Costume Desires (III): The Wicked Lady & Caravan

 

Many regard “The Wicked Lady” (1945) as the epitome of the Gainsborough melodramas. Undoubtedly it is one of the most gloriously excessive, as Margaret Lockwood, bored aristocratic housewife by day, takes to the country roads by night as a fearless highwayman, robbing coaches and seducing any man she finds attractive. And Lockwood is perfect. Again she at first refused the part - but eventually decided it was, as she called it, ‘too meaty’ to refuse. Director Leslie Arliss said in a magazine article, ‘she represents an elemental character, full of the most human and natural passions and forced by her own desires into crimes the result of which she can never escape’. Despite the virtual unanimity of the critics in hating every single frame, the public flocked to the screens and made it the biggest money-maker of the year.

The novel on which the film was based, ‘The Life And Death Of The Wicked Lady Skelton’, was actually suggested to Arliss by Lady Eleanor Smith, who had written the book from which the earlier film “The Man in Grey” originated. The moment he started to read it, he knew he had the perfect material from which to make the next film. Immediately he headed to Maurice Ostrer, head of Gainsborough, and pleaded with him to buy the adaptation rights. Smiling, Ostrer informed the surprised Arliss that it was too late, he’d already purchased them just a fortnight before. With the intention that Arliss would direct.

Arliss received another more serious surprise upon the film’s completion: the Hayes Office (America’s film censor) refused to allow “The Wicked Lady” to be shown in the US. Apparently, the dresses worn by Margaret Lockwood and Patricia Roc were too low-cut and revealed far too much bosom. Since the US market was so large and of such commercial importance there was only one option - the offending scenes would have to be re-shot. It may seem ridiculous to the modern viewer, but that’s exactly what happened. Technical difficulties were enormous, with costumes and sets, long since scrapped, having to be painstakingly reconstructed exactly as they had been. Yet there was no other choice - more than twelve months after they had originally finished shooting, the cast and crew reassembled to make a tamer duplicate.

Today the film remains enjoyable nonsense (certainly superior to the 80s re-make) that is never less than entertaining. Yet for all its reputation, it ultimately remains a stagy piece. Leslie Arliss doesn’t have an instinctively cinematic eye and so, despite Jack Cox's sumptuous lighting and John Bryan’s evocative detailed sets, it becomes unfortunately stodgy.

In “Caravan (1946), however, the elements gel stunningly together. The director was former cameraman Arthur Crabtree and he brought to the film a supreme visual sheen. His two previous directorial attempts had been “Madonna Of The Seven Moons” and another Gainsborough picture, “They Were Sisters” (1944), and he builds on Madonna’s expressionism with verve and confidence. He was aided by a slightly higher budget than usual and John Bryan was able to use the full scope of the sound stages to construct some towering and near-abstract sets: they were the biggest ever built for a Gainsborough production and were mounted on huge rollers so that they could be pushed aside or folded away on the spot, enabling the camera to swoop and dive through seemingly impossible movements. The photography by Stephen Dade is another plus, continually on the prowl through richly and dramatically lit streets and rooms, milking every ounce of atmosphere; and editor Charles Knott cuts at such a pace that even though the film is remarkably long for its type (over two hours), it’s never dull.

But it is Crabtree's flamboyance that dominates, taking the viewer into the realm of another, almost surrealistic world. The pity was that in later years his undoubted talent was never fully utilized, and though he made some moderately successful films (and even the notorious horror piece “Horrors Of The Black Museum” (1959), which was widely criticized for its explicit violence), the list is not impressive. “Caravan” remains a testament to what could have been.

The story of Caravan is as melodramatic and incomprehensible as you could hope for. At the centre is the recurring conflict of flaming, uncontrollable passion and mannered, restrained civility, the opposing poles of the argument this time personified by two younger members of the Gainsborough repertory (both of them having served their apprenticeship in minor parts in previous films): the earthy, sexy jean Kent and the demure, principled Anne Crawford. And, of course, swaggering his way through the proceedings is the inimitable Stewart  Granger. He plays Richard Darell, aspiring writer, who finds himself split from his fiancée Oriana (Crawford) when he is asked to take some valuable jewellery to Spain by the wealthy Don Carlos, who in turn has promised to publish his first novel. But arch‑rival Francis (Dennis Price), determined to win Crawford's hand, dispatches his servant to make sure that Granger never returns, As a result Granger is attacked and robbed and left for dead. Gypsy dancer Rosa (Jean Kent) saves him, however, and nurses Granger back to health. She also introduces (and seduces) him to the uninhibited gypsy way of life.

