demeanour, knowledge of cattle and terrain and decisiveness rather than his physical presence. Wikipedia quotes a line from what I assume was an obituary notice in 1971, he was: “the living symbol of the typical Australian”. Watt manages to make the drive interesting by carefully structuring the narrative to include potential hazards and set-backs ranging from ‘poison grass’, river crossings with crocodiles in attendance, bogs, drought and dangerous mountain crossings. He also brings aircraft into play, including the Flying Doctor service. Watt’s documentary background enabled him to make good use of these scenes – I especially liked the farmer who pedalled a generator to contact the Flying Doctor by radio.
The presence of an attractive young woman in the shape of Daphne Campbell would have certainly pushed a similar Hollywood narrative in particular directions, but here she is celebrated mainly for her horse-riding skills, even if a brief romantic interlude does lead to a lack of attention to the cattle. (See the poster which certainly ‘oversells’ the romance.)
There are two aspects of the film that seem important in the context of its production. At one point the cattle are taken through a gorge and watching them from the top of the cliffs is a group of Aboriginal men – dressed for hunting as they would have been for thousands of years. The scene is familiar from John Ford Westerns but instead of some kind of stand-off, McAlpine and his drovers simply acknowledge the men on the cliffs who return the recognition. Throughout the film the ‘otherness’ of the Aboriginal characters is not emphasised as such. Given the exposure of institutionalised racism in Australian society in the 1930s in more recent films such as Rabbit-Proof Fence (2002) it’s tempting to see the attitudes in The Overlanders as representing a British left/liberal position as set out by Watt. The script still registers ‘difference’ – as when the drive comes across a small town with “The first white man we’d seen” – and the two Aboriginal drovers are not promoted to major speaking roles. But at least they are part of the group. This links to the second key scene picked out by Charles Barr in his book on Ealing Studios.
In several of the British films made during the latter part of the war, especially those from Labour-supporting writers and directors, there is often a short speech about how future plans should work out and what kind of world might be built when peace arrives. In The Overlanders, that speech goes to McAlpine when he discovers that Corky the gambler wants to ‘exploit’ the Northern Territories by forming a private consortium. “No”, he says – “the development has to be national and to involve all Australians”. This is, indeed, the logic of the film’s narrative with the group of drovers representing Australia (including the Aboriginal groups).
Ealing went on to set up a production base of sorts in Australia and produced four more films over the next ten years –but generally declining in quality according to Barr. Two of those four were directed by Harry Watt (Eureka Stockade (1949) and the last official Ealing film, The Seige of Pinchgut (1959)). In the intervening period, Watt found himself in East Africa where he made two features. The first, in Kenya, was the early ‘eco-thriller’ about the struggle to establish game parks in the face of poaching – Where No Vultures Fly (1951). Charles Barr dubs this film an ‘African Overlanders‘ and like the Australian film, it attracted appreciative audiences in the UK and abroad. The two films suggested that there might be an international market for British films (as distinct from ‘Hollywood-British’) with ‘adventure narratives’ and spectacular scenes made overseas, but for a variety of reasons this didn’t really develop in the early 1950s. However, The Overlanders did give confidence to an Australian film industry struggling to recover after the war.
The Entertainer is an important British film for many reasons. A few months ago I got angry when commentators discussing a 2016 revival of John Osborne’s play (Kenneth Branagh’s production at the Garrick in London) only referred to the film as ‘Olivier’s film’. Laurence Olivier plays the lead character of the film but he and Osborne are by no means the only ‘authors’ of the film. It is equally important to consider the direction by Tony Richardson and the production by Woodfall Films – just at the ‘tipping point’ of the British New Wave in 1960. It’s a film and the location photography by Oswald Morris and Denys Coop (the camera operator who later became a DoP on several New Wave films) is crucial.
