"It is Sunday afternoon, preferably before the war. The wife is already asleep in the armchair, and the children have been sent out for a nice long walk. You put your feet up on the sofa, settle your spectacles on your nose, and open the News of the World. Roast beef and Yorkshire, or roast pork and apple sauce, followed up by suet pudding and driven home, as it were, by a cup of mahogany-brown tea, have put you in just the right mood. Your pipe is drawing sweetly, the sofa cushions are soft underneath you, the fire is well alight, the air is warm and stagnant. In these blissful circumstances, what is it that you want to read about"
The quotation above is the opening paragraph from one of my favourite Orwell essays, 'Decline of the English Murder'. In that paragraph, Orwell captures the cosy, soporific atmosphere of a typical English Sunday afternoon of the 1930s perfectly. I do not have to stretch my imagination too much to see my grandparents in this scene, especially as my maternal grandfather was a 'News of the World' reader. It was a quite different newspaper in the 1930s to that which met its demise a few years ago. And my grandfather would have lit up a cigarette rather than a pipe. But the tea, well, that certainly would be a deep and rich mahogany.
For those who have not read Orwell's essay, he paints a vivid portrait of a changing nation with his keen social observation, where even murder loses its quaint charm. Orwell, despite the dark subject matter, laces the essay with his characteristic wit, using humour to make his points more palatable and to highlight the absurdity of certain aspects of British culture, delving into what, in his opinion, is the unsettling shift in British murder narratives, lamenting the fading allure of the classic "domestic poisoning drama" and the rise of a new, Americanised brand of violence.
Orwell fondly remembers the intricate plots, the respectable settings, and the moral ambiguity of those bygone English murders. Arguing that they were more than just sensational entertainment; they were "morality tales" that reflected their time's anxieties and social norms.
However, this meander is not of Orwell or murder but of the Sunday afternoon routine I recall from my younger days in the 1960s.
Rather than sitting down to some salacious newspaper story on Sunday afternoons my parents and I replete from a sumptuous Sunday lunch of roast something with various trimmings followed by a sponge of some type and lashings of custard, would settle ourselves down to watch a British classic film on the BBC. It was a routine shared by millions of others across the country.
The centre of many of those films was around the Second World War, which had ended barely twenty years before—films such as, 'In Which We Serve', 'Mrs Miniver' and 'Went the Day Well'. But not all were war-themed, and other classics included, 'Brief Encounter', 'This Happy Breed', 'The Third Man' and 'Brighton Rock', and the film I went to the cinema to see last week, 'A Matter of Life and Death' (in the USA it came out as 'Stairway to Heaven').
I still much enjoy watching the films I mention, and many more from that era, but 'A Matter of Life and Death' is a particular favourite. Written, produced and directed by the hugely talented Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, it's a masterpiece of classic British filmmaking.
For those who may not have seen the film, it's a fantasy romance that tells the story of a Second World War British pilot, Peter Carter, who miraculously survives a plane crash and then falls in love with an American radio operator named June. Their first conversation occurs while Peter prepares to jump from his burning plane, without a parachute, as it falls from the sky. June does what she can to offer help and consolation. However, even though Peter survives and almost immediately meets and falls in love with June, he soon discovers that he was supposed to have died in the crash and then must have his case for his right to a life with June decided by a celestial court.
The film is a stunning visual masterpiece, with its captivating use of colour and special effects. Pressburger and Powell seamlessly weave together the elements of romance, fantasy, and existential exploration as the film's narrative structure alternates between the earthly realm shown in vibrant Technicolor and the afterlife depicted in muted black and white. This stylistic choice adds visual depth and emphasises the stark contrast between the two worlds. The gorgeous cinematography conveys the earthly scenes with a sense of vitality and warmth, while those from the 'afterlife' appear more formal and sterile. The majestic vastness of the celestial court is captured grandiosely through special effects. And remember, there was no CGI to fall back on eighty years ago.
