MAGIA, ESPADA Y FANTASÍA (I)

Iniciamos aquí una serie de artículos que nos van a introducir de lleno a través del cine en el mundo de la magia, de las historias fantásticas de universos imaginarios o de mundos olvidados poblados por criaturas misteriosas, bestias temibles y seres fabulosos, vivos todos ellos en mitos y leyendas repletos de poderosos sortilegios, tesoros enterrados y héroes invencibles enfrentados a enemigos formidables y terribles, viejas historias que relatar en las oscuras noches de invierno junto al fuego que aleja a los lobos, los trasgos o los trolls.

Y abrimos la serie con una película inesperada, improbable quizá entre el resto de cintas que van a configurar esta sección, una producción británica de 1981 que supuso el debut (y penúltimo trabajo) de Desmond Davis en el cine: Furia de Titanes, un clásico de juventud para toda una generación. En ella se dan la mano la mitología, la historia, la leyenda, las aventuras de capa y espada y la imaginación con que poblamos mundos imposibles en el marco de la antigua Grecia de dioses inmortales creados a imagen y semejanza del hombre, con las mismas virtudes, defectos y, sobre todo, debilidades, el país del nacimiento de la historia, la literatura, la filosofía y, también, de la fantasía convertida en género, una tierra por la que discurren personajes que son nuestros, que se sitúan en escenarios que hemos incorporado a nuestro imaginario colectivo, que son testigos o autores de hazañas que permanecen ocultas bajo nuestros pies, como los inconfesables cimientos sobre los que hemos construido nuestra cultura, nuestra forma de entender el arte de narrar, que están ahí aunque no queramos verlas o nos apartemos de ellas. Historias que hablan de nosotros más incluso que los cuentos de diseño para la taquilla.

Zeus (un candongo Laurence Olivier) ha sucumbido una vez más a las tentaciones carnales de una mortal, para desesperación de su esposa, Hera (Claire Bloom). La hermosa hija del gobernador de Argos ha sucumbido a sus tácticas amatorias, siempre tomando el cuerpo de una lluvia de oro, de un rayo de luz o de un chorro de agua cristalina, y de la unión de sus cuerpos ha nacido un niño, de nombre Perseo (Harry Hamlin, tiempo antes de convertirse en el guaperas oficial de La ley de Los Ángeles, serie televisiva que llevó a un montón de incautos a las facultades de Derecho para ser abogados a la americana). El gobernador, dolido por la vergonzante deshonra de su hija a manos de un Dios traicionero y cruel, decide sacrificar a la joven y al niño, pero ambos son oportunamente salvados por Zeus, que los pone a salvo. Sin embargo, el rencor de la diosa Thetis (Maggie Smith) por la maldición que Zeus ha hecho recaer en su hijo Calibos, al que ha convertido en una bestia semihumana, hace que descargue toda su ira sobre Perseo, al que intentará privar del amor de la joven Andrómeda y al que sumergirá en una arriesgada aventura que pondrá a prueba su habilidad y su astucia, y en la cual el joven héroe tendrá que vérselas con malvadas brujas, oscuros maleficios y criaturas sobrenaturales como el Kraken o Medusa, y en la que, gracias a Zeus y la corte de diosas que le apoyan, Hera, Atenea (Susan Fleetwood) y Afrodita (Ursula Andress), contará con la ayuda de unas armas mágicas, del caballo alado Pegaso, y de su amigo Ammón (Burguess Meredith).

Destacable en su día por los, para entonces, grandiosos efectos especiales creados por Ray Harryhausen (y que vistos hoy van desde lo resultón a los monstruos de felpa modelo Godzilla japonés y sesentero, pasando por la plastilina), la película se deja ver hoy más como curiosidad que como película de aventuras mitológicas, aunque sigue siendo un inmejorable vehículo de acercamiento para los jóvenes a lo que supone la cultura clásica en general y la mitología griega en particular, sobre todo gracias a esa forma de retratar el Olimpo como un lugar en el que unos dioses de carne y hueso juegan con el destino de los seres humanos mediante esas figuritas de arcilla que colocan a su antojo aquí y allá por la maqueta del mundo conocido que es para ellos el universo. En torno a ese tablero, los dioses juegan su particular partida de rencores y odios, de amores y simpatías, de favores y venganzas, en la que los mortales sólo son las cartas que ellos reparten a su conveniencia, siempre con la amenaza de que la atronadora voz de Zeus resuene tanto más allá de las nubes como en la versión real de ese tablero que se extiende bajo el cielo.

