Showing posts with label Terence Rattigan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Terence Rattigan. Show all posts

Monday, September 16, 2013

The Browing Version (1951)

The Browning Version (1951) renders Terence Rattigan's one-act play into a fine film. Anthony Asquith's adaptation retains focus on Rattigan's story, anchored by Michael Redgrave's marvelous performance.

Andrew Crocker-Harris (Michael Redgrave) teaches classics at an English public school. Stuffy and pedantic, he's universally loathed by his students, who call him "The Crock" and "the Himmler of the 5th level." Before retiring, Crocker confronts his failings: wife Millie (Jean Kent) has been cheating on him with fellow teacher Frank (Nigel Patrick), while his replacement (Ronald Howard) makes Crocker aware of his reputation. He does strike up an unlikely friendship with Taplow (Brian Smith), a precocious boy who reminds Crocker of the promise he'd long since abandoned.

The Browning Version mainly proves a tragic character study. Crocker is the opposite of movie teachers from John Keating to Jean Brodie. Completely devoid of charisma or empathy, he alternately bores and badgers his students to compensate for mediocrity. He'd failed in his efforts to translate Aeschylus; his marriage is a joke. Yet it shocks him to be compared with Himmler, and to learn his students mock him behind his back. So long as he believed he made a difference, Crocker tolerates his shortcomings; but at play's end, he hasn't even that straw to grasp.

Rattigan contrasts this pathetic soul with a scathing portrait of public education. Beneath the school's dignified atmosphere lies a hotbed of pettiness and resentment. One teacher departs from school to play cricket, being lionized by faculty and students alike. Rattigan doesn't elide Crocker's lack of pedagogic talent, yet shows Crocker positively created obsessed with money, status and sport. This is well-trod theatrical ground (Bolt's The Tiger and the Horse, Bennett's The History Boys) yet seems especially disturbing at grade school level. Students learning to place sport and advancement ahead of academics certainly hasn't gone away.

Michael Redgrave scores with his best film role. It's a tricky character: play up the bore too much, and Crocker's just a hateful simp. Play the sympathy card, make him too likeable, and he becomes a sentimental sod. Redgrave finds a perfect middle ground, underplaying the role with weary resignation and regret. Crocker becomes not only pitiable but almost tragic; in an inversion of Goodbye Mr. Chips, his valedictory address forces him to confront his failure.

Nigel Patrick (The League of Gentlemen) proves a perfect foil, a basically decent man who regrets his role in unraveling Crocker-Harris's delusions. Jean Kent plays Millie as a savage lady monster, seeming to relish humiliating Crocker. Wilfrid Hyde-White (My Fair Lady) plays an uncharacteristically nasty role, transmogrifying his velvety charm into cutting sarcasm. Brian Smith makes a familiar role, the overly wise kid, effective and poignant.

The Browning Version holds up well in its simplicity. I've not seen the 1994 version with Albert Finney, but this works well as a straightforward adaptation. Rattigan's plays are compelling enough without the exigences of "opening things up."

Saturday, August 3, 2013

Separate Tables


Cinema's treated Terence Rattigan much better than most playwrights. The Browning Version, The Winslow Boy and The Deep Blue Sea all have respectable film versions, not mentioning Rattigan's own screenwriting work. Best-remembered is the ensemble drama Separate Tables (1958), directed by Delbert Mann. More conventional than, say, Terence Davies' expressionist Deep Blue Sea, it's still a fine adaptation.

Bournemoth's classy Beauregard Hotel serves as the meeting place for troubled individuals. Disgraced politician John Malcolm (Burt Lancaster) confronts his needy ex-wife Anne (Rita Hayworth). Socially awkward Sybil (Deborah Kerr) flirts with windbag war hero Major Pollocks (David Niven), even after her mother (Gladys Cooper) discovers the Major's unsavory past. An unhappy younger couple (Rod Taylor and Audrey Dalton) flits around the edges. Presiding over them is Miss Cooper (Wendy Hiller), whose unfussy, uncritical manner provides comfort to her customers.

