Michael Redgrave, Albert Finney, and Ian Holm all played Andrew Crocker-Harris in 'The Browning Version' in 1951, 1994, and 1985.
The 1951 version of 'The Browning Version' is a superb cinematic adaptation of the Terrence Rattigan play, centered around an ailing Classics master, whose last days at the all-boy's boarding school he has taught at for nearly twenty years bring him revelations about others and himself. It's a small-scale, deceptively reserved character study about a seemingly unremarkable individual, and it's right up there with Akira Kurosowa's 'Ikiru' as one of the finest cinematic examples of the beauty and glory of the ineffectual being slowly realized. And there are good performances, and great performances, and then up there's Michael Redgrave as Andrew Crocker-Harris. Always a fine actor who was equally adept at being the comic relief (see 'The Lady Disappears') as a good straight man ('The Importance of Being Earnest', 'Way to the Stars'), and who later on morphed into a respected character actor in the likes of ‘Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner’, there is no doubt however that the greatest challenge, and greatest reward, of Redgrave's career lies in this motion picture.
It's curious to note that Redgrave's not exactly the most obvious choice for the role--the usually extroverted, easygoing characters he usually played preceding and after this performance don't bear much resemblance to the rigidity and precision with which the character of Crocker-Harris must be handled. As the 'Himmler of the lower 5th', as his pupils nickname him, Redgrave's major challenge from the outset is to make good on these claims, and he is incredibly good in painting the initial strokes of this very particular portrait of a man who's ill at ease with the rest of the world, but has grown rather accustomed to it. The way he half-squints, half-glares with those tired eyes of his, how he postures his gigantic six-foot-five physique in such a manner that's not exactly broken nor worn out, but rather just indifferent; Asquith direction must also be credited here with how it practically contorts itself around Redgrave's controlling manner, allowing Redgrave to in a way dominate the screen despite having such an intentionally lacking manner.
Crocker-Harris is lacking in all respects—emotionally, imaginatively—save for his intellect. Redgrave is rather wonderful in showing how the Classics master still holds an unyielding expertise on his subject; rather than making it an inspirational factor, however, Redgrave masterfully shows it to be a deeply unpleasant aspect of his character as he (seems) to regard anyone without his intelligence/passion in matters of Latin, somehow beneath him—namely, the whole of his lower 5th set. When coldly berating his class for their ineptitude in a translation of Latin texts, he delivers the lines of the texts with a sort of eloquent sensitivity, almost musical in its intonation. Yet rather than making it an endearing quirk of eccentricity, keeps it close to the chest and reserved; it is a similar manner with which he interacts with his wife Millie (played well, if a little to broadly at times, by Jean Kent) and her illicit lover and his co-worker Frank (Nigel Patrick, decent if a bit bland, but not in any way which distracts from the film), that distancing factor of his reserve.
He nicely differentiates the different approaches of his soullessness by making Crocker-Harris have a somewhat more chilly, professional reserve in the classroom, whose occasional puns are not for the joy of others, not even for himself, but just to maintain this epistemic, intellectual distance from his students that comes more out of tiredness than arrogance; with his wife, a somewhat more casual yet still cold relationship, a sense of familiarity with emotional disconnect that borders upon cuckolded weakness upon his behalf, laying hints of a later revelation that he has always known about her affair, and just cannot be bothered to do anything about it; and with his co-workers and the Headmaster, a slightly more sociable stiffness that still comes across as highly off-putting yet incredibly natural. Redgrave gives a performance that is tough to watch because he is just so, so very good at being such a lifeless figure; it is not even necessary for him to show the effects of his ailing disease on his behalf, the psychological passivity of his character encompasses it all, the regrets of the past and lack of hope for the future, like the disease taking its toll on him, all meaning nothing to him at all.
It is a series of altogether different interactions with one of his students, Taplow (Brian Smith who gives an incredibly endearing performance) where Crocker-Harris reveals a different side to himself, mainly through their discussion of The Agamemnon. Earlier on in the play we were presented with the intellectual astuteness of the Crock, but in the scene where he and Taplow work on the latter’s weaknesses in translation is a beautiful scene because of how two such distinctly different characters work together to bring out new shades to Crocker-Harris. Redgrave reserved approach pays off with his slight release of emotion—his joy for the classics, gradually instilling more passion to the notes he hits when reading the text and interacting with Taplow. He’s still reserved and cool, but opens up a bit to Taplow about his past, when he had worked on a rhyming couplets translation of The Agamemnon. It’s an emotional release that almost seems involuntary but also well-earnt as Redgrave had expertly played the Crock beforehand as not being entirely soulless shell, but rather a shell with remnants of former hopes and dreams amidst its small cracks, just waiting to burst into the open.
