CINEMA
A Place in the Sun." (Plaza.)--“ Double Dynamite." (Gaumont
• and Marble Arch Pavilion.)—“ M." (London Pavilion.)
A Place in the Sun received panegyrical notices in America, many critics maintaining that it was the best film ever to be made by anyone anywhere. One could expect, then, to be blinded by its radiance, pulverised and prostrated by its perfection, or, of course, to be dismally disappointed. In my opinion this adaptation of Theodore Dreiser's An American Tragedy is not a perfect film, but it is without any doubt a magnificent one, or rather it is a film magnified into something memorable by the acting of one man. For Mr. Montgornery.cillift is superb. All the fever and impatience of youth, all its gaucheness, uncertainty, innocence and folly he makes miraculously vivid with an everyday look or a brief word. Trapped between the exigent demands of the simple girl he has seduced and the sophisticated girl he loves; he gives life, behind a quiet grave facade, to thoughts spinning from the delirious to the disastrous. As a muddled youth; dreaming at one instant of murder and the next of bliss, Mr. Clift carries one relentlessly along to the tragic conclusion, and sends one forth to be long haunted.
If Mr. Clift's place in the sun is assured, the director, Mr. George Stevens, must be complimented not only for opening up vistas down which the sun can unrestrictedly shine, but also for directing its melting beams upon Miss Elizabeth Taylor. From having been beautiful but boring she has become beautiful and an actress. Miss Shelley Winters did not require mollification, but it is a joy to see how able and willing she. is to forgo glamour in order tb embrace the sullen fears of unmarried maternity. This is a picture which should not be missed.
In Double Dynamite Mr. Frank Sinatra plays the part of a mild little hank clerk who elects to place his very first bet on a horse, thereby winning a fortune, on the day his bank is robbed of 75,000 dollars. In the ensuing macedoine of misunderstandings he is supported, indeed elevated, by Mr. Groucho Marx—saner than usual but in tremendous spirits—and by the one and only Miss Jane Russell whose curves, here sedulously concealed in workaday clothes, have, in the past,' singed the celluloid beneath them. The dialogue is neat, at times witty. Mr. Sinatra is modest, quiet, and charming ; and though Miss Russell's acting ability falls far short of her figure, she has her moments, notably one when, intoxicated, she weeps over a roast pheasant, mourning its untimely decease.
Good holiday entertainment, the programme also includes a Technicolored Western, The Best of the Badmen, with Mr. Robert Ryan as its hero and'Miss Claire Trevor, pacing the prairie in red velvet, as its heroine. Remarkably exciting as I know it was, my total inability to remember anything else about it must be put down to seasonal amnesia.
"M," the chronicle of the Dusseldorf child murderer, has been revived and rehabilitated in American guise with Mr. David Wayne fitting comfortably if not as bloodcurdlingly into Mr. Peter Lorre's shoes. Directed by Mr. Joseph Losey, the film is well devised and, despite its tendency to amplify the story, still exudes that stifling, loathsome smell, which not even the pure American air can dis- perse., As the underworld king . who sets his own murderers to catch the murderer, Mr. Martin Gabel is excellent, as is, of course, that wonderful actor, Mr. Luther Adler, who, on this occasion, makes poetry out of the part of a drunken lawyer. Writing as I am, knee-deep in a pool of coloured paper, may I take this opportunity—it is the only one which occurs during the year—of wishing everybody a happy Christmas. Not only do I hope for you that there will be enough brandy butter to go round, but also that you may be with those you love in well-beloved
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