Category Archives: Film Review

Review of Blithe Spirit by Noel Coward

Ghost stories are conventionally supposed to elicit at least a frisson of fear, but just occasionally, one will come along that breaks this rule and does so with aplomb. One such story is Noel Coward’s Blithe Spirit, initially written for the stage in a single creative burst one week in 1941, and adapted for the big screen in 1947. One of the bleakest moments of the war seems, in this case, to have brought forth a ghost story of a contrastingly light mood. The audience does not so much shudder with terror, as with barely suppressed laughter, if it bothers to suppress it at all. It is a creation imbued with an abundant acid wit, nowhere more manifest than in the lively repartee between the eponymous spirit, Elvira, and her remarried husband, the author, Charles Condomine. In the film version, Kay Hammond, all ghastly greenish white set off against a lurid red lipstick, and Rex Harrison, the very model of an impeccably turned out English gent, play their roles with a decided verve. And then there is Margaret Rutherford, as the inept medium Madam Arcati, who provides an energetically eccentric performance that steals more than a scene or two.

The rivalry between Condomine’s murderously devoted former spouse and his new wife, Ruth (Constance Cummings), is brought crashing into the present quite unwittingly by the efforts of Madam Arcati. The latter has been invited to the author’s abode purely so that he might make notes on the tricks of the trade employed by mediums, for his forthcoming mystery – The Unseen. However, what neither he, nor Ruth, expect, is that anything will come of it, for both of them view mediumship as the purest bunkum. Madam Arcati on the other hand, is not amused to learn of their attitude towards her inexpertly mastered craft. The sceptics soon learn to rue their disregard for her powers.

You may find this rather strange, but the film for me brought to mind something that I have previously mused upon whilst regarding those late-mediaeval and early-modern tombs that feature effigies of a deceased husband flanked by his first and second wives: just how were they all supposed to get along in the afterlife? Blithe Spirit, perhaps, provides the answer: they squabble a great deal.

Coward’s film was one of those influences that fed into the penning of my first ghost story, and its recent follow-up, Old Crotchet’s Return, which has just been released on Amazon in Kindle, and in paperback. Its blurb follows below:

Old Crotchet’s Return: a high-spirited romp of a ghost story set in 1920s England.
George Simpkins is in a state, and it’s not just because of the gin. His wife remains missing, his son a curious and callous enigma, and, most worryingly of all, his spouse’s erstwhile schoolmate, the witheringly waspish Cynthia, has plans afoot for his future. An invitation to a festive break in the country brings London society into collision with half-cracked Somerset locals steeped in cider and superstition, as well as a far from festively inclined spirit. Welcome to the world of Hinton St Cuthbert, the parish with a past, but seemingly no future.

Amazon UK
Old Crotchet’s Return Paperback: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1730996191
Old Crotchet’s Return Kindle: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07K7X33MD

Amazon US
Old Crotchet’s Return Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1730996191
Old Crotchet’s Return Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07K7X33MD

Amazon Australia
Old Crotchet’s Return Kindle: https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B07K7X33MD

Amazon Canada
Old Crotchet’s Return Paperback: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/1730996191
Old Crotchet’s Return Kindle: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B07K7X33MD

Review of ‘The Witch’ by Robert Eggers

At last, some two years after it made its debut at the cinema, I have watched Robert Eggers’s The Witch, and was relieved to find that it did not disappoint. From the polarised reviews that it had received, it seemed probable that it would be to my taste, as those which were critical tended to focus upon its slow pace. Such a criticism, presumably, derives from the expectations of a particular type of cinemagoer reared upon formulaic fare consisting of gore and splatter aplenty, and precious little by way of atmosphere, plot, or characterisation. A similar divide appears to exist in the virtual world of Amazon, where books, physical or electronic, are funnelled into rather rigidly defined genres which quite often do not permit the degree of subtle differentiation that the author might prefer.  

Returning to The Witch, it is a handsome film endowed with an authentic period feel, much attention evidently having been lavished upon ensuring that costume, architecture and the accoutrements of everyday life were appropriate to its 1630 New England setting. This matched the careful scripting of the dialogue, which although a little muffled at times (admittedly, one of my ears does need syringing) was convincing. The cinematography was beguiling, with the use of chiaroscuro in certain shots, where the light of the fire in the darkness accentuated the features of the faces and bodies that surrounded it, bringing to mind the paintings of Joseph Wright of Derby. The concluding scene, with its fantastical witches’ sabbat, was particularly striking in this regard, and succeeded in creating a colourful depiction of witches borne aloft, which is more familiar to our imaginations from the monochrome world of sixteenth and seventeenth-century woodcuts. A number of scenes and images seemed to quote the prints of Albrecht Dürer, particularly the recurring presence of the hare, as well as the glimpses of wizened hags that populated some of its nightmarish moments. The forest was appropriately bleak and forbidding, with one scene, where Caleb encounters and falls prey to his own Eve, bringing to mind the dangers that lurk in the tales of Hansel and Gretel and Baba Yaga. His price for this encounter is to cough up a bloodied apple whilst gripped in a fit of religious frenzy. 

The acting too is commendable, with all members of the cast, including the youngest, providing worthy performances. They successfully manage to convey the liminality of a dissenting family cast out from a colony of dissenters who themselves in turn were outcasts from their own homeland; a group of individuals on the edge of a wilderness both physical, and spiritual. What we watch is filtered through the popular beliefs of the time: we witness evil as an all too real and tangible reality, that although external to, and independent of, the fallen sinners that comprise the body of humanity, acts in and through these bodies to bring about its own nefarious ends. Its horror, when compared to many films that are bracketed within that genre today, is comparatively understated, but it is none the less horrific for that: abduction, murder, hysteria, possession and unnatural death, claim all seven members of this family in one way or another. Comfortable viewing, it is not, but cinema would be in a far better state, creatively speaking, if more such films were to be produced. Its relatively modest budget of $4 million, and subsequent box office success, demonstrates that solid pieces of engaging cinematography can be produced without pandering to the lowest common denominator.