O Sétimo Véu

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.

Seven veils ago, I saw this film, and here it is again, all wrapped up in its mystery once more. The lead performances by Ann Todd and James Mason are so good that the whole film sweeps you away with its rather implausible story. No wonder it got an Oscar for best original screenplay by the Two Boxes (Muriel and Sydney Box, a famous cinematic couple, Sydney also being the producer of this film), and is one of the ten most popular British films of all time, according to a survey. This film also launched Herbert Lom's career onto a higher level, because he was so reassuring and calm as the hypno-therapist who treats Ann Todd that everyone wanted to run to him with their troubles, or at least see more of him on the screen, which was almost as good. Once again, we see the Scottish actor Hugh McDermott (1906-1972) playing an American, which he did so often everybody thought he really was one. (Of course, it is anatomically impossible for a Scot to be an American, as everybody knows, unless they have their kilts surgically removed at birth, that is.) Muir Mathieson not only conducts the orchestra (the London Symphony Orchestra) but is actually seen to conduct the orchestra, for this is a film about a musician, namely Ann Todd herself, a tormented concert pianist who has lots of veils smothering her oppressed psyche and who is worried about her hands ever since a sadistic headmistress caned them at school just before a music exam, causing her to fail it and miss a music scholarship. And as one sensationalist poster advertising this film in 1945 stated: 'It dares to strip bare a woman's mind.' Well, that is a terrifying thought to us men, for what might we find there? And surely it is impolite to remove veil after veil like that, ending up with the seventh and last, beneath which we will at last understand her, not to mention what we might see. You know what we men are like about wanting to lift veils and have a peek. When I was four, I used to peek under the skirt of a girl at school named Rita to see what colour knickers she was wearing, as she changed colours every day. I would then shout out to the class: 'They're blue today!' or 'They're pink today!' What fun. It was also such fun to tease her, as she was rather stuck on herself and was always flouncing around self-importantly. But this film is in black and white, so we can't tell what colour knickers anybody at all is wearing. And in any case, in 1945, there were no scenes which showed them anyway. Sydney Box in 1957 produced an amusing film entitled THE TRUTH ABOUT WOMEN, with Larry Harvey. So you see, Box spent years trying to understand them, and even with all the help his wife could give him, I wonder if he ever succeeded. Most of us chaps are still exploring this mysterious subject, except for the ones who bat for the other side, of course, to whom women are objects of indifference, which is such a pity and such a waste of pulchritude. ('Pulchritude' was Charlie Chaplin's favourite euphemistic word, a nod in the direction of gentility. Look it up.) This film is very much a melodrama in the high style. Ann Todd is left an orphan in her teens and her only living relative is James Mason, a second cousin. He reluctantly takes her in, but has an inveterate hatred of women. He is continually looking accusingly at the oil portrait of his deceased mother, which hangs over the mantel of the drawing room, so that gives us a clue. He is extremely rich and lives in a kind of small palace in London. He walks with a pronounced limp, aided by a stick. He barely speaks to Todd, having contempt for her because she is female. He often disappears for weeks on end without explanation, and he turns up late at night in top hat and tails, having been at Pratt's perhaps, and God knows what opera before that, on his own of course, as he is a solitary figure. All the servants in the house are men. If it were not 1945, when no such thing existed, we might even suspect him of being gay. But his attitude towards Todd changes entirely when he discovers that she can play the piano excellently well. For he is a classical music fanatic. He plays, but not well enough. It occurs to him that he can realize his passion for the piano by nurturing the genius of his ward, so he spares no trouble, sends her to the Royal College of Music (some scenes are shot there, and Ann Todd spent three months there preparing to play her role), and is always by her side for the five hours a day that she practices, obsessively promoting her career. She becomes a famous pianist, plays Rachmaninoff concerti and so forth in flowing dresses. Ann Todd herself could play the piano, and there are many scenes where she is really doing it, which are most impressive. For the final sound track, however, Eileen Joyce recorded the pieces. She is the same person who played all that Rachmaninoff on the sound track of David Lean's BRIEF ENCOUNTER of this same year. This is essentially a psychological melodrama, so the psyches of Mason and Todd are the centre of our concern. They are both deeply disturbed people. And what will come of all this? Especially when men start to enter Ann Todd's life? Mason takes that very badly. The rules of IMDb reviewing forbid discussion of the ending, so it is not possible to go into what happens when the seventh veil is lifted by the determined Herbert Lom, with his relentless hypnotherapy sessions. But it is certainly all very dramatic indeed.

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.