When he interacts with Taplow, Redgrave masterfully strikes the balance between a sort of grudging affection for Taplow’s naturally endearing character, as well as seeing not so much a reflection of his former self in Taplow, but rather a desire for a similar imaginative and emotional engagement with the world that the young man has. Redgrave is equally good in showing more to his quietude in his interaction with his schoolmaster successor (solid reactive work by Ronald Howard), lamenting his ‘utter failure’ as a schoolmaster and acknowledging that he warrants the title of ‘Himmler of the lower 5th’; this impressively unshowy transition, such a moving revelation of this newfound sensitivity and weakness within the man, that’s not at all out of character (he still maintains the reserve and distance) yet somehow makes it so moving; but that’s nothing compared to the next stage of Redgrave’s performance.
The ‘gift-giving’ scene is one point in the performance where lesser actors may well have flubbed with the sheer array of emotions Crocker-Harris conveys at this scene, but Redgrave pulls them all off masterfully. From his awkwardness at receiving Taplow to hints of happiness at seeing him, to a slight annoyance that gradually progresses to confusion at the whole concept of a ‘gift’ (a Robert Browning translation of The Agamemnon), to finally an overwhelming sense of an emotion he probably hasn’t felt in a long time: genuine, flowing, unhinged sadness and remorse. In his breakdown the camera focuses solely on Redgrave, and boy is he great in showing how Taplow has finally broken through his defences; making it all the more excruciating when his vindictive wife convinces him that Taplow’s deeds had ulterior motives, whereby he transitions back to his former self, with an added hint of anger and discontent. Through little over ten minutes Redgrave runs through a whole tumult of emotions that most actors will take a lifetime to successfully cover.
I have praised and lavished Redgrave so much up to this point that it seems almost pointless to say more about how well he carries the rest of the film to its very end; even when the focus strays away from him to the supporting characters, his presence is always omnipresent, the centre and heart which is slowly beating once more. And the final speech. Oh, that final speech. In the original Rattigan play, and most adaptations of it since then, we never actually get to see the departing speech of Crocker-Harris, only what leads up to it; Redgrave is obviously very good in building up this slow confidence to the end of the play, bolstered by his final determination to leave his wife, but it really is the last speech he gives in the film that is his true showcase, and he is magnificent in it. It does not compromise Rattigan’s ending in any way since it is a quietly delivered speech and incredibly understated, not sugar-coated nor saccharinely uplifting in any way, but rather an expression of Crocker-Harris’ regrets for not being a better, kinder teacher, lamenting his failure to inspire his pupils and himself, and warning them against the pitfalls of passivity and emotional distance. Here Redgrave’s challenge is to strike the perfect note between reserve and emotion; too much of the former and the ending’s power would be muted, too much of the latter and it would perhaps be a bit too much.
In this speech Redgrave maintains the dignity just up to the point that it all just breaks apart; as the tear flows from his eyes and emotion flows from his speech, so will your heart break. The headmaster’s reservations that it will be all an ‘anti-climax’ is strangely both played with and against; it is certainly a much more downplayed speech in terms of overt emotions than one may expect, but it also packs such a punch for anyone who’s followed Crocker-Harris on this spiritual journey of his. It is only strengthened even more by the final bookend of Crocker-Harris promising Taplow that he will, indeed, continue his rhyming couplets translation of The Agamemnon and also informs him of his successful ascension to the sixth-form science set. With this footnote, Redgrave successfully realizes Crocker-Harris stepping out of his off-putting reserve and into a brighter future, without ever losing sight of his original characterization; an amazing conclusion to a breathtakingly wonderful performance.
The 1985 version of ‘The Browning Version’, in contrast to the other two adaptations I’m examining here, is a decidedly more stoic affair. I actually saw this one first out of all the adaptations, after having as a young chap of about 14? 15? years of age, been treated to a rather grand production of the play (with a good friend in the role of Taplow—although he’s grown like 9 inches since then and developed a voice veering on the baritone, I can never quite get that squeaky little Freddie Highmore-esque boy out of my head). Perhaps truest to Rattigan’s original play by constraining the action to one setting, it has a very oppressive and unrelentingly cold air to it all. I most certainly prefer the 1951 version in terms of the whole stylistic approach and directorial flair (which this version is remarkably lacking in, but again staying true to its stage roots I guess), and even the 1994 version I feel has more of a distinctiveness about it.
Nevertheless, these incredibly subjective feelings aside, it is a very solid re-interpretation of the original. I would say Jean Kent and Judi Dench are just about on par as the adulterous wife (although I think Kent reaches the higher heights, Dench is much more consistent if somewhat less primeval in her impact), and Michael Kitchen is actually rather good and charming as Frank, far surpassing Nigel Patrick. And Ian Holm? Well, one thing I certainly can’t accuse Mr. Holm of doing is trying to ape Redgrave’s inimitable portrayal of the character, and rightly so. If anything, he seems to be deliberately going out of his way to conceive the character of Crocker-Harris in a manner different to any other I’ve ever seen, stage or screen. It’s an intensely physical approach Holm gives his performance; from the depiction of the man’s illness through how he constricts his vocal manner with his tough, coarse, almost aggressive delivery of his lines. I will say I would take Redgrave’s mellifluous, distancing diction every day of the week but I can certainly see what Holm is going for here, and it does work well in establishing his Crocker-Harris as a decidedly more assertive, tougher figure.
