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.

The 39 Steps (1935)

 “There are twenty million women in this island, and I've got to be chained to you..."

I ought to begin with a confession that I've never read the John Buchan novel.

This is the earliest Hitchcock film I've yet to blog, and it's rather good; a cleverly and appropriately directed tale of paranoia where reality is a slippery thing and, brilliant, the spy plot remains somewhat vague and unreal throughout, leaving us to question our sense of reality no less than Richard Hannay himself.

Redundant though it may be to say so, the suspense is exquisite. Robert Donat is excellent, despite his questionable Canadian accent, with Madeleine Carroll excellent too. The two of them are convincing in the tempestuous yet sexually charged situation in which they find themselves, with lots of sexual chemistry. A very young John Laurie is also superb as a religious zealot and, unlike literally all of the other characters in a film largely set in Scotland, has a genuine Scottish accent.

Yet this is a film about how the world we think we know may have less comfortable realities lurking bebeath, which feel almost supernatural in their unreality. The thirty-nine steps; the missing fingertips; the shadowy nature of the whole conspiract and, of course, the grand guignol circumstances of the mysterious woman's murder all combine to give us a film which establishes a creepy mood well beyond its mere plot. There's nothing supernatural here on the surface, but it certainly doesn't feel that way. Superb.