The Importance of Being Earnest (1952)

 "To lose one parent, Mr Worthing, may be regarded as a misfortune. To lose both looks like carelessness."

Somehow, in twelve years of blogging, I've somehow contrived never to blog and adaptation of an Oscar Wilde play, something which must be remedied forthwith. Comedy, often though not always, tends to date as the decades pass. Not only to tastes in humour change but so so the social more on which the humour depends. Yes Oscar Wilde remains as funny in 2023 as in 1895, as shown by this, the last of the style of plays for which he is most known, before his sad, complex, undeserved and much misunderstood downfall. Wilde should have lived and written for many more decades.

We no longer live in a world defined by the Season and the obliquely shifting snobbish oddities of the aristocracy: indeed, most of us never did. Yet we do not feel alienated. There is no anger aimed at the upper classes here, mainly observation, yet the humour skewers this world with perfection. Interesting that this, the result of aestheticism, should come from an author who, wearing another hat, happened to be a socialist.

This film is, perhas, unambitious in its direction, being little more than a stage play with a camera pointed at it, which it cheerfully confesses by presenting itself in this way. Yet it is perfection. Oh, Michaels Redgrave and Denison are merely quite good as Jack and Algy. Joan Greenwood is better, the poshest woman who ever lived and born to play Gwendoline. Yet Dorothy Tutin excels as Cecily. Any version of this play, though, stands or falls by its Lady Bracknell. And Edith Evans is simply THE Lady Bracknell. All other performances of the part are but a shadow of hers. It is she who makes this production simply unsurpassable.

The Uncanny (1977)

 "I thought I saw a pussy cat? I did! I did!"

This is a film, a portmanteau horror produced by Milton Subotsky of the sort that had become somewhat unfashionable in the UK by 1977 and so produced in a late 1970s Montreal which can't help feeling a bit David Cronenberg, about how cats are evil. Cat lovers, like myself (we are owned by four, and they are indeed our rulers), may not quite agree that cats are evil- we love them and they love us; they are not so aloof as popular myth dictates, they're just introverts- but, well, they can be little bastards at times.

This film may be full of animatronic cats and dated effects, and it may be the very epitome of the '70s; it may, indeed, suffer from too much a focus on cats as its means of horrifying the audience... but, damn, it does so bloody effectively. Peter Cushing is superb in the framing sequence, but the portmanteau structure allows for a pleasing mix of British character actors in period roles and canadian actors in the modern day. Donald Pleasence hams it up disgracefully, one is forced to admit, but this doesn't fail to add to this little film's considerable charms.

This could, I suppose, be seen as a tired and lesser version ogf the earlier Amicus portmanteau horror films, especially with its restrictive theme. It seems to have flopped at the box office, a fact which I attribute to fashion as much as anything. But the cast, the Canadian element in the late '70s when David Cronenberg was making Anglo Quebec a nucleus of cinematic horror genius. This film may be a relic from a sligfhtly earlier era, but it surfs that wave with aplomb.

The Man in the White Suit (1951)

“Tea break! We had to fight for it!"

This is, obviously, an extraordinary film on all sorts of levels; I'm hardly going to do other than praise this, one of the finest Ealing comedies. But its greatness lies not in its humour- after all, this is wry, ironic humour, not exactly a laugh a minute. No; this is a film which nicely skewers much of what's been wrong with this country since well before the War.

The concept is a brilliant one- Sdney, played with the usual brilliance by Alec Guinness, invents an indestructible and dirt repelling fibre which will free mankind from drudgery (according to Daphne, played with charm and splendidly cut glass vowels by Joan Greenwood), as well as destroy much of the industry and ruin both workers and management. What's particularly clever, of course, is that both viewpoints are correct: just not necessarily in that order. This is progress and, as ever, the omelette will come. It's just that the breaking of eggs will not be pleasant for many. It was this way with the Industrial Revolution, and with various smaller waves of progress ever since. These are big themes for an Ealing comedy, but handled with wit and verve in a brilliantly structured film.

Michael Gough has a nice little role, too, and Ernest Thesiger steals the show with his doddery campness as the wise Sir John. There are lots of nice little details, not least the wonderful tubes and bubbling of a very proper chemisty experiment. And, although I wouldn't know, the film seems to capture very well the reality of being an industrial chemist. Yet it also shows us a vanished world- one of strong trade unions and harmonious industrial relations, and of thriving Lancashire textile mills.

Yet it also scolds us as a nation, reminding us that our businesses are far too short termist, too focused on this year's dividends instead of the long term, and that this blinds us to shocks from foreign competition- and prevents us from reacting as we should to things like climate change. I think that, as much as musings over the immediate human price of progress, is the message of this film.

Kind Hearts and Coronets (1949)

"Now, in those days, I had hardly any trouble with the Sixth Commandment..."

This is, I believe, the blog's first Ealing comedy, and it's certainly a fine one to start with. It's a gentle comedy, witty, original and a highly entertaining way to while away a couple of hours. Dennis Price is an excellent star, Alec Guinness plays all his parts with aplomb, but the real star is the script.

This is a very British film about class, as the impoverished yet high-born Louis d'Ascoyne plots to bump off his relatives, all of whom look suspiciously like Alec Guinness, so that he can become the 10th Duke of Chalfont. This is done via some entertaining and delightful murders, a witty script, a clever twist at the end involving a love triangle and Arthur Lowe, and a superbly effective non-linear structure as Louis, to be changed in the morning but nevertheless fawned over as a duke, writes his memoirs from his condemned cell.

There's a startling use of the "n" word towards the end which jars somewhat, but there's little count in criticising a film made in 1949 for racism when all involved are long dead. It's a witty and delightful film which should be seen by all, and has made me keen to see many more Ealing comedies.