Separate Tables serves as a powerful mediation on loneliness. Each character struggles to forge meaningful connections with other people, desperate to avoid unhappiness. Anne can't move on from John's rejection and tries to seduce him, even as John pursues Miss Cooper. More effective is Major Pollocks: he cultivates a reputation as a gallant bore, desperately hiding his past as a pathological pervert. Sybil is so desperate to break free from her mother's control that she pursues the Major, even after learning his secret. Rattigan interweaves these stories with deftness and insight, ending on a wistful note.

Rattigan's original work consists of two standalone one-act plays. Mann, Rattigan and cowriter John Gay open things up with more characters and exterior scenes, blending the two stories together. The adaptation works marvelously, creating a felicitous dramatic flow and interplay that allows each plot room to breathe. Rattigan's style and settings are safely middle class but convey universal themes and emotions.

Separate Tables' big appeal comes with the all-star cast. Co-producer Burt Lancaster does another variant of his leering cad, resisting the advances of aging Rita Hayworth. David Niven plays remarkably against-type as a desperate, beaten loser. Deborah Kerr gracefully conveys Sibyl's wounded naivety, despite seeming too old for the role. Wendy Hiller won an Oscar as the businesslike matron. May Hallat, Gladys Cooper and Felix Aylmer inhabit supporting roles; Rod Taylor has a marginal cameo.

Today Separate Tables plays very old-fashioned, but that's part of its charm. Mann's restrained direction allows us to focus on Rattigan's very human story.

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

The Deep Blue Sea (2011)

Based on Terence Rattigan's best play, The Deep Blue Sea (2011) provides a stellar stage adaptation. Terence Davies transforms this classic melodrama into a moody think piece, buoyed by beautiful imagery and brilliant acting.

Hester Collyer (Rachel Weisz) is a bored 30-something woman in postwar London. Surviving a suicide attempt, she's forced to confront her past failings. Her marriage to the affable but dull Judge Sir William Collyer (Simon Russell Beale) drove her into an affair with Freddie Page (Tom Hiddleston), a handsome but feckless RAF pilot. Unable to find happiness in either relationship, Hester's forced to reconfigure her shattered life.

The Deep Blue Sea transfigures Rattigan's "well-made play" into elegant, cinematic form. Davies fleshes the story out with moody flashbacks and musical interludes: tunes like "Molly Malloy" and "You Belong to Me" evoke both their time period and characterization. Florian Hoffmeister's brooding photography, all dark blues and muted browns, provides an evocative, almost dreamlike quality. For a stage adaptation the film's sparse on dialogue; Davies allows the melancholy visuals - drab wallpaper, bombed-out rubble, dingy pubs and lurking shadows - to emphasize the human drama.

Inevitably, Rattigan purists will regret adaptation alterations. Besides opening up the story, Davies also pares down many extant speeches which lessen some of the drama's edges. The male characters suffer particularly: Collyer not only loses his meatiest lines, but actually lives with his harping mother (Barbara Jefford). Thus, he's a wretched sap and no serious competitor for Hester. Freddie fares better, but his big scenes with pal Jackie (Harry Haddon-Paton) are exponentially reduced. Good acting shores up this weak spot, but Davies clearly seems more interested in Hester than his leading men.

Adaptation aside, Sea retains Rattigan's meatiest content. Hester's passion contrasts against a dour world of self-denial, of which Collyer's the most obvious representative. She recognizes Freddie as a shallow fraud, but relishes her carnal attraction to the man - something Collyer can't understand. Certainly his mother can't, advising her that passion leads only to ugliness. Rattigan makes much of attempted suicide's illegality; it's an expression of unrestrained emotion unbecoming in middle class society. Having fun in austerity Britain itself feels criminal, especially for women.

Rachel Weisz anchors the show. Hester's a difficult character: some consider her a feminist for striking out on her own, but it's in pursuit of selfish ends. She's a delicate balancing act between melodrama heroine and independent woman. Weisz assays the role with remarkable nuance and skill. She hones her emotions to a fine point, without playing for obvious big emotions: a subtle gesture, tearful glance or expressively-smoked cigarette suffice.

