POWER & PREJUDICE (IV)


SAPPHIRE, FLAME IN THE STREETS, FAME IS THE SPUR & NO LOVE FOR JOHNNIE


Basil Dearden and Michael Relph had more success (both critical and commercial) with the second effort, Sapphire (1959). This was a full­ examination of racial unease, and it was rewarded with a British Academy Award for Best Film. A music student, Sapphire Robbins, is murdered. Although she was thought to be white, she was in fact half-black and the investigation, led by Det.‑Supt Hazzard (Nigel Patrick) and his sidekick Sgt. Learoyd (Michael Craig), homes in on London’s West Indian population. The film characterizes very well the twilight world that existed for the half‑caste at the time and the difficulties of being accepted by black or white.

Sapphire is photographed, in colour by the underrated British cameraman Harry Waxman, and he achieves some remarkable contrasts of' light and shade. Each environment seems atmospherically different, from eerie alleyways at night to the harsh, flat interiors of seedy boarding houses in the cold light of day. Basil Dearden’s direction has an energy in Sapphire not matched in his other work. Although condemned by several critics for being unconvincing and unnecessarily melodramatic it’s a thriller with a sharp bite. And as the jaws close around the film’s killer (a white woman superbly played by Yvonne Mitchell ), there is a concern for the issues at stake and a compassion that still touches the viewer.

Sapphire’s success paved the way for other stories centered on racial unrest at the beginning of the 1960s. The sensitivity of the subject led perhaps inevitably to tentative handling, usually culminating in melodrama. Flame In The Streets (1961) is typical of this approach, despite its good intentions. As Britain was struggling to come to terms with the growing cosmopolitanism of the major cities, the knock‑on effect for the younger generation was the most profound mixing with the other races was unavoidable anyway. Naturally, a new generation found it more natural to assimilate, either in schools or on the streets. But when love came so did a whole set of different problems. Flame In The Streets was adapted from his stage play, ‘Hot Summer Night’, by Ted Willis.

The story's central protagonist is Jacko Palmer (John Mills), a craftsman in a furniture factory, well known for his union work and liberal attitudes. He always supports the appointment of ‘coloured’ employees and persuades the union to give Gomez (Earl Cameron), a West Indian, a job as chargehand. But later Jacko is shocked when his wife Nell (Brenda de Banzie) reveals that their daughter Kathie has fallen for a Jamaican called Peter Lincoln (Johnny Sekka). and wants to marry him. Faced with the probable consequences of such a disastrous ‘union’, Nell borders on breakdown – and, turning on Jacko, she bitterly berates him for putting outside activities before the family. Shaken by his wife's outburst, he tries to talk Peter out of marrying Kathie, but this only confirms their resolve to go ahead. It is only when Gomez is beaten up by Teddy boys that Jacko relents and accepts the inevitable.

Sapphire and Flame In The Streets opened up endless arguments on the subject of' immigrant communities in England. They came about as the result of the fast-emerging ‘immigrant question’, and one could see, through reaction to both the films, British society’s firm resistance to change in terms of black cultural realities. Flame In The Streets literally called a spade a spade, and Sapphire demanded whether London could really be like this ‑ do landladies who find a coloured man on the doorstep react as if stricken by the plague and say: ‘I'm sorry, I keep a white house. I have my living to think of.’ Do policeman say: ‘These spades are all the same, a load of trouble. They should all be sent back where they belong?’ The answer was, yes.

Colour prejudice in British society was exposed in a successful, commercial film. And if critics were damning about the idea of exploring this in a detective thriller, the retort was ‘Why not?’ If you couldn’t have an enlightened essay on social morality in this country, a British film ready to face up to the issues facing black people’s position in contemporary society, then a whodunit like Sapphire is as good as any on which to hang a ‘colour‑bar problem’ picture. Although it was worthwhile, it’s doubtful whether Flame In the Streets might have helped or comforted any real family facing a similar problem, but these were early days in Britain's developing ‘social’ cinema, and time would attempt to restore the balance.

The Boulting Brothers are best remembered for their comedies (such as Happy Is The Bride, I’m Alright Jack, Carlton Browne Of The FO, Private’s Progress, There’s A Girl In My Soup), but prior to these, some of their films reflected social aspects in more serious treatments. One such is Fame Is The Spur (1947), which charts the rise and fall of a Labour politician. It’s a study of idealism that ends in a peerage and isolation. Hamer Radshaw (Michael Redgrave) grows up in a North Country mill town, where his grandfather, a committed socialist, lectures Hamer on the people’s battle for bread and liberty at Peterloo. Hamer marries Anne Artingstall, a young woman who shares his political views, and is elected Labour MP for Saint Swithin’s, brandishing as his trademark a sword that dates back to Peterloo. He takes the sword to South Wales, inciting striking miners to the point of riot, and when the military arrive a miner is killed. Hamer never quite recover from the tragedy, but his wife becomes more militant and joins the Suffragettes. She is imprisoned and shortly after release dies of consumption. Following a loss of public confidence, Hamer barely hangs on to his seat in the Labour victory and is made Lord Radshaw of Handforth. But the cost of his idealism has been too great.

In the year of its release, Labour Cabinet Ministers went to the pictures. Clement Attlee, the Prime Minister, went. So did his deputy, Ernest Bevin and Stafford Cripps and a number of others. They went to see this film based on the rise, career and sad fall of Ramsey MacDonald. All politicians were determined that the future for Britain be based on the principle of national unity. For the class-conscious Labour Movement of 1947, Fame Is The Spur was a timely reminder.

The film stays in the memory because of the touching performances by Michael Redgrave and Rosamund John (as Anne). Their scenes together effectively portray love and ideals balanced hand‑in‑hand; then, as ambition and circumstance ebb and flow, so the balance erodes and disillusionment sets in. The death of the miner, and Anne’s own passing, chillingly demonstrate how a blind faith in one’s beliefs can also lead to a greater tragedy that affects the lives of millions.

This theme would be approached again. but in a more cynical fashion, at the start of a later decade. No Love For Johnnie (1960) features Peter Finch as the eponymous Labour MP married to a woman of radical, ­left convictions. The new election sees Johnnie Byrne (Finch) back­ in the Cabinet at Westminster, but not in the post he was hoping for. His wife Alice (Rosalie Crutchley) leaves him because he’s not as committed as she. Johnnie is hurt, but prefers to mourn the loss of the Cabinet post and, angry with his own Government, he’s easily recruited by a pseudo‑communist group. Increasingly disillusioned, he drifts through various affairs but nothing improves his state of mind until he’s offered a better Government post, while at the same time his wife tries to revive their marriage. Then Johnnie discovers he might have got the previous job, except for his wife’s political views.

The beauty of film is that changing times, social attitudes, historical events, can all be documented, albeit through the ‘factional’ eye of drama. The manners and morals of a century can be evaluated and re‑appraised. Though time inevitably lessens the impact sensitive issues have in the day, some concerns are timeless and there is also no doubt the films discussed remind us of the skill and influence of British films.