And The Loser Is... #20- North and South

I recently watched two films from 1940s Hollywood, both depicting small-town American life. Despite some passing similarities between the two films (their portrayal of very particular forms of folksy American living, a focus on family life, and a supporting turn in each by Oscar-nominated character actress, Beulah Bondi), it is the differences which are more striking, starting with the respective settings.

Our Town  (1940), was directed by Sam Wood (director of many a Hollwood classic, from the Marx brothers vehicle A Night At The Opera, to Gone With the Wind, although he was uncredited for the latter), and based on a Pulitzer Prize-winning play by Thornton Wilder. The film is set in a small New England town, beginning at the turn of the 20th century, and tells a simple tale of community spirit, and the blossoming love between two neighbours. In this New Hampshire town, everybody knows everybody else's name, the milkman lets himself into the house to deliver his milk, and "a dog could lie in the middle of Main Street all day without being disturbed".

Life in The Southerner (1945) is a little different. The great French director, Jean Renoir (son of the artist, Pierre-Auguste Renoir) directed the film a few years after fleeing Nazi-occupied France and becoming an American citizen. I have come to the conclusion that Renoir is the greatest director who ever lived (an opinion shared by Orson Welles, although if pushed, Welles may well conclude that he himself is the greatest director who ever lived!). This is the man who, in a two year spell, made The Rules of the Game, La Bete Humaine and The Grand Illusion- all masterpieces, with the former and latter being in the discussion for greatest film ever made. His films are known for their exploration of class differences and human desires, are imbued with a rapier wit, and shot with elegance, making great use of mise-en-scene and location to accentuate the themes at play. The output from his period in Hollywood is considered mixed, and this is the first of his American films I have seen.

The Southerner is, of course, set in the American South (although the state is never mentioned) where a poor cotton picker and his family attempt to branch out on their own, turning a small piece of land into a home and a working farm. In comparison to Our Town, this is a bleak film, showing the hardships involved in rural living. The central family, the Tuckers- Sam, wife Nona, two young 'uns, and the caustic Granny (Bondi), meet many obstacles in their pursuit of the American dream, including a surly neighbour, illness, and a cataclysmic storm.

It is not without sentimentality though. Indeed, the Tuckers are one of those honest, hardworking families which always band together during a crisis, knowing they can overcome anything with the strength of their love. This is something of a Hollywood staple, and becomes somewhat cloying in a film which is effective in creating the appearance and feel of a dirt-poor Southern town, rife with difficulties.

If The Southerner is prone to moments of sentimentality, Our Town is positively teeth-rotting in its sweetness. Right from the opening scene, in which a kind-faced elderly man, leaning on a gatepost, introduces us to the town, its people and its way of life, this seems less like a film and more like an elongated bread commercial. Contrast this to the opening scene of The Southerner; an elderly man dies from exhaustion in the cotton field. In this early sequence, we meet the key players in the film, and get lessons about the town from local historians (when one man gives the town population, our narrator whispers in his ear that Mrs. such-and-such has just had twins, causing the man to add two to his total with a friendly smile). It's all rather nauseating, to be honest.

The central characters are young Emily Webb and George Gibbs. Emily is played by Martha Scott, reprising her stage role, and getting a best actress Oscar nomination in the process. George is played by William Holden in just his third credited role. Both are fine, although Scott, in her late twenties at he time, is very hard to buy as a school-girl. The two kids tiptoe around each other, Emily dedicated to her studies, and unsure of whether she holds any allure for the opposite sex, and George, shy and somewhat awkward, an underachiever at school who just wants to work on his uncle's farm.

Love's young dream: Scott and Holden

The film jumps forward several years to find Emily and George on their wedding day, and then back again to show how they finally got together. It's fairly typical romance stuff, but there just doesn't seem to be anything there. Interestingly enough, the film was advertised at the time as being much more dark than it turned out to be, and certainly I think any film with this kind of set-up made now would have to take the form of a critique of small-town American values, a la American Beauty.

To be fair, there are some diversions down relatively less-wholesome avenues, for example, the local choir master is a noted drunk, and we later find out, after jumping forward in time, that he ended up killing himself. This is an interesting aside that is unfortunately left unexplored. Later on, we get alarmingly close to tragedy, when Emily is taken sick whilst about to give birth. This gives rise to an inexplicable sequence in which Emily "dies", and her spirit travels back in time to visit her family when they were all younger. She ruefully laments the passage of time that has separated the family, as well as the fact that they never really made time for one another, something which doesn't really jive with the rest of the film. Anyway, she isn't really dead, just feverish, and wakes with a healthy child to resume her life on the farm with George.