It is eventually resolved in a welter of violence and emotion that ignites from the cooker‑pot atmosphere of sweltering sexuality. One of the most interesting aspects of' this carefully sustained atmosphere is the intelligent use of sound. Walter Hyden’s music skilfully interacts with the emotion and action, elevating the drama by careful combination with sound effects. Another example is with Elizabeth Haffenden's plush costume design: into Jean Kent's flowing gypsy gowns small bells were subtly sewn, so that when she performed her exotic dances, there was a continuous, delicate tinkling.

Films / January 16

Black Narcissus (1947) / Two Thousand Women (1944) / Sommarlek (1951) / Gaslight (1940) / Sommaren med Monika (1953) / A Double Life (1947) / Thoroughbreds (2017)

Black Narcissus (1947) Ravishing photography and design create a sultry, intoxicating atmosphere, as a group of nuns become unhinged in remote Himalayan mountains. Rich and sensual, past ghosts and future desires build a feverish intensity, in this glorious dream-like melodrama.

Two Thousand Women (1944) Mostly played for laughs, an intriguing setup allows for a formidable array of British actresses to lift wartime spirits. Narratively awkward, there are persuasive sequences and the characterization of strong, independent women is smart and subversive.

Sommarlek (1951) Ingmar Bergman's quietly absorbing tale of love and loss features a fragile Maj-Britt Nilsson dealing with tragedy after a giddy summer romance. Exquisitely lit and framed, it provides equal thought and emotion and concludes with a satisfying openness.

Gaslight (1940) With an atmosphere as rich and enveloping as the London fog, sinister Anton Walbrook drives fragile Diana Wynyard to the edge of sanity and murder. Lush design, expressive lighting and a terrific Richard Addinsell score ratchet up the tension and mystery.

Sommaren med Monika (1953) Vital, captivating tale of summer romance unable to cope once the dream fades. Earthy, seductive Harriet Andersson stares into our conscious as much as the gleaming visuals reveal the intensity of joy and anger that swirls through love and lust.

A Double Life (1947) Luminously shot, full of noirish secrets and shadows, a literate if sometimes unpersuasive narrative delineates the descent into madness and murder of Ronald Coleman's Broadway actor. Some striking sequences and a distinct feel for backstage theater.

Thoroughbreds (2017) As cool and detached as its damaged protagonists, a strangely inert narrative never really pokes beneath the surface either with thrills or laughs. Olivia Cooke and Anya Taylor-Joy are suitably intense. The widescreen camera never aids the tension.

Films / January 15

Night And The City (1950) / Personal Affair (1953) / Monkey Business (1952) / Dante's Peak (1997) / First Man (2018) / Spellbound (1945) / Men In Black International (2019)

Night And The City (1950) Meaty London noir, realized with some bracing, atmospheric visuals as Richard Widmark's desperate dreamer dooms all the characters that he contaminates. The sense of despair and cruelty hangs heavy, with redemption only found through violence and loss.

Personal Affair (1953) A solid cast can't inject a real sense of drama into an initially intriguing setup that loses confidence to follow through with its dark possibilities and resolves with traditional values intact. Ultimately unconvincing and over-talkative, only a few moments persuade.

Monkey Business (1952) Enough laughs to overcome the lack of accumulative energy, even as the plot's narrative builds a delirious momentum. From the opening credits a knowing tone pervades as Cary Grant chases the elixir of youth and gamely regresses to childhood. A giddy Marilyn Monroe shines.

Dante's Peak (1997) Disaster porn that teases for an hour before persecuting its central characters with an unlimited series of deadly situations. Adhering gleefully to genre construction, striking visuals of volcanic desolation alternate with action ramped up to comic absurdity.

First Man (2018) Typically intense and artful from director Damien Chazelle, placing the audience alongside Ryan Gosling's stoic, prototype astronaut to experience the terrifying, claustrophobic and bone-rattling attempts to reach the moon. Though characters and social context lack depth, the action is immersive.

Spellbound (1945) Preposterously plotted and wholly unbelievable, the narrative threads seem as elusive as the dream Ingrid Bergman must decipher in order to clear Gregory Peck's amnesiac of murder. Miklós Rózsa's gorgeous score is alternately as lush and overwrought as the film.

Men In Black International (2019) There's nothing intrinsically wrong with production or performances, just no reason for the film's existence, which limps on the fumes of the original's success. Tessa Thompson is an amiable presence. The narrative grinds to a wearisome stop.

