A Tragedy of Ridiculous Men: Historical Commentary on Tony Richardson's The Charge of the Light Brigade (1968)

When I first saw Tony Richardson's The Charge of the Light Brigade (1968) I found it curious and frustrating. Its mixture of social satire and antiwar polemic didn't sit well with me, though I admired things about it: the meticulous period detail, Trevor Howard's performance, John Addison's music, and of course Richard Williams' animation. It's steadily grown on me, however: I've revisited the film three times and enjoy it more with each viewing. While certainly flawed, its virtues grow more apparent over time.

As I'm highly suggestible, Charge provided a springboard into researching the Crimean War. I first read Cecil Woodham-Smith's The Reason Why (1953), the film's primary source, which led to other popular histories and then first-hand accounts. As a collage of gallantry, imperial rivalry and military incompetence the Crimea rivals the First World War, in drama if not scope. Certainly its effects were more far-reaching than generally recognized: not only in medical and military reforms but the unification of Italy, Prussia eclipsing Austria as Central Europe's power broker and increased Turkish nationalism. Even as my appreciation of Richardson's film grew, research presented another question: how accurate is The Charge of the Light Brigade?

This article examines The Charge of the Light Brigade through an historical and thematic lens. I will lean on The Reason Why except where the film deviates from it. As with my Lawrence of Arabia pieces, I'll balance historical critique with understanding the needs for dramatic compression. Accuracy isn't an end of itself, but it's worth examining why filmmakers alter history for dramatic purposes. Especially a movie like Charge that prides itself on supposed authenticity.

The Filmmaker, the Playwright and the Angry Young Man: Tony Richardson, Charles Wood and John Osborne

Tony Richardson (left) and John Osborne.

A lifelong outsider, Tony Richardson fought his way up the entertainment ladder through stage, TV and finally film. He won several Oscars for Tom Jones (1963), but made his mark with subversive "kitchen sink" dramas: Look Back in Anger (1958), A Taste of Honey (1961) and The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner (1962). Along with Anger playwright John Osborne, Richardson founded Woodfall Studios in 1958. A signatory of Lindsay Anderson's Free Cinema manifesto, Richardson rejected formalization for a more true-life style: "As filmmakers we believe that no film can be too personal... Perfection is not an aim" (Richardson 95).

Richardson thought The Reason Why "a brilliant piece of historical writing" (231) and spent years developing the project. Along with Osborne, Richardson began researching Charge in the mid-'60s, scouting locations in Turkey and negotiating with Turkish officials and English diplomats. While in preproduction, Richardson discovered that actor Laurence Harvey owned the rights to Woodham-Smith's book, forcing Woodfall to tread carefully.

To avoid legal complications, Richardson encouraged Osborne to avoid Woodham-Smith, drawing on Alexander Kinglake's Invasion of the Crimea (1863-1887) instead. However, Harvey's company sued Woodfall on the grounds that Osborne disregarded these instructions; Richardson admits the writer "had helped himself liberally to stylistic phrases and descriptions in The Reason Why" (232). Osborne subsequently fell out with Richardson, attacking the director's "use and misuse [of] the talents of others... with mocking vampire contempt" (Heilpern 347). Connelly informs us that Richardson mostly discarded Osborne's script.

Richardson now turned to Charles Wood. Wood wrote several several plays, including Cockade, H. and Prisoner and Escort, which drew on his military background (serving, appropriately, in Lord Lucan's 17th/21st Lancers) to satirize British society. He collaborated with Richard Lester on Swinging Sixties touchstones Help! and The Knack and How to Get It (both 1965), along with the antiwar satire How I Won the War (1967). After Woodfall settled with Harvey, Wood openly utilized The Reason Why; Woodham-Smith receives a credit in the film. Wood says his script shows "everything I felt about the British Empire, the British army, England under Queen Victoria and the first of the modern wars" (Connelly 25).

One couldn't assemble a better team for a caustic satire. The son of a Jewish chemist, Richardson resented "that virus of the British - class" (37) for making his parents "tool, skimp, sacrifice so that their son would have the opportunities they never had" (45) and delaying his entry into theater and film. Working class Osborne was the original "Angry Young Man," his plays showcasing the disillusionment of postwar Britons, while Wood ridiculed English society through subversive comedy. It's hardly surprising that they produced a movie that "charges us to question authority" (Cahir & Cahir 165).

Sweating the Small Stuff

Bingham's Dandies cut tight to a shadow.

It's obvious that Richardson, Osborne and Wood took great pains researching their subject. Over the movie's four year gestation, Richardson enlisted experts Andrew and John Mollo to research the Crimean era. They compiled their research into a book, Uniforms and Equipment of the Light Brigade (1968). Cinematographer David Watkin based his aesthetics on Scottish painter David Octavius Hill (Richardson 238); Vanessa Redgrave noted that women only wore period-appropriate makeup (158). For a director who claimed that "perfection is not an aim," he thoroughly replicated 1850s style and appearance.

Most evident are the costumes. Richardson effusively praised both the Mollos and production designer Lila de Nobili, a veteran of Luchino Visconti's epics, for their meticulous attention to detail. Though they clashed with Richardson over aesthetic decisions, the result is quite impressive. Cardigan's 11th Hussars became notorious for what The Times called "the brevity of their [gold-laced] jackets... the incredible tightness of their cherry-colored pants" (Woodham-Smith 62). However, Richardson inaccurately attired the entire Light Brigade in these britches. Historically the 15th and 17th Lancers sported dark blue trousers; only the Heavy Brigade appears correctly attired in a brief appearance.

Then there's the dialogue. Wood stressed the importance of language: "Once you find a language for the characters to speak... the rest seems to follow"; he even remained on-set helping actors master the dialect (Connelly 39-40). At one point, Cardigan and Lucan exchange arcane insults: Cardigan calls Lucan a stew stick and a poltroon (coward); Lucan replies that Cardigan is a bum roll (ladies' underwear). Wood showcases the cavalry's laughably affected lisps, with Captains Duberly and Featherstonehaugh, along with Riding Master Mogg, pronouncing r's as w's ("Gwey, sneaky coluh!") like Elmer Fudd (Woodham-Smith 140). Astonishingly this was a point of pride, distinguishing cavalry from the phonetically proper infantry.

