Review #1,165: 'The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp' (1943)

Colonel Blimp started life as a satirical cartoon for the London Evening Standard by Sir David Low. An ageing, plump, pompous and eternally red-faced blowhard, Blimp was Low's idea of the militaristic upper-classes; the kind of chest-puffing Jingo who would voice his frequently contradictory declarations from a Turkish bath wearing nothing but a towel. At first, it would seem that Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger's The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp is directly adapting the political cartoons, as the old man Colonel is rudely disturbed from his sleep in a Turkish bath by a group of youngsters who have arrived early for a planned war game, to declare that such chivalry in war will not be practised by the enemy. We then go back 40 years, and any hint of satire makes way for a story of romance, friendship, and growing old.

During the Boer War in 1902, the young Clive Candy (Roger Livesey) receives a letter from Edith Hunter (Deborah Kerr) in Berlin, who warns him that a known rogue named Kaunitz is spreading anti-British propaganda. Going against orders, Candy travels to Germany and ends up causing a scene by provoking Kaunitz. To settle matters, a duel is arranged with a randomly-chosen German officer, who turns out to be Theo Kretschmar-Schuldorff (Anton Walbrook). While recovering from their wounds in a military hospital, the two men hit it off and begin a friendship that will last for more than 40 years. Moving through the First and Second World Wars, we follow Candy as he rises through the military ranks, fails and succeeds in love, before finding himself an old man, greatly outdated and socially displaced.

It's astonishing that this film got made at all. On top of being rather experimental in terms of tone and narrative structure (it feels very much like the English equivalent of Citizen Kane), Colonel Blimp was shot in glorious - and expensive - Technicolor during wartime, running at almost three hours when most films wouldn't dare to push 100 minutes. Winston Churchill tried to ban it, believing it to be an anti-war propaganda piece poking fun at the idea of 'British-ness', when it is anything but. Instead, the film deliberately gives out mixed signals, lovingly embracing the idea of gentlemanly conduct during a bloody war, while pondering the necessity of brutality, especially when faced with an enemy who play like the Nazis did (and were doing at the time, of course). While British propaganda was making sure to send a clear and strong message about the enemy, Colonel Blimp makes one of its main characters a sympathetic German, and is clear to highlight that these nations will be friends again in the future.

Livesey is staggering as Candy (who later becomes Wynne-Candy). The make-up work is absolutely flawless, easily trumping the big Hollywood productions we get these days. The man genuinely ages before our eyes, and Livesey manages to entirely convince as a man gaining experience and weariness through the years. He may be a man whose values are slowly becoming obsolete, but he remains a good man, and a thoroughly lovable one. Walbrook delivers an understated performance, and brings a tear to the eye during a monologue in which tries to convince British officials why they shouldn't deport him back to Nazi Germany, and Kerr juggles three roles - as Candy's lost love Edith; his wife Barbara; and his driver 'Johnny' in his later years - with absolute ease. It has remarkable scope yet is incredibly intimate, and it's a film that should have been branded across every cinema screen in the country by the War Office. Quite possibly the finest film ever to emerge from our rainy shores.


Directed by: Michael Powell, Emeric Pressburger
Starring: Roger Livesey, Deborah Kerr, Anton Walbrook, John Laurie
Country: UK

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #596: 'The Mad Ghoul' (1943)

Curious about the effects of an ancient Mayan nerve gas used in human sacrifices, Dr. Morris (George Zucco) asks one of his eager pupils, Ted (David Bruce), to assist him in his experiments. Morris has managed to put a monkey into a 'dead' state, and Ted manages to revive it by giving it the fluid of another heart. Morris has an ulterior motive however, and plans to put the moves on Ted's musician girlfriend Isabel (Evelyn Ankers), who has grown tired of Ted and longs for someone else who shares her love of music. Afraid of hurting his feelings, Isabel confides in Dr. Morris to help Ted understand, but Morris exposes Ted to the Mayan gas, turning him into a mindless zombie that Morris can control. He has to rely on human hearts to survive, so Morris and Ted leave a trail of murders and grave-robbing behind them, as Morris turns his attention to Isabel's new beau, pianist Eric (Tuhran Bey).

Of all Universal's regular actors, George Zucco was one of their most prolific, but was usually confined to supporting roles. Here he is given the starring role, and his well-spoken, subtly evil performance proves to be one of the few positives in what is a quite dull affair. Universal's gorgeous set-design and high production values are clear to see, but the story is old-fashioned and weak, offering nothing more than a familiar mad scientist storyline, similar in many ways to Universal's own Frankenstein (1931), but lacking the satirical bite. The make-up, which is usually highly iconic, is uninspired and quite basic, involving nothing more than a bit of powder and messy hair, and features no big 'change' scene, and instead Ted simply raises his head from his hands and is transformed.

Running at just 65 minutes, The Mad Ghoul is clearly lacking ideas, and resorts to lazy scenes of exposition as Robert Armstrong's 'Scoop' McClure gets a scent of Dr. Morris, communicating his ideas and intentions with a girl from his office he keeps happening to come across, helping the audience to understand what's going on. The scenes with Armstrong do offer some light comic relief however, taking the attention away from the mundanity of Morris's quest from Isabel. I'm sure this was made merely for the purpose of playing as a second feature to one of Universal's more accomplished films, but it doesn't excuse The Mad Ghoul from being frightfully pedestrian, with the only real saving grace being the performance of Zucco.


