Peccato d'amore

Robert Bolt won two Oscars back to back, (for "Doctor Zhivago" and "A Man for All Seasons"), as well as penning that most literate of epics "Lawrence of Arabia". Indeed for a time he seemed to be David Lean's writer of choice until his script for Lean's elephantine "Ryan's Daughter" and that films critical failure, severed those ties. In 1972 Bolt not only wrote, but also directed, "Lady Caroline Lamb". It wasn't really a success and, as may be expected, is a very literate-minded costumer but also, as may be expected, is highly intelligent and very nicely played.

It is, of course, an account, for the most part, of the title character's scandalous and disastrous affair with the mad, bad and dangerous to know Lord Byron, seen here as some kind of 19th century rock star. As Lady Caroline, Sarah Miles is quite splendid, (she was, of course, Mrs Bolt), I've always felt Miles was a much better actress than she was ever given credit for, though her tremulous style wasn't to everyone's taste. As Byron, a somewhat surprising Richard Chamberlain acquits himself somewhat surprisingly well, while Jon Finch is more than adequate as Lady Caroline's husband. The supporting cast are made up mostly of the great and the good of the British acting establishment, (a superb Margaret Leighton, John Mills, Laurence Olivier as Wellington, Ralph Richardson in an excellent cameo as King George IV, Michael Wilding), and the production overall is extremely handsome to look at. (It's obvious, on the whole, no expense was spared). Indeed, as historical dramas go, this one is a cut above the rest with Bolt displaying a keen sense of the cinematic in several scenes. Hardly ever revived, it's worth seeking out.

On a day in 1812, following the publication of his poem 'Childe Harold's Pilgrimage' a certain George Gordon Byron awoke to find himself famous. This celebrity proved to be a poisoned chalice. A disastrous marriage together with accusations of incest and sodomy caused him to quit these shores four years later, never to return. His brief but destructive affair with the already married Caroline Lamb is the centre piece of this film written and directed by Robert Bolt. The critical drubbing the film received deterred him from directing again which is a pity as he exhibits a sense of the visual and an eye for detail which is hardly surprising as he could not fail to have learned from the masters Lean and Zinnemann. Apparently Lean was offered the chance to direct but showed little interest. Bolt is well-served here by the cinematography of Oswald Morris, production design by Carmen Dillon and an excellent score by Richard Rodney Bennett. Unsatisfactory screen portrayals of Byron underline the near impossibility of capturing the complex, contradictory and mercurial nature of one of our greatest poets but given the limited opportunities here American actor Richard Chamberlain does extremely well although one has to question Bolt's decision to dispense with Byron's club foot. I may be in the minority but I feel that the generally negative response to the performance of Bolt's wife Sarah Miles in the title role is unwarranted as she has captured well the character's obsessiveness and emotional instability. This instability was not exactly helped by an addiction to Laudanum which Bolt again has chosen to ignore. Byron wrote that "Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare" but one senses that her feelings for him ran far deeper than mere infatuation with fame. Not for the first time it is the actors of the 'Old School' that provide real substance, including Laurence Olivier as Wellington, Ralph Richardson as George 1V, John Mills as Canning and especially Margaret Leighton who is gifted the best lines as Lady Melbourne. One of our classiest actresses whose performance is one of infinite subtlety and grace. This is a co-production with Italy which explains the presence of Silvia Monti as Byron's future wife Annabella Milbanke. She looks ravishing but is totally miscast and needless to say is 'dubbed'. There are inaccuracies, omissions and 'compromises' in this to be sure but that is the nature of biopics, take them or leave them.

Only a besotted husband could send a love letter as wacky as this movie as Robert Bolt did to Sarah Miles; on which he squandered all the critical capital he'd amassed with 'Lawrence of Arabia' and 'A Man for All Seasons'.

The real Caroline Lamb (1785-1828) probably wasn't much like the unhinged pixie Sarah Miles plays here (and there never was another woman like Joan Greenwood in 'The Bad Lord Byron'). Lord Byron was certainly nothing like Richard Chamberlain in Freddie Mercury eyeliner. But dull it ain't.

