I Walked with a Zombie (1943) **

Producer Val Lewton and director Jacques Tourneur made three low-budget ‘horror’ films together for RKO: Cat People (1942), I Walked with a Zombie (1943), and The Leopard Man (1943).  For me, they are slightly amusing looks at the supernatural with a heavy dose of eerie cheese on the side.  The acting is always less than stellar and the set productions are minimal, but the stories are always oddly entertaining and told in a highly unusual way.  Still, with far superior films left off the 1001 List, I find it a tad galling that two out of their three films together made the cut.

I Walked with a Zombie is a tale of voodoo and love. Nurse Betsy Connell (Frances Dee) is dispatched to Saint Sebastian in the Caribbean to care for Jessica Holland (Christine Gordon), a catatonic woman who walks around like a zombie (hence the film’s title). Jessica’s husband, Paul (Tom Conway), is a morose sugar plantation owner who tells anyone who will listen that everything good dies on St. Sebastian.  I suppose he had a reason to be bitter, as before his wife fell ill she planned to run away with his half-brother, Wesley Rand (James Ellison). Anyway, Jessica’s a zombie, Paul is a bore and Wesley is a drunk—oh, and their mother (Edith Barrett) is a pretend voodoo priestess to the superstitious locals.  Obviously attracted to the bizarre, Betsy soon falls in love with Paul and does all she can do to heal Jessica—even going so far as to take Jessica to the voodoo priest (although at the time she wasn’t aware that Jessica’s mother-in-law could have just been called to the house).

Okay, so what can I say good about I Walked with a Zombie?  Betsy and Jessica’s perilous jaunt into the sugar cane fields to reach the houmfort (it’s where the voodooers gather) is creepy.  Jungle drums fill the air and the wind is swirling, oh, and there’s a beyond frightening gatekeeper (Darby Jones) who they must pass to gain entry to the houmfort. Once there, they encounter possessed looking people gyrating about and a devilish-looking fellow wielding a saber for some ceremony.  While it is interesting that Tourneur and Lewton take a stab at calypso culture, I don’t know how realistic a depiction it was—personally, I hope they let their imaginations get a bit carried away.

Nothing good can really be said about the acting, although Frances Dee does a passable job.  She was pretty much a B-actress her entire career, but this was one of her better performances.  If anyone deserves any kudos it would have to be Theresa Harris as Alma, the house servant who tells Betsy how to find the houmfort.  Perhaps if there hadn’t been such a color barrier in Hollywood she could have found more meaningful roles. 

Yet, the bad acting is not the thing that most troubles me about I Walked with a Zombie. For the life of me I can’t figure out when, why or how Betsy fell in love with Paul. One minute he’s saying the world is full of doom and playing the piano rather poorly, and the next Betsy is declaring her undying love for him—what? Oh, and how didn’t Mrs. Rand’s sons know their mother played voodoo priestess in her free time when they seemed to know everything else that went on on the island?  There are just too many plot holes that go left unexplained. I suppose this was budget related, but still…

Overall, I Walked with a Zombie takes an amusing and unusual look at the world of voodoo. It is one of the better B-films to come out of Hollywood in the 1940s, but it surely isn’t one of the movies I had to see before my death. 

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The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943) **1/2

You’d think a film about a career British Army officer’s effort to make the Home Guard strong enough to withstand a German invasion during WWII would please the likes of Prime Minister Winston Churchill and the War Office.  Yet, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger’s (AKA the Archers) The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943) was a mild annoyance to the British government, who worried that the film would send the wrong message to Britons. As such, they deprived the Archers access to military equipment and personnel.  Being the Archers, however, meant that they knew how to improvise with whatever they could get their hands on and design what they couldn’t. The end result was a comedy of manners that is both filled with a bit of British introspection and a lot of war-time propaganda.

Major General Wynne-Candy (Roger Livesey) is the epitome of the honor bound British officer. To him even war must be conducted in a civilized manner.  We first meet him while he is on leave from the Boer War in South Africa. After reading a letter from a woman living in Berlin that a man he knows is spreading lies about British conduct in South Africa, Candy decides he must put an end to such deplorable behavior. In Berlin he meets the letter’s author, Edith Hunter (Deborah Kerr), and insults what seems like the entire German Army.  This infraction leads to his being challenged to a duel, in which he and Theo Kretschmar-Schuldorff (Anton Walbrook) are forced to wield sabers against one another although they’ve never even met.  When both are injured they recuperate together in a nursing home and a lifelong friendship develops, despite the fact that Theo ends up marrying Edith, the love of Candy’s life. 

The second section of The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp focuses on Candy’s time in WWI. By this time he has seen many uncivilized things, but sticks to his principles because the Germans, the perpetrators of all sorts of horrors like using mustard gas and torturing POWs, are losing the war.  At a convent he spies a British nurse who looks a lot like Edith. Once home, he finds Nurse Barbara (again Deborah Kerr) and marries her. They spend a few happy years together before she dies while they are stationed in Jamaica.