The performances by David Niven as Peter and Kim Hunter as June are heartfelt. Their chemistry is palpable, making their love story even more poignant. But what truly sets 'A Matter of Life and Death' apart is its thought-provoking themes and messages. It explores the nature of life, death, love, and the afterlife. The film raises questions about fate, free will, and the human condition. It also challenges the notions of nationality, religion, and cultural differences, as seen in the celestial court's diverse cast of characters.
Peter's refusal to accept death becomes a symbolic assertion of the human will to live and to love. The love that Peter and June share becomes the focal point of the celestial 'trial' that explores morality while emphasising the importance of human connection and the impact of individual choices. The film's enduring appeal to me lies in its ability to provoke contemplation on the fundamental aspects of human existence.
'Life and Death' has some degree of parallel with another film that features an otherworldly presence and came out in 1946, 'It's a Wonderful Life'. It's another of my favourites from my younger days and even today - decades after first seeing it and having seen it multiple times (on one memorable occasion in 'The Rex' cinema in Berkhamsted, a refurbished 1930s Art Deco cinema, one Christmas Eve) - I cannot help a tear forming as the final scene of the film closes. I even bought a copy of 'The Greatest Gift', on which the film is based, by Philip Van Doren Stern, who initially self-published the story and gave copies to his friends and family as Christmas presents. One of those copies fell under the eye of a producer at RKO Studios, and the rest is history. Some feel that the 'Greatest Gift' was inspired by Dickens' 'Christmas Carol' and you can see that theme of ‘redemption’ in the two.
Interestingly 'Wonderful Life' is now seen as the epitome of a Christmas film, and yet in 1946, Bosley Crowther, the film critic for 'The New York Times' wrote that ‘A Matter of Life and Death’, "was the best Christmas movie ever made" (it was released in the USA on 25 December 1946. Whereas Crowther wrote of 'Wonderful Life' (released five days earlier), and while complimenting some of the actors, concluded, "the weakness of this picture, from this reviewer's point of view, is the sentimentality of it—its illusory concept of life. Mr. Capra's nice people are charming, his small town is a quite beguiling place and his pattern for solving problems is most optimistic and facile. But somehow, they all resemble theatrical attitudes, rather than average realities”.
Despite watching ‘A Matter of Life and Death’ so many, many times over the decades, this time was my first viewing in a cinema, and a lovely cinema at that, in the small picturesque Northumbrian town of Hexham to which I travelled especially for this single showing at the town's Forum cinema. This independent, owned by the local community, cinema with its echoes of those I recall visiting in the 1960s, was an apt setting for this classic film. The Forum opened its doors in 1937, after the closure of the earlier Gem Palace cinema. It has been refurbished over the years but has maintained its Art Deco styling.
There is a nostalgic atmosphere in the cafe/bar that offers homemade cakes and scones just as much as popcorn. The coffee is coffee, the only variant with or without milk and/or sugar. No caramel skinny latte or whatever here. Oh, and the gentile service comes with a short chat. Everyone knows to arrive a little earlier to allow time to encompass that slower pace. And the auditorium has the 'feel' I recall in cinemas of my youth. All that's missing is the cigarette smoke dancing in the projector lights.
Last week I might have sat among strangers in opulently stylish cinema surroundings. But, as I watched Peter and June in their struggle to prove their love for each other, I time-travelled back decades to a Sunday afternoon in the cosy living room of a small, terraced house. A coal fire burning, my parents and I ensconced in comfy armchairs. My father gently dosing and my mother with her mahogany tea and a cigarette. And I watch again as a tear is captured on a rose petal as evidence of the love for one for another.
Absolutely love this writing, Harry, some of your very best, I’d say. Nostalgia, but not in a cloying, backward looking sense. Memoir style - but with your modern day involvement in it - keeps it sharp and relevant. Really good way to start my reading day.
I’m not sure I’ve been touched with quite so much nostalgia in a long time Harry, you picked me up in your telling and didn’t let go til’ the end. To this day, when I think of a cinema, it’s exactly as you describe it, even down to the smoke floating in the lights of the film... I truly loved this! Beautiful writing indeed...