COSTUME DESIRES (V)


THE BAD LORD BYRON, BLANCHE FURY, HUNGRY HILL & THE GYPSY AND THE GENTLEMAN


Box courted trouble of quite another kind with “The Bad Lord Byron” (1948), which caused a stir both in England and America before a single foot of film had even been shot. The first problem was over the title itself, which caused a flood of angry letters to arrive on Sydney Box’s doorstep saying he was degrading one of the country’s finest poets ‑ before the script had even been finished. The press inflamed matters, managing to condemn the film and almost cause production to stop. Meanwhile, in the US there were censorship problems. Not because of the content of the screenplay presented to the censors, but because of the subject matter itself. They simply regarded the fact that a biography was being planned on such an outrageous character as reprehensible. Attacked from every side, Box decided he would prove them all wrong and make a film that was entertaining, truthful and tasteful.

Without doubt the lengths he went to provide historical accuracy cannot be faulted. For example, actual Byron furniture appears in some scenes (interiors set in his London club feature the poet's own dining table and chairs), and when such items could not be used they were scrupulously copied and built. The same was true for the costumes, which were reproduced down to the stitching. In fact, the struggle to finish in time for shooting was so great the studio needed to get help in: only the best were employed though, in this case from the Ministry of Labour’s embroiderers whose other assignment at the time was making Princess Elizabeth’s wedding dress. Even Byron’s shoes were minutely studied so that Dennis Price (who was playing the title role) could get the character’s famous limp exactly right. The problem was that it became such a habit for Price that he would continue to limp even after he had finished the take and walked off the set.

In terms of costume melodrama, the blend came nearer to being right with “The Bad Lord Byron”. Historical truth was there, but the framework of the story and the nature of the romantic element was close to the original Gainsborough method. The narrative begins at Byron’s deathbed in Greece, and then goes to a heavenly court where a judge presides over the case as to whether Byron was either ‘good’ or ‘bad’. The women in his life dominate the story and again come to signify the different social attitudes of society: Sonia Holm the quiet, sensible woman; Mai Zetterling the passionate Italian lover; and Joan Greenwood the pathetic figure torn between the two - an apt reflection for British women at the time who, with the war over, were finding their new found independence quashed as the returning males expected them to return to their old positions of inferiority.The director, David McDonald, aided by Stephen Dade’s glistening photography, stirs it all around with consummate style.


The film also comes to represent the end of an era in film‑making ‑ the end of the Gainsborough costume melodrama. “The Bad Lord Byron”, though not a success in its day, has improved with age and now appears a swansong that favourably compares to the earlier hits.

There were other companies willing to continue the genre (after all the films could still achieve reliable box office), yet somehow nobody else was able to reproduce the necessary kind of approach. “Blanche Fury” (1948) was a good try, which wisely recruited Stewart Granger as the male lead and brought in the old Gainsborough designer John Bryan to coordinate the startling sets. The production company was Cineguild and the film boasted some startling Technicolor photography along with a storyline ripe with burgeoning passions: young Blanche (Valerie Hobson) determines to make an independent, easy life for herself with distant relatives the Furys, but her cold façade crumbles when she falls in love with Philip Thorn (Granger), who has sworn to destroy the entire Fury family for robbing him of his inheritance. She soon finds herself trapped in plans of murder and intrigue. The producer was Anthony Havelock‑Allen, one of the creators of “In Which We Serve” (1942) and respected producer of “This Happy Breed” (1945) and “Brief Encounter” (1946). The director was Frenchman Marc Allegret, best known for his work on Alexander Korda’s “The Thief Of Baghdad” (1940). They brought a cool, classical touch to the film, but one which lacked the wild, sensual atmosphere that was one of Gainsborough’s secrets.

A similar fault marred “Hungry Hill” (1949), a Two Cities production. The notable writing credits list novelist Daphne du Maurier (it was one of her few screenplays) and Terrence Fisher (who later became famous for his spirited direction of the early Hammer horrors) and indeed the script was surprisingly literate. Unfortunately, the story moves in fits and starts as it covers the forty‑year feud between two ancient Irish families over the possession of the titular hill. The best scenes come when the large budget is fully utilized ‑ such as in the burning of the town or the expansive dance sequence ‑ and there are some good performances, especially the playful Margaret Lockwood, the mellow Dennis Price ­and the agonized Cecil Parker. The attention to detail is formidable: art director Vetchinsky spent months gathering together old maps, plans and photos so that his construction of the copper mine would be exact to the last plank of wood; Eleanor Abbey, the costume designer, studied for weeks at the British Museum in order that the clothes would be perfect; even musicians were hand‑picked and carefully trained to play instruments of the period.

But there was no real life left in these films any more. When director Joseph Losey tried to resuscitate the genre ten years later with “The Gypsy and the Gentleman” (1957), Rank got poor returns from the £250,000 they had invested, It was another splendid‑looking film, yet came across emotionally limp. (In a Losey retrospective held in Paris during the 1960s, the director requested that the film be shown silently, since he felt the images were tableaux that managed to tell their own story.) The film intended its appeal to revolve about the tempestuous, passionate Melina Mercouri. Instead the timing was wrong and she came across as merely frantic. As befitted the size of the budget there remained aspects to enjoy, however it mainly proved that in the gritty, downbeat 1950s the exuberant costume melodramas had no place.

British films had moved on and somehow lost the frenetic, wild and erotic feel that the Gainsborough lady represented. She and her productions, though, remain surprisingly immediate, style and themes transcending the time and remaining as vital and entertaining today.