The last part of the movie looks at how alien the world seems to Candy amidst Nazism and WWII.  Once again he has found an Edith replacement in Angela (yet again, Deborah Kerr), his personal driver.  He and Theo are reunited when the retired German soldier flees the insidiousness that has taken over his nation. It is Theo’s unpleasant duty to inform Candy that WWII is not a gentleman’s war and that, “If you preach the Rules of the Game while they use every foul and filthy trick against you, they will laugh at you! They'll think you're weak, decadent!” Ah, the stiff British upper lip would never be the same—for either Candy or Britain.

Time is the most important theme that runs through The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp. Amidst sporadic German air raids, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp was shot at Denham Film Studios and at various locations throughout London and Yorkshire. The end result is a film that spans four decades and vast amounts of land. The Archers use two particular methods to show the passage of time. Candy is an avid hunter, and so they chose to use mounted exotic animal heads from the various countries Candy was stationed in. The second method was through a scrapbook that he and Barbara used to document their excursions throughout the British Empire. This was an especially effective tool because once Barbara dies the Archer’s return to showing the passage of time with dead, mounted animal heads again.

The Archer’s also analyze time introspectively. Manners, decorum, honor, and warfare change immensely with the passage of time. How Edith behaves during the Boer War is markedly in contrast to Angela’s more liberated personality during WWII.  When you felt insulted in 1903 you challenged someone to a duel. By 1939, if you felt slighted you started a world war.  And, then there’s Candy.  Poisonous gas, torture, concentration camps, and a whole host of atrocities he didn’t even know about, like the Holocaust, were anathema to a man who believed there was a code that both a soldier and society should live by.  Colonel Blimp, our title character, by the way is Candy.  While the title might say ‘the life and death of’, Blimp does not actually die physically. No, he dies metaphysically as a result of the complete destruction of the civilized world by barbarism and Nazism. Most people don’t really consider anymore just how powerful Britain was before WWII, but they controlled a quarter of the globe via trade and colonialism. After the war the British Empire fell on hard times, and like Colonel Blimp, it died, too.

No discussion of The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp would be complete without mentioning how propagandistic it was. No, Churchill and the War Office didn’t really like it, but it did a very good job of convincing viewers that to defeat the Nazis they would have to dispense with good old British honor. The most telling line in the entire film comes from Theo the German: “This is not a gentleman's war. This time you're fighting for your very existence against the most devilish idea ever created by a human brain - Nazism. And if you lose, there won't be a return match next year... perhaps not even for a hundred years.” With a message like this it is difficult to see why Churchill disliked the movie so much—but, of course, the rumors that Candy was actually a caricature of Churchill might have had something to do with that.

Overall, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp is an entertaining war film.  It’s not quite as funny today as it might have been in 1943, but the questions it raises in relation to personal and national conduct in times of war are just as relevant now as when the film was released.  One need only consider the United States’ War on Terror and the questions that Zero Dark Thirty (2013) raised about how far a nation should go to defend itself.

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The Man in Grey (1943) **

First off, please don’t tell me I’ve misspelled “grey”—as this is a British film, so the title will be spelled in proper English.  Second, I am not surprised that you haven’t seen this—it’s rarely (if ever) shown on TCM and is unavailable on DVD in the USA. A friend hooked me up with an illegal viewing (names and places will be omitted in case the piracy police are on the prowl), so that’s how I came recently to see it.  Lastly, you should find a way to see this, as it is so outrageously different from anything in early-1940s English-speaking cinema.

The Man in Grey (1943) is a Gainsborough Pictures melodrama starring James Mason as Lord Rohan (literally the man in grey) and Phyllis Calvert as Clarissa (AKA Lady Rohan).  Ah, but they weren’t the real stars of the film, as Margaret Lockwood got top billing playing one of the most deplorable characters of her career—Hesther Barbary!  Based on Lady Eleanor Smith’s 1942 novel of the same name, the film is set during Regency England (1811-1820) and tells the story of how a beautiful, ebullient woman has her life ruined by a callous husband and a calculating “best” friend.  Quite simply, if I didn’t know the story was written by an Englishwoman, I would have thought it was French!

How can I describe this without telling you everything—thus ruining it (sort of) if you ever see it for yourself?  Little known British director Leslie Arliss must have been given free reign to do whatever he liked with Margaret Kennedy and Doreen Montgomery’s adapted screenplay—that should tell you all you need to know: woman author + 2 woman screenwriters = wickedness gone wild (especially for 1943).  In addition, it’s a costume melodrama, so the wardrobe and sets are somewhat gothic, which gives the film an almost otherworldly feel. 

