And so, it came to an end. Not with a whimper, but with a
bang: Passport to Pimlico, one of the
best known ‘Ealing comedies’, one of the films that (it is claimed) speaks for
the whole of the studio’s output and thematic interests, and one of the films
that first sparked my love of Ealing many years ago. It remains a film of its
time and place but, watching it during a time of British recession and
austerity, it is also a film that can still provide a satirical edge to events,
over sixty years on.
When an unexploded bomb (which is supposed to be the
final one in London, until another one is found: a small comment on the
fragility of fame/notoriety that echoes through the rest of the film) reveals a
hidden treasure trove, the inhabitants of Miramont Place, Pimlico discover the
land they live on is actually owned by the Duke of Burgundy. The local’s
realisation that they are now Burgundians (and not bound by British law) is a
beautifully structured piece of cinema that starts with the individual
realisation of bank manager Mr Wix (Raymond Huntley), which spreads through
other characters, ending up in a communal ‘knees up’ around the piano in the
local, a ripping up of ration booklets, and a rejection of traditional
authority figures. Because this is Ealing, such excesses are not without their
problems: as the bureaucracy of Whitehall rolls over them, Miramont Place
suffers from an influx of spivs and black marketeers, the imposition of strict border
controls and immigration, and the cessation of basic amenities (water,
electricity, food).
One of the things that this Challenge has revealed is
that Ealing Studios was fascinated with the world beyond Britain’s borders:
whether that was expressed through literal border crossings in Johnny Frenchman (1945) or Against the Wind (1948), or completely
foreign-set narratives such as Saraband
for Dead Lovers (1948) or His
Excellency (1952). Here, the introduction to the film suggests a
continental or Latin setting, with salsa music playing, a fan turning: a
seemingly foreign location. That this turns out to be England in a heat-wave
(revealed through a camera shot that pulls back over Molly Reeve (Jane Hylton) sunbathing
on the roof, tilts down to reveal the fish shop beneath, pans across past the
pub door, and gazes down the street) is just one of the visual and thematic
misdirections that the film offers to its audience. It also points to the
inherently playful nature of this film, and of the studio more broadly.
The film moves along swiftly, developing new ideas
quickly and never stopping, a testament to the combined skills of director
Henry Cornelius, writer T.E.B. Clarke, director of photography Lionel Banes and
editor Michael Truman. Narrative details are referenced in passing, not shoehorned
in or signalled far in advance. The heat-wave, for example, is rarely mentioned
directly in dialogue, but is alluded to visually: in the opening few minutes,
we see Molly in a bikini; a few minutes later she slaps some fish into a
newspaper with a weather-related headline. The end of the heat-wave is also
narrated visually with a sudden rainstorm and mercury plummeting in a
thermometer. The skill of the pacing is also seen in the Whitehall scenes:
although featuring the star turn of Ministers Gregg (Basil Radford) and Straker
(Naunton Wayne), they are brisk and rapid, short digs at bureaucracy that don’t
overstay their welcome (unlike Gregg and Straker, who are slow and dogmatic).
The scene in the pub also quickly and succinctly develops
key characters: Wix’s rational approach, the more enthusiastic and communally
minded Arthur Pemberton (Stanley Holloway), and bossy Edie Randall (Hermione
Baddeley). The jealousy that Molly feels over Frank Huggins (John Slater) continually
trying to impress Shirley Pemberton (Barbara Murray) is expressed musically, as
Molly uses her singing to lure Frank’s attention away (the lyrics, ‘I don’t
want to set the world on fire, just start a fire in your heart’ reaffirm this)
It offers a strong example of the film’s focus on this community, but it also
stands as a marker for how efficient the script, editing and direction can be.
As I suggested above, Pimlico
still feels relevant today: the austerity measures of post-war Britain fit well
with 2012 Britain, there is no money for public works (the Pemberton lido) only
private development (blocks of flats), and there is no escaping the circuitous
bureaucracy of Whitehall. In Miramont Place, public ownership of (and control
over) the banks, democratically elected people’s councils, and pulling together
is the response to such a crisis. Of course, that ignores the one fly in this
socialist ointment: the need for a feudal overlord, in this case the current
Duke of Burgundy (Paul Dupois). He may be charming, but he has little real role
to play in this film: that said, the sequence of him attempting to romance
Shirley under a night-time sky is beautifully undercut by the noises of a true
London street (cats howling, men gargling).
With its strong location work, including shots in Piccadilly
Circus (where several Pimlico kids go to watch a Gaumont-British newsreel about
their street), the use of Whitehall, and the Underground (the scenes where the
Pimlico brigade stop the tube to check passports and to check food stocks is a
particular highlight), there is little doubt this is one of Ealing’s most
obviously ‘London’ films. But the comic treatment of more universal themes of
British community, identity (‘it’s because we are English that we’re sticking
up for our rights to be Burgundian’) and democracy (a sign reading ‘3% For, 3%
Against, 94% Don’t Know’ seems particularly apt to the film’s national vision)
shine through, and reassert the film’s claims to classic status within Ealing’s
95 films, and British cinema more generally.
[Passport to
Pimlico is available on Blu-Ray and DVD from Studio Canal UK. See www.studiocanal.co.uk for more details]
Next time... some final thoughts on the Great Ealing Film Challenge...
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