POWER & PREJUDICE (II)
ODD MAN OUT, WHEN THE BOUGH BREAKS & GOOD TIME GIRL
A quotation at the end of Bank Holiday reads: ‘No more let death dwelt where two ire joined together’. The words are from Shelley’s ‘Adonis’, and could equally he applied to the film that opened Carol Reed’s golden period. Odd Man Out (1947) was the first of three consecutive Carol Reed films to garner British Academy Awards for Best Picture. The others were The Fallen Idol (1948) and The Third Man (1949). Odd Man Out is the ultimate ‘escape’ movie. With an ever-increasing desire to change the face of the social landscape, the hero, or anti-hero, of the film, Johnny McQueen (James Mason), dreams of the ‘cause; and raising funds for the ‘organization’. In the shady back streets of an Irish town, Johnny is a leader. Only there’s a problem: his insistence on leading his men on a raid to acquire more money for the cause is ill judged and the consequences affect the lives of many around him.
At the beginning of the film, Johnny’s men express doubts about his ability to carry out the heist. After a recent spell in prison, he’s been hiding away in rooms with the blinds drawn, avoiding neighbours and the police. He’s unfit to suddenly rush into the crowded streets and mastermind a robbery. But, eager to prove he is still the best man for the job, Johnny ignores the warnings. At a crucial moment during the operation, Johnny is beset by a dizzy spell and holds up the escape. As he struggles, gunfire erupts. He unintentionally murders his assailant, and is wounded in return. Left alone, he wanders through the city seriously hurt, while his girlfriend Kathleen (Kathleen Ryan) strives to find him before the police.
What makes Odd Man Out stand out as such an achievement is the extraordinary atmosphere generated by Roger K. Furse’s production design and Robert Krasker’s black and white photography. The haunting imagery becomes almost surreal as the life literally drains out of Johnny. The mood is chilling, his last hours full of pain, both mental and physical. He reflects on the nature of violence, and in one hallucinatory scene, quotes from the Book of Corinthians, ‘When I was a child, I spake as a child...’, concluding: ‘And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three, and the greatest of these is charity...’ Johnny understands the urges that have brought him to this point and the implications of the quotation but the self knowledge has come too late.
Reed’s direction is masterly and a distinct array of actors, playing characters who have fleeting contact with Johnny on his way to oblivion, give rooted, persuasive performances, many of them coming from the famous Abbey Theatre in Dublin. It’s a brave film, which opens with a caption: ‘This is a story told against a background of political unrest in a city of Northern Ireland. It is not concerned with the struggle between the law and an illegal organisation, but only with the conflict in the hearts of the people when they become unexpectedly involved.’
For Carol Reed, it has always been the human element that fascinates, coupled with constant spontaneity. The first shot of James Mason, wounded and running across deserted ground to hide in a shelter, included a dog following the man. Reed did not hesitate to use the take and from that day and for the entire shoot the owner, a ten-year old girl, turned up every morning in case her little dog was needed again.
Kathleen Ryan’s ‘heroic’ sacrifice at the climax of the film has been shrouded in controversy. Reed wanted her to shoot Mason, but friends advised that this action would create a censorship issue in the US, because it would be a murder in order to allow her lover to avoid justice. The answer was surely to let the police shoot him while he was trying to escape. Reed was not happy and came up with another alternative. Kathy seems to fire at the police who in reply shoot both Mason and herself. However, it’s made quite clear that she’s actually shot at the ground.
Odd Man Out deserves its reputation as one of Britain’s finest films. Quoted in the 1980s, Fred Zinneman (High Noon, From Here To Eternity) stated that in his opinion it was very possibly the most outstanding the British industry had yet produced. There’s a deep sadness about the ending, even if we believe that Kathleen’s love for Johnny transcends life itself and will continue in a future existence.
It was a rarity in the 1940s for women on film to be able to precipitate a change in a man’s destiny in this fashion. It was more usual to see women as stoically suffering victims, cruelly treated by their men, and having to hold heart and home together on a shoestring budget. Any attempt at independent thinking was forcefully quashed by male authoritarian figures and the women would be ‘corrected’ in an institution, or remain ‘fallen’ for ever.
