Brian McFarlane, ed. The Cinema of Britain and Ireland. London and New York: Wallflower Press, 2005. xvi + 285 pp. $80.00 (cloth), ISBN 978-1-904764-39-7; $29.50 (paper), ISBN 978-1-904764-38-0.
Reviewed by Mairead Pratschke (Department of History, Auburn University)
Published on H-Albion (October, 2006)
The History of British and Irish Cinema in Twenty-Four Chapters
The academic study of film has tended to reflect the two main streams of the medium, the fictional narrative film and the nonfiction documentary or news film. The number of studies emerging from film studies programs on the fictional narrative films has increased vastly, in keeping with the flow of contemporary productions, while the study of non-fiction film and film history has been comparatively slight. Film studies as an academic discipline has also tended to be separate from film history. In film studies, the tendency has been to focus on the "best hits," the most visible of a certain genre, producer or director's work. This is unsurprising, especially in the Irish context, where the sudden growth and development of film studies in the past two decades reflects the current health of the industry, which--although film screenings began in the late nineteenth century there as elsewhere--did not exist until the 1980s. But even in the United Kingdom, where film production as an uninterrupted, state-sponsored and commercial industry has a much longer history, scholars have tended to focus on certain approaches (auteur), genres (New Wave), or on certain examples of British production companies (Gaumont, Ealing Studios), or on major figures (John Grierson and the British Documentary Movement). In recent years, however, it has become apparent that there is something missing from our approach to film studies and the history of film; that is, "the big picture," the details surrounding the production of a film in terms of both its historical and industrial context. Also missing are many films--directed and produced by names with whom we are familiar--that have been relegated to the margins for a variety of reasons.
This collection on the cinema of Britain and Ireland is part of the 24 Frames series, which selects twenty-four feature films and documentaries "to highlight the specific elements of that territory's cinema, elucidating the historical and industrial context of production, the key genres and modes of representation, and foregrounding the work of the most important directors and their exemplary films" (p. iii). Its purpose, then, is to begin the work of filling the gaps, correcting the imbalances and deficiencies in British and Irish film studies and film history noted above, by investigating films that have either been overlooked entirely or cast aside after a brief mention, and to reassess the significance of others from a new perspective. As such, the scope of the collection is quite broad. It is organized chronologically, spanning the period from 1928 to 2002, including narrative feature films and some documentary. Its focus is overwhelmingly on Britain (meaning England but not Wales, with a brief mention of Scotland), some Irish (Northern and Republic), as well as some co-funded international (European and American) productions. In terms of fictional genres, it runs the gamut from comedy to melodrama to postmodern fantasy and hyperrealism. Nonfiction is represented in one chapter on the best-known and definitive documentary film. So, while the collection is broad, it is by no means comprehensive, nor could it be given its aims. It does, however, live up to its ambitions in terms of foregrounding--in most chapters--the historical and industrial context of production, though this sometimes takes the form, particularly in the Irish selections, of an extended biography of the director and details of his other productions, rather than a contextualizing of the film's production in terms of film history. Given the rather sudden emergence of Irish film studies over the past two decades, this is an understandable approach. It is also necessary in the case of the selections on Robert Flaherty and on Northern Irish film in particular, in order to fully appreciate the argument of the author.
The collection opens with Shooting Stars (Anthony Asquith & A.V. Bramble, 1928), the first film by Anthony Asquith, which Luke McKernan argues is emblematic of British cinema in its early days, for its creative energy and importation of foreign film styles, as much as its dilemma about such importation. John Oliver argues that A Night Like This (Tom Walls, 1932) was the best adaptation of an Aldwych Theatre farce and that comedy was key to the resurgence of the British cinema industry in the early 1930s. Another key film in this early period is The Good Companions (Victor Saville, 1933), which Charles Barr points to as representative of the decade not only because of its basis in a J. B. Priestly novel and the composition of the production team, but also for the problems of the industry during this era. Its importance extended into the future too, as its narrative served as a template for wartime films focusing on the theme of diverse communities working together as teams for the cause.
The first Irish, and nonfiction, appearance is made by the classic documentary film, Man of Aran (Robert J. Flaherty, 1934). Martin McLoone argues here for its visual importance because of its representation of Flaherty's nineteenth-century romantic sensibility, which was--ironically--very much at odds with the goals of the social realist documentary movement, even though John Grierson coined the term documentary in reference to Flaherty's work. McLoone argues also for the importance of historical context for Man of Aran--the political and social context of Eamon de Valera's socially conservative Ireland dictated the film's reception. The importance of the film thus lies much more with the controversies it generated, rather than with Flaherty's aesthetic vision.