Las interpretaciones no son ninguna maravilla, sobre todo la de Hamlin, aunque hay un buen plantel de actores de reparto, mayoritariamente británicos, que cumplen con solvencia, y las virtudes visuales van poco más allá de cierto ingenio para la construcción de determinadas situaciones y criaturas a partir de las descripciones de las propias leyendas clásicas y de buenas dosis de ingenio para recrear el ambiente y la atmósfera en la que se mueven tanto los personajes “humanos” como los dioses. La gran virtud de la película, su mayor atractivo incluso a día de hoy, es el acercamiento que hace a la cultura clásica, a la mitología, a una fuente inagotable de personajes e historias a la que demasiado a menudo no prestamos la atención debida o proporcional a su influencia en nuestra forma de concebir la ficción o la fantasía. Todo un mosaico inmortal de nombres y referencias que hoy, sin ir más lejos, pueblan la bóveda celeste, como muestra la película.

Para 2010 se prepara un remake de esta película, dirigido por Louis Leterrier (autor de la última versión sobre El increíble Hulk, lo cual nos hace temer lo peor), y en el que Sam Worthington pone el físico de heroico guaperas, Liam Neeson interpreta a Zeus (menudo papelón para él emular a Olivier), mientras que el dios de los avernos, Hades, será interpretado por Ralph Fiennes, lo que promete ser un alarde de efectos especiales y poco seso y respeto por la historia o por la leyenda clásica en la línea de otras producciones recientes de estilo aproximado. De momento, nos quedamos con el clásico de 1981.

13- Meu Reino por um Amor (The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex, Michael Curtiz, 1939)É nesse filme que consta o famoso tapão na cara que Davis deu em Flynn durante uma cena, aquela expressão de indignação era real. Os chefes dos estúdios eram umas belezinhas, neste caso, Jack Warner mesmo sabendo da falta de afinidade entre Davis e Flynn, colocou-os novamente como casal em um filme que Davis sonhara dividir com Laurence Olivier. Infelizmente eles faziam um grande duo na tela e nunca mais voltaram a contracenar. Décadas mais tarde Miss Davis confidenciou a Miss Havilland que Flynn realmente tinha feito um ótimo trabalho como Conde de Essex e que ela esteve errada durante todo o tempo a respeito dele (ah! nada como a maturidade para ajeitar certas coisas!) e para isso Miss Haviland nem precisou aplicar o seu notório corretivo Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte.

14- O Gavião do Mar (The Sea Hawk, Michael Curtiz, 1940)E Mr Flynn se vinga de Miss Davis. Se Bette Davis queria Laurence Olivier para o papel que ficou por conta de Flynn em The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex, eis que Mr Flynn toma a rainha Elizabeth vivida por Flora Robson em Fire Over England e que alí dividia cena com Sir Olivier. Tal qual o próprio Fire Over England, The Sea Hawk faz um paralelo entre a inquisição espanhola e a ascenção nazista na Europa daqueles idos, um tipo de preocupação que o austro-húngaro Michael Curtiz deixava transparecer em todos os seus filmes da época, principalmente em Casablanca. Não gosto deste filme de piratas do duo Flynn-Curtiz tanto quanto Capitão Blood, mas ainda é um grande exemplo do gênero, além do mais, Mr Flynn está mais deslumbrante do que nunca. Ó céus, que homem lindo.

15- Perseguidos (Northern Pursuit, Raoul Walsh, 1943)É fato: Raoul Walsh sabia tudo e um pouco mais. Sempre tive sérios problemas com filmes como propaganda de guerra, mas o Walsh é daqueles artesões que nos fazem esquecer os intentos belicistas por trás de tais filmes. Ó céus, o que é aquela cena do jantar na prisão com o coronel alemão enojado por se sentir como um judeu numerado num campo de concentração? Esse momento vale o filme e entraria fácil numa antologia de melhores sequências da carreira de Walsh, mas as coisas não param por aí, o filme é um desbunde artístico como um tôdo e Errol Flynn é exatamente o tipo de ator necessário aos intentos de Walsh, mesmo este trabalho não estando entre as melhores colaborações da dupla.

16- Uma Cidade que Surge (Dodge City, Michael Curtiz, 1939)Ai ai ai ai, que homem lindo. Nunca vou cansar de repetir, mas Mr Flynn acaba desviando a atenção fazendo com que tudo ao redor se torne dispensável. Dodge City é um dos filmes em que ele está mais lindo, sobretudo por conta da deslumbrante fotografia colorida, raramente acho que pessoas são melhores fotografadas em technicolor do que em branco e preto, mas Mr Flynn é um desses casos raros aos meus olhos e poderia passar toda a eternidade diante de uma câmera sem nem sequer se mover, só existindo. Esse homem é uma paisagem, uma obra de arte, se John Ford tinha o Monument Valley, Curtiz e Walsh tinham Errol Flynn.

