Blackmail (1929)

Directed by Alfred Hitchcock; produced by John Maxwell (uncredited)

Rather bored with her boyfriend, a police detective, Alice White (Anny Ondra) makes a date with an artist (Cyril Ritchard). After accepting his invitation to see his studio, Alice is assaulted as she tries to leave, forcing her to kill her assailant in self-defence. But if her action was unseen, her involvement with the dead man is known, and the person who knows it has his own demands.

Famous as the first British-talkie, Blackmail is, as one might expect from the director – not then as renowned as he would become – filled with masterly and, at the time, ground-breaking scenes and techniques. This does not, however, keep it from being dated as entertainment.

The primary problem is the stilted performances of the leads, specifically the two principal male actors: Ritchard, and John Longden as the boyfriend, Frank Webber. Their acting looks to be that of the stereotype silent-era player, though of course Blackmail has sound. Ritchard was, in fact, a great success on stage, both on the boards and behind the scenes - his most famous rôle was that of Captain Hook in Peter Pan - so it may be that his technique simply did not translate to the subtler qualities of film. Longden was used extensively by Hitchcock, so I may be in error about his talents, too.

I initially included Ondra in this category of unsuccess, but discovered that, with her heavy Czech accent, her voice was dubbed (by Joan Barry). This changed matters, as I had thought that Ondra’s actions, expressions and ability to convey emotions to be quite good. It may be either Barry’s vocal acting, or the attempt to combine it with Ondra’s presence that failed.

As is the case in many movies, the supporting players come off better. Donald Calthrop as the blackmailer, Charles Paton and Sara Allgood as Alice’s parents, and Phyllis Monkman as a neighbourhood gossip, are all very good. Their performances are natural and convincing.

The story is partly to blame for Blackmail not holding up. The blackmailer has a connection to the dead man and, while that explains why he was in a position to see Alice with the would-be rapist, the connection, seemingly shady, is not explained. As well, the mere discovery by the extortionist’s victims that the villain has a criminal record has him pointlessly recant his demands, even though Alice would still have great reason to keep her part in the tragedy quiet. The motivation leading to the climax is lacking.

But it may be stated that the direction throughout is first-rate. Though he improved with age, Hitchcock clearly had much going for him from the start. He captures Alice’s trauma very well, spicing it with a tremendous scene in which Monkman’s character’s constant reference to knives is like a nightmare to Alice. As well, the setting of London shows the time and place perfectly, from a slum where a wanted man is hiding out, to a crowded restaurant where customers’ attempts to seat themselves is like a game of musical chairs. And the finale is exciting, featuring what would become a recurring motif of the director: action in a famous location, in this case the British Museum.

While, it is certainly not true that the majority of 1920s movies are too dated to enjoy – City Lights, reviewed in this blog almost exactly a year ago, remains a joy – some elements, often to blame as much in modern films, make Blackmail more interesting to watch than entertaining.

Tawny Pipit (1944)

Directed by Bernard Miles and Charles Saunders; produced by Herbert Smith (associate producer)

A young Royal Air Force pilot (Niall MacGinnis) is convalescing in the English countryside with his girlfriend (Rosamund John). The couple, bird-watchers in a small way, spy a tawny pipit, who appears to be building a nest. Realizing this is a rarity - in fact only the second time the species has bred in the British Isles - they call the man’s uncle (Brefni O’Rorke), a famous ornithologist. He feels he must inform his colleagues of this stupendous news. Soon, the local village has its hands full trying to keep the birds and their eggs safe from observers, poachers, government bureaucracy and well-wishers in general.

Written by the directors - of whom Miles amusingly portrays a retired army colonel (in unfortunately unconvincing ‘age’ make-up) - Tawny Pipit may have been made only where it was, when it was. It must also be one of the earliest films to have an environmental theme, yet this is tied very much to larger issues. Indeed, the smaller and the bigger are, the movie seems to argue, inextricably linked.

Superficially, Tawny Pipit is a gentle comedy about a village population coming together to preserve something that is worth preserving. There is no question in anyone’s mind that the birds and their nest should be saved. This falls naturally into line with protecting the village from disruptive outsiders who know nothing of country ways, or, if they do, want to use them to exploit the land.

What’s interesting about the village characters is that each shows his or her enthusiasm to the cause in distinct fashions. The colonel thunders about giving the birds fair play, while the vicar is academically vague in his joy over the nest, and the old-timers think of helping the same way they would if confronted with the closure of their pub.

But below the surface - and not far below - Tawny Pipit shows how very lucky Britons were to live in their country. The war against the worst danger Britain had ever faced was continuing at this time, and saving the birds is, in a way, an allegory for saving the country. This is seen more starkly when, on a good-will tour, a Russian soldier (Lucie Mannheim) comes to visit. She is in high spirits, but compares the green fields of England with those in her own country, where the common enemy tramples down the harvest, and from which her parents were taken to a fate unknown. As one exuberant bird-watching army corporal says, perhaps unnecessarily, the tawny pipit and its eggs are “you and me, they’re Britain.”

Also remarkable is that - perhaps less consciously than its other elements - the film shows how free a country Britain was, even in the midst of fighting a war. Government folly - well-meaning but blindly obedient bureaucracy - are skewered, while common sense and the value of ‘going to the top’ are celebrated. It would have been impossible to have achieved such a script in many other countries at the time.

