It is understandable how the stories and controversy surrounding a film’s production can contribute to the way it’s eventually perceived when released. John Huston’s The Misfits (re-released this week) is famous for being the final film of Clark Gable and Marilyn Monroe before their untimely deaths, along with the on-set complications of Gable’s complaints about his health and Montgomery Clift’s rehab for drug and alcohol addiction. Apart from all that, The Misfits is a haunting and beautifully shot western drama that loses itself midway among the characters’ camaraderie. Director John Huston presents a bleak and spectral Nevada where Arthur Miller’s capering screenplay blossoms with vivacious characters and a slow-burn conflict.

After divorcing her husband (a blink and you’ll miss him Kevin McCarthy), Marilyn Monroe’s woozy Roslyn Taylor plans an impromptu trip across Nevada with her friend Isabelle (Thelma Ritter) and car mechanic Guido (Eli Wallach). Rugged cowboy Gay Langland (Clark Gable) tags along and the foursome drink, frolic and journey further to participate in a rodeo with his friend Perce (Montgomery Clift). Feuds occur after Roslyn dances, Gay falls in love and unveils a business plan, the nature of which stokes a fissure in the clique.

Monroe saunters dazed and melancholy in a manner that makes you wonder how much was performance given her constant inebriation and Gable is beguiling as the craggy, laid-back Gay. Considering how much he struggled working with Monroe, Gable’s performance of a man in love is remarkable but it’s Thelma Ritter who steals the show as Rosalyn’s doting buddy, Isabelle.

The Misfits fails to totally enchant due to a laborious middle but the compelling characters and evocative imagery remain captivating throughout. Monroe dancing seductively in the moonlight and Gable pondering death are extremely poignant while great conflict eventually arises in the final third. It is possible The Misfits wouldn’t have been as widely remembered and appreciated if it wasn’t for the stories that made it famous, yet it remains a beautiful and evocative western with moments that stay with you long after viewing.

Daniel has awarded The Misfits (1961) three Torches of Truth

Cinema has always been seen as a mirror to society, the changes, the fears, the angers and the themes of a nation are often represented and reflected on the big screen as a window to political and cultural shifts. Selma, a film based on the 1965 voting march led by Martin Luther King, recently landed in cinemas; a film whose themes of blatant social injustice felt sadly more topical than they could have envisaged during the time of its making. David Oyelowo, who plays Martin Luther King in Selma, has been vocal about the racial inequality in the movie industry, something that seemed to be reinforced by his subsequent baffling snub in the Oscars for best actor. The struggle to redress the balance for black actors and recent events in the U.S. serve as a reminder to an actor, who came to cinema in the era of Selma, who through the roles he portrayed created a legacy of progression and inspiration.

Sidney Poitier came from humble beginnings, the son of tomato farmers who lived on Cat Island in the Bahamas. Born prematurely on 20 February 1927 whilst his parents were selling tomatoes in Miami, Sidney was not expected to survive yet he returned to Cat Island with his parents where he would spend his childhood. As he was born in Miami, Sidney had entitlement to US citizenship so at the age of 15, he joined his brother who lived there but he found the transition hard. Hailing from an all black community Poitier struggled with the mentality of the south and after one summer washing dishes, he left for New York.

With a passion to exist beyond menial work Poitier auditioned for the American Negro theatre but he was rejected because of his strong Caribbean accent and his poor reading skills. Down but not out, Poitier worked on his accent and refined his reading ability and six months later he was accepted at the theatre and worked hard to dispel the lack of faith his peers appeared to have in him.

Early roles came in No Way Out (1950) and Blackboard Jungle (1955) but it was his role in The Defiant Ones (1958) that saw Poitier take on a role that tapped into the racial tensions in society, which earned him an Oscar nomination in the process. The film depicted Poitier and Tony Curtis as escaped convicts, chained together; they must work as a team in order to survive, the plot serving as a metaphor for the race relations affecting America.

In 1963 Poitier starred in a film that would make cinematic history; Lilies of the Field, a story of a travelling handyman named Homer, who, after breaking down in his car in rural Arizona, finds himself welcomed by a group of nuns. Despite clashing with the mother superior the nuns are convinced that Homer has been sent from God to help them build a chapel and despite different beliefs these two worlds collide to find acceptance and unlikely friendship. Poitier’s humorous and touching performance led to him becoming the first black man to win a Best Actor Oscar, in the midst of the civil rights movement, and his win was just that little bit more poignant for a film whose message was how a multicultural and multi or no faith society – white, black, Hispanic, Mexican and German – could peaceably thrive.

