Bitter Victory (1957)

 "All men are cowards in some things..."

This film does not, it seems, have much of a reputation. Richard Burton gets top billing here as Captain James Leith, but far more interesting is Curd Jurgens, perennial German officer in World War II films but this tiome an officer- albeit South African- in the British Army, as Major David Brand. Brand is the protagonist, but a far deeper and more fascinating one than a mere hero would have been. Both he and Burton are superb, and both characters have real depth. The script is exquisite; this feels as much a serious play as a war film, despite the gripping action scenes.

Both men are candidates to lead an important, dangerous mission from Cairo into German-held Libya. Yet there is friction, with Leith being an old flame to Brand's wife Jane. Brand is an inexperienced staff officer, out of his depth in action, whereas Leith is a volunteer, a former archeologist, a philosophical man with a deep, dark soul. The general chooses Brand to lead, as Leith is "an intellectual. Besides, he;s Welsh." Well then.

The scenes between the two men are gripping. Leith sees Brand's failure to kill in action, yet this is no moral failing. Where Brand disgusts is in his dishonesty and the extent to which he goes to hide his failure, trying to kill Leith, subtly, and ending up with a reputation as a killer amongst his men and, indeed, his wife. Yes, this is an action film, and a good one. There is suspense. Yet, as a character drama, this is almost as good as anything by Miller or Rattigan.

Not only that, we get to hear Christopher Lee doing a cockney accent.

Witness for the Prosecution (1957)

 "I am constantly sutprised that women's hats do not provoke more murders..."

This, like Agatha Christie's other play Mousetrap, is known for its twist ending: indeed, there is a voiceover at the end of the film begging us not to spoil it. I'm not necessarily always so fastidious, but on this occasion Christie's secret it safe with me, seven decades later.

I haven't seen the play, but I read a number of Agatha Christie novels in my youth. I recall her ingenious plots, but also her poor characterisation and unfortunate snobbery- good, but no Margery Allingham. That is not in evidence here, and the dialogue (deliciously delivered by the magnificent Charles Laughton and the sublime Marlene Dietrich) is rather witty. Am I misremembering Christie, or has the script had a bit of a polish?

Nevertheless, this is a triumphant film, and certainly the finest courtroom drama I have ever seen: I can see why Christie herself was so happy with Billy Winder's film. The cast (Tyrone Power is a bit of a weak link, but the two stars are magnificent, and there's a fine comic turn from Elsa Lanchester. It's also fascinating to see the workings of a Crown Court in the 1950s, at least via the medium of Hollywood.

The twists and turns are, of course, sublime, and to say that the ending packs a huge punch is a real understatement. This is quite up there with the great twist endings. Yet beyond this we have a triumph of writing, direction and performance. Sublime.

Quatermass 2 (1957)

"This is the food, and it burns..."

I understand this is the first ever time a sequel was demarcated with the number "2" in the title?

It's interesting seeing this so shortly after its TV predecessor, as I was unable to do with the last film for obvious reasons; it all seems so rushed and fast paced. So many characters don't appear. The ending is more rushed than anything. No one goes into space. And Sid James is playing Roger Delgado. That's weird.

Add to that the fact that Brian Donlevy isn't at all likeable and you have a film that seems to be treading water and is disturbingly lacking in charm. Yes, it's in colour, it's often on location and it's all so much more expensive, but the sense of scale is so much less. There's only a vague sense of where the meteorites come from and the end- just firing a rocket- comes as a sudden deus ex machina. And don't get me started on all those Cockney natives of Cumbria.

Something of a damp squib, then, although I'm left wondering if I'd have liked it more if the TV series hadn't have survived.

The Abominable Snowman (1957)

"Perhaps we're the savages!"

So, an early Hammer film based on Nigel Kneale's lost TV drama The Creature: bound to be good, right? Well, actually no. It's a shame this film is the only version that exists because there are times you can almost see through to Kneale's original, intelligent vision. Alas, The Creature was never recorded and not even Philip Morris can find it now.