I first saw the film many years ago and I was grateful to see it again courtesy of Talking Pictures TV, the digital channel that suddenly appeared, as if by magic, on my Freeview offer. Talking Pictures TV is on Freeview Channel 81 and specialises in archive British and American cinema and TV. In August 2016 Screen Daily reported that the station had acquired broadcast rights to a range of classic British films in “two major library deals with ITV Studios Global Entertainment and the Samuel Goldwyn and Woodfall libraries, distributed by Miramax”. Around 100 titles are covered and some of them are showing currently in the channel’s schedules (see the website).
The Entertainer was first performed on stage in 1957 and the story is set in 1956. In the opening sequence we meet Jean Rice (Joan Plowright) looking up at the marquee of the Alhambra Theatre in Morecambe which announces the summer show starring Jean’s father, the fading variety star Archie Rice (Olivier). A flashback shows us that Jean has come up from London where she is an art teacher on a youth project. She’s seen her brother Mick (Albert Finney) off at the station on his way to fight in the Suez Canal conflict. She was accompanied by her boyfriend Graham (Daniel Massey) who told her that he had been offered a job in Africa. Did she want to join him? When Jean arrives in Morecambe she meets her grandfather, Billy Rice (Roger Livesey) and then goes ‘backstage’ to meet her father and her other brother, stage manager Frank (Alan Bates). Eventually, we follow the trio home to the rented rooms where Phoebe, (Brenda de Banzie) and Billy are waiting. The ‘driver’ of the plot is Archie’s attempt to stage another, more glamorous, show. He has no money so he latches onto a young woman (Shirley Anne Field) with wealthy parents in the hope that they will finance him to create an opportunity for their daughter.
The Entertainer is not really a film that is bothered about narrative as such – I don’t think we really believe that Archie will be successful in setting up a new show. It makes more sense to follow the narrative as a metaphor for decline. Archie is a second-rate entertainer in the dying days of live ‘variety theatre’. Already this successor to the music hall is in the process of falling into the clutches of television (and TV is a despised medium by most of the writers and directors of the New Wave). It is apt then that the setting is Morecambe – a seaside resort in its last days of mass holiday appeal. Morecambe’s main attractions were developed from the late 19th century up to the 1930s, including its marvellous art deco hotel built by the Midland Railway company. Morecambe traditionally relied on the railway to bring the crowds from industrial West Yorkshire, especially from Bradford and Leeds, but by the late 1950s the numbers were starting to fall. Morecambe wasn’t big enough to attract the A List stars so, rather like the British Empire in 1956, it was waiting for the axe to fall (it would come a few years later after the railways were savaged by Dr Beeching in the mid 1960s). The film never openly discusses the location as Morecambe, so perhaps these points are lost on the audience. Tony Richardson came originally from Bradford which may be why he chose the location. Wikipedia suggests that Osborne wrote Look Back in Anger in Morecambe while himself performing in repertory theatre.
It may be heretical, but I have to admit that I don’t enjoy watching Laurence Olivier on screen (and he received an Oscar nomination for this performance as Archie). I’ve never seen him on the stage, but I’m not sure his casting always works in films – except when he plays a supporting character in genre films. In The Entertainer he has to play a man who is difficult to like and he certainly puts the character across, but his stage act is so loathsome and lacking in talent (i.e the singing voice he uses and the terrible delivery of awful jokes) that it doesn’t really make sense that he would headline a show. The crucial scenes are in the theatre after or between shows when Archie is trying to express himself to Jean (who is arguably the narrator of the story – she is the one who leads us into scenes). In these scenes, Olivier seems to do far too much and it’s as if he is still performing in the stage version of The Entertainer, also directed by Tony Richardson. Reading a synopsis of the play, it looks as if these scenes were originally in the family home but when the film ‘opened’ out the story, Richardson moved them into the empty theatre. I can see an argument that Olivier offers us an Archie who is always ‘performing’ and when he’s literally ‘on the stage’ he is unable to stop. His performance contrasts with Roger Livesey, an actor admittedly close to my heart because of his three roles for Powell and Pressburger in Colonel Blimp (1943), I Know Where I’m Going (1945) and A Matter of Life and Death (1946). It’s an insult really that Livesey, one year older than Olivier, is cast as Olivier’s father. Billy is a mainly sympathetic character as a genuine former star of music hall. Livesey plays him as an Edwardian gentleman. It’s perhaps a little too close to the older Colonel Blimp from P&P’s film (in which Livesey must age forty years).