Wood also incorporates dialogue from Woodham-Smith's account. Hence Fanny Duberly's comments on the 11th's uniforms paraphrasing The Times extract above; Cardigan saying that Lucan wasn't "fit to command an escort," though Lucan said it about Cardigan (Woodham-Smith 57); Lord Raglan wanting to keep his cavalry "in a bandbox" (176); and Cardigan muttering "here goes the last of the Brudenells" right before the Charge (237). Notably, the fateful exchange between Nolan, Cardigan and Lucan draws from Woodham-Smith's account almost verbatim (233-237).

Richard Williams: Rendering an Era

Victorian self-image.

Richard Williams' animated sequences provide Charge its most unique aspect. Williams, creator of Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, The Thief and the Cobbler and The Pink Panther's title sequence, spent nearly two years preparing his animation with a small crew and Richardson's close supervision. Williams' initial brief was to illustrate scenes too expensive for the filmmakers (namely the Army's sea voyage to Russia); however, they quickly grew integral to the film. They're a key facet of Charge, providing historical context while highlighting the story's satire.

Punch cartoon ca. 1854. Source

Williams' engravings pointedly undercut and satirize High Victorian jingoism. Images of England's industrial might contrast with children slaving in coal mines; a British lion dons a bobby's cap as war erupts between Russia and Turkey; Victoria lifts up her skirt to unleash the Royal Navy. Williams grows most extreme celebrating the fall of Sevastopol: a lion, French cockerel and Turkey dance on a tightrope; Victoria and Albert dance an angelic ballet while scarfing on St. Basil's Cathedral; a lion with bayonet teeth munches the Tsar's head. Then a cannon shot brings reality crashing back.

Williams draws heavily on contemporary Victorian art. The most obvious influence is Punch magazine, whose cartoons critiqued English politics and culture. Williams borrows specific images from Punch: the Russian bear menacing a fez-sporting Turkey; a sword-bearing Liberty, accompanied by an English lion, defending "Right Against Wrong." These segments illustrate Britain's sense of superiority as the 19th Century's economic and cultural center, and role as "the world's policeman."

Richard Williams' interpretation.

Mark Connelly notes that several sequences resemble John Tenniel's illustrations for the novels of Charles Dickens (41). This is most evident in the "war fever" segment; grotesque caricatures of politicians and officials as snaggle-toothed demons, gnawing chicken and screaming for "WAR!" This sequence demolishes England's moral pretensions. The defense of "Poor little turkey" is imperial gamesmanship; Britain and France prop up the Ottoman Empire to secure their respective empires from Russian encroachment. (The initiating "churchwarden's quarrel" [Royle 15] in the Holy Land, where Catholic and Orthodox monks clashed over the key to the Church of the Nativity, seems irrelevant.)

Here it's worth mentioning John Addison's score. For live action the music is either romantic (Nolan's soulful clarinet theme), funereal (Nolan and Co. surveying the Alma battlefield) or angry (discordant trumpets over the pre-Balaclava arguments). Over the animations, however, Addison becomes positively bombastic: blaring trumpets, lively woodwinds, snatches of Rule Britannia and La Marseillaise, a chorus proclaiming "The rule of British pride and strength." For the Crimean voyage, Addison even borrows a cue from his score for The Cockleshell Heroes (1955), a much more conventional war movie. His scoring provides another layer of satire.

As we've seen, Richardson, Wood and Williams get most of the details correct. In its look, feel and syntax, Charge rings true. Whether it's more broadly truthful, of course, is another matter.

Class Warfare: Indian Officers Versus the Purchase System

Upper class twits.

Not surprisingly, Charge's major themes concern class differences within Victorian England in general, and the military in particular. Early scenes contrast the ornate lifestyle of British officers with their poor, illiterate recruits, though Richardson abandons this angle later on. Everpresent is the clash between high-bred Lords Cardigan and Lucan and their ostensibly low-born subordinates. The filmmakers direct their opprobrium to the prejudice against officers with Indian service, and the purchase system.

Richardson captures the prejudiced, anti-intellectual attitudes of the British Army. Cardigan sniffs at Nolan as "some damned novelist!" and refers to him and Morris as "Indian devils." Observing a flogging, Mogg tells Nolan that an army founded on ideals and professionalism instead of discipline would be "Hun-Christian!" Lord Raglan sums things up later in a blackly comic speech: "It will be a sad day when England's armies are officered by men who know too well what they're doing. Smacks of murder!"

These sentiments are broadly true. Prejudice against "Indian" officers was pervasive in the British Army, a curious phenomenon given Wellington's service in India. It's undeniably true that aristocrats abused the purchase system: with no prior experience, Cardigan bought his lieutenant colonelcy of the 15th Hussars for £35,000 (Woodham-Smith 35)! These facts certainly suit Richardson's satirical intentions. Even so, it's undeniable Charge greatly simplifies these issues.

Generals in waiting.

Our modern, democratic society loathes the purchase system on principle, the embodiment of privilege overriding merit. Yet according to Woodham-Smith, "the purchase system expressed a principle which is one of the foundations of the British Constitution... No sentiment is more firmly rooted in the English national character than a hatred of militarism" (28). After Napoleon's coup d'etat and Prussia's powerful Junker class, fear of a standing army was hardly ridiculous. It's noteworthy that the system produced fine generals like Clive and Wellington, and in the Crimea James Scarlett and Sir Colin Campbell. Not to mention Nolan, who bought his lieutenant's commission in 1841.

All the same, the system's shortcomings were self-evident. Merit and money didn't often coincide, with many aristocrats seeing peacetime service as a platform for easy prestige. After the Crimean debacle, public outcry spelled purchase's demise. During the late 1860s Lord Cardwell enforced a sweeping series of military reforms, including abolition of the purchase system. Their leading proponent was Sir Garnet Wolseley, a Crimean veteran who opined "almost all our officers...were absolutely unfit for the positions they had secured through family and political interest" (Woodham-Smith 141).