Peter Cushing is good. That hardly needs to be said. But the film is... dull. It can't quite commit to Kneale's pessimism about the human condition (apparently the yeti, with their wise faces, are superior hominids waiting for us to cop it in a nuclear holocaust, which is nice) but it doesn't really have the thrills and scares to cut it as the more lowbrow fare it's being pitched as: the amount of screen time the yeti has is shocking.

It's interesting to see Tibet being portrayed in a film dated before the invasion of communist China in 1959 , however vaguely racist this portrayal may be. It's interesting to see a Hammer horror (although said institution was just evolving in 1957) in monochrome. It's interesting to see a clear influence on a Doctor Who story set in a similar environment but without a Great Intelligence. But this film ain't half full. Eminently missable.

Throne of Blood (1957)

"Without ambition, a man is not a man."

I've been wanting to do a Kurosawa for ages. The only reason I haven't done one yet is because the DVDs are at a hard-to-get-at part of the cupboard. I'm going to make a concerted effort to start watching some of those back-of-the cupboard DVDs in the next few weeks, instead of just plonking them straight from the front pile. Honestly, the things I do for you, my readers…

This is a fairly straight remake of Macbeth with the obvious cultural adjustments, although of course we should remember that a film is a fully completed work, whereas a play script is just a script, so it's not a like-for-like comparison. This would have been just as extraordinarily, and would have had Akira Kurosawa's imprint stamped all over it, even if it had been a straight version of Shakespeare's script. But it isn't. It's very different. The characters are absolutely the same psychologically, but the means by which this is expressed is fascinatingly different.

Shakespeare's work is fundamentally about language, about expressing philosophicasl musings, psychological depths, humour and pretty much the whole world through the medium of words. What's fascinating about what Kurosawa has done here is that we have the opposite situation entirely; this film is to a large extent about the absence of language. There are many, many scenes which consist of long silences, characters communicating only (but very effectively) by facial expression. Characters are generally terse and inarticulate, and struggle to communicate with each other. The scene in which Washizu and Miki struggle to speak coherently about the prophecy they have just heard is highly revealing. The film even begins with a garbled series of reports by messengers, which is highly appropriate.

The scene where Miki welcomes Washizu into Cobweb Castle after his murder of Lord Tsuzuki  is fascinating: the two of them walk in silence, with Miki speaking only to briefly say that he will support Washizu because he will be able to defend the castle. It's left ambiguous whether he realises what Washizu has done but is supporting him for pragmatic reasons. The point is what's not said, the absence of language.

The exception to all this, of course, is the highly articulate, scheming Asaji, the only major female character. Making the Lady Macbeth figure the only articulate figure in the entire film (except, perhaps, for several examples of Kurosawa's signature use of peasants as a kind of Greek chorus) makes articulacy appear to be devious and feminine, whilst inarticulacy is made to look weak and masculine.

Asaji induces a sense of paranoia in Washizu, constantly persuading to act by insisting that others are conspiring against him, which is something of a change of emphasis from the source material. This is further entrenched by the many, many instances of bad omens, which intensify the sense of foreboding. There's a constant sense that something is going bto happen and this is deepened, I think, by Kuropsawa's decisions to keep the dramatic events- the battles and murders- firmly off-screen. For Shakespeare, keeping these scenes off-stage was a rather prosaic, practical necessity but for Kurosawea, I think, it's a way of delaying the pay-off until the end.  And Washizu's death scene, with the hail of arrows and some incredible facial acting from the legendary Toshiro Mifune, is the best thing ever.

As we'd expect, everything looks great, with lots of murky fog, a suitably labyrinthine forest and gnarled trees, and Kurasawa's trademark wipes that George Lucas loves so much. I enjoyed that a lot.

The Seventh Seal (1957)

“Perhaps there isn’t anyone?”

“Then life is a meaningless horror!”

I must admit I’ve been taking refuge in more light-hearted films, usually Hammer or Universal horror, or sci-fi, etc, up to now. I’ve been a little afraid to tackle the many films in my DVD collection which tend to be more gushed over by critics; would my reviews pass muster? Would I fail to mention something which is generally considered to belong to the category of the bleeding obvious? Well, I’ve finally bitten the bullet with this film and, if anything, it’s actually easier to write about as the themes are handed to you on a plate.