I would imagine Rattigan would have actually quite liked the sheer intensity of Holm’s barbed delivery and biting wit when dealing with Taplow. The way he raises his eyebrows and gesticulates with his spectacles, arches his mouth, all seem a long way away from Redgrave’s outwardly listless, inwardly heartfelt approach to teaching. We never actually get to see exactly how inadequate a teacher Crocker-Harris is in this version, again harkening back to the stage roots of ‘The Browning Version’. Holm’s performance, is therefore, full of implication of the life outside his home, and therefore I really can’t fault him too much for playing the role so close to the chest.
I’ve sounded a bit negative about Holm thus far but I can assure you, this stems purely from the comparison to Redgrave’s performance. Viewed by itself, Holm’s performance has moments of incredible power; while I do feel he could’ve perhaps given a little more in his speech about his former ‘success’ to his successor of the lament and regrets, when he denounces himself as an ‘utter failure’ there’s a sense of rage and fire boiling from within that actually works incredibly well in harmony with Holm’s characterisation. Also, his reaction to receiving the gift of Robert Browning’s translation of The Agamemnon is arguably on par with Redgrave’s in terms of the emotions it stirs, albeit in an entirely different way. His initial astounded expression is pitch perfect, and when he breaks into tears it is absolutely heartbreaking, and fitting to his more aggressively emotive performance. I must confess that this violent onslaught of emotions was somewhat painful to watch because Holm gives such a vivid portrayal of a man shattered by kindness; it’s a bit of a shame that he so quickly reverts back to his former barbed, emotionally shut down and coarse self since, I feel, the emotive aspects of Holm’s performance when he really lets loose, are his best.
When I first watched Holm’s performance as Crocker-Harris I must confess I was quite underwhelmed by his approach; but after comparing him alongside Redgrave, funnily enough though his weaknesses become all the more apparent, his willingness to distinguish himself from the landmark 1951 portrayal also makes his depiction all the more remarkable. I found this particularly evident in the scene where he muses to Frank aboutbeing ‘a subject for farce’ due to his henpecked husband predicament. Redgrave found power in just how shattered and done over by life he is, his quiet contemplation over the next few scenes setting up the finale of the film where he confronts how it all went wrong; Holm, on the other hand, finds power in the strength his character finds, a more overt strength that perhaps is less of a challenge than Redgrave’s more understated approach, but is nevertheless effective. His dynamic with Dench is pretty effective in showing Crocker-Harris’ gradual transition; in this production, the main focus is placed upon how Crocker-Harris finds the strength to stand up to his wife and the headmaster, not so much himself (as was the very internalised approach of Redgrave).
I cannot fault Holm for not having a final speech to himself since the original play did not have one either, and this links into the 1985 version being a rather faithful take on the original. Nevertheless when doing a head-to-head matchup one must take into account these things. And on one hand Holm’s lack of this final grandstanding moment in his performance does not lessen the original power he packs into it, on the other hand it just makes Redgrave’s performance resonate all the greater. I will say though this is a performance which simply grew upon re-watch. I will say that Ian Holm really takes the characterisation of Crocker-Harris as much out on a limb as is possible, it doesn’t work 100% for me but when it does, it works very well.
Watching Mike Figgis’ 1994 adaptation of ‘The Browning Version’ was a rather strange affair for me. I can’t say I quite know what it was going for, with the character of Laura in particular, getting Greta Saatchi (quite miscast) to act like an absolute bitch for like 90% of the film before giving her the most incredulous heel-face turn of 1994 (well, besides that whole deal with Butch in ‘Pulp Fiction’, but I guess if you’re Bruce Willis you pretty much have carte blanche to do as you please, contingent with characterisation or not). And um, Matthew Modine as a science schoolteacher…the fact that he’s an American isn’t really detrimental to the film as a whole (in fact he kind of reminded me of a Religious Studies teacher at my school, though not nearly as charismatic and exuding considerably less intelligent), but he’s also very much miscast. It’s quite odd that Figgis directed the acclaimed ‘Leaving Las Vegas’ just a year after this since in contrast ‘The Browning Version’ (1994) is such a messily handled affair, it does evoke a certain sense of time and place and the school grounds are beautifully shot by Jean-Francois Robin (at the cost of sometimes seeming a bit like a prestige documentary), but it’s definitely the weakest adaptation I’ve seen in terms of asserting what sort of film it wants to be—the updated setting is at times quite at odds with Rattigan’s script (although Ronald Harwood does his best), and at times it appears almost an odd combination of the 1951 and 1985 versions.
Albert Finney’s long and varied career has had one predominate recurring theme. From the ‘Angry Young Man’ of ‘Saturday Evening and Sunday Morning’, to the very bombastic theatre actor in ‘The Dresser’, or even his lighthearted charmers in ‘Big Fish’ and ‘Tom Jones’, all are extremely extroverted characters. I will get the negative out of the way first with Finney’s portrayal first. He doesn’t seem to quite fit Crocker-Harris physically as well as Holm and Redgrave do. He has a similar hulking, big physique as Redgrave does but is not nearly as good at diminishing himself into the non-entity that the Crock is, and looks rather wholesome for someone enduring a career-ending disease, this however is just a pretty minor reservation so far as reservations go, that he kinda lacks the extreme ‘nothingness’ the character requires.