Renoir frames the American South

Meanwhile, things on the Tuckers' farm aren't going so well. They arrive at their new property to find a ramshackle house, and a well that doesn't work. Granny does nothing but complain, and the kids need feeding. Sam visits the neighbour to beg use of his well, but finds a spiteful and jealous man, who promises to make Sam's life as difficult as can be. His attitude is rooted in his belief that some people are born to take orders and some to give them (Renoir finding time for some social commentary), and he resents the fact that Sam has taken a prime piece of land which could prove very fruitful, while he toiled for years (and lost his wife and child in the process) to earn what he has. Sam does his best to cultivate a working relationship between the two of them, but finally they come to blows after the neighbour destroys Sam's vegetable crop.

Eventually, the two work something out (strangely enough, an agreement based on the capture of a legendary catfish, which sounds like a plot that wandered in from another film, but just about works), and things seem to be on the up for the Tuckers. Their crops are doing well, and a wedding brings the whole family together for a party which comes as a nice change of mood in the largely bleak film. Then the storm moves in.

The central conflict in the film, above all else, is between Sam's simple dream of owning his own land, and the lure of the factory, represented by Sam's friend, a city man who says he can get Sam a well-paid job with him. After the storm detroys all of his hard work, Sam finally gives in, decides that he can take no more of living at the whim of the earth and the sky, and accepts the job. But, in true Hollywood style, it is when at his lowest ebb that Sam learns what is really important, as he returns home to find his wife, children, and even Granny, have fixed up the place, and are positive about the future. It's an ending which brings to mind It's A Wonderful Life, in it's message to never underestimate the decency of people. More than that, the message is that the love of a family, combined with hard work, can make anything possible.

There is a conflict throughout The Southerner, between a film which really wants to portray the realities of life for a poor farming family in the South, and a film which wants to celebrate the spirit of hardworking American people. I'm sure Renoir fought for a bleaker film, but compromised with the studio over the more Hollywood-ised aspects. It makes for a somewhat uneven, but nonetheless enjoyable film. Zachary Scott gives a fine performance as the dedicated Sam, and I especially enjoyed the performance of Betty Field as his supportive wife. Both are somewhat stereotypical characters, but the actors bring life to each of them. The grumbling Granny would be easy to dislike, but I thought Bondi brought some genuine humour to the film.

Renoir was given a Best Director nomination in a ridiculously strong field (Hitchcock and Wilder, who won, were also nominated), and brings a lot of class to the proceedings, particularly in his depiction of the American landscape. It's funny how many great films about American life have been made by foreign directors, but that's maybe a subject for another day. There is a realism and truth to this film which shines through, and it fits nicely into the director's oeuvre. 4 stars.

Our Town isn't a bad film, but I can think of absolutely no reason to recommend it. I suppose it does have a certain quaint charm to it, and fans of Holden may be interested to see him playing a much different role to what he would become known for. What baffles me is that this film was nominated for a Best Picture Oscar, losing out to Hitchcock's Rebecca. Despite a few capable performances, and bits of nice scenery, there's really nothing to see here. 2 stars.

I'll be back soon with another new review, but until then, here's looking at you!

And The Loser Is... #19- The Duke and the Dude

There are very few instances in Academy Award history of a film, and its remake, both being nominated for awards. One such instance occurred at the 2011 ceremony, when the Coen brothers' True Grit, picked up 10 nominations, to go along with the 2 nominations that Henry Hathaway's original picked up at the 1970 awards show. This also became a rare case of two different actors being Oscar-nominated for playing the same character, Jeff Bridges and John Wayne joining the likes of Robert De Niro and Marlon Brando (Vito Corleone) and Cate Blanchett and Judi Dench (Queen Elizabeth). I watched both versions of True Grit over the past couple of nights, and will be talking about both films in this blog.

