Sapphire

Basil Dearden and Michael Relph worked together at Ealing Studios in the 1940s before moving onto tough-minded dramas like The League of Gentlemen (1960) and Victim (1961). Sapphire (1959) is one of their earliest films in this mold, using a murder mystery to explore racial tension in postwar London.

College girl Sapphire Robbins (Yvonne Buckingham) is murdered, her body dumped on Hampstead Heath. Police Superintendent Hazard (Nigel Patrick) discovers two disconcerting facts: one, that's she's pregnant; two, that's she mixed race passing for white. Hazard's investigation hits a snag, as Sapphire's fiance (Paul Massie) provides little information and his family (Bernard Miles and Yvonne Mitchell) positively hostile. Sapphire disowned her black friends, including resentful ex-lovers Paul Slade (Gordon Heath) and Johnny Fiddle (Harry Baird), but couldn't fit into white society either. Hazard and his partner (Michael Craig) must navigate a web of prejudice and deceit to uncover the culprit.

Sapphire comes packaged as a socially aware whodunnit. Dearden and writer Janet Green keep the mystery with a large pool of suspects and a twisty plot. Dearden's direction is assured, mixing creative set pieces (Johnny Fiddle's escape from a bar) with a vibrant color pallet unique amongst his black-and-white films. Most interesting is the way Dearden triggersthe villain's confession. Philip Green's wonderful jazz score is another highpoint. Even those disinterested in racial politics can enjoy Sapphire as a well-constructed mystery.

Nonetheless, Sapphire is very much a topical drama. After World War II, London experienced massive emigration from the West Indies, India and other former colonies. This led to white backlash and racial tension, culminating in the 1958 Notting Hill Riots. Sapphire taps into this post-empire anxiety, whites and blacks aghast at the very idea of a "colored" girl blending in to both worlds.

Sapphire avoids stereotyping. The black characters are a mix of types: Dr. Robbins is well-spoken and likeable, contrasted with criminals Johnny and Horace (Robert Adams). Slade proves the most interesting, an arrogant barrister who views Hazard's tolerance as condescension. Whites deny prejudice but only Hazard and David seem sincere. Sapphire's landlady refuses black tenants while David's parents seethe with scarce-concealed bigotry. Even Sapphire's white friends obsess about "image" - like Sapphire herself, disowning her International Club mates by "passing" for white.

Sapphire isn't free of preaching. Hazard provides several position speeches as insightful as Crossfire's childish explication of antisemitism. These lectures seem condescending to modern ears. Dearden's more honest in showing how deeply racism poisons society. Robbins' best scene explains a how simple childhood incident instilled a distrust of whites. Even after the investigation wraps, Hazard notes that deeper social problems can't be so easily solved.

Nigel Patrick (Pandora and the Flying Dutchman) makes a likeable investigator, with Michael Craig as his less-enlightened partner. Earl Cameron was a regular in British race relations movies, appearing in Simba, Flame in the Streets and Guns at Batasi among others. Gordon Heath (Lost Command) and Harry Baird play murder suspects. Bernard Miles (In Which We Serve), Paul Massie and Yvonne Mitchell are the white family at investigation's center. Cult icon Barbara Steele (Black Sunday) appears as one of Sapphire's friends.

Sapphire holds up fairly well today. While it proves less simplistic than American issue films, it works best as a detective story.

RIP Dave Brubeck

Legendary jazz musician Dave Brubeck passed away at the age of 91. He's best remembered for his classic track Take Five, but cinephiles may recall his appearance in Basil Dearden's All Night Long (1962):

All Night Long (1962)

Basil Dearden turns away from his socially conscious movies (Sapphire, Victim) to deliver a modern Shakespeare adaptation. All Night Long (1962) updates Othello to the London jazz scene, delivering a compact little drama that doesn't quite reach its potential.

Music producer Rod Hamilton (Richard Attenborough) invites a who's-who of jazz musicians to celebrate the anniversary of band leader Aurelius Rex (Paul Harris) and singer Delia Lane (Marti Stevens). Spoiling the occasion is Johnny Cousins (Patrick McGoohan), a disgruntled drummer who wants to use Delia for his own band. He starts poisoning Rex's mind with tales of Delia's infidelity and affection for sax player Cass (Keith Michell). A doctored tape recording finally pushes Rex over the edge.

