Blanche Fury (Marc Allégret, 1948)

Valerie Hobson and Stewart Granger in Blanche Fury

Cast: Valerie Hobson, Stewart Granger, Michael Gough, Walter Fitzgerald, Maurice Denham, Sybille Bender, Allan Jeaves, Edward Lexy, Susanne Gibbs, Ernest Jay, Townsend Whitling, J.H. Roberts. Screenplay: Audrey Erskine-Lindop, Cecil McGivern, Hugh Mills, based on a novel by Joseph Shearing. Cinematography: Guy Green, Geoffrey Unsworth. Production design: John Bryan. Film editing: Jack Harris. Music: Clifton Parker. 

Timidity is fatal in moviemaking, and Blanche Fury, whose very title promises turbulent emotions, is a timid movie. It failed at the box office, and its producer, Anthony Havelock-Allan, acknowledged that it didn't turn out the way he wanted, leading to his departure from the producing company, Cineguild, and its eventual collapse. It’s a story, involving as it does an ancient curse, that demands high passion and exquisite villainy, but it gets neither. The key failure is in the protagonists, Blanche Fury (Valerie Hobson) and Philip Thorn (Stewart Granger). They should be modeled on the Macbeths, the very byword for glamorous wickedness. She is an impoverished gentlewoman, née Blanche Fuller, from the wrong side of the family. He is the manager of the country estate of the Fury family, their own kin but from the wrong side of the blanket. Thorn has been scheming to be declared the legitimate heir to the estate, hiring a lawyer to track down any evidence that his father, Adam Fury, actually married his mother. Blanche comes to the estate to serve as governess to the daughter of Laurence Fury (Michael Gough), current heir to the estate and a widower. So you guessed it: Blanche is going to marry the insipid Laurence and fall in love with the virile Thorn, and the two will scheme to get their own hands on the estate. Except that in the portrayal of their schemes, the film goes out of its way to make Blanche and Thorn look better than they are, to justify their wicked ways. Blanche is shown struggling to put up with the harshness of her previous employer, an imperious dowager, and Thorn likewise suffers the abuse and indignity of becoming essentially a servant to a household he believes he should head. Blanche and Thorn should flame, or at least smolder, with passion, but Hobson and Granger strike only the feeblest of sparks, partly because the screenplay doesn't give them enough opportunity to ignite. Much of the film seems to be derived from better costume dramas; there is, for example, a death that comes straight out of Gone With the Wind (Victor Fleming, 1939). There's also a lot of nonsense about marauding gypsies: The film's Roma are the stereotypical fortune tellers, trinket peddlers, and horse thieves. It has to be said that the movie is quite handsomely filmed in Technicolor by two eminent cinematographers, Guy Green, who did the interior scenes, and Geoffrey Unsworth, who shot the lovely exteriors in Staffordshire and Bedfordshire. If the story and the characters had the depth and color of its images, Blanche Fury might have been more than the routine costume drama it is. 

Great Expectations (David Lean, 1946)

Great Expectations (David Lean, 1946)

Cast: John Mills, Valerie Hobson, Jean Simmons, Martita Hunt, Finlay Currie, Alec Guinness, Bernard Miles, Francis L. Sullivan. Screenplay: David Lean, Ronald Neame, Anthony Havelock-Allan, Kay Walsh, Cecil McGivern. Cinematography: Guy Green. Production design: John Bryan. Film editing: Jack Harris. Music: Walter Goehr.

Kind Hearts and Coronets (Robert Hamer, 1949)

Dennis Price and Joan Greenwood in Kind Hearts and Coronets

Louis D'Ascoyne Mazzini: Dennis Price
Edith D'Ascoyne: Valerie Hobson
Sibella: Joan Greenwood
Ethelred, Lord Ascoyne/Rev. Lord Henry/ Gen. Lord Rufus/Admiral Lord Horatio/Young Ascoyne/Young Henry/Lady Agatha D'Ascoyne: Alec Guinness
Louis's Mother: Audrey Fildes
The Hangman: Miles Malleson
The Prison Governor: Clive Morton
Lionel: John Penrose
Lord High Steward: Hugh Griffith

Director: Robert Hamer
Screenplay: Robert Hamer, John Dighton
Based on a novel by Roy Horniman
Cinematography: Douglas Slocombe
Art direction: William Kellner
Film editing: Peter Tanner
Costume design: Anthony Mendleson
Music: Ernest Irving

Kind Hearts and Coronets is best known for Alec Guinness's tour de force as the entire D'Ascoyne family, but that's hardly the greatest of pleasures the film affords. Dennis Price's performance as the suavely lethal Louis is as much a demonstration of how to act sophisticated comedy as one could wish, and who can resist Joan Greenwood as Sibella, especially in hats that seem to contain an entire florist's shop? It evokes her definitive Gwendolen Fairfax in Anthony Asquith's 1952 filming of The Importance of Being Earnest. In fact, Oscar Wilde's play is the essential background reference for Robert Hamer's screenplay -- it apparently also influenced the novel on which the film is based -- and you hear Wilde's voice in such lines as Mazzini's "It is so difficult to make a neat job of killing people with whom one is not on friendly terms." Hamer's staging also provides the necessary distancing from Mazzini's murders, as in the scene in which he offs Young Henry D'Ascoyne: While Mazzini is taking tea with Edith in the garden we hear a whump that neither character acknowledges as Henry's darkroom explodes with him in it. Then smoke begins to arise beyond the garden wall, and Mazzini comments that someone must be burning leaves. Not this time of year, Edith replies, and Mazzini rushes off to "investigate" what he knows has happened. Kind Hearts and Coronets seems to me the best of all the classic British comedies of the late 1940s and the 1950s.

Bride of Frankenstein (James Whale, 1935)

Funny, campy, occasionally scary, and featuring over-the-top performances by Ernest Thesiger, Dwight Frye, and Una O'Connor, Bride of Frankenstein may also be the saddest of all horror movies. Much has been made of a perceived subtext of the film, based in part on the knowledge that its director, James Whale, and Thesiger were openly gay, and it's possible to see the plight of the monster (Boris Karloff) as analogous to that of the gays of their time, subject to ridicule and repression from a hostile society. In this reading, Whale and Thesiger adopt camp attitudes as a way of thumbing their noses at a hostile, uncomprehending society. But that's an unnecessarily reductive interpretation. The monster is the ultimate outsider, an anomalous and inarticulate being, whatever his sexuality. He briefly finds companionship in the blind hermit (O.P. Heggie) who begins to teach him to speak -- including the word "friend" -- but their relationship is doomed by the intrusion of the world of ordinary humans, a world he can never be part of. In the end, when the mate (Elsa Lanchester) who has been created for him rejects him, his only recourse is self-destruction. "We belong dead!" the monster proclaims. To see Bride of Frankenstein as some sort of parable about gays in society would then be an endorsement of suicide as the only option. Subtexts often reside only in the mind of the beholder, and Whale was too much of an artist to turn his film into any kind of message, however latent in the fantastic tale he is telling. Better instead to relish Karloff's ability to give a subtle performance that shows through pounds of makeup. Or Lanchester's remarkable control and timing in bringing the bride to life, including the squawks and hisses that she claimed to have developed by watching swans in the park. Or John J. Mescall's classic black-and-white cinematography, Charles D. Hall's set designs, and Franz Waxman's score. Yes, Colin Clive and Valerie Hobson are a most improbable couple as the Frankensteins. Clive was far gone into alcoholism and looks it, but nobody could have delivered the line "She's alive! Alive!" more memorably.