First, the story. Young Mattie Ross is a precocious 14-year-old girl, who turns up in Arkansas town in the late 1800s, bent on bringing to justice the man who killed her father. To that end, she hires surly, drunken, US Marshall 'Rooster' Cogburn, a man known for his 'grit' and who has knowledge of the Indian territory to where the killer, Tom Chaney, has fled. Meanwhile, a Texas Ranger, LaBeouf, is also tracking Chaney for a murder he committed in Texas. The three of them head off together, bickering along the way, but are forced to rely on each other to survive their perilous trek.

Both films are relatively close in story content, with a few key differences. First of all, the original film begins with a scene at the Ross ranch, where we are introduced to Mattie, her father, and Chaney, who has been hired and put up by the family. Shortly after meeting these characters, the main intention of which seems to be to establish both Mattie's strong affection towards her father, as well as her role as the bookkeeper for the family business, we witness Chaney's crime, a pointless murder over a quarrel about some money lost at cards. The Coen brothers decide not to show the murder, and their film begins with Mattie pulling into the town where the murder took place, in order to settle her father's business affairs. To my mind, this works better, as it serves to mythologise the Chaney character, who we don't actually see on screen until the last 20 minutes or so of the film. It also acts as a way to separate Mattie from any emotional ties to her family (we never see any of her family in the Coens' film), which is an important aspect of the film that I will come back to.

The other main difference in plot between the two films comes in the part played by LaBoeuf, the cocksure Texas Ranger. In the Hathaway original, the group of Cogburn, Ross and LaBoeuf stick together throughout their journey, despite the bickering. In the remake, LaBoeuf leaves the group on two separate occasions to go out on his own. I'm not sure which version is more loyal to the book in this regard, but I did think the choice to break the group up added more drama (in the sense that, while the action stayed with Mattie and Cogburn, you knew that LaBoeuf was still out there and wondered what role he would play later on), allowed the relationship between Mattie and Rooster, which is the emotional centre of the film, to develop more, and also allowed Mattie to do more. For example, there is a scene in the original where the trio come across a cabin in the wilderness, in which two outlaws are holed up. Rooster tells LaBoeuf to climb onto the roof and put his coat over the chimney, thus smoking the occupants out. In the remake, LaBoeuf has already left the group by this point, so Mattie performs the task.

As well as these minor story changes, there is a notable difference in tone between the two films. This might be expected between two films made 41 years apart, and more so when you have the Coens involved. The brothers have one of the more distinct styles in modern American filmmaking, and they incorporate a lot of their trademarks here. One of the things I appreciate the most about the Coens' work (and I have been a fan of theirs for a while) is that they can make very different films, but they all feel part of a wider body of work. Basically, you can tell a Coen brothers film when you see one, even though they are not visually showy directors.

The main thing that leaps out when watching these two films, it that tonally, the remake is much darker than the original. It definitely feels like a companion piece to No Country For Old Men  (2007), and you could even call it the third part of a loose trilogy looking at acts of violence against vast American backdrops, which began with Fargo (1996). Like No Country..., True Grit incorporates an abundance of nighttime scenes (tricky, as Hailee Steinfeld, who plays Mattie, had a working curfew due to her young age) to match the darkness of the characters and their actions. The original, conversely, actually looks like a film from an earlier period, its use of brightly-coloured landscapes bringing to mind the classic-era Westerns of the 40s and 50s, rather than its more gritty contemporaries, such as Sam Peckinpah's The Wild Bunch, which was released in the same year. Both films look good, but I think the remake does a better job of creating atmosphere and mood with its cinematography. Roger Deakins always does a great job on Coen movies, and was Oscar-nominated for his work on True Grit. As well as the lighting choices, his camera always moves with such poise; his work is never flashy, but gives the films he works on an epic, classical feel, and I actually think that the Coen brothers are underrated in terms of just how good their films look.

Extending from the aesthetic differences as it relates to tone, Hathaway's film has a much more jovial outlook, I suppose in keeping with the 'throwback' feel to his film. It's important to remember that the original was made right on the cusp of the New Hollywood, at a time when films like Bonnie and Clyde, much darker in subject matter, where becoming increasingly prevalent in American cinema. There is humour in both films, but the original definitely has a more jocular tone, and seems to want to keep things from getting too dark. The original is also very much wrapped up in the more simple-minded bravura and heroism of classic Westerns, whereas the remake shows slightly more interest in the morality of its characters' actions. Rooster Cogburn is, afterall, an anti-hero, a drunkard who, as it is basically acknowledged in both films, is rather too quick to reach for his gun. While the original plays this up as the weaknesses of an old rascal, the remake is more willing (though not entirely willing, it should be said) to treat these character flaws with seriousness. This difference is also reflected in the music, the eralier film using a "The Big Country"-style rousing Western soundtrack, while the Coens incorporate a more low-key score, the kind of thing you might find in a Ken Burns documentary.