We also can't assume the experience of Indian officers made them fitter for command. Britain's imperial armies occasionally encountered organized, well-armed foes, as in the Anglo-Sikh Wars of the 1840s. More often they were brushfire wars against Pathan brigands and African tribes, a far cry from fighting Russia. Alan Clark's influential World War I history The Donkeys (1962) ridiculed Haig, French and others for thinking experience fighting Boers and Pathans translated to competence fighting against Germany. If we accept Connelly's argument that Charge's filmmakers drew from Clark (18), this seems like Richardson and Wood having their cake and eating it.

Captain Nolan: Ambivalent Hero

Nolan embarks on his toughest mission: converting Vanessa Redgrave to Toryism.

Embodying these themes is Captain Louis Nolan, Charge's protagonist. Biographer David Buttery characterized Nolan as the "Messenger of Death," delivering Lord Raglan's fateful order that initiated the Charge. His exact role in the Charge, especially the circumstances of his death, remains controversial: Mark Adkin even accuses Nolan of deliberately sending Cardigan down the wrong valley! Richardson engages in considerable dramatic license to make him heroic.

Nolan was undoubtedly an extraordinary man. Son of a Scottish diplomat, he was educated abroad, serving in the Austrian cavalry before transferring to India. His books The Training of Cavalry Remount Horses (1852) and Cavalry: Its History and Tactics (1853) became standard works; he also designed a new cavalry saddle. Adkin claims Nolan "invited criticism by many who felt him to be conceited, rash and intolerant," (33), while M.M. Gilchrist argues this accusation came from jealous peers. He nonetheless impressed Quartermaster General Richard Airey; at the outbreak of war he sent Nolan to procure cavalry horses in Syria. He became Airey's aide-de-camp, playing a key role on Raglan's staff, until selected to deliver Raglan's "fourth order" on October 25th.

"You are drinking beer, sir! Porter beer!"

Film Nolan possesses many of the historical figure's traits. He's an expert horseman, even quoting a passage from Cavalry: "Horses are taught not by harshness but gentleness" (Nolan 167). Richardson accurately shows his friendships with journalist William Howard Russell and Captain William Morris of the 17th Lancers; however, his affair with Morris's wife is invention. He's shown being recommended to Raglan by Airey. Certainly his hauteur and contempt for hidebound, conservative army officers rings true, specific circumstances aside.

But Nolan also embodies the various officers who crossed Cardigan over the years. Among them: Augustus Wathen, whose feud with Cardigan led to the latter's dismissal from the 15th Lancers (Woodham-Smith 41-49); John Reynolds, protagonist of the "black bottle" affair depicted in the film (63-66); and Harvey Tuckett, with whom Cardigan fought a duel over a critical public letter (82-85). Nolan never served in the 11th Hussars and barely knew Cardigan; it was Lucan who earned most of his contempt. Additionally, while Richardson/Wood imply Nolan saw action in India this isn't the case; it was true of Captain Morris, who fought in the Anglo-Sikh War (Adkin 31).

It's acceptable for Wood to create a composite character, summing up decades of Cardigan rivalries and the
Army's broader systemic failures. Dramatically, strict accuracy would diffuse the conflict amongst a half-dozen officers with marginal screen time; concentrating on Nolan makes sense. All the same, such license distorts Nolan's character significantly. His brusque, insubordinate attitude at Balaclava is more understandable, even sympathetic, after being subjected to years of abuse by Cardigan.

Richardson and Wood don't elide Nolan's less flattering aspects. He's shown to be more eager for war than the senior officers, calling it "the stuff we've all been waiting for." His affair with Clarissa, wife of Captain Morris, undermines any claims to moral superiority. Nolan is very much an anti-hero, but still Charge's most sympathetic character. He's a smart, skilled, but arrogant man pushed over the edge by his superiors and ultimately sacrificed to their folly.

Rogue's Gallery: Lords Cardigan, Lucan and Raglan

The story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now.

Few would criticize Richardson's treatment of Lord Cardigan. Cardigan's egomania, exacting personality and martinet treatment are well-documented. As outlined above, the black bottle affair, arresting Reynolds for serving moselle in the officer's mess, was only one abuse amongst many. "Difference of opinion, even of the mildest kind, had a frightening effect on him" (Woodham-Smith 22), Cardigan subjecting his officers to strict discipline and humiliation. Even so, Cardigan's troopers reputedly admired him as the "Murat of the British Army" (David 364), a facet ignored by the film.

Richardson makes Cardigan his primary antagonist, the embodiment of aristocratic privilege against the young, reasonable Nolan. He routinely embarrasses his officers, forcing the green Codrington to eat lettuce and calling Mogg a "monkey" - and these are his toadies. Cardigan insults Nolan in the mess and enlists an unwilling Sergeant Major to spy on him. Every Sunday he pays soldiers to salute him on the street, stroking his ego and inflating his public image. While campaigning he plays the role of "gentleman adventurer"; forcing his men to pitch and repitch tents symmetrically, he spends evenings drinking on his private yacht with the porcine Squire De Burgh. Nothing shakes his sense of entitlement: not reprimands by Lord Raglan, not being booed at a theater, not the destruction of his Brigade.

Lord Lucan's portrayal is comparably one-dimensional. He's merely a foil for Cardigan, accentuating Cardigan's nastiness and providing another portrait of aristocratic idiocy. The movie omits Lucan's complicated back story: his forcible evictions of Irish tenants (Woodham-Smith 118-120), which earned him hatred in Ireland and criticism at home (123), and his service with the Russian army during the Russo-Turkish War of 1828 (34-35). But Richardson correctly shows his fractious relationship with Cardigan, stemming from Lucan's unhappy marriage to Cardigan's sister. Lord Raglan was so eager to keep them apart that he detached Cardigan to quasi-independent command. Not only did this exacerbate the feuding brother-in-laws, it opened a rift between Lucan and Raglan (194).

Lord Raglan, fighting the last war.