The postwar era begins with Pink String and Sealing Wax (Robert Hamer, 1945), which Brian McFarlane argues was the most important melodrama made during the heyday of British cinema because of its evocation of place and period. Holiday Camp (Ken Annakin, 1947), by Geoff Brown, provides a glimpse of the postwar cultural landscape in Britain. This sort of family entertainment, set in a Butlin's-like summer camp was filled with the usual cast of holiday campers, became central to Annakin's subsequent career.
The place of literature in British cinema history is the subject of Philip Gillett's chapter on The Rocking Horse Winner (Anthony Pellissier, 1949), an adaptation of the D. H. Lawrence story. Gillett reminds readers of the importance of historical context in the most practical of examples, pointing out that the film was a box-office disaster due to its release at a time when Lawrence was at his most unpopular among British audiences. Robert Murphy's chapter on The Long Memory (Robert Hamer, 1952), which focuses on the French influence on British film, reads as a mission statement for the entire collection. Although this film was also trashed by critics at the time, Murphy reminds readers of the importance of historical context and of the need to appreciate film from the historian's perspective rather than merely that of contemporary critics.
The mid-1950s marked the beginning of Britain's period of self-doubt with the transition from Empire to Commonwealth after the Suez Crisis in 1956 and the rise of the generation of Angry Young Men (John Osborne, 1956). Tom Ryall argues that, despite the threats to the British cinema industry from Hollywood, co-produced "runaway" films like Knights of the Round Table (Richard Thorpe, 1953) actually had a positive impact because of the opportunities they presented for British actors. The Italian Job (Peter Collinson, 1969) reframes British post-imperial insecurities as a crime caper, which Steve Chibnall argues is really a war movie in disguise that seeks to reassure the native audience that the British still have what it takes to win. The "war" in this case takes the form of high-speed chases on foreign territory in British cars, which of course emerge victorious. Another film that reflects the various ways in which British film was "growing up" is Room at the Top (Jack Clayton, 1959), which Tony Aldgate argues was a milestone for adult films and for British censorship because its award of a "x" certificate by John Trevelyan, the secretary of the British Board of Film Censors, defined the parameters for quality British "adult" films.
The films made about or during the 1960s deal with the internal and external battles of humankind. Tunes of Glory (Ronald Neame, 1960) is described by Neil Sinyard as a universal drama of the human psyche. As Melanie Williams points out, No Love for Johnnie (Ralph Thomas, 1961), based on the manuscript detailing the life of a former Labour Party MP, did not do well at the box office because of the implausibility of the romantic plot, but it was only a short time later before the plot became reality in the form of the Profumo Affair. Scandal (Michael Caton-Jones, 1989) deals head on with the Profumo Affair of the 1950s, mixing documentary, satire and comedy to talk about the relationship between Stephen Ward and Christine Keeler, and while set in the 1950s, Bruce Babington argues that Scandal belongs to a movement of British films from the 1980s set in that decade, but distinct from the "heritage" film genre.
The films about or made in the 1960s featured in this collection tend to deal with the breakdown or redefinition of traditional relationships. 80,000 Suspects (Val Guest, 1963) is, argues Christine Geraghty, more than just a melodramatic pseudo-documentary on the disintegration of a marriage, but should be counted as part of British New Wave and the discontented youth movement of the 1960s. The chapter by Ian Britain on Sunday Bloody Sunday (John Schlesinger, 1971) describes the openly gay director's take on London during the "swinging sixties," which was the first to show men kissing on screen. Although not particularly shocking these days, Britain argues that the film is still important for those who want to see something of their roots and present identity. A more enduring example of an attempt to shock is Demons of the Mind (Peter Sykes, 1972), which is described by Andrew Spicer as gothic revisionism; real "horror" that disturbs in a much more meaningful way than our modern guts-and-gore approach.
The themes of autobiography and memory run through Hope and Glory (John Boorman, 1986), which, according to Kevin Gough-Yates, is the director's personal take on World War Two, reflecting his life-long interest in Arthurian legends and the search for the grail, as well as his personal family history. Another autobiographical auteur film that broadens the geographical context of "British" film is Distant Voice, Still Lives (Terence Davies, 1988), which Wendy Everett insists must be placed in the European context and seen as part of a European-wide movement towards personal-memory films.
Moving to Ireland, Kevin Rockett's chapter on The Miracle (Neil Jordan, 1991) uses the film as a example of the sensibility common to Jordan's entire body of work, by drawing attention to the intertextuality of the persistent themes of the oedipal complex and repression in Irish family relations in Jordan's work, and highlighting their appearance in his films through music, photography, memory. Repression is certainly not a theme in Orlando (Sally Potter, 1993), aptly described in the chapter by Rose Lucas as a postmodern gender-bender, which through its clever casting of main characters, manages to extend Virginia Woolf's novel even further forward in terms of the ways in which it addresses postmodern themes of roles, identity formation, and feminist theory.
