La Cérémonie

Dismissed by the late David Shipman as "a pretentious plea against capital punishment" and now disinterred by the wonder that is Talking Pictures. Boasting a truly extraordinary international cast, shot in kafkaesque black & white by Ossie Morris and full of ripe one-liners, it's just the film you'd expect Lawrence Harvey to have directed.

A real bore-fest, this one, which is a shame as the cast is exceptional, featuring a good mix of big stars and character actors in support. What a shame then that this Spanish production is so unrelentingly boring, with a prisoner on death row involved in a plot to help him achieve freedom. It's arty in the worst kind of way, full of boring dialogue and routine scenarios. No thanks!

When I saw this in the sixties it really made me realize the breadth of acting ability of Ross Martin. I had only seen him in roles of the comedic sidekick prior to this role. His believability as the evil commandant was astounding. This made the movie for me.

What no-one seems to have noticed is how utterly in hock to Orson Welles' "The Trial" this film is, with its very elaborate "artistic" direction, brooding atmosphere of menace and general sense of claustrophobic gloom. Harvey, an actor noted more for his vanity than actual ability (other than that of using well-connected older women to further his career) here sets himself up in full Welles mode: star, producer, director.

In the event, his direction is much the most striking thing about the whole film, because it is for the most part terribly acted - Sarah Miles and Harvey himself in particular - loosely constructed and with the same kind of overly-insistent sub-classical musical soundtrack as "The Trial" (Gerard Schurmann - my one-time neighbour - in this Harvey film, Remo Giazotto's egregious fake Albinoni grinding away in the Welles). Poor old Jack MacGowran and Murray Melvin pop up in weird roles doing their usual schtick - pixillated priest, "sensitive" (i.e. Gay) youth - and Robert Rietty does his usual quadruple duty (as in "The Trial") dubbing voices galore.

But it does have a very definite, albeit second-hand from Welles, look about it, with endless bizarre camera angles and suffocating close-ups. You could even make a case for Robert Walker Jr. Giving a very decent impression of Anthony Perkins' befuddled Josef K. So basically the whole thing's a highly derivative mess: but derived from an actual masterpiece, and sometimes therefore oddly effective almost in spite of itself. Worth a squint.

If you didn't know this was a Spain/US production, you'd think it was a timeless fable: there are so few localized contexts. The supporting actors delineate themselves sharply, but Laurence Harvey steals the show, as always, with his intensity (check out his work in Tamiko, a neurotic romance set in Japan), and compounds this by directing with intensity: the camera is always zooming into people's faces from above, below, and sideways. It's dizzying. That said, the movie's worth seeing. All praise to early 60's B&W films.