Costume Desires (II): Fanny By Gaslight & Madonna Of The Seven Moons

Following chronologically in the Gainsborough series, “Fanny by Gaslight” (1944) proved that “The Man in Grey” had been no flash in the pan. Again there were packed cinemas wherever the film was shown, and this time even the critics responded warmly. Director Anthony Asquith certainly toned down some the over-heated emotions and introduced a more realistic atmosphere, but it is still the melodramatic moments which stick in the mind, with James Mason once again the dark, brooding villain - one moment suave and charming, the next malicious and cruel. In an archetypal Gainsborough scene he is at a restaurant with his wife, played by Margaretta Scott: continually he scans surrounding tables, smiling at the women until, exasperated, Scott demands attention and a confirmation of his love - Mason simply turns to her and quietly states, as he kisses her hand, ‘I've never loved you.’

Mason is a vital part of the melodramas (a mantle mainly inherited by Dennis Price in later films), seemingly without any sort of motivation to inspire the unrelieved depravity and cruelty in which he indulges but nevertheless proving a powerful and charismatic figure. Mason himself was unable to explain how he played the parts. On “The Man In Grey” he said it was due to his inability to get on with director Arliss. ‘I wallowed in a stupidly black mood throughout and since my own imagination had contributed nothing to the character who appeared on the screen, I have to conclude that only my permanent aggravation gave the character colour and made it some sort of memorable thing’. Indeed, the fact that he seemed to be able to play these parts with such ease always disturbed Mason. who felt it was revealing a subdued aspect of his own personality; perhaps the reason for his popularity was that he also awakened the dark side of the viewer.

Phyllis Calvert, in the title role of Fanny, also gives a committed performance, initial innocence transforms to reality and a growing sense of responsibility. Based on the bestselling Michael Sadlier novel, the story centres round her tempestuous life, from an initially happy childhood home to the degradation of poverty and servitude, before her eventual salvation in the form of true love (and Stewart Granger, naturally).

The budget was once again relatively low (£90,000), but Asquith and cameraman Arthur Crabtree use the cramped interiors to great effect. This was mainly achieved by the clever placing of mirrors to give the appearance of depth and size that the sets would not otherwise have. The public loved every second ‑ the film grossed more than £300,000 on the first release and guaranteed the continuation of Gainsborough Studios for the next decade.

With the third film, Gainsborough began to perfect the formula, melding the visual elements of “Fanny By Gaslight” with the helterskelter histrionics of “The Man In Grey” to create a deliciously absurd whole. Once again the source material was a well‑known novel, though little but the premise remained intact. “Madonna Of The Seven Moons” (1944) is shot through with burning passion and longing which burn from every frame, and is unmitigated melodrama from start to finish. 

The central casting reteams Phyllis Calvert and Stewart Granger, the former giving another impressive performance as the schizophrenic Madalena / Rosanna, outwardly the quiet, discreet wife of an Italian wine merchant, yet bottling up hidden desires and rages which periodically take over. She literally becomes a different person, the gypsy lover to Granger's small-time Florentine robber, Nino. Thanks to Calvert’s skilful acting, they never become separate identities, for she imbues each with vestiges of the other, such that the dual-personality ploy is always convincing. For the actress it was a welcome break from the virginal innocents with which she was becoming identified. Indeed, for that reason producer R.J. Minney hadn’t primarily considered her for the part. But her ability to transform from wildness to conformity within the turn of a head eventually won them over.

One of the most interesting aspects of “Madonna Of The Seven Moons” is the picture of woman the film unveils. As Calvert lies dead at the end, her husband (John Stuart) and lover (Granger) place, respectively, a cross and a rose on her breast: this symbolic picture of her torn personality was an especially pertinent one to female audiences in war-torn Britain where the old ideals of morality and ‘the woman’s place’ were at last being questioned. In the film the conflict is finally resolved in the person of Angela (Patricia Roc), who sums up a new attitude, a liberal-minded independent young woman showing a form of emancipation and freedom that society in general was just beginning to deal with.

The publicity sold the film on its romance and especially ‘the searing love scenes’. In one of these, the Gainsborough style is shown to the full. Censorship at the time prevented showing a couple on a bed without each having at least one foot on the floor. To overcome this, the scene was shot in darkness, with Calvert and Granger seen in silhouette, their intense faces briefly illuminated only when Granger takes a drag on his cigarette. It is beautiful to watch, overtly suggestive and very powerful. In a review of the time, the Manchester Guardian said: ‘Arthur Crabtree has directed this superior thriller as if it were a work of art,’ and it is the imagination and flair of Crabtree, Italian designer Andrew Mazzei and cameraman Jack Cox that elevate the film beyond the boundaries of melodrama.

