A blog formerly known as Bookishness / By Charles Matthews

"Dazzled by so many and such marvelous inventions, the people of Macondo ... became indignant over the living images that the prosperous merchant Bruno Crespi projected in the theater with the lion-head ticket windows, for a character who had died and was buried in one film and for whose misfortune tears had been shed would reappear alive and transformed into an Arab in the next one. The audience, who had paid two cents apiece to share the difficulties of the actors, would not tolerate that outlandish fraud and they broke up the seats. The mayor, at the urging of Bruno Crespi, explained in a proclamation that the cinema was a machine of illusions that did not merit the emotional outbursts of the audience. With that discouraging explanation many ... decided not to return to the movies, considering that they already had too many troubles of their own to weep over the acted-out misfortunes of imaginary beings."
--Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Saturday, September 29, 2018

Pandora and the Flying Dutchman (Albert Lewin, 1951)

Ava Gardner and James Mason in Pandora and the Flying Dutchman
Hendrik van der Zee: James Mason
Pandora Reynolds: Ava Gardner
Stephen Cameron: Nigel Patrick
Janet: Sheila Sim
Geoffrey Fielding: Harold Warrender
Juan Montalvo: Mario Cabré
Reggie Demarest: Marius Goring
Angus: John Laurie
Jenny: Pamela Mason
Peggy: Patricia Raine
Señora Montalvo: Margarita D'Alvarez

Director: Albert Lewin
Screenplay: Albert Lewin
Cinematography: Jack Cardiff
Production design: John Bryan
Film editing: Ralph Kemplen
Costume design: Beatrice Dawson
Music: Alan Rawsthorne

James Mason was a handsome man and a very fine actor but he seems a little miscast as the doomed and dashing Flying Dutchman, especially opposite the earthy Ava Gardner as the embodiment of the Dutchman's lost love. It's a role that calls less for Mason's cerebral, inward qualities than for a swashbuckling ladykiller of the Errol Flynn mode. That said, Mason's presence in the film is one of the things that have kept Albert Lewin's romantic fantasy Pandora and the Flying Dutchman on view for so long, even giving it minor cult status. There's a gravitas to his Dutchman that makes it possible for him to quote Victorian poetry -- Matthew Arnold's "Dover Beach" and Edward Fitzgerald's translation of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam -- without looking foolish. There's also Jack Cardiff's Technicolor cinematography and John Bryan's handsome sets to the film's credit. Lewin's screenplay, unfortunately, tends to the portentous and the pretentious, including maxims like "To understand one human soul is like trying to empty the sea with a cup" and "The measure of love is what one is willing to give up for it," not to mention purple passages like the Dutchman's "My mind was a hive of swarming gadflies, whose stings were my remorseless thoughts." But above all there's Gardner's scorching beauty, which transcends the absurdities of the role -- and her rather limited acting resources -- to make it credible that Reggie should take poison, Geoffrey should send his racing car over a cliff, and Juan should die in the bullring, all for her sake.
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