Separate Tables: A Tale of Two Couples

The sign for the Hotel Beauregard in Bournemouth, England, states simply:

Three minutes from the sea

Fine Cuisine

Separate Tables

While it sounds like a quaint little establishment, it's a rather lively place occupied by a bevy of assorted characters:  a domineering mother and her meek, sheltered daughter; a pompous retired Army major; a young couple in love; a volatile writer; the self-sufficient hotel owner; and others. Two events set into motion the intertwining storylines that comprise the film's plot. 

David Niven and Deborah Kerr.

First, we learn that Major Pollock (David Niven) was arrested for "behaving immorally" in a movie theater. The Major tries to hide this shameful incident from the other hotel guests, but a local newspaper article brings it to the attention of Mrs. Railton-Bell (Gladys Cooper). She already harbors resentment toward the Major since he has befriended her daughter Sibyl (Deborah Kerr). Thus, she relishes the opportunity to disgrace such "an awfully common little man" and tries to convince other guests to push for the eviction of Major Pollock (who turns out to be an unretired lieutenant who made up all his military exploits).

Rita Hayworth and Burt Lancaster.

The second storyline revolves around the arrival of glamorous ex-fashion model Anne Shankland (Rita Hayworth). The real purpose of her visit is vague until it's revealed she was once married to moody author John Malcolm (Burt Lancaster). He has secretly proposed to the hotel manager (Wendy Hiller), but Anne's appearance makes it clear that she and John are still attracted to one another--even though he spent five years in prison for physically abusing her.

If Separate Tables (1958) sounds episodic, that's because it was based on a Terence Rattigan play in which each plot was presented as a stand-alone act. Act I, Table at the Window, told the story of Anne and John--though John was a former Labor politician instead of a hard-drinking writer. Act II, Table Number Seven, focused on the Major's story and his relationship with Sibyl. When the play was originally produced in 1954, Margaret Leighton (The Winslow Boy) and Eric Portman (a Powell & Pressberger regular) played double roles: Leighton played Anne in Act I and Sibyl in Act II; Portman took on the roles of John and Major Pollock. In a 1983 television production directed by John Schlesinger (Midnight Cowboy), Julie Christie and Alan Bates played the four roles.

Niven no longer as "the Major."

Delbert Mann's film adaptation of Separate Tables casts four fine actors in the key roles--but with mixed results. David Niven and Deborah Kerr effortlessly capture the fragile relationship between the Major and Sibyl, two damaged souls who keep their emotions in check--even as they try to express them to one another. For much of the film, Niven plays Pollock playing the role of the loud braggart, who has recounted his made-up military exploits so many times that he almost believes them. Yet, that requires no great acting. It's during a climatic scene--when Pollock finally lets down his guard in front of Sibyl--that Niven shows the true depth of a performance that earned him a Best Actor Oscar. Of course, it helps when you're playing your big scene opposite the marvelous Deborah Kerr, who received an Oscar nomination as Sibyl.

Dame Wendy Hiller.

Unfortunately, as tortured former lovers John and Anne--the showier roles--Burt Lancaster and Rita Hayworth struggle. Hayworth certainly looks the part of a former fashion model, but she still seems miscast as half of this hate-love couple. The script, adapted by Rattigan and John Gay, deserves some of the blame. Personally, I never became invested in either John or Anne and therefore had no interest in whether they reunited or stay parted. I kept thinking that John was better off staying with Pat, the intelligent, grounded hotel owner (but then again, it seems as though Pat could do way better than John!). Incidentally, Wendy Hiller won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar as Pat; she's very good, but appears in only a few scenes.

Separate Tables is a skillfully-directed, well-acted film that holds interest--though its critical accolades (including seven Oscar nominations) now seem overrated. Frankly, I think it would have been a stronger film had it dispensed with Table at the Window and expanded Table Number Seven with David Niven and Deborah Kerr. Of course, I suppose that would have made it a different film altogether. 

Losing Control to "The Lady from Shanghai"

The following review is a collaboration between Rick and Sark.

After saving a beautiful woman from three would-be attackers, Michael O'Hara (Orson Welles) is offered a job by the woman, Elsa (Rita Hayworth). Although apparently disappointed that she is married to a prominent defense attorney, Arthur Bannister (Everett Sloane), Michael agrees to pilot her husband's yacht. At sea, Michael not only witnesses the rather unusual relationship between husband and wife, he also meets Bannister's law partner, George Grisby (Glenn Anders). Grisby makes a peculiar offer: the lawyer is planning on faking his death, and he wants Michael to confess to the "murder," so that Grisby can collect the insurance reimbursement. Michael agrees, because by this time, he and Elsa have started an illicit affair, and he needs the money so that they can leave together. The stage is set for various double crossings and multiple plot twists!