Not everyone was enamoured with Poitier, some accused him of appeasing the white male rather than contesting the existing status and that he was too much of a nice guy, when some felt that a more radical symbol should blaze onto the screen. Yet Poitier was more aware of the need for activism than many gave him credit for.

1967’s In the Heat of the Night featured Poitier as Philadelphia detective Virgil Tibbs, who investigates a murder in a racist small town in Mississippi and contained an infamous scene that almost didn’t happen. Originally in the scene between Tibbs and the racist plantation owner Mr Endicott (Larry Gates), Endicott was to strike Tibbs without retaliation but Poitier called for changes to be made so that Tibbs strikes him back. The producers initially would not agree to this but on Poitier’s insistence, the scene was altered and remains one of the most electrifying moments in cinema within the context of the time. Anti-war protests and civil rights marches were lining the streets and this politically charged moment echoed the feelings of many in America who felt the North/South divide long after the abolition of slavery. It also held special resonance as the year that In the Heat of Night won the Best Picture accolade, the Academy Awards ceremony was postponed in the wake of the assassination of Martin Luther King.

Sidney Poitier would continue his career with a string of films that would challenge the stereotypes of the black male that had previously been seen, he would represent the system but also try to subvert it at the same time. In To Sir with Love (1967) Poitier played a teacher assigned to a predominantly white London school and in Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (1967) he had to meet the parents of his white fiancée who struggle with the idea of an interracial relationship.

Poitier brought sophistication and dignity to the characters he played, commanding the screen and the respect of his contemporaries. At the 2014 Oscars, Poitier presented the Best Director award with Angelina Jolie, where he received a standing ovation and to which Jolie declared to Poitier ‘we are in your debt’.

Hollywood recognised the contribution and influence that Poitier has given to cinema yet there are many more steps to be taken for black actors today to have opportunities to play the diverse characters that Poitier had access to, the exciting opportunities that Selma afforded this year. The system cannot just congratulate those who stick within the status quo, it also needs to evolve, with courage. As Poitier himself said in his memoir, A Measure of a Man ‘we are all somewhat courageous and we are also considerably cowardly, life is simply an unending struggle against those imperfections’. A happy 88th birthday to a principled and courageous man.

The Comedy of Terrors (1963) stars the king of sardonically delivered horror ham Vincent Price and his esteemed cohorts Peter Lorre, Basil Rathbone and Boris Karloff as hunter and the hunted; Waldo Trumbull (Price) is running a failing funeral directors and John Black (Rathbone) is the creditor about to repossess his assets. Price decides to kill two birds with one stone by making his creditor his next customer into the funeral parlour.

The film starts off quite strongly with a macabre graveyard scene and some highly appropriate black humour but then becomes silly quite quickly despite the occasionally very quick witted script by Richard Matheson. Price is as poised as always and his doomed onscreen relationship with failed opera-singer wife Amaryllis (Joyce Jameson) is amusing, as is his relationship with his creaky old father-in-law Amos Hinchley, played by Karloff. Karloff proves to be one of the best things about the film as even when the farce is so abundant as to be highly irritating, he pulls off some great line or other and temporarily redeems the film. His gleeful recounting of the Egyptian mummification process is the breakout moment of humour, especially so considering the reference to his career highlight playing Imhotep in The Mummy (1932).

The ever-watchful ginger cat (Rhubarb) also provides some interest, some small relief from the try-hard and off-key humour, especially when travelling, regally poised upon the roof of the funeral director’s carriage.

In comparison to some of Price’s work, The Comedy of Terrors is shoddy. It lacks the imagination of The House of Wax (1953) or Theatre of Blood (1973) and is not as inherently likeable as many of the other films from this group of actors. This home entertainment release is clearly one for the collection of Price afficionados and forgiving lovers of kitsch horror but not really for anyone else.

Extras: Film historian David del Valle’s interview with Vincent Price – Vincent Price: My Life and Crimes. Audio commentary from David del Valle and David Deloteau. There is a documentary on the work of director Jacques Tourneur entitled ‘Whispering in Distant Chambers’ and one on writer Matheson ‘Richard Matheson, Storyteller’. The interview with Vincent Price is informative but also quite longwinded at times. The documentaries are worthwhile for anyone interested in the making of the film and the directorial trademarks of Jacques Tourneur.

