The Private Life of Henry VIII (1933)

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I wasn't surprised to see that this film is very, very good- the director and the star meant that would always be likely. What did surprise me, however, is how funny it is- and how relatively frank about sex- in a humourous way, yes, but this is hardly picture postcard humour.

Charles Laughton is, of course, definitive as Henry, with both his performance and the acript showing him as merry yet dangerously capricious. Intelligent, cultured, yet the ultimate spoiled brat, self-indulgent and able to turn on a sixpence.

Yet the film plays this largely for black humour, downplaying religious matters entirely, as well as foreign affairs... although Henry is made to say that "If those French and Germans don't stop killing each other then Europe will be in ruins"- hard not to see as a comment on the Europe of 1933, a decade and a half after the Great War and with Hiller yet to burn down the Reichstag.

I laughed out loud as the opening blurb dismissed Catherine of Aragon as being of "no particular interest", the opening scenes set on the day both of Anne Boleyn's execution and Jane Seymour's wedding to Henry, leaving us in no doubt whatsoever what a callous man he is, with scenes of Anne bravely facing her last couple of hours juxtaposed with Henry and Jane being frivolous... and Henry cynically sees Jane as a "stupid woman".

He is, again, callous as Jane dies in childbirth, caring only for his baby son. Yet the film focuses on the contrast between Anne of Cleves, who plays the game cleverly and ends up divorced, alive and rich... and the true tragic focus of the film, Katherine Howard, whose eagerness to court the king and have a crown eventually results in being trapped into a marriage to an old man, followed by her inevitable doom. These moments are dark, although it is not dwelt upon here that young Kate was only nineteen.

A superb, witty, funny, dark and tragic script all in one, and a strong overall cast with Charles Laughton giving the performance of his life. This is one of the triumphs of early historical sound cinema.

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.

The Bride of Frankenstein (1935)

"He's a very queer looking gentleman, Sir."

This isn't the first time I’ve seen this film, of course, but it’s been a bit of a while. It’s as good as ever this time round, of course, one of cinema’s great sequels, but a different experience after so many years. It’s a lot more noticeable this time, for one thing, how the delightfully camp Dr. Pretorius, making Henry Frankenstein look even more neurotic by comparison, strives to separate Henry from his heterosexual relationship so the two of them can do things together of which society disapproves, for which Pretorius has been banned from academia, and which are generally considered (it being a vague Romantic period or 1935, depending on how diabetic we wish to be) to be going against God. Hmm. What are we saying here, Mr Whale? Incidentally, I love the little people with their silly costumes.

The other thing that surprised me this time round is just how late in the film the “Bride” appears; just for the last four minutes. Elsa Lanchester looks and is superb, however. And it is of course the real tragedy that the monster, having known a little friendship from a blind man rather keen to push smoking on to him (“No, no, this is good. Smoke- you try.”), is hated by all and the fact that his intended mate is terrified of him too is simply the final straw. He can have no connection with others, thus no happiness, and so he wants to die- bringing Pretorius and the Bride with him. There’s a hint of violent male attitudes towards rejection by women there, I think. It’s also hard to keep my inner Alan Partridge in check as both the title “Bride of Frankenstein” and the fact that Pretorius says the line for no diegetic reason at his moment of triumph seems to call the monster “Frankenstein”. But it’s hard to deny what an absolute work of genius this film is.

Mary Poppins (1964)

“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!”

 

Yes, I really am doing this. All these horrors and I go and blog Mary Poppins. What can I say? It amuses me. I won’t pretend this sort of thing is usually my cup of tea, but I actually rather enjoyed it. In fact, I’m full of regrets about waiting until the age of almost thirty-six to see it. This is the perfect film for children, with everything about it firing the imagination of the child within us all. It’s forever deriving fantasy from the mundane and ordinary. A simple bag becomes a magical repository of all things. You can jump into pictures and become a cartoon. Plus there are songs and that. Julie Andrews is captivating as our heroine, and her voice is extraordinary.

The one thing everyone knows about this film is that Dick Van Dyke’s “cockney” accent is said to be awful by all. In fact, it is far more jaw-droppingly atrocious than I would have had the power to imagine. I would be very much surprised if this were not the worst accent in the history of cinema. Having said all that, I worry that I may have underestimated just how bad it is! It’s a pity. Van Dyke is actually pretty good when it comes to the actual acting, giving us a likeable and charismatic Bert, but you’re far too busy laughing at the accent to take any notice of what he’s doing.

This is very much a tourist friendly version of London and, for that matter, a version of 1910 which has been sanitised for the children of the 1960’s. Knowing that this is a Disney film I was looking for reactionary sentiments throughout, which was an interesting exercise. One of our first songs appears to mock the Suffragette movement, and the character of Bert portrays the hard life of Edwardian poverty as not only bearable but positively fun. This may appear to show conservative attitudes to both gender and class issues, but, these are interestingly subverted at the end, where Mr Banks’ patriarchal authority is undermined by both of these things.

The whole look of the film is a bit of a jolt after so many more modern films in a row. The tanned faces, the technicolour picture quality and the matte painting backgrounds give the film a retro charm that contemporary audiences would have never seen.

Mary Poppins herself is a force of nature. Yes, we see this in her interaction with the children, but the best moments for the character are those in which she wraps Mr Banks right round her finger. She is, essentially, the perfect Edwardian woman- unflappable, infinitely capable, sexless, and maintaining the very stiffest of upper lips in the silliest and most surreal of circumstances. This, of course, is what makes her so damned charismatic.

Some of the social attitudes are fascinating. It’s only 1964, but the film shows a strangely modern hostility to fox hunting. I never knew, though, that apparently foxes can be Irish! I raised an eyebrow, given the bastardry of banks in recent years, at their negative portrayal in this film. A run on a bank is a rather more alarming thing to see nowadays than it would have been at the time.

This film is quite, quite mad. We have an Admiral who keeps his house like a ship and shoots at chimney sweeps. We have a carousel where one can ride the horses away. We have animated fireworks that look like something out of Yellow Submarine. We even have an Englishman who pronounces “niche” as “nitch”. Grrrrr! The ending is simultaneously reinforcing of the patriarchal family structure and subversive of it, a nice touch. Mary Poppins buggers off as the wind changes: this apparently orderly and conservative figure is, underneath, capricious and chaotic, and brings whimsy to all she touches. I never thought I’d say this, but I love this film.