Ramblings and Miscellany

Actor, director and frozen pea spokesperson Orson Welles would have been 98 years old today. While Welles’ Citizen Kane (1941) may be one of the most important American films of all time, I have always been fascinated with his shadowy role in Carol Reed’s postwar thriller, The Third Man (1948). Welles’ impact on the film (and the character of Harry Lime) has become almost mythic. Many critics refer to the film as “Graham Greene, Carol Reed and Orson Welles’ classic film.” Almost mirroring his character’s exaggerated importance in the film (Lime is only in a 1/3 of the film but is talked about throughout), Welles seems to have an exaggerated importance in the making of the film.

Oh, that impish smile!

“The traditional approach to The Third Man aligns the audience’s sympathies with the sympathies of Anna. Harry Lime, a figure who stoops so low as to steal medicine from children and replace it with a harmful substitute, is seemingly forgiven solely because of his charm. Lying, stealing, even endangering the lives of children are nothing compared to that charm. The character was so appealing that Orson Welles reprised his role as the enigmatic racketeer in a series of radio prequels that chronicled the early adventures of Harry Lime” (The Lasting Influence of the War on Postwar British Film 93).

I consider the importance of American expatriates (in The Third Man and Night in the City) and put forward a reading of a distinct British film noir in The Lasting Influence of the War on Postwar British Film, published by Palgrave Macmillan. It’s available on Amazon (Canada, US, and UK). Or, request your local public library to order it.

Today, in 1413, Henry V was crowned King of England.

“The British worried about how children who had been evacuated would develop into adulthood and whether parents and the social system could raise these children. The Dickens novels [Great Expectations, Oliver Twist, Nicholas Nickleby, and A Christmas Carol] provide fruitful source material for stories about neglected children and cruel or ineffectual parental figures. I have opted for the term “parental figures” as it more accurately represents the characters we encounter in these films. Not all are literal parents, but rather surrogate or substitute parents: uncles, sisters, grandparents, teachers, Workhouse administration. In British society, these concerns are addressed most clearly in the groundbreaking psychoanalytic work of D.W. Winnicott, as well as that of the Sub-Committee of the Women’s Group on Public Welfare’s 1946-47 “Study on the Neglected Child,” which came out of the government-sponsored Curtis Report.  All four Dickens films concern children who are abandoned, orphaned and/or neglected by parents and parental figures.  There is also a sustained scrutiny of unfit parental figures: either “weak” parental figures, who, however kind and loving, are ultimately unable to adequately care for, or protect, their children, or ruthless, abusive, and cruel “negligent” parental figures. In choosing to adapt these particular Dickensian narratives, the filmmakers foreground concern for children and reflect the growing distrust and distance between adults and youth in postwar Britain” (The Lasting Influence of the War on Postwar British Film, 146).  

Magwitch holds Pip, David Lean’s Great Expectations (1946)

Pip hides from his sister and “Tickler”, Great Expectations (1946).

The Squeers’ school, Cavalcanti’s Nicholas Nickleby, (1947).

“[M]ost of Kerr’s distinct features are covered by her costume. The nun’s habit hides all but Kerr’s face, which must, as a result of the confining costume, bear the weight of her performance. Her face must express the whole of her screen identity: her strength of character and independence, as well as her vulnerability, her desire, and her uncertainty. The wimple acts as a kind of costume close up, like an iris shot: the white that surrounds her face serves to emphasize her expressions while hiding the rest of her.” (The Lasting Influence of the War on Postwar British Film, 42).

Michael Powell directs Deborah Kerr and Roger Livesay in The Archers’ wartime masterpiece The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp.

Stuart Freeborn transforms Alec Guinness into the pickpocket Fagin for David Lean’s Oliver Twist (1948). The make up, modeled closely on George Cruikshank’s original illustrations, and Guinness’s characterization were considered anti-Semitic by many. The film was banned in Israel (and in Egypt because, ironically, of the sympathetic portrayal of Fagin). When the film was finally released in the US in 1951, seven minutes of Guinness’s performance were trimmed.

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“Guinness can be anyone: Victorian Jew, Arabian sheik, Russian general, or Jedi master…By transforming from one character to another, Guinness suggests that there might be nothing behind the identity of middle-class masculinity, and that it is all just a façade. These performances highlight the performative nature of Guinness, subtly reminding the audience of the elusiveness of Guinness and the characters for which he stands.”

Michael W. Boyce, The Lasting Influence of the War on Postwar British Film, 50.

Great publicity photo for Alexander Mackendrick’s dark comedy, The Lady Killer (1955). Gotta love those teeth on Alec Guinness.


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