The filmmakers tread problematic waters with Raglan, the British commander-in-chief. Richardson depicts him as a senile old man still fighting the Napoleonic Wars: he'd lost an arm at Waterloo and spent years as the Duke of Wellington's secretary. He refers to the Russians as "the French" and literally dwells in Wellington's shadow after a statue's parked outside his office. Raglan is a comic figure, babbling to Fanny Duberly about "pretty things" like babies and table linen or awaking, terrified, at French cavalry appearing outside his office. Yet the humor takes on a dark tinge as this absentmindedness contributes to the Charge.

Raglan's performance in the Crimea remains controversial. Woodham-Smith's portrait anticipates the film: Raglan is well-meaning and amiable, but completely out of his depth leading an army: "Without the military trappings... one would never have guessed him to be a soldier" (156). Raglan mistaking the Russians for the French is well-documented, though perhaps not so malign as the film suggests (Woodham-Smith 162; Hibbert 277). Raglan's undeniable mistakes were trying to avoid Cardigan and Lucan's feud rather than resolve it, and his unclear orders to Lucan at Balaclava.

Other historians take a more sympathetic view. Christopher Hibbert admits Raglan's tactical mistakes but emphasizes his courage and generous nature which ensured a smooth relationship with his French and Turkish allies (who, notably, are all but ignored in Charge). Hibbert argues the press and government leaders scapegoated Raglan for higher-level administrative failings: "Members of the Government were determined that they... should not play the part" (228). Modern writers also differ in their assessments (cf. Adkin 240-241; Royle 398-400). Viewers must decide whether the film's Raglan is a fair representation.

The Curious Case of Mrs. Duberly

The Duberlys observe the Charge.

Most egregious, however, is the depiction of Frances "Fanny" Duberly, wife of Paymaster Henry Duberly of the 8th Hussars. Mrs. Duberly accompanied her husband on campaign, charming and browbeating Raglan and Cardigan for a front row seat. Her Journal Kept During the Russian War provides a valuable first-hand account of the conflict, describing how "the supporters of [England's] arms... be Liberty and Death" (Duberly 164). She was both admired and scorned; her books (later including an account of the Indian Mutiny) sold well, yet Queen Victoria forbade Duberly from dedicating her book to the Queen. Duberly was a woman who ventured into danger and spoke her mind, two things antithetical to Victorian values.

No one reading Duberly's journal, or E.E.P. Tisdall's Mrs. Duberly's Campaigns (1963), can avoid being impressed by this intelligent, fiercely determined woman. It's puzzling that Charge portrays her as a fatuous ninny, obsessed with war and sex. From her introduction Fanny ponders bedding Cardigan, drooling over his "beautiful head" and "looking like I want to be ridden by him." Richardson suggests that Duberly's promiscuity stems partially from social advancement, with his husband pushing Fanny on Cardigan. This culminates in Cardigan crudely seducing Fanny, a bawdy bedroom farce recalling Richardson's Tom Jones. This scene highlights Victorian hypocrisy, contrasting public virtue and private randiness (Cahir & Cahir 167).

Rumpy pumpy.

Rumormongers did romantically connect Fanny with Lord Cardigan. The Duberlys were frequent dinner guests of Lord Cardigan during the campaign, with Fanny's familiar conduct towards the general subject of much comment (David 422). Yet in private correspondence, she told sister Selina that "I detest him" (Tisdall 56), viewing the cavalier with mixed pity and contempt. Flattering Cardigan's ego was necessary to gain access to the front: for his part, Cardigan enjoyed flirting with a pretty woman in a war zone. Their relationship went no further.

If Richardson and Wood merely hoped to highlight Cardigan's debauchery, there were historical alternatives. For one, in 1843 Cardigan had an extramarital affair with Fanny Paget, sister-in-law of Lord George Paget of the 15th Hussars (Woodham-Smith 95-96; David 257-262). This liaison, which inevitably boiled over into public scandal, would have served Richardson's attack on aristocratic licentiousness without distorting the historical record. Even conflating George with his brother would be no more egregious than Nolan standing in for Reynolds et al.

Professor Connelly suggests that screenwriter Wood may have wanted to deflate Fanny Duberly's unblemished reputation. For him and Richardson, a war so ludicrous as the Crimea could produce no genuine heroes. This puckish conceit, in keeping with Wood's antiwar, antimilitary preoccupations, explains as well as anything the decision to misrepresent such a remarkable personage.

Balaclava: The Main Event 

Into the Valley of Death.

With the stage set, on to the film's main event: the Battle of Balaclava (October 25th, 1854). Fittingly, Charge's climax epitomizes the mix of authenicity with dramatic license. We'll not impute motive to any deviations when practical reasons can account; we can, however, consider their effect.

The scene opens with Lucan and his staff spotting "two flags" on the road to Balaclava. Lucan asks a subordinate if he's sure the flags mean a Russian advance - and is answered immediately by cannon fire! This remarkable moment is documented in Lord George Paget's memoirs, and recounted by Woodham-Smith (213). The shelling rouses Cardigan from slumber on his yacht, helped hurriedly into uniform by Squire De Burgh and Fanny Duberly, who first gives Cardigan a lusty kiss. The former is accurate; the latter, again, is not.

Any more questions, My Lord?

Richardson next shows Russian troops quickly overrunning the British redoubts defending Balaclava. This distorts what really happened: the redoubts were defended by Turkish troops rather than British, who offered stiff resistance but fell to overwhelming numbers (Woodham-Smith 214-215). This alteration may have been a sop to the Turkish military, who contributed 3,500 extras to the production. The comic scene of Sir George Brown refusing to deploy his Infantry Division until he's finished breakfast really happened, though with George Cathcart instead of Brown (Hibbert 133).

More notable is the absence of Balacava's second- and third-most famous events: the "Thin Red Line," where Colin Campbell's 93rd Highlanders repulsed the Russian cavalry, and the Charge of James Scarlett's Heavy Brigade, routing a far superior enemy force. In the latter, Cardigan ignored a discretionary order by Lucan to counterattack the fleeing Russians. Many historians think that if Cardigan had advanced, the Russians would have been routed and the battle won (Woodham-Smith 227-228; Hibbert 140).

