I Know Where I'm Going! (1945) - Directed by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger

Wendy Hiller. The amazing Wendy Hiller. One of the greatest actresses of all time-- Wendy Hiller. She only appeared in a handful of films due to her preference for stage work. Even though  she produced a small body of work, what a remarkable collection it is. I’ve seen a handful of films recently that she appeared in. What is so consistent with her, is her ability to project a certain inner confidence and determination. Her work holds up terrifically well today and I think her approach stripped away any tendency to delegate her emotional response to any male characters. It’s always an internal motivation to project “the self”, the independent spirit that carries her purpose. She doesn’t need anyone to feed off of, but rather is so strikingly original that she carries the lifeblood of any film on her shoulders, whether it be Major Barbara (1941), or Pygmalion (1938), or perhaps her greatest work on display in this film, Powell and Pressburger’s I Know Where I’m Going!.

Powell and Pressburger made one of their most unassuming and romantic works, in this film, which not only is a meditation on fate, but also an examination of spontaneity and the spark of chance and how these two- fate and chance- play a role in our lives. We’re introduced to Joan during the opening credits. This opening credit sequence is a brilliant cinematic subversion---covering several years in between carefully placed credit titles.  We’re told how Joan always has known what she wanted and where she wanted to go from a young child through her young adulthood. Joan meets her father for a drink and dinner where she tells him she is about to be married to one of the wealthiest men in the UK, someone whom she hasn’t even met. She is soon to board a sequence of trains and cars and boats which will take her to the Isle of Kiloran in the Scottish Hebrides where she will marry the wealthy Sir Robert Bellinger. She has almost reached her final destination, when a series of bad weather events (fog, wind) prevent her from taking the final ferry boat she must take to get there. So she must remain on the Isle of Mull in the meantime. While there, she and another man, Torquil MacNeil (Roger Livesy) who is also trying to get to the Isle of Kiloran, begin to be drawn to each other. The longer she must wait out the weather, the more she spends time with Torquil, throwing off all of her plans.

Back in November of last year I spent 3 weeks in the UK for work, during which time I had the great opportunity to spend about 5 days traveling around Scotland. My friend and I were driving from Inverness to Glencoe one day, which was one of the most beautiful drives I’ve ever taken. While on the road, there was a sign indicating where we could take a road that would take us to the Hebrides, and immediately I remembered this film. I was suddenly taken with the idea of driving off west toward the Hebrides and finding my own slice of romantic Scotland which I could claim for my own for a few days. Of course I didn’t have time for such an excursion, but I wanted to see this picture again when I returned. It’s so nice to see the location scenery in this film, which is just gorgeous by the sea and mountains. There’s also a Scottish pride on display here, particularly in the sequence where Joan and Torquil watch the Scottish pipers playing tunes while everyone in the hall dances. This is such a terrifically shot sequence of motion, faces, and romantic longing.

So back to Wendy Hiller. From 1937 to 1956, she only appeared in 6 films! Oh how I wish we had more examples of her film acting from this era. She is one of those actresses who commands your attention. She’s not even particularly what one would call traditionally beautiful by Hollywood standards. She's a bit angular and has a face resembling a horse or something to that effect.But there’s something about her that draws you in and it’s her personal spirit. This film, one of the great romances of the era, works so well because we really like the Joan character. We just so desperately want her to be happy because we like her so very much. We root for her and we want her to find happiness, whether it be through fate or chance or whatever, just so long as she finds it. This film is as much a romance between the viewer and Hiller as it is between Joan and Torquil. It’s a terrifically written film, with wonderful subversive sequences (credit titles, dream sequence), great cinematography in Scotland, terrific performances all leading to one of Powell and Pressburger's breeziest entertainments and greatest films.

49th Parallel (1941) - Directed by Michael Powell

Of Powell and Pressburger’s earlier films, 49^th Parallel is not just one of their most enthralling and absorbing pieces of cinema, it is one of the most fascinating war films from the WWII era. At the time, they were commissioned to create an anti-Nazi propaganda film that might have encouraged America to join the war. They set out to create their film using an international cast, gorgeous on-location shooting in Canada, and employing one of the most fascinating plots and set of protagonists that this era ever produced as far as WWII films go. I had seen this film once before several years ago, but I sure didn't appreciate as much as I did during this second viewing.

49^th Parallel involves a fictional story of a German submarine which has invaded Canadian waters and has decided to hunker down in Hudson Bay in order to allow time to gather food and supplies from a nearby company store. While a search party has left the submarine, the Canadian air force bombs the submarine while it is afloat, thus marooning the Nazi search party on land. These soldiers then embark on an odyssey of sorts to preserve themselves and survive at all costs. Throughout the film, the Nazis encounter many people and situations, all of which highlight various intentions of the Nazi regime, as well as the prevailing argument against the regime, thus allowing the argument against to play out in surprising detail.