Tom Hiddleston (The Avengers) provides a perfect mix of vulgar cad and insouciant charmer. Not terribly self-aware, Freddie's nonetheless clever enough to recognize things with Hester can't work. Simon Russell Beale fares admirably in the weakest part; this Collyer's not pathetic but strong-willed, rather an emasculated milquetoast. But Beale still draws considerable power with his understated, sad-eyed acting. Supporting roles go to Harry Haden-Patton, Ann Mitchell and Barbara Jefford.

The Deep Blue Sea casts a cold, weary eye on the vagaries of love. It plays like a riposte to Brief Encounter; Hester's brought back from the brink, but she can't just return home. Now she's lost both men and must find her own way. That Hester retains sympathy at story's end is Rattigan's finest achievement.

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Another Lawrence: Terence Rattigan's Ross (1960)

Alec Guinness as T.E. Lawrence, in Ross's original run. (Source)
Groggy hopes his readers will indulge him one final excursion into Lawrence-iana. Last weekend I discovered that the Internet Archive has Terence Rattigan's play Ross: A Dramatic Portrait (1960) available for free, legal download. I'll offer a brief history of the play and review its contents, comparing its dramatic choices and depiction of T.E. Lawrence with David Lean's film.

A Tortured Genesis

Terence Rattigan (Source)
Ross began as a film project for the Rank Organization. In 1955, producer Anatole de Grunwald commissioned Rattigan to pen a screenplay based on Basil Liddell Hart's T.E. Lawrence in Arabia and After (1934). The movie was to be shot in Iraq, ruled by the descendants of Lawrence's ally Emir Feisal, with Anthony Asquith directing and Dirk Bogarde as Lawrence. However, in July 1958 Iraqi army officers overthrew Iraq's King Feisal II and the project was scrapped.

Rattigan's interest in Lawrence stemmed from a personal connection: in 1913 his father befriended Sir Ronald Storrs, later Lawrence's chief at the Arab Bureau. Rattigan read The Mint (1955), Lawrence's Royal Air Force memoir, and wondered why such a successful man would become a "gentleman ranker." Like Lean and Robert Bolt, he thought Deraa held the answer: "It was shattering to suspect what was in the back of his tremendous will power," namely repressed homosexuality. Michael Darlow says Rattigan, himself gay, "put more of himself into Ross than he had dared in any previous play."

Thus inspired, Rattigan reworked his script for the stage. Ross debuted at the Royal Haymarket Theater in London in May 1960, with Alec Guinness as Lawrence. It received positive reviews despite Sam Spiegel's efforts to suppress it. The resulting legal controversy, along with complaints by A.W. Lawrence about its portrayal of TEL only fanned public interest. The show went on to a Broadway run the following year with John Mills replacing Guinness.

In 1961 Ross again seemed destined for the screen. Herbert Wilcox, founder of the British National Company, purchased the rights and asked Rattigan to write the screenplay. With Lawrence of Arabia already in production, Sam Spiegel threatened to sue Wilcox; nonetheless, Wilcox announced Ross would proceed starring Laurence Harvey. Various legal battles made it fall through, and Ross joined past Lawrence projects (Alexander Korda's '30s version, a proposed Powell & Pressburger epic) on the cinematic scrapheap. In 1970 Ian McKellen featured in a TV adaptation, a far cry from the proposed epic.

Shaping the Drama

Lawrence (John Mills) meeting General Allenby (John Williams). From the 1961 Broadway production
The obvious difficulty in comparing Ross with Lawrence of Arabia is that one is a play, the other a film. Even discussing Lawrence's screenplay isn't fair, as budget allows for more characters and infinitely greater scope. Even so, we can compare the works' dramatic choices and characterization.

