Das gestohlene Gesicht

Hollywood star Paul Henreid came to Britain to play a plastic surgeon who finds out the hard way that beauty is only skin deep in this very poor man's 'Vertigo' after operating on shrewish kleptomaniac Mary Mackenzie in what is possibly the most eccentric film ever made by Hammer Films in their Exclusive days which offers the truly surreal sight of Lizabeth Scott incongruously blessed with the ability to play the piano yet dubbed with the voice of guttersnipe; an experience that is probably one of the most surreal Hammer ever provided with Malcolm Arnold's romantic piano score adding to the impression.

Insane melodrama with an over-the-top score by Malcolm Arnold proves to be an engaging experience that will make you smile quite often at its absurd plot twists, and will probably make you laugh out loud a couple of times in rollicking disbelief. The plot is almost a catalog of the obsessions, prejudices, misconceptions of human behavior and popular interpretation of love and science in the mid- 20th century. All treated with a solemn face, they give us a vivid portrait of the time. I am not blaming anybody or being censorial about the movie: I truly enjoyed most of it! Although I was one year old when it was released, watching the film was like opening a little window and remembering many things that were still accepted as true, fine or right when I was a kid. A field day for lovers of self-help manuals, this horrid version of the Pygmalion legend follows a plastic surgeon who has an affair with a pianist and loses her in the same week, and who decides to give her features to an inmate in a British prison with a scarred face. What follows has to be seen (with some very enjoyable screen moments among the seedy characters of London), leading to a self-righteous conclusion that is a letdown, considering that after all the terrible happenings that he was somehow responsible for, the surgeon closes the case with a cynical statement that leaves a sour taste. Still one admires Terence Fisher's skill to keep us fascinated for 69 minutes with another sick, maniac tale, as we grew accustomed to see and hear from him.

1952's "Stolen Face" served as the first, tentative stab at a science fiction topic from Britain's Hammer Films, director Terence Fisher himself at the helm (the company was founded in 1935 but not fully active until 1946). With American financing from Robert L. Lippert, US distribution was accomplished by importing Hollywood veterans Paul Henreid and Lizabeth Scott for the two leads, the script credited to Universal's Martin Berkeley ("Revenge of the Creature," "Tarantula," "The Deadly Mantis") and Richard H. Landau, who wrote early Hammers like "Spaceways" and "The Quatermass Xperiment." Henried's Dr. Philip Ritter is a renowned London plastic surgeon well known for his philanthropy, turning down lucrative offers from wealthy socialites to try to rehabilitate criminals at a women's prison by transforming their features in a positive way. One such case belongs to Lily Conover (Mary Mackenzie), disfigured during World War 2 and despondently turning to theft when she cannot earn a living. Overwork prevents Ritter from proceeding, his unexpected vacation yielding instant infatuation with would be patient Alice Brent (Lizabeth Scott), a world famous concert pianist laid up with a bad cold. A week breezes by for whirlwind romance before Alice disappears the morning after the doctor's marriage proposal, for she has been hiding her engagement to the older David (Andre Morell), set to be wed following her upcoming tour. The despondent surgeon then fashions Lily's scarred visage into an exact replica of Alice, complete with sleek blonde hair, even proposing to her despite warnings that she may still harbor habitual criminal tendencies. It's not long before wealth and status do indeed mark a change in the once grateful Lily, stealing a broach and fur coat (dutifully paid for by her husband to prevent scandal), then picking up with an old ex con boyfriend. As if our beleaguered surgeon hasn't enough problems to deal with, Alice turns up on his doorstep free from all entanglements and ready to pick up where they left off, only Lily is now aware of why she sports her new features and has no intention of leaving Dr. Ritter. With a more focused approach, this mixture of Frankenstein surgery and Pygmalion makeover could have made for a genuinely exciting thriller, but in Fisher's hands it's quite a tame romantic affair that doesn't really go anywhere, concluding on a particularly absurd happy ending. Unlike Alfred Hitchcock's later "Vertigo," there are no psychological underpinnings to support this minor programmer, and Henreid fails to display any trace of obsession in a sadly dispassionate performance. Lizabeth Scott, winding down her unfortunately brief career, does manage to convey two different personalities, Alice a decent soul, Lily with her Cockney accent and longer hair offering a slightly bigger challenge as she sinks into alcoholic oblivion. Making his Hammer debut as Alice's fiancee (in for all of two scenes) was Andre Morell, later one of the studio's greatest assets, working in major prestige pictures like "The Bridge on the River Kwai," "Ben-Hur," and "Barry Lyndon," while taking time out for Hammer in "The Camp on Blood Island," "The Hound of the Baskervilles" (as Watson to Peter Cushing's Sherlock Holmes), "The Shadow of the Cat," "Cash on Demand," "She," "The Plague of the Zombies," "The Mummy's Shroud," and "The Vengeance of She."

If cosmetic surgeons could create faces like Lizabeth Scott's at will, they would be making even more than they earn now, or did half a century ago when A Stolen Face hit theaters. (But then the surgically created evil twin has been a staple of pulp movies up to John Woo's Face/Off). On holiday somewhere in England, Paul Henried, as an M.D., meets up with concert pianist (!) Scott. They fall in love, but she's spoken for. Back in grimy postwar London, he finds a patient horribly scarred in the blitz, refashions her into the spit-and-image of Scott, and marries the impudent baggage (a Cockney fadge with one foot in the gutter and the other on a banana peel). Their marriage, for some reason, does not go well. Re-enter Lizabeth Scott, who now has to play a double role.... The movie's not terrible, at least, though these noirish exercises set in Britain always have a fusty, half-hearted feel to them, more a mug of white tea than a snort of bonded Bourbon. Both Scott and Henried were well into the downslope of their careers -- which may, more than the locale, account for the enervated pace and commitment.

In 1950, American producer Robert Lippert formed a business alliance with Hammer studios. Under the agreement, Lippert would provide American acting talent - frequently shop-worn stars or just supporting actors who fancied a profitable trip out of the country - while Hammer would supply the rest of the cast and the production facilities. Together they would split the profits. Famous for his concern with the bottom line, Lippert produced over 140 films between 1946 and 1955, characteristically genre pieces such as I Shot Jesse James or Rocketship XM. For the British deal, most of the films were noir-ish thrillers - and include this title.

Stolen Face (1952) offers the characteristic noir idea of loss, or confusion, of identity often through surgery, as seen in the plots of such titles as Dark Passage (1947), or Hollow Triumph (1958). In the present film, which has echoes of both Pygmalion and Vertigo, a plastic surgeon falls in love with a concert pianist during a vacation, thinks he has lost her to another man, and sets to copy her features when restoring the looks of another woman - incidentally a habitual criminal - whom he thereupon marries. If this sounds far fetched, then it is, but is carried of well enough by the two leads Paul Henreid and Lizabeth Scott, who between them produce sympathetic moments enough during early scenes that almost makes one forget limitations elsewhere. Another standout element of this film is the musical score by the late Malcom Arnold. There is also an interestingly ambiguous ending.