17- O Príncipe e o Mendigo (The Prince and the Pauper, William Keighley/William Dieterle, 1937)Definitiva e melhor versão da história de Mark Twain, onde Flynny encarna o porco-espinho Miles Hendon e Claude Rains está mais vilanesco do que nunca. Curioso constatar que exatos 40 anos depois o igualmente cachaceiro Oliver Reed se valeu do mesmo papel de Miles Hendon na versão de Richard Fleischer.

18- A Carga da Brigada Ligeira (The Charge of the Light Brigade, Michael Curtiz, 1936)200 cavalos. Reza a lenda que foram mortos cerca de 200 cavalos durante essa filmagem. É um filme impressionantemente violento para a época em que foi filmado, inclusive se visualiza um massacre de crianças, algo não muito comum nos anos 30 mesmo para filmes de guerra. Flynn está lindo e másculo como sempre naquela roupa do exército britânico. Ah, também é dessa filmagem a famosa frase de Curtiz Bring on the empty horses! que acabou virando o título da autobiografia de David Niven, um coadjuvante da Brigada.

19- Patrulha da Madrugada (The Dawn Patrol, Edmund Goulding, 1938)Bom filme sobre pilotos de avião durante a primeira guerra, num tom amargo e estranhamente anti-belicista para um tempo à beira da Segunda Guerra. O trunfo aqui é a dinâmica e o entrosamento dos atores em torno de suas personagens, pois algo que vou dizer até o fim da vida é que até hoje ninguém conseguiu se equiparar em excelência às cenas aéreas gravadas por Howard Hughes em Hells Angels e o filme de Goulding não é diferente em comparação, especialmente porque foram reutilizadas da versão de 1930. Pelas minhas contas Flynn e David Niven compartilharam apenas dois filmes, o que é um pecado, eles eram sensacionais juntos.

20- As Aventuras de Don Juan (Adventures of Don Juan, Vincent Sherman, 1948)DEMOROU. Ainda na cola de John Barrymore e Douglas Fairbanks, eis que o homem finalmente se joga na personagem que nascera para encarnar. Era para o Walsh ter dirigido esta versão, mas deu merda, vai ver por isso Flynn roubou a bandana do Fairbanks em Ladrão de Bagdá, filme este que considero a obra prima de Walsh. Apesar de Don Juan ser um grande exemplo de capa-espada, esse período foi o início da decadência de Flynn, o cinema em Hollywood estava mudando, o star system estava morrendo e a Golden Age estava em seu canto do cisne.
É assustador como Flynn envelheceu de repente por conta de sua vida desregrada, de Santo Antonio para Don Juan passaram-se apenas 3 anos, mas a face dele fazia parecer 10, especialmente porque entre esses filmes ele adoeceu (tinha tuberculose, malária, coração fraco e dor nas costas!) e somou heroína e morfina ao alcóol na sua dieta básica. Flynn sempre aparentou ser mais velho do que realmente era, em Capitão Blood ele tinha uns 25, 26 anos e ninguém daria menos de 30 (a experiência em excesso ficava evidente), mesmo assim em Don Juan ele continua lindo e com corpão, aproveitando a deixa para usar as calças mais indecentes de sua carreira. Ele também aproveita para exorcizar certas coisas sobre sua própria vida, especialmente em relação às acusações de estupro estatutário, pois nem sempre ele era o sedutor irresistível da história como bem ele se defendeu certa vez: I don’t have to seduce girls. For Christ’s sake, I come home and they’re hiding under my bed.

21- Mademoiselle Fifi (It’s a Great Feeling, David Butler, 1949)Pronto. Estraguei o final surpresa para quem não viu o filme. Essa espécie de precursor de Cantando na Chuva é um veículo para o trio Dennis Morgan, Doris Day e Jack Carson, onde há zilhões de participações divertidíssimas de astros e cineastas da Warner: Raoul Walsh, Joan Crawford, Ronald Reagan, Jane Wyman, Edward Robinson, Michael Curtiz, Gary Cooper, Danny Kaye, etc etc. Doris Day passa o filme todo reclamando que não deveria ter deixado o namoradinho de infância para seguir a carreira artística, até que enfim ela retorna para seu homem e ele é Errol Flynn.