All Night Long cleverly sets its entire action in one building. Besides the setting, Dearden provides clever Shakespeare analogues: a faked tape recording, a prized cigarette box, the "funny cigarettes" that send Cass over the edge. Jazz music plays a key role in the story, with a Cass-Delia duet (and Johnny's raucous drum solos) stoking characters' suspicions. Dearden's claustrophobic direction uses deep focus and positively retro double-exposures to increase the tension. However, the climax regrettably doesn't take the Othello story to its conclusion.

Fresh off TV's Danger Man, Patrick McGoohan is quite effective playing a manipulative creep. Paul Harris (Across 110th Street) gives a strong turn, with the requisite mixture of charm and jealousy. Martin Stevens' Delia is less effective, her Desdemona too thinly-sketched to make an impact. Future Henry VIII, Keith Michell, plays Cass, and Betsy Blair (Marty) steals her scenes as Johnny's long-suffering wife. Jazz fans will love the impressive array of cameos: David Brubeck, John Dankworth, Charlie Mingus, Tubby Hayes.

All Night Long is very entertaining, but one feels the filmmakers chickened out towards the end. All the same, it's a unique take on Shakespeare that shouldn't be missed.

Victim

Basil Dearden's Victim (1961) is a remarkable film. Extremely controversial in its time, it's still one of the best movies addressing gay rights.

Meville Farr (Dirk Bogarde) is a successful barrister with a loving wife (Sylvia Sims) and an eye towards the bench. But Farr's ambitions come crashing down when "Boy" Barrett (Peter McEnery) commits suicide after being arrested for theft. Barrett was a homosexual, and a blackmailer photographed him in a compromising position with Farr. Galvanized by Barrett's death, Barr confronts his own sexuality and determines to track down Barrett's tormentors, at great risk to his reputation.

Homosexuality was illegal in the UK until 1967, and at least taboo everywhere else. The US had experienced a "lavender scare" in the '50s, expelling homosexuals from government positions in a form of "sexual McCarthyism." The UK's harsh anti-sodomy laws gained much attention (and outcry) with John Gielgud's 1953 arrest for public lewdness. Even beyond criminalization lay widespread ostracization that forced gays to repress or hide their true feelings. Gay rights were nearly-unthinkable at the time.

The Hayes Code prevented Hollywood movies from confronting the issue, leading to a lot of "coded" characters in noirs, horror films and epics. Famously, Crossfire changed its gay murder victim to a Jew, while Stanley Kubrick was forced to cut a scene in Spartacus that implied Crassus's bisexuality. The rare films that confronted the topic (Tea and Sympathy, The Children's Hour) had to tiptoe awkwardly around it. Even today, mainstream Hollywood remains touchy on gay subjects: witness the sneering backlash accorded Alexander and Brokeback Mountain. Even Milk's passionate pleading is couched within a cliched biopic.

In this climate, Victim was an extremely brave film. Basil Dearden had already provided tough looks at controversial subjects in Sapphire (1959) and The League of Gentlemen (1960). Victim was the first English film to use "homosexual," the least of its sins from a censorship point of view: it was banned in America and faced heavy censorship at home.

Victim admirably avoids stereotype, portraying London gays as fairly ordinary. They hold varying respectable jobs (actor, hairdresser, book store owner) and fear exposure for the sake of their reputation. Some are conned into ratting on their friends, and a few unscrupulous types play their own blackmail games. This portrayal makes the injustice far easier to contemplate; good people are victimized for their sexuality, an unjust law making them easy targets for unscrupulous criminals.

Some modern viewers critique Victim for its lack of "advocacy" which misses the point entirely. The tact and lack of impassioned speechmaking makes the drama that much more effective. One oblique comparison is Judgment at Nuremberg, where every character serves as a mouthpiece for a point of view. Victim's characters are people, and their speeches come from the heart: Farr's anguished recounting of a past affair ("I *WANTED* him!"), a hairdresser (Charles Lloyd Pack) traumatized as a thug wrecks his shop, the bookseller's (Norman Bird) heartache over a lost love.


