CONTEMPORARY ARTS
THE CINEMA
" Under Capricorn." (Warner.)—" Date with Destiny." (London Pavilion)—" Slattery's Hurricane." (Odeon.)--" Bagarres " (Polytechnic).
I FEAR that Mr. Alfred Hitchcock has, for the first time in his dis- tinguished career, discovered the way to be tecjious. Under Capricorn is set in Australia in 1831, and it concerns the efforts of a visiting sprig of Irish nobility, played by Mr. Michael Wilding, to rescue a compatriot of his from the evils of drink. This drunkard is none other than Miss Ingrid Bergman, who has eloped in her youth with her father's groom, Mr. Joseph Cotten, and has since found it was all a great pity. The film starts off well enough, and Miss Bergman, soddenly touching, moves one as only Miss Bergman can, but it is not long before the characters, at first so convincing, assume the manners of marionettes.
This, with all due deference to Mr. James Bridie, is the fault of the script, which deteriorates into a series of speeches. It is rare in life that anyone is permitted to speak uninterrupted for more than a quarter of a minute, even, I think, when he is confessing past transgressions, and here many important moments become theatrical rather than dramatic for this reason. One cannot say this is a bad film, for histrionically, technically and photographically it is sound (save perhaps that the Technicolor flesh tints are dreadfully green); there is delightful music by Mr. Richard Addinsell and excellent costume designs by Mr. Roger Furse ; but however much one may praise the individual offerings laid on one's plate the complete meal is, alas, stodgy. Not inedible, but slightly indigestible.
Date with Destiny is quite an amusing comedy based on a young girl's firm conviction that her late uncle Willie has returned to this world disguised as a horse. The problem of the transmigration of souls cannot, perhaps, be treated lightly by everyone, but for those of us who have no faith whatsoever that our departed uncles, however fast their- earthly lives may have been, will eventually fly past the winning post, it provides good entertainment.
Miss Terry Moore treats her illusion with great delicacy, and, though her relatives try to prove that she is insane, she resolutely insists, in the witness box, that though she cannot swear her horse is Uncle Willie she cannot swear it isn't either, and defies anybody else to. Mr. Glenn Ford ably assists her by pointing out that all men recognise human qualities in their animals and frequently may be heard asking them questions as to their health and morals, questions to which they rarely, if ever, receive replies. Miss Moore has only gone one step further in personalising her horse. At any rate, what- ever spirit inhabits it, it wins the Derby, which is more than can be said for any of my uncles.
* * * *
Slattery's Hurricane is about a very unpleasant war hero who gets involved with a drug-running racket, tries to steal his best friend's wife and redeems all by going up in an aeroplane in the middle of a hurricane to get a meteorological report for whoever the people are who like meteorological reports. Mr. Richard Widmark is the tough egg, Miss Linda Darnell is the wife, and Miss Veronica Lake, looking frightfully peaky, is the faithful spaniel-type girl .whose heart is bludgeoned like a punch ball. The real hero, however, is the wind, which slashes and beats and howls and batters its way into every pore of one's body and practically tears one's soul off its hinges. A tiring film, but, of its type, good.
* * * *
The heroine of Bagarres is one of those women who contrive, by being both beautiful and disinclined to speak, to drive men mad with desire. Mlle. Maria Casares moves disdainfully through this film, followed by a string of village wooers with their tongues hanging out and with but one beastly thought in their disreputable heads. 0 les hommes, les hommes l Eventually Mlle. Casares yields to every single one of her suitors, and it l all very earthy and elemental, but not, I venture to think, very good. Incidentally I am told Bagarres means "The Wench," but I cannot help feeling that in this instance someone, certainly the Greeks, has a chore appropriate word.
VIRGINIA GRAHAM.
Previous page