I suspect my problem is with John Osborne’s overall approach to the original play. I’ve seen a suggestion that after Look Back in Anger, the iconic ‘angry young man’ narrative for the theatre, Olivier asked Osborne to write an ‘angry middle-aged man’ piece for him to star in and that’s how The Entertainer emerged. In his satire Osborne offers three generations of Rice men – Billy, Archie and Frank/Mick. Osborne seems a little nostalgic in relation to Billy and his bile is reserved for Archie. The young men are not really used at all, which is a weakness, I think. The women have little ‘agency’ and Jean’s problems seem to get forgotten (which adds to the isolation of Archie as a loathsome figure). Osborne might have been thinking of any number of misogynist male comedians with doubtful stage material in the 1940s and 1950s – but most of them were also performers with real talent. I do wonder if the character of Archie Rice might actually have worked better in the service of the satire if he had been a more talented performer – whose style/material was going out of fashion. But perhaps the whole point is that he is a monster without redeeming features?
All the rest of the cast are very good. And what a cast it is. I was amused to note that Miriam Karlin is a bolshie dancer in Archie’s company – a year or so later she would become a TV star in the sitcom The Rag Trade in which she plays a shop steward in a small clothing factory. Morecambe’s most famous thespian, Thora Hird plays the mother of the Shirley Anne Field character. But the real interest for me is in the film as an example of Richardson’s work for Woodfall, the company he founded in 1958 with John Osborne and Harry Saltzman. Between 1959 and 1963 Richardson directed five major films of the British New Wave for Woodfall – Look Back In Anger (1959), The Entertainer (1960), A Taste of Honey (1961), The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner (1962) and Tom Jones (1963). That’s some run. I think now that I’d opt for A Taste of Honey as the key film, though all of them are important and Tom Jones won the most accolades at the time. The Entertainer seems like it’s caught in the transition in filmmaking terms from the interiors of Look Back in Anger to the openness and freshness of A Taste of Honey and the shift from the anger of John Osborne to the vitality of Shelagh Delaney (with the only female-centred film in the sequence).
Other points to mention: the screenplay was co-written by Nigel Kneale who had adapted Look Back in Anger from Osborne’s play but who was best known as a writer of science fiction screenplays, especially the various Quatermass films and TV plays. Since he came from North West England, he may have contributed to the authentic feel of Morecambe as a Lancashire resort. There is an interesting sequence in the film using the ‘Miss Great Britain’ bathing beauty contest which was held in the art deco outdoor swimming pool. Morecambe was the genuine venue for the contest in 1956 and it remained the venue until 1989. The locations used in the film are mainly in Morecambe but the theatre locations may include both the Alhambra and the Winter Gardens. Morecambe had its own Illuminations but the sequence in The Entertainer also features Blackpool’s illuminated trams.
It seems a long time since there was any real mass enthusiasm for a new popular/populist ‘British’ film. There has been plenty of promotion for T2 Trainspotting including a takeover of The Graham Norton Show on the day of the film’s UK release. Danny Boyle has been doing an excellent job drumming up business. Even though early reports were reassuring, I was worried it wouldn’t be up to much and a running time of just under two hours worried me further. But to my relief it’s not bad at all.
The concept of a sequel is flexible in the movie business. Sometimes it just means a re-tread of the first film but this felt like a genuine attempt to work out what twenty years later might mean. It’s slower paced and heavily imbued with the sadness of encroaching middle age – with many references to childhood friendships. It’s a long time since I’ve seen the original and it was good to be reminded of Ewen Bremner’s portrayal of Spud as the most likeable of the central trio.