A cynic might suggest Richardson and Wood elided these incidents because British victories would distract from their antiwar theme. In fact, Richardson filmed at least the Heavy Brigade's charge (Richardson 239; Welsh & Tibbets 35-36). Since Campbell and Scarlett received prominent introductions earlier in the film (Campbell leading his brigade at the Alma; Scarlett, hosting a ball early in the movie), we can assume Richardson intended them to have larger roles. He admits having to "junk whole scenes, subplots and sequences" (239) from his four hour rough cut; he may not have missed excising his tormentor Laurence Harvey, cast as a Heavy Brigade officer.

This still appears to show the Charge of the Heavy Brigade. Note the blue pants and metal helmets on the British cavalry, distinct from the Light Brigade's red trousers and bearskin caps.

When the Light Brigade takes center stage, Richardson stands on firmer ground. He has Raglan patronizingly explain to Fanny Duberly his intentions with the Light Brigade, an invented but credible conversation as the Duberlys did observe the Charge (Tisdall 97-100). Using Watkin's panoramic photography, Richardson takes care to show the crucial difference in vantage points; the south valley with the captured British guns is visible from Raglan's perspective but not Lucan's, who can only see the well-defended north valley. It helps that Richardson found a Turkish location topographically similar to the real Balaclava battlefield.

The arguments between Nolan, Cardigan and Lucan over Raglan's orders, as noted, follows Woodham-Smith, as does Cardigan insisting Colonel John Douglas of the 11th Hussars give "your best support" (237). Nolan did ride ahead of the Light Brigade and was hit by a shellburst, delivering an ear-splitting shriek before dying (240). Richardson again follows Woodham-Smith, showing Nolan trying to divert Cardigan into the right valley. In contrast, Adkin thinks Nolan meant to spur the Brigade onward (156-158); David Kelsey argues his intentions can't be inferred either way. By accepting Woodham-Smith's account, Richardson puts an exclamation point on his critique: the only sane man dies immediately, allowing his superiors to destroy the Light Brigade.

Competent officers to the rear!

Finally, the actual Charge. Richardson stages it mainly in close-ups of bloody hand-to-hand action, the cavalry decimated by artillery but overrunning the enemy guns until a Russian counterattack overwhelms them. It's an ugly, violent sequence that aims for harrowing chaos rather than grandiose effects. Richardson elides the Heavy Brigade supporting the Charge until artillery fire forced it back, or the simultaneous, successful French attack on the Fedioukine Hills. Again, these omissions probably come down to budget, logistics and dramatic economy.

The coda again draws on Woodham-Smith: Captain Duberly musing that the Brigade's remnants are mere "skirmishers" (252); Cardigan fuming over Nolan's impudence, then being told "You've just ridden over his body" (252); Cardigan telling his men "It was a mad harebrained trick, but no fault of mine" and declining their offer to "Go again" (253); Raglan telling Lucan "You have lost the Light Brigade" (256). Raglan, Lucan, Cardigan and Airey commence squabbling over responsibility; juxtaposed against dead soldiers and destroyed horses, their petty bickering no longer seems amusing. A grievously wounded Captain Morris watches incredulously.

This provides Charge a grim, powerful climax, destroying any vestige of military glory or conventional excitement. In real life, it's claimed that army exercises forced the recall of the Turkish troops participating in filming, accounting for Richardson's close-ups and scaled back action. Intentional or not, the cluttered, dusty and inglorious depiction of the Charge perfectly fits his view of the Crimean War as a stupid blunder from beginning to end.

Conclusion

Too late the hero.

So ends The Charge of the Light Brigade. In some regards it's remarkably well-done, admirably capturing the look and feel of Victorian England, the British military and the Crimean War. In others, it shapes characters and incidents to fit its antiwar, anti-class themes. Despite their polemical preoccupations, we can respect Tony Richardson, Charles Wood and John Osborne for trying so hard to get things right.

Works Cited

Cinematic

Cahir, Linda Costanzo and Stephen Cahir. "History Revisited: The Charge of the Light Brigade." James M. Welsh and John C. Tibbets (eds.), The Cinema of Tony Richardson: Essays and Interviews. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1999. 161-175

Connelly, Mark. British Film Guides: The Charge of the Light Brigade. London: I.B. Tauris, 2003.

Heilpern, John. John Osborne: A Patriot for Us. London: Chatto & Windus, 2006.

Redgrave, Vanessa. Vanessa Redgrave: An Autobiography. London: Random House, 2004.

Richardson, Tony. The Long-Distance Runner: An Autobiography. New York: William Morrow & Company, Inc., 1993.

Welsh, James M., and John C. Tibbets. "Let's Talk Tony: Interviews With Colleagues." Welsh and Tibbets (eds.), The Cinema of Tony Richardson: Essays and Interviews. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1999. 23-47

Historical

Adkin, Mark. The Charge: The Real Reason Why the Light Brigade Was Lost. London: Leo Cooper, 1997.

David, Saul. The Homicidal Earl: The Life of Lord Cardigan. London: Abacus, 1997.

Duberly, Frances. Journal Kept During the Russian War: From The Departure Of The Army From England In April 1854, To The Fall Of Sebastopol. London: Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans, 1856 (Second Edition).

Gilchrist, M.M. "Louis Edward Nolan." Dispatch: the Journal of the Scottish Military Historical Society. 12-15

Hibbert, Christopher. The Destruction of Lord Raglan: A Tragedy of the Crimean War, 1854-1856. Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Military Library, 1999. Originally published 1961.

Kelsey, David. "Evidence and Belief: Captain Nolan's Final Moments." The War Correspondent, Spring 2003. 70

Nolan, Louis. Cavalry: Its History and Tactics. London: Bosworth & Harrison, 1860. Originally published 1853.

Royle, Trevor. Crimea: The Great Crimean War, 1854-1856. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004.

Tisdall, E.E.P. Mrs. Duberly's Campaigns. Chicago: Rand McNally, 1963.

Woodham-Smith, Cecil. The Reason Why: The Story of the Fatal Charge of the Light Brigade. London: Penguin, 1958. Originally published 1953.