Costume Desires (I): Gainsborough & The Man In Grey

For almost a decade from the 1940s through to the 1950s a group of critically scorned British films proved to be the box-office hits of their day. High-flung over-wrought costume melodramas. Ingredients were basic: passion, romance, sadism, heroism and plenty of sex. Characters were forceful: dominant women, devoted lovers and violent, cold-hearted husbands. They arrived on screens at a time when Britain was entrenched in a desperate World War and longed for release.

The majority of the films were made by the productive and innovative Gainsborough Studios, located in Islington, North London. The company was established in the late 1920s by Michael Balcon and had been responsible for some of the most interesting films of' the 1930s including the lavish musical “Chu Chin Chow”, early Carol Reed efforts such as “Bank Holiday”, the Will Hay comedies, and Hitchcock's early British thrillers, “The Lady Vanishes” and “Young and Innocent”. However, it was upon the succession to administrative power of Edward Black and Maurice Ostrer that change was made.

Almost by accident, the rights to the novel 'The Man In Grey' was acquired and things were never to be the same. Perhaps success was the family atmosphere which the small studio was able to foster and sustain. On each film it’s essentially the same key technicians behind the camera, and the same regular stars and supporting cast in front. Though it was not all by design: wartime meant personnel was at a minimum and everyone was pitching in to help, a position further accentuated by relatively small budgets, and the necessity for productions to overlap.

Yet despite the constraints of money and manpower, one of the most impressive features of these films is a lush, dream-like veneer. Uniformly stunning to watch, they combine stark set design with stylish camerawork and opulent costumes to conjure up a distinctly sensual atmosphere, one that is deliberately unrealistic and overtly theatrical (indeed the costume designer Elizabeth Haffenden graduated from West End theatre). The look is never historically accurate, retaining modern influences so that the films seem to exist in some curious time warp. It lends them an ageless quality. None of which is to claim that the films need to be regarded as definitive cinematic masterpieces, simply that they should not be automatically dismissed, and that they deserve to be re-assessed as the entertainments their makers meant them to be.

Perhaps most of all, though, the Gainsborough melodramas are best remembered for the stars they created, a group of young talents who burst enthusiastically from the screen. The public was quick to respond: James Mason, the sexual, sadistic fiend; Stewart Granger, the dashing, well-mannered hero; Margaret Lockwood, the woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it; Phyllis Calvert, the resilient innocent tempted and preyed upon by evil; and Patricia Roc the bright epitome of the modem young woman.

Mason, Granger, Lockwood and Calvert were the four cornerstones of the films continued appeal. Indeed, their first film together, “The Man in Grey” (1943), immediately catapulted them to stardom. In terms of style, it perhaps lacks the panache of the later productions, but the involved, twisting narrative and emotional conflicts (characters are motivated through escalating degrees of lust, jealousy and pride) more than compensate. During the actual shooting, director Leslie Arliss said in an interview: ‘The background doesn't matter, it's the people you have in the foreground I want to find a human story about real people. I am not afraid of sentiment and am working to overcome shyness and to put unashamed feelings on the screen rather than to depend on speed or action.’ Little could he know, though, how phenomenally popular the results would be: audiences quickly helped it become the most financially successful film of the War.

The story involves the unhappy marriage of Clarissa (Phyllis Calvert.) and Lord Rohan (James Mason), both of whom are in love with other people: Calvert with an actor, Rokeby (Stewart Granger) and Mason with the cunning, vengeful Hesther (Margaret Lockwood). When Calvert decides that loyalty to the state of marriage supersedes her own feelings and refuses to elope with Granger, it all builds to a shattering climax, as Calvert is murdered by Lockwood who is in turn thrashed to death by Mason.

At the time cinemas were still packed with the heroics of British and American war movies, and only the determined, astute Maurice Ostrer believed he had a potentially hot property with Lady Eleanor Smith's novel. It was eventually made at a disused factory in Islington which had been transformed into Gainsborough's two sound stages out. The budget of £95,000 was one-third less than the average British production in 1943. It was released in August of that year and by the beginning of 1944 fan magazines were unanimous in bestowing on it Best Film awards.

Public reaction was particularly strong for Mason and Lockwood, although neither had originally intended to be in it: Margaret Lockwood said she was simply unprepared for such a nasty character, but finally realized it was too good a part; while James Mason had been originally cast in Granger's role, with Eric Portman set to portray Rohan, ‘the man in grey’.

 

The greatest uproar caused by the film came from the final confrontation scene, when Mason sadistically kills Lockwood with a whip. It created a whirlpool of outraged / excited letters from female fans convinced that Mason was like that in real life: ‘Are you really like that?’ ‘Do you treat your wife in the same way?' In the end the actor struck back and wrote a short article for the magazine Lilliput entitled ‘YES, I beat my wife’.

