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A few months ago, I purchased a couple of rare theatre magazines from the mid-1930s, which included spreads on two of Vivien Leigh’s earliest plays. One of these was the first magazine to feature Vivien on the cover, and contained a letter called Words, but if one of them were true? which she was commissioned to write for the magazine. The letter was addressed to her newfound public and contained her promise to work hard in effort to keep their respect.
It’s not every day that one can channel one’s ancestors and relive a time gone by. But that is exactly what I did last night when a group of my friends and I converged on Holywell Lane in Shoreditch to get in the fighting spirit and do our bit for the war effort at the Blitz Party.
A wildly successful event (tickets always sell out right away so this was the first time I’d been able to snag one), the Blitz Party is put on every couple of months at the Village Underground, railway arches converted into a makeshift East End air raid shelter complete with sandbags, ration books and blackout curtains. Men were on leave from the Navy, RAF and Army, and girls donned their tea dresses and victory rolls (there were quite a few Rosie the Riveters, too) for a night of dancing to swing music and gin drinking. A live Big Band got the crowd dancing and in the intervals we were treated to The Andrews Sisters, Glenn Miller, Vera Lynn and more. The air raid reveling was a lot more fun than what people actually experienced during the Blitz, but aside from the constant threat of death by bombing, starvation and the whole war bit, there was something glamorous about the 1940s. The “make do and mend” attitude ensured that women never looked completely dull, even when clothes and essentials were hard to come by. Even Vivien Leigh had to make do with rationed goods. Laurence Olivier had to go to Paris to find nylon stockings for her in 1945. Most women didn’t have that luxury and had to rely on American GIs to provide the contraband.
This week in Brit. Cinema, we discussed escapism as an alternative to the “documentary-realist” films made during WWII. Most studios were making film upon film about the war to remind people of what war was really like, despite audiences experiencing such events with a much more heightened sense of reality than the film business could portray. But one British studio provided escapism in bulk. Gainsborough Pictures, the former sister company of British-Gaumont became famous for producing lavish, saucy costume dramas that were aimed at a female audience and were often adapted from recently published romantic novels. Founded by Ealing’s Michael Balcon, Gainsborough also employed some of the biggest stars of the 1940s, including Margaret Lockwood, James Mason, Stewart Granger, Phyllis Calvert and Patricia Roc.
The films produced at Gainsborough during and shortly after the war were some of the most financially successful of their time. They were also panned by critics who thought them the antithesis of everything they wanted British film to be. The main ingredients prevalent in these films that was missing from the realist films of the time were sex and heightened emotions. What Gainsborough melodramas lacked in “quality” traits like stoicism and restraint, The Wicked Lady, The Man in Grey, Fanny By Gaslight, Jassy and other similar titles more than made up for it in sex appeal, strong female characters, nostalgia and fantasy:
In short, the traditional British social rulebook had been torn up, and Gainsborough responded to these developments in two quite distinct ways – by making films exploring women’s lives both during wartime and afterwards, and by creating shamelessly escapist fantasies, usually set in the distant past, that offered powerful images of female independence and rebellion that resonated deeply with audiences of the time. (screenonline)
Arthur Crabtree’s 1944 film Madonna of the Seven Moons is a fanciful story of a pious young Italian woman named Maddalena (Phyllis Calvert) who, as a young maiden, is raped in the woods by a man who looks like he’d jumped straight out of an FBI’s Most Wanted poster. Maddalena is taken in by the nuns at a local convent where she becomes the picture of virtue before being handed over in marriage to the wealthy Guiseppe Labardi. Flash forward twenty years and Maddalena is still mentally scarred by the incident in the woods. The return of her daughter Angela (Patricia Roc) from school in London triggers a long-kept secret. Maddalena periodically develops amnesia and disappears to Florence where she lives a double life as Rosanna of the Seven Moons, a free-living gypsy who has a torrid love affair with a jewel thief named Nino (Stewart Granger). Maddalena/Rosanna is never aware of her alternate personality, and, when asked, can never produce an answer as to where she’s been. When Angela goes searching for her mother, she is assisted by Nino’s brother Sandro (Peter Glenville) whose intentions for Angela are sinister. Angela’s ignorance of the situation eventually leads her to her mother, but puts Maddalena/Rosanna’s life in danger. As is the custom in classic films–to a lesser extent in Britain compared to the Hollywood Production Code, but still true none the less–bad girls are ultimately punished for their misdeeds, no matter how virtuous they may have been otherwise.
While I didn’t think the film was as ridiculous or as unintentionally funny as The Wicked Lady, it was still very strange. However, there were some things that stuck out for me:
1) The fact that Stewart Granger never buttoned his shirt. It’s true that Granger was the male sex symbol of the moment, and my guess is that Arthur Crabtree wanted to showcase his chest to distract viewers from his silly court jester costumes. Or maybe not.
2) Patricia Roc’s hair and her entire wardrobe.
The BFI’s Monthly Film Bulletin said of the film:
Artistic settings beautifully photographed are a pleasing feature of this lavish production, but they cannot disguise the crude melodramatics of the story nor the fact that the film drags, despite its bursts of robust action. The players act well to a certain degree and yet they somehow fail to give convincing studies of the Italian characters they are meant to portray.
Actors failing to portray–in any way, shape, or form–the actual nationality of the character they are playing is the bane of many classic films. But perhaps there is an inherent suspension of disbelief when we watch a film like Madonna of the Seven Moons today. Not only is the story set far in the past, but the passage of time from when the film was initially released to today also aids in this. Maybe we have come to expect this sort of thing from older films? I can think of plenty examples of actors in classic films not even trying to put on a different accent as required by the character they were portraying (Clark Gable in Gone with the Wind, anyone?), but it usually doesn’t affect my overall enjoyment of a film. Where Madonna really fails is in the plot. It’s about as bizarre as the theremin that periodically pops up in the soundtrack to signal Maddalena’s transformation into Rosanna…or aliens coming to inhabit 18th Century Italy.
For months I had been having issues uploading photos to the gallery, and finally figured out that it was an issue of theme compatibility. The lovely theme I’d had up before wasn’t working with the latest version of coppermine and wouldn’t let me add very many new photos! I’m glad that’s fixed and I’m excited to unveil the new photo gallery layout!
The new layout was designed by Mycah of Purple Haze Inc. and I’m very pleased with it!
To mark the occasion, I’ve uploaded over 100 screencaps from newsreel footage showing Vivien Leigh and Laurence Olivier at various social functions. These include the Royal Command Film Performances of 1946-1948 and 1952, Vivien Leigh at the Gone with the Wind/Civil War Centennial in 1961, Vivien Leigh at the London premier of My Fair Lady with Rex Harrison and Jack Merivale, Laurence Olivier at the London premier of A Nun’s Story with Audrey Hepburn, and the Oliviers at the Old Vic Theatrical Garden Party in Roehampton in 1946.
Some changes that have been made regarding viewing photos:
Other than that, enjoy the new updates!
Many actors are known for advocating for various organizations and charities, whether it’s fighting for the rights of children with UNICEF, saving the environment with Greenpeace, searching for a cure for AIDS, or anything in between. Philanthropy isn’t a new phenomenon in the entertainment industry, however, and many film stars from the golden age of Hollywood–including Vivien Leigh and Laurence Olivier–also leant their voices and star power to raising awareness and money for charity.
In 1946, in conjunction with the re-start-up of The Royal Command Film Performance, Larry and Vivien became spokespersons for The Cinematograph Trade Benevolent Fund. The CTBF was funded in 1924 to provide financial assistance to anyone in need that had been working in the British film industry for at least two years (bfi.org). This was especially poignant in 1946, when many families and individuals were grappling with major life changes due to the war.
The Royal Command Performance had been around for centuries. The monarchy commanded special acting performances for their pleasure, and in the 19th Century the command performances became a charitable event. Queen Victoria and Prince Albert were great patrons of the arts, commanded several theatrical exhibitions.