Bailey Alexander

Movies and Michael Powell; A Matter of Life and Death

I thought Les Chaussons rouges lived permanently at the top of my list of Michael Powell films, alas its been usurped by A matter of Life and Death. 

So whimsical, allegorical, cinematically creative, and yet, so serious.  All about the emerging relationship btwn the US and Britain circa 46-7, just when the UN was shaping itself up for the future.

This Movie.  This movie makes me think and dream.  Mischievously gorgeous actor Marius Goring and romantic leading man Roger Livesey compete for divinity and take complete control even though the two central characters, played by David Niven and Kim Hunter are supposed to take center stage and represent the 2 countries, respectively.

Marius is anything but Mephistophelean as he plays the French 'Aristo' who lost his head in the revolution. However, rather than appear the sinister character for whom we all know to collect souls, Marius simply collects my heart and plays the part for laughs, even though it's all about life and death and chess and so much more.

This movie. All about revolutions, debate and how the US and UK should unite through marriage for the sake of modernity. Enuf of all that imperialistic nonsense!  Let's move on from the narrow, isolationist ways of America, let's move on!  And let the nations begin to get along, svp?

Such is the kind idea of time.   And what about a perfect accent.  For the first time we have an actor, Marius Goring, providing the perfect French accent.  How odd and adroit and refreshing, he even giggles in Gallic.

So inspiring, what with all its visionary delights, fluidity, fantasy and painterly ways, the matter of life and death allows us to dream and debate and wonder whether love does conquer all....

My passion for Michael Powell, my deep obsession avec Anton Walbrook.

At least, until next week, when all things become Maltese.

Mais...until I board the overnight train from Paris to Rome, prior to a 10 hr itinerary of literary luncheons and parties in Rome, just now, piano, piano, my quiet Thanksgiving holiday inspires I view the full suite of M. Powell's movies. 

There's enough genius and joy to fill the entire place that is Chez Bay. 

For two full days and nights, in between daily particulars, my flat is free of everyone but me, c n g.  After regarding and ingesting their haunting beauty, we crawl under the covers and regurgitate their vivid Technicolor magic in our dreams.  

And because the weather in Paris is so cold, the air so still, there's plenty of room along our morning errands to repeat the process.  So we do.

 

I may lunch w//Mich @ Cafe Flore, as I did, prior to preparing to depart Paris for a month, but nothing can compete.  Nada, rien.  Friendship, 'Potage St Germain' and Puilley Fume may try, but I am still living within these movies, or maybe they wish to live within me.

I have to work, for we all do, more than before, but not now, maintenant, regarder le cinema, premiere la ville éternelle.

The black and white movies are grand.  I cherish 'I know Where I'm Going' most, if only because one never does, really.   

'The Canterbury Tale' resonates..I recall having to recite the first 20 lines while at University, the very same lines opening the movie, but the pilgrimage pales, a bit preachy, though still joyful, funny, even the creepy voyeur in The Peeping Tom' simply proves M. Powell could do nothing but what he did.  Better than most.

And then, there's the trilogy, the majesty of 'The Red Shoes', 'The Life and Times of Colonel Blimp' and 'Black Narcissus'. 

 

They linger in the mind, long after the end credits have ceased to crease the screen.  Especially Narcissus....aVermeer painting, for two hours.l

 

What is it with Powell...his deep devotion to aesthetics, his ability to immerse, not judge, absorb, the tensions in his characters, which are insurmountable.  The psychological journey, which is too intense.  The colors.

I can identify with the disorientation of living in otherly places.  My atelier may not compete with the altitude of the Himalayas, but I get 'that fact'.  The way it alters, adjusts, illuminates and jars the sensibilities.

The nuns in Narcissus set against the Vermeer painting that is the entire film.

And then Anton.  Even David Mamet, the most pro Israel playwright of all time considers the man christened Adolph from Austria his second favorite, only to Roger Livesey, mister buoyant, mr happy man of all time.

I even watch Le Ronde, a french film.  I have no passions, lets alone obsessions towards french film, but the film is palatable, gorgeous and memorable because we can ingest and obsess on the impresario that is Anton, formerly Adolph, M. Anton Walbrook, the most fascinating actor to watch on screen, past or present.