John Wayne: hammy.

John Wayne won his only Oscar for his portrayal of Cogburn, whereas Jeff Bridges was nominated, but lost out to Colin Firth for The King's Speech. At the time, Wayne's win was considered more of a lifetime achievement award, with the actor himself admitting that Richard Burton should have won for Anne of a Thousand Days. Also nominated that year were Jon Voight and Dustin Hoffman for Midnight Cowboy. It was said that Wayne's performance in the film was too hammy. I'm no John Wayne fan, but I say if I'm going to watch Wayne it may as well be hammy Wayne, because he sure as shit can't pull off subtle and nuanced. He's fine here, good even, in a role that really was made for him. Bridges, too, is good, as he usually is, much more convincing in his delivery than Wayne, and with better timing, although maybe lacking in that honest-to-goodness Southern steel (or grit!) that the Duke has.

On the whole, the remake smokes the original performance-wise, in the key areas, at least. Wayne hated the performance of his co-star, Kim Darby (playing 14-year-old Mattie when she herself was 22), and Hathaway felt likewise about the performance of Glen Campbell as LaBoeuf. Campbell was cast in the hopes that he would have a hit with the film's title song, whereas Wayne wanted Karen Carpenter cast as Mattie. I actually thought the slight woodeness of Campbell's performance worked in his favour, considering that LaBoeuf is portrayed as something of a square in the film, even an object of pity. Darby definitely struggled, but a lot of my issues with her were more rooted in the character.

Hailee Steinfeld: revelatory.

To counter Darby and Campbell, the remake has Hailee Steinfeld, in her first theatrical role, and Matt Damon. Steinfeld is a revelation, and was Oscar-nominated for best supporting actress (Melissa Leo won for The Fighter). She plays Mattie with such steely determination, and such resourcefulness, that it is easy to believe that a 14-year-old could go on a quest to avenge her father's death. More impressive is that she never loses her sense of adolescence throughout the film. She somehow manages to be unerringly adult in the face of danger and hardship (not to mention witnessing several murders), while still capture the spirit of youthful eagerness. It's a performance I enjoyed a lot. Damon, too, is typically solid, capturing the bland virtue of LaBoeuf. The Coens are also really good at filling all the smaller roles in their films with interesting actors, so, while the original has great character actors like Robert Duvall, Dennis Hopper and Strother Martin, the Coen movie just feels much better-cast.

My main criticism of the original film is the way the Mattie character is presented. In the Coens' film, Mattie is cold, composed, and unmoving in her task. That isn't to say she is heartless. She is obviously driven by love for her father, and at several times throughout the film we see her acting in kindness (notably, to one of the outlaws that is suffering from a bullet wound in the cabin, and several times to LaBoeuf, in the face of Cogburn's flippant cruelty). However, there is very much the sense that she is hardened, and that the ability to detach herself from any emotional ties is the very thing that is driving her on to get justice for her father. In Hathaway's film, however, Mattie is a much more emotional character, more driven by her feelings, and more childlike (and particularly, one feels, girl-like). This really does the film no favours. One the best things about the remake is the sense that Rooster, LaBoeuf and Mattie are on equal footing- each brings something to the table, despite each having great impediments. Hathaway's Mattie often feels like she is just along for the ride, an annoyance for the adults to put up with. Because of this, the relationship between Cogburn and Mattie, which develops from one of distrust to one of genuine affection, doesn't resonate in the original the way it does in the remake.