* * *

Additionally, I wish to thank Professor Mark Connelly for his assistance in preparing this article. He answered my questions about the film and his book quickly, succinctly and helpfully.

Book Review: The Reason Why (1953, Cecil Woodham-Smith)

The historian and her work.

Note: An early version of this article originally appeared on Amazon.com. My reason for posting this here will become apparent, if a) you noted my recent hints about researching a larger, in-depth article; b) you know the book's connection with a certain movie.

Cecil Woodham-Smith (1896-1977) was born of an Irish family in Wales. Marrying a London solicitor, Woodham-Smith busied herself raising children and writing potboiler novels, before becoming an historian. After finishing an acclaimed biography of Florence Nightingale (1950), she remained fascinated with the Crimean War, especially the Charge of the Light Brigade. Several years of further research resulted in The Reason Why (1953). An instant critical and popular success, the book's rarely been out of print in the past 60 years. Today it remains the most decisive influence on the public's perception of the Crimean War.

The Reason Why recounts the Light Brigade's fate at Balaclava (October 25th, 1854) with unparalleled style. Not a truly objective history, Woodham-Smith's book is an eloquent, sweeping condemnation of the Victorian class system. Using two officers - Lords Cardigan and Lucan - as a prism on British society, she shows the combination of arrogance, bad judgment and miscommunication that led to the sacrifice of the "Noble 600."

James Brudenell, 7th Earl of Cardigan proves singularly representative of aristocratic shortcomings. The only son in a family of daughters, he grew spoiled by parental dotage, generating an egotism mixed with dreams of military glory. By adulthood Cardigan was an almost caricature nobleman: handsome and gallant, but arrogant, snobbish and short-tempered. Woodham-Smith's claim that Cardigan's "glorious golden head had nothing in it" (15) is unfair; biographer Saul David shows that Cardigan was both intelligent and a good student. Her general assessment of Cardigan's character, however, feels more accurate (p. 40-41):

Lord Cardigan.

"He was genuinely surprised to encounter opposition. His nature had a curious simplicity, so that, but for his violence, he would have been childlike and naive. He was completely absorbed in one object, himself.  It was not... that he deliberately disregarded other men's opinions and feelings - they simply did not exist for him. Like a child playing in a corner of a nursery with his toys, he was wholly absorbed in himself, the rest of the world was an irrelevance." 

Commanding first the 15th, and later the 11th Hussars, Cardigan proved harshly exacting. His stringent standards made the 11th Hussars England's premiere cavalry regiment, but they also engendered the loathing of his officers and men. He certainly kept England's press abuzz with sundry scandals. Minor breaches of etiquette sent him into apoplexy: he scandalized the Army by blackballing John Reynolds, a young captain who dared serve Moselle at a champagne dinner (the famous "black bottle" affair), and flogging a soldier on Easter Sunday. Cardigan himself violated societal mores repeatedly: among other incidents, he shot a subordinate in a duel and eloped with Fanny Paget, sister-in-law of a fellow cavalryman. He was booed at public gatherings, becoming a perennial headache for his superiors. An exasperated Duke of Wellington proclaimed "he had never known the time of the staff... to be taken up in so useless a manner" (100).

Profiled in parallel is George Bingham, 3rd Earl of Lucan. Lucan bested Cardigan in sheer bloody-minded nastiness. He gained infamy for cruelly managing his Mayo estates during the Irish potato famine. Consolidating land holdings and evicting tenants en mass, he caused untold suffering among his subjects and intense hatred: "it is doubtful if he considered the Irish as human beings at all" (113). Like Cardigan, he was also a martinet of the worst sort, a brutal taskmaster "perpetually entangled in trifles" (33) in commanding his troops and often contemptuous of superiors. Lucan found increasingly petty and bizarre ways of exerting authority: at one point, he ordered his cavalry drilled in antiquated Napoleonic tactics against Lord Raglan's express orders.

Lord Lucan.

Not surprisingly, these two men loathed each other. Lucan married Cardigan's sister and by all accounts mistreated her, igniting a deeply-felt vendetta. Naturally, when the Crimean War broke out Cardigan (heading the Light Brigade) found himself serving under division commander Lucan. Commanding general Lord Raglan exacerbated things by separating Cardigan from Lucan's main body, thus undermining Lucan's authority. Even in the field, the two men never missed an opportunity to spite or undermine each other, with disastrous results.

Woodham-Smith forcefully attacks the British military that spawned them. The purchase system, by which officers could literally buy a higher rank, had its benefits. It forestalled the establishment of a powerful, Prussian-style military class, and forced officers to take personal responsibility for their regiment's upkeep. In practice however, it populated the Army with dilettantes and adventurers, seeing military service as a stepping stone to easy prestige. Nominally officers could advance by merit; in practice men without experience or qualification leapfrogged over seasoned career soldiers. Lord Palmerston proclaimed that "it was very desirable to connect the higher classes of Society with the Army" (30), whether or not they were fit to lead.

The lack of a major war since 1815 ensured an antiquated senior staff. Commanding the Allied armies was Fitzroy Somerset, Baron Raglan. Wellington's longtime secretary, Raglan's bravery (he had lost an arm at Waterloo), amiability and organizational skills were unquestioned. His greatest achievement was ensuring smooth relations with his French and Turkish allies. Yet Raglan had never led troops in the field, and proved a spectacularly inept tactician. "Without the military trappings... one would never have guessed him to be a soldier," Woodham-Smith says (161). He proved frustratingly absent-minded, constantly confusing his French allies with the Russian enemy. An exasperated junior officer complained that "everything [is] old at the top. This makes everything sluggish."

Lord Raglan.

The Crimean disaster becomes tragically predictable. Horses crowded into transport ships die en route to the Crimea. Raglan botches the Allied attack at the Alma, forcing British troops to take and retake the same ground repeatedly. Over-caution prevents a complete victory when Raglan refuses Lucan's request to launch a follow-up attack. Raglan ill-advisedly shifts his supply base to Balaclava, a tiny village ill-suited for supplying two massive armies. Finally, administrative muddle ensures inadequate supplies and medical treatment, causing thousands of troops to die of disease and exposure.

