The Prisoner(s) of Zenda

Ronald Colman (1937) and Stewart Granger (1952).

When is a movie a sequel or just another adaptation of the same literary source? That can be a complex question, but it's not in the case of 1952's The Prisoner of Zenda. MGM's lavish costume adventure is a remake in every sense of the word. It uses the same screenplay and the same music score as David O. Selznick's 1937 The Prisoner of Zenda.

Both films are based on Anthony Hope's popular 1894 novel. Its plot concerns an English gentleman named Rudolf Rassendyll who, while vacationing in the fictional country of Ruritania, discovers he bears a striking resemblance to a distant cousin: the soon-to-be crowned King Rudolf V. When the king is kidnapped by his treacherous half-brother on the eve of his coronation, Rassendyll is persuaded to impersonate the king to prevent political chaos. With the help of two of  loyal advisors, Rassendyll navigates the perilous court politics, tries to figure out how to rescue the king, and falls in love with Princess Flavia, the king's betrothed. 

The plot doesn’t hold up to much scrutiny, of course. It’s a fanciful tale that blends romance and swashbuckling effectively, though in uneven portions. Each film devotes about a third of its running time to the romance between Rudolf and Flavia. That subplot gets cast aside, though, when our hero hatches a scheme to save the king from Black Michael, the evil half-brother. A longer running time—to develop the love story and gallant adventure in equal measure—might have improved both versions of The Prisoner of Zenda. Still, considering their overall entertainment value, such criticism may seem a minor quibble.

Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. and James Mason play Rupert of Hentzau.

So, which movie is the better Prisoner of Zenda? I give the 1937 film the edge—but just barely. Ronald Colman is perfectly cast in the dual roles of king and cousin. He gets outstanding support from Raymond Massey as Michael and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. as his opportunistic, rakish henchman. Madeleine Carroll makes a classy Flavia, but her scenes with Colman could use more passion.

Deborah Kerr as Flavia.

In contrast, Deborah Kerr shines brightly as Flavia in the 1952 movie and generates plenty of sparks with co-star Stewart Granger. The latter may lack Colman’s acting chops, but he makes a likable, charming hero. James Mason matches Fairbanks, Jr. as the henchman Rupert of Hentzau. However, instead of a rakish rogue, his Rupert is delightfully threatening and contemptible. The color photography is a bonus, too, adding some MGM glitter to the coronation and the royal ball scenes.

There have been numerous other adaptations of Anthony Hope’s novel, including a silent film with Ramon Novarro, a TV version starring Christopher Plummer, and a big screen comedy with Peter Sellers. The TV series Get Smart parodied Zenda in the episode “The King Lives.” It featured Don Adams doing a memorable impersonation of Ronald Colman and Johnny Carson in a cameo role as a footman.

"Blanche Fury" and "High Anxiety"

Blanche Fury (1948).  Poor Blanche. In a short span, she improves her social station by progressing from servant to governess to the wife of wealthy landowner Laurence Fury. Unfortunately, on her wedding night, she realizes that she's passionately in love with the estate's bitter steward, Philip (Stewart Granger). He believes Clare Hall rightfully belongs to him as the only son of its former owner. The problem is that Philip is illegitimate--well, he believes his parents were married in Italy, but a five-year search has provided no proof. Philip hates Laurence Fury, hates the fact that the Furies claim ownership of Clare Hall, and hates that his lover, Blanche, is married to Laurence. It would be so convenient if something unpleasant happened to Laurence and his father....

Valerie Hobson.

This British-made Victorian drama principally serves as a showcase for the under-appreciated Valerie Hobson and a young Stewart Granger, who acting career was on the upswing. Hobson is particularly effective as the female lead, constantly finding depths in her character that keep the story interesting. If not for her name, I never would have known it was the same actress from Bride of Frankenstein. Granger has an easier time as Philip, but there's no doubting his charisma and he displays a sharp edge that he would refine later in his best performances (e.g., Scaramouche).

While never as gripping as it should be, Blanche Fury holds interest with just enough unusual touches. Examples include the weird story about the Fury coat of arms (which features an ape) and the fact that Philip's family took the name Fury when they moved into Clare Hall (their actual name was Fuller). I watched a muted print, but have read where the film's color photography was rather impressive. Cinematographer Geoffrey Unsworth, who photographed the exteriors, would later win Oscars for Cabaret (1972) and Tess (1979).

A little Vertigo?

High Anxiety (1977).  Typically, Mel Brooks runs hot and cold for me--which makes this Hitchcock parody an anomaly. It's often amusing without being laugh-out-loud funny. I like it, but I'm always left with the feeling that it should have been so much better.