I think Quentin Curtis, in his review for The Independent, puts it best. ‘Think of Finney—of his fondness for wine, women and race-horses—and you think of a bon viveur, rather than a corpse. Finney’s voice lacks the correct pedantic whine…too posed in his stiffness…coiled stillness of a heroic actor…a magnificent physical specimen’. I think in addition to this I have to note I just recently re-watched Finney’s excellent performance as the most badass of gangsters in the Coen Brother’s ‘Millers’ Crossing’, which probably didn’t help much in helping Finney disappear into the role of Crocker-Harris.
Finney’s natural screen presence is just so domineering that the rigidity of his portrayal becomes almost a sign of strength and power, not of weakness and subservience to the facts of life. I don’t find the lack of a ‘pedantic whine’ quite as detrimental as Curtis, since I do think Finney does try his best to nullify his usual bombastic delivery into something quite quiet, quite reserved. Still though, I got the sense even before watching the film that Finney was not perfectly cast, and that perhaps, say, Anthony Hopkins in Remains of the Day-cum-Shadowlands mode would have more effectively disappeared into the role.
Yet despite all these reservations and slight feelings of uncertainty to the nature of Finney’s casting, I must confess—his performance worked for me, completely. Not in the sense of a pitch-perfect performance like Redgrave’s, or even an interesting characterization like Holm’s. No, Finney’s performance worked solely because of the emotional chords he struck within me with his performance; working against a mostly messily scattershot film he somehow managed to find within it all the weight and dignity to Crocker-Harris’ gradual transition to a better man.
Since the film as a whole does quite resemble the 1951 version in terms of the sequence of events, I will focus here on specific moments that stood out in terms of how they diverged/differentiated from the portrayals of Redgrave and Holm. Firstly, in his final lesson with his Classics division, Finney takes a rather different tact from Redgrave by instilling his reading of the play with some rather rousing passion. Perhaps realizing that his natural screen presence was impossible to completely nullify onscreen, Finney chooses to imbued his Crocker-Harris with a certain sort of charm that really works quite well for the character, but merging it with perhaps the strictest, most coldest brand of discipline any Crocker-Harris I’ve ever seen has displayed, so as to not forego the emotional ineptitude of the character Rattigan conceived. It’s a very interesting take on the character which may not work for everyone, but it certainly did for me. Also Finney’s depiction of Crocker-Harris’ isolation from the world is equally interesting as he doesn’t show it to be the result of pure powerlessness in vein of Redgrave, or a strain of stubbornness and disillusion like Holm. No, Finney conveys a sense of unhappiness with himself that stems largely from a self-conscious shame—that Finney imbues the most domineering screen presence of all the Crocker-Harrises does not really matter since he blends it into his portrayl of a lonely man who knows that his tough, ironclad and intimidating exterior has scared off many a hopeful friend and companion amongst his pupils—bar one.
He is perhaps helped by an excellent performance by Ben Silverstone as Taplow (arguably the best interpretation of the character onscreen—if you’re reading this Hugh, I did say onscreen, my dear, onscreen), but Finney’s scenes with the young pupil is some of the best work he’s ever done. I’ve mentioned the ‘gift-giving’ scene so many times now that I need not mention the intrinsic power it has, but Finney’s execution of that single moment of realization, when the kindness of Taplow flows into his face and veins and sets it aglow with momentary joy, then melancholy, then sadness, then in his eyes a sense of hope that slowly begins to break his stoic barrier down, is perhaps the most emotionally impactful note of not just Finney’s performance, but of all the Crocker-Harris performances I’ve ever seen—it’s arguably the best handling of the scenes in all versions, yes, even Redgrave who’s in my top 10 performances of all time. In a few seconds Finney will send tears strumming down anyone’s cheeks—that’s a guarantee, folks.
I will say that the film slightly nullifies some of the play’s original impact by firstly focusing on some rather irrelevant subplots like Taplow’s encounters with a rather stock British bully, and also by the fact that the decision of Laura to leave her husband is by her own accord, removing Finney of an outlet for the quiet strength of his in the same way that Redgrave and Holm did, and putting a slight wrench in his performance. His final speech, however, is still a knockout despite the slightly saccharine, overly uplifting way in which it is handled. It does not quite have the depth and duality of Redgrave’s speech which was not only deeply moving, but also somewhat unsettling (intentionally so) in warning against letting promise and potential to go to waste, and also felt more personal than Finney’s speech, which is kind of used by the film in lieu of a rousing, emotional motivational speech. Nevertheless Finney handles it excellently, and despite having some pretty significant reservations about how Rattigan’s streak of pessimism is all but nullified by the inspirational nature of the ending, I will admit to being deeply moved by the well-warranted applause by the audience for Crocker-Harris, and more importantly the joy in Finney’s face and eyes at having done one right thing to make up for his failures. As I mentioned before the parting on good terms between himself and Scaccchi’s Laura does not really work for me either, but it is nicely handled enough I guess, and gives the ending a more hopeful, uplifting beat than the Holm version (though I’m sure Rattigan would have probably disapproved), though I do prefer the more melancholic route the 1951 version took that focused more on the relationship with Taplow.