Maryann has awarded The Comedy of Terrors (1963) on Blu-ray two Torches of Truth

Many actors/actresses use the method, a form of intense training to delve into the feelings and the emotions of the character they are portraying and, if possible, drawing on personal memories to enhance the performance. One actress who almost transcended the notion of the method was Sophia Loren, such was the embodiment of the characters she inhibited, she was the Italian everywoman: the mother, the lover, the abused and the cherished.

Much of Loren’s onscreen persona can be attributed to her background, she was born on 20th September 1934 into an impoverished family that suffered through war torn Italy and with a father who was constantly absent. That lack of a paternal force in her life was filled by director Vittorio De Sica, who became a father figure for Loren, nurturing her and pushing her to take on roles she had not imagined playing. Their close bond led to a fruitful cinematic output, particularly the 1961 film Two Women, a harrowing drama about a mother and daughter’s brutal ordeal during war torn Italy. Loren was initially in line to play the daughter however De Sica encouraged Loren to take the part of the mother, his faith in her outweighed any doubts she had herself. Loren’s performance in Two Women earned her a Best Actress Oscar nomination yet she did not attend the ceremony as she was terrified that she would lose, the self doubt that often plagued her returned, an image which is at contrast with the strong dominant women she often portrayed onscreen. As she stayed at home that evening making sauce for pasta, she would receive a telephone call later from Cary Grant telling her ‘Darling you won’.

Another contrast to Loren was her image as a Hollywood sex kitten, as whilst she was a stunning beauty and an enduring pin up, she never took that side of herself seriously, she had a goofy playfulness to her sex symbol status. And though she was the object of affection for some of the industry’s biggest characters, most notably Cary Grant and Peter Sellers, Loren declined their advances as her heart belonged to one man for her entire life. Sophia Loren met Carlo Ponti in 1950 and despite a 22 year age gap, they had a connection that would last a lifetime. The union however was beset by issues, they married in 1957 however as Italian law at that time did not recognise divorce, Ponti was still technically married to his first wife. To avoid bigamy charges, the couple had their marriage annulled in 1962 and had to wait until Ponti obtained a divorce in France in 1966 to remarry again. The couple remained together until Ponti’s death in 2007 and Loren is still unable to talk about her late husband without getting upset, when asked in an interview if she would ever marry again, Loren replied ‘Never again, it would be impossible to love anyone else’.

The idea of an eternal love that faces obstacles was the theme of Sunflower (1970) which has been remastered and released for the first time on DVD. Directed by Vittorio De Sica, Sunflower begins in post World War II Italy with Sophia Loren’s Giovanna, demurely dressed and with flecks of grey in her hair, she demands to the authorities that her husband is still alive, clutching a picture, she appears worn down by life, but still clinging to the fight inside her. The film then flashes back to the past, an idyllic beach where Giovanna is in the first flings of passion with the handsome and playful Antonio (Marcello Mastroianni) caught up in wistful romanticism, they impulsively decide to get married, which will buy them twelve days before Antonio is deployed to war. In a heady honeymoon haze, they hatch a plan to make Antonio appear to have gone crazy so that he can escape the duty of war, yet the lovers are rumbled and he is sent to the Russian front, promising to return to Giovanna, who dutifully waits for him. When the war ends, Antonio does not return home and is listed as missing, yet Giovanna refuses to believe he is dead, the love she carries is convinced that he has survived so she journeys to Russia to find her husband.

Sunflower is a love story but also a story of war and how, despite unfaltering beliefs that love conquers all, sometimes the ravages of war change people beyond repair. Marcello Mastroianni’s Antonio is a somewhat hard character to invest in, his love for Giovanna is undermined by characteristics such as caddishness and cowardliness. The film therefore inevitably belongs to De Sica’s golden girl Loren who runs the gauntlet of emotions as a hopeless romantic, determined wife and hardened realist. Set to Henry Mancini’s Oscar nominated score, Loren’s undeniably expressive face tells every emotion of her journey, the moment she discovers the real fate of Antonio is a beautiful piece of quiet devastation, her journey of time and distance leads to a damning conclusion.

There are parallels in Loren’s life to those of her character Giovanna in Sunflower, allowing Loren to form a fully believable character that draws from her innate instinct and past emotions. Yet, unlike her character Loren was able to overcome her war-stricken upbringing and to find lasting happiness in life. She became an international sex symbol and one of Italy’s most revered actresses, but above all else Sophia Loren was a devoted wife and mother and the role she dedicated herself to the most was a private life with her family. She remains to this day a colourful force to be reckoned with, one of the last true icons of Hollywood and beyond.