This is essentially a fairly straightforward and transparent meditation on existentialism, pretty much wearing its themes on its metaphorical sleeves and covering much the same ground as loads of stuff by people like Sartre and Camus. God is dead, life is therefore meaningless, it’s up to us to assign meaning, we are therefore terrifyingly free to make all sorts of stupid decisions, yadda yadda yadda. This sort of thing was everywhere in the ‘50s.

It’s the squire, Jöns, who is the voice for this philosophy, and he spends much of the film trying to push it on to the other characters. I’m not sure we’re quite supposed to approve of him, however; he’s quite pointedly amoral. There’s a particularly unpleasant moment where he casually declines to rape the mute girl, having just forcibly kissed her, because it’s “dry in the long run.” This is a rather nasty pun, and hints that he has done otherwise in the past. His misogyny pops up everywhere, too.

The knight, Antonius Block, is a thoroughly decent chap, played superbly by Max Von Sydow, but paralysed by existential angst in its purest form. He spends the entire film with the certain knowledge of imminent death and wrestling with his lack of faith versus his desire to believe in a God. He soliloquises a lot. But he finds a brief moment of happiness in a simple picnic with Jof, Mia and their baby son. They are simple, poor, but happy people who love each other without complications and, of course, they end up being the only survivors. The ending would have been a bit of a downer otherwise. But then, they are the only characters who truly represent Life, as we shall discuss.

Block and Jöns have wasted the last ten years in a pointless crusade and are now returning home, like Odysseus, although I’m not sure that comparisons to the Odyssey would really hold up. But death, in the form of plague, stalks the land. And the Black Death, in Scandinavia and the British Isles in particular, was truly genocidal, killing perhaps 50% of the population, although perhaps we should be wary of taking the historical setting too literally. Existentialist thought was not widespread in the 1350s.

The film contrasts death with life throughout. Death predominates; the early scene in the tavern makes it clear that people do not expect to live and that many believe they are living in the End Times, hence the prominence of quotes from the Book of Revelation. This morbidity reaches a disgusting peak with the arrival of the flagellants, with their gloatingly sadistic leader, who are met with reverence by the kneeling townsfolk. This contrasts sharply with the sneering attitude towards the actors, and their lovely, witty, bawdy song. The contrast makes it clear that Jof and Mia, fertile and happy in spite of life’s travails, represent Life, which for some reason I am writing in capitals They’re lovely, aren’t they? But it’s because of Block, if indirectly, that they are saved. He does in fact achieve something with the extra time he’s given.

The most upsetting part of the film is the treatment of the “witch”, so very young, who is burned to death, and what seems even worse is the fact that her final hours are spent in the stocks, surrounded by people who hate her. Block is able to ease her suffering at the end, which has definite echoes of Christ being offered a drink at the Crucifixion.

Oh yes, and I suppose I’d better mention the chess game between Block and Death, one of the most iconic things in the history of ever. Obviously, it’s pretty much compulsory to mention Wayne’s World 2 here, but I’m sure I’ve seen some stuff from popular culture which references Death chopping down that tree. Anybody know where it might have been from? And the ending, with Death interrupting breakfast just minutes after Block has been reunited with his lovely wife, has got to be an inspiration for Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life.

That was fairly painless. I’ll be a bit less afraid to tackle such critically adored films in future.

The Curse of Frankenstein (1957)

“Pass the marmalade, Elizabeth.”

Right then, here begin the movie reviews! And we start with, er, some text in a Gothic font. And then the credits, and the music, and the picture quality, and the vistas- definitely not TV! Interesting from the start that, although nominally set in Switzerland, this is a stylised and not necessarily realistic Mittel-European setting. The outdoor scenes seem to be sets at least some of the time, and any vistas of Alpine scenes are not really intended to look natural.

Peter Cushing is fantastic as Victor Frankenstein, and it’s interesting to see how straight he plays it, as he dominates the film such as to set the whole tone. Of course, the whole thing is, deep down, terribly camp, and feels as though it is intended as such, but it’s a very, very deadpan sort of camp.