Directed by: James P. Hogan
Starring: George Zucco, David Bruce, Evelyn Ankers, Robert Armstrong
Country: USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #256: 'The Outlaw' (1943)

When notorious outlaw Doc Holliday (Walter Huston) arrives in town, he is greeted with open arms by local sheriff and best friend Pat Garrett (Thomas Mitchell). It's not long before Holliday comes across Billy the Kid (Jack Buetel), who seems to be riding Holliday's horse that he had stolen from him in a previous town. Holliday however, takes a liking to the cocky Kid much to the annoyance of Garrett. When the Kid kills a man that pulls a gun on him first, Garrett shoots the Kid but Holliday escapes with him, taking him to Rio's (Jane Russell) place. Rio is Holliday's lady but as she is tending to his wounds, she finds herself unable to resist the Kid's charms.

Multi-millionaire playboy and aviator Howard Hughes only made two films in his life (although he produced many more). I've not seen his first film, Hell's Angels (1930), which is a love-song to aviation, but this, an unconventional cross-genre western, shows his complete inexperience in the role of director. Apart from the blatant historical inaccuracies (which I'll forgive, given the film is clearly not striving for it), Hughes seems unable to decide what genre he wants the film to be. Is it a comedy? A drama? A romance? Who knows? One thing is clear, he is fascinated by Jane Russell's ample bosom. He felt that the film was not doing her breasts justice, and so he designed an early wonderbra that accentuated them. This generated lots of controversy, and led to the film only getting a limited release as it fell foul of the censors.

Clearly, Hughes knows that Jane Russell's sexual appeal is all that the film has going for it, judging by the posters. Apart from the terrible script and dodgy pacing, the acting is absolutely woeful. Jack Buetel, clearly hired for his looks alone, has less charisma about him than the horses he rides on. In fact, the horses have more facial expressions. Jane Russell, who would go on to be a massive star, demonstrates none of her acting ability and feistiness that she would become known for. In fairness, she is given nothing to do other than bend over Buetel with her cleavage visible, and pout occasionally when required.

The most confusing thing about this film is how Hughes expects us to like these characters. Pat Garrett is supposed to the 'bad' guy, jealous and furious over Holliday choosing to ride off with Billy the Kid. Yet as he pursues the Kid, who is by the way, a known thief and murderer, Doc Holliday shoots and kills many of Garrett's men. But somehow we are supposed to sympathise with Holliday and forget that he is a mass-murderer. It all plays out like some weird, homoerotic love story, with Garrett playing the jealous wife to Holliday's husband who has chosen to run off with Billy the Kid's younger, more exciting toyboy. The only female character of note, Rio, acts like a lost little girl who can't exist without a man's arm to lean on. The Kid treats her like shit, and even tries to trade her for a horse, yet she remains enamoured with him, running after him when he 'allows' her to come with him. It's just a very strange, confused film. And also a very bad one.


Directed by: Howard Hughes
Starring: Jack Buetel, Walter Huston, Jane Russell, Thomas Mitchell
Country: USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #183: 'I Walked with a Zombie' (1943)

In the beautiful Caribbean island of Saint Sebastian, nurse Betsy (Frances Dee) is called in to help care for the near-comatose Jessica Holland (Christine Gordon). Jessica is awake, but is seemingly unaware of anything around her; a 'zombie', if you will. She is the wife of Paul Holland (Tom Conway), who is a sullen and brooding man, and who runs a sugar plantation along with his half-brother Wesley (James Ellison). One day in town whilst having drinks with Wesley, a calypso singer begins a song of how Wesley had an affair with Jessica, and how Paul drove her to madness when he found out. Curious about her condition, and of the voodoo antics that are being undertaken by the island's inhabitants, Betsy searches for a cure, and for the reason behind her zombie-state.

I've long been a fan of French director Jacques Tourneur, who at the age of ten moved to America with his father, also a film director. Tourneur is an uncelebrated master of his trade. Apart from this, I've only seen two other of his movies, but they were enough to convince me that Tourneur is extremely underrated when compared to the likes of James Whale and Terence Fisher. One of these films is Cat People (1942), a masterpiece in the art of sound and lighting, and the other is Night Of The Demon (1957), an enjoyable hybrid of horror and film noir. Tourneur was the master of a forgotten art - scaring the audience without actually showing anything. The popular scene in Cat People is a fine example of this, when our heroine is stranded in a swimming pool at night, and the sounds of a screeching panther coming from all angles. Nothing is seen, but everything is felt.

While I wouldn't say this film is scary by any means, the atmosphere is certainly rather sinister and creepy, and the cinematography by J. Roy Hunt is outstanding. The lighting and camera movements allow what should be a standard horror story to become almost poetic. The film itself is rather slight, clocking in at around an hour and 10 minutes, but it keeps the story snappy and fast-paced. But the story itself takes a backseat to the visuals, and there's nothing at all wrong with that. This is a gothic horror full of style and atmosphere, with some good performances to boot. But the real star here is Tourneur himself.


Directed by: Jacques Tourneur
Starring: Frances Dee, James Ellison, Tom Conway
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie