Tag: Frank Lawton

A Night to Remember (1958)

Still one of the definitive Titanic movies, a compelling documentary-influenced look at the disaster

Director: Roy Ward Baker

Cast: Kenneth More (Charles Lightoller), Michael Goodliffe (Thomas Andrews), Laurence Naismith (Captain Edward Smith), Kenneth Griffith (Jack Phillips), David McCallum (Harold Bride), Tucker McGuire (Molly Brown), Frank Lawton (J Bruce Ismay), Richard Leech (William Murdoch), John Cairney (Murphy), John Merivale (Robbie Lucas), Honor Blackman (Liz Lucas), James Dyrenforth (Colonel Archibald Gracie IV), Anthony Bushell (Captain Arthur Rostron)

The sinking of the Titanic on 14 April 1912 is one of the most iconic events in twentieth century history. A Night to Remember brings the ship’s final hours to life in forensic detail, based on Walter Lord’s carefully researched book. Told with documentary-style distance, mixed with admiration for stiff-upper-lip British pluck, the film cemented many people’s perceptions of the night of the sinking and remains one of the best-known films about the disaster.

To tell the story, the production decided it needed a central figure and selected Second Officer Charles Lightoller, recruiting a British star to play the role. And no one did bluff, charismatic middle-class decency better than Kenneth More, born to play roles like this. Lightoller would be placed at the heart of the keep-calm-and-carry-on evacuation of the ship, More’s reassuring presence letting the audience know everyone involved was doing their best under impossible circumstances.

A Night to Remember remains very effective. It’s special effects and recreation of the ship are highly impressive. Even tilting sets were built to replicate the ships list, meaning drinks tilt in glasses and the careering skid of a dinner cart in the dining room was done for real. But where it really scores is its effective capturing of a very particular British mood: the determination to carry-on in terrible, appalling circumstances. While it’s easy to look at this unflappability in the face of disaster as almost comic, what’s so effective in A Night to Remember is that below the surface it’s clear almost every single character is screaming in terror.

You can see it in the shell-shocked disbelief of Captain Smith (a very effective Laurence Naismith, an excellent portrait of man in ultimate authority with no power at all to affect the situation) who stares with shame at the hundreds of people he can’t save. It’s in the guilt of Thomas Andrews (Michael Goodliffe, full of wry humour that slips away leaving him a shell) who blames himself and vainly tries to save others without creating panic. The grim-faced determination of radio operator Jack Phillips (a remarkably restrained Kenneth Griffith) who taps out the SOS until the bitter end. These feelings are carefully hidden and suppressed – for the good of morale – but the screaming panic and despair of the passengers in the final moments of the ship are simply giving voice to hidden feelings earlier.

What comes across very well in A Night to Remember is the utter powerlessness of the situation, matched with the bad luck and poor preparation that condemned more to death. It’s clear to everyone in authority, from the start, that there are insufficient lifeboats and quickly becomes apparent no help is not coming. While not raising enough urgency around the evacuation did contribute to deaths, it’s also clear to the officers it’s the only way they can hope to maintain any sense of order for as long as possible. If they fronted up on the real disaster heading their way, those guns they grab from the armoury would have all been exhausted keeping control.

A Night to Remember subtly suggests the fault is not personal, but somehow systemic: that Titanic is just the rash a whole host of societal problems have come out in. You can see the arrogance and unwillingness to question in the huffy pretension of the man on the train who pulls Lightoller up for mocking a soap advert that celebrates the ship. The behaviour of many of the passengers that safety precautions are at first an imposition, then that their class and position should automatically entitle them to particular treatment. The thudding refusal of many to accept the reality that the unsinkable ship can go down. The stunned look on people’s faces when the truth hits them and, as Lightoller says late in the film, it suddenly feels like they can never trust so blindly again.

Alongside this, it’s a tribute to bravery and self-sacrifice, often expressed with that classic British reserve and dry humour in the face of imminent disaster. From Lightoller and the sailors who fight, up the final moment, to assemble two collapsible boats even as the deck sinks under water around them to the engineering crew who willingly agree to stay below deck to keep the power on – a certain death sentence (“And it’s my birthday today and all” someone good naturedly moans, while the others gather a water-logged cup of tea). Perhaps uniquely for Titanic films, there isn’t even a villain: it’s one of the few adaptations that doesn’t show Ismay (a never-the-less pompous and weasily Frank Lawton) ordering the ship to go faster. In fact Ismay is shown energetically throwing himself into the evacuation (even told to stop trying to help by Lightoller) who steps into a boat (self-loathing covering his face) only when no one else tries to take one of the available seats.

Despite which, the film doesn’t avoid the fundamental errors. The treatment of the second and third-class passengers is shockingly abrupt and impatient, as if the saving of their lives is an inconvenience on a busy night – by the time they are allowed on deck, one plaintively moans that the lifeboats have already left. A group of bellboys are ordered to remain where they are (and instructed to not smoke!) condemning them. As the scale of the disaster grows, several passengers in under-filled boats complain that they are ‘already too full’ to go back for survivors. Even Lightoller’s decisions (interpreting ‘women and children first’ as ‘women and children only’, a decision that led to half-full boats sent away) are criticised.

A Night to Remember also sprinkles itself with several touching personal stories that carry real impact. The first-class passenger who asks Andrews for a no-bullshit appraisal, then quietly ensures his wife and sleeping children board a lifeboat. The Stausses who refused to separate and go down with the ship. A lost child saved from trampling by a steward, who promises him it will all be over soon as they sink. The young couple crushed by a falling funnel. The heartless card sharp who turns out to have a capacity for calm self-sacrifice.

And it could all have been avoided. More than any other film A Night to Remember focuses on the unquestioning crew of the Californian who watch the sinking from ten miles distance (including the never-ending launch of emergency rockets) but having no instructions or initiative don’t do a thing (they switch their radio off rather than try and find out more). The rigid mindset of the system right there: disasters just don’t happen to British ships (Britannia rules the waves after all) so no reason to rock the boat. They are contrasted with the professional urgency of the Carpethia (who did leave their radio on) who race against hope to help.

A Night to Remember captures this all extremely effectively, remaining a powerful and documentary look at the simple facts of the world’s second most iconic (after Pompeii) disaster. Full of some very fine performances and shot with a pacey assurance by Roy Ward Baker, it remains one of the definitive studies of the diaster.

David Copperfield (1935)

Frank Lawton, WC Fields and Roland Young bring Dickens to life in David Copperfield

Director: George Cukor

Cast: Freddie Bartholomew (Young David Copperfield), Frank Lawston (Old David Copperfield), Edna May Oliver (Betsey Trotwood), Elizabeth Allan (Clara Copperfield), Jessie Ralph (Peggotty), Basil Rathbone (Mr Murdstone), Herbert Mundin (Barkis), Jack Buckler (Ham Peggotty), Una O’Connor (Mrs Gummidge), Lionel Barrymore (Daniel Peggotty), Violet Kmeple Cooper (Jane Murdstone), Elsa Lanchester (Clickett), Jean Cadell (Emma Micawber), WC Fields (Wilkins Micawber), Lennox Pawle (Mr Dick), Lewis Stone (Mr Wickfield), Roland Young (Uriah Heap), Madge Evans (Agnes Wickfield), Hugh Williams (James Steerforth), Maureen O’Sullivan (Dora Spenlow)

You could argue David Copperfield is one of the most influential films ever made. David O Selznick was desperate to bring Dickens’ favourite novel to the screen. But the MGM suits were convinced it couldn’t be done (800 pages in two hours?! Get out of town!) and anyway who would want to come to the cinema when they could read the book at home? They were wrong, wrong, wrong and Selznick proved that classic literature (even if it was a cut-down version of a great book) could be bought to the screen and capture at much of the spirit of the book, even if you couldn’t dramatise all the events. David Copperfield remains very entertaining, not least because it also showed you can’t go to far wrong when you assemble an all-star cast who fit their characters perfectly.

The story of the film pretty much follows the novel (with exceptions, deletions and abridgements). Young David Copperfield (Freddie Bartholomew, growing up into Frank Lawton at the half-way point) grows up loved by his mother (Elizabeth Allan) and nurse Peggotty (Jessie Ralph), but loathed by his step-father Mr Murdstone (Basil Rathbone) who barely waits five minutes after his mother passes away before dispatching David to a factory in London. There David forms a bond with the charming exuberant Mr Micawber (WC Fields) before deciding to walk to Canterbury to seek the protection of his aunt Betsey (Edna May Oliver). Growing into a young man, he faces romantic problems, the schemes of the vile Uriah Heap (Roland Young) and the betrayals of his schoolfriend Steerforth (Hugh Williams). Will all turn out well?

Stylistically, David Copperfield aims to be as true to the novel as impossible. It’s designed to look as much as possible like a series of Phiz sketches bought to life and the actors have clearly studied both novel and illustrations to craft themselves as much as possible into living, breathing representations of their characters. Well scripted by Hugh Walpole (who also cameos early on as a Vicar), the film manages to be faithful without being reverential and tells an engaging story with momentum – even if the pace accelerates a little too much towards the end.

Walpole’s adaptation splits the book into two acts: the childhood of our hero and his life as young man. Giving an idea of how the momentum accelerates towards the end, this basically means the first hour of the film covers the novel’s opening 200 pages, leaving the last hour to hurry through the remaining 600. This means several characters and events are deleted, simplified or removed. However, Walpole still manages to retain all the truly vital information and iconic material, and recognises most of the striking material is found in that first 200 pages.

This childhood story is very well told, partially because Freddie Bartholomew (while he has touches of school play about him) is an affecting and endearing actor, who makes the young David a kid we care about rather than either an insufferable goodie-two-shoes or a syrupy brat. He’s a smart, kind, slightly fragile boy who we end up caring about – and it gives a real emotional impact when his mother dies (a very tender Elizabeth Allan) or to see him misused by Mr Murdstone (a perfectly judged performance of austere coldness by Basil Rathbone). Little touches of joy in his life – like the time he spends at the Peggotty’s converted ship home (a perfect representation of its description in the book) are really heartwarming, because David himself is such an endearing fellow.

It does create an obstacle for Frank Lawton when he takes over, since the audience is asked to try and bond with this new actor having already committed their hearts for just over half the run time to another. Lawton also has to deal with scenes rushing towards the conclusion rather than getting character beats like Bartholomew. Cuts impact his key relations: his school friendship with Steerforth is relayed second hand, meaning Steerforth turns up only to almost instantly let everyone down; Dora Spenlow and Agnes Wickfield get only brief screen time to establish their characters. The schemes of Uriah Heap are barely explained (he’s just a hypocritical wrong ‘un, okay?). It says a lot that the last fifteen minutes rush through the deaths of three major characters, a shipwreck, a dramatic confrontation, David travelling the world and a resolution of romantic tensions. It’s the only point when the film feels like its ticking boxes.

But it doesn’t completely matter (even if a two-part film would have helped no end – particularly allowing Lawton more room to develop a character) since the performances are so good. Expertly marshalled by Cukor – who rarely introduces visual flair, but coaches pin-perfect turns from the entire cast – every role is cast to perfection. None more so than WC Fields, for whom Wilkins Micawber became a signature part. Replacing Charles Laughton mid-filming (he claimed he looked more like he was about to molest the boy), Fields keeps his own accent and some of his own persona, but still fits perfectly into the Dickensian larger-than-life optimism and good will of Micawber. His comic timing is spot-on – watch him climbing over a roof or bantering with David and his family – and he seems like he has just walked off the page. If there had been a Supporting Actor Oscar in 1935, he would almost certainly have won it.

He’s the stand-out of a host of excellent performances. Edna May Oliver is very funny and has a more than a touch of genuine emotion as Betsey Trotwood. Jessie Ralph is excellent as Peggotty. Lennox Pawle makes a very sweet Mr Dick. Roland Young is the very picture of unctuous hypocrisy as Uriah Heap. Only the young women get a little short-changed: despite her best efforts, Madge Evans can’t make Agnes Wickfield interesting and Maureen O’Sullivan is rather cloying as Dora.

But the film itself is pretty much spot-on for the tone of Dickens, even if events are rushed. The impact of the Peggotty/Steerforth story is lost since we are never given the time to get to know any of the parties involved, and certain plot complexities are only thinly sketched out. But Cukor marshals the actors perfectly and throws in at least one striking shot, of Murdstone appearing in the distance as the camera follows a cart bearing David away from his mother. It always looks just right and the characters that do get the time are perfectly played, so much so that a few performances (Fields, Oliver, Young) may even be definitive.

David Copperfield proved you could turn a doorstop novel into a film and, even if you sacrificed some of the complexities (and might need to rush to fit it all in) you could still produce something that felt recognisable and true to the original. So, for that – with the mountain of adaptations that followed – we have a lot to thank it for.

Cavalcade (1933)

The Marryots and the Bridges face a world in motion in Cavalcade

Director: Frank Lloyd

Cast: Diana Wynyard (Jane Marryot), Clive Brook (Robert Marryot), Una O’Connor (Ellen Bridges), Herbert Mundin (Albert Bridges), Beryl Mercer (Cook), Irene Brown (Margaret Harris), Frank Lawton (Joe Marryot), Ursula Jean (Fanny Bridges), Margaret Lindsay (Edith Harris), John Warburton (Edward Marryot)

Before Upstairs, Downstairs and Downton Abbeythere was Cavalcade. Winning the Best Picture of 1933 (beating out more highly regarded films today – and King Kong wasn’t even nominated!), Cavalcade shows a romantic weakness for dramas about the struggles of the British Upper classes and their servants is nothing new. Based on Noel Coward’s play, it’s a grand, soapy drama that’s been done better since (not least by those two shows) but makes an entertaining genre template.

Carefully ticking off historical events between 1899 and 1933, the film follows the Marryot family – father Robert (Clive Brook), mother Jane (Diana Wynyard) and their two sons Joe (Frank Lawton) and John (Edward Marryot) – and their servants turned pub owners the Bridges – Albert (Herbert Mundin), Ellen (Una O’Connor) and their daughter Fanny (Ursula Jean). From the Boer War via the death of Queen Victoria, the first flight across the Channel, two characters taking an unfortunate honeymoon trip on the Titanic to the First World War, we see how events affect both families (invariably with tragic consequences) as Britain slowly changes.

You can look at Cavalcade and find it hilariously old-fashioned. The accents are so sharply clipped they could be cut-glass, while the working-class characters speak with “evenin’ guv’ner” ‘umbleness. In preparation for the film, the Studio flew a camera team over to film the London production (then hired several of the actors to repeat their roles, including O’Connor) and the film sometimes feels like a slightly stuffy stage production bought to the screen.

This is most noticeable in Diana Wynyard’s performance. She clearly has no idea to act for the camera – and Lloyd didn’t correct her. ‘Asides’ see her frequently turn towards the camera and stare into the middle distance. For the innumerable times she is called onto to weep, she throws herself to the floor dramatically. With her declamatory style, she’s constantly playing to an imaginary back row. It sticks out particularly badly when watching the far more experienced Brook relatively underplay each scene without physically telegraphing every emotion. Surprisingly Wynyard landed an Oscar nomination – but soon left Hollywood and returned to the stage.

The rest of the cast are split between the two approaches, all while balancing the stiff-upper-lipped demands of the script, with its “I must go the war/Don’t go darling/I must they won’t start without me” exchanges (to paraphrase Eddie Izzard). The younger actors – John Warburton and Margaret Lindsay as the young couple booking a berth on the Titanic – offer performances so restrained they feel strait-jacketed. The working-class characters cut lose a little. Una O’Connor is a little broad, but quite engaging while Herbert Mundin gives possibly the best performance as a landlord too fond of his own product. Ursula Jeans makes a fine romantic lead as their daughter, delivering decent renditions of several songs in particular “Twentieth Century Blues”.

Those blues are nominally what the film is about, as the world leaves the Marryots behind. It’s bookended by two New Years –in 1899 and 1933 – during which time the world has changed completely. War has shattered the cosy Victorian status quo, leaving millions dead and the Marryots struggle to recognise this new England. Cavalcade only lightly engages with themes of societal upheaval – probably because it is simultaneously wallowing in so much nostalgia, that Coward’s more sombre ideas would bring the party crashing down.

Instead, Cavalcade luxuriates in nostalgia, loving the idea of a hierarchical, old-fashioned, English world where everyone knows their place (even after leaving their employ, the Bridges treat the Marryots with deference, while the Marryots look at them with a paternal indulgence). But its soapy stories – predictable as they seem to us now – are actually rather effective, and the flashes of genuine emotion (best of all, when Brook’s Robert says farewell to his son as he heads out on “one last patrol” in the last days before the Armistice) are surprisingly effective.

Lloyd’s direction of the larger set-pieces also show an impressive flair. The domestic scenes may seem stagey, but when the camera films a crowd it feels ambitious and dynamic. A huge pier scene with hundreds of men heading to the Boer War is handled very well. Bustling street scenes feel real. Wynyard’s finest moment comes in a crowd scene as she tries to merge into a crowd celebrating the Armistice, while caught up in a personal grief. A montage covering 1918 to 1933 is effective in showing the march of change.

Best of all is a wonderful montage communicating the horrific cost of the First World War. Lloyd presents the war as a never ending stream of soldiers marching into a tunnel. Initially the backdrop around is an English town, with smoking chimneys. This morphs into No Man’s Land, with the chimney smoke becoming explosions. Super-imposed over this are images of soldiers in close-up, at first marching in smiles, then dying at an accelerated rate. Nostalgia turns into Danteish circle of hell, innumerable bodies piling up. It stands out as a moment of expressionist inspiration (and must have had a strong impact on the audience).

It’s the finest moment in Cavalcade, your enjoyment of which will be directly related to how much patience you have with Downton Abbey. Find that an enjoyable diversion (as I do), and you will certainly find something to enjoy in Cavalcade. If Downton’s rose-tinted view of Edwardian social structures puts you on edge, you will struggle. I was pleasantly surprised by how charmed I was by it. And that World War One sequence is worth the price of admission alone.