This seemed to get off to a disappointingly slow start. It's been lauded so often because of its director, David Lean, and the performances of its leads, especially Charles Laughton, that I expected a reckless comedy along the lines of Ealing Studio's. Well, it's not that. It's slow, yes, but it's charming too, and the story, which is an insane combination of Charles Dickens and Shakespeare's "Taming of the Shrew" and "King Lear", slowly engrosses a viewer because of its characterizations.
Briefly, Laughton is an irascible boot maker in Salford, an industrial city near Manchester, a widower with three unmarried daughters. He considers the oldest daughter, Brenda Da Banzie, "too ripe" for marriage because she's thirty years old.
She may be thirty but she's as sharp as a tack. While Laughton is the owner of the shop, Da Banzie runs the place. She brims over with business acumen. And when it becomes clear that the shop does so well with high-end clientèle primarily because of the skill of one of the boot makers, John Mills, she marries Mills, plucks him out of Laughton's cellar, and establishes him in his own shop. Laughton is a drunk who is finally forced to quit. The remaining two daughters marry upscale -- a lawyer and a wholesaler -- and become snooty. Result: Mills and Da Banzie move back into Laughton's now almost deserted shop and form a partnership with him. There's no question but that, with Mills' boot making skill and Da Banzie's business sense, they'll not only succeed but perhaps open another shop in the big city -- Manchester. The comically domineering Laughton is put out by his having to form a partnership but he saves his dignity by DEMANDING that the partnership be sealed on paper, which is of course what the others want -- and Laughton struts off down the street as if he were the Cardo and Decumanus of the whole boot making industry.
Laughton's performance as a drunk and a blustering authority figure is as good as any he's given. John Mills progresses nicely from a pale, cellar-dwelling wimp with an unkempt bowl haircut, to a snazzily dressed tradesman, almost convinced that he's in command. Da Banzie does a professional job. Even the accents are accurate. ("Look" become "luke".)
What stands out is David Lean's direction. I'm not saying it just because he made some movies that were great by any measure. He's has the eye of a master painter for composition, and it's demonstrated repeatedly in what must be one of the least attractive urban landscapes imaginable -- a northern industrial city in 1890 with cobblestone streets, smokestacks, veils of what we would now call smog, and rows and rows of shabby and depressing brick town houses. When Mills is courting Da Banzie (or the other way round), they sit on a bench beside the slowly flowing river full of sludge. "I've seen it when it was clear," Mills remarks.
But Lean's direction, Jack Hildyard's photography, and the actors bring warmth and grace to this unpromising milieu.
Briefly, Laughton is an irascible boot maker in Salford, an industrial city near Manchester, a widower with three unmarried daughters. He considers the oldest daughter, Brenda Da Banzie, "too ripe" for marriage because she's thirty years old.
She may be thirty but she's as sharp as a tack. While Laughton is the owner of the shop, Da Banzie runs the place. She brims over with business acumen. And when it becomes clear that the shop does so well with high-end clientèle primarily because of the skill of one of the boot makers, John Mills, she marries Mills, plucks him out of Laughton's cellar, and establishes him in his own shop. Laughton is a drunk who is finally forced to quit. The remaining two daughters marry upscale -- a lawyer and a wholesaler -- and become snooty. Result: Mills and Da Banzie move back into Laughton's now almost deserted shop and form a partnership with him. There's no question but that, with Mills' boot making skill and Da Banzie's business sense, they'll not only succeed but perhaps open another shop in the big city -- Manchester. The comically domineering Laughton is put out by his having to form a partnership but he saves his dignity by DEMANDING that the partnership be sealed on paper, which is of course what the others want -- and Laughton struts off down the street as if he were the Cardo and Decumanus of the whole boot making industry.
Laughton's performance as a drunk and a blustering authority figure is as good as any he's given. John Mills progresses nicely from a pale, cellar-dwelling wimp with an unkempt bowl haircut, to a snazzily dressed tradesman, almost convinced that he's in command. Da Banzie does a professional job. Even the accents are accurate. ("Look" become "luke".)
What stands out is David Lean's direction. I'm not saying it just because he made some movies that were great by any measure. He's has the eye of a master painter for composition, and it's demonstrated repeatedly in what must be one of the least attractive urban landscapes imaginable -- a northern industrial city in 1890 with cobblestone streets, smokestacks, veils of what we would now call smog, and rows and rows of shabby and depressing brick town houses. When Mills is courting Da Banzie (or the other way round), they sit on a bench beside the slowly flowing river full of sludge. "I've seen it when it was clear," Mills remarks.
But Lean's direction, Jack Hildyard's photography, and the actors bring warmth and grace to this unpromising milieu.