Leben und Sterben des Colonel Blimp

Clive Candy (Roger Livesey), a British army officer, wins a Victoria Cross in South Africa, fights a duel in Berlin in 1902, acquires a lifelong friend and his lifelong love for a woman (or women), commands in Flanders in the Great War and brings the experience of a lifetime's service to the Second World War.

It is soon apparent that this fine film portrays a Colonel Blimp very different from David Low's jingoistic and hidebound comic strip character. Here, Candy is a sympathetic figure from the start; firm in his principles, certainly, but courteous and sensitive with those whom he respects - indeed, how could Livesey not appear as a sympathetic character: it seems to be in his very nature. The film is clever and deceptive in its structure. The action is framed by the opening WWII exercise, in which the "invaders" capture the elderly General Wynne-Candy. These scenes are repeated and elaborated at the end of the film, where the effect of the exercise in demonstrating the obsolescence of Candy's values becomes clear and when he makes clear his great stature in embracing the uncongenial reality that confronts him. Within this frame, the story of Candy's life is told, and here is the greater deception, for, at the beginning, it seems like a straightforward romantic comedy, perhaps even disappointing in its lack of ideas. Then, after the Armistice, the mood changes, becomes philosophical, as the nature of loyalty and friendship, of love and patriotism are explored.

Representatives of the British establishment, assembled around a dinner table, assert their resolve to see Germany rebuilt in a fair peace. Credulity is strained here, when one recalls the oppressive reality and disastrous consequences of the Versailles Treaty. Yet the principles are praiseworthy and would be reflected in the settlement after WWII. The two defining moments of the film are both given to Candy's long-time friend, the German uhlan officer, Theo Kretschmar-Schuldorff (Anton Walbrook). He delivers two set-piece speeches, one explaining why he had abandoned Germany for England in 1935, the second a manifesto for the survival of a democracy in total war. They, like the rest of his performance, are given impeccably and, with their quiet delivery by a German character, intensely moving.

Deborah Kerr, lovely yet brimming with personality, plays superbly her three roles, each a woman Candy loves at different stages in his career and, incidentally, disclosing his character as socially democratic, unlikely but attractive none the less. Kerr succeeds in subtly differentiating each role, whilst revealing the characteristics that were bound to attract Candy. Both Walbrook and Livesey give outstanding performances, despite ageing forty years, a process Kerr avoids. John Laurie, as Murdoch, Candy's batman, has a less outrageous role than those usually assigned to this fine character actor. Alfred Junge presents his usual excellent design, taking full advantage of Technicolor.

This film was, supposedly, produced in 1943 as British propaganda. It is noteworthy that even Churchill could not suppress exhibition of this film when he was concerned at its message. That message embraces loyalty and steadfastness, honesty, democracy, realism and fairness. It is about the importance of relationships that transcend nationality. It is about love, between woman and man, and as a general concept. It is about being resolute and pragmatic in conflict and generous in victory. It recognizes the value of individuals beyond the categories in which they find themselves. If this film can be represented as British propaganda, then no-one need be ashamed to be British.

This film transcends its format and, perhaps, the intentions with which it was produced. It is another wonderful surprise from the Archers which everyone should see.

Once in a while, I see a film I wished I'd seen before. This movie is one of those. It was a complete and total surprise. I'd heard of it, but never anything definitive. It is simply one of the greatest films I ever saw. From the first shot to the closing credits, it was wonderfully acted, beautifully photographed, and superbly directed. Everything worked: the music was effective, the costumes and makeup were perfect.

Roger Livesay and Deborah Kerr, in particular, shone beautifully. There was a chemistry between them that was especially magical during the early years. Livesay aged well, not just in the way he looked, but in the way he acted. He gave the impression that as an actor, he understood that generals always fight the previous war, and his General Candy felt, by films end, exactly that sort of general.

I recommend this movie without qualification to anyone who appreciates the art of moviemaking, and the pleasures of watching.

The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp is one of the most complex and involving character studies in cinema history made even better by the fact that it also explores notions of order and historical perspectives. The central character, the jovial and loyal Clive Candy, is the representation of the old order of things: traditional British ideas of honor, commitment and playing by the rules. As the 20th century hurls forward, he and this mindset are confronted by sharply disagreeing ideas including modern warfare and Nazism.

Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger established themselves as the preeminent British filmmakers during World War II with this film and 49th Parallel. These two films are unique in that they combine both well-done craftsmanship and sophisticated ideas about the nature of politics and national relations. There is much talking about the relationship between Britain and Germany, the two most important and advanced European countries at the time and how each reacted to the most significant events of the era, specifically the Great War and the introduction of the modern mindset. What transpires is a thoughtful and intricate tale about life, love and war in which all three elements are generally fused together and the characters are forced to confront realities they hoped would never occur.

Much can be said about a film like this but it is often better to let the images and the characters speak for themselves. The Technicolor cinematography is stunning, a foreshadowing to future Powell and Pressburger achievements such as Black Narcissus and The Red Shoes. Using a colorful palette heightens the drama and accentuates the ideas being presented. Perhaps the most useful element of this film is its historical perspective of the first half of the 20th century: Britain and its traditional mind-frame is confronted by the sweeping, epic spiritualism of Germany, resulting in two world wars and a heap of other differences. This is, arguably, the face-off which has defined this century and will have a major impact on our future. Few, if any, films are as capable of capturing the magnitude and scope of these ideas as The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp.