DVD Extras: Rather than extras of the film Sunflower there is an extensive documentary on Sophia Loren titled Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow. The documentary features interviews with those who have worked with Loren, those who are friends and those who admire her, such as Woody Allen who exclaims ‘she has it all’. It also includes an interview with Loren herself as she talks about her career, her working relationship with De Sica and her cherished devotion to Carlo Ponti. An interesting snapshot into Italy’s screen goddess.

The remastered film is now available for purchase on DVD, featuring previously unreleased scenes.

Linsey awarded Sunflower (1970) three Torches of Truth

Mark Searby takes a look at the 1960 Italian-French horror Les Yeux Sans Visage (Eyes Without a Face).

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East Finchley’s Phoenix Cinema quite rightly chose to mark the centenary of WWI, the passing of Richard Attenborough and the open house weekend to showcase its beautiful 1910 building (at its opening the cinema was known as The Picturedrome) and a screening of the 1969 tour de force, Oh! What a Lovely War, a film which celebrated its 45th anniversary of release last April.

Director and actor Richard Attenborough, funnily enough most likely remembered by younger audiences as the man who tried to bring dinosaurs back to life in 1993’s Jurassic Park, was responsible for directing the film of the stage play known for being starkly but wryly honest about the origins of WW1 and its effect on our nation’s psyche.

The film contained many of that time’s biggest stars; Maggie Smith, Vanessa Redgrave, Dirk Bogarde, John Gielgud, Laurence Olivier, John Mills (plus other members of the acting dynasties of Mills and Redgrave) and much of the action was set on the seafront of Brighton; the gateway to the extravaganza of World War I, where carousels turn into forests scattered with the Belgian soldierly dead, where tiny seaside trains don’t just lead you along the promenade but to your almost certain death on the Somme as you and your family, who are being left behind while you go off to fight, sing ‘Goodbye-ee, goodbye-ee, Wipe the tear, baby dear, from your eye-ee..’

Oh! What a Lovely War quite rightly claims its place amongst the barrage of war films we have been subjected to over the years but with a difference; there is no focus on the fighting itself, no claims of heroism or bravado, just many reflections on the very real human story. The fear, the hopelessness and the realisation of many young men in the trench and on the battleground that there isn’t an upside to going to war. The very realisations that should prevent any war, the realisations that meant people referred to WW1 as The Great War because they did not believe that such a loss of life and heart could ever happen again on such a scale.

The film does not deny its stage foundations and, in that manner, finds a way to reach out to those who would not normally watch a war film. The film builds well on the drama of the beginnings of the war; the spat between European aristocracy, the joint assurances that it wouldn’t last very long, the refusals to accept offers of ceasing bloodshed, the overblowing of events into a war that was incredibly unlovely. Oh! What a Lovely War ridicules the entitlement of the officer class in a way that will be very familiar to those with an interest in Monty Python and Elton/Curtis’ Blackadder, which collectively took many pot shots at the institution of the army with The Meaning of Life and TV series Blackadder Goes Forth. Particularly poignant in Oh! What a Lovely War are the scenes showing Haig and his colleagues waltzing around the ballroom while boards display the latest numbers of allied deaths in each battle. Discussions of job promotions and lunches at Number 10 seemingly weighing more heavily on their minds than the heavy loss of life that their decisions were responsible for.

Not to take anything away from the dialogue, but the full impact of the film can be found in the imagery: the starkness of blending the innocence, bright lights and ice-cream colours of the seaside town with the blood and dashed hopes of the field hospital, the popular songs of the time bringing an added realism to a setting that should really be ridiculous but just highlights the futility of war to the fullest extent possible. The end scene of the film is dominated by camera panning out on the sight of innumerable rows and rows of white crosses, a sense of calm and peace washing away the hurt and uncertainty of war. Until the next time.

People would have sat under the barrel-vaulted ceiling of the East Finchley Picturedrome cinema and watched footage of people on the front line in the same situation that their own family members could have been in, 1914 being a budding time in the life of film and the cinema. Oh! What a Lovely War did recreate the scenarios in some of these short films, such as the meeting of ‘Tommy” and “Jerry” in the middle of no man’s land one Christmas, so once again manages to be entirely relevant to the events of that time, a time when we were more keenly aware of the effects of war than ever before. Showing Oh! What a Lovely War is certainly a fitting tribute to Lord Richard Attenborough: his first stint in the directorial chair produced a film that anyone could be proud of making..