Divorcing Jack (David Caffrey, 1998) attempts to divorce itself from the traditional mould of Northern Irish films on the "troubles," but, in John Hill's estimation, fails to do so. Although it is categorized as a "ceasefire film" (because of its relationship to the timing of the ceasefire and subsequent Good Friday Agreement) and is clearly indebted to Quentin Tarantino and other for its stylistic influences, it cannot help referring to earlier "troubles" films. Hill argues that the historical and political context are inseparable from this failure to break the sort of new cinematic ground in Northern Ireland that one might expect would reflect the political changes in the region. Because of the region's long history of instability and violent conflict, the role of state-sponsorship in the fledgling film production industry in the North is still such that, filmmakers need to be less afraid of the box office if they are to be culturally and economically viable. Ordinary Decent Criminals (Thaddeus O'Sullivan, 2000) reflects quite the opposite scenario, as a hyper-real fantasy which Emer Rockett argues is representative of the new direction of Irish cinema as a product of the Republic of Ireland's Celtic Tiger economy and its cultural offshoots. Rockett defends the film from the criticism it has received as a rather poor remake of The General (John Boorman, 1998) but devotes rather a lot of space to O'Sullivan's other work. This creates the impression that Irish film scholars are all too aware of the paucity of Irish examples in this volume, and are attempting to compensate for lost time and space. Interestingly, the one nod to "regional" cinema, aside from the Northern Irish film Divorcing Jack, is actually the work of an English producer. Sweet Sixteen (Ken Loach, 2002) represents an attempt, as Dave Rolison describes it, to revive independent films and raises the crucial issue of the existence of a Scottish cinema within British cinema. Rolison touches on the problems inherent in discussing a distinctive regional cinema--the definition on what exactly make a film Welsh, Scottish, etc.--but points out that this is a problem faced in the understanding of any national cinema.
This collection is wonderful introduction to some of the unknown highlights of British cinema and to some of the best-known Irish directors. The chapters are short (none more than twelve pages) and, as a result, succinct. The tone is generally lively and engaging, making for an enjoyable read. Despite the professed mandate of 24 Frames, it does feature some of the "best hits" of British and Irish cinema (The Italian Job, Man of Aran, and Orlando) but places them in a new context and views them from a refreshing perspective. The text-driven approach results in an accessible and wide-ranging work that incorporates not only the cinematic details on the films and directors, but sets the various productions in historical context. The font and overall presentation are reminiscent of a film catalog, minimalist and focused on content. The twenty-four chapters are arranged chronologically in order of production date, each offset by a facing page featuring a still from the film in question.
The mention in the final chapter of the collection on the difficulties of defining "regional" cinema begs the question: where is regional cinema in the British context discussed here? Where is the coverage of specifically Scottish or Welsh film, or of films from or about the Isle of Man, the Channel Islands, the Orkneys, the Shetlands? The answer, of course, is that they not included here. Are readers then to conclude that Scottish or Welsh film is covered in another collection? Does British film here mean English? This objection was obviously anticipated by the editor, Brian McFarlane, who notes in the introduction, "all the films discussed in this book belong in key ways to the 'British Isles' and if that means predominantly 'England', then that is a true reflection of where the emphasis has fallen in British filmmaking--for better and worse" (p. 7). So, this omission is partly a result of the nature of the collection--it is meant to be a wide-ranging overview of some of the neglected films of key directors, however defined. It is also a function of the time period in question--regionalism and national identity issues are a predominantly a phenomenon of the 1990s and onwards, although Scottish nationalism surfaced for brief periods in earlier decades as well. Since nobody could argue that Scottish film has been neglected in recent years (do we really need another essay on Trainspotting [Danny Boyle, 1996]?), such work simply did not fit within the parameters of this collection. But caveats aside, a chapter or two on specifically Scottish or Welsh productions would not have gone amiss in a collection on British and Irish cinema, if only to register their current popularity and as a reflection of the political times in which we live.
The collection includes a complete filmography, with all of the relevant production information pertaining to each film. The bibliography lists only books and is not meant to be exhaustive. This is just as well, as the bibliography on Irish film resources is very short--only 11 titles--compared to the 110 under British cinema. But overall, this collection is a valuable addition to studies of British and Irish cinema. It strikes a balance between the single-title series published by the BFI and the IFI and a major anthology. The approach adopted by 24 Frames is a good one, and the attempt to cover the history of film production as well as the analysis of the films themselves is laudable. The chronological development of film in Britain is well represented in terms of a number of key genres, as is the connection to the historical context in which the production was made. It is a pleasure to read and is recommended to film buffs and novices alike.
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Citation:
Mairead Pratschke. Review of McFarlane, Brian, ed., The Cinema of Britain and Ireland.
H-Albion, H-Net Reviews.
October, 2006.
URL: http://www.h-net.org/reviews/showrev.php?id=12381
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