Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger:

The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943), directed by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger. Colonel Blimp is the creation of David Low, first appearing in 1934. Blimp, as his name might suggest, is a rotund, blustering old fellow with a walrus moustache. Powell and Pressburger turn him into something of a folk hero, following his time in the British army from 1902 when he receives the Victoria Cross for valour during the Boer War, until the early 1940s when, as an old man, he joins the Home Guard. His name in the film is Clive Candy and he rises from Corporal to General. Martin Scorsese has noted that the film is a major influence on Scorsese's Raging Bull, both for its depiction of a slim young man turning into an older blimp and for its manner of storytelling. He especially notes the duel scene in the first third of the film, and also the way Powell handles the marriages of Clive Candy's German friend and of Candy himself. Powell presents these events by, in effect, not presenting them. Also noteworthy is the look of the film, its cinematography and contrasting colours. The opening sequence, as well as the moments throughout the film, have, perhaps strangely and surprisingly, something of a Bunuel cast to them. As for the story, Roger Ebert nicely encapsulates things:

"The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp has four story threads. It mourns the passing of a time when professional soldiers observed a code of honor. It argues to the young that the old were young once, too, and contain within them all that the young know, and more. It marks the General's lonely romantic passage through life, in which he seeks the double of the first woman he loved. And it records a friendship between a British officer and a German officer, which spans the crucial years from 1902 to 1942."

A Canterbury Tale (1944), directed by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger (“The Archers”). This is a strange film, both an homage to Chaucer, as the beginning shows, and a celebration of Englishness. In short, this is a film to buoy the spirits during wartime. The slight plot has three unlikely chums, the American soldier Bob Johnson (John Sweet), the British soldier Peter Gibbs (Dennis Price), and the shopgirl turned farmgirl Alison Smith (Sheila Sim), meeting one night on their way to Canterbury. They find themselves in the village of Chillingbourne at night and Alison runs into the “Glue Man,” a mysterious fellow who puts glue on women’s hair. This event sets the three friends on an adventure as they attempt to solve the mystery of the identity of the Glue Man who pours glue on womens' hair, eleven women so far. The mystery is slight, and the real interest in the film is in Britain itself, the countryside, the history, the people, the tradition, the green and pleasant land. We have tracking shots of a boat rowed by children, young soldiers in the making, a clever cut from a falcon to an airplane, panoramas of the countryside, long shots of the famous cathedral, details such as a huge bed in which the first Elizabeth once slept, farm animals and local working people, and a detailed conversation about the timber/lumber business. We also get to know a little bit about the inner lives of the principle characters, the three chums and also the local lay magistrate and gentleman farmer, Thomas Colpeper (Eric Portman). The naturalistic look of the film is suffused with a sense of the numinous. Be forewarned: this is a strange film, but very interesting. It may take patience. Oh yes, we do find out the identity of the Glue Man and why he does what he does to the local women.

 

A Matter of Life and Death (1946), directed by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger. This film is in a league with It’s a Wonderful Life and The Wizard of Oz, although its sumptuous use of both colour and black and white is all its own. Quite simply, this is visually stunning, thanks to the two directors and their cinematographer, the inimitable Jack Cardiff. The story is schmaltz, but what the heck. A British airman in May 1945 speaks to an American military woman just before he leaps, sans parachute, from a doomed plane. He expects to die. Instead, he finds himself landing near where the military woman lives and works. They fall in love. But an emissary from that place up there arrives to correct a mistake in the heavenly records. Thus begins the story of Peter (David Niven) and June (Kim Hunter). Oh, I neglected to mention the opening bit where we take a tour of the outer galaxy guided by a droll voice over. This sets the otherworldly tone of the film. Anyway, June and Peter, with the able help of Dr. Frank Reeves (Roger Livesey), get to work trying to outwit Heaven’s emissary and later the court in Heaven where an intense Abraham Farlan, one-time American revolutionary, tries to see it that Peter does not get a stay of, well you know. All this plays out on an earth coloured to look like Heaven (love exists here) and a Heaven in monochrome. The visuals are nothing short of stunning. Frank’s camera obscura is something to behold, and it offers on earth a peek at a heavenly-eyed view of the coming and going of human beings. The film also touches lightly on British and American relations. The British airman, Peter, insists on living, just as Britain insists on continuing after its experience of terrible war. Finally, I suspect George Lucas watched this film a few times before embarking on Star Wars. 

 

Black Narcissus (1947), directed by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger. “I think you can see too far,” remarks Sister Philippa (Flora Robson) as she gazes out across the Himalayas from the newly created convent atop a precipitous cliff. Too far and not far enough. A small group of English Nuns have been granted the ancient Palace of Mopu as a place where they can teach and administer to the health of the local community in the valley far below. This palace was once the residence of the local Prince’s harem and its frescoes depict the life of the flesh is glorious detail. Now it is to be a holy place. This is India, colonial India, and the film, and Rumer Godden’s book from which it derives, take a look at the cultural divisions and the fallout from colonial activity. The film also serves up a sumptuous gift of colour, sound, and sets. Filmed almost entirely in England (except for a brief flashback filmed in Ireland), it depicts an India from an English perspective. It has a heaping of melodrama that morphs into the gothic in a powerful ending that pits the crazed Sister Ruth (Kathleen Byron), who has abandoned her vows, against the repressed and ambitious Sister Clodagh (Deborah Kerr). The film is a visual feast from the sets to the painted vistas to the costumes (check out the young General’s (Sabu) lavish costumes) to the subtle play of light to the echoes of painters such as Vermeer, Rembrandt, and Van Gogh. The acting is praiseworthy with much of the emotional and psychological force coming from wordless looks and gestures. We also have many shots that resonate with a Freudian reminder of repression, sexual repression, and a vertiginous sense of the precarity of human interaction. I saw echoes of such silent classics as Murnau’s Nosferatu and Wiene’s The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. The visual banquet here looks forward to the same directors’ The Tales of Hoffman (1951). We even have a spontaneous erotic dance, performed by Kanchi (Jean Simmons).

 

The Tales of Hoffmann (1951), directed by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger. You know the truism, ‘You can never get too much of a good thing and too much of a good thing clogs one’s mind.” The latter half of this truism (is this really a truism?) weighs on me after experiencing this filmed version of Offenbach’s opera based on three stories by E. T. A. Hoffmann. The three stories focus on three women: the automaton Olympia (Moira Shearer), the courtesan Giulietta (Ludmilla Tcherina), and the consumptive soprano Antonia (Anne Ayars). The tenor Robert Rounseville plays Hoffmann in all three tales, plus the Prologue and Epilogue. Anyway, saying this film is lavish is an understatement. The sets, props, costumes, make-up, colours, and choreography are breathtakingly opulent. We have a surfeit for the senses. So much so that the film begins to grow wearisome by the time of the third story. Everything takes place on elaborate sets. I was reminded of Fellini’s late films. The operatic experience is the experience of spectacle and this film offers spectacle galore. The dance sequences with Moira Shearer are also fabulous. There is much to admire here, but one can have too much of a good thing. I haven't mentioned the music simply because it, like the story or the acting, is overwhelmed by the visual feast.