Review #1,197: 'The Tales of Hoffmann' (1951)

Michael Powell, the great underappreciated British film director mainly recognised for his work alongside Hungarian Emeric Pressburger, spent most of his early career working towards the perfect marriage of the power of operatic music and the visual splendour of cinema. This can be glimpsed in the masterpieces Black Narcissus (1947), The Red Shoes (1948), and to a certain degree, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1949), but it wasn't until 1951 that he completed his ultimate goal. With The Tales of Hoffmann, an adaptation of Jacques Offenbach's flamboyant opera, Powell and Pressburger achieved what no other film has succeeded in doing since: bringing the opera to life on screen and infusing it with all the colour and vibrancy of cinema. Martin Scorsese, an lifelong admirer of P & P, recently oversaw a 4K remastering of the movie; the perfect medium to take in this lavish picture.

Staying true to the structure of Offenbach's vision, The Tales of Hoffmann comes with a prologue, epilogue, and three central acts all centred around the past loves of man-of-the-world Hoffmann (Robert Rounseville). As a stage performance featuring his current love plays out in the background, Hoffmann tells an eager group of friends of three women he has loved and lost. The first act, which is the brightest and most farcical, sees him duped into loving an automaton called Olympia (played by the beautiful Moira Shearer) by a pair of magical glasses that seemingly bring inanimate objects to life. The second act takes place in a hellish Venice, where an evil magician promises his courtesan Giulietta (Ludmilla Tcherina) expensive jewellery in exchange for her seduction of Hoffmann and the theft of his shadow. In the third and final act, Hoffmann falls for Antonia (Ann Ayars), a soprano suffering from a mysterious illness that forbids her to sing.

The disregard for traditional cinematic narrative structure means that The Tales of Hoffmann is certainly an acquired taste, but there is also nothing else quite like it. Backed by a thumping score from the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra under Sir Thomas Beecham and brought to life with ravishing set and costume design by Hein Heckroth (who was Oscar nominated twice for the film), Hoffmann is a treat for all the senses. It's particularly adored by filmmakers, with Cecil DeMille voicing his admiration for the film, and George A. Romero stating it to be his favourite movie of all time and the reason he wanted to become a director. There are also fine performances throughout, in particular Moira Shearer, who I fell head over heels for in The Red Shoes, and Robert Helpmann, the Child Catcher himself, who plays Hoffmann's nemesis in all the stories. Only Rounseville and Ayars perform their own vocals, but the film is graceful enough to reward the vocalists by a credits sequence that sees both singers and performers take a bow.


Directed by: Michael Powell, Emeric Pressburger
Starring: Robert Rounseville, Robert Helpmann, Moira Shearer, Ludmilla Tchérina, Ann Ayars
Country: UK

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #804: 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang' (1968)

To audiences young and old who grew up watching it, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang surely holds a warm, nostalgic place in their hearts. At the age of 29, this was my first viewing. I somehow knew all of the songs, knew everything that happens in the plot, and was certainly familiar with the notoriously creepy Child Catcher (Robert Helpmann). For me, watching the film was like eating a huge slice of cake. The first few bites are delicious and barely touch the sides, mid-way through you start to waver but you just can't seem to stop, but by the end your stomach is turning and you wish you'd never eaten the damn thing.

The brain-child of James Bond creator Ian Fleming, the movie was only loosely adapted from his novel by children's author Roald Dahl and director Ken Hughes. Chocked full of sweets and machinery, most of the film will have children eating out of it's sugar-coated palm. When skipping school one day, two mop-headed children come across Truly Scrumptious (Sally Ann Howes), a pretty but strict lady who takes the children straight to their father to report their truancy. The father, eccentric inventor Caractacus Potts (Dick van Dyke), supports their free-spiritedness, much to the horror of Truly.

While observing Potts' warehouse of barmy inventions, Truly comes across a sweet that can play like a flute. They takes it to Truly's father, Lord Scrumptious (James Robertson Justice), a successful confectionery manufacturer, who eventually throws Potts out when the place is overrun by dogs responding to the flute sweet. Eventually he saves up enough money to buy an old banger loved by his children and manages to fix it up, dubbing it 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang' due to the clunking noise it makes. While off on a picnic one day, Potts and Truly start to fall for each other, and Potts tells his children the story of an evil pirate baron (Gert Frobe) who wants to steal the car for himself.

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang is carried along by some gorgeous Technicolor cinematography by Christopher Challis and an energetic performance from van Dyke, who puts in a highly physical one-man show and remains effortlessly likeable throughout. At two and a half hours, the film far outstays it's welcome. The majority of the songs are wonderful, but the film is slowed by mushy scenes, drab love songs and unnecessary sub-plots. It struggles with settling on a tone and ends up becomes a bloated mash-up. The first half of the movie I enjoyed as much as I did with the great's of the genre, until Grandpa Potts (the magnificent Lionel Jeffries) is whisked off to Vulgaria and it all becomes increasingly sickly.


Directed by: Ken Hughes
Starring: Dick Van Dyke, Sally Ann Howes, Lionel Jeffries, Gert Fröbe, Anna Quayle, Benny Hill, James Robertson Justice, Robert Helpmann
Country: UK

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #469: 'Patrick' (1978)

After the phenomenal success of Brian DePalma's Carrie (1976), telekinesis was used as a device for the horror genre in a number of films, including The Spell (1977), The Fury and The Medusa Touch (both 1978). Also released in 1978, this little-known Australian inclusion to the genre, Patrick, uses the titular character in a totally unique way than all others. Patrick (Robert Thompson) spends the entire film static in a hospital bed, his eyes wide open, starring consistently forward - very creepy. In the opening, we see Patrick's mother cavorting with a man she just met in her bath. Patrick walks in with an electric fire and throws it into the water. three years since this event, Patrick has been in a coma.

Set in a contemporary hospital setting, the ward for catatonic patients has its sisters and matron, Matron Cassidy (Julia Blake) hires English girl, Kathy (Susan Penhaligon), who becomes Patrick's personal nurse. As she spends more time with him, he begins to communicate, first through spitting, then, he speaks through a type-writer. As Kathy's personal life becomes intertwined with Patrick's emotions, he begins hurting the people around her that have upset her, including her ex-husband and the Matron.

It's an interesting, if slightly ludicrous idea, that has been well executed by first-time horror director, Richard Franklin, who went on to direct firstly in Hollywood, with  Psycho II (1983), and then in the United Kingdom with Link (1986). The relationship between Kathy and Patrick do also display some charming moments of pathos, but the film also has its moments of humour (some unintentional), particularly with Doctor Roget. Played by Robert Helmann (many will remember him as the horrific Child Catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (1968), he seems to be possessed at moments by the madness of Kinski, with his wild obsession with the titular patient. Worth it for Helpmann alone, but nevertheless a genuinely exciting film, raising subtly issues around euthanasia.


Directed by: Richard Franklin
Starring: Susan Penhaligon, Robert Helpmann, Rod Mullinar, Bruce Barry
Country: Australia

Rating: ***

Marc Ivamy