The film is told in flashback, with the main narrative bookended by scenes of a desperate Frankenstein awaiting his execution. We then cut to scenes of him as an intelligent, enthusiastic but rather cold young man, who uses his vast inherited wealth to ensure that he gets the best scientific education money can buy, striking up a close friendship with his tutor, Paul.

But all this starts to fall apart as soon as the pair succeed in bring a dead dog back to life. The cracks immediately begin to appear in their relationship; Paul thinks only of the medical benefits this could bring, while Victor immediately shows signs of Evil Genius Syndrome, interested only in his own knowledge and personal glory. And the morally dodgy decisions start here; first he steals the body of a hanged man, then he buys a pair of eyes, and then he robs the grave of a celebrated sculptor for his hands! Interestingly, though, towards the end of the film Victor protests that all doctors rob graves, for the benefit of humanity, and Paul doesn’t demur. This is a rare moment of moral ambiguity.

The part played by Victor’s doormat of a cousin, Elizabeth, is disturbing. Firstly, because they plan an incestuous marriage (eurgh!). Secondly, this is the second quarter of the nineteenth century (going by the fashions), and yet no one raises an eyebrow at the two of them living together. But she is so naïve, not questioning Victor’s obsession with his experiments or his extreme neglect of her. The only one who genuinely seems to care about her is Paul.

Victor’s even worse than that, though; he’s having an affair with his maid, Justine, and has promised both women that he’ll marry them. From this point on, having established that he’s a cad and a bounder, the film shows him becoming more and more morally repulsive.

The visit from Professor Bernstein highlights an odd thing about this film; why is it that the main characters speak with Received Pronunciation while the minor characters all sound a bit German? Aren’t they all supposed to be speaking Swiss German? Also amusing is the scene where Elizabeth naively bemoans the time her fiancé spends in the laboratory,, and we pan to the two men with their brandy and cigars. The gender roles in this film are quite hilariously antediluvian at times.

Be that as it may, Victor’s casual and shocking murder of the Professor is a huge turning point. Of course, the Professor is then buried in Frankenstein’s family vault, from where he can cheerfully obtain the brain. This film’s version of Baron Frankenstein is much more villainous than is usually the case.

Paul, by now, has huge scruples and, in a scuffle between him and Victor, the brain is apparently damaged- although we only ever have Victor’s word for this. It isn’t long, though, until Paul is persuaded to help. But the monster has unexpectedly been brought to life, and it looks very effective indeed. Christopher Lee’s make-up looks nothing like the Universal version, for legal reasons, but this is a real strength.

The argument between Victor and Paul after the monster escapes is interesting. Paul wants it killed, but is it not a sentient being? This monster has nothing of the pathos of Karloff’s version, though. He simply terrifies the blind man and (implicitly) kills him, while the child by the lake (in this version a boy) apparently survives.

The scene where Paul shoots the monster is visibly shocking and horrible, with plenty of blood, but that’s it. The monster’s dead. Paul can now leave. Except--- has it not been foreshadowed that Frankenstein can bring the dead back to life.

Victor further demonstrates his utter caddishness in cruelly mocking the pregnant Justine, whom he had promised to marry with no intention of doing so. Now he simply dismisses her, very possibly to a very grim fate. The power imbalance between them, in terms of both class and gender, is huge. She looks for evidence in the lab with which to prove his crimes to the authorities, but he locks her in with the monster; his second murder.

Paul finally returns on the eve of the wedding to see the monster, resurrected and pathetic, reduced to spending its life on the end of a chain, obeying simple and pointless commands from its master. Paul, appalled, resolves to go to the authorities but, while they remonstrate, the monster escapes, heading to the roof for the climax. In the end it is Victor, threatened by his own creation, who shoots the monster.

We return to the cell, where Victor begs first the priest and then Paul to support his story that it was the monster, not he, who murdered Justine. But he is, of course, being disingenuous; it was he who locked her into the room with the monster, and in any case he was already a murderer by this point. A last scene between Pauil and Elizabeth strongly implies them to be a future couple, as our last shot lingers over the guillotine.

That was good, albeit with a lack of irony that would be impossible for such a film nowadays. The ethical dilemmas look a little different, too, in these days of stem cell research. A good start for Hammer horror, though. I’ll have to watch the Universal version soon…