Essentially, these two films are very much products, not so much of their era, but of the men involved. Hathaway started his career in the 30s, and worked on a great number of Westerns. Wayne, of course, is the most famous of all Western heroes. They represent a time and place where a man's heroism was judged by how many men he'd killed, and how little silliness he'd take from little girls and pretty boy out-of-towners. The Coens make films about a world without a real notion of heroism. Where everybody is as ridiculous and ill-prepared as everybody else. It's telling that the closest thing to a pure hero you might find in a Coens film is a heavily-pregnant small-town sheriff. The Coens, of course, always layer into there films these little 'Coenisms', quirky little sidetracks that don't add to the general feel of the story, but not the story itself. There are several such instances in this film, such as the appearance of a lone rider wearing a bearskin. I feel that in this film, these moments actually detract a little, and it owuld have been nice to have seen them play things a bit more straight, capturing the right balance as they did so well with No Country.... I also have my reservations about their choice to end the film with an epilogue, showing Mattie 25 years later, a stone-faced spinster who was never able to move on from the events of her childhood (not to mention the fact that she says LaBoeuf would now be close to 80, meaning that we were supposed to buy Damon as 50-plus when this took place).

On the whole, I think the remake is a better film. It's certainly more in tune to my tastes, but beyond that I think the changes the brothers made all bring something to the film that the original lacked. They gave the film a mythic quality, which makes it seem bigger than its genre and time period. As well as Steinfeld and Bridges' nominations, the film was also nominated for best picture, best direction, and a slew of other awards, but won nothing. I give the film 4 stars, and I give the original 3 stars.

Until next time, here's looking at you!

And The Loser Is... #18- I'm Henry VIII, I am, I am

The film director, Alexander Korda, who was born Sándor László Kellner in Hungary, is one of the most important figures of British cinema. He was the first film producer to receive a knighthood, the founder of London Films, which helped establish the careers of the likes of Michael Powell and Laurence Olivier, and he was the director of the first British film to be nominated for a Best Picture Oscar, which is the film I will be talking about today.

The Private Life of Henry VIII (Dir: Alexander Korda, 1933)
There is no mystery to this film- it does exactly what it says on the tin, that is, recount the personal affairs of the great 16th Century English king, beginning on the day of his third wedding, and ending with the king in old age. Henry is that most famous of English kings; he of the six wives, father of the future Queen Elizabeth, and founder of the Church of England. He has been depicted on the big screen many times, but the definitive portrayal comes in this film, from Charles Laughton, who won the best actor Oscar for his performance. Boisterous and temperamental, stout of belly and assertive in gait, Laughton captures the essence of a man who history remembers as a formidable and highly-strung ruler.

Charles Laughton as King Henry VIII

Matters of state are almost completely ignored by Korda, who quickly establishes Henry's character in the opening scenes, which cut from his simple-minded bride-to-be, Jane Seymour, who disturbs the king during an important state meeting to ask his opinion on what necklace to wear, to his current wife, Anne Boleyn, who waits patiently, and with admirable grace, to be called to the executioner's block. The scenes of the two women, for whom the day holds great significance for very different reasons, are brilliantly juxtaposed (Anne's mournful observation that it is a 'beautiful day' contrasted with Jane's more ebullient reading), and interspersed with scenes of court life, from gossiping ladies-in-waiting, to a curmudgeonly executioner, peeved that the job of beheading Anne has gone to a Frenchman.

These early scenes also establish the tone of the film, which drifts seamlessly between comedy (thanks to Arthur Wimperis and Lajos Biro's witty script), and moments of surprising poignancy. Henry's life is beset by tragedies (many of them at his own 'hand', of course), and Korda does a very good job of giving weight to things like Anne's execution, and the death of Jane during childbirth, without compromising the general joviality of proceedings.

It isn't until wife number four shows up that things really kick into high gear though. The real-life wife of Laughton, Elsa Lanchester is an English actress best remembered now as the streaky-haired Bride of Frankenstein in the 1935 classic film of the same name ("she's alive, ALIVE!"). She shows up here as the young German duchess, Anne of Cleves, who is recommended as a wife to Henry by Thomas Cromwell. The film's version of events remains somewhat true to accepted fact- an artist was sent to Germany to paint a portrait of Anne for the king, but it is suspected that he exaggerated her good looks, and when the king got a look at her in person, he found her not to be all that he had been led to believe. False advertising in its earliest stages.

History tells us that Henry kissed Anne on the forehead on their wedding night, before returning to his own quarters, thus never consummating the marriage, and that Anne, being an intelligent woman, knew not to stand in the way of an annulment. The film's version of events is far more entertaining, as Lanchester, gurning it up for maximum comedic effect, tricks Henry into the annulment, and into giving her land and her choice of his men-of-court (in this version of events, Anne has began an affair with the man who traveled to Germany to tell her of the king's proposal), by fleecing him in a game of cards.