Well this was a lot harder than I expected. I guessed (and was right in guessing) that Redgrave would end up top—after all, he’s in my top 10 best leading actor performances of all-time. I did not consider, however, how strong and therefore, how difficult to place/grade Finney and Holm would be. I will say that though both performances are very good performances I do have some reservations about both, but bringing them into comparison with Finney also serves only to heighten some of their strengths. Re-watching Holm gave me newfound insight into just how effective some parts of his performance was (which I’d previously overlooked); I was conflicted between a 4 and a 4.5 because even after re-watch I still don’t love his performance, rather I quite like it now, but I feel almost obliged to give him that extra .5 because of the daring approach he takes that pays off, and he is amazing when he really hits his stride. I was absolutely astounded too, by how great Finney’s performance was (which I had not been impressed by brief snippets I had seen before and was wholly prepared to be underwhelmed/dislike). I will say that I will for the time-being rank them in accordance with my very subjective, personal preference, but it’s subject to change after further re-watches:
1. Redgrave (5/5)
2. Finney (4.5/5, verging on a 5, the film holds him back a bit)
3. Holm (4.5/5)
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It's curious to note that Redgrave's not exactly the most obvious choice for the role--the usually extroverted, easygoing characters he usually played preceding and after this performance don't bear much resemblance to the rigidity and precision with which the character of Crocker-Harris must be handled. As the 'Himmler of the lower 5th', as his pupils nickname him, Redgrave's major challenge from the outset is to make good on these claims, and he is incredibly good in painting the initial strokes of this very particular portrait of a man who's ill at ease with the rest of the world, but has grown rather accustomed to it. The way he half-squints, half-glares with those tired eyes of his, how he postures his gigantic six-foot-five physique in such a manner that's not exactly broken nor worn out, but rather just indifferent; Asquith direction must also be credited here with how it practically contorts itself around Redgrave's controlling manner, allowing Redgrave to in a way dominate the screen despite having such an intentionally lacking manner.
Crocker-Harris is lacking in all respects—emotionally, imaginatively—save for his intellect. Redgrave is rather wonderful in showing how the Classics master still holds an unyielding expertise on his subject; rather than making it an inspirational factor, however, Redgrave masterfully shows it to be a deeply unpleasant aspect of his character as he (seems) to regard anyone without his intelligence/passion in matters of Latin, somehow beneath him—namely, the whole of his lower 5th set. When coldly berating his class for their ineptitude in a translation of Latin texts, he delivers the lines of the texts with a sort of eloquent sensitivity, almost musical in its intonation. Yet rather than making it an endearing quirk of eccentricity, keeps it close to the chest and reserved; it is a similar manner with which he interacts with his wife Millie (played well, if a little to broadly at times, by Jean Kent) and her illicit lover and his co-worker Frank (Nigel Patrick, decent if a bit bland, but not in any way which distracts from the film), that distancing factor of his reserve.
He nicely differentiates the different approaches of his soullessness by making Crocker-Harris have a somewhat more chilly, professional reserve in the classroom, whose occasional puns are not for the joy of others, not even for himself, but just to maintain this epistemic, intellectual distance from his students that comes more out of tiredness than arrogance; with his wife, a somewhat more casual yet still cold relationship, a sense of familiarity with emotional disconnect that borders upon cuckolded weakness upon his behalf, laying hints of a later revelation that he has always known about her affair, and just cannot be bothered to do anything about it; and with his co-workers and the Headmaster, a slightly more sociable stiffness that still comes across as highly off-putting yet incredibly natural. Redgrave gives a performance that is tough to watch because he is just so, so very good at being such a lifeless figure; it is not even necessary for him to show the effects of his ailing disease on his behalf, the psychological passivity of his character encompasses it all, the regrets of the past and lack of hope for the future, like the disease taking its toll on him, all meaning nothing to him at all.
It is a series of altogether different interactions with one of his students, Taplow (Brian Smith who gives an incredibly endearing performance) where Crocker-Harris reveals a different side to himself, mainly through their discussion of The Agamemnon. Earlier on in the play we were presented with the intellectual astuteness of the Crock, but in the scene where he and Taplow work on the latter’s weaknesses in translation is a beautiful scene because of how two such distinctly different characters work together to bring out new shades to Crocker-Harris. Redgrave reserved approach pays off with his slight release of emotion—his joy for the classics, gradually instilling more passion to the notes he hits when reading the text and interacting with Taplow. He’s still reserved and cool, but opens up a bit to Taplow about his past, when he had worked on a rhyming couplets translation of The Agamemnon. It’s an emotional release that almost seems involuntary but also well-earnt as Redgrave had expertly played the Crock beforehand as not being entirely soulless shell, but rather a shell with remnants of former hopes and dreams amidst its small cracks, just waiting to burst into the open.
