Samedi soir, dimanche matin

Albert Finney is Arthur, a working-class Brit who lives for "Saturday Night and Sunday Morning" in this 1960 film also starring Rachel Roberts, Hylda Baker and Shirley Anne Field. It's impossible to believe that Albert Finney was ever that young, but he was - 24 in this film - robust and handsome. He plays a factory worker who hates his job and lives with his family. His life revolves around his weekends, when he drinks himself into oblivion and sees his married girlfriend Brenda (Roberts). Roberts is married to one of his co-workers. One day, he meets the beautiful Doreen (Shirly Anne Field) and starts to court her. Then Brenda becomes pregnant with his child.

This film was considered quite shocking at the time of its release because of its frank sexual situations and the freely-discussed topic of abortion. These themes aren't shocking anymore, but one reason for that is the introduction of them in films like this. Shot in black and white, it gives the viewer a picture of life in a bleak factory town, portrayed very realistically by director Karl Reisz. The actors are these people, they're not merely playing them. This is especially true of Finney, who sports a low-class accent and epitomizes the "angry young man" so prevalent in the late '50s. Finney's performance as a young man who takes out his work-week aggression on women, booze and mischief, is as revolutionary as Dean's or Brando's was in American cinema.

Finney is ably backed up by the supporting actors. Roberts is very effective as Brenda, a housewife married to a dull man, and Shirley Anne Field even dressed down is gorgeous as the ingénue who wins Arthur's heart and makes him look at the future. One wonders if he'll ever grow up sufficiently. She's going to have her hands full.

The dialect is very authentic and difficult to understand at times - I actually used my closed captioning. The dialect adds to the whole atmosphere of "Saturday Night and Sunday Morning," another of the rebel movies but in a class all by itself.

The movie that made Albert Finney a star cannot, now, be viewed as anything more than an a (UK) cinematic gem in it own glass case. At the time of release it hit the audience like a bomb-shell due to its frank portrayal of life, sex and double standards in the late 50's.

Today some will be puzzled by the dilemmas and themes to the point of "so what?"

Writer Alan Silitoe (from his own novel) quickly draws us in the to real world of a Nottingham factory worker. This is not the factory work of normal movies with the made-up hero having a blob of black stage paint across his forehead; more the dishevelled, sweaty, badly lit world that he knows from first hand experience.

In it we find Finney, smoking and gruff at his lathe. No actor, before him or after has ever made so much of an impression in a mundane situation as the ex-Shakespearen actor does here. Reality comes out of every pore. His matter-of-fact speaking voice, as a voice-over narrator, should not be underrated either - like someone giving testimony partly against their will.

His world of is one of petite rebellion and cheap thrills. The "fighting pit prop that wants a pint of beer." He is immoral and the wife of a friend is seen as fair game: Although the consequences are beyond his immature mind.

There is good supporting performances from British character actors such as Norman Rossington and Hylda Baker, but this movie belongs to one man and one man alone: Sir Albert Finney.

Twenty five years after he is dead the cinematic world is going to wake up and realize how brilliant an actor this man was: Like they did with Humphrey Bogart

I first saw this film during its original u.s. run in 1961, loved it, and jumped at the chance to see it again at a local revival movie house. The movie is justly famous for Finney's brilliant performance (I think it was his first.), but has other virtues as well. Karel Reisz and Freddie Francis succeed in making the film visually interesting, and it is well paced, with essentially no dead time.

The thing that deserves the most praise, however, is Sillitoe's script, which puts virtually all modern dramatic screenplays to shame. In a general way, the working class british films of the late 50s and 60s launched the tradition that leads to Loach, Leigh, Tim Roth, etc. This film's subtlety and ambivalence towards its leading character reminds me specifically of Mike Leigh at his very best.

Meeting an attractive young woman in a bar, Arthur Seaton wastes no time making his play. He asks her name, and is told with some embarrassment it's Doreen. She doesn't like her name. He doesn't like his, either.

"Neither of 'em's up to much, but it ain't our fault," he tells her. Like everything else in his unhappy life, it's all a matter of inheritance.

Arthur may share a name with a heroic English king, but he's not one to wear his lower-middle-class crown agreeably. He drinks away his wages, lashes out at defenseless women, and lies with discomfiting ease. But Albert Finney and the filmmakers make sure you care about him anyway.

As Seaton, Finney glowers a lot in the way you expect from a protagonist in a kitchen-sink drama, a celebrated product of British New Wave cinema. But the film plays with your expectations just as life does his. He doesn't want to settle for life as he finds it, and while "Saturday Night And Sunday Morning," Alan Sillitoe's adaptation of his own novel directed by Karel Reisz, spits a lot in the direction of conformity, it belies its angry-young-man pedigree with a sense of cosmic acceptance at taking what life has to offer.

Seaton's a "madhead," make no mistake. But he's not an especially honest one. He lies impulsively, often to no purpose, and is even proud of it. "I always was a liar, a good one and all," he tells the married woman he sleeps with, Brenda (Rachel Roberts). Ironically, it's his one honest moment on her behalf that lands him in real trouble.

The film gives us other hints Seaton is not an admirable figure, like shooting an annoying neighbor with an air rifle in a manner that comes off more creepy than defiant. A "working-class anti-hero," as other reviewers put it, and the real craft in both the direction and in Finney's performance is how it accomplishes the balancing act of establishing Seaton as both miserable company and a rooting interest.

It's a well-structured film, too, a quick 90 minutes that breaks neatly into thirty minutes of establishing the situation, thirty minutes of developing a crisis (Seaton stringing along two women, one pregnant), and thirty minutes of tense resolution. At the same time, Reisz gives his film a grimy authenticity that feels real, never stagy, with scenes that have a real lived-in quality while serving the larger story.

"Saturday Night And Sunday Morning" is a bleak film in many ways, not pleasant to watch. Laughs and insights are minimal, and Finney downplays his considerable screen charm. There are hardly any toothy grins like he'd bestow on his later breakout role, as the title character in "Tom Jones." The handling of his relationship with Doreen is a trifle pat, and too-simply resolved. So is the issue of his relationship with Brenda, although Finney shares a good final scene with her character's husband, played effectively by Stephen Fry lookalike Bryan Pringle.

There are a lot of good performances in this film, which blend together to create an effective if routine story. If it's not what you expect from angry-young-man cinema, it's nice to have your expectations batted down now and then.

English history has been full of rebel heroes but the screen tradition really came to fruition during the late Fifties and early Sixties when England's postwar generation was in revolt…

In the theater, this revolt took the form of the "kitchen sink drama" and the era of the Angry Young Men… In the movie industry, it was the era of "Free Cinema," an attempt by young filmmakers to break away from established subjects and standard treatments…

This raw melodrama deals with Arthur Seaton (Finney), a working class young man who rejects the misery and grind of his home and factory, but whose only possible rebellion takes the form of a cynicism towards authority and a cheerful indulgence in sexual encounters with various ladies of the town… His rebellion, though limited, is nevertheless genuine and the film's situation in a working class milieu is, for the habitually middle and upper class conscious British cinema, a much needed step forward...