The Cine Technician (1943 - 1945)

14 THE CINE-TECHNI C I A X January — April. 1044 of people they regard as great artists — Eisenstein, I >isney, Preston Sturgi -. I >uvivier and, of course, and pre-eminently, our old pal, Orson Welles. What fools they made of themselves over little Orson Annie and his thimble-sized epics! They even bad the " popular " boys worried over him in the end. so thai when that dreary, third-rate, unthrilling B thriller, Journey into Fear, appeared, poor Ernest Betts in a dither of panic proceeded to give it four stars in the " Sunday Express " and describe it as' directed by and starring Orson Welles, in full face of the fact the direction credit was Norman Foster and little Orson Annie fortunately appeared for a few minutes only in the hammiest performance ever. But to do the " popular " boys justice, they don't make bowlers of simple fact so often as tbc " snooty " tribe. William Whitebait, of the New Statesman," is the real champion of them all at that ; it used to be quite exciting each week waiting to find just how he'd given himself away. One week it would be the wrong name of the Mini, another tbc wrong theatre given, another some old-stager or other called a promising newcomer; some vintage weeks there'd be as many as three howlers, but I think my favourite of all was when be identified Rudy Vallee as Bing Crosby. Next week he apologised for that one, and the number has fallen off so badly now that it's really not worth while following his column any more. Of course you can't deny that a film critic's job is not a very happy one. He lives a curious cut-off sort of life, seeing his films cold with a lot of deadheads in the artificial atmosphere of a pre-view theatre, and seldom if ever visiting an ordinary " local " where the warmth and quick response of an audience which has paid good money really brings the film to life. Every critic should make a. point of visiting his local at least once a week just to see the people for whom the films are made, what it is they want out of them and what it is they do to them. As it is, the enthusiasm of even the very best of the critics, like C. A. Lejeune, flags, and their columns get peevish and sarcastic, under the welter of mediocre stuff that is poured onto them, unless they seek the corrective of feeling again that sudden lift and aliveness you get with a real audience from even a poor film, which suddenly makes the whole thing worth while. And then there's always the threat of the advertiser's blackmail hanging over your head. Dilys Powell can be as snooty and high-hat as she likes because the " Sunday Times " doesn't care twopence whether it carries film adverts or not. But when it comes to the popular press. and, still more, the trade press, you've got to watch your Ps and Qs. No advertiser is going to take several pages of space with pull-out and all in lovely art colours to boost one of his films if he thinks there's any chance of it getting a poor review in the same paper. A few advei reviewed J 5 productions is all right, if onlv to keep the paper's subscribers in good humour, for they are in general under no illusions about the quality of the productions offered, but an A production really slammed, -look out fior squalls. A few years ago, " The Daily Film Benter " was banned from 20th Fox film shows for unfavourable reviews, and it is not so many months back that the film moguls were protesting to the B.B.C. against films being reviewed unfavourably over tbc air. Their argument, if you please, was that if the broadcaster could find nothing good to say about a film he should just give a resume of the story and the names of the stars — as a free advertisement. T suppose. What colossal impudence ! Then there was the case, about 1932, of Cedrie Belfrage. Cedrie Belfrage was a lively journalist of the Alistair Cooke-Paul HoltAngloAmerican style (he, like Alistair Cooke, has since been naturalised a United States" citizen), who in spite of all his fundamental lack of belief , at least knew a good film when he saw one — ■ he gave Kameradschaft four large stars in the "Sunday Express." Well, after a B.B.C. broadcast of his attacking the rapacity of the Wardour Street boys, all film advertising (bar that of the Hyams" cinemas, whose offices were in Regent Street) was withheld from the " Sunday Express," and the next thing we knew Cedrie Belfrage was no longer doing his film column. Best of all perhaps was Graham Greene's little lapse. Graham Greene, at any rate, was a good writer and whatever one's opinion of his view of life it was always entertaining to follow his Roman Catholic nose in its constant search for a secret smell, the hidden dirt. Anyway, one week his column ir " Night and Bay " — you remember, the pale imitation of the " New Yorker " — was devoted to a spiteful, penetrating and extremely amusing analysis of the attraction exerted by Shirley Temple on the elderly. The next thing to happen was a whopping great action for libel by 20th Century Fox, smashing damages and " Night and Day " forced to close. Well, the job certainly has its little difficulties of one sort or another, but I do feel they should make a better show of it than they do. The popular boys might try to take their job a little move seriously and not be so cynical about it all ; the snooty gents might be a bit more patient, have a bit more faith and make some real imaginative effort to understand the industry and what it is that the public gets from it. What is particularly disappointing is the poor quality of film criticism in Left Wing circles. Unfortunately, anybody who takes his politics at all seriously, whether