Rattigan bookends the play with Lawrence hiding in the RAF as "Aircraftman Ross." His insouciance irritates his superiors, who think he's mouthing off when he mentions dining with George Bernard Shaw and Lady Astor. He's nonetheless liked by his peers, whose chumminess allows Lawrence to "remember... what it was to feel like living" (42). Lieutenant Dickinson provides the dramatic catalyst, recognizing "Ross" and threatening to expose him to the newspapers.

Though overstuffed with characters, these scenes codify Ross's drama. Unlike Lean, Rattigan is less interested in Lawrence the myth than Lawrence the man. As we'll see, Ross provides a very definite picture of its protagonist. By showing Lawrence after the war, hiding yet hinting at his identity, awkwardly palling around with fellow rankers, Rattigan quickly establishes Lawrence's personality.

Rattigan provies exposition through a dream sequence. Journalist Franks gives a Lowell Thomas lecture recounting Lawrence's life in heroic fashion. Like the opening of Lean's film, various personages who've known Lawrence (Allenby, Auda abu Tayi, Ronald Storrs, Barrington) give conflicting responses about his importance and truthfulness. Rattigan's scene is more imaginative but serves the same function as Lawrence's funeral: Lawrence the legend, defined by those who knew him. This scene also provides exposition on the Arab Revolt.

Like Lawrence of Arabia, Ross depicts Lawrence's execution of an Arab murderer to avoid a blood feud. Lean and Bolt telescope two characters from Seven Pillars for potent dramatic effect, just before Aqaba. Rattigan more accurately shows the execution earlier and makes it a key character moment. Lawrence's outsider status legitimizes the execution but also serves as his entry into the Arab world. He must prove himself through violence.

Similarly, Lawrence sports Arab robes from his first scene in Arabia. In the film Lawrence only dons his costume after saving Gassim and being accepted as "El Aurens." Here, being an Arab is an integral part of his role. That said, Ronald Storrs disapproves, believing (not incorrectly) that Lawrence is enjoying himself too much. Both play and film feature Lawrence primping in his robes, relishing some "amateur theatricals."

Lawrence's initial meeting with Allenby provides another point of divergence. Lean provides a tense scene where Allenby manipulates Lawrence's vanity and desire for a confidant. In Ross, Allenby is both impressed and befuddled by Lawrence. Their chat is more amiable, even humorous: between strategy the two discuss poetry and gardening. There's no question of Lean's warped paternalism: Allenby and Lawrence here are respectful colleagues. No callow villain this Allenby, either: he's an honorable man who regrets ordering Lawrence back into the field.

Rattigan's most extreme re-interpretation concerns Deraa. He accurately depicts Lawrence's capture during a reconnaissance. But Ross shows the Turkish Bey recognizing Lawrence and ordering his defilement. He recognizes Lawrence's latent sexuality and determines to break his will. Thus Lawrence's rape is calculated villainy rather than an incidental atrocity. This invention is, to be kind, hard to swallow.

Rattigan's Lawrence
Lawrence (John Mills) plots Aqaba's capture with Auda abu Tayi (Paul Sparer).
Ross proves most effective examining Lawrence. While Lawrence of Arabia shows a mythic Lawrence, his true nature unknown even by himself, Ross provides a very down-to-earth hero. Eccentric, ambitious and tormented yes - but an identifiable person.

Rattigan views Lawrence as worshiping "a false God... the will" (32), pushing himself to great feats through determination. Lawrence achieves great things but doesn't view himself disproportionately. He strenuously argues against being sent back to the Arabs, fearing his unfitness but also disgusted by the Sykes-Picot Treaty (which Lawrence knows from the start). This is far more benign than the movie's megalomaniac who thinks he can work miracles.

Lawrence's puckish sense of humor and insouciance come off strongly. While Lean's Lawrence is an abrasive outsider in Cairo, Rattigan's Lawrence is well-liked by his RAF peers. This humor's present in flashbacks too, as when he bluffs a Turkish officer bribing Auda to turn Lawrence in. Ross shows an extremely likeable Lawrence, for all his faults.