I saw a review which remarked on the lack of female roles and the waste of Kelly Macdonald and Shirley Henderson who feature only briefly. It’s a reasonable criticism and it does feel more of a boys’ film, even if they’ve grown up a bit. On the other hand, Anjela Nedyalkova does well as Veronika, Simon (Sick Boy)’s girlfriend, and the women who do appear tend to have the upper hand.
For its fans, the first Trainspotting seems to have been enjoyed for many reasons including its use of music, the characters and the various set pieces in specific locations, some of which have become tourist attractions. For many critics/commentators the original also seemed, in sometimes contradictory ways, to engage with ideas about popular culture and in particular the debates about ‘Cool Britannia’ in the mid 1990s. Danny Boyle, like Ken Loach, became an English director who has made more than one film that has been accepted as part of Scottish film culture. By directly linking London and Edinburgh (even if it was represented by Glasgow much of the time) Trainspotting commented on the divides within the UK. T2 oddly doesn’t refer to the SNP rule in Scotland or the Referendum – but it does explicitly refer to the EU and, by implication, Scotland’s connections to Amsterdam (where Renton has been living) and Bulgaria/Slovenia (from where recent migrants have come). The film was actually being made at the time of the Brexit Referendum. I think there are two reasons why T2 doesn’t seem so ‘connected’ to what is happening now. The first is that the source material started off as an adaptation of Irvine Welsh’s 2002 novel Porno and the second is that the theme of ‘looking back’ is so strong. The irony is that it is only Veronika who speaks about looking ahead.
When I looked back at the synopsis and running time of Trainspotting in 1996, I remembered just how much seemed to be crammed into its 93 minutes. By comparison, the extra 24 minutes in the new film don’t seem to contain as much narrative development. Inevitably, the pace seems slower and there is more reflection. There is less ‘story’ and more soul-searching. A middle-aged film? I enjoyed watching the film but I’m not a fan as such. I have less investment in the project so I’m neither excited or disappointed. I will be intrigued to see how it works with younger audiences. I’m guessing the people who sat a few rows in front of me (our local cinema was not full on Saturday tea-time) were in their 30s or 40s. T3 has been suggested as a possibility but I’d be happy if the ride stopped here – now that I’ve finally learned what ‘trainspotting’ refers to and looked up the history of Leith Central Station.
If you are in the UK and you haven’t seen I Know Where I’m Going!, you can watch it free on BBC iPlayer for the next four days and I urge you to do so. It’s one of the best films by the UK’s top filmmaking duo, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, AKA ‘The Archers’. I watched it again on the day La La Land was released in the UK. I was intrigued to hear the American film being lauded for its ‘unconventional’ love story. Micky and Emeric knew all about those.
I Know Where I’m Going! begins with some interesting credits and a montage of scenes from the early life of Joan Webster, the girl who has always known where she is going. Now, in the form of Wendy Hiller, she is the 25 year-old daughter of a bank manager engaged to the wealthy businessman and owner of the company she works for. She has to make her way to the (fictional) island of ‘Kiloran’ which her husband-to-be has, in effect, ‘taken over’ for the duration of the war – and their wedding. The only problem is that the weather in the Western Isles is notoriously fickle and Joan finds herself stranded on the larger (real) island of Mull, wondering if the small boat coming to collect her will ever arrive. Of course, she isn’t alone and all kinds of people are aware of her predicament, including Torquil MacNeil (Roger Livesey). Let the drama, the romance and the fun begin!
