CINEMA
Trouble in Store. (Dominion and New Victoria.)—All the Brothers were Valiant. (Empire.) As the Spectator goes to press early this week I shall not be able to review the newest batch of films, The Grace Moore Story, starring Kathryn Grayson, the Russian Concert of Stars and Robert Vernay's Love in the Vineyard. This does not distress me as much as it probably should, for during the next few days my thoughts will, I know, be wholly concentrated on sticking the right labels on to the right parcels. Unable to remember Nanny Watkins's address my mind would skate off Ulanova, my critical faculties founder under the weight of acute seasonal problems. Even in retrospect two left-overs from last week's films are slightly submerged in holly paper, but I think I am just compos enough to deal with them.
First there is Trouble in Store, in which Norman Wisdom makes his screen debut. Like all great comedians, Mr. Wisdom has the seed of tragedy planted firmly in the garden of his soul. In repose his face is, like the traditional clown's, lined with suffer- ing, and the follies he commits, the dire extremities in which he finds himself, are liberally charged with pathos. His nature is essentially trusting, and though all fools invite laughter, his terrible innocence drains it of all malice. He has real versatility, charm and a delightful singing voice, and it is the greatest pity that Trouble in Store devotes so large a part of its attention to his talents as a knockabout. For Mr. Wisdom knows how to be subtle, his humour can be polished, and here he is tied to the obvious old routines. Certainly it is amusing to fall over a few things, but to fall over eve' ything is, to my mind, frankly tedious. Margaret Rutherford, shoplifting her way through the store with good humour and politeness— the toy train running up into her sleeve is a mastery touch—is the very essence of sophisticated comedy, and though it is as unfair as it is absurd to compare the two, coming from such different schools as they do, Mr. Wisdom could learn much from her. Her timing is exquisite, there are no loose ends, her humour is a blend of tones and half-tones grad( d with infinite cunning. Mr. Wisdom gives us glimpses of a more delicate approach to comedy, but they are all too brief, and I blame John Paddy Carstairs who wrote and directed the film for allowing him so few opportunities to practise, as it were, the mashie shots as opposed to the full-out drives. Nevertheless he is a funny, endearing little man with a big future and the audience I helped to swell adored every bit of him. * * All the Brothers were Valiant, starring Robert Taylor, Stewart Granger and Ann Blyth, is a bloodthirsty yet curiously tame tale of two brothers, one good, one bad, two girls, one white, one brown, three par- ticularly villainous treasure hunters, one sailing ship, one mutinous crew, and one perfectly enormous whale. The whaling sequence is splendid, filling the cinema with spray and excitement and fear, but it occurs quite early on, and all that follows, even the lighting, seems a prolonged anti-climax. Neither of the heroes is at his best, Mr. Taylor illustrating the virtues with a worn, rather hangdog air, and Mr. Granger buccaneering with only limited zeal. Miss Blyth, of course, like all respectable heroines cooped up with dozens of rough men, has only to chirrup prettily, the more sultry expressions of passion being left to Betta St. John as a native girl. Both these ladies, though quite attractive, cause a dispropor- tionate amount of emotional strife, but then men, whether they are being valiant or not, will, as everyone knows, be men. For a hearty afternoon with young nephews this film will do admirably, but for aunts it will be a penance.
VIRGINIA GRAHAM
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