The Lady from Shanghai is clearly a film about control, or the lack thereof. From the beginning, it seems, Elsa is controlling Michael. She draws him in with her beauty, and although he initially appears upset that Elsa is married, Michael still accepts the job offered by Mr. Bannister. Does he need to money? Perhaps. But the audience (and Elsa) knows why he really wanted to go sailing. Elsa controls everyone, and by extension, she controls everything. Elsa manipulates all three men and has them playing against one another. For example, one could maintain that she kissed Michael knowing fully well that Grisby would see them. One of the movie's best lines belongs to Elsa (when first offering the job to Michael): "I'll make it worth your while." This is the essence of Elsa. Would a man do something he didn't want to simply because she asked him to do it? Most likely, yes. And there's absolutely no question as to what she's referring, by the breathy and seductive manner in which she speaks the line.

Elsa even controls the camera. One scene in particular is a great example of her visual control. Elsa is lying on the ship's deck with Grisby sitting nearby, and Bannister is discussing money with Michael. While Bannister is talking, the shot lingers on Elsa as she hands her cigarette to Grisby and asks him to light it (for the audience, her dialogue dominates and momentarily overrides Bannister). Another shot shows Michael lighting the cigarette, and then a crane shot follows the smoldering cigarette from Grisby to Elsa, who indifferently puffs away. Michael desires Elsa, Bannister is speaking about money and happiness but seems to be alluding to his beautiful wife, and retrospectively, it's known that Grisby is planning on killing Bannister for Elsa. Three men -- three fools -- all controlled by the magnetic woman dreamily staring at the sky. Likewise, the shots of Elsa lying on the deck and posing on the rocks are seductive images. Grisby spies on her, and Michael watches her, too. The two men cannot look away.

The theme of "control" is intriguing. Welles wrote the screenplay (with a small credit for the story and novel), produced, and directed. He also famously had his wife cut and dye her trademark red hair. So while Hayworth's character was in total control on the screen, Welles wielded it behind the scenes -- until the studio took it away. Welles had trouble maintaining control of his films after Citizen Kane (1941). The Magnificent Ambersons (1942) was completely recut without his consent, as was The Lady from Shanghai. Welles' original cut was reportedly 150 minutes, so that means there's an hour of missing footage. The studio reeling Welles in was quite possibly beneficial, as it is difficult to imagine the film at two hours, let alone in excess of that. As Alfred Hitchcock once said: "The length of a film should be directly related to the endurance of the human bladder."

Welles' films always benefit from rich characters, and The Lady from Shanghai is no exception. Ironically, the most sympathetic character may be Bannister. He knows Elsa is bad (he starts to tell the story of how they met... but cuts it short) and know that he's under her control. He's even willing to pimp for her; isn't that what he's doing when he goes to the docks to hire Michael? He's willing to let her cheat on him, as evidenced by stating that he doesn't mind that Michael loves her (and he likely means "love" in the physical sense). All he asks is that she stay with him, which makes him sympathetic or pathetic or both?

Then again, it's a fairly sad lot of people from which to find sympathy. Bannister seems to accept things the way they are, and he deals with life as it comes along. This is in contrast to Michael, who constantly looks ahead, hoping for everything to turn out one way but knowing it'll likely go somewhere else. I think the most unsympathetic person might be Grisby. Any type of control he has or thinks he has is highly evident, because he acts in the manner of a child, especially in the scene with Michael on the boat and Elsa is on the rocks. He also sweats incessantly, so perhaps Welles wanted the audience to view him as the "greasy" character. But, at the very least, Grisby is honest with himself. Michael wants Elsa, but he has to find excuses to be with her. Elsa would lie in a blink if it meant self-preservation. Grisby is transparent: he is greedy, he is jealous of Michael, and he wants Elsa, too. He doesn't try to hide his intentions or present himself as anything other than the greasy weasel that he is.
Orson Welles was perhaps a better director than actor. While he's very good in Touch of Evil (1958), he was too exaggerated as the evil cop, and even in Citizen Kane, he hams it up. Although, he was always theatrical because of his work on radio, in which voice is the most important tool (it's similar to the theatre, where an actor has to overdo it a bit because he/she has to project the voice). Welles is sometimes too theatrical, but Michael in Shanghai is underplayed to great effect. Michael is a brooding man and an emotional punching bag. With a lack of presence, he's really only there for Elsa to unload upon. In short, he's the complete opposite of other Welles' characters, like Quinlan in Touch of Evil and Charles Foster Kane. Rita Hayworth gives a smashing, memorable performance, and she and Welles are complemented by the supporting cast, especially Sloane (who played an equally cynical employer in 1956's Patterns, scripted by Twilight Zone creator/narrator Rod Serling).

Though it's easy to see why The Lady from Shanghai is a cult film, it's undoubtedly flawed. Even at 90 minutes, it's an indulgent film, sometimes quirky just for the sake of it -- such as the over-the-top courtroom scene with Bannister cross-examining himself. Welles gives himself the best dialogue, though everyone has a memorable line or two. Technically, it alternates between shoddy (some of the rear screen shots) and dazzling (the location scenes in San Francisco, the incredible mirror hall climax). But one thing is clear: it's not an easy film to forget!