Rattigan treats Lawrence's sexuality delicately. The play hints at homosexuality through his affectionate relationship with his servants Hamed and Rashed (Farraj and Daud surrogates), his love of Arab dress and his asceticism. Nonetheless, it seems latent until Deraa, when Lawrence is made violently aware of repressed feelings. Surely censorship played a role, but I imagine Rattigan's predilections prevented him from flouncy stereotyping.

Like Lean and Bolt, Rattigan shows Lawrence in decline after Deraa but approaches it differently. Rattigan shows Lawrence not "enjoying" the bloodshed unleashed at Tafas or his execution of Hamed, but simply too burned out to care. He's lost "the citadel of his integrity," he's had to execute Hamed and his superiors have betrayed the Arabs. By war's end he's thoroughly beaten, admitting himself "lost to all human feeling" (163) and eager to vanish from public life.

Some difference between Ross and Lawrence of Arabia was probably inevitable. After all, Lean's Lawrence features in a large-than-life epic. He needs to make a mark amidst gorgeous desert scenery, sweeping battle scenes and armies of extras. Hence Robert Bolt's accentuation of Lawrence's ego, sadomasochism and neuroses, his flamboyant posturing amidst tortured introspection. Striding a mere stage, Rattigan's Lawrence is more down-to-earth and approachable, yet no less compelling.

Conclusion

Lawrence with servants Rashid (Joseph Della Sorte) and Hamed (Cal Bellini).
We can only speculate how Ross would have functioned as a film. Certainly a movie would fill in the missing battle scenes, travels and spectacle the play only hints at. Leaving violent scenes like Hamed and Rashid's deaths off-stage weakens the drama considerably.

Rattigan nonethless succeeds on several levels. His Lawrence is both psychologically and biographically plausible, lacking Lean and Bolt's sensationalism. He does a better job presenting Lawrence and the Arab Revolt in its historical context. Finally, by focusing on Lawrence's post-war life he adds a fresh dimension to the drama.

Ross has two serious faults. First, its flat supporting cast. Of Lawrence's RAF colleagues only Dickinson stands out, a predictably treacherous villain. Allenby and Auda are well-drawn, but Storrs and Franks are flat and Barrington a boorish martinet. Rashed and Hamed are mostly defined by their own relationship. There's no foil like Ali, Lawrence's Arab double, or Colonel Brighton, who grows to admire Lawrence. Rattigan's Lawrence is a fascinating man surrounded by ciphers. Lean's Lawrence has far more interesting co-stars.

The Deraa scene is even more objectionable. Like Bolt, Rattigan finds it a handy explanation for Lawrence's mental decline. It's bad enough the Bey divines Lawrence's sexuality through an intelligence report. But to knowingly capture Lawrence, "destroy" him and let him go? This is a contrived plot device from a bad comic strip. I didn't buy Bane doing it to Batman in The Dark Knight Rises and it's even less acceptable in an historical drama.

Ross is a good play by a good playwright. While Rattigan hones nearer to the real Lawrence, his drama is more contrived and less powerful than the Lean/Bolt interpretation. In fairness though, Rattigan lacks 70mm photography and a cast of thousands to support his characterization.

Note on Sources

Background info on Ross comes from Kevin Brownlow's David Lean: A Biography (1996) and Piers Paul Read's Alec Guinness: The Authorized Biography (2003). Biographical info on Terence Rattigan comes from Terence Rattigan: The Man and His Work by Michael Darlow & Gillian Hodson (1979). Aside from the two sourced photos, all pictures taken from the Internet Archive upload of Ross linked above.

Previous articles in this series:

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Lean Quest! The Sound Barrier

Composer Malcolm Arnold figures that David won't realize he made a lousy film if the music is really, really loud (and sappy).

Okay, illness, busy-ness, and being home for the weekend have prevented me from blogging in the last few weeks. I hope my three regular readers, and whoever may stumble across the page via Facebook, will forgive me for that. Now, back with the program...