This was one of four high-profile yet maligned films, all dating from the same year, which were slapped with the dreaded BOMB rating by the "Leonard Maltin Movie Guide"; conversely, the more conservative Leslie Halliwell was generally more receptive to their old-fashioned qualities! Anyway, two of these (including the one under review) had been very hard to come by, though both were quite recently shown on Italian TV – and, in fact, came across my copy of LADY CAROLINE LAMB off "You Tube" which I looked for on a whim on the occasion of co-star Richard Chamberlain's birthday! For the record, the other titles I am referring to are THE GREAT WALTZ (which still eludes me), MAN OF LA MANCHA and POPE JOAN (which has only been made available in a trimmed version and which I will be getting to presently in my Easter Epic marathon)…

I have always enjoyed pictures dealing with historical figures but, around the time this came out, these had acquired a Revisionist outlook which often exposed the less-than-pleasant details of their private lives. Perhaps the first to do this had been Ken Russell via a number of irreverent made-for-TV musical biopics throughout the 1960s but, by the end of the decade, his movie career had taken off in earnest – with THE MUSIC LOVERS, starring the afore-mentioned Chamberlain as Tchaikovsky, hitting the screens in 1971. Here, then, he is libertine poet Lord George Byron – first seen challenging a black man to a boxing match – who became the lover of the titular figure (played by Sarah Miles) while she was married to politician Sir William Lamb (Jon Finch). While we are told that such affairs were common practice, sometimes involving even royalty, they were mostly kept "discreet" – a term which certainly cannot be applied to the one depicted in the film.

Indeed, the movie's low estimation in some critics' minds has much to do with its definite camp value: Miles, sporting short-cropped hair, is tomboyish – never more so than, when uninvited to a dinner honouring the Duke of Wellington (Laurence Olivier) due to her scandalous behaviour (with Byron opting to escort another lady), she adopts the garments of the torch-carrying lads ostentatiously accompanying his carriage around at night!; worst of all, however, she attends a costume ball half-naked and in blackface (purporting to be Byron's negro slave!) – it is here that the cracks in their relationship start to show, as she is ignored by her partner and laughed at by her peers! Having mentioned Wellington, it is also unbecoming to watch either the famed general or the celebrated thespian indulge in a one-night stand with Miles; incidentally, things would come to a head between Caroline (often referred to merely as "Caro"!) and Byron at the Duke's party, where she attempts suicide!

Finch, an able orator in Parliament (a protégé of George Canning, played by John Mills, even if he stands on the opposite side in the House of Representatives), obviously suffers on account of his wife's indiscretions; indeed, he is asked to choose between her and his career by none other than King George IV (Ralph Richardson) – who had once been his own mother's (Margaret Leighton) lover! The elder woman had always resented Miles and, in fact, her coldness results in Caroline going mad at the end. Notable bit players here include Peter Bull, Pamela Brown and Michael Wilding; the production values were certainly the best that money could buy: the late cinematographer Oswald Morris, art director Carmen Dillon and composer Richard Rodney Bennett (who supplies the expected lush score).

Incidentally, this was award-winning playwright/scriptwriter Bolt's sole directorial foray – which he created and personally nurtured, so to speak, as a vehicle for his real-life wife Miles. A co-production between the U.K. and Italy, it incorporated an irrelevant and fairly embarrassing scene set in the latter country as Miles and Finch go on a trip and decide to take a nightly stroll in a former gladiatorial arena – which is soon infested with wretched souls clamouring for money and grub; what makes it so bad, however, is the fact that the extras were not locals since they speak in broken Italian (even rendering "impiccati" – meaning "hanged" – as "impiegati" – workers)! As I said, then, the print I watched – interrupted every once in a while by the wording "PLAY" and related video information – was not in the best of shape…but the film was nowhere near as unwatchable as I was led to believe; if anything, back in the day, it had managed to score BAFTA nominations for Richardson, Bennett and Dillon!

Screenwriter Robert Bolt who wrote such great work for David Lean in Ryan's Daughter, Doctor Zhivago, and Lawrence of Arabia and for Fred Zinnemann in A Man For All Seasons, tried his one and only hand at directing in Lady Caroline Lamb. The problem was that screenwriter Bolt was done wrong by director Bolt. Especially let down was Bolt's then wife Sarah Miles.

Miles who when directed by David Lean in Ryan's Daughter turned in such a spirited performance, was not given the same inspiration for Lady Caroline Lamb. Whatever else Caroline Lamb was she was not dull to be around. Miles does all right, but the rest of the cast just seems to walk through the parts, even the two guys playing the men in her life, Richard Chamberlain as Lord Byron and Jon Finch as William Lamb the future Lord Melbourne and Prime Minister of Great Britain.

I think these guys and the rest of the cast knew this was a vehicle for Miles the minute they walked on set and performed accordingly. Even Sir Laurence Olivier as the Duke of Wellington is strangely lifeless. Of course after seeing Christopher Plummer as the perfect Wellington in Waterloo, I'm kind of spoiled.

In real life Melbourne was hardly an injured party. He had a couple of other scandals attached to his name that had nothing to do with Lady Caroline. He never let the grass grow under his feet. Byron was notorious all over Europe for bedding everything in skirts within reach. It's likely he did want to call it a day with Caro, but probably because she was crazier than him.

Still the escapades of George and Caro titillated all of Georgian Great Britain, but they don't move the audience a bit here.