Mel stars as Dr. Richard Thorndyke, the new administrator at the Psycho-Neurotic Institute for the Very, Very Nervous. It's quickly evident that Nurse Diesel (Cloris Leachman) and Dr. Montague (Harvey Korman) are harboring secrets. But before Thorndyke can uncover what's happening at the institute, he's off to San Francisco to attend a psychiatric convention. He is soon framed for a hotel murder and, with the help of Victoria Brisbane (Madeleine Kahn), must prove his innocence.

The killer impersonates Thorndyke.

The best parts of High Anxiety are trying to identify which Hitchcock classic is being parodied. Some are obvious (the playground scene from The Birds, the mental hospital from Spellbound), while others are more subtle (e.g., a long tracking shot that recalls Rope). Surprisingly, one of the best scenes has nothing to do with Hitch, but consists of Mel doing a Sinatra tribute as he sings the title song in the hotel's lounge.

The hotel bellboy, who has one of the funniest scenes, was played by Barry Levinson. He co-wrote the script with Brooks, Ron Clark, and Rudy De Luca. Five years later, Levinson would write and direct the critically acclaimed Diner, the first of several big screen successes (e.g., Rain Man, The Natural).

The Man in Grey (1943)

First off, please don’t tell me I’ve misspelled “grey”—as this is a British film, so the title will be spelled in proper English.  Second, I am not surprised that you haven’t seen this—it’s rarely (if ever) shown on TCM and is unavailable on DVD in the USA. Lastly, you should find a way to see this, as it is so outrageously different from anything in early-1940s English-speaking cinema.

The Man in Grey (1943) is a Gainsborough Pictures melodrama starring James Mason as Lord Rohan (literally the man in grey) and Phyllis Calvert as Clarissa (AKA Lady Rohan).  Ah, but they weren’t the real stars of the film, as Margaret Lockwood got top billing playing one of the most deplorable characters of her career—Hesther Barbary!  Based on Lady Eleanor Smith’s 1942 novel of the same name, the film is set during Regency England (1811-1820) and tells the story of how a beautiful, ebullient woman has her life ruined by a callous husband and a calculating “best” friend.  Quite simply, if I didn’t know the story was written by an Englishwoman, I would have thought it was French!

How can I describe this without telling you everything—thus ruining it (sort of) if you ever see it for yourself?  Little known British director Leslie Arliss must have been given free reign to do whatever he liked with Margaret Kennedy and Doreen Montgomery’s adapted screenplay—that should tell you all you need to know: woman author + 2 woman screenwriters = wickedness gone wild (especially for 1943).  In addition, it’s a costume melodrama, so the wardrobe and sets are somewhat gothic, which gives the film an almost otherworldly feel. 

Calvert’s blonde Clarissa represents innocence and goodness; Lockwood’s brunette Hesther represents evil and sinfulness. They meet at Miss Patchett's school for young ladies, where Clarissa is beloved by all and Hesther is shunned by everyone but Clarissa. When they meet a gypsy fortune teller (Beatrice Varley) she sees bad things to come for the two girls.  Obviously foreshadowing and foreboding are necessary elements of any good melodrama, so this is no surprise.  What is a surprise is how these bad things happen and by whom. 

Eventually, Hesther runs off and elopes with a local soldier and Clarissa meets and marries the man in grey, Lord Rohan.  To say that he his less than doting would be an understatement.  When asked why he married her, Rohan says Clarissa was pretty, healthy and able to produce an heir. James Mason is beyond brooding as Rohan, and, I must say, every bit the S.O.B. He lives by his family crest, which reads “He who dishonors us dies.”  Hence, he enjoys duels.  He also enjoys bad women, so when Clarissa brings the recently widowed Hesther into their home he finds her to his liking.  Hesther’s been through some hard times and has turned into quite the opportunist since her school days.  She wants everything that Clarissa has and she has no qualms about getting what she wants. I can’t recall Lockwood ever playing such an out-and-out bitch.  She makes you hate Hesther—there is nothing, and I mean nothing, redeeming whatsoever about her. 

Yet, don’t feel too sorry for Clarissa. Once she produces a son (which she and we never see) Rohan lets her do whatever she likes as long as it doesn’t dishonor his name. Also, for some reason, she is completely oblivious to the fact that her husband and best friend are carrying on a torrid affair—though I doubt she would have cared anyway, but it would have made her less likely to trust Hesther’s advice in her own illicit affair. Yes, Clarissa must have been attracted to no-good men, because she falls for another rogue in Rokeby (Stewart Granger).  And, this sets up two very shocking events, both of which Hesther plays a crucial role.  I won’t say what happens, but you will be both repulsed and outraged. 