Aside from the bigger picture, the movie is an adequately effective if not fully successful comedy. Its characters, if appearing stereotypical, are likely fairly accurate representations of the time and place. Notable are the village old-timers, who play the village idiots to mislead those they think are egg-stealers,  and the corporal (Stuart Latham) who helps confirm the rarity of the birds’ nesting. Rosamund John winningly demonstrates why she was a popular actress in her day. And that is a very, very young Juliet Mills who interrupts the colonel’s speech.

Tawny Pipit will be too slow for many, too easy-going for many more. But for a pleasing 81 minutes, it depicts an equally pleasing story and setting.

Dangerous Millions (1946)

Directed by James Tinling; produced by Paul Wurtzel (associate producer)

Invited to Shanghai, a group of people, disparate but distantly related, are told that they are the last living relatives of a multi-millionaire (Robert Barrat), who made his fortune in shipping on the China coast. They are sent into the interior of the country, where they will be tested, to see who is most worthy of receiving the inheritance. But a former associate (Victor Sen Young) of the tycoon, who felt he was cheated of his half of the business’s profits, kidnaps the group, and forces them to help collect his share - or be killed.

Despite the intriguing premise of the story, Dangerous Millions never excites or intrigues. Much of the problem is the cheapness of the production. I am not one who believes that more is better; I have seen many low-budget movies that have proved superior to their more expensive siblings. This result is usually achieved through shrewd use of limited resources, or a genuinely talented cast or crew. Dangerous Millions doesn't have enough of either.

That’s not to write that the film is incompetently made. The acting is adequate. The male lead, Kent Taylor, was prolific in B-movies and provides a suitably tough but easy-going hero. Dona Drake, as his female counterpart, is less talented. The supporting cast is watchable. However, as you can likely tell from this paragraph, the they are not up to the task of compensating for other short-comings.

The story wouldn’t appeal to a discriminating adult, and is too sedentary for less mature tastes. There is some shooting, and a couple of fist-fights, but they are rather dull affairs. There are secret tunnels, rooms bugged with microphones, a gentlemanly Chinese villain who speaks in bad - and undoubtedly unChinese aphorisms. These are elements of a Boys’ Own Paper adventure from the 1920s, but the readership of that periodical would have demanded more excitement and a faster pace. The script drops names and locations in quick and cheap attempts to create exoticism and provide background, yet neglects explanations, such as who a certain character is, and why he is murdered.

As stated, the production values are low, without much attempt to utilize what is available. The opening scene is set in Shanghai; instead of stock film of a city which, between the two world wars, was both famous and important (and thus surely the subject of much footage), there is a slightly blurry still photograph of a street-scene. A sequence set in a cave-like tunnel is simulated by darkness relieved by a candle (which doesn’t show the tunnel’s sides) and unconvincing echo-effects.

The story, the direction and the talky nature of the script might lead one to suspect a stage origin for the movie. The 1920s and ‘30s featured dozens of plays every week in the West End of London alone, and many of them were escapist fun in the detective, mystery or caper genre. Dangerous Millions might have been an adaptation of a lesser example of these works. Alas, the static quality of the action comes not from being bound by the limits of a stage but the limits of an imagination.

Despite a premise of which much might have been made, Dangerous Millions is a film that probably barely made back its obviously modest budget in 1946, and is not undeservedly forgotten now.

Threshold (1981)

Directed by Richard Pearce; produced by Michael Burns and John Slan

Thomas Vrain (Donald Sutherland) is the world’s leading heart surgeon. He saves lives on a daily basis but there are some patients whose conditions worry him, particularly young Carol Severance (Mare Winningham). Vrain operated on Carol years before; her affliction meant, however, that her future was always in doubt. At a medical convention, Vrain meets Aldo Gehring (Jeff Goldblum), who has been working for twelve years to develop an artificial heart. The two doctors labour together, against opinion and time, to give Carol a chance at life.

Threshold has been called science-fiction, which indeed it is. The genre usually includes aliens, space travel, monsters or the like; something that is quite fantastic and often centuries away. Threshold was, when it was made, a mere year ahead of its time. The first artificial heart was implanted in a human in 1982. The timeline makes the film intriguing for much of its story.

That story is more about the people involved in the science than the science itself, and does a good job portraying them, for the most part. Vrain in particular is interesting: he comes across as almost apathetic in the beginning, shaking hands with erstwhile patients and making the most of a publicity event. When he meets Carol years after her surgery, there is the first hint of something more under the blasé exterior. His repeated request that she come see him suggests genuine concern. As the movie progresses, the inference might be made that Vrain is lackadaisical about patients he knows are out of danger, cases that are routine. His reactions to others, such as Carol and the irascible Henry De Vici (Michael Lerner), are different.

But the script lets the film down after the climactic heart-surgery. The writers seem not to know what to do with the story subsequently. The circumstances are such that Vrain and Gehring perform the surgery without explicit permission from their superiors, and the implications are that they will be in trouble over it. While the media circus over the event is well-depicted, the reactions of doctors and administrators simply are left out. We hear nothing about the professional consequences.

As well, Gehring’s character changes from a driven, slightly eccentric nerd (the sort Goldblum would come to specialise in) to an egomaniac. If given more foreshadowing, this may have been convincing; as it is, the change seems to come from nowhere.

Threshold is, though, saved by several factors, primarily the acting. Winningham gives an excellent performance as the frightened but brave young woman, and Sutherland, his character allowed time to develop, also does very well. The direction is quite good. For much of the film, it is standard, but the surgery at the centre of the action is well-handled and tense.

Despite its flaws, which, unfortunately, hurt the final third of the movie, Threshold is an entertaining and involving look at what might very well have been, given slightly different circumstances; science fiction that comes quite close to fact.