The Detective (1954)

The Detective (aka Father Brown)(Robert Hamer, 1954) It's quite the scandal when Father Brown (Alec Guinness) is arrested by the local constabulary when he is caught in the act of "burglarious purposes" in front of an open safe. At police headquarters, the humble English vicker tries to explain that he was only trying to return the "swag" ("I believe that's what it's called—'swag'") for one of his parishioners (he admonishes him for being "an incompetent thief...clearly incapable of earning a dishonest living") whom he had convinced to forego a life of petty thievery and, in return, Brown would return the stolen good to the rightful place. That's when the police arrived.

 

A night in the hoosegow (which he finds "most interesting" and thanks the police for their "hospitality") and he's identified by the church authorities and sprung. So, of course, when he's hauled before the Bishop, he assumes it's for the arrest—he having a reputation in the diocese as "an odd one". But, it's of another matter entirely: it's seems that the Eucharistic Congress is soon to be held in Rome. And the Bishop has decided to send the Holy Cross of St. Augustine, which is twelve centuries old and currently resides in Father Brown's parish church. Father Brown considers the cross "not valuable...priceless," so he's alarmed when informed by a local Inspector than an "imminent criminal is intent to intercept the cross en route." The criminal's name is Gustav Flambeau* (Peter Finch) and Father Brown is only too aware of the master-thief's reputation—"a human chameleon" such an expert of disguise that no one knows what he looks like.

When Brown is informed of the precautions, the father-detective goes into a sort of distracted trance—in his mind, he's figured out three different way that the cross could be stolen. "So, if I, an amateur, can steal the cross in three ways , one can only think what Flambeau will do!" Brown volunteers to take the cross himself—"one priest indistinguishable from hundreds carrying one cross undetectable from hundreds" But, the inspector and the Bishop are in agreement: they will have undercover men make their way to Rome in the hopes of intercepting the wiley thief. To Brown, this is "lunacy!" He makes his own arrangements to carry out his conception of a plan.

Now, as a recovering Catholic, I must confess that the closest I get to religion these days is through Father Brown, the sleuthing priest created by author G.K.Chesterton in 1910 (predating Agatha Christie's sleuths by a decade). I've watched the Mark Williams series, having seen nearly every episode, and read a few of the stories and have always found a kind of solace in the character's rock-solid faith and his unorthodox application of it when dealing with the near-occasion of sinners. He does not judge, believing not that people are good or evil, but merely people, and those that have strayed can always be moved on to the better path. He is not naive, or a cross-eyed optimist, but will argue that his faith is even more pertinent in a world where virtue is challenged. At one point in The Detective, he says: "My son, you think that you are a man of the world and that I am not. But I assure you, my 'innocent' ears encounter every day stories of a horror that would make your sophisticated hair stand on end. Although I wear funny clothes, and have taken certain vows, I live far more in the world than you do." It's a world where his ability to pick locks, or judo-wrestle are useful tools, particularly when employed for good. He'll even pick a pocket (but only to prove a point when he returns the "swag").

When I found that there was a "Father Brown" movie, particularly to my delight that Alec Guinness played the part, I began an exhaustive search to find it. It took years, but it can now be found** And it exceeded my expectations. I've never been disappointed by a Guinness performance*** and his Brown is very much a sheep in wolfs clothing. He's as sharp as they come, if a bit idiosyncratic, and when called upon Guinness overplays the "twee" nature of Brown, his awkwardness hiding a quick-wittedness—although his humility will never allow him to admit it.

The Detective also has two of my favorite British performers: the ever-beguiling Joan Greenwood, (who'd starred with Guinness in a couple of his comedies) as one of Father Brown's more well-off parishioners and confidantes; and Bernard Lee (who would go on to play MI6 head "M" in the first 16 films of the Bond series) as an undercover police officer doggedly pursuing Flambeau, and who finds Brown's deft interference almost in itself criminal.

But, the surprise is Peter Finch as master-thief Flambeau. Up to this point, Finch could be rather stiff in his roles, but, here, he's light-hearted and charming, pulling off the character-work in disguise, and, when unmasked, giving off the air of a bon-vivant, quite happy in his mis-deeds. Guinness and he have a lot of dialog together and they spar winningly.

Based rather loosely on Chesterton's first Father Brown story "The Blue Cross," It's absolutely delightful and was well worth the wait.

* Interesting that they call him "Gustav" Flambeau as Chesterton gave him the christian name of "Hercule"—perhaps to not confuse him with Christie's Poirot, who debuted 10 years later—and the character is supposed to be French, and Gustav is considered a Swedish or German name.

 

** On the streaming service Tubi, but the Lord only knows how long it will remain there. 

*** Okay, there is one. It is Hitler: The Last Ten Days where I found his performance as The Führer rather dull. Time Magazine's critic said it was only useful in showing "the banality of evil." Curiously, IMDB says it's the only performance Guinness was completely happy with, having campaigned actively to play it.

Dead of Night (1945)

Dead of Night (Alberto Cavalcanti, Basil Dearden, Charles Crichton, Robert Hamer, 1945) British omnibus film from Ealing Studios where four stories of the bizarre are buttressed by a framing device of an architect (Mervyn Jones) invited to a country house that evokes an inescapable sense of déjà vu. 

