COSTUME DESIRES (III)
THE WICKED LADY & CARAVAN
Many regard “The Wicked Lady” (1945) as the epitome of the Gainsborough melodramas. Undoubtedly it is one of the most gloriously excessive, as Margaret Lockwood, bored aristocratic housewife by day, takes to the country roads by night as a fearless highwayman, robbing coaches and seducing any man she finds attractive. And Lockwood is perfect. Again she at first refused the part - but eventually decided it was, as she called it, ‘too meaty’ to refuse. Director Leslie Arliss said in a magazine article, ‘she represents an elemental character, full of the most human and natural passions and forced by her own desires into crimes the result of which she can never escape’. Despite the virtual unanimity of the critics in hating every single frame, the public flocked to the screens and made it the biggest money-maker of the year.
The novel on which the film was based, ‘The Life And Death Of The Wicked Lady Skelton’, was actually suggested to Arliss by Lady Eleanor Smith, who had written the book from which the earlier film “The Man in Grey” originated. The moment he started to read it, he knew he had the perfect material from which to make the next film. Immediately he headed to Maurice Ostrer, head of Gainsborough, and pleaded with him to buy the adaptation rights. Smiling, Ostrer informed the surprised Arliss that it was too late, he’d already purchased them just a fortnight before. With the intention that Arliss would direct.
Arliss received another more serious surprise upon the film’s completion: the Hayes Office (America’s film censor) refused to allow “The Wicked Lady” to be shown in the US. Apparently, the dresses worn by Margaret Lockwood and Patricia Roc were too low-cut and revealed far too much bosom. Since the US market was so large and of such commercial importance there was only one option - the offending scenes would have to be re-shot. It may seem ridiculous to the modern viewer, but that’s exactly what happened. Technical difficulties were enormous, with costumes and sets, long since scrapped, having to be painstakingly reconstructed exactly as they had been. Yet there was no other choice - more than twelve months after they had originally finished shooting, the cast and crew reassembled to make a tamer duplicate.
Today the film remains enjoyable nonsense (certainly superior to the 80s re-make) that is never less than entertaining. Yet for all its reputation, it ultimately remains a stagy piece. Leslie Arliss doesn’t have an instinctively cinematic eye and so, despite Jack Cox's sumptuous lighting and John Bryan’s evocative detailed sets, it becomes unfortunately stodgy.
In “Caravan (1946), however, the elements gel stunningly together. The director was former cameraman Arthur Crabtree and he brought to the film a supreme visual sheen. His two previous directorial attempts had been “Madonna Of The Seven Moons” and another Gainsborough picture, “They Were Sisters” (1944), and he builds on Madonna’s expressionism with verve and confidence. He was aided by a slightly higher budget than usual and John Bryan was able to use the full scope of the sound stages to construct some towering and near-abstract sets: they were the biggest ever built for a Gainsborough production and were mounted on huge rollers so that they could be pushed aside or folded away on the spot, enabling the camera to swoop and dive through seemingly impossible movements. The photography by Stephen Dade is another plus, continually on the prowl through richly and dramatically lit streets and rooms, milking every ounce of atmosphere; and editor Charles Knott cuts at such a pace that even though the film is remarkably long for its type (over two hours), it’s never dull.
But it is Crabtree's flamboyance that dominates, taking the viewer into the realm of another, almost surrealistic world. The pity was that in later years his undoubted talent was never fully utilized, and though he made some moderately successful films (and even the notorious horror piece “Horrors Of The Black Museum” (1959), which was widely criticized for its explicit violence), the list is not impressive. “Caravan” remains a testament to what could have been.
The story of Caravan is as melodramatic and incomprehensible as you could hope for. At the centre is the recurring conflict of flaming, uncontrollable passion and mannered, restrained civility, the opposing poles of the argument this time personified by two younger members of the Gainsborough repertory (both of them having served their apprenticeship in minor parts in previous films): the earthy, sexy jean Kent and the demure, principled Anne Crawford. And, of course, swaggering his way through the proceedings is the inimitable Stewart Granger. He plays Richard Darell, aspiring writer, who finds himself split from his fiancée Oriana (Crawford) when he is asked to take some valuable jewellery to Spain by the wealthy Don Carlos, who in turn has promised to publish his first novel. But arch‑rival Francis (Dennis Price), determined to win Crawford's hand, dispatches his servant to make sure that Granger never returns, As a result Granger is attacked and robbed and left for dead. Gypsy dancer Rosa (Jean Kent) saves him, however, and nurses Granger back to health. She also introduces (and seduces) him to the uninhibited gypsy way of life.
It is eventually resolved in a welter of violence and emotion that ignites from the cooker‑pot atmosphere of sweltering sexuality. One of the most interesting aspects of' this carefully sustained atmosphere is the intelligent use of sound. Walter Hyden’s music skilfully interacts with the emotion and action, elevating the drama by careful combination with sound effects. Another example is with Elizabeth Haffenden's plush costume design: into Jean Kent's flowing gypsy gowns small bells were subtly sewn, so that when she performed her exotic dances, there was a continuous, delicate tinkling.
THE MAGIC BOW & JASSY