El séptimo velo

Concert pianist Francesca Cunningham (Ann Todd) flees from her hospital bed late one evening and attempts suicide by tossing herself off of a bridge. Accomplished and successful artist that she is Francesca is a car wreck in the relationship department and once rescued agrees to some intense therapy by Dr. Larson (Herbert Lom) employing the "Seven Veils Theory." After focusing on a school days setback she moves on to boyfriends and the overwhelming supervision of her distant cousin and patron Nicholas (James Mason).

Some movie stars are known for dispatching heroes and villains with guns or some other form of weaponry, James Mason does it with words and in The Seventh Veil he lands some savage blows with magnificent condescension and curtness on his protégé. Cold, distant, he remains firmly on point at creating his own Trilby and dashing her "petty" desires. Ann Todd is fine as she moves well between vulnerability and an icy coolness, though her early teen look is a bit of a stretch. Lom as Larson is both assured and convincing showing controlled understanding where the equally sophisticated Nicholas has none.

The film with nearly every scene an interior retains a crisp look throughout while editing and cinematography economically tell the story. Director Compton Bennett directs this psychological drama ably, weighting each character with enough interest to retain pertinence and intention nebulous. Well crafted as the picture is overall it is Mason's bravura Svengali that remains with you.

This is a great old film, with James Mason at his best as the brooding, aloof, complicated hero/villain. It contains a lot of cliches, not least of which is Hollywood's fervent faith in the almost occult power of hypnosis and psychiatry. But it also is full of great moments - the black and white photography seems to sing along with the glorious music. The scene where James Mason, from offstage, watches Ann Todd all alone at her piano, glowing in bright stage light against a blank background is superb. Sound and picture come together perfectly, and Mason's acting matches beautifully, as he expresses emotion struggling through layers of impassivity. The ending might seem a little dated to present-day audiences, with its implication that the heroine can be fully healed of her psychic wounds only by giving herself to one of her three suitors, but for those who like good old-fashioned happy endings, this is a fine one. Only one thing seemed rather obviously ridiculous: in the scene where the German psychiatrist is talking to the German painter who is in love with Francesca, they both carry on a long conversation in heavily-accented English, which becomes a bit comical once you realize how much more natural it would be for them just to speak German to each other.

This utterly enjoyable and utterly daft film tells the tale of a young suicidal pianist. As she slowly confides in her psychiatrist, she begins to understand what she needs to make herself whole and able to play the piano again--basically the love of a man. Which man--her domineering guardian uncle, her musician boyfriend, or the doctor--is only revealed once the last veil has been lifted.

British films were beginning to attract more attention from American audiences by the time THE SEVENTH VEIL appeared on U.S. screens, and audiences took to JAMES MASON as the overly possessive guardian of ANN TODD, even though the character he played had some very unpleasant traits--such as using his cane on the woman's fingers when a burst of temper had him out of control. It's the odd love/hate relationship between Mason and Todd that carries the film.

Unfortunately, it carries it into the realm of theatricality when the relationship is shown at its most troubled stages. The film begins with the young woman attempting suicide from a bridge, and then the film becomes a study in psychological terms about the reason for her aversion to the piano with flashbacks serving as the means to unravel the cause of her illness.

Some of it is very effective and certainly it's the reason JAMES MASON was discovered by Hollywood--but it has to be viewed in the context of the time when psychology was being explored by both British and Hollywood filmmakers and audiences apparently embraced such stories.

Mason's effectiveness in what could have been a highly unsympathetic role is what makes the film superior. Todd, while excellent at appearing to be a concert pianist, is less successful as a dramatic actress. A stronger performer in her role might have made the film more convincing than it is--particularly in making the sappy ending more convincing. It appears to have been tacked on solely to please audiences rather than being a truthful outcome to a story involving such strong-willed characters.

A confined, upper-class English girl is passed over to a guardian where she is made to practice piano.

Leave it to the British to treat the subject of repressed emotion with such class and restraint. Francesca (Todd) is the very epitome of repressed feeling thanks to those presiding tyrannically over her life. Her only release from a cheerless existence are lushly romantic concerts, where the gloriously surging music echoes what's inside her. Without that, we might never know what lies beyond those tightly pursed lips. Even her quietly assertive flings with Peter and Maxwell are stripped of anything like outward emotions.

And all the time, her crippled guardian (Mason) makes her practice and practice and practice, alone and in an empty mansion. Poor Francesca, no wonder she cracks up. Nonetheless, it's drawing room drama at its most civilized.

I get a kick out of imagining how a boisterous American studio such as Warner Bros. would have handled the material, maybe with Joan Crawford in the lead. Anyway, Todd is appropriately restrained, while Mason is darkly mysterious as the Svengali taskmaster. But, I'm still wondering why that last scene seems so right when the screenplay has given us so little preparation to think it would be. Maybe it's the power of Mason's brooding presence that makes it work, but I think it does.

Anyway, as long as you don't mind presiding psychiatrists (Lom) with an answer for everything that ails us, this may be your cup of tea, British style.