There are a few things that make this film standout (some good, some just bizarre).  The affair between Rohan and Hesther is brazenly presented for our eyes. One scene has her leaving Rohan’s bedroom in the middle of the night and creeping back to her own. Just so many amoral characters running about in 1943 England when the Brits are trying to win WWII just seems wrong, but this is the only good thing about the film.

Another thing that stood out for me was Clarissa’s slave boy Toby, played by Harry Scott.  Okay, please don’t get upset about what I’m about to say, but what the hell! If you have seen this, please explain to me whether Harry Scott was black or if he was a white child in blackface.  When I checked on IMBD he only had one film credit and there is no information listed about him.  I know it sounds strange, but every scene he was in I couldn’t take my eyes off him (and not because his performance was great because it surely was not), because I was so shocked.  They couldn’t find a black child somewhere in England to play this part?  The things I find fascinating!

Okay, so what’s the final assessment?  The Man in Grey is an average movie with an above-average cast.  The final ten minutes of the film are what makes it memorable. Once you see how far Hesther will go to get what she wants you will never forget it—nor what she gets in return for her loathsome behavior. If you are interested, email me and I will inform you where you can procure a viewing.

Eleanor Parker, Janet Leigh, and a Very Long Swordfight--Good Times for Stewart Granger in "Scaramouche"

MGM, the home of big splashy musicals, pretty much ignored historical adventure films in the 1930s and 1940s, leaving that genre to rivals Warner Bros. (The Adventures of Robin Hood) and 20th Century-Fox (The Mark of Zorro). That changed in 1950 when the unexpected worldwide success of King Solomon’s Mines convinced studio executives to relook the genre. They promptly cast Solomon’s Mines star Stewart Granger as the dashing hero of Scaramouche. No expense was spared on the film and it shows—Scaramouche is, simply, one of the finest swashbucklers in the history of the cinema.

Granger plays Andre Moreau, a carefree rascal who is more interested in the pretty actress Lenore (Eleanor Parker) than in the soon-to-begin French Revolution. That changes when Andre’s closest friend Phillipe (Richard Anderson), a revolutionary activist, meets his demise in a duel with the Marquis de Maynes (Mel Ferrer). Andre vows revenge, but knows he is no match for de Maynes, the most renowned swordsman in France.

Now branded a revolutionary himself, Andre takes refuge in an acting troupe. He assumes the stage role of Scaramouche, a buffoon who wears a pink-cheeked mask. To his surprise, Lenore turns out to be the small troupe’s leading lady. Her anger with him over their hot-cold romance generates laughs on the stage and Scaramouche’s fame begins to grow—but Andre’s heart is still filled with vengeance. He secretly takes fencing lessons from de Mayne’s tutor in preparation for his eventual showdown with his enemy.

There’s much more to the story. Screenwriters Ronald Millar and George Froeschel do an excellent job of condensing the rich plot of Rafael Sabatini’s entertaining bestseller (well worth reading). Sabatini loyalists may quibble with some of the key changes from the book, but I think they actually work for the best. And no one can argue with the witty dialogue. When the fencing instructor has to unexpectedly terminate the lessons, Andre inquires about the next best fencing instructor: “I can no longer be taught by the man who taught my enemy. So what is more fitting in a mad world than to be taught by the man who taught the man who taught my enemy?”

Stewart Granger is marvelous in a role that Errol Flynn would have played ten years earlier. Mel Ferrer makes a fine villain and Janet Leigh, who has never looked lovelier, exudes charming innocence as Andre’s other love. But the best supporting performance belongs to Eleanor Parker as the fiery red-headed Lenore. She and Granger have a natural chemistry that makes their scenes together sparkle.

The famous MGM production values are very much on display in Scaramouche. The colors are vivid, the costumes ornate, and the set design impeccable. You’ll swear that the thrilling climactic swordfight (possibly the longest in film history at 5:35 minutes…and my personal favorite) was filmed in a real Parisian theatre draped in gold, red, and white.

Stewart Granger followed Scaramouche with a colorful, though somewhat unnecessary, MGM remake of The Prisoner of Zenda (it may be the most faithful remake ever). I wouldn’t say Granger was a great actor, but he was an immensely likable and dependable star. And he was fortunate enough to find in Scaramouche the perfect role and in Eleanor Parker the perfect co-star. In a mad world, what more could an actor ask for?