Four in the Morning

Three well-acted vignettes of women not being treated particularly well. In the first, there is a woman discovered dead along the Thames and her body is subsequently moved about without a hint of compassion about what happened to her by any of the men that attend to her. In the second, a young mother struggles with her baby while her drunken husband is out making an ass of himself with his silly friend. In the third, a man pursues a woman with the singular objective of having an affair with her. The mood is bleak. The black and white filming, much of it along the Thames, is quite stark and beautiful and appropriate for the movie. The musical score is haunting. But the stories are a downer and certainly do not cast men in a very favorable light.

Strong performances and haunting visuals (such as the final shot of the Thames) paint an involving human drama. It's bleak, it's not fun, but it is a taut example of kitchen sink. A haunting early score by John Barry (Bond, Dances With Wolves) and a superb thespian performance by a young Judi Dench stand out.

One relationship, young and passionate but uncertain; another, well established but distinctly troubled; and somewhere between them, a dead body. The dynamics between characters in each thread are rich and absorbing, with those between the wife and husband (and his friend) being especially fierce, and the themes to emerge are stark and outright painful. It takes a while for that tension and value to start to shine through, and longer still to start to gain a sense as a viewer of what filmmaker Anthony Simmons has woven together. The patient viewer will be greatly rewarded, however, and in the meantime Simmons' shot composition and Larry Pizer's black and white cinematography are increasingly bewitching - and what can one ever say of John Barry except that his music is consistently exceptional? 'Four in the morning' is a long walk of a movie, and more than not a quietly ruminative one despite the heightened emotions or raised voices, but for those prepared to engage with such titles, it's superb and well worth seeking out.

So splendid is the work of Pizer, and Simmons as director, that I'm somewhat aghast their names aren't more readily known to me. Simmons' screenplay is just as sharp, a barbed examination of two very vibrant, vexed pairings. The characters are terribly complicated, the dialogue is ferocious, and the scene writing is altogether explosive whatever the precise tone being struck - with the end result of an overarching story that's softly haunting. And of course this is lent still more power by the cast, each and every one of whom gives a performance of staggering potency. Of course it's worth observing that Dame Judi Dench, that titan of British cinema, appears here in what is only her second film role, and she was just as brilliant an actor at 31 as she has been in her 70s and 80s. She is joined in that excellence by Ann Lynn, Norman Rodway, Brian Phelan, and Joe Melia - names I can't say I'm familiar with, but simply after watching this, I wish I were.

I'm not sure that Simmons' vision is tied together with perfect fidelity or cohesion; the third element is kind of up in the air, waiting for each viewer to grab and use it as they will. Even at that, however, this is otherwise so well made, written, and acted that I can forgive the more loftily abstruse edge. One way or another, however you look at it 'Four in the morning' is a compelling, satisfying drama, one that handily joins the company of many of its contemporaries and forebears. Usually I'm prone to speaking at far greater length about the movies I watch, but I just don't think there's any need in this case. If you have the chance to watch, it's well worth 90 minutes of your time.

"Four in the Morning" was one of the key British kitchen-sink movies of the sixties and yet today it is virtually unknown and very little seen. It was basically a 'small' picture, (I first saw it on the bottom half of a double-bill with Peter Watkins' "The War Game", telling two stories, both involving young women, and set in London, (whereas most kitchen-sink films were set in the 'grim' North), unfolding over the course of one night. There is a third story of sorts, a kind of documentary in which the body of a young woman is taken from the Thames. Could this be one of the woman we've met in the other stories? The writer/director was Anthony Simmons who, despite living to the age of 93, had a very short career in cinema, (he moved onto television), and the women in question were Ann Lynn and a young Judi Dench who won a BAFTA as Most Promising Newcomer. It's a sad little film with no respite from the gloom and you wonder what audience Simmons had in mind, (when I first saw it there were only two of us in the cinema), and at times it's more in keeping with something made for television though personally I think it's more redolent of something Antonioni might have done, (there are moments when Ann Lynn is a dead ringer for Monica Vitti). Either way, it certainly didn't deserve its fate and it cries out to be seen.

This is a film that I felt really belonged on the stage. It centres around a married couple with a baby and a courting couple. The former - Norman Rodway and Judi Dench are unhappy. She is fed up with being stuck at home all the time with their teething child while he continues to live as if he were a bachelor. The latter - Ann Lynn and Brian Phelan are enjoying the mutual discovery process whilst uncertain as to what the future might bring, if anything at all, to their relationship. Meantime, we know that the police have pulled the body of a young woman from the river Thames. Who might she be? Might she be connected with one of our quartet? Now on the plus side, Judi Dench does deliver convincingly as the frustrated woman struggling with early motherhood whilst her man is off galavanting, and there is also a calming John Barry score to help things along. Aside from that and a few scenes of intensity, though, the rest of this rather meanders along showing us people who are neither interesting nor likeable and there is a surfeit of fairly pointless dialogue that presumes, riskily, that the audience might actually care whether they get/stay together or not. That's where the theatre might have helped it. The closed confines of a more rigid stage might have intensified the potency of the messages - for messages there are, but here these are very much of the sexual stereotype fashion that fall into rather than break any moulds in British film-making. It's an almost documentary style observation of their lives that at times breathes vigorously but for the most part it just drags. Sorry.