Costume Desires (IV): The Magic Bow & Jassy

 

Kent’s erotically choreographed dances in “Caravan” exemplify the powerful use of music in these melodramas. A vital part of the Gainsborough formula is to link the romantic elements with a strong, memorable theme that weaves its way in and out of the narrative. In “The Wicked Lady”, it was Patricia Roc's love song; in “Madonna of the Seven Moons”, Phyllis Calvert’s mournful signature tune. With “The Magic Bow” (1946), though, the music actually became a central character. The film purported to tell the story of violinist Niccolo Paganini and his rise to fame as the greatest musician of his era, but its concentration was shifted more to his romantic life, and most especially the difficulties with his true love, Jeanne de Vermond. In itself a rather frivolous and slow‑moving movie, despite the careful work of the technicians (especially designers Andrew Mazzei and John Bryan in their re‑creation of Genoa), and in comparison to the other films it’s certainly disappointing. But there are some elements to enjoy.

Particularly strong is the casting of Stewart Granger, whose ably captures the moody, short‑tempered but charismatic Italian. Originally the part had been assigned to James Mason, who spent weeks practising the violin so as to get his miming perfect. In the end he fell out due to creative differences with director Bernard Knowles and subsequently sent his violin to Granger’s dressing room with condolences for the work he’d have to do with the instrument. Granger picked up the challenge with enthusiasm and his performances are convincing: face furrowed with determined intensity, his fingers fly across the strings with the confidence of someone who’s been playing all his life.

Opposite Granger is Phyllis Calvert - a teaming which marked their fourth and last time on screen together. As the emotional anchor, she commits to every scene and most especially in the final reconciliation sequence, where, shimmering in a rippling, sequinned white dress, she is the epitome of the romantic heroine. In reality the two stars didn’t get on well, but on celluloid none of this animosity is reflected: as screen lovers they radiate a charm and passion that is always endearing.

“The Magic Bow” proved to be the last production initiated by the Ostrer and Black management and was intended to be a prestige piece. As such it was even given its world premiere at the Cannes Film Festival. Its real claim to fame was the hiring of Yehudi Menuhin to play the violin solos. Producer R.J. Minney flew him from America, with the Stradivarius and player both expensively insured at Lloyds of London. It was worth it. The playing is not merely some elaborate publicity stunt, it adds another dimension and lends the film badly needed energy.

Sydney Box became the new boss of Gainsborough Studios in 1947, after the enormous commercial success of his famous James Mason and Anne Todd melodrama “The Seventh Veil” (1946). A stunning box office hit both in the UK and the United States (it played to full houses in one New York theatre for more than six months) and, though Gainsborough films were still raking in hefty ­profits, it was felt that his dynamism and experience could pivot towards modernizing the filmmaking style. Box and his wife, Muriel, shifted the emphasis towards modern melodramas, concentrating on contemporary, controversial issues and during his tenure, the company made its last two costume melodramas.

The first of these was the lavish “Jassy” (1947). In an interview, designer John Bryan revealed how he was told that ‘this was the big one ‑ we could do anything’, and from a technical perspective it is quite magnificent. Jack Asher’s luminous Technicolor photography creates a dream‑like atmosphere, whilst Elizabeth Haffenden, who did months of film tests to adapt from the black‑and‑white designs she had been used to on prior projects, provided sublime costumes, a wondrous combina­tion of soft pastel shades. And the sets (on which 90 percent of the film was shot) are quite outstanding in their scope and texture ‑ powerful reminders of a bygone era of film‑making.

Director Bernard Knowles was too concerned with these outward trimmings, though, and not wary enough of the uncertain narrative. It begins promisingly with drunkenness, suicide and a gypsy girl with powers to see the future. The girl is ‘Jassy’ Woodruffe (Margaret Lockwood) and it is her story that is mainly followed, through the murder of her father, her friendship with Dilys (Patricia Roc), the revenge on the man who killed her father and her eventual happiness in the arms of Barney (Dermot Walsh), a friend from childhood. Yet Lockwood's character changes so rapidly ‑ from revenge to forgiveness ‑ that the viewer is left with no story thread to hang on to; others characters are equally ill-defined and undeveloped. Reports of difficulties and delays in shooting account for some of this. but cannot excuse it all.

The best moments come when the film resorts to Gainsborough’s old style of visual dream: the lord (Basil Sydney) exploding into sadistic violence when he sees his wife being unfaithful; the villager beating his young daughter senseless in the kitchen; or Roc suddenly saved from the savage force of her father by being whisked away to an awaiting carriage in the arms of her young beau. The violence, in fact, gained a deal of notoriety at the time, critics branding Box a cheap sensationalist. One reviewer wrote: ‘Some film‑makers like to put their own personal signature on each film that they make… Alfred Hitchcock, for example, always makes an appearance on the screen. But Sydney, Box likes to distinguish himself by a gratuitous surplus of sadism’. It forced the producer to defend his artistic principles in an open letter to the press, in which he complained that he was simply trying to produce a piece of honest entertainment.