THE MAN WITHIN

New Zealand Listener, Volume 18, Issue 443, 19 December 1947, Page 30

THE MAN WITHIN

(Ranl:-G.B.D.) HE small quantity of Christian dust within the urn of old Sir Thomas Browne might reasonably have been agitated by the news that one of his more private speculations had been used by Mr. Rank to win dollars and influence exhibitors. But though Sir Thomas and Mr. Rank are the alpha and omega of The Man Within, this not inconsiderable film-the first technicolour show made at Shepherd’s Bush studios, I under-stand-is mainly the work of four other people. First of all, it is based on a novel by Graham Greene who used as his leitmotiv Browne’s sad comment on his own conscience "There is a man within me and he is angry with me." Then, the screen adaptation was done by Muriel and Sydney Box, who were, I suspect, responsible for the narrative technique superimposed on the story, and finally the direction was in the hands of Betnard Knowles. The latter, presented with a _ story about an Informer, has made good use of mist; fog, and darkness, but under the technicolour camera it is lambent mist, fog that glows eerily under the moonlighteven the night is darkness visible. I found it one of those peculiarly satisfying pictures at which one can, as one wishes, either abandon oneself to the sheer enjoyment of an exciting tale (smugglers v. excisemen in olde worlde .Sussex), superbly acted and presented with all the vivid colour of a fancydress pageant, or eschew the sensuous elements and concentrate on a psychological conflict involving in its complex pattern all the principal characters. The result of this astute blend of action and introspection is a film which will appeal to the uncritical filmgoer and stimulate argument. among more independent minds. Add to the ingredients Sacred and Profane Love, and_ recurrent glimpses of good old-fashioned torture, and it will be obvious that Mr. Rank’s investment is pretty safe. But in spite of the strong appeal to the eye and the emotions, it was the moral issues raised which I found most interesting and whick remained in my mind after the picture was over. I found it difficult to believe that Browne’s aphorism applied simply to the central character-a youth (played by Richard Attenborough), who in anger betrays his fellow-smugglers but resists the threat of torture and in the en? even risks the gallows to shield his friend and mentor (Michael Redgrave). Conflict between right and wrong, law an lawlessness, lust and love; between (continued on next page)

(continued from previous page) weak flesh and irresolute spirit, between legal obligation to speak and moral obligation to keep silent, lies beneath the vivid colour and finished acting of every scene. I do not suggest that the manner in which these conflicts are resolved will satisfy everyone. In places I found the behaviour of Michael Redgrave, as the Master Smuggler, inconsistent with the man as the early sequences of the film reveal him. His flogging of the boy who had been palpably "framed up" by the other smugglers-an episode which is the fulcrum on which the whole story turns — is psychologically unconvincing, and the final scenes left me with a vague doubt in my mind. And the narrative method, while it broke the thread of the action, provided no emotional respite. The enduring moment of the film-the point at which it opens and that to which it returns at regular intervals up to the final scene-shows the boy chained to a stake in the dungeon of the county jail under the suavely sadistic gaze of Ralph Truman, the official inquisitor. This is no moment of tranquillity in which to recall the emotion which makes up the rest of the film, and it might be argued that it overdoes the emotional catharsis. . ' But these are intellectual objections, and whether they are sustained or not the film still stands as a good piece of

work. As in most British pictures of a serious type, the characterisations-from the principals down to the walk-on parts-are convincing and three-dimen-sional. Joan Greenwood as the good girl (is that delightful aecent genuinely Sussex?) and Jean Kent as the aptlynamed Lucy both react well to colour photography. Felix Aylmer is a parish priest to the manner born, and Francis L. Sullivan highlights one of those convincing court-room scenes which British directors handle so well. Though the period is roughly the same as that of The Wicked Lady, I notice that corsages are now being worn a trifle higher. This may be attributable to the methodical eye which Mr. Rank keeps on the American market, but it might be more charitable to assume that for once The Man Within is more important than The Woman Without.