The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp is one of the most deeply moving films I've ever seen. It's amazing how independent producers (the Archers--Powell & Pressburger) managed to put together a lavish Technicolor epic without government assistance in wartime England--but they did it. it contains one of the most subtle "why we fight" themes--to preserve the English (and, hopefully, American) sense of fair play exemplified by the title character. The emotional kicker is a scene which takes place in 1939 in a British police station, where the German (played by Anton Walbrook--a German refugee actor) calmly and drily narrates how and why he came to settle in England. Just the thought of the scene moves me to tears. It's a marvelous piece of acting. The narrative technique--the story contained in one, long flashback--was in vogue on both sides of the Atlantic in the early 1940s--one can think of Sam Wood's Saratoga Trunk (Warner Brothers, 1943) as a good example--but the shift from 1942 to 1902 is accomplished by a very deft piece of editing. Colonel Blimp enters the pool of the Royal Automobile Club an old man, and emerges 40 years earlier! Colonel Blimp's true subtext is how civilization, friendship, and love survive times of chaos and barbarism (not to mention war) and, indeed, triumph by their survival. It is especially timely at the time of this writing (late March 2003).

Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, the outstanding British writing-directing team of the 1940's, produced probably their greatest work in this assured, pacy flag-waver made in the middle of the war. Colonel Blimp was a newspaper cartoon character created by Low, the English genius with the patriotic bent. Blimp was a little slow and inflexible, but he was certain of his moral position and was entirely fearless. He enshrined the British national character, and stood as a reassuring emblem for the British people during the dark days of World War Two. In this film, the character of General Wynne-Candy is loosely based on Blimp.

An early British venture into the new Technicolor process, "Blimp" is an unmitigated triumph. Georges Perinal, for the Technicolor Company, produced a sumptuous and crystal-clear stream of images. The pastel blue of the Turkish baths and the pinks and reds of the British Embassy are a feast for the eye. And it is hard to think of many finer cinematic moments than Edith's appearance at the hospital window, her face dappled by leaf shadows and her vivid scarlet belt radiant with colour.

The brisk pace of the action is set right at the very beginning, with a team of motor-cycle couriers being passed at speed by the truck-mounted camera. We see a message being delivered to a young army officer. Dialogue is delivered in amusing staccato, and the officer, 'Spud' Wilson, launches a military manoeuvre. His men set off in pursuit of a uniformed young woman, referred to as 'Mata Hari'. This puzzling business engages our attention, but we have to wait until the final reel for everything in this section to be explained.

A skilful transition takes the camera by means of a crane shot to the far end of the pool in the Turkish baths, and we have travelled back in time from 1943 to 1902. The gentlemen's club is exactly the same, this being England, land of enduring values. There are comforting references to Albion's might, for this is Britain's heyday and the Boers have just been defeated. Young Candy is correspondingly vigorous, just back from South Africa with his Victoria Cross. A letter from an English governess living in Germany sends Candy off on a bit of proto-Bond counterespionage. Those German bounders must be prevented from spreading lies about Britain's record in South Africa. The British, unlike the beastly hun, always fight fair.

The German episode culminates in Candy fighting a duel with Kretschmer-Schuldorff, befriending him then losing Edith to him. This section of the film is packed with unflattering German stereotypes. Kaunitz and his 'table' stop the playing of the operetta tune - German militarists, you see, are killers of beauty. Whereas London was reassuringly sooty and foggy, Berlin is all snow trodden by jackboots - a harsher political climate. The meticulous care the German officers take over the duel arrangements emphasises their devotion to violence and their lack of humanity. A second beautiful transition lifts us out of the Uhlans' gymnasium and into a carriage.

Quite apart from boosting morale at home in Britain, this movie was also intended to encourage sympathy for the British cause in the USA. Accordingly, some blatant Americanisms have found their way into the script ('went bail', 'railroad', 'we're quits'). Kretschmer-Schuldorff wears his duelling scar with pride, but Candy, being English, modestly covers his with a moustache.

Another brilliant transition moves the story forward to World War One. We see animal heads mounted on Candy's wall, with dates attached. Rifle shots sound and rapid cuts move us from boar to elephant etc. In simple elegant cinematic language, the years between 1902 and 1918 have been bridged. Candy has aged, and is now a brigadier serving on the Western Front. The Americans whom he meets are all genial types (the actors were actually serving American soldiers). As the guns fall silent on Armistice Day, their ominous rumble is replaced by birdsong. The battlefield set is superb.

The 'English countryside' sequence is skilfully done. Concert music to which the German prisoners are listening carries over unbroken into the scene between Candy and the Commanding Officer. As Candy and Barbara talk of their love, the grand house stands behind them out of focus, the symbol of Britain's heritage, ever-present but never ostentatious. The kindness shown to the German prisoners is emphasised, and this makes the snub administered by Kretschmer-Schuldorff all the more distasteful.

When Wynne-Candy (as he now styles himself) sits at the fireside with Barbara, the colour and composition are exquisite. The dinner guests are open and generous, in contrast with Kretschmer-Schuldorff's teutonic gracelessness: "Don't you worry," they tell him, "we'll soon have Germany on her feet again." Yet another transition takes us through the inter-war years by leafing through Wynne-Candy's scrapbook.

Anton Walbrook is billed as the star, playing Kretschmer-Schuldorff, but it is Roger Livesey as Wynne-Candy who unifies the whole film with an inspired performance as the amiable British hero. A very young Deborah Kerr plays three parts - Edith, Barbara and Angela - as Wynne-Candy pursues his vision of the Golden Girl across the decades of the 20th century.

The two duellists are inseparable, having once been enemies, and aliens in each other's homeland. The stiff German is civilised by his experiences in England, and eventually comes to feel 'homesick' for the land he once hated. 'Spud' Wilson is the enthusiastic young soldier of 1943, the Candy of the new generation. And thus the Great British story continues ...