In fairness, most officers shared their men's misfortunes. Both Raglan and his French counterpart Marshall St. Arnaud ultimately succumbed to dysentery. Lucan was wounded at Balaclava and even his detractors granted him personal bravery. Cardigan however spent evenings on his yacht in Calamita Bay, entertaining civilian friends and distancing himself from his brigade's hardships. Lest this seem unduly extravagant, military buffs may remember American General George McClellan lunching while the Battle of Malvern Hill raged, Boer War commander Charles Warren stopping his division's advance for a bath, or Charles Townshend dining on plum duff at Kut while his troops starved. This mixture of sang froid and self-indulgence seems unfortunately prevalent in military history.

Woodham-Smith hits her rhetorical stride with Balaclava. She recounts the stirring stand of Colin Campbell's "Thin Red Line," and the gallant Charge of the Heavy Brigade, where 300 cavalrymen under James Scarlett defeated 2,000 Cossacks in a wild uphill charge. Woodham-Smith captures the excitement and fleeting glory of these skirmishes. Against all odds, the British seemed poised to win a spectacular victory. Yet Cardigan stood by, using a discretionary order from Lucan as an excuse not to attack the routed Russians. Had Cardigan followed up on Scarlett's success, the third phase of the battle might never have occurred.

Instead, a classic example of mismanagement follows. Raglan dictates an unclear order to quartermaster Richard Airey, instructing Lucan to attack Russian troops taking capture guns away from the Causeway Heights. Captain Louis Nolan, Raglan's impulsive aide, delivers the message to an agitated Lucan, emphatically pointing at the nearest guns. Neither man recognizes Nolan's fatal mistake: that Lucan cannot see the Heights from his position. Nolan instead gestures towards a mass of Russians supported by artillery in the valley ahead. Stung by accusations of "looking on" in earlier engagements, Lucan does not ask Nolan to clarify his order, and Cardigan protests halfheartedly. Before anyone realizes it, the Light Brigade initiates its fateful charge (p. 242):

"And now the watchers on the heights saw that the lines of horsemen, like toys down on the plain, were expanding and contracting with strange mechanical precision. Death was coming fast, and the Light Brigade was meeting death in perfect order; as a man or horse dropped, the riders on each side of him opened out; as soon as they had ridden clear the ranks closed again. Orderly, as if on parade ground, the Light Brigade rode on, but its numbers grew every moment smaller and smaller as they moved down the valley... It was at this moment that Bosquet, the French General, observed 'C'est magnifique mais ce n'est pas la guerre'."

The Charge of the Light Brigade by Cecil Doughty. (source)

Historians still dissect the Charge in hope of assigning blame, following the footsteps of Cardigan and Lucan's vicious press feud. Woodham-Smith dodges the issue of individual guilt, viewing Balaclava instead as the logical conclusion of an entire system. For all their gallantry, the British cavalry could not achieve the impossible, and find themselves decimated by well-placed cannon and overwhelming numbers. With so many egotists and incompetents staffing the Army, the Light Brigade's fate seems inevitable. If the British Army was reformed after Crimea, it came at great cost and only grudgingly. The purchase system was not abolished until the Cardwell reforms of 1868-1874, largely at the impetus of Crimean veteran Garnet Wolseley.

If The Reason Why isn't definitive, it's because of its limited portrayal of the Crimea (the book mostly ends at Balaclava), occasional niggling errors (eg., claiming Captain Nolan was half-Italian) and its editorial tone. More recent works (Terry Brighton's Hell Riders, Saul David's The Homicidal Earl) eschew Woodham-Smith's polemical approach for more balanced analysis. Still, Woodham-Smith's passionate anger and vivid prose make it the most readable account of the Light Brigade's sorry fate, and a classic account of military incompetence.

The Charge of the Light Brigade (1936)

Michael Curtiz and Errol Flynn's take on the Battle of Balaclava is one of the great '30s adventure films, on a list with The Four Feathers and Gunga Din. Unabashedly romanticized, politically correct and historically ridiculous, it holds up surprisingly well as a piece of pure, balls-out entertainment. It's a historical joke compared to Tony Richardson's 1968 version, but it's more consistently entertaining, and really no more dated.

Major Jeffrey Vickers (Errol Flynn) is an officer of the 27th Lancers, who accompanies an Anglo-Indian official (E.E. Clive) on a mission to Suristan, realm of Surat Khan (C. Henry Gordon). During the visit, Vickers saves Khan from a leopard, leaving the ruler in his debt. Years later, however, Khan leads a violent rebellion against British authority, resulting in the massacre of a garrison's worth of women and children. Vickers, caught in a romantic triangle with his fiancee Elsa (Olivia de Havilland) and brother Perry (Patric Knowles), is devastated, vowing revenge on the Khan. He gets his chance a year later, when the two men find each other on opposite sides of the Crimean War, with Vickers ordering the titular charge to avenge the previous atrocity.

The Charge of the Light Brigade is so ridiculously entertaining that its overly convenient plot and myriad historical inaccuracies don't really matter. The movie really stretches things to combine the Central Asian "Great Game" between Russia and England into the Crimean War. Even Dickens would blanch at the coincidences necessary for an Indian khan to find himself halfway across the world at Sevastapol - in what capacity, a military observer? One might wonder why they bothered incorporating Balaclava instead of keeping with a wholly fictional story.

Being able to accept these leaps in credulity and logic is a pre-requisite for enjoying the film, and many viewers may not. Of course, the glorification of imperialism, the scheming, murderous "brown-faced" Indians, and the fate of the equestrian cast may be off-putting for other reasons. The problems are less serious here, perhaps, than in a serious drama like Gone With the Wind, but they still exist. This film is a litmus test for tolerance of old-school film making: if you can't abide these things, then Light Brigade and its ilk are not for you.

None of this matters to me, though, as, aside from the meldoramatic romance plot, the film is a perfect, brisk-paced adventure film. Political correctness and historical realities matter not a whit with our tough, noble, spiffy Brit heroes kicking Russo-Indian ass for two hours. The movie works perfectly on its level as an adolescent male fantasy, with perfectly-staged battle scenes, loveable Brit heroes (and the women who love them) in neat uniforms, and a rousing Max Steiner score. Even today, there's a place for this type of film, and its level of pure, unpretentious, unadulterated fun is extremely appealing.