22- Caravana de Ouro (Virginia City, Michael Curtiz, 1940)Hahahaha olha o Bogie bandidão mexicano com bigodinho de Errol Flynn! Minha gente, não havia nada mais oposto no mundo do que Bogart e Flynn, tudo que um tinha de discreto e mal humorado, o outro tinha de flamboyant e radiante, é uma dádiva poder vê-los dividindo cena. Mas não apenas estes ícones estão presentes, minha diva pre-code Mirian Hopkins e Randolph Scott também dão o ar da graça, além do usual staff flynniano formado por Guinn “Big Boy” Williams e Alan Hale. Sempre rolou um certo preconceito com Flynn nos westerns, em geral a galera reclama que ele não conseguia ser macho o suficiente, que ele era “legal demais”, é logico que é só homem que reclama dessas bobagens, Flynn era gostosérrimo, ora bolas, quem se importa com o resto???

23- Nunca me Diga Adeus (Never Say Goodbye, James V. Kern, 1946)Hahahaha Flynn imitando Bogie! Essa sem dúvida é a grande piada desta comédia romântica, numa cena em que se expurga a maldição de Flynn, como bem menciona para sua filha no filme: Se você pode me imaginar como Robin Hood, por que não como um cara durão? e logo depois vemos a explicação do porquê. Não obtive nenhuma confirmação, mas reza a lenda que é o próprio Bogart quem faz a dublagem dessa cena, coisa que acredito, pois a voz era idêntica. Roteiro de I.A.L. Diamond, um dos mais habitués de Billy Wilder.

24- O Homem Perfeito (The Perfect Specimen, Michael Curtiz, 1937)Prestou atenção no título? Pois então, é isso que a gente pensa quando olha para Mr Flynn. Comédia romântica onde Flynn e Joan Blondell compensam cada segundo em cena, com direito aos indefectíveis May Robson e Edward Everett Horton como elenco de apoio. Apesar de Michael Curtiz ser açogueiro demais para se infiltrar no screwball, o filme não sofre em grande quantidade com isso, nos legando momentos deliciosos (tal qual o astro principal!), especialmente quando Flynny mostra seus talentos como boxer.

25- O Mestre da Vingança (The Master of Ballantrae, William Keighley, 1953)Aqui Flynn tinha apenas 43 anos mas aparentava ter bem mais, o que torna especialmente depressivo assistir seus filmes dos anos 50, mais deprimente ainda é o fato deste ser o ponto final de seu reinado na Warner, depois de 18 anos de muitos conflitos e lucros, Flynn foi gentilmente convidado a se retirar e qualquer semelhança com Nasce Uma Estrela não é mera coincidência, “matinée idols” problemáticos eram assim descartados desde o início dos tempos. No mais é um filme bacaninha, especialmente algo que some Roger Livesey + Piratas + Errol Flynn + Escoseses + Robert Louis Stevenson, além da habitual fotografia deslumbrante de Jack Cardiff.
Mas o grande mistério pairando é: depois de todas aquelas roupas espalhafatosas por que Flynny não foi capaz de usar um reles kilt? Essa sim foi a maior bobagem que ele fez em sua vida.

26- A Noiva Curiosa (The Case of Curious Bride, Michael Curtiz, 1935)E Flynn conhece Hollywood. E Michael Curtiz. O homem estréia nos EUA no papel do homem morto (e que cadáver!) em um dos divertidíssimos filmes onde Warren William encarna Perry Mason, lá pelo final do filme ele aparece vivo num flashback espancando a suposta personagem-título e brigando com o suspeito de assassinato, daí finalmente sabemos o que na verdade ocorreu, ou seja, um bom começo. Outro bom começo dessa época foi ter conhecido a ex-mulher de Curtiz, dona Lili Damita, que se tornou a primeira Mrs Errol Flynn e foi responsável direta na ascenção de sua carreira.

27- Luz de Esperança (Green Light, Frank Borzage, 1937)Flynny vestido de médico. Mmmmm… Borzage era um artista e tanto, além de ser pai de Douglas Sirk e um dos grandes delineadores do cinema americano, é sempre um prazer estudar as nuances de seu trabalho, nas mãos de um diretor medíocre este filme se tornaria a maior das vias-crucis, mas Borzage transforma este melodrama numa grande aula de como se fazer cinema. É com ele que Flynn se infiltra num ambiente para além do swashbuckler.

*Da série: Este post foi programado, eu não estou aqui!