The whipping sequence is pure Gainsborough: beautiful people pictured in a glorious Regency setting, where emotions are liable to (and do) explode into sexual violence at any moment.

Films / January 8

My Octopus Teacher (2020) / Suspicion (1941) / Of Human Bondage (1934) /  Silver Linings Playbook (2012) / The Spider And The Fly (1949) / Mank (2020) / Waterloo Road (1944)

My Octopus Teacher (1940) Immaculately made and strikingly visualized, a damaged naturalist finds a form of redemption in the depths of a kelp forest through a relationship with an octopus. Even if the characterization tends towards projection, the slight documentary gains a surprising emotional heft and meaning.

Suspicion (1941) Uncertain thriller that places tender Joan Fontaine in the hands of rakish and perhaps muderous Cary Grant. The genial atmosphere and languid pacing subdue any sense of gnawing tension, though the end section builds up a head of unease. Final revelations can't help but feel a letdown.

Of Human Bondage (1934) More of a historical curiosity than a cohesive narrative, fragments of a storyline see Bette Davis' self-destructive waitress threatens to drag down Leslie Howard's idealistic Englishman. Isolated visuals and scenes maintain some potency.

Silver Linings Playbook (2012) Spirited performances and intelligent filmmaking embolden the drama and laughs as Jennifer Lewis and Bradley Cooper's damaged souls find a sense of resolution. Snappy and ragged, languid and propulsive, a romantic comedy in the best sense with a rousing finale.

The Spider And The Fly (1949) Always intriguing, often tense, a character-driven piece in which a romantic triangle underpins the manoeuvres between Paris police chief and an artful thief. Atmospherically lit and designed, the World War I setting provides a rich background and unexpected narrative twists.

Mank (2020) Sumptuously shot and precisely framed, glistening monochrome images and swirling music provide an immersive ride in 30s Hollywood. Yet nothing feels authentic, the widescreen views as uncomfortable as a miscast Gary Oldman. Amanda Seyfried is a piercing presence.

Waterloo Road (1944) Crisply shot and highly evocative in its south London locations, the slight story features John Mills going AWOL to rescue his wife from the greasy hands of Stewart Granger's archetypal spiv. Told with swift humour and wartime message, there's also an appealing grittiness.

Films / Janaury 1

I Am Mother (2019) / Madness Of The Heart (1949) / To Be Or Not To Be (1942) / Notorious (1946) / Rebecca (1940) / Rebecca (2020) / Under Capricorn (1949)

I Am Mother (2019) Smartly made film of design and ideas, with a confident pace and a twisting narrative that elevates the tension and allows for some bracing, visual scenes. Though the three characters lack character detail, future world questions on sinister AI remain potent.

Madness Of The Heart (1949) Unpersuasive fusion of Rebecca / Jane Eyre intrigues that misses the atmosphere and character ambivalence and flounders for a grip as blind and newly married Margaret Lockwood finds herself threatened by Kathleen Bryon's crazed new neighbor. Needed true commitment to its ludicrous narrative.

To Be Or Not To Be (1942) Maintaining a breezy balance between comedy and drama, a satire that skewers actors and Nazis with equal and effective glee. Carole Lombard and Jack Benny lead the terrific ensemble, piling up the laughs on a fragile narrative involving spies and the resistance in occupied Warsaw.

Notorious (1946) Hitchcock's mastery of technique and composition propels a sensual narrative of lovers and spies, of seduction and abuse, of secrets and lies. The sharp script takes Ingrid Bergman into the heart of Claude Rains' gang of Rio-based Nazis, a twisting narrative that never lets up until the last, defining image.

Rebecca (1940) Suffused with a dream-like atmosphere, ghosts and guilt swirl through Manderley's cavernous design, tormenting Joan Fontaine's timorous new Mrs de Winter and emboldening Judith Anderson's obsessive Mrs Danvers. Franz Waxman's score haunts our desires as much as the gorgeous visuals.

Rebecca (2020) Technically proficient, densely designed and containing some striking visuals, the latest adaptation is unfortunately flat, missing a singular tone and point of view. The actors flounder, ill-fitting the characters and missing the passion and mystery. The story creaks through the gears.

Under Capricorn (1949) Strangely inert and uninvolving, despite the swooning camera and rich Technicolor. Individual scenes see Ingrid Bergman and Joseph Cotton struggle to bring humanity to stilted dialog while the pressures of suppressed secrets and desires never truly convinces.