I continued my Lean quest on Thursday with The Sound Barrier (1952). This was the last movie he did with his third wife, the lovely, luminous Ann Todd, and the cast also includes Sir Ralph Richardson, Nigel Patrick, and a young Denholm Elliot (that Indiana Jones' boss to you, sir or madam).

You may never hear me say this about a David Lean film, ever again, especially if I'm successful in my plan to never think about this film, but here it is...

This movie sucks.



Now that you've picked your jaw up off the floor, perhaps I should get around to the review proper? Very well, I'm at work and have nothing better to do, so let's get cracking.

The film's plot revolves around a family in wartime Britain. Tony Garwaithe (Nigel Patrick) is a chipper, can-do ace pilot who falls in love with Susan Ridgefield (Ann Todd), the daughter of an aviation pioneer turned airplane designer (Ralph Richardson). The Ridgefield family is decidedly strained, as John can't connect with his daughter, and has a difficult relationship with his son Christopher (Denholm Elliot), who is afraid of flying. After Christopher dies in a plane crash, Susan becomes horrified when Tony is promoted to head test pilot for John's firm, who is experimented with jet technology to break the sound barrier (title alert). Can Susan live? Will John realize that there are more important things than work? Will family friends the Peels be important to the plot or contribute superfluous chatter? Will something bad befall our brave hero? Will Susan and her father reconcile by the end? Will the Sound Barrier be broken?

Well, what do we have here? I could and probably should dispatch with this film in a few terse sentences, but I'm me and you know that ain't gonna happen. This problem is exacerbated by the fact that I will probably never, ever, ever give a bad review to a David Lean film ever again.

This movie can be described very simply as a turgid, stiff and dull melodrama. With airplanes. Lots of air planes. Now, I should be fair; what else can you expect from a movie with this title? That's something of a defense, but it doesn't ignore the fact that this is a David Lean movie. This movie's melodrama is poorly constructed, clunky, cliched and dull. It's handled at a distance, with kid gloves, because Lean seems overwhelmed by the technology at hand and not really concerned with the story. The characters are predictable archetypes without any real character development (except Susan and maybe her dad); they serve simply to propel the plot forward and pad the run time when the planes are grounded. Rest assured though: Lots of planes fly in this movie, and not just breaking the sound barrier or crashing either. We have plane vacations to the Middle East, and a fighter pilot flying a plane around during the war just to show off. And a plane ride back to England. And in case you're bored with the stiff human characters in the foreground... MORE PLANES!
And of course, everyone is oh so British, a complaint I'd hardly make if something else was in this movie. Even an Anglophile like me can get irritated by the never-ending parade of stiff-upper-lippedness and cheerios if there's nothing else going on. And there isn't really much else going on - except lots of planes. Alright, cool David, you've got access to the RAF. Good show. Now make an interesting movie about it, for Christ's sake.

The movie has a few saving graces. Todd as always is gorgeous and as usual gives a solid, dignified performance in rather a weak role (although she's still behind Kay Walsh as my favorite Mrs. Lean - and I quite Lady Sandra, I must admit). The movie has a few moments of dramatic spark, namely the final two confrontations between Todd and Richardson - stuff the movie more or less skirted through most of its length. The art direction is good, and there are a few affecting moments - like when Tony opens up an unfortunately-headlined newspaper after converting his wife to the joys of flying. But, alas, the whole is completely dull and unmemorable. Even the direction and cinematography (save for the gorgeous aerial photography) is merely competent; and saying that about a David Lean movie is like saying that an Andy Warhol painting is a little weird, or Christopher Hitchens is a bit of a jerk, or Franklin Pierce was a disappointing President.

Seriously, read that sentence again: The cinematography is merely competent. I think the Universe just imploded.

Oh well, I made it through 15 Lean films before finding a bad one. There had to be one rotten apple in the bushel, and now it's disposed of. Even Hitchcock made Torn Curtain, so I shouldn't be surprised. All that's left on Lean quest is Hobson's Choice - stay tuned. If you're really good, you may get a bonus review for the bargain!


Rating: 5/10 - Mediocre