When he interacts with Taplow, Redgrave masterfully strikes the balance between a sort of grudging affection for Taplow’s naturally endearing character, as well as seeing not so much a reflection of his former self in Taplow, but rather a desire for a similar imaginative and emotional engagement with the world that the young man has. Redgrave is equally good in showing more to his quietude in his interaction with his schoolmaster successor (solid reactive work by Ronald Howard), lamenting his ‘utter failure’ as a schoolmaster and acknowledging that he warrants the title of ‘Himmler of the lower 5th’; this impressively unshowy transition, such a moving revelation of this newfound sensitivity and weakness within the man, that’s not at all out of character (he still maintains the reserve and distance) yet somehow makes it so moving; but that’s nothing compared to the next stage of Redgrave’s performance.
The ‘gift-giving’ scene is one point in the performance where lesser actors may well have flubbed with the sheer array of emotions Crocker-Harris conveys at this scene, but Redgrave pulls them all off masterfully. From his awkwardness at receiving Taplow to hints of happiness at seeing him, to a slight annoyance that gradually progresses to confusion at the whole concept of a ‘gift’ (a Robert Browning translation of The Agamemnon), to finally an overwhelming sense of an emotion he probably hasn’t felt in a long time: genuine, flowing, unhinged sadness and remorse. In his breakdown the camera focuses solely on Redgrave, and boy is he great in showing how Taplow has finally broken through his defences; making it all the more excruciating when his vindictive wife convinces him that Taplow’s deeds had ulterior motives, whereby he transitions back to his former self, with an added hint of anger and discontent. Through little over ten minutes Redgrave runs through a whole tumult of emotions that most actors will take a lifetime to successfully cover.
I have praised and lavished Redgrave so much up to this point that it seems almost pointless to say more about how well he carries the rest of the film to its very end; even when the focus strays away from him to the supporting characters, his presence is always omnipresent, the centre and heart which is slowly beating once more. And the final speech. Oh, that final speech. In the original Rattigan play, and most adaptations of it since then, we never actually get to see the departing speech of Crocker-Harris, only what leads up to it; Redgrave is obviously very good in building up this slow confidence to the end of the play, bolstered by his final determination to leave his wife, but it really is the last speech he gives in the film that is his true showcase, and he is magnificent in it. It does not compromise Rattigan’s ending in any way since it is a quietly delivered speech and incredibly understated, not sugar-coated nor saccharinely uplifting in any way, but rather an expression of Crocker-Harris’ regrets for not being a better, kinder teacher, lamenting his failure to inspire his pupils and himself, and warning them against the pitfalls of passivity and emotional distance. Here Redgrave’s challenge is to strike the perfect note between reserve and emotion; too much of the former and the ending’s power would be muted, too much of the latter and it would perhaps be a bit too much.
In this speech Redgrave maintains the dignity just up to the point that it all just breaks apart; as the tear flows from his eyes and emotion flows from his speech, so will your heart break. The headmaster’s reservations that it will be all an ‘anti-climax’ is strangely both played with and against; it is certainly a much more downplayed speech in terms of overt emotions than one may expect, but it also packs such a punch for anyone who’s followed Crocker-Harris on this spiritual journey of his. It is only strengthened even more by the final bookend of Crocker-Harris promising Taplow that he will, indeed, continue his rhyming couplets translation of The Agamemnon and also informs him of his successful ascension to the sixth-form science set. With this footnote, Redgrave successfully realizes Crocker-Harris stepping out of his off-putting reserve and into a brighter future, without ever losing sight of his original characterization; an amazing conclusion to a breathtakingly wonderful performance.
Nevertheless, these incredibly subjective feelings aside, it is a very solid re-interpretation of the original. I would say Jean Kent and Judi Dench are just about on par as the adulterous wife (although I think Kent reaches the higher heights, Dench is much more consistent if somewhat less primeval in her impact), and Michael Kitchen is actually rather good and charming as Frank, far surpassing Nigel Patrick. And Ian Holm? Well, one thing I certainly can’t accuse Mr. Holm of doing is trying to ape Redgrave’s inimitable portrayal of the character, and rightly so. If anything, he seems to be deliberately going out of his way to conceive the character of Crocker-Harris in a manner different to any other I’ve ever seen, stage or screen. It’s an intensely physical approach Holm gives his performance; from the depiction of the man’s illness through how he constricts his vocal manner with his tough, coarse, almost aggressive delivery of his lines. I will say I would take Redgrave’s mellifluous, distancing diction every day of the week but I can certainly see what Holm is going for here, and it does work well in establishing his Crocker-Harris as a decidedly more assertive, tougher figure.