If he loved you with all the power of his soul for a whole lifetime, he couldn’t love you as much as I do in a single day.

– Heathcliff

Loosely based on the classic novel by Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights tells the tragic story of Heathcliff and Catherine.

There have been a least a dozen adaptations of this book. Another interpretation of the book will be released next year with Gossip Girl’s Ed Westwick and Gemma Arteton as the lovers. Yipee! Not!

If you have never seen any version of the story or read the book yourself, plot points will be revealed in this review. Be forewarned.

At the beginning of the story, we see a man caught in a snowstorm that takes shelter at the estate of Heathcliff (Laurence Olivier). During the night, he hears the ghostly voice of Catherine (Merle Oberon) in the storm. Upon hearing the news, Heathcliff runs into the storm to find her.

The stranger asked the housekeeper, Ellen (Flora Robson) about the reason why Heathcliff left in a hurry. She recounts the story of how Heathcliff met Catherine. The story flashes back forty years when Catherine’s father brings Heathcliff home from the streets of Liverpool.

After arriving, Catherine’s older brother, Hindley treats him cruely. As they grow up, they fall in love with each other. They go to their secret place in the cliffs of the Yorkshire moors by the Wuthering Heights estate.

Heathcliff despearely wants to leave his life of servitude and wants Catherine to go with him. Their class status gets in the way of their true happiness. Catherine wants to be take care of with the handsome suitor, Edgar (David Niven).

Catherine is such a cold heared bitch that she would toy with Heathcliff’s feelings, stringing him along and breaking his heart by marrying Edgar.

Heathcliff runs away to America, in order to come back wealthy and buying the estate from Hindley (Hugh Williams), who is a sloppy drunk.

The two scourned lovers do everything in their power to torture each other with Catherine’s sham marriage to Edgar and Heathcliff’s subsequent marriage to Edgar’s younger sister, Isabella (Geraldine Fitzgerald).

When Heathcliff finds out that Catherine is dying, he runs to her bedside. Where when they look at the moors from her window, she dies in his arms.

The story is fine. Catherine is such a cold-hearted snake that there was no smyplathy for her when she dies. Understanding Heathcliff’s cold intentions was understandable.

The dialogue bordered on melodrama, especually at the end at Catherine’s death scene. The beginning of the movie with the kids was plain awful.

The only highlights of the film where Olivier and Fitzgerald who were nominated for Oscars for their performances. Well deserved.

Judgment: Read the book instead.

Rating: ***1/2

Before I go on and on about what an amazingly brilliant film 2,000 Women (1944) is (and I am going to do that, I promise), let me start by celebrating its availability on DVD.  You really can buy it both in the US and UK!  I’ll provide the links for you at the bottom of this post.  I feel like such a creep when I recommend a film and get everyone all excited about seeing it, only to break the bad news that it’s not on DVD.  Although, I don’t want to stop reviewing films that are not on DVD, since the interest we create in them with our blogs could very possibly push them down the DVD road.  Anyway, on to the review!

2,000 Women is a British made film starring Phyllis Calvert, Flora Robson and Patricia Roc, to name a few.  It tells the story of 2,000 British women who were interned in a French hotel by the Nazis during World War II.  The film focuses on a small tight knit group of women who are friends because they each have a highly determined personality.  Patricia Roc (sitting on the desk above, with the wireless transmitter to her ear) is the main character, a quiet, soft spoken girl named Rosemary Brown.  Phyllis Calvert (far left, sitting on the bed with a white shirt) is Freda Thompson, a strong, smart sophisticated woman.  Flora Robson (on the floor, listening to the wireless with her back to the camera) is Muriel Manningford, an old style English society woman who takes no guff off the Nazis.  There are many, many more women in the film but it would take ages to list them all and do them justice.

Rosemary and Freda become fast friends in the beginning of the film and end up sharing a room.  The film follows them as they get settled in, learn the ways of the hotel and meet the other inmates.  Amazingly, all the women in the film have incredible hair throughout it, which is a little hard to comprehend, since they had no access to a beauty salon.  The clothes are superb, too.  Lots of slim slacks and collared shirts.  And, in the final scene, all the gals have amazing evening dresses (particularly Phyllis Calvert).

The drama of this film is brought in by a group of RAF fliers who bail out of their plane in the vicinity of the hotel.  The men find their way to the hotel, barging in on several of the women in the middle of the night.  Our lady patriots band together to protect the fliers and try to help them escape.  It’s not an easy task, being that no one knows who to trust and the Nazis lurk around every corner.  There are several surprising plot twists when the ladies find out who their friends really are.  The pilot of the doomed plane, Jimmy Moore, splendidly played by James McKechnie, is the love interest of Patricia Roc’s character Rosemary.  I’m an awful sucker for love stories, and this one is touching, believable and a joy to watch.