As always, Curtiz's direction is fine. Curtiz makes great use of California locations, which are almost convincing as the mountains of India. The action scenes are among the best ever filmed, from the exciting shootouts and sieges to the explosive, expansive final charge. Modern viewers may be put off by the tragic background - dozens of horses, and at least one stuntman, were killed during this scene, victims of cruel trip-wires and explosives. If you can put this fact out of your mind, the final battle remains one of the most jaw-dropping spectacles in cinema history.

Errol Flynn gives one of his best performances, mixing his usual dashing charm, athleticism, and nobility with righteous anger. Olivia de Havilland and Patric Knowles are pretty much wasted in a pointless subplot. C. Henry Gordon gives an excellent turn as the villainous Khan, chewing scenery with relish. A young David Niven (The Guns of Navarone) has a small but showy role. A plethora of fine character actors - Henry Stephenson, Nigel Bruce, Donald Crisp, E.E. Clive, J. Carrol Naish - flesh out the cast.

The Charge of the Light Brigade is the ultimate piece of vintage, matinee fun. If you can get past the political incorrectness, the historical inaccuracies, and the murderous horse falls, it's ridiculously entertaining.

The Charge of the Light Brigade (1968)

"If they can't fornicate, they can't fight. And if they don't fight hard, I will flog their backs raw for all their fine looks!"

To date, two major films have been produced about the disastrous Charge of the Light Brigade. The first, Michael Curtiz's 1936 effort with Errol Flynn, is an escapist imperial adventure without a shred of historical accuracy. Its simple story reduces the Crimean War's messy imperial politics into personal revenge, catching the glorious spirit of Tennyson's poem in exciting style.

Tony Richardson's 1968 film is much more accurate, but equally problematic. It's certainly impressive in scope and pageantry, and its damning indictment of military idiocy remains strong. But it also suffers from a disjointed tone, unsure if it wants to be a rollicking satire or a powerful anti-war statement.

In 1854, England and France edge towards war with Russia, whose ambitions in Eastern Europe menace the Ottoman Empire. As war fever intensifies, the 11th Hussars, under ruthless Lord Cardigan (Trevor Howard), recruits criminals, derelicts and assorted scum. Idealistic Captain Louis Nolan (David Hemmings) joins the regiment, but immediately clashes with Cardigan. Cardigan tries to cashier Nolan from the army over a trivial incident, but commander Lord Raglan (John Gielgud) sides with the junior officer. The clash of egos continues through the war, where the woefully unprepared British Army bumbles through a series of engagements with crack Russian troops, culminating in the titular Charge at Balaclava.

The Charge of the Light Brigade is largely a black comedy, a Doctor Strangelove for the 1850's. Drawing on Cecil Woodham-Smith's book The Reason Why, Richardson and writer Charles Wood attack the British Army's class-dominated officer corps. This inequitable system allowed officers to purchase commissions. Designed to prevent the rise of a powerful military caste as in Germany or France, it effectively populated the Army with rich dilettantes and dullards. Forty years removed from Waterloo, the Brits were in poor shape for a major war.

Richardson's portrait is broad but effective. Cardigan embodies the pompous aristocrat to a T, amoral, egotistical, vain and none-too-bright, expecting unconditional admiration. He loathes Nolan for his Indian service and ambition, and nurses hatred for brother-in-law Lord Lucan (Harry Andrews), his division commander. The senile Raglan literally fights the last war, confusing the Russians with his French allies. Under such dismal leadership the army falls apart in the Crimea, inept tactics compounded by poor supplies and cholera. A disaster is inevitable.

Richardson provides solid direction, with near-perfect art direction and photography. The battle scenes are epic in scope, with the elite Turkish Presidential Cavalry expertly marshaled, and David Watkins' widescreen photography makes it clear how Raglan garbled his fateful order. The fighting itself is a bit underwhelming, however, Richardson going for the gritty details rather than grand scope. John Addison provides a marvelous score, mixing imperial bombast with mellow tragedy.

Special praise goes to Richard Williams' brilliant animation sequences. Based on Punch magazine's political cartoons, Williams delivers some creative imagery: an English lion pummeling a Russian bear, Great Britain collectively crying out "Poor little Turkey!", Queen Victoria and Prince Albert dancing an angelic victory waltz. These sequences are so stunning they nearly overshadow the live action.

Where Light Brigade falters is its story structure. The superfluous romance between Nolan and Clarissa (Vanessa Redgrave) is ill-judged filler. Early scenes dote on the 11th's common troopers, especially the Sergeant Major (Norman Rossington) whose refusal to spy for Cardigan ruins his career. Once we arrive in the Crimea these angles are unceremoniously dropped, much to the film's detriment.

On another level, the opening hour's brutal satire gives way to an awkward tonal dissonance in the war scenes. We laugh at Raglan's nonsensical pronouncements and Cardigan's awkward tryst with Fanny Duberly (Jill Bennett), but the battle scenes and soldiers' suffering are played deadly serious. It just doesn't add up, and Light Brigade becomes unwieldy and uneven.

Trevor Howard gives a masterful turn; blustering and chewing scenery in inimitable fashion, this is one of Howard's best performances. Harry Andrews matches him rant for rant, while John Gielgud's droll underplaying provides welcome balance. David Hemmings gives a layered performance, dashing and indignant but arrogant in his own right. Vanessa Redgrave's token role is forgettable but Jill Bennett is hysterically randy. Norman Rossington gets a rare standout role, playing his part with the right boisterous gravitas. Other roles go to Howard Marion-Crawford, Alan Dobie, Corin Redgrave and Donald Wolfit.

The Charge of the Light Brigade is a mixed bag. It's easy to laugh at the '36 version's anachronisms, but it's much more entertaining than Richardson's take. Nonetheless, its depiction of upper class arrogance and military bumbling is certainly worth watching.

Click here for a more detailed analysis.