During their lifetime, Powell and Pressburger made some of the finest films in British cinema, iconic masterpieces that have influenced directors worldwide with their technical brilliance and masterful storytelling. Their use of colour alone is something to behold: indeed, Martin Scorsese calls The Red Shoes one of the two most visually beautiful films ever made (Renoir’s The River being the other). Indeed, it is that most passionate film historian who we should be grateful to for this immaculate restoration of The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, one of Powell and Pressburger’s most well-loved and ambitious films.
It is undoubtedly a must-see for any film enthusiast (I am sure that many of those buying tickets to see this restoration, unlike myself, will not be watching this for the first time). Yes, it may take a good fifteen minutes to grow accustomed to those gratingly British accents (with all their perfect p’s and q’s), and a few smiles may have to be suppressed at some of the old-fashioned humour (the opening credits contain a visual joke of incredible cheesiness), but then – surely it is these elements that give the film its endearing authenticity, one of the reasons for which it is (deservedly) so well-loved…
Beginning in medias res and then continuing in flashback, this film follows the eventful life of Colonel Candy, a British soldier who has lived through the Boer War and both World Wars. During this time, he will fall in love with a high-spirited and intelligent governess in Germany (one of three women played by Deborah Kerr, displaying here an admirable versatility), take part in a duel which, ironically, will lead to the beginning of a life-long friendship, and experience much personal tragedy and buried longing.
Being made in 1943, this film’s somewhat rosy-tinted view of the British does betray motives of stirring up patriotic feelings during the Second World War amongst a home crowd (and, I have to admit, some of it made me feel quite uneasy – such as Kerr’s speech during her second role as Candy’s wife, in which she talks of the hypocrisy of the defeated Germans attending a concert in their POW camp, the speech itself smacking with its own hypocrisy), but propaganda aside, the movie’s warmth, tenderness and maturity cannot be denied. Many famous fans of the film have congratulated it on ‘affirming what it truly means to be British’; my love of it lies more in the story it tells, and the passion and mastery with which it is told.
As you would expect from these directors, visual flair is certainly not amiss: silent snowfall against a tableau of night-time Berlin, while the duel plays out inside the gymnasium, is but one such example of technical mastery. Particularly in this new restoration, those deep, saturated colours simply radiate from the screen, in ways that the modern viewer rarely sees and experiences now. And, despite my own personal reservations, there are enough moving cinematic masterstrokes to make up for them: who could ever forget Anton Walbrook’s stunning performance in that one unbroken shot where, as an ageing man, he returns to England and tells his tragic tale of isolation and painful loss?
The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp is a film to cherish. Amidst intense realism, both comedy and even elements of the fairytale worm their way in, creating something that remains, to this day, utterly unique and never-bettered. What more can I say?
U certificate
Review by LiveWire Young Film Critic, James Martin (August ’12)