She's
not kidding.
For
years I have had A Canterbury Tale on
VHS and I had not made time for it (Slarek will vouch
for my seeming inability to have seen what should be nourishing
Camus-food, classics, old or recent - if a recent classic
isn't an oxymoron, Disney take note). So its inclusion
in this terrific HMV Box Set was somewhat thrilling for
me; an unseen P&P classic (and that can mean and promise
so much).
I
remembered an odd line from Powell's autobiography. It
concerned the script of A Canterbury Tale and its casting. The P&P rule is usually 'Cast Livesey
and slide…' Well, they sent the script to Livesey
and in Powell's book, he says "Roger didn't understand
the part and because he didn't understand it, he found
it distasteful." Interesting and in some ways fiscally
prescient. A Canterbury Tale (despite
its status now and the respect it draws from certain quarters)
was a pretty substantial flop on its maiden distribution
voyage. People didn't get it. Other people, long after
the film was made, 'got it' and subsequently revered it.
I (for my terrible sins) still don't get it…
Oh,
the pain just to write those words…
I'm
still in a sort of stupor after seeing it and my decidedly
odd emotional response has nothing to do with the film's
greatness, status as a classic nor my recognition of a
film making pair at the height of their powers (after
all, this was made shortly after the extraordinary Life
and Death of Colonel Blimp). No. It's because
the movie is so un-movie-like. It's more like a leisurely
visual poem which ambles along like an uncoordinated puppy.
And maybe that is precisely the point. I'm so confused
by its status that I freely admit to being in two minds
about it, the very definition of ambivalent. For almost
two hours, a little voice (trilling from an angel on one
shoulder) kept on saying "Where are the Archers going
with this?" and the lobster complexioned guy on my
other shoulder was growling "Shut it. This is P&P…
In the end it'll all be worth it." Well, it's a satisfying
conclusion (it really is) with enough of an emotional
punch but I sit here bemused with thoughts of the Glue
Man and the three unlikely detectives who tumbled him.
If you think that last sentence sounds odd, you ain't
read nuthin' yet.
A
synopsis is going to sound just as utterly mad but here
goes (and forgive me if this sounds like the start of
a very silly joke). There was an English girl, an American
and an Englishman… No seriously. We have a period
Chaucerian opening starting with those great lines in
an English language now long gone but not forgotten.
Whan
that Aprill, with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote
Get
a Chaucer academic to read it aloud. It sounds great!
You want to know what all of it means? Google it. We even
have our Chaucerian characters on their pilgrimage to
Canterbury to be blessed. There is a fine '600 years later'
series of cuts somewhat belittled by the narrator actually
saying "600 years later…" It's a little
like Heyward Floyd intoning "Several million years
later…" over the cut from bone to spaceship
in 2001. So now in the present day (1944) set in the middle
of the 2nd World War in the verdant countryside of Kent,
an American sergeant gets off at Chillingbourne by mistake,
one stop short of where he needs to be, Canterbury. Alison,
a Land Girl (one of the women whose war effort was to
work hard at farm-based manual labour all over the country),
is also on her own pilgrimage to find work after losing
her sweetheart to enemy action. These two team up with
a British soldier and organist (I know, I know, don't
ask me) who dreams of playing in a church not merely accompanying
silent pictures in cinemas. He's now (as are most males
his age in this turbulent time in history) an enlisted
man. This odd threesome venture in the dark towards local
lodgings (instructed by train guard Charles Hawtrey of
the 'Carry On' fame.) and Alison is attacked, her hair
smeared in glue. The Glue Man has struck! I have found
myself, with A Canterbury Tale, on the
wrong end of a critical stick.
Okay.
So now I'm thinking there has to be a suitably surreal
pay off and I remember the title card of the movie. It's
not just A Canterbury Tale, it's "Eric Portman in A Canterbury Tale". So where's Eric?
Flash forward a few decades or so and we find Mr. Portman
in the Village as No. 2 in one of The Prisoner's
finest episodes, Free For All. His clipped delivery
and stiff physicality is evidence of an old school acting
style but it does paint a very vivid character portrait
of the local magistrate, Colpeper, head cheese of Chillingworth.
The performances of the leads has to be seen from the
context of the time in which it was made. The American
(who was a real soldier I'm led to believe) has that loud,
brash swagger about him (even when he's being humble)
and his acting is overstated and would stand out like
(forgive me, Raymond Chandler) a tarantula on a slice
of angel cake. But then, this was the mid-forties. And
in this odd, surreal, amiable amble through England's
green and pleasant land, his presence was necessary and
as stiff backed as his performance is, he still has a
way about him which is eminently watch-able.
Our
three 'detectives' set out to find the 'Glue Man'. The
American stumbles upon an intelligence source (the local
kids playing war games, a charming scene that has its
own magic). After the inevitable 'j'accuse', we realise
that… Perhaps this is where I put a spoiler alert.
We realise that a profound appreciation of the special
location has been eroded by the war and the ham fisted
attitudes of the stationed American soldiers. In order
to preserve what Colpeper places value on, he has deliberately
tried to put off visitors so he could teach the soldiers
what he loves about the place he has made his home. So
he puts glue in visiting women's hair. OK…
I
have to finally admit that I really did enjoy the movie
but I kept on remarking to no one in particular (there
was no one with me at the time) that I just didn't understand
what the fuss was about. I could so easily sympathise
with Powell's 1944 audience at the time of its initial
release. No matter. P&P are still gods in my pantheon
of cinema greats. And then along comes some odd Australian
comedy, the writer of which (Mr. Pressburger), feels the
need for a pseudonym. They're A Weird Mob
may be the last movie Powell and Pressburger worked on
as a partnership but it doesn't feel like an Archers movie.
In fact my reaction to it is even more skewed than my
reaction to A Canterbury Tale. More on
that over on its own page.
Framed
4:3, this is a sharp black and white transfer with a modest
smattering of neg damage (some transit lines but mostly
sparkle). The contrast is consistently good throughout.
And again (sorry to repeat myself) but the sound is mono
and solid with fine Dolby Digital 2.0 clarity. The soundtrack
only really grates a little when the orchestra gets very
orchestral (inside the cathedral and on a walk towards
the cathedral) and the mix is almost too loud for its
own good. Curiously there are no subtitles which is weird
(but true to form if it really is a redressed and repackaged
cheapo Silver Collection version, which it is). A pity.
Hah!
Extras, schmextras. It says Trailer and you click on it
and it's a bloody trailer for the distribution company
not of the actual feature. That's low.