At the house is a collection of strangers with odd stories: a race car driver who barely survives a crash and during a recovery has a strange dream involving a beckoning hearse and driver who says "just room for inside, sir"—a dream that has fateful repercussions later on; a girl (Sally Ann Howes) who recounts a strange encounter at a Christmas party; a woman who buys her fiancé an antiquated mirror with a mind—and a room—of its own; a whimsical tale of of two obsessed golf duffers (Basil Radford and Naunton Wayne) who wager for the affections of a woman over a match; and the last, featuring a ventriloquist (a bravura performance by Michael Redgrave) whose dummy wants to change the act's billing.

Anyone familiar with "The Twilight Zone" will have their own distinct sense of déjà vu watching Dead of Night—the race-driving story is remarkably similar to a Bennet Cerf story that was adapted by Serling as "Twenty Two;" the Christmas story echoes others; the ventriloquist story has been dummied about several times and not just on TZ. The stories have their own specific atmospheres that cling to their stories like shrouds, and Ealing proudly displays the collection of sets and artistry that made it one of the preeminent studios in Great Britain.

The stories are all decidedly set-bound with some quick outdoor scenes—it was wartime when the film was made and although the tone is fairly nightmarish (pluckily nightmarish), escapism from the rubble and the war news was the intent, and maybe a little tonic from "boogey-man-isms" by having a psychiatrist (Viennese, of course, played by Frederick Valk) popping the bubble of the story-tellers by trying to clinically explain things away. It provides a fine counter-balance (and a bit of straight-faced comic relief) to the tales of the supernatural, with their underpinnings of hysteria and mental imbalance. Fun, unsettling and meticulously done.

Kind Hearts and Coronets

Kind Hearts and Coronets (Robert Hamer, 1949) A long time ago in a film world far, far away (before he was Obi-Wan Kenobi), Alec Guinness was considered "the" comic actor during his run of films with Ealing Studios and in the late 40's/50's, but his tour de force may have been the movie in which he didn't even receive top billing—but merely most of the billing!

Kind Hearts and Coronets is a black comedy—the blackest—about the peerage system in England and how the rules can be applied/disavowed at the whim of the "classy." The humor is "veddy" British; there is not a single raised voice in the entire film and the language is the highest (and snootiest) of tone. But that's where the civility ends, as the protagonist is on a mission of revenge and avarice in which he is the architect of multiples of murders in the quest for the title he feels is rightfully his and to which he has been denied.

London is abuzz on the day the film begins, as something altogether unusual is planned at dawn—the hanging, for murder, of an actual Duke, the 10th Duke of Chalfont. It is so unique that the guards have questions about precedence, how to address the soon-to-be-stretched, and the executioner is preparing a verse for the occasion. For his part, the nearly departed is spending his last night doing what any royalty is concerned with—preserving a legacy. Louis D'Ascoyne Mazzini (Dennis Price) is penning his memoirs of how he got to this position—on Death Row, the noose being tailored for his neck-size. Part confession, part explanation, part boast, the memoir frames the flash-back sequences that show the unfortunate circumstances that befell Louis that forced him to rise above through low behavior that includes seduction, cuckoldry, murder and ladies' undergarmets.

Not his fault, initially. His mother (Audrey Fildes) became infatuated with an Italian opera singer and (in the opinion of her family) married below her station and was disowned. When her husband dies, she is denied anything to do with the D'Ascoyne family (including the inclusion of her devoted son, Louis, in family matters or business), even though she believes he should be considered in line for dukeitude that goes with the D'Ascoyne name. When she dies, her final wish is to buried in the magnificent grounds around the D'Ascoyne estate.

She will have to stand in line. In order to achieve that, her son has work to do.

The D'Ascoyne family (Alec Guinness—no, really, he plays the entire family) is an entirely disreputable bunch of entitled prigs, their only saving grace (besides being played by Alec Guinness) is that their grace saves them the punishments that discreditable behavior usually affords the un-gentrified. Even if he hadn't been denied his right, Louis would despise them all. Two things provide an incentive besides that of his mother's dying wish—his childhood friend Sibella (the positively glowing Joan Greenwood) refuses his marriage proposal in favor of a richer man's, and an encounter with the son of a D'Ascoyne banker gets him fired from his job in ladies' finery. That particular D'Ascoyne scion is the first to go, in a manner (as Louis will make a habit of) befitting his interests and peccadilloes.

Joan Greenwood (positively glowing)

Louis makes his way up the ladder of peerage on the rungs of dead D'Ascoynes. He also acquires a more suitable job as a clerk for the father of his first victim (who, of necessity, must be a future one). He also begins an indiscreet dalliance with Sibella, who finds that riches do not make a wholly satisfying life (if Louis weren't taking advantage of it, he might learn a lesson there), and a discreet friendship with the widow (Valerie Hobson) of his second victim. The murders are performed bloodlessly and—for the most part—off-camera, laced with, but not limited to, irony. One could imagine, if Louis weren't in such a hurry, that the victims would have incorrigably gone that way, anyway.

The second of many D'Ascoyne funerals (Guinness has a quorum)

Guinness is a wonder here. He gives each D'Ascoyne their own voice and manner, as well as an individual invitation to hate them. And Price manages to make Louis a charming rogue, while betraying that he also has some deep character flaws, beyond his cold-blooded penchant for murder (even if keeping it in the family). Those flaws are only emboldened the closer he gets to his goal. Thereby lies madness. And the film closes with one of those charming Ealing endings that flirts with shocking your sensibilities but has an added twist that satisfies you (in no small part because it leaves it unresolved or, better put, leaves it for the viewer to speculate on what happens after "The End" credit burns in, leaving you judge, jury, and possibly executioner). It's a little thrill that makes the film linger with wickedness long after it's over.