Murder, My Sweet (1944)

 "I felt pretty good... like an amputated leg."

I really ought to see far more classic film noirs. All the ones I've seen so far have been uniformly excellent, and this one is no exception.

I have, of course, read the Raymond Chandler novel, along with several others of his, but it's been decades. His novels and the films based on them (The Big Sleep may be a little better than this, purely because of its leads, but let this stand on its own) tend to blur into each other with their similar plots based on femme fatales, men with guns, world weariness, interlinked multiple clients for Philip Marlowe, poetic narration, and doing the right thing, disguised as cynicism, in a harsh yet redeemable world.

This film, with its truly exquisite and mournfully witty script, catches that mood to perfection, and the cast may not quite be top tier but they do their jobs well. What impresses most, though, are the little directorial touches as Marlowe is knocked unconscious with that "black pool" effect.

Telling the story as a flashback works very well, not least because it allows for the possibility of narration, without which any Philip Marlowe story could scarcely be imagined. And the end, with Marlowe knowing damn well that Anne is following him, is a delight.

I've no idea whether this film is rated particularly highly for its genre- the relatively low wattage cast might in fact imply otherwise- but I'm distinctly impressed.

Henry V (1944)

 "But if the cause be not good, the king himself hath a heavy reckoning to make."

It is, I suppose, extraordinary that I've waited so long to see and to blog Laurence Olivier's version of this play, made in no small part to boost wartime morale, a task at which it broadly succeeds. Yet it is, of course, a far richer achievement than that.

The early scenes are inspired. We begin with a panorama of the London of 1600, such a small city focused north of the Thames, with the Tower on the eastern edge and the Globe, with other theatres, situated just south of the river. We then see the Chorus, and the early scenes, played out in the Globe, with glimpses of backstage and much of the groudlings. This makes perfect sense, given the Chorus' pleadings for us to use our imagination to conjure up vast armies and battlefields which cannot be shown in a mere wooden O.

Yet this is cinema, and the film soon shifts to allow us to see such incredible vistas. The matte paintings are obvious, but the effect is one of awe. This is, perhaps, whether we are looking at scenes of Elizabethan London or the muddy French battlefields of the early fifteenth century, a somewhat romantic, 1940s version of the past, reminiscent of The Adventures of Robin Hood. This is, perhaps, too clean and sanitised a recreation of an earlier age which, compared to Kenneth Branagh's version four decades later, does not quite feel lived in. While it is not necessary toshow blood and gore, the overall effect feels perhaps overly sanitised.

Nevertheless, the film is a triumph. Shakespeare stands and falls by acting, and Olivier's performance is spellbinding, the big speeches delivered to perfection. Olivier's style may be a little dated today, yes. That does not make it anything less than great.

One cannot help but see this film, released in the year of D-Day, through the prism of the time it was made. The heavy subtext of the horrors of war, that a war had damn well better be just for the suffering to be worthwhile, is unusually downplayed, the justness of resisting Hitler being clear. Yet the horrors are acknowledged, the humanity and the suffering. And the ending of the play, as Harry woos Kate through the language barrier, feels perhaps a little less odd here as it signifies the hope of peace that original audiences would have felt.

For me, this is not quite up there with Branagh's version. But it is great nonetheless.

Laura (1944)

“Murder is my favourite crime.”

As one would expect of a famous film noir from the heyday of the genre, this film is magnificent, indeed close to perfection. The atmosphere, the direction, the cast, the witty script and the delightfully clever unfolding plot... this is not so much a film upon which one passes judgement, as a film to gaze upon in awed amazement. It’s that good.

Ultimately, this is because of the clever, witty, melancholy script and Preminger’s superb direction, but the film is full of extremely real-seeming characters. Gene Tierney is mesmerising as the eponymous murder victim herself, and Dana Andrews strokes the right notes as Detective McPherson. Yet it is Clifton Webb, as the witty, arrogant yet somehow likeable Waldo Lydecker, who truly astounds in what must have been a deeply satisfying role. Then there’s Vincent Price, impossibly young, playing a part totally unlike what he would later be known for.

The film is seventy-six years old as I write. And yet it has a world-weary and deeply intelligent level of psychological perceptiveness that feels somehow more “modern” than most contemporary cinema. Each character feels like a thinking, feeling, self-justifying human being, with real motives. And yet the film also functions perfectly as a clever and gripping whodunit. Everyone must see this film.

The Way Ahead (1944)

"I wonder what we'll look like in 1970, ."

I write this on the seventy-fifth anniversary of VE Day, in 2020. It's a weird anniversary, during the Great Plague and in the midst of lockdown. But oddly enough spirits seem to be raised. I took Little Miss Llamastrangler out on her scooter this afternoon and lots of people have decorated their front gardens and are socialising from a distance. A decent amount of alcohol, I hope, has been consumed. I'm doing my bit. The anniversary of Nazi rule being crushed is well worth celebrating, and can perhaps give us hope.

So what better to blog than a wartime propaganda film from 1944, when things were looking up but victory was uncertain? Prpaganda this may be, but crude it isn't. Eric Ambler and Peter Ustinov (also appearing as a pied-noir cafe owner in occupied Algeria) have given us a very human script full of individuals who ring true today, let alone in 1944. Lloyd (I recognise the actor from The Great Escape) is an unscrupulous landlord turned courageous soldier, while Parsons is a victim of such types. There's mention of the Beveridge Report. For much of the class consciousness and difference which is the main thing which ages social mores in this film, there's a real solidarity that demands a Welfare State along with victory.

There may be better way films than this, but it does a fine job of showing ordinary blokes slowly being turned into soldiers, with lots of action at the very end. David Niven is excellent and charismatic, Stanley Holloway is brilliantly comedic, but a young William Hartnell perhaps gives the best performance as the sergeant. It’s also clear that this was a huge influence on Carry On Sergeant in terms of plot, and not just Hartnell. Then again, a young John Laurie may as well be playing a younger Private Fraser from Dad’s Army, and the Chelsea Pensioners acting as Greek Chorus probably contain the seeds of a certain other character who was wont to mention fuzzy wuzzies. Very much worth seeing. And happy VE Day. Stay safe.