It’s worth reflecting on a few ideas about the narratives created by Powell and Pressburger. First, although the setting is unusual, it wasn’t a first for Michael Powell as in 1937 he’d made The Edge of the World, perhaps the best known of his films before he worked with Pressburger. This fictional story was set on an isolated island in the Shetlands and ‘inspired’ by the final days of the even more isolated island settlement of St Kilda out in the North Atlantic, whose last inhabitants left in 1930. Although barely seen at the time, The Edge of the World was re-edited with new material in 1978 and became part of the ‘re-discovery’ of Powell’s early work. Intriguingly though, the other Archers’ film which I Know Where I’m Going! in some ways most resembles is Black Narcissus (1947). In both cases the narrative offers us a proud and intelligent young woman who finds herself in a remote place which deeply unsettles her – especially when she is confronted with a man who understands the place. However, this 1945 narrative is less tragic and (slightly) less dramatic than the later film. The two films both feature a second romance as contrast and they focus on ‘cultural difference’ as the basis for a fantasy and possibly a metaphorical study of British society. In Black Narcissus, the woman is played by Deborah Kerr who had played the triple female lead in another Archers’ film, The Life and Times of Colonel Blimp (1943). She wasn’t available in 1945 so P&P turned to Wendy Hiller (who had lost the 1943 role to Kerr). One of the things I like about IKWIG (as Powell himself calls it in his autobiography) is that the story starts in Manchester and not London. I hadn’t noticed before that Wendy Hiller was born in Cheshire, so she’s nearly Mancunian. I wish I’d seen more of her films. She’s totally credible as a middle-class young woman from the ‘industrial North’, one with strong convictions who can be set up to lose them in the most delightful way.
The fun begins with the credits which are matched by two expressionist sequences, one as Joan heads north on the Glasgow sleeper and another brief one when she is praying (for the third time) for the winds to drop so she can get to Kiloran. It occurs to me that P&P use these sequences (derived from 1920s German cinema?) more in their b+w films when they don’t have colour to express emotion. The Small Back Room (1949) is perhaps the film in which they are used most extensively (and dramatically). As well as these sequences (which include Joan remembering the dancing at the ceilidh as a contrasting emotion to willing the winds to drop) IKWIG is marked by a significant amount of long shots and images of extreme weather mixed with noirish interiors. Some of the landscapes have mist and fog and a ‘glow’ of sunlight through the clouds which all adds to the sense of Celtic fantasy. The long shots composed by Erwin Hiller also have the function of ‘disguising’ Roger Livesey’s double since Livesey was starring in a West End play and never travelled up to Scotland. As in Black Narcissus, many scenes were shot on studio lots, including the Corryvreckan whirlpool sequence. This latter concerns one of two ancient myths about the fate of lovers that P&P used to underpin the central romance. The other involves a curse on the MacNeil men if they enter a ruined castle. The blooming romance represents P&P’s response to the coming end of the war. In this respect it refers back to A Canterbury Tale (1944), a film which has baffled many audiences. In political terms, this is Powell’s ‘high Tory romanticism’, not necessarily reactionary but definitely preferring the spiritual qualities of the rural and preferably the wild landscape to the ordered, rule-managed materialism of the urban society.
The film’s title was suggested by Powell’s Irish wife Frankie and it comes from the traditional Scots/Irish ballad. In the film it is beautifully sung by the then 69 year-old Boyd Steven (with the Glasgow Orpheus Choir) and used in the closing credit sequence:
Here’s the song:
“I know where I’m going
And I know who’s going with me.
I know who I love
But the de’il (the devil) knows who I’ll marry
The film has a score by Allan Gray and an entire sequence with performances at a ceilidh. In this sense it is another movement towards Powell’s concept of the ‘composed film’. It’s also one of Pressburger’s best scripts with its sly digs about the ‘rich and soulless’ – the wonderful irony of the three pipers hired for the wedding by the industrialist but who also can’t get to the island and therefore play at the ceilidh and provide Kiloran with another opportunity to woo Joan. This time I also noticed that in the opening narration we hear that “When Joan was only 1 year old, she already knew where she was going. Going right, left? No, straight on!” I wonder if this is a joke about the political climate of 1944?
