THE WAR GAME (III)


HENRY V
THE WAY TO THE STARS
THE WAY AHEAD
WE DIVE AT DAWN


When Laurence Olivier went into production in 1944 with Shakespeare’s Henry V, it was, as far as the MOI was concerned, more than simply a cultural exercise; for parallels could be drawn very vividly with the Allied Forces’ invasion of Normandy, on what was known to the British public as the ‘Second Front’, and to the Allied Chiefs of Staff under the code name of ‘Overlord’.


In Henry V, the King is seen setting forth for his invasion of Normandy some five hundred years before the Allied attack. With his army of 30,000 men, which includes 2,500 men at arms, 8,000 archers and a fleet of 1,500 ships, he sets off from Southampton. The medieval warriors encounter much the same difficulties as their descendants experienced hundreds of years later – seasickness on the English Channel, being crammed like sardines in tins in their armada of vessels, and the problems of getting weapons ashore when landing. In Henry’s time, it was horses, carts, armour, and food supplies. During the Allied invasion, it was heavy artillery, vehicles, and goods supplies.

Most of the exterior scenes for Henry V were shot in Eire, because the landscape was uncluttered with telegraph poles and other twentieth-century devices; also because the extras in Eire would work for £3.10s.0d a week, and a quid more if they rode and brought their own horse. Olivier, although an officer in the Fleet Air Arm at the time, was not used to commanding such numbers of men, and here he was having to marshal and direct more than seven hundred tough Irishmen. He decided he would show them who was boss from the outset and, addressing them from the top of a beer crate, announced he was going to ask them to perform some tricky stuff, especially during the battle scenes, but nothing that he would not, or could not, do himself. He received a mighty round of applause for this piece of bravado.


The technical expertise in design and Technicolor photography married to expansive physical production that evolves from theatrical intimacy to broad cinematic landscapes proves winning, a film that has lasting appeal beyond wartime popularity. A glittering cast add lyrical humanity while William Walton’s score is beautifully used. Nominated for four Academy Awards, Olivier was given a Honorary Oscar “for his outstanding achievement as actor, producer and director in bringing Henry V to the screen.”


In fact, each of the Armed Services had at least one memorable feature film to represent it in all its glory. In the case of the Air Force, it was The Way To The Stars (1945), the Army had The Way Ahead (1944), whilst the Navy had We Dive at Dawn (1943) and the landmark In Which We Serve (1941).

The Way To The Stars, written by Terrence Rattigan, directed by Anthony Asquith and starring Michael Redgrave, John Mills, Rosamond John, Douglass Montgomery and Renée Asherson, was a sensitive treatment of the delicate relationship between the RAF and the USAF. It went beyond the blood and guts and nerves-of steel dogfight scenes, to examine the far deeper emotional aspects of the lives of these pilots from both sides of the Atlantic: their loves, hopes and dreams at the concluding stages of the War. The script, as one would expect from Rattigan, made profound statements with which cinema audiences of the period could identify. Making their film débuts were Jean Simmons, as a rather precocious singer, and another young actor, with whom John Mills had been so thrilled at playing a scene with that he rushed home to his wife (playwright Mary Hayley Bell) and told her he was convinced ‘that chap’ would become a big star. ‘That chap’ did not let him – his name was Trevor Howard.

The Way To The Stars also contained two poems specially written for it by John Pudney, which gave the story an additional, mournful quality. One was called ‘Missing’, and the other ‘Johnny in the Sky’, the last poignant verse of which read:


Better by far,

For Johnny – the bright star,

To keep your head

And see his children fed.


Anthony Asquith, who liked to ‘tipple’ sometimes more than was wise, walked alongside the camera as it tracked John Mills, who himself was walking and reciting the verse. While he was keeping his eyes on Mills’s performance all through the shot, Asquith walked straight into a brick wall. He apologised at once to the wall – his manners were always impeccable.

The Way Ahead was directed by Carol Reed, one of Britain’s undisputed greats. It starred David Niven, William Hartnell, Stanley Holloway, and Raymond Huntley – and all of them gave splendid performances. There were certain similarities in the opening storyline to that of The Gentle Sex. We encounter a group of civilians who have been called up as they converge on a railway station, and on the train journey to their destination we observe the widely divergent backgrounds from which the recruits are drawn. We listen to their views on life and the situation they find themselves in – all are late and unwilling conscripts.


Put through rigorous training over a period of several weeks by their drill sergeant (William Hartnell), after a lot of sweat, tears, and heartache, they eventually become a tight, efficient fighting unit – ready to do battle in North Africa, and the pride and joy of their CO, played by David Niven. The script was by a writer who went on to distinguish himself as an expert in spy fiction – Eric Ambler. His co-writer was a young Peter Ustinov, who also played a scene as the French-speaking proprietor of a North African bar. (At the time, he was actually Private Ustinov, batman to David Niven.)

Some two years before directing The Way To The Stars, Anthony Asquith had made another contribution to wartime feature films by plunging to the depths of the sea with We Dive At Dawn (1943), a tribute to the submarine service. Asquith would have seemed a most unlikely candidate for a major film director, having been brought up at No. 10 Downing Street, the son of the Liberal Prime Minister. But he had rejected a political career at an early age, opting instead to become a composer. In the event, he was an extremely unsuccessful composer, and changed his affections from music to cinema. In this field he found his feet. Anthony ‘Puffin’ (the nickname his mother gave him because of his flattish nose) Asquith’s name will always be synonymous in the film industry with ‘style’ – not surprising, really, for he had this in his private and working life in abundance.


In the documentary vein so approved of by the MOI, We Dive At Dawn charts the story of a submarine crew hunting down and attacking a new Nazi battleship. Then – and this is the main thrust of the film – the submarine tries to return through hostile waters to a safe port. John Mills is the submarine commander and did his homework for the part by going out with a submarine and learning how to crash-dive as well as use the periscope. All crews in the submarine service were volunteers during the War, and they were, Mills reflected, the finest and friendliest body of men he ever encountered. He later went on to prove his admiration for them by making two further films about the submarine service.


During the Second World War, the British film industry justified the faith and confidence placed on it by the MOI. Certainly, in terms of raising morale and, for the most part, without being overtly preachy. That artists also provided some lasting and provocative films remains a testament to creativity and integrity even amid the horrors of war.