You  may be wondering how I managed to see this lovely film.  It played on TCM on September 15, last year in the middle of the night…  Yeah, I just resurrected it.  It sat in my homemade VHS collection for that long.  It’s shameful, I know.

Okay, if you’d like to see this British gem for yourself, you’ve got two options:

Movies Unlimited

The Movies Unlimited version is now on sale for 9 bucks! (House of 1000 Women is the US title)

Amazon.co.uk (Region 2)

The Amazon.co.uk version can be bought new or used. I did check Netflix, and can’t find it listed there.  Although, you Netflix gurus may be able to find it.  I hope so!

I came across some terrific links while looking for photos for this post, so I’ll share them with you:

- A wonderful Patricia Roc fan site, complete with loads of lovely photos.

- The Britmovie page for 2,000 Women.

(There’s an Alastair Sim poll on the main page, for all his fans out there.  Kate – this means you. )

I highly recommend this film.  It’s fun, interesting, romantic, suspenseful and just plain enjoyable.  As my old pal Bobby Osborne said, it’s patriotic propaganda.  The patriotic propaganda films of the 40’s are some of the best films of that era.  2,000 Women is no exception.

CAESAR AND CLEOPATRA

Claude Rains / Vivien Leigh / Stewart Granger / Flora Robson / Francis S. Sullivan / Basil Sydney / Cecil Parker / From the play by George Bernard Shaw / Costume Design  Oliver Messel / Art Design  John Bryan & Oliver Messel / Cinematography  Jack Cardiff, Jack Hildyard, Robert Krasker & Freddie Young / Producer  & Director  Gabriel Pascal

CAESAR - ‘Hail, Sphinx: salutation from Julius Caesar! I have wandered in many lands, seeking the lost regions from which my birth into this world exiled me, and the company of creatures such as I myself. I have found flocks and pastures, men and cities, but no other Caesar, no air native to me, no man kindred to me, none who can do my day’s deed, and think my night’s thought. In the little world yonder, Sphinx, my place is as high as yours in this great desert; only I wander, and you sit still; I conquer, and you endure; I work and wonder, you watch and wait; I look up and am dazzled, look down and am darkened, look round and am puzzled, whilst your eyes never turn from looking out–out of the world–to the lost region–the home from which we have strayed. 

..Sphinx, you and I, strangers to the race of men, are no strangers to one another: have I not been conscious of you and of this place since I was born? Rome is a madman’s dream: this is my Reality. These starry lamps of yours I have seen from afar in Gaul, in Britain, in Spain, in Thessaly, signalling great secrets to some eternal sentinel below, whose post I never could find. And here at last is their sentinel–an image of the constant and immortal part of my life, silent, full of thoughts, alone in the silver desert. 

Sphinx, Sphinx: I have climbed mountains at night to hear in the distance the stealthy footfall of the winds that chase your sands in forbidden play–our invisible children, O Sphinx, laughing in whispers. My way hither was the way of destiny; for I am he of whose genius you are the symbol: part brute, part woman, and part God–nothing of man in me at all. Have I read your riddle, Sphinx?’

THE GIRL - Old gentleman?

CAESAR -  Immortal gods!

THE GIRL -  Old gentleman: don’t run away.

CAESAR -  “Old gentleman: don’t run away!!!” This! To Julius Caesar!

THE GIRL -  Old gentleman.

CAESAR - Sphinx: you presume on your centuries. I am younger than you, though your voice is but a girl’s voice as yet.

THE GIRL - Climb up here, quickly; or the Romans will come and eat you.

CAESAR - A child at its breast! A divine child!

THE GIRL - Come up quickly. You must get up at its side and creep round.

CAESAR - Who are you?

THE GIRL - Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt.

CAESAR - Queen of the Gypsies, you mean.

CLEOPATRA - You must not be disrespectful to me, or the Sphinx will let the Romans eat you. Come up. It is quite cosy here.

CAESAR (to himself) - What a dream! What a magnificent dream! Only let me not wake, and I will conquer ten continents to pay for dreaming it out to the end.

CLEOPATRA - Take care. That’s right. Now sit down: you may have its other paw. It is very powerful and will protect us; but  it would not take any notice of me or keep me company. I am glad you have come: I was very lonely. Did you happen to see a white cat anywhere?