IKWIG has everything, even an early appearance by Pet Clark as a rich brat. It also has an ‘eagle hunter’ with ‘Torquil’, his eagle, on his arm (credited as ‘Mr Ramshaw’). If you miss the BBC screening in HD, there is a Criterion Region 1 DVD (with an essay by Ian Christie) and Region 2 DVDin the UK.
The Eagle Huntress is an extremely engaging film with a wonderful central character, a 13 year-old girl from a traditional Kazakh community located in Western Mongolia near the Altai Mountains. For its UK release, a film first screened at Sundance has received an extra narration from Daisy Ridley, the young star of Star Wars VII – The Force Awakens, the biggest film of 2016. Ridley is now named as Executive Producer of The Eagle Huntress and helped to promote the release with a strong emphasis on the concept of ‘girl power’. The BFI also supported the release by the small independent distributor Altitude, which opened the film on just 24 screens, subsequently widened to 50. After three weekends over the Christmas period the UK box office total was just £160,000. In the US, however, after 9 weeks, and on only 122 screens at most, it has made $2.3 million. In the US, Sony Classics is the distributor and the extra muscle from a studio probably means it got into more large cinemas. I suspect that the film will have ‘legs’ in the UK and a healthy future on DVD and online. We watched it at HOME Manchester on a Saturday afternoon with a healthy audience who certainly seemed to enjoy the film – as we did too.
So far, so good. But then I started to reflect on what I’d seen and a few question marks started to appear. I went into the screening having read some of the material in the Guardian and, I think, on BBC Radio 4’s The Film Programme. I didn’t have any ‘agenda’ as such going in, but I do have a general apprehension about what might be termed ‘National Geographic‘-type films – those mixing wildlife and social anthropology and offering beautiful ‘exotic’ landscapes etc. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the film in which we meet Aisholpan and her father Rys Nurgaiv. She wants to become an ‘eagle hunter’. Traditionally Rys would have trained his son, but the young man has joined the army. Aisholpan has been around eagles all her life. Her father has been a successful eagle hunter and he keeps a bird for seven years in order to hunt foxes and small mammals in the mountains. Hunting also gives him social status since the Eagle Hunt Festival is now a major tourist attraction in the town of Ölgii with its significant Kazakh diaspora community. He has no objection to training his daughter and his wife is equally supportive. The film comprises three main sections. Aisholpan finds a 3 month-old eaglet (females are preferred as they are bigger than males), successfully takes it from the nest and trains it; her father trains Aisholpan so she can take part in the festival and finally she goes with her father to hunt with her eagle in the winter to ‘prove’ she is a hunter. Interspersed between these sequences we see glimpses of Aisholpan’s life at home and at school (she’s a weekly boarder at school – her father collects her at weekends).
The film is described as a documentary and in some ways it resembles a superior reality TV programme with extra wildlife footage (Simon Niblett is an experienced wildlife cinematographer, director Otto Bell’s background is in corporate documentaries for multinational companies – he’s a Brit working out of New York). My two concerns about the film are that little information is given to us about the background of the community at its centre and, secondly, everything just seems to go so well. The description I gave in the first paragraph above came from my later research into Kazakh traditions and the diaspora in Mongolia – nothing was said in the film. In terms of the ‘ease’ of Aisholpan’s progress, in these kinds of narratives something usually ‘gets in the way’ of the hero – there are obstacles to overcome. Aisholpan seems to succeed almost immediately with everything she attempts. Her strong personality probably prevents us from noticing this smooth progress – we are happy for her, she deserves success. But doubts creep in. We wonder if perhaps the filmmaker has manipulated reality a little too much? But perhaps the crucial factor in increasing our worries is the gender equality question. The film seems intent on emphasising that Aisholpan is the first young woman to become an eagle hunter and that she faces stiff opposition. But the only ‘evidence’ of this is a montage of ‘grumpy old men’ who say “It’s not right” and similar. Yet everyone else – her father and mother, her grandfather, the judges at the Eagle Hunt Festival competition – supports her. What is going on?
Is the film a manipulation of the reality of gender roles in this Kazakh community?