Victim plays it safe in other ways. The blackmailers provide easy villains to root against (if harder to defeat). The movie is ambiguous as to whether Farr consummated his relationship with Barrett, and hints at a reconciliation with his wife. Even so, the ending is decidedly qualified. Farr's life and career are likely ruined even if he wins. And if the criminals are a small problem, we do get glances of casual bigotry, from a crabby bartender to a prejudiced policeman (John Cairney), that suggest the real work lies ahead.

Dearden's direction is appropriately oppressive, all brooding shadows and deep focus courtesy of Otto Heller. Dearden and writers Janet Green and John McCormack give things a thriller structure to keep the plot moving, with clever twists and character revelations to keep the audience guessing. Philip Green provides a melodramatic score.

Dirk Bogarde sheds his matinee idol image with a remarkable performance. One can only speculate how much of Bogarde's own life found its way into Farr, but regardless it's a first-rate job. Farr's refusal to help Barrett leads to his death, his crusade is driven as much by guilt as morality. Bogarde handles his dramatic moments with passion, the right mixture of brooding angst, tortured pleading and self-assurance.

Sylvia Sims (Operation Crossbow) handles a tough role with admirable delicacy, wanting to stand by her man but appalled at his deceit. Peter McEnery (Tunes of Glory) makes a striking impression in his brief screentime. London's gay culture is assayed by a memorable array of actors: Dennis Price (Kind Hearts and Coronets), Nigel Stock (The Night of the Generals), Norman Bird (Oh! What a Lovely War), Hilton Edwards. John Barrie (Patton) gets a nice role as a sympathetic policeman. The head blackmailer is played by Derren Nesbett, the preening Gestapo creep from Where Eagles Dare.

Victim is an extraordinary film. Certain directors would have done well to copy Basil Dearden's ability to convey a message without obnoxious posturing.

The League of Gentlemen

Basil Dearden's The League of Gentlemen (1960) is an excellent film. Dearden mixes an enjoyable crime story with a subversive edge.

Colonel J.G.H. Hyde (Jack Hawkins) has recently been drummed out of the British Army, and decides to get his own back by organizing a bank robbery. He recruits several fellow veterans for the job: Race (Nigel Patrick), a cultured cynic and black marketeer; Lexy (Richard Attenborough), an ace radiographer; Rupert (Terence Alexander), a sad sack cuckolded by his materialstic wife; Mycroft (Roger Livesey), a pornographer turned priest; Porthill (Bryan Hill), drummed out for an apparent war crime on Cyprus; Stevens (Kieron Moore), an outed homosexual; and Weaver (Norman Bird), an explosive expert. Hyde believes that the authorities will be no match for the ex-soldiers, and indeed their planning and heist seem to succeed brilliantly. Unfortunately, the devil is in the details.

The League of Gentlemen is a cracking heist film that gets everything right. British entries in the genre (The Day They Robbed the Bank of England, The Lavender Hill Mob) generally rely on cunning rather than the violence of American counterparts, and this film is no exception. A preliminary heist to steal arms from an army depot (shades of The Dirty Dozen?) is pulled off through bluff and cunning, our protagonists easily outwitting gormless garrison troops. Bryan Forbes's script provides its share of droll humor, with careful, inventive plotting: the heist goes off without a hitch, and things unravel in a clever and unexpected way.

League is also noteworthy for its edgy content. The opening, of Hyde creeping out from a manhole into a Rolls-Royce, sets the subversive tone. The story is a damning indictment of post-war England: its military heroes have been forgotten or deliberately cast off, forced into menial jobs in an impersonal welfare state. There is overt sexual inneundo in characters' dealings with women, and Hyde gets a big laugh with a surprising profanity. Stevens is openly homosexual, subject to slurs from his colleagues and blackmail from criminals. (Dearden built upon this in his next film, Victim.) 1960 audiences must have been jolted.

Jack Hawkins is ideally cast, subverting a career's worth of military roles (Bridge on the River Kwai, Lawrence of Arabia) in a stroke. Droll Nigel Patrick (The Sound Barrier) and chummy Richard Attenborough (10 Rillington Place) provide a perfect foil to Hawkins's professionalism. Terence Alexander (The Day of the Jackal), Norman Bird, Bryan Forbes (The Guns of Navarone), Kieron Moore (The Day They Robbed the Bank of England) and an antiquated Roger Livesey (The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp) play other members of the team. Attentive viewers can spy Nigel Green (Zulu) and Oliver Reed (Lion of the Desert) in early roles.