CAESAR -  Have you lost one?

CLEOPATRA - Yes: the sacred white cat: is it not dreadful? I brought him here to sacrifice him to the Sphinx; but when we got a little way from the city a black cat called him, and he jumped out of my arms and ran away to it. Do you think that the black cat can have been my great-great-great-grandmother?

CAESAR - Your great-great-great-grandmother! Well, why not? Nothing would surprise me on this night of nights.

CLEOPATRA - I think it must have been. My great-grandmother’s great-grandmother was a black kitten of the sacred white cat; and the river Nile made her his seventh wife. That is why my hair is so wavy. And I always want to be let do as I like, no matter whether it is the will of the gods or not: that is because my blood is made with Nile water.

CAESAR - What are you doing here at this time of night? Do you live here?

CLEOPATRA - Of course not: I am the Queen; and I shall live in the palace at Alexandria when I have killed my brother, who drove me out of it. When I am old enough I shall do just what I like. I shall be able to poison the slaves and see them wriggle, and pretend to Ftatateeta that she is going to be put into the fiery furnace.

CAESAR - Hm! Meanwhile why are you not at home and in bed?

CLEOPATRA - Because the Romans are coming to eat us all. YOU are not at home and in bed either.

CAESAR - Yes I am. I live in a tent; and I am now in that tent, fast asleep and dreaming. Do you suppose that I believe you are real, you impossible little dream witch?

CLEOPATRA - You are a funny old gentleman. I like you.

CAESAR - Ah, that spoils the dream. Why don’t you dream that I am young?

CLEOPATRA - I wish you were; only I think I should be more afraid of you. I like men, especially young men with round strong arms; but I am afraid of them. You are old and rather thin and stringy; but you have a nice voice; and I like to have somebody to talk to, though I think you are a little mad. It is the moon that makes you talk to yourself in that silly way.

CAESAR - What! you heard that, did you? I was saying my prayers to the great Sphinx.

CLEOPATRA - But this isn’t the great Sphinx.

CAESAR - What!

CLEOPATRA - This is only a dear little kitten of the Sphinx. Why, the great Sphinx is so big that it has a temple between its paws. This is my pet Sphinx. Tell me: do you think the Romans have any sorcerers who could take us away from the Sphinx by magic?

CAESAR - Why? Are you afraid of the Romans?

CLEOPATRA - Oh, they would eat us if they caught us. They are barbarians. Their chief is called Julius Caesar. His father was a tiger and his mother a burning mountain; and his nose is like an elephant’s trunk.  They all have long noses, and ivory tusks, and little tails, and seven arms with a hundred arrows in each; and they live on human flesh.

CAESAR - Would you like me to show you a real Roman?

CLEOPATRA - No. You are frightening me.

CAESAR -  No matter: this is only a dream..

CLEOPATRA - It is not a dream: it is not a dream. See, see. (She plucks a pin from her hair and jabs it repeatedly into his arm.)

CAESAR - Ffff–Stop!  How dare you?

CLEOPATRA - You said you were dreaming. I only wanted to show you..

CAESAR - Come, come: don’t cry. A queen mustn’t cry.  Am I awake? Yes, I.. no: impossible: madness, madness!  Back to camp–to camp. 

CLEOPATRA - No: you shan’t leave me. No, no, no: don’t go. I’m afraid–afraid of the Romans.

CAESAR - Cleopatra: can you see my face well?

CLEOPATRA - Yes. It is so white in the moonlight.

CAESAR - Are you sure it is the moonlight that makes me look whiter than an Egyptian? Do you notice that I have a rather long nose?

CLEOPATRA - Oh!

CAESAR - It is a Roman nose, Cleopatra.

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Every few months or so, when Silverwolf tires of getting his financial knee well up into the marriage prospects of the Stralasian Dollar kangaroo-butchers, and the Nacadian Dollar baby-seal clubbers, he takes some R-and-R by kicking back and watching one of his old grainy video tapes. And on this occasion, moved by some unknown whimsy, he happened to decide on Margaret Rutherford’s minor Miss Marple masterpiece, Murder At the Gallop (1963, George Pollock, director,) co-starring Robert Morley, Flora Robson  and Charles Tingwell. It also features the lovable Stringer Davis, as Mr. Stringer, and it is interesting to watch the interaction between Rutherford and Davis because they were married in real life. Since, prior to 1965, persons over sixty were not permitted to have sex in England, Margaret and Stringer had to been made elderly single friends for the film to apparently get past the British censors. Things have loosened up since Sir Mick came on the scene.