When I started to read reviews and commentaries, I soon came across claims and counter-claims. The Canadian writer Meghan Fitz-James has been the most vociferous critic of the film’s ‘manipulation’ of the original story and you can read a piece by her here in which she also quotes from an article by Adrienne Mayor of Stanford University. (Fitz-James also adds a posting in which she explains how attempts were made to take down her original posting.) Adrienne Mayor explains how eagle-hunting has been carried out by the nomadic peoples of Central Asia for thousands of years:
Male bürkitshi [eagle falconers] are certainly more common than females today, although eagle hunting has always been open to interested girls. Archaeology suggests that eagle huntresses were probably more common in ancient times. (Mayor 2016)
Mayor also argues that far from a conservative society with fixed gender roles, these nomadic peoples developed a form of gender equality because men, women and children had to learn how to survive in such a harsh environment. Reading these papers, I remembered that the origins of the film were in a project undertaken by an Israeli photographer and documentary-maker Asher Svidensky. Director Otto Bell saw one of Svidensky’s original photos and decided he wanted to make a film. The two got together and Bell shot the scenes of capturing the eaglet. I think I remember an interview in which Bell said that his money ran out and he had to seek further backing. At this point I think he turned for advice to Morgan Spurlock the director of successful box office docs such as Supersize Me (US 2004). Spurlock eventually became one of the Executive Producers on The Eagle Huntress and on his website morganspurlock.com there is this description of the film:
. . . this film not only explores the life of a young girl striving to pursue her passion and break down gender barriers in a very traditional culture . . .
Whatever Otto Bell learned about selling his film, it certainly seems like it was based on a false premise. The more the gainsayers dig into this, the more obvious the manipulation becomes. How much the scenes (and the dialogue) were scripted doesn’t really matter, though I think the film would be improved by a little more ‘reality’. I don’t want to take anything away from Aisholpan or her story and I’m all in favour of inspiring young women with heroes like this young Kazakh girl. But it is unfortunate to say the least that the filmmakers have retained the false message about gender in Kazakh society and that they still call the film a documentary. The music too seems chosen to emphasise the appeal to the target audience but doesn’t seem to match the cultural context (I know I’m too old to appreciate the music!).
The whole story of the film’s production and distribution would make an excellent case study for Film Studies and Media Studies students in schools and FE/HE exploring what ‘documentary’ now means. Here is the official (US) trailer, note the steer in the narration:
(This post has been amended a couple of times, as I’ve found out more.)
The early 1950s has often been dismissed by critics as a weak period in British cinema, when British producers churned out war films and comedies that were popular but not very interesting. In reality this was a stable production period in which British films competed very well with a diminished Hollywood for a big share of over 1 billion cinema admissions annually in the UK. There were also some excellent films that are certainly worth re-visiting. The Long Memory is one of the best and over the last few years plenty of viewers seem to have found it (many on a DVD box set of John Mills performances). The first point of interest is its director Robert Hamer, the genius at Ealing whose later career was damaged by alcohol. Hamer left Ealing after making three well-received films, Pink String and Sealing Wax (1945), It Always Rains on Sundays (1947) and Kind Hearts and Coronets (1949). He’d also directed a segment to the portmanteau film Dead of Night (1945) and made uncredited contributions to San Demetrio, London (1943) and The Loves of Joanna Godden (1947). Charles Barr (in Ealing Studios, Movie, 1977) picks out Hamer (and Alexander Mackendrick) as the Ealing directors who showed most ‘personal continuity’ and exemplified the best of ‘mature Ealing’. It’s fairly typical that in a Guardian piece in 2004, Kevin Jackson ignores The Long Memory completely and focuses primarily on Kind Hearts and Coronets. Keith is a big fan of that fine film and writes about it on this blog, but I prefer the other Ealing films and The Long Memory.