The League of Gentlemen has just about everything you'd want from a heist film. Its clever plotting and edgy thematic material make it among the genre's best.

Khartoum

Basil Dearden's Khartoum (1966) is a fairly typical '60s Roadshow Epic. Slow-moving, talky and a bit stiff, it nonetheless musters considerable entertainment value in its sweeping vistas and rousing battle scenes.

Sudan, 1883. The Mahdi (Laurence Olivier), a Muslim fanatic, leads an uprising against Anglo-Egyptian authority, slaughtering an Egyptian army under Colonel Hicks (Edward Underdown). Fearing to commit themselves too heavily, Prime Minister Gladstone (Ralph Richardson) dispatches the colorful General Charles Gordon (Charlton Heston) to evacuate Khartoum of its non-Muslim population. Already revered for his efforts in stamping out slavery in the Sudan, Gordon begins organizing his own army to fight the Mahdi, much to the chagrin of his aide, Colonel Stuart (Richard Johnson). As the Mahdi prepares to attack Khartoum, a British army is belatedly sent to relieve Gordon - but it's already too late.

With its eccentric British hero, cynical take on imperialism, Middle Eastern setting, sweeping desert vistas and cast-of-thousands battles, Khartoum has ambitions of being another Lawrence of Arabia, but it doesn't come close. The movie quickly establishes a sluggish, static pace: long-winded, almost-nonsensical narration, an indifferently-staged massacre and a lengthy scene with Gladstone and other bigwigs occur before we even meet Gordon. The film doesn't pick up until the one-hour mark, and even then it's largely inert outside of the battles. It's too plot-heavy and talky for a straightforward adventure, but the efforts to add substance are mixed at best.

A major failing is the cast of one-note archetypes. Gordon is larger-than-life and charismatic, but we get little sense of what drives him, beyond vanity and a vague love of the Sudan - let alone why the Sudanese would swear undying allegiance to him. The Mahdi is a pan-Islamist with delusions of grandeur (not unlike Herbert Lom in El Cid), and other Sudanese are slightly above Gunga Din stereotypes - Gordon's servant (Johnny Sekka) even mistakes him for Christ! Stuart seems to exist to have puerile arguments with Gordon. Character is a general failing of epics, with few transcending the demands of spectacle, and Khartoum is no exception.

The movie's portrayal of imperial politics is a high point. Robert Ardrey's script intelligently portrays imperial maintenance as a game of bluff and brinksmanship. Gladstone, wanting to avoid disastrous adventures like Isandlwana, sends Gordon to Khartoum to save British face while washing his hands of responsibility. Such equivocation is useless against a determined foe like the Mahdi, and many die needlessly for a politically-safe "gesture". Our own recent history shows that military equivocation and half-hearted projection of power bring only grief.

Dearden manages an excellent production. With the help of cinematographer Edward Scaife, legendary second-unit man Yakima Canutt and art director John Howell, Dearden creates a top-notch spectacle. The Egyptian locations are unquestionably gorgeous, the period sets and costumes elegantly recreated, and the battles are mostly excellent - particularly the finale, with its thundering explosions, toppling ladders, and swords running with stage blood - this is why epics are made! Frank Cordell's rousing, dramatic score is another high point.

Charlton Heston is perfect as Gordon, his faltering accent aside: no one else could face down a murderous crowd with only a walking stick and get away with it. I'm torn what to make of Laurence Olivier's Mahdi: his blackface and accent are ridiculous, but he's imposing nonetheless, issuing dread proclamations and brandishing severed hands with gusto. Richard Johnson (a one-time James Bond contender) is completely one-note: little wonder his career never took off. The supporting cast is bristling with top British talent: Ralph Richardson (Doctor Zhivago), Michael Hordern (Where Eagles Dare), Nigel Green (Zulu), Alexander Knox (Nicholas and Alexandra), Peter Arne (Straw Dogs) and Zia Mohyeddin (Lawrence of Arabia).

Khartoum succeeds as a rousing battle epic, but little more. It's worth a look, but the unpretentious adventure of The Four Feathers (1939), also set during the Mahdist War, would be recommended first.