glorious 39: bold choices come to little

Glorious 39 is a strange, engaging, ultimately disappointing but ridiculously well-acted period-piece set in England during that last, golden summer before the war. I went in expecting one of those "Our Innocence is Lost; Our Ignorance was Bliss" nostalgia pieces, never thunder-striking but always worth a watch when brought to life by those marvellous British character actors. Instead, this turns out to be director/writer Stephen Poliakoff's well-polished stab at a historical thriller, along the lines of the Wyvern Mystery, in which the heroine feels absolutely loved and at home in the world and then something happens to pull the rug out and she winds up inhabiting a nightmare of doubt, wondering if she can trust anyone at all.

In the DVD extras, David Tennant describes Poliakoff as a British national treasure, which I think is rather generous; certainly two of the others I've seen of his (Close My Eyes and Perfect Strangers) are no great earthshaking pair. He does have a way of turning up the topsoil of British family-life in previous eras, particularly enjoying the company of the rich and landed, and presenting it in a palatable and often educational fashion. This time, he's exploring the idea that Neville Chamberlain's government was so certain England would lose a war with Germany that there was a campaign of intimidation and assassination against any poor sod who spoke out in favor of Churchill's bellicose plans. Although few of us today would scoff at the idea of a government acting cold-heartedly against its citizens (I'm speaking of Tories and Republicans, obviously) while justifying it as the means to an end, the thing as presented is pretty far-fetched. Poliakoff was apparently leaning so far towards the thriller aspect that he lost interest in logic.

The most chilling bit for me is when our heroine (Romola Garai) is detained at a roadblock without an identity card and the soldier explains with some po-faced Schadenfreude that Habeas Corpus has been suspended, and as soldiers they can now do what they like with whomever they please. The other effectively dread-inspiring moment is when the creepy young cousin warns her in hushed tones that her family doesn't love her. The grand pieces which are apparently meant to be the most chilling (at the eerie veterinarian's and at the diplomatic party) come off as forced and untrue, saved only by the (ridiculously) high quality of the acting. In fact, David Tennant gives such a magnificent turn that I resented his early exit. Bill Nighy is, as always, a complete master of all to which he turns his wonderful hand, and Hugh Bonneville and Eddie Redmayne hit just the right notes, without misstep. Poor Christopher Lee has the worst bit: he's part of an unfortunate framing device which culminates in one of the clumsiest pratfalls of an ending that I've ever had the bad luck to see.

It's too bad. Applying Hitchcock twists and darknesses to a historical piece is a grand idea. Casting all brilliant actors is another grand idea, and more folks ought to do it. Jeremy Northam as the aristocratic henchman of the evil government is perfect, and there's a wonderfully sinister shot in which he's eerily lit in the back of his car as the young folks watch him pull away, their instincts telling them he is a malevolent influence but their cheerful British common-sense arguing that the idea is rubbish. There's a stash of incriminating records disguised as foxtrots, cats stand in as mirror-images of those well-honed but often-quashed instincts, and every piece of furniture and prop is finely chosen and well placed. If only the story were better shaped. If only the plot turns were not so often forced and hard to swallow. If only the ending weren't an unpalatable cup of turgid tea.

All that said, all my complaints logged, I might still watch this again, just for the acting, and for the pleasure of living for another few hours in England before the War.