Calvert’s blonde Clarissa represents innocence and goodness; Lockwood’s brunette Hesther represents evil and sinfulness. They meet at Miss Patchett's school for young ladies, where Clarissa is beloved by all and Hesther is shunned by everyone but Clarissa. When they meet a gypsy fortune teller (Beatrice Varley) she sees bad things to come for the two girls.  Obviously foreshadowing and foreboding are necessary elements of any good melodrama, so this is no surprise.  What is a surprise is how these bad things happen and by whom. 

Eventually, Hesther runs off and elopes with a local soldier and Clarissa meets and marries the man in grey, Lord Rohan.  To say that he his less than doting would be an understatement.  When asked why he married her, Rohan says Clarissa was pretty, healthy and able to produce an heir. James Mason is beyond brooding as Rohan, and, I must say, every bit the S.O.B. He lives by his family crest, which reads “He who dishonors us dies.”  Hence, he enjoys duels.  He also enjoys bad women, so when Clarissa brings the recently widowed Hesther into their home he finds her to his liking.  Hesther’s been through some hard times and has turned into quite the opportunist since her school days.  She wants everything that Clarissa has and she has no qualms about getting what she wants. I can’t recall Lockwood ever playing such an out-and-out bitch.  She makes you hate Hesther—there is nothing, and I mean nothing, redeeming whatsoever about her. 

Yet, don’t feel too sorry for Clarissa. Once she produces a son (which she and we never see) Rohan lets her do whatever she likes as long as it doesn’t dishonor his name. Also, for some reason, she is completely oblivious to the fact that her husband and best friend are carrying on a torrid affair—though I doubt she would have cared anyway, but it would have made her less likely to trust Hesther’s advice in her own illicit affair. Yes, Clarissa must have been attracted to no-good men, because she falls for another rogue in Rokeby (Stewart Granger).  And, this sets up two very shocking events, both of which Hesther plays a crucial role.  I won’t say what happens, but you will be both repulsed and outraged. 

There are a few things that make this film standout (some good, some just bizarre).  The affair between Rohan and Hesther is brazenly presented for our eyes. One scene has her leaving Rohan’s bedroom in the middle of the night and creeping back to her own. Just so many amoral characters running about in 1943 England when the Brits are trying to win WWII just seems wrong, but this is the only good thing about the film.

Another thing that stood out for me was Clarissa’s slave boy Toby, played by Harry Scott.  Okay, please don’t get upset about what I’m about to say, but what the hell! If you have seen this, please explain to me whether Harry Scott was black or if he was a white child in blackface.  When I checked on IMBD he only had one film credit and there is no information listed about him.  I know it sounds strange, but every scene he was in I couldn’t take my eyes off him (and not because his performance was great because it surely was not), because I was so shocked.  They couldn’t find a black child somewhere in England to play this part?  The things I find fascinating!

Okay, so what’s the final assessment?  The Man in Grey is an average movie with an above-average cast.  The final ten minutes of the film are what makes it memorable. Once you see how far Hesther will go to get what she wants you will never forget it—nor what she gets in return for her loathsome behavior. If you are interested, email me and I will inform you where you can procure a viewing.

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Shadow of a Doubt (1943) **1/2

(This article is from guest contributor The Lady Eve and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/.  The rating in the title is my own.)

Shadow of a Doubt (1943) was Alfred Hitchcock's fifth American film and the first of his films that he believed truly depicted America. Hitchcock's "first draft" attempt at this had been Saboteur (1942), but he hadn't had the cast he'd wanted, he felt the script was weak and that he'd been rushed into the film before he was ready...none of this was the case with Shadow of a Doubt.

The narrative was based on a story called "Uncle Charlie" by Gordon McConell. For the adaptation, Hitchcock got Thornton Wilder, convinced that the author of Our Town possessed the concept of small-town America he wanted for Shadow of a Doubt. Wilder, who helped Hitchcock select Santa Rosa, California, as the setting, wrote a prose outline of the story before being mobilized into World War II. Hitchcock then turned to screenwriter Sally Benson, another writer deeply steeped in Americana. Her "5135 Kensington Avenue" stories had been the basis for Meet Me in St. Louis.

The opening scenes of Shadow of a Doubt make it clear that the man we come to know as Charles Oakley (Joseph Cotten) has sinister secrets and a dark side, so when he descends on pristine Santa Rosa and his sister's family, the Newtons, we already know that something is quite wrong, but we don't what it is. Oakley is handsome and smooth. His voice is velvet and his manner is insinuating; he has seen the world and flaunts his style and money with confidence. When he comes to stay with the Newtons, their staid community is bedazzled and responds by immediately embracing him.

