THE CINEMA
"The Master of Bankdam." (Leicester Square.) — "Douce." (Curzon.) IT is always a pleasure to see the name of Walter Forde on the screen, if only because of the memories it brings of the splendid comedies which he used to make in the days when the British film had little else to its name. His direction of The Master of Bankdam is as skilful as ever, at any rate when the script permits him to indulge in that oft-forgotten attribute of the cinema—action. The scenes of the mill disaster—the crumbling walls and the enormous looms toppling vertiginously towards the audience—are as exciting as anything you are likely to see on the screen these days, and that is saying quite a lot. But unfortunately the film for most of its length calls more for dialogue than for action. It is one of those long-winded family chronicles which film-makers always seem to fall for, despite the fact that they are as unsuitable to cinema as they are suitable to a three-decker novel. Even in two hours it is not possible to present the• history of three generations of Yorkshire mill-owners without becoming unbearably scrappy and episodic. Recourse is had to the off-screen commentator, a bugbear for which perhaps the documentary film is partly responsible, and on the faces of the male actors whiskers, beards and moustaches luxuriantly if unconvincingly multiply (much of the make-up is atrocious), while the females, as ever, remain miraculously untouched by the passing years. But somehow the feeling of growth and decay, of the persistence of tradition and the clash of new ideas with a still- living past, is sadly missing. We are left outside the stream of this family's life, and must be contented with disconnected scenes of affection, villainy, love, high-mindedness and intolerance.
The Master of Bankdam is, however, well served by its actors. Tom Walls gives a fine study of the head of the family ; Anne Crawford is admirable as a thoroughly good woman ; and as the villain of the piece Stephen Murray gives a performance which should mark him immediately for stardom. It should be added that practically no one succeeds in maintaining an alleged Yorkshire accent for more than a few moments at a time.
The story of Douce is an almost perfect example of the " French novel" which fathers used to keep locked away from their wives and daughters. It is all about illicit amours in the house of an excessively aristocratic family, with bailiffs and governesses muscling in on the Vicomte's daughter, and on the Vicomte himself (wooden leg and all), with tragic or, rather, melodramatic results. It would not be worth a second's thought were it not for the extraordinary sense of atmosphere achieved by Autant Lara, who directed. The great mansion, heavy with decoration and dominated by the newly installed hydraulic lift with its tortured metalwork (the period is the 189o's); the shabby comfort of the almost respectable hotel which houses the guilty lovers ; the almost vicious charity visits of the grande dame, who goes luxuriously slumming as a matter of principle at Christmas—all this is presented with an intensity of perception and an unerring sense of period which holds one's atten- tion in spite of the ridiculous story. The acting is on the usual high level one has learnt to expect from French films ; and the cast is dominated by the magnificent Marguerite Moreno, who can act anybody (including, very nearly, herself) off the screen. Here, in a part which could easily have been confined to histrionic fireworks, she creates a character reminiscent of the Duchesse de Guermantes. There is also a skilful and at times almost frightening performance by Odette Joyeux. . * * For those who have not yet seen it, the Curzon is also showing the Soviet film Festival of Youth. This is the umpteenth screen version of Russia's annual youth parade, and offers the usual dazzling display of physical jerks, tableaux vivants and dancing. What makes it something not to be missed is the fact that it is in colour, and that the colour is coruscatingly exciting. It has a depth, a sense of perspective and of the play of light which one seldom if ever sees under the brassy glossiness of Technicolor. The film is well edited, if over-long, and the youngsters are quite magnificent.
BASIL WRIGHT.
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