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Candy as he rises through the military ranks, fails and succeeds in love, before finding himself an old man, greatly outdated and socially displaced.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 #196: 'The Reptile' (1966)

When his brother is mysteriously killed by a reptilian creature that causes him to foam at the mouth and turn green, Harry Spalding (Ray Barrett) inherits his cottage and moves in with his wife Valerie (Jennifer Daniel). Shunned by the towns yokels but befriended by the brilliantly bearded innkeeper Tom (Michael Ripper), Harry becomes interested in the rumours of the townsfolk dying from the 'black death'. When they alert the local doctor, Dr. Franklyn (Noel Willman), he dismisses any responsibility, and they become puzzled by his strange behaviour towards his daughter and his creepy servant. Is the black death really to blame? Of course not, it's a big reptile-human hybrid thing!

As good as Hammer's output was, they levelled it out with a lot of quickly made crap. They shot films furiously fast on a wafer-thin budget to serve as warm-ups to main features. While sometimes this produced some genuinely good stuff (The Plague of the Zombies (1966) - also directed by Gilling), often it did not. The Reptile served as an accompaniment to Rasputin The Mad Monk (1966), and it's place as a mere quickie is evident to see. It is hammily acted (usually a good thing), badly scripted, and has some quite shockingly bad make-up. And lead Ray Barrett clearly wasn't the most gifted of actors. However, the mysterious plot that remains a puzzle right until the very end almost saves it, but this still remains a very poor effort, though it's a nice enough way to pass 90 minutes.


Directed by: John Gilling
Starring: Ray Barrett, Noel Willman, Jennifer Daniel, Michael Ripper, John Laurie, Marne Maitland
Country: UK

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie