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.

The Iron Petticoat

The Iron Petticoat (Ralph Thomas, 1956) There are many reasons a film can be withdrawn from circulation. In some cases, like Frank Sinatra's withdrawal of Suddenly and The Manchurian Candidate, it is the fear that the influence of the film might have had on current events, in much the same way as Stanley Kubrick withdrew A Clockwork Orange for many years in England, due to what seemed to be several copycat crimes related to it.

Bob "I probably should have done this with Phyllis Diller" Hope and his estate kept The Iron Petticoat out of America after its initial release until...November, 2012...when TCM showed it for the first time in this country since its release, (with the exceptions of a couple of private screenings). It's been available in Europe and throughout the rest of the world, but not in the States, owing to a disagreement between Hope and the film's original author, the esteemed Ben Hecht, who wrote the thing for Katherine Hepburn, with an eye toward re-teaming her with Cary Grant. But, Grant was still on his on-again-off-again retirement at the time and passed, Hope sashayed in, and proceeded to hand it to his gag-writers who refashioned the script more to Hope's style than Hepburn's...or Hecht's. To be fair, stars do this all the time, re-writing scripts to their liking and their strengths, but Hecht took the issue public in the Hollywood press, leading to a Hope-ful response. For whatever reasons, Hope, who had the distribution rights in the U.S., kept it out of circulation after its initial run, making it a curiosity.

Would that the unearthing of this film, with the unlikely match-up of Hope and Hepburn, the first movie producing credit of Bond producer Harry Saltzman, be anything more than that.  But, like Schrödinger's cat, once seen, there is certainty, and in this timeline, it ain't good. The story of a Russian aviatrix (Hepburn) who defects to Europe and is squired by an American Air Force Major (Hope) under orders to keep her on our side is a few notches shy of Ninotchka, and is almost entirely charmless. No one's at the top of their game here, with the exception of some of the character actors (Robert Helpmann, James Robertson Justice). Hope seems to have that hapless "I'm bombing here" look on his face without the curl to his lip that inspired confidence. And Hepburn? There's a distinctive overabundance of iron, as if she were trying to be her own Berlin Wall to hold her own in the project. And where Garbo played Ninotchka with a stiff world-wary calm ("like a Vulcan" I compared it to), Hepburn is loud and forceful, projecting her words to the top of "the house" (more like a Klingon). And if Melvin Douglas' ardent suitor in the earlier Lubitsch film softens his Moscovite's demeanor, Hope's stand-offishness—keeping her at golf-club's length—does nothing towards making this one either romantic or comedic.

No film should be locked away in a vault, but for this one, the only joy in it is  its seeing the light of day again. It is only when it sees the light of the projector that the disappointment starts.

The Lavender Hill Mob

The Lavender Hill Mob (Charles Crichton, 1951) Light-hearted Ealing Studios "caper" film starring Alec Guinness and Stanley Holloway as two renters in a Lavender Hill brownstone, one a bored bank auditor, the other a sculptor with dreams of greater things. The two men have enough in common that a shared light-bulb goes off: why not pool their common knowledge and carry-out the perfect crime?

Why not, indeed? The time was right for it. Crichton, whose directing career would go on and on, diverting to television and cap with the absurdist A Fish Called Wanda--these films share many similarities, actually--had a knack for nailing down frothy comedies with the slightest acid-wit without seemingly like a spoil-sport. Crichton is a director whose influence is less on the comedy, which is serviceable until he wants to make a real point—more on that in a tick—but on the dry way he presents comedy, and that donnish attitude to absurdity is equally evident from the nearly forty years that spanned The Lavender Hill Mob and A Fish Called Wanda. Everything is perfectly cordial, until at some point the clock strikes four and suddenly it turns into a mad tea party, cracking the British reserve.

In The Lavender Hill Mob, that moment comes when the two ring-leaders escape with their ill-gotten gains to Paris, and in a moment of aptness take a turn around the top of the Eiffel Tower—all 360 degrees of it—in one shot (I suspect it's a process shot done in the studio as there are no other tourists up there at the time, but I could be wrong). And then, in a moment of high urgency, scamper down the Eiffel's circular stairwell in a chase to beat the tower's elevator to the ground. The result is a dizzying sequence of hand-held shots watching the men go from desperation to scampering, hooting little boys, finally reaching the ground, their world spinning. It's a freeing moment, filmically and emotionally, the circular patterns cork-screwing an indelible moment into the film's structure.

It's a fine entertainment, and although Guiness and Crichton would never work together again, The Lavender Hill Mob shows the promise of two wily co-conspirators collaborating—right up to the seamless reveal of the film's final gambit.

And speaking of promising futures, look for future film icon's: Robert Shaw can be seen in the background of the police exhibition, Desmond Llewelyn ("Q" of the Bond films) is in the Customs scene, and at the beginning of the film the very small part of "Chiquita" is played by a young ingenue by the name of Audrey Hepburn.

Audrey Hepburn's first screen appearance reaching the U.S.: The Lavender Hill Mob