Je sais où je vais

If I could take only one movie with me to a desert island, this would be it. Wendy Hiller and Roger Livesey are so vibrant and every scene is a joy to watch.

Part of the chemistry is that Hiller is assertive and on top of everything and Livesey is more vulnerable and searching -- she resists him and he reaches out to her -- I think of Virginia Woolf's line about how the sexiest thing is if a woman is "man-womanly" and a man is "woman-manly."

My favorite moment comes early on, when Hiller says, about the eccentric colonel, "He's an odd one, isn't he," and Livesey responds, "Who isn't." There's so much feeling and humanity in how he says this -- so much depth -- I fall in love with his character and this movie every time.

I take this down once a year and watch it as it delights me on so many different levels.

I love the character portrayed by Wendy Hiller, an independent woman, confident of the direction of her life, the wealthy husband she has selected, the wedding just around the corner.

Then her plans start to unravel as an impoverished laird walks into her life and it is never the same again. Roger Livesey is wonderful in this also and the location shooting in Scotland, even though B & W, is breathtaking. The music, particularly "My Nut Brown Maiden" is beautifully done along with the old ceilidh dancing.

Some wonderful bit parts also. Loved Petula Clark as an eccentric child. Trivia lovers: I had read that Roger and Wendy were not physically together throughout the making of this movie. In all of the shots of them together, body doubles and reaction shots were used. I have viewed it in the light of this knowledge and it could be true.

Also, for those of you from across the pond and of an older vintage, Roger Livesey played Doctor Dale for years in the BBC's "Mrs. Dale's Diary".

I gave it a 9 out of 10. Certain movies are just "Satisfying" and this is one of them.

This wonderfully charming film from the Powell and Pressburger team is probably their most underrated great work: the most recent "Sight and Sound Critics Poll" of British films didn't even include this gem in the top 100. If it means anything, "Trainspotting" was in the top 10.

What elevates the film beyond other light-hearted romances is chiefly the impeccable acting and tight screenplay by Emeric Pressburger, probably the greatest English screenwriter to have ever lived. This might be generic laudation to any film, but by no means is Wendy Hiller's performance generic. As the young gold-digger-type woman, Hiller is slightly bewildered at being sidetracked to the Scottish natives, but she is much more fluxed when she realizes she is falling for a common Scotsman, and not the rich lord she envisioned. So what is the reaction to this bafflement? A fierce sense of panic that is very honest in its depiction of desperation. It might be puzzling to the viewer why our heroine should seek royalty so vehemently, but because of Hiller's expert frenzied facial tics, we see her slowly realize her ridiculousness herself. In an age where critics desire constant plausibility and "believability" in romances, Pressburger reminds us that attraction is something that can largely be out of our control. Hiller's character, an obsessive control freak, is the perfect example of one who cannot comprehend this fact.

The perfect foil for Hiller's hysteria, of course, is Rover Livesey's soft-spoken Torquil Macneil. Before Ashton Kucher-like effete twigs came to dominate on-screen masculinity (or Vin Diesel-like muscle-studded goons on the other extreme), the quiet dignity and charisma of a man like Livesey could light up a screen without any histrionics or wrestling moves. Those still looking for romantic realism will recognize that like Hiller's character, Livesey is just as strong-willed, and more importantly, is a match in wits and a counterbalance in earnest, world-weary personality. Their mutual attraction is perfectly played out in the strangely electric silences as much as the dialogue.

But the performances enhance what is already a remarkable script. The very basic premise of the love story can be read by many other astute reviewers on this website who also see the merits of this film. Powell and Pressburger have always been smart enough to embed their love stories with some heavy ideas: in "The Red Shoes," it was love vs. art; in "I Know Where I'm Going!" it is love vs. money. Sounds simple enough, but unlike other romances, these filmmakers can glean insights on the definition of poverty. While primitive (the one phone in town is at the post office) and poor (the staff in charge there can't break change for a pound), the villagers are portrayed affectionately with class, dignity, and culture, especially in a wonderful dance scene that seems to affectionately embody both a small community's close familiarity with one another, as well as the drunken festival spirit. Like Livesey's character says at one point in the film, "They aren't poor, they just haven't got any money." It's a succinct but revealing statement about the human condition in a time where money did not necessarily determine one's social class because of many other admirable factors. Contrast this cultural milieu with a film like "8 Mile," in which the characters are "real" if they are from the "streets" or living with trailer trash parents, and "phony" if they have an education from a private school, and you can see how our self-important attitudes are progressing.

Lastly, I must mention that this is one of the most exquisitely photographed black and white films I have ever seen, and the Criterion remastering does the film ample justice. I have been harping on the merits of the high-mindedness of Pressburger, but the appropriate plaudits must be dealt for Powell's emotionally expressive vistas that equal his achievements in "The Edge of the World." From the craggy peaks of the highest cliffs or the frothy waves of every bank, the film's mystic sense of ambiance is drawn by a foggy mist that pervades most scenes. For once, grand scenery doesn't dwarf the characters; every picturesque shot either captures the characters in the beauty of the element, or is intended as a complement to the characters' emotions. It's a great film.

This is a movie I would recommend to my kids. Real people with real lives in a real place- you hardly can find that any more.

The Scotland of the Isles is the real star of this movie- what a beautiful place, moody, misty, and genuine.

I don't know of any other movie the leading lady was in, but she is wonderful in this- headstrong (see previous comment) barely covers it. Yet, she is not so self-involved (despite her self-assurance) that she fails to see the honor and courage and innate goodness of the island folk around her. Eccentric, yes, but the proverbial Salt of the Earth.

And, the whirlpool has to be seen to be appreciated. Filmed at the sight of one of only five actual "Maelstroms" on earth, it is magnificent to see.

If you enjoy movies about real people- no glamor, no special effects, no CG, no exploding cars- I think you will enjoy this one.

Superlatives cannot suffice to give justice, or homage, to 'I Know Where I'm Going'. This is, simply, one of the most delightful and enchanting films. Ever. Expect it to remain so.

On screen Wendy Hiller is always luminous, and her acting superb. Here, in Roger Livesey's brilliantly understated company - which all of today's leading men (with the exceptions of Tom Hanks, Denzel Washington, and Morgan Freeman) would do well to study and emulate, Hiller devotes an unforgettable performance. But I most loved Pamela Brown's glowing effort as Catroina Potts, whom Emeric Pressburger mistook to think ugly: for Brown is one of the loveliest, most entrancing women ever to have graced the screen; in fact, I feel she's in a class by herself, a class never to be entered by another. As radiantly and a sun, a moon, a star, a galaxy, Brown's face and eyes are sheer, transfixing magic.

The location filming yielded an exemplar of black & white cinematography, and the editing in 'I Know Where I'm Going' is its happy equal. The supporting cast, the marvleous special effects, and the whimsical inventiveness of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger all conspired congenially to bait and hook me forever: when I die I hope the afterlife, if there is one, will be of their black & white splendor. I shall watch again and again this dear, splendid film and always appreciate and enjoy its goodness.

Never mind the plot, my dears, just do not miss this cinema jewel. Let 'I Know Where I'm Going' steal your breath away, and then swell your breast with fresh, heady gales of atmosphere. Be enchanted.