Aces high: Lanchester and Laughton

The interplay between Laughton and Lanchester is fantastic, providing the best moments of the film, and it is unfortunate that Lanchester doesn't get more screen time. But, with just over 90 minutes to get through five wives, you can understand the reasoning. And, while Anne of Cleves, erm, leaves, Catherine Howard enters. This is the romance that is given most play in the film, depicted as one of true love from Henry's side. Catherine, however, is having an affair with one of the king's closest aides, Thomas Culpeper (played by Robert Donat). It is here that we see the king in a slightly different light. Whereas before his buffoonery was played for laughs, and endeared us to him, now we see the king being taken for a fool by the two people closest to him. We now feel genuine sympathy for him, as he excitedly pays Catherine a visit in her quarters, simply because he wanted to see her, unaware that Culpeper is hiding in the next room. When Henry is finally told of the betrayal, he breaks down in tears, a rare show of vulnerability for a man who always exudes a veneer of strength and vitality.

After the revelation of Catherine's affair, we jump forward a year, to find the king alone and dispirited. Here he is paid a visit by Anne of Cleves, who recommends that he marry for a sixth time, this time to an older, less-capricious woman. And so, we jump forward several more years to find an aging Henry married to Catherine Parr, who nags at him to eat better, and to cover himself with a blanket to keep warm. Parr has no charms to speak of, but ultimately is exactly the kind of woman that the king needs. "Six wives, and the best of them's the worst", as Henry puts it.

As an account of Henry's personal life, this film is far from extensive, but it does take a very simple joy in the time period and the characters. As well as focusing on the king and his wives, the film also strives to give us a sense of court life (a witch hides a charm under Henry's pillow on each of his wedding nights, insistent that it will provide for him a son; the palace's cooks gossip about the king's love-life). Laughton is never less than compelling in the title role, and is ably supported by a strong cast. This is a fun film, and there are plenty of worse ways to spend an hour and a half. 4 stars.

I'll be reviewing another new film in ATLI... #19. Until then, here's looking at you!

And The Loser Is... #17- The Prime of Dame Maggie Smith

Dame Maggie Smith is one of England's most beloved actresses, best known nowadays for playing the role of Professor McGonagall in the Harry Potter series. She is a two-time Academy Award winner, the first of those coming for her leading performance in the film I will be talking about today, The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (Dir: Ronald Neame, 1969).

The film is set in a conservative private girls school, in 1930s Edinburgh, in which the headstrong and progressive Miss Brodie is on a collision course with the more old-fashioned headmistress, Miss Mackay. Jean Brodie is a woman 'in her prime', as she is apt to remind her students, a lover of art and music (and fascism, which I'll get to!), 'truth and beauty', who neglects the school syllabus to share with her girls ('the Brodie Girls') her romanticised worldview. Mackay, meanwhile, is of the mindset that women are molded on the hockey field, too out-of-breath to concern themselves with high culture.

Brodie has a big influence on her girls, particularly her four favourites, Sandy, Jenny, Monica, and the stuttering new-girl, Mary, who is particularly besotted. So, too, are the art teacher, Teddy Lloyd, and music teacher, Gordon Lowther. The former, a married father of six, shared a brief fling with Jean, and is intent on winning her back. His impetuous artistic spirit is in contrast to the more grounded, somewhat dull, Lowther, who courts Brodie, but is dismayed by the rumours that pass through the school about their relationship. Through all of this, Brodie maintains that she is devoted to her girls, and that teaching is the only thing she needs.

The film is based on a play by Jay Presson Allen (which was, in turn, based on a novel), and you can tell. A lot of the time, describing a film as 'play-like' would be a criticism, suggesting that the film feels static, is maybe too verbose, and lacks a sense of the cinematic. When I use the phrase here, I'm talking about a richness of dialogue, characters that feel real, and are really given time to breathe, and a very particular way of developing the story, introducing conflicts that you don't initially see coming, but feel completely natural and organic. The script is tremendous, and the whole thing rests on the nature of Brodie's character.