It is lamentable that the intricately choreographed joy of Jacques Tati’s cinematic directorial career only extended for a total of six features and a handful of shorts. It is equally unfortunate that many modern audience members are as likely to have heard of his onscreen persona, M. Hulot, than the towering genius behind him. In an attempt to redress the imbalance, a mammoth new blu-ray box set hits shelves this week that includes all of Tati’s surviving films and a wealth of supplementary material.

His comedy is gentler than some might expect if they’ve not seen it before – his is the humour found in the innate pettiness of the modern world – but is brimming with social commentary and stinging criticism. From his earlier shorts right through to crowning glory of the outstanding Playtime (1967) he lampoons French society; both the small-minded quibbles of rural folk to, more readily, the pretensions of the modernised urban middle classes. This is all accomplished through thematically linked series of vignettes with little regard for much narrative through line. Instead, the characters – in particular Tati’s own pipe-smoking alter-ego, the ever-anachronistic Hulot – provide the anchor.

An old-fashioned performer, he plays out his burlesque in near silence speaking through his wonderfully evocative frame and his increasingly exceptional framing. The gags are rife from Jour de Fête (1949) and Les Vacances de Monsieur Hulot (1953) but the visuals are unrivalled in the likes of Mon Oncle (1958) and Playtime. Tati is a true master, one that you will delight in exploring anew or re-discovering.

Extras:

A truly a definitive UK release of Tati’s oeuvre, the collection features no less than ten incarnations of his six feature films. This includes multiple versions of Jour de Fête (including one colorised, as per the directors original vision), Les Vacances de Monsieur Hulot, and Mon Oncle. In addition, there are seven short films for which Tati was either a performer or director; these include L’Ecole des Facteurs (1946) which provides the basis of much of the second half of feature debut Jour de Fête.

Alongside the various editions of the movies themselves are a host of extra features including a series of analytical films by Stéphane Goudet, a French critic and certified Tati expert, to give further insight into this exception body of work. ABC Tempo-Tativille concerns the shooting of Playtime in the now famously constructed pseudo-Paris Tativille, while trailers and an interview with critic Jonathan Romney make up a fantastic package that is worth seeking out whether you are a Tati fan or not (yet).

Ben has awarded The Essential Jacques Tati Collection on Blu-ray five Torches of Truth

A self styled band of Public School Boys, calling themselves “The Crusaders”, rebel against their institutional brutality in 60’s Britain.

Lindsay Anderson’s film serves as a 60’s version of This Is England. But if you didn’t find yourself with growing pains during that period this film will not make you hark back to those days. A thinly veiled plot is in effect, but it feels more like an attempt at sketches all interlinked to try to create a story about British class. We glean nothing from the swots school life apart from they read women’s magazines and listen to Christian choral vinyl. Homoerotic tones are blatant throughout even with brief flirtations (and rejections) from the couple of females who keep it from spilling over into a male love-in.

This blend of post war surrealism could be cuttingly sharp on its message, and probably was upon release, but nowadays it seems only to connect to those who have come through the halls of Eton and the like. Social (media) relevance to working classes is many a school playing field away here.

McDowell’s dynamite debut performance is as angsty as needed to be before biting the bullet into full-blown anarchistic. He spits out sarcasm without a moment’s thought for those who don’t understand it. He is the one constant in the film, an enigmatic screen presence that reveals in the situation of being brought up middle class toff.

If…. might have something to say about the British class system and its boy’s club mentality. Yet for those who were not brought up via that school system it will lack any physical or emotional scares that create a teenage connection. If you want to see rebellion watch The Young Ones.

Extras:

Audio commentary with film historian David Robinson and actor Malcolm McDowell. Over two hours of extensive interviews with the cast, crew and producers. Two original trailers for the film. Also three of director Lindsay Anderson’s short films. There is a 56 page booklet that has new writing on the film and a self conducted interview with Anderson. It’s a large package for such a cult film.

Mark has awarded If (1968) on Blu-ray two Torches of Truth

Nell Dunn wrote Up the Junction, her first book, based upon her experiences and overheard conversation while living in 1960s Battersea. The reception of her work was such that she was asked to adapt her work for inclusion in the BBC’s The Wednesday Play series by the young Kenneth Loach, as he was then titled.

The book and the film were unusual for the time both in their subject matter and how they dealt with their subject matter: in focus were the lives of working class people, with no added gloss, and the thorny subject of abortion. Comparisons could be drawn with Alfie (1966) but with a much less managed feel to it. Up the Junction was first transmitted in November 1965 and drew 10 million viewers.