I would imagine Rattigan would have actually quite liked the sheer intensity of Holm’s barbed delivery and biting wit when dealing with Taplow. The way he raises his eyebrows and gesticulates with his spectacles, arches his mouth, all seem a long way away from Redgrave’s outwardly listless, inwardly heartfelt approach to teaching. We never actually get to see exactly how inadequate a teacher Crocker-Harris is in this version, again harkening back to the stage roots of ‘The Browning Version’. Holm’s performance, is therefore, full of implication of the life outside his home, and therefore I really can’t fault him too much for playing the role so close to the chest.
I’ve sounded a bit negative about Holm thus far but I can assure you, this stems purely from the comparison to Redgrave’s performance. Viewed by itself, Holm’s performance has moments of incredible power; while I do feel he could’ve perhaps given a little more in his speech about his former ‘success’ to his successor of the lament and regrets, when he denounces himself as an ‘utter failure’ there’s a sense of rage and fire boiling from within that actually works incredibly well in harmony with Holm’s characterisation. Also, his reaction to receiving the gift of Robert Browning’s translation of The Agamemnon is arguably on par with Redgrave’s in terms of the emotions it stirs, albeit in an entirely different way. His initial astounded expression is pitch perfect, and when he breaks into tears it is absolutely heartbreaking, and fitting to his more aggressively emotive performance. I must confess that this violent onslaught of emotions was somewhat painful to watch because Holm gives such a vivid portrayal of a man shattered by kindness; it’s a bit of a shame that he so quickly reverts back to his former barbed, emotionally shut down and coarse self since, I feel, the emotive aspects of Holm’s performance when he really lets loose, are his best.
When I first watched Holm’s performance as Crocker-Harris I must confess I was quite underwhelmed by his approach; but after comparing him alongside Redgrave, funnily enough though his weaknesses become all the more apparent, his willingness to distinguish himself from the landmark 1951 portrayal also makes his depiction all the more remarkable. I found this particularly evident in the scene where he muses to Frank aboutbeing ‘a subject for farce’ due to his henpecked husband predicament. Redgrave found power in just how shattered and done over by life he is, his quiet contemplation over the next few scenes setting up the finale of the film where he confronts how it all went wrong; Holm, on the other hand, finds power in the strength his character finds, a more overt strength that perhaps is less of a challenge than Redgrave’s more understated approach, but is nevertheless effective. His dynamic with Dench is pretty effective in showing Crocker-Harris’ gradual transition; in this production, the main focus is placed upon how Crocker-Harris finds the strength to stand up to his wife and the headmaster, not so much himself (as was the very internalised approach of Redgrave).
I cannot fault Holm for not having a final speech to himself since the original play did not have one either, and this links into the 1985 version being a rather faithful take on the original. Nevertheless when doing a head-to-head matchup one must take into account these things. And on one hand Holm’s lack of this final grandstanding moment in his performance does not lessen the original power he packs into it, on the other hand it just makes Redgrave’s performance resonate all the greater. I will say though this is a performance which simply grew upon re-watch. I will say that Ian Holm really takes the characterisation of Crocker-Harris as much out on a limb as is possible, it doesn’t work 100% for me but when it does, it works very well.
Albert Finney’s long and varied career has had one predominate recurring theme. From the ‘Angry Young Man’ of ‘Saturday Evening and Sunday Morning’, to the very bombastic theatre actor in ‘The Dresser’, or even his lighthearted charmers in ‘Big Fish’ and ‘Tom Jones’, all are extremely extroverted characters. I will get the negative out of the way first with Finney’s portrayal first. He doesn’t seem to quite fit Crocker-Harris physically as well as Holm and Redgrave do. He has a similar hulking, big physique as Redgrave does but is not nearly as good at diminishing himself into the non-entity that the Crock is, and looks rather wholesome for someone enduring a career-ending disease, this however is just a pretty minor reservation so far as reservations go, that he kinda lacks the extreme ‘nothingness’ the character requires.
I think Quentin Curtis, in his review for The Independent, puts it best. ‘Think of Finney—of his fondness for wine, women and race-horses—and you think of a bon viveur, rather than a corpse. Finney’s voice lacks the correct pedantic whine…too posed in his stiffness…coiled stillness of a heroic actor…a magnificent physical specimen’. I think in addition to this I have to note I just recently re-watched Finney’s excellent performance as the most badass of gangsters in the Coen Brother’s ‘Millers’ Crossing’, which probably didn’t help much in helping Finney disappear into the role of Crocker-Harris.
Finney’s natural screen presence is just so domineering that the rigidity of his portrayal becomes almost a sign of strength and power, not of weakness and subservience to the facts of life. I don’t find the lack of a ‘pedantic whine’ quite as detrimental as Curtis, since I do think Finney does try his best to nullify his usual bombastic delivery into something quite quiet, quite reserved. Still though, I got the sense even before watching the film that Finney was not perfectly cast, and that perhaps, say, Anthony Hopkins in Remains of the Day-cum-Shadowlands mode would have more effectively disappeared into the role.
