Film: The Night of the Hunter

If I hadn't booked tonight's ticket to The Night of the Hunter, at the British Film Institute - because it sold out on Friday, when I originally intended to see it - I probably wouldn't have gone, purely because I have to lug a blasted laptop around with me to go to the Guildford office tomorrow! And I had to go straight from work, so needs must, the laptop had to go too. Well, at least the Tube wasn't too crowded - I could even find space on the floor at my feet for the bag, and even got a seat at Victoria - a popular interchange, where many people got off and the carriage was almost half empty, briefly. And the rain, while peskily persistent, wasn't too bad.

Mind you, when I got to the BFI, it was annoying to find that the Riverfront entrance was closed all day for a private function. I have entered from the other side, coming from Waterloo, but I'm not used to finding it from that side and got turned around for a couple of minutes. I finally figured out my way, and at least, coming in that way, you're closer to the box office. Actually, it might be faster to just go around the building, if the box office is where you need to be - it's a bit of a maze inside.

The girl giving me my ticket asked me whether I'd seen it before. I hadn't. She assured me I'd love it, and advised me to read the programme notes, which are always available at BFI films, afterwards and just enjoy it for itself. Mind you, I wouldn't have had time to read them beforehand anyway - I had barely taken my seat when the lights went down. Just in time! I am so glad that I didn't go yesterday - I considered it, but it was showing 10 minutes earlier and I'd never have made it! So I stuffed the laptop bag, my handbag, the paper I'd picked up on the way, and the program notes, at my feet, rolled my coat up on my lap, and we were off. My row was full, although there were some seats left elsewhere in the cinema, and I couldn't have done anything else.

And so to the film. Again, it's showing as part of the Gothic season at the BFI, which ends this week, sadly. This film, from 1955, directed by Charles Laughton (and partly by Robert Mitchum), stars Robert Mitchum as a fanatical preacher, with "LOVE" tattooed on one fist and "HATE" on the other, who, while in prison, discovers that his cellmate has hidden a large sum of money from a robbery, but will not reveal where, before his execution. When the preacher gets out, he persuades the man's widow, Shelley Winters, to marry him, and terrorises her children to try to get them to tell him where their pa hid the money. In the whole film, the only person who can help them is a kindly woman, played by Lillian Gish, who has a farm and takes in stray children. Of whom there are many, because this is set during the Depression. James Gleason plays the children's alcoholic uncle.

It's immediately apparent that this is going to be a terrific film. Robert Mitchum's character is spectacular, with his black suit and wide-brimmed black hat, spouting scripture. But at the start of the film, when he's being tried for auto theft, as the judge is about to pass sentence, he calls him "Mr. Powell". The preacher corrects him - "Preacher Powell!" The judge remarks - "Arrested for auto theft - where you were (he was arrested in a strip club) - you're no preacher!" Indeed, the main manifestation of his faith seems to be marrying and murdering wealthy widows, so as to prevent them tempting other men into acts of sin.

This is brilliantly contrasted with Lillian Gish's character, who portrays the loving side of Christianity, telling the children bible stories and showing them discipline, but always with love. When the eldest girl in her care, who's in her early teens, confesses that she's been sneaking off to meet boys, and says "You'll beat me!", the older woman says, "Beat you?! I would never!" She's the only one - apart from the dead man's son - unimpressed with this preacher, and when she has taken the children under her care and he comes for them, still wanting to know where the money is, there's a terrific scene with her sitting on the front porch with a rifle, he's sitting on a stump in the yard, threatening to come in, and singing a hymn, and she joins in. Doesn't let go of the rifle, though.

Throughout, the lighting and staging are fantastic. It's got a real dream-like quality - one review remarked that it was the closest that reviewer had seen to the nightmares that children commonly have. I read the notes on the way home, and discovered that they consisted of two reviews. Unfortunately, I found the second review quite illegible - a film like this will inspire very arty comments, and frankly, I couldn't even understand the terminology he was using. But it is a terrific film. One thing you will notice, watching it, is the dismissive attitude towards women. The preacher, of course, sees them as the root of all evil, and Lillian Gish's character keeps remarking what fools women are, letting their heads be turned by men. Can't argue with that in this case - Shelley Winters' character is baffling in her gullibility. Mind you, they're not the only ones - just portrayed as somewhat worse than men, because their heads can be turned like this.

Anyway, I'm delighted to have seen it at last, and do recommend it, if you get the chance. Decided to come by Waterloo and avoid the stairs on the way back, and, my local supermarket being closed, and too tired to walk to Tesco, I went for a Chinese. Switched to the Kung Po tonight, and was well pleased! As I finished, they were decorating for Chinese New Year. Pity I'll be out of town for it.

Should be in bed already, going to Guildford tomorrow - not going out tomorrow night, on account of that. Then back to Ireland at the weekend, and the Ennis Gospel Choir on Saturday. And that Beckett Trilogy on Monday..!