There are three key setpieces, each involving a cameo of sorts by a terrific actor. Laurence Olivier plays Scottie, a French Canadian trapper hanging out at the Hudson Bay Company store with an old friend when the Nazis arrive. This sequence, although somewhat undermined by Olivier’s awful accent, highlights not just the swift brutality of the Nazi soldiers as they beat an Eskimo, shoot people in the back including women and children, but this sequence also highlights Nazism’s troublesome attitude toward religion. During his dying breath, Scottie threatens to send missionaries their way when the war is over. The second, and probably best setpiece, and also most compelling portion of the film, is set in a German Hutterite community that the Nazis encounter along their travels through Canada, thinking they may find a kinship with their German brethren. The Nazis give an impassioned speech to the community, calling upon their brotherhood to join in the Nazi purpose, but their words fall on deaf ears. In an even more intense response, Anton Walbrook as Peter, one of the Hutterites, calls them out as the socially constricting and morally reprehensible scourge that they are.  His speech is probably the best anti-Nazi propaganda moment in the film and a brilliant monologue from one of the most intense of actors. In the third key setpiece, as the Nazi group is down to 2, they come across Leslie Howard as Phillip Scott, a writer and outdoor aficionado in Banff National Park who is camping. Howard surrounds himself in his tent with art and books, which of course the Nazis debase and burn with pleasure when they turn on him, highlighting the stamping-out of individual expression.



All of these elements were of course used for propaganda, but it’s thoughtful propaganda woven into a tight, thrilling narrative. Not only is the action suspenseful, a la Hitchcock or Reed, it’s filled with the kind of filmmaking flourishes that Powell and Pressburger are known for, thus making it both a first rate WWII thriller and a thoughtful piece of historical propaganda. By making the Nazis into the protagonists, we must urgently come to grips with their immediacy and reality. They are not faceless enemies in the distance. They’re looking right at you. It’s hard to view this type of film within the proper context in which it was originally shown and to really understand what it might have meant back in 1941. But even today, the film stands as a lasting reminder of how propaganda was used and is also one of the finest WWII films of its era.

The Red Shoes (1948) - Directed by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger

If The Red Shoes isn’t the greatest film ever about artistic obsession, I’m not sure what is. Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger’s masterful tour-de-force is also arguably their best film, although I have a very difficult time choosing between this one and Black Narcissus (1947), among several other films in their canon. Their films have a way of completely enwrapping you in cinematic intensity, be it through charm, romance, inspiration, subversion, suspense, horror, fear. It’s this intensity of emotion that gives The Red Shoes so much feeling and flamboyance, while maintaining something resembling civility and restraint when needed, keeping this film from being wildly erratic. Instead, it is as cinematically urgent as any film in history.

Based on Hans Christian Anderson’s fable, The Red Shoes concerns the convergence of three key characters. One is Boris Lermontov (Anton Walbrook), director of a ballet company. He’s intense and filled with a kind of demonic obsession to find both a perfection in a ballet production, and also to find the prima ballerina to help achieve such perfection. Another is Julian Craster (Marius Goring), a talented but uncredited composer who is hired by Boris after convincing him that his work has been pilfered from his current composer. The third is the dancer, Victoria Page (Moira Shearer). She remains fairly unnoticed by Boris until he sees her perform in a small, local production of Swan Lake where he notices her drive and intensity. He soon takes her under his wing and convinces her to be the lead in a new ballet he’s planning, called The Red Shoes, being composed by Julian. Soon, the three of them enter into a sort of love triangle. Vicky falls in love her composer, while Boris maintains that she should be devoted to her work and art, and thus to him. Vicky is torn, literally, between love and art.

Relaying the plot is rather bland when compared to the virtuosity with which the film is presented. I just watched the Blu-Ray of this film, and was again reminded that, yes, The Red Shoes is one of the 5 most beautiful color films ever photographed. Jack Cardiff’s cinematography simply takes my breath away, continually. Powell and Pressburger give the film a brilliant emphasis toward dance, providing atmosphere that feels as authentic as any, regarding the backstage banter and practice sessions. I know many people don’t really think of this film as a musical. I do, if for nothing else than the astounding 15 minute “Red Shoes Ballet” sequence that is not only the greatest dance sequence I’ve ever seen on film, but also one of the truly virtuosic cinematic experiences that one will ever see. This ballet scene is presented as a nearly fluid sequence. It is probably the first and greatest example of dance (0r song) choreographed over a lengthy run time (and influenced Gene Kelly into creating an extended ballet in An American in Paris (1951)). At the beginning of the ballet, the perspective is presented to us as if we’re in the audience and the dancers appear onstage before us where Vicky Page dances and is beguiled by a pair of red ballet shoes in the shop of a local cobbler/magician. Little does she know that these shoes have a mind of their own. Soon, we notice that the scene leaves the realism of a theatre presentation, and enters a cinematic universe where it is free to roam and breathe. We see a mirror image of Vicky in a window, the shoes magically enwrap her feet, she floats through a dreamy landscape, there’s a beautiful slow-motion sequence, she dances with a newspaper and on and on the scene goes with flamboyant propulsion and emotion. Not only is the music, choreography and cinematography in this scene unparalleled, it also contains the essential component of the psyche of the dancer. Vicky’s paranoia and passion are reflected throughout the scene as she hallucinates visions of Julian and Boris, appearing at will. We realize that this ballet is paralleling and presaging personal moments from her life.

