Whatever happened to myth-making, eh? When British films were bonkers beautiful and aspired to be as dense and textured as a novel and as beautiful and stirring as a painting? Well it’s not to be found in the age of Richard Curtis, Working Title and Mamma-Bastard-Mia, alas, but a half century ago...
We're great fun at parties. Oh g'wan an' invite us! G'wan!There used to be two film-makers called Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger. Powell was clever, stylish and boundlessly energetic and Pressburger, an immigrant from Hungary, an ardent anglophile with a keen grasp of modern fairytale and lyrical writing. Powell would direct, Pressburger produce and both would write – but as with the Coen Brothers, the distinct roles of director and producer frequently muddied. They first rose to fame on the back of their propaganda work, which was sorely needed. When war broke out the Crown Films unit managed to eke out a few pounds and co-operation from the services to produce some truly turgid films. ‘The Lion Has Wings’ was regrettably one of these. Rushed into production and directed by Michael Powell, it is fast paced but pretty weak stuff that is typical of the many efforts offered up. Guidelines at the time told film-makers to portray the Germans as either stupid, or doomed through their own arrogance. Contrary to modern perception of the time, the public were quite cynical at the start of the war, and suspicious of propaganda. The public found ‘The Lion Has Wings’ to be both supercilious and ludicrously optimistic. One sequence has a bomber raid turned back by barrage balloon, which never happened and the public knew it, because balloons were there to intercept dive bombers, and the heavier bombers merely climbed in height and bomber anyway. Another sequence features a painfully sinister spy, and some forced and heavy handed patriotic shtick from Merle Oberon and Ralph Richardson.
Powell was pretty damning about the project, "…an outrageous piece of propaganda, full of half-truths and half-lies, with some stagey episodes which were rather embarrassing and with actual facts which were highly distorted..."
Better was to follow in the works of Humphrey Jennings, poetic documentaries reliant on symbolism and voice over and the semi-expressionist style of Alberto Cavalcanti, who joined the efficient if not always imaginative Ealing Studios. But Michael Powell had different ideas as to the films that should be made, basically in that they should aspire to truth, be marked with great storytelling and the best production values possible, and with complete artistic freedom. These films should also be current and vital, and say something about Britain past, present and future. They should also never lie.
Enter Emeric Pressburger, a man who had worked as a translator and short story writer in Berlin until 1935, when he left for Britain. The British film industry was remarkably welcoming of Hungarian émigrés, and Emeric found himself working with Alexander Korda on the pre-war ‘The Challenge’, a gripping film about mountaineering. Emeric was then assigned to a film called ‘The Spy in Black’ to do rewrites. It was there that he met director Michael Powell, and the two hit it off immediately.
‘The Spy in Black’, a film about a WWI German submarine commander (played by the in-demand German actor Conrad Veidt) meeting his contact on the Orkney islands, and being frustrated in his efforts by heroic school ma’am Valerie Hobson. It’s a decent flick, but far from exceptional. It did however have a good box office draw, thanks to the happy coincidence of it being the first movie released after war broke out.
Powell loved Pressburger’s writing and the two worked on a few modest ‘quota quickies’. It was for their first big effort however that Pressburger was upped to the status of producer, for the gripping chase movie ‘49th Parallel’. Within two films they had formed a production company, called ‘Archers Film Productions’. It was a company with a distinctive opening logo of a target being hit in gold by an arrow, accompanied by a fanfare – a moment well-loved by devotees. Archers had a simple credo, summarised in this manifesto drafted by Pressburger to persuade Deborah Kerr to hop aboard ‘The Life & Death of Colonel Blimp’.
1. We owe allegiance to nobody except the financial interests which provide our money; and, to them, the sole responsibility of ensuring them a profit, not a loss.
2. Every single foot in our films is our own responsibility and nobody else's. We refuse to be guided or coerced by any influence but our own judgment.
3. When we start work on a new idea we must be a year ahead, not only of our competitors, but also of the times. A real film, from idea to universal release, takes a year. Or more.
4. No artist believes in escapism. And we secretly believe that no audience does. We have proved, at any rate, that they will pay to see the truth, for other reasons than her nakedness.
5. At any time, and particularly at the present, the self respect of all collaborators, from star to prop-man, is sustained, or diminished, by the theme and purpose of the film they are working on.
Regrettably he did not add, “Sixth points? We’d rather be Michael Bay.” Or something.
KATHWING! *THUNK* Tootle-tootle-tootle-tootle-tootle-tootle-too-roo!The Archers movies that followed were genuine works of art, deeply stirring, beautiful and profound. Not that the critics at the time thought so, the fucking idiots. They were too busy sneering and mocking from ivory towers of bastard aloofness. The public didn’t seem to warm to them either, being largely baffled by the earnestness and philosophy of the productions. It was left to posterity for the films to acquire their status; championed by British film-makers such as Nicolas Roeg and Lindsey Anderson, it wasn’t until Martin Scorsese started running around telling everyone and organising film festivals, that they were rescued from obscurity. American appreciation of the films indeed seems somewhat more marked than British, as the DVD releases there are wonderful things packed with extras and painstakingly re-mastered, while we get ‘interactive-cocking-menus’ as our
special feature.
But never mind. They gave us a bundle of wonderful movies that failed to change cinema, but remain as amazing works of art and emotion. In this thread I'll be tackling their eight 'golden age' movies, before the inevitable decline of their subsequent not-as-goods. The first film I’ll be looking at is their 1943 epic chase movie, ‘49th Parallel’, a rare marriage of box office smash and critical darling for the duo. Meanwhile, I'll be asking if you could vote on your fave P&P movie out of the ones you've seen, even if it's only one.
Thanks for reading!
Register
Calendar
FAQ
Search