Jean Brodie has all the attributes which one might find admirable in a character of this sort. She is an individual, who won't be beaten down by the archaic way of thinking prevalent in the system of which she is a part. She has a genuine love for her students. She wants them to blossom into ladies that can live a full life, enriched with romance and adventure, and is dedicated to making that happen. But, she has a fatal flaw, in that, while trying to impress upon her students the importance of individuality, she has become just as big a dictator as the conservative world she rails against. She has a narrow vision of what the world should be like, and wants the girls to fit into that. That is where her admiration for fascism comes into play, which seemed a strange plot-point, but came to make more sense the more the film developed. Brodie romanticises strong leaders, as she sees herself as one. She particularly admires Benito Mussolini. It is important to remember that the film is set prior to World War 2, and Mussolini's (and Fascist Italy's) relationship with the Nazis, and it is easy to see why Brodie might have taken to the ideals, as it stood opposed to socialism, and the downplaying of the individual. More to the point, Brodie is portrayed as a woman wise in cultural matters, but lack in real world understanding (when Teddy finds out that Brodie has started a campaign to raise money for Franco's efforts in the Spanish civil war, he declares that she never knew anything about politics).

And, yet, Brodie remains a truly sympathetic character. The writing plays a part, as does Smith's exceptional performance. Of the performances she was nominated alongside at the 1970 awards, I've only seen one, Jane Fonda's turn in They Shoot Horses, Don't They?, a fine performance in its own right, but not at the level of Smith's. She captures everything about Jean perfectly; her pride, her artfulness (reciting poetry, speaking Italian), the fierceness with which she defends her teaching style. One excellent scene sees Brodie finally let rip at Mackay, after the latter asks for her resignation upon finding out about the relationship between her and Gordon. Smith, with tears of anger forming in her eyes (but never escaping), exclaims that she will never be forced out, that she will fight to her last breath to remain in her position. That she is a teacher, first, last, always. It is a powerful display, typical of a performance which always strikes the right note, and really carries the viewer along with it, making us root for Jean, even as we question her methods.

The performances are actually strong throughout. Macay is excellent, as are Robert Stephens (who was married to Smith in real life) as Teddy, and Pamela Franklin as Sandy. Sandy becomes one of the film's key characters, as she is the one amongst Brodie's Girls who begins to see the damage the teacher is doing. In actuality, Sandy is taking Brodie's lesson a little too much to heart, as she develops the desire to break away from the uniformity of the other girls, staunch in their admiration for Brodie, and become the kind of woman, strong and independent, that Brodie should admire. However, to do this, she feels that she must take Brodie down, to 'stop her', as she says.

Smith and Franklin: the teacher and the pupil.

In some respects, it's hard to blame her. Brodie has her own ideas of what her girls will become, where their lives will lead them, and, while she declares Monica a future-great artist, and Jenny a future-great lover, the best she can muster for Sandy is that she is dependable. In fact, when Sandy tells Jean that she is to be painted by Teddy, Jean off-handedly tells her that she doesn't see her future in being painted. Sandy sees that as a rejection, and aims to get back at Brodie in the most hurtful way she can; first, by becoming Teddy's lover, and secondly, by taking away from Brodie the one thing that defines her above all else- her job.

This leads to a superb closing face-off between the two, again brilliantly written and performed. Smith first captures Brodie's resolve as she vows to fight the dismissal just handed down to her by Mackay, her fascist allegiances finally catching up with her. Then, the change comes, with the realisation that it was her dependable Sandy that had betrayed her, and the shift in Smith's countenance and tone is remarkable. Franklin, meanwhile, is positively scathing as the child betrayer ("you are no longer in your prime!"), who suddenly realises what she has done, and, more to the point, what she has become.

The scene is a fitting climax to a film which is full of these kinds of character complexities and parallels. It should also be mentioned that, as well as these great dramatic conflicts, this is a film full of humour, usually coming in the form of a Brodie witticism (upon finding out that Mackay wants to meet with her at 4.15 that day, Brodie quips "not 4, not 4.30, but 4.15. She thinks to intimidate me by the use of quarter hours"). This actually makes the drama more impactful, and adds resonance to the final stages.

The sets are great, as are the locations, and Neame directs with a sure touch, zooming in to capture the nuances of Smith's extraordinary performance. And, above all, it is that performance for which the film should be best remembered. Brodie is a deeply flawed character brouht to life by an actress who I'm beginning to think is completely flawless. 5 stars.

I should have another new review next time, but until then, here's looking at you!