Patricia Roc suffers gamely as a young mum in When The Bough Breaks (1947) who, whilst nursing her newborn baby in hospital, is informed by the police that her husband is a bigamist. Directed by Lawrence Huntington and with a screenplay by Peter Rogers (later to find fame as producer of the ‘Carry On’ film comedy series) manages to combine a helpless woman with the working class aspirations of ‘betterment’, significant in the climate of the time. Lily (Roc) continues to work by placing her growing son Jimmy in a day nursery. There, he is coveted by a wealthy voluntary worker, Mrs Norman (Rosamund John), who finally persuades Lily to allow her to adopt the boy. Lily agrees, but doesn’t sign legal papers. Several years later, after Lily has married a plain, dull, but honourable shopkeeper (Bill Owen) they recover Jimmy through the courts. However, Jimmy finds problems in readjusting to his working class status and is eventually returned to Mrs Norman and affluent society.
In 1947 critics were divided over When The Bough Breaks. ‘(A) woman producer (Betty Box) is responsible for the British film surprise packet of the year’, wrote the Daily Worker in November of that year, concluding that ‘(it’s) a fine piece of filmcraft that should reap dividends at the box office.’ The Observer took a different View. C.A. Lejeune, an acidic person at the best of times, decided the film was worth an award: ‘I intend to revive the Lejuene lemon,’ he wrote magnanimously. ‘It's a long time since I
have been able to award this ripe, luscious, full-flavoured fruit to a British Picture, but never did a piece of nonsense merit it more radiantly (as this) supreme example of imbecility.’ Still, undeterred by Lejeune’s impromptu Oscar, the Box team, Betty and husband Sydney, ploughed straight into another production - and into more controversy.
Good Time Girl (1948) dives right into the seedy side of life. Petty larceny, reform schools, low-life nightclubs – and all involving a young woman! Jean Kent is Gwen, the eponymous protagonist, struggling to escape poverty, but not legitimately. First she is beaten by her father because she has been sacked for allegedly stealing. Forced to leave home, she settles in a run-down boarding house where fellow lodger and waiter Jimmy (Peter Glenville) gets her a job in a slummy nightclub. But Gwen of course comes under the amorous scrutiny of Max (Herbert Lom) the nightclub boss. Inevitably Max and Jimmy conflict over Gwen and Jimmy is fired. He swears he’ll get even and persuades Gwen to pawn stolen jewellery; she’s then arrested in the flat of a ‘fence’ Red Farrell (Dennis Price) and is tried, found guilty and sent to an approved school for three years. Inside she fights the other girls and authority. Gwen, despite her spirit and strength of character, is on the slippery slope - and her decline will be total.
Sydney and Betty Box were determined to make a realistic film that would tackle the question of problem girls in British cities, and the present state of ‘approved schools’. Betty Box was convinced that the system of correction and punishment for youngsters was not working. For her troubles, the film’s release was held up for over a year. The Home Office studied the film and its ramifications and demanded that their officials and psychiatrists should have private showings. A mountain of paperwork resulted and eventually specific censorship demands were made. The Boxes had to make cuts but none the less a worthwhile drama was released. Good Time Girl was realistic and shocking film for its day.
Once more, a ‘family’ film divided the critics, and once again C.A. Lejeune stuck the knife in: ‘It’s a squalid film about a young woman from a bad home who gets into the company of thieves, seducers, drunkards, black marketeers, army deserters, razor slashers and vitriol throwers and ends up with 15 years for murder. It is not the sort of film I like and I like it none the better because it is presented with a smug complacency that seems to be the resort of hypocritical cant, as a cautionary tale within a tale.’
But the Monthly Film Bulletin defended it: ‘Tensely gripping in its seamiest situations, it holds the interest to the end and makes the heart beat faster… It is not for the squeamish or for those who prefer seeing the world through rose coloured spectacles.’ Good Time Girl was a bold attempt to show people how easy it was (and is) to degrade oneself in the struggle to escape the poverty trap.
TURN THE KEY SOFTLY, THIS SPORTING LIFE & VIOLENT PLAYGROUND