The film begins with the usual believability of a Christie mystery. Miss Marple (Rutherford) and Mr. Stringer are collecting for some local charity and decide to visit the elderly wealthy recluse, Mr. Enderby. Finding the door open, they enter his mansion just at the moment that Mr. Enderby emerges at the top of the stairs, clutching his heart, and topples down the entire flight to his death. (And here Silverwolf would like to ask how it is that these elderly reclusive men, living in these huge mansions, manage to do all the housekeeping on their own?) It turns out that Enderby was scared to death of cats, and someone has planted one in his house, to trigger the heart attack that was likely because Enderby had a weak heart. Sure. I’ll believe you, Agatha. Thousands wouldn’t. The typical farfetchedness of Christie, trying to work the sticky bits back into the hole of her narrative.

Perhaps the best acting in the film, apart from Miss Rutherford, is conveyed by the portly but meticulous image of Robert Morley. With his characteristic cool aplomb of the Tory Country Squire, Morley is superb as the owner of a horse-riding club, replete with accommodations for weekending couples. Very top-hole indeed. Morley, as Hector Enderby, the brother of the former deceased  Enderby and also Cora Lanskonie, and only one amongst numerous relations of that former wealthy woman, now deceased, only seems to light up when it comes to horses, saddles, and the hunt, and so it is that Miss Marple manages to insinuate herself into his riding establishment. Catching a glimpse of her strange and archaic saddle, Morley begins to rave about it, quotes a date of it’s making about 60 years in the past, then excuses himself and revises it down a few years. He suddenly recognizes Miss Marple’s name as having won a riding contest about a thousand years before, in her youth. And it’s truly hard to image the bag-eyed, slack jawed Margaret Rutherford as ever having been a young girl. It’s also interesting to contrast Rutherford’s weathered visage, making her look older than her years should have dictated, against the salubrious and well-preserved corpus of Stringer Davis, her husband. Silverwolf wonders if Rutherford was into tobacco or the juice? But that doesn’t stop one from loving her as an actress, and routing for her performance. It’s eldritch to think that this actress, who could memorize so many lines, and play so subtly, should end with Alzheimers.

Playing contrapuntally to the characters of Rutherford and Morley is Charles Tingwell as the hard-headed young inspector, who dislikes both Rutherford’s meddling in the case and Morley’s frigid Tory sangfroid in the face of a murder charge. Morley doesn’t like the fact that the police presence is hurting his custom, even though it’s his own brother and sister who’ve been murdered.

Finally, there’s the beautifully homely Flora Robson, the long-careered film actress who had played Elizabeth I in younger days. Her magnificent ugliness almost made her beautiful, and it sure took guts to be a woman actress with such a face in an age that was starting to worship the visage wonderful. Robson gives a top-notch performance as Miss Millcrest, the mild-mannered, milquetoast assistant to the former Cora. Blended with her are three or four minor character actors, whose names have been lost to posterity, like those one-hit bands of forty years ago, who disappeared after their first albums. After seeing their wooden, mundane, and prosaic performances, you will appreciate better the talents of Morley, Rutherford, Tingwell, and Robson, and why Silverwolf doesn’t even bother to mention them by name. Let’s be generous and say they fill out the canvas of the film.

One should also mention the treat of seeing Maggie and Stringer do the Twist out on the dance floor. A bygone memory of a bygone age. Nor to be forgotten is the interesting musical score by Ron Goodwin. His use of the harpsichord, playing solo notes, was very effective at creating an eldritch atmosphere, both in this and the other Rutherford-Marple productions.

The ending, and the solution to the mystery of this Agatha Christie-factory product, are top-hole, and follow the typical Christie cataclysmic denouement on the visual screen. We can barely recall seeing this film as a young wolfcub and enjoying it, or perhaps it was another in the series of four ”Miss Marples” Rutherford made. When you’re a young cub, there’s nothing like a mystery at the Saturday Matinee, with an old witch solving a murder, somewhere in Civil Rural England. Enough to make you forget you had to go back to school on Monday with the humans.

In all, marvellous escapist better-quality junk, done by some superb actors. Nice clean engrossing fare to remove one’s brain from reality, for an hour and some. All in all, the Wolfmen’s Critics Kinematicus Circle declares it a Minor Masterpiece. And thus we get our title, Maggie Rutherford’s Minor Miss Marple Masterpiece.

We’ll howl our approval of the Wolmen’s Circle designation, and consign our agreement with that august body.

Hooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww! — Silverwolf