Moira Shearer’s presence is best felt during her dancing performances or the extreme emotional close-ups that Cardiff frames so well. But, it’s Anton Wallbrook’s performance as Boris that really stands out, not only as the best performance in the film, but one of the all-time great performances in any film. His possessiveness and slightly cool way of telling someone off gives him a simultaneously creepy and gentile quality. One of his best moments comes as he gives an impassioned and measured speech to the theatre audience at the end of the film, following an intense tragedy. His cadence and projection during this moment are truly memorable. Boris’ insistence upon pure devotion to art which is unfettered and uncluttered by human love is a maniacal obsession and domination which he tries to enact upon Vicky. At first, she loves art and shuns love, ensconcing herself as his artistic lover. When she trades in her ballet shoes for the sake of Julian’s love, she betrays Boris, not just artistically, but emotionally and physically as well. Of course, Boris’ control over Vicky, parallels the red shoes' control over the dancer in the ballet in a perfect symmetry of terror. Powell and Pressburger’s The Red Shoes is about as essential as they get and is unequaled in so many ways. It demands to be seen by anyone who loves cinema, dance or art of any kind.

I end this essay with a visual tribute to The Red Shoes Ballet.

Mr. Technicolor- A New Documentary about Jack Cardiff

I came across this really nice piece at the Criterion site about an interview with Craig McCall, maker of a new documentary floating around the festival circuit about the late Jack Cardiff and his brilliant cinematography. McCall's doc is called Cameraman: The Life and Work of Jack Cardiff. I think it's well worth the quick read and makes me ever more excited to see this documentary and watch Cardiff's work again. If you've never seen Black Narcissus (1947) or The Red Shoes (1948), these are films to put on your short list of things to see soon.

The Small Back Room (1949) - Directed by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger



Directing and writing team Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger are arguably the greatest filmmaking duo in history, along with Joel and Ethan Coen. Also known as The Archers, their string of British films in the 40's ranks them as some of the greatest filmmakers of all time, making some of my personal favorites. Usually Pressburger did most of the writing, while Powell did most of the directing. Everyone knows about The Red Shoes (1948) and Black Narcissus (1947), which are justifiably two of the greatest films and greatest Technicolor achievements ever made (I haven't seen them on Blu-Ray yet, which is a crime, but I'm looking forward to doing so someday). In fact my single-most memorable experience of watching a "color" film, one that used color to the greatest effect, is with Black Narcissus. I remember the first time watching that and feeling so much passion and life coming from that film and how it used color to create emotion that it became an overwhelming experience. Their employment of Jack Cardiff, the great cinamatographer was certainly a choice that added to the beauty and passion of the three films he helped make for The Archers. Outside of The Red Shoes and Black Narcissus, they also made several other brilliant films in this stretch: The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943), I Know Where I'm Going! (1945), A Matter of Life and Death (1946). They are truly great pillars of cinema even though most of their films are relatively obscure to the general movie-watching public.

One movie that has in fact slipped past me all these years is their 1949 feature, The Small Back Room. Following on the heels of The Red Shoes, it seems like a curious choice. For one reason, it's in black and white. David Farrar plays Sammy Rice, a bomb disposal and munitions expert, holding a job as a scientist for a unique war outfit who works in "the small back room" for the British Army. Several curious bombs or booby traps begin appearing in parts of England, apparently planted by Germans. It becomes Sammy's job to deal with them. Sammy is an interesting character, suffering from a bomb injury that blew off his foot and recovering from alchoholism, a theme that at times dominates the focus of the film. He has a hard time sticking up for himself on the job and tends to get pushed around by his boss, played by Jack Hawkins. Meanwhile, he has a love affair with the office secretary Sue, played by Kathleen Byron.

Sammy and Sue have a surprisingly forward relationship depiction for this time period, not hiding any fact that they are having sex. This is quite a progressive portrayal of an adult, unmarried couple. David Farrar and Kathleen Byron both appeared in Black Narcissus together 2 years prior. Here their chemistry is easily apparent. Playing well off of each other both in dramatic and lighter moments, showing us they have fallen in love, not just talking about it. There is a passionately filmed scene of the two of them inside a doorway, darkly lit except for a single stream of light illuminating their faces, which is one of the best scenes in the film. Both of them show a range for this type of character study. Neither of them look too polished and movie-star like. Kathleen Byron in particular is absolutely mesmerizing. Her screen presence makes you uneasy and comfortable at the same time. She makes you want to watch and commands the screen whenever she's on it.



There is a brilliant sequence toward the end of the film where Sammy has to diffuse a new type of bomb. This turns into a 17-minute scene on a pebbled beach where some great use of editing makes the scene much more action-like than it really is. As you're watching it, you might be thinking that this scene is out of place. it might appear too separate from the rest of the film. However, I would argue that we see Sammy's true calling come out. He was born to diffuse bombs and he's actually really good at it. This is important for Sammy to have this moment, and it's important for the film to have this conclusion. Powell and Pressburger's movies are always smarter than most. Their ideas about cinema and its form are progressive, singular, and hold up really well today. The Small Back Room is an underrated work from them and worthy of being mentioned with their best films.