CINEMA
Quo Vadis. (Carlton and Ritz.)—Home at Seven. (London Pavilion.)—Golden Girl. (Leicester Square.)
Quo Vadis is certainly colossal ; not only as a spectacle but also as a bore. There are moments, of course, when one's spirits rise from the script's embalming influence, when they struggle out from under the smothering weight of purple Velvet. These uprisings of the heart, however, do one no credit, as they are as apt to be promoted by scenes of horror as by the meagre histrionic offerings and the splendid colour. Perhaps I had better speak for myself. Many people will deny that there is anything stimulating about lions crunching Christians. but I observed, I fear, that my baser man, lulled into quiescence by Peter's and Paul's sermons, stirred during these and simi- lar odious sequences in a very unciVilised manner. Like the thousands of my fellow creatures who will stand in sodden queues to witness the carnage, I am not very nice. I am, however, very tired ; so let me now and briefly damn with faint praise the highlights in this combined Roman and M.G.M. holiday.
Mr. Peter Ustinov, making his Nero more mad than bad and coupling a plausible depravity with a less convincing impishness, portrays, at any rate, a person, a living, breathing and entirely round character. Mr. Leo Genn as the cynical Petronius also gives a clearly defined picture of a man. Mr. Robert Taylor and Miss Deborah Kerr, though beautiful beyond belief, are equally incredible as people. They behave like animated photographs. Still they are beautiful. Mr. Abraham Sofaer's Paul has a certain depth • Mr. Felix Aylmer acquits himself well as a martyr ; and a host of dis- tinguished and intelligent actors and actresses stand by gripping their togas until it is vouchsafed them to say a few words. "Hail Caesar!" they say, or " Yes Divinity." They do this admirably. The colour is magnificent, the crowd scenes stupendous, the taste poor and the length appalling.
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However good a play may be, it is nearly always a mistake to adapt it, or in this case I should say transfer it, to the screen. Home at Seven by Mr. R. C. Sherriff was a good play, and it has now, quite simply, been photographed with all the stage's limitations kept intact and the cinema's peculiar gifts denied. This does not make a good film. Static and overburdened with talk, it does, however, give us the opportunity of studying Sir Ralph Richardson's sensitive inter- pretation of amnesia at very close quarters. It is wholly excellent, Having lost his memory for a day, Sir Ralph's bank-clerk believes that in his hours of forgetfulness he has committed murder, and by a series of petty lies and small sins of omission a strong case is built up against him. His torment, hidden, as befits an Englishman, under layers of quietness, is depicted with infinite subtlety, and the scene in which he shows Miss Masgaret Leighton how to keep account,, —just in case he might have to leave her for ever—is triumphantly touching. In these gentle moments both these stars shine gloriously, but their light is frequently extinguished by the plot's ramifications. each of which has to be surmounted to the accompaniment of explanatory notes of inordinate length. The inspector, the doctor, the solicitor and the friend, though played with conviction by Messrs.
Campbell Singer, Jack, Hawkins, Frederick Piper and Michael Shepley, thrash out the current problems with the vigour of mechanical flails, and one yearns for more action and less talk. Sir Ralph has directed the picture himself, and has used his camera well in very disadvantageous circumstances.
Golden Girl stars a new find, Miss Mitzi Gaynor, a very brisk young lady of the gamine school, a good dancer and a fair singer. The film is an extremely pleasant musical, set in the Civil War— though this is a subsidiary affair—unpretentious, romantic, and foolish as they come. Mr. Dale Robertson, who has eyes large enough to dive into, and Mr. Dennis Day of the silvery voice ably support Miss Gaynor's somewhat fey charms, and Miss Una Merkel strengthens the props with some solid down-to-earth-no-nonsense-
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