Why Hamer left Ealing isn’t clear to me but the consensus seems to be that he had a conflict with studio head Michael Balcon and decided to strike out as a director for hire with various producers. The Long Memory is the third of his features in this freelance career. Although made for two small independents, Europa Films and British Filmmakers, it had the backing of Rank and was an ‘A’ release on the Odeon circuit in 1953 with a starry cast led by John Mills. Mills plays Phillip, a ‘wronged man’ first seen on the day of his release from prison, arriving back in London and then heading down the Thames to find a home in an abandoned barge near to Gravesend. He is followed by a plain clothes police officer. A flashback then reveals that he once had a girlfriend, Fay (Elizabeth Sellars) whose father was an old ship’s captain mixed up in smuggling. Phillip got caught up with the smuggling operation and following a fracas he was arrested and convicted of a crime he didn’t really commit. After 12 years inside he discovers that Fay is now married to a police Superintendent (played by John McCallum, one of Hamer’s actors from Ealing). Why did she betray him? Who else might Phillip want to seek out for revenge?
The Long Memory is notable for both its contemporary concerns – the arrival of refugees in the UK, the importance of smuggling and the black market in a period of austerity (rationing was still in force in 1952) – and its distinctive visual style. Oddly, its narrative doesn’t seem to acknowledge the war directly – Phillip would have been sent to prison in 1940. The film is strikingly shot, making use of the stark landscape of the estuary mudflats and the whole river environment as far up as Tower Bridge. The landscape is similar to the Romney Marsh wetlands of Kent and East Sussex on the South Coast which featured in The Loves of Joanna Godden. Douglas Slocombe, who shot that film, was still working at Ealing in 1952 and Hamer communicated his ideas to Harry Waxman, another distinguished British cinematographer whose previous titles included Brighton Rock (1947) and who would later shoot The Wicker Man (1973). Waxman covered much of the action in long shot on the mudflats and in beautifully orchestrated chase sequences. At other times the film takes on a noir atmosphere – the story, from a novel by Howard Clewes, a well-known ‘action’ novelist of the period, shares elements with several other British films of the post-war era. The ‘wronged man’, the black market and the revenge narrative were also the basis for They Made Me a Fugitive (1947), a classic British noir directed by Cavalcanti, Hamer’s mentor in his GPO Film Unit and early Ealing days. Basil Dearden, Hamer’s directing colleague at Ealing, made The Ship That Died of Shame in 1955 about a trio of ex-Navy men who run a smuggling boat until their confidence gets the better of them and in an actual Ealing film, Pool of London (1950), there are similar chase scenes through night-time London, as there are as well in the classic Jules Dassin film Night and the City (1950). British noir was strong for several years from 1947 through to the late 1950s (though it wasn’t described as such at the time) and Hamer certainly knew what he was doing. In a marvellous sequence, Phillip, the Mills character, watches a house in Gravesend throughout the night – and is in turn watched by the police. From inside the house, a frightened man peers through the letterbox to see Phillip framed half in the shadows but clearly visible.
Hamer began his career as an editor and in the second half of The Long Memory his editor Gordon Hales puts together an exciting chase sequence with parallel actions in different locations involving different couples whose lives are intersecting. This may be a relatively conventional crime thriller but it is presented with real flair and I wish I could see it on a big screen. Part of the pleasure is in recognising the array of British character actors – Geoffrey Keen as a principled investigative journalist on a Sunday tabloid, Peter Jones as a younger journalist with much to learn, John Slater as a rather dim-witted heavy, Thora Hird as his wife, Vida Hope, Laurence Naismith and more.
The Long Memory is fine as it is but it’s worth noting that the off relationship between Fay and Bob Lowther the police Superintendent seems to signal a growing interest in the domestic melodramas of the families of police officers in later police procedurals in the 1950s, both in the UK and the US. In the clip below the journalist and the police Superintendent discuss Phillip Davidson’s possible actions – does the journalist know that the woman he suggests is in danger is in fact the Superintendent’s wife? The clip includes some interesting location work (I love the sound of the steam train towards the end of the clip).