The whole film is dedicated to showing the everyday life and conversations of ordinary people in London; girls lacquering their big hair, three deep at the mirror in the pub toilets, having a laugh on a break from their chocolate factory work and sloping off for illicit encounters in not yet demolished buildings, which showed how damaged London still was after the sustained bombings it received during WW2. There were a few scenes which referred to the illicit encounters, which were much more of a risk in those days. Maybe even more of a risk than messing about on half fallen-down buildings, as contraception was hard to get and legal abortion some way off yet.

The other dark side to the film was the inclusion of the tally man scenes, a person who would go door to door to lend money or to sell things to people who couldn’t really pay it back. These scenes were very cleverly shot by having the tally man in a car, speaking to an unseen passenger. We also see him being openly racist to and ripping off a black man who wanted to buy a suit. The film ends rather sombrely with accidents, people being jailed and the ones who are left, trying to carrying on with their seemingly narrow lives.

After the screening at the excellent East Finchley Phoenix, Nell Dunn discussed both her own and Ken Loach’s contribution to the film. She remarked that one thing the film highlighted now was the difference in what people thought the 1960s were like and what they were actually like. It was known as a decade of free speech, free love and drug-induced merriment but Up the Junction shows a very different picture: “Unless you were married and you could prove you were married, you weren’t allow access to contraception…In some ways it was still a very prim society…It was quite a hypocritical society.”

Dunn said that watching the film after so many years was strange and that the depiction was quite different to what she remembered: “Seeing Battersea again i found quite moving…when I lived there I did think it was quite beautiful…the film made me feel that life was pretty terrible but when I lived there i never thought that, i thought it was wonderful.” When it came to the adaptation, Dunn said that Loach had told her which parts of the book he wanted written for the film. “When i was working on it it was terrific fun… of course the whole thing was done on handheld cameras and a lot of the people weren’t actors.”

When the film was shown on the BBC in 1965, Dunn said that she had received hate mail for the inclusion of the abortion scenes. The part of the film dealing with one character’s unwanted pregnancy (‘of course you don’t want a baby, you’re only 17’) made me extremely sad. Sad for all those girls who had to have an illegal abortion, sometimes ending very badly, and carry on as if nothing had happened, shouldering all the blame for the transgression, as we see in the film. Dunn said: (while writing Up the Junction) I was listening and writing, and very little of it was made up. People were saying things (in the hate mail) like ‘it’s not a true picture of Battersea, we don’t have abortionists’, whereas there was an enormous amount of backstreet abortion. But I suppose because I was young and a writer I didn’t feel the tragedy of it, which I felt much more looking at the film 50 years later.” This highlighted the fact that abortion is one subject which is still not dealt with very much on screen, either in TV or film and that Nell Dunn would still receive hate mail were this film shot in the present day.

As previously mentioned, Dunn said that the film painted a depressing picture of the time but there were also many cheery parts evident, especially those scenes of the friends all going to do their laundry together, having fun and a chat while folding their smalls. Making the best of things. Up the Junction can be considered a valuable record of what life was like in the 1960s and a sterling early example of what the great director Ken Loach went on to produce much more of. Up the Junction went on to be remade into a feature film in 1968.

Maryann has awarded Up the Junction (1965) four Torches of Truth

Released in 1969, Justine is set amongst the Coptic Christian elite of Alexandria, Egypt in 1938 on the cusp of the British withdrawal from the country. Justine (Anouk Aimée) is the exotic wife of Coptic banker Nessim (John Vernon) who seamlessly moves between the upper echelons of Alexandrian society and through the working class streets, where she meets the young English school teacher/poet Darley (Michael York).

Through Darley’s narration, the intrigues masterminded by the alluring and perplexing Justine and her husband set the tone for the complexity of the political situation of the late 1930s, intertwined with the sexual politics of the late 1960s.

Director George Cukor (My Fair Lady 1964 and The Philadelphia Story 1940) capitalises on the screen charisma and talent of Aimée, particularly with innuendo that is barely concealed from the 1960s censors. Though the film is visually stunning in every scene, especially so when focused on ordinary Egyptian life, the narrative of the film does feel hampered by what feels like extensive severe edits that cause the film to jump from one scene to the next without a smooth transition.

Vernon as Nessim and Dirk Bogarde as Pursewarden, the British consular officer friend of the couple caught up in their dangerous schemes, give particularly strong performances. Aimée is the rightful star of the film with her powerful presence and controlled underplaying of Justine, delivering a pragmatic character fighting for survival in turbulent times.

No Extras.

Mairéad has awarded Justine (1969) on DVD three Torches of Truth