Yet despite all these reservations and slight feelings of uncertainty to the nature of Finney’s casting, I must confess—his performance worked for me, completely. Not in the sense of a pitch-perfect performance like Redgrave’s, or even an interesting characterization like Holm’s. No, Finney’s performance worked solely because of the emotional chords he struck within me with his performance; working against a mostly messily scattershot film he somehow managed to find within it all the weight and dignity to Crocker-Harris’ gradual transition to a better man.
Since the film as a whole does quite resemble the 1951 version in terms of the sequence of events, I will focus here on specific moments that stood out in terms of how they diverged/differentiated from the portrayals of Redgrave and Holm. Firstly, in his final lesson with his Classics division, Finney takes a rather different tact from Redgrave by instilling his reading of the play with some rather rousing passion. Perhaps realizing that his natural screen presence was impossible to completely nullify onscreen, Finney chooses to imbued his Crocker-Harris with a certain sort of charm that really works quite well for the character, but merging it with perhaps the strictest, most coldest brand of discipline any Crocker-Harris I’ve ever seen has displayed, so as to not forego the emotional ineptitude of the character Rattigan conceived. It’s a very interesting take on the character which may not work for everyone, but it certainly did for me. Also Finney’s depiction of Crocker-Harris’ isolation from the world is equally interesting as he doesn’t show it to be the result of pure powerlessness in vein of Redgrave, or a strain of stubbornness and disillusion like Holm. No, Finney conveys a sense of unhappiness with himself that stems largely from a self-conscious shame—that Finney imbues the most domineering screen presence of all the Crocker-Harrises does not really matter since he blends it into his portrayl of a lonely man who knows that his tough, ironclad and intimidating exterior has scared off many a hopeful friend and companion amongst his pupils—bar one.
He is perhaps helped by an excellent performance by Ben Silverstone as Taplow (arguably the best interpretation of the character onscreen—if you’re reading this Hugh, I did say onscreen, my dear, onscreen), but Finney’s scenes with the young pupil is some of the best work he’s ever done. I’ve mentioned the ‘gift-giving’ scene so many times now that I need not mention the intrinsic power it has, but Finney’s execution of that single moment of realization, when the kindness of Taplow flows into his face and veins and sets it aglow with momentary joy, then melancholy, then sadness, then in his eyes a sense of hope that slowly begins to break his stoic barrier down, is perhaps the most emotionally impactful note of not just Finney’s performance, but of all the Crocker-Harris performances I’ve ever seen—it’s arguably the best handling of the scenes in all versions, yes, even Redgrave who’s in my top 10 performances of all time. In a few seconds Finney will send tears strumming down anyone’s cheeks—that’s a guarantee, folks.
I will say that the film slightly nullifies some of the play’s original impact by firstly focusing on some rather irrelevant subplots like Taplow’s encounters with a rather stock British bully, and also by the fact that the decision of Laura to leave her husband is by her own accord, removing Finney of an outlet for the quiet strength of his in the same way that Redgrave and Holm did, and putting a slight wrench in his performance. His final speech, however, is still a knockout despite the slightly saccharine, overly uplifting way in which it is handled. It does not quite have the depth and duality of Redgrave’s speech which was not only deeply moving, but also somewhat unsettling (intentionally so) in warning against letting promise and potential to go to waste, and also felt more personal than Finney’s speech, which is kind of used by the film in lieu of a rousing, emotional motivational speech. Nevertheless Finney handles it excellently, and despite having some pretty significant reservations about how Rattigan’s streak of pessimism is all but nullified by the inspirational nature of the ending, I will admit to being deeply moved by the well-warranted applause by the audience for Crocker-Harris, and more importantly the joy in Finney’s face and eyes at having done one right thing to make up for his failures. As I mentioned before the parting on good terms between himself and Scaccchi’s Laura does not really work for me either, but it is nicely handled enough I guess, and gives the ending a more hopeful, uplifting beat than the Holm version (though I’m sure Rattigan would have probably disapproved), though I do prefer the more melancholic route the 1951 version took that focused more on the relationship with Taplow.
Well this was a lot harder than I expected. I guessed (and was right in guessing) that Redgrave would end up top—after all, he’s in my top 10 best leading actor performances of all-time. I did not consider, however, how strong and therefore, how difficult to place/grade Finney and Holm would be. I will say that though both performances are very good performances I do have some reservations about both, but bringing them into comparison with Finney also serves only to heighten some of their strengths. Re-watching Holm gave me newfound insight into just how effective some parts of his performance was (which I’d previously overlooked); I was conflicted between a 4 and a 4.5 because even after re-watch I still don’t love his performance, rather I quite like it now, but I feel almost obliged to give him that extra .5 because of the daring approach he takes that pays off, and he is amazing when he really hits his stride. I was absolutely astounded too, by how great Finney’s performance was (which I had not been impressed by brief snippets I had seen before and was wholly prepared to be underwhelmed/dislike). I will say that I will for the time-being rank them in accordance with my very subjective, personal preference, but it’s subject to change after further re-watches:
1. Redgrave (5/5)
2. Finney (4.5/5, verging on a 5, the film holds him back a bit)
3. Holm (4.5/5)
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