Santa Rosa, scene of much location work, is blissfuly serene, a spotless tree-filled little town of quaint houses with broad porches, lush flower beds, friendly neighbors, fussy librarians, crusty traffic cops, immaculate churches, a stately and bustling bank and every trapping of the ideal American town in the 1940s.

At the heart of the film is a doppelganger motif personified by young Charlie (Teresa Wright) and her Uncle Charlie. They are admitted "doubles," she was named for him and adores him; he obviously favors her. The two Charlies seem to have a psychic link, share a restless spirit and other traits. But one of the pair is pure while the other is corrupt, and the two eventually come to an unbridgeable abyss and a stand-off. Teresa Wright delicately renders Charlie as an intelligent and decent girl impatiently verging on womanhood. Intuitive and strong, she has her mettle tested and must grow up quickly and profoundly when she realizes her beloved uncle is a cold-blooded killer. Uncle Charlie, intricately wrought by Cotten, is a ruthless sociopath of indecent charm. His view of humanity is far beyond cynical: "Do you know the world is a foul sty? Do you know if you ripped the fronts off houses you'd find swine?"


Wright and Cotten contrast and play off each other beautifully; their scenes together are rock solid. Backing them up is an excellent supporting cast that includes Hume Cronyn making his memorable film debut as the Newton's eccentric next-door-neighbor; Henry Travers, cozy and congenial as small-town-dad Joe Newton; Patricia Collinge, note-perfect as fluttery and sentimental Emma Newton. Also very watchable are Edna May Wonacott as the cheeky little sister and Wallace Ford as a detective on Oakley's trail.

Shadow of a Doubt has been called Hitchcock's first fully-realized masterwork. I'm not so quick to write-off his direction and overall imprint on Rebecca, but agree that Shadow of a Doubt, multi-layered and meticulously orchestrated, is among his very best films. The juxtaposition of a simple and complacent American small town with the lethal killer creeping toward its heart is neatly executed, and the early kinship that becomes a battle-to-the-death relationship between the two Charlies ensures that the dramatic tension never eases up.

What are your impressions of Hitchcock's vision of America in Shadow of a Doubt? Any comments about his style and technique or technical aspects of the picture? Which of the performances are standouts for you and why? Does it seem to you that the film is referencing the international situation of the time? What other films owe a debt to this one? ...And have you heard about or noticed the repeated use of "twos" or "doubles" (starting with the two Charlies) in Shadow of a Doubt?

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The Seventh Victim (1943) **

(This article is from guest contributor Sarkoffagus and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/.  The rating in the title is my own.)

Mary Gibson, attending a Catholic school, is informed that her sister, Jacqueline, has not paid her tuition in six months. Concerned for her sister, who is apparently missing, Mary travels to New York and discovers that Jacqueline has sold her business to a partner. Additionally, she rented a room above an Italian restaurant, changed the lock on the door and left, returning a few times only to dine and pay a monthly rent. Mary pleads with the restaurant owners to open Jacqueline's apartment, Room 7, where they see a single chair sitting underneath a hanging noose. Irving August, a private investigator, wants to help Mary find her sister (mostly because he was told to stay off the case), but things take a turn for the worse when someone is murdered.

Well known producer Val Lewton was hired by RKO Pictures to produce low budget horror films with titles provided by the studio. When the first film, Cat People (1942), proved a hit, Lewton was allowed much control over the pictures. He insisted that the directors cover many scenes in shadows and imply the impending horror, like the attacks in Jacques Tourneur's Leopard Man (1943). But whether or not there was a monster or a physical evil, Lewton's movies all contained a somber ambience and a sense of doom lurking in the dark.

In The 7th Victim (1943), there is a feeling of dread throughout the movie. In the opening scene, Mary learns that her sister, her only living relative, is missing. Jacqueline's room represents the way in which she wants to live, as if she could control her life by knowing when and how she would die. She does not want to be unaware of her time of death, but would rather decide for herself. In a terrific sequence, Mary and the P.I. break into the building housing Jacqueline's company. A long hallway leads to a door (which is the only locked room in the building, according to August), and the hallway is hidden mostly in shadow. Without having a clear reason for being frightened, the two debate on who should be the one to continue down the dark corridor. Another great scene is when Mary is threatened while taking a shower. Predating Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho (1960), a silhouette of the character appears on the shower curtain as Mary is harshly told to stop looking for Jacqueline.

Mary does learn about what has happened to her sister, but it is best to watch the film knowing as little as possible. It is a movie which thrives on fear of the unknown, and Mark Robson handles the directing reins wonderfully. With Lewton as producer, he also directed The Ghost Ship (1943), Isle of the Dead (1945) and Bedlam (1946), the latter two starring Boris Karloff. Kim Hunter, in her film debut, gives a strong showing as Mary. Hunter would later earn an Academy Award as Best Supporting Actress for her role as Stella in A Streetcar Named Desire (1951).

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