In the second half of the twentieth century the biographical epic came into its own. The past hundred years had thrown up a lot of inspirational figures in politics and war, and as that generation of heroes began to die off, and the big motion picture developed an intimate streak, high-budget biopics became a matter of course. And, like anything that is produced often, there soon becomes a standard way of doing it.
The writer of Young Winston was Carl Foreman, of High Noon and Bridge on the River Kwai fame. He had a strong starting point – the writings of Churchill himself, full of the man's sense with words and subtle humour. Foreman structures the first book of Churchill's biography into a coherent and entertaining screenplay – sensibly opening with a burst of action from a period in Churchill's adulthood, which not only hooks the audience but also gives us a promise that this adventuresome time will be returned to later. This is especially important since there are moments in the first hour or so where Young Winston threatens to become a dry, domestic biography. But Foreman makes an error in his striving to get various supporting details across. There are several of these bizarre "interview" segments, where major characters are grilled by an unseen questioner, clunkily breaking up the flow of the story. The revelations in the interviews are important, but a writer of Foreman's calibre should have known better and woven them into the regular narrative.
Foreman also produced, and he selected Richard Attenborough on the strength of his debut Oh! What a Lovely War. Attenborough seems perhaps a little overwhelmed by all the gadgetry of a larger production. His work looks pretty, but doesn't seem to have much point to it, especially the many slow zooms which become a little irritating. Still, there is his ability to create memorable and iconic imagery, both of actors and of landscapes. He also takes care to make the final shot of one scene dovetail somehow into the first shot of the next. For example a slow tilt upwards following Anne Bancroft on a staircase cuts to an opposing downward tilt to bring us in on the teenage Churchill's speech in the school hall. Such smooth linking devices are useful in a picture like this that has many sudden changes in place and tone.
Attenborough was apparently also chosen for his ability to pick a decent cast. He pushed hard for Simon Ward in the title role, and on the whole made a good choice. The fresh-faced Ward deftly depicts Churchill's transition from eager teen to levelheaded military officer. However his adoption of the real Churchill's famous mannerisms and speech patterns in the final scenes verges on the ridiculous. Anne Bancroft gives a steady performance as his mother, although she is perhaps too good at playing cold-hearted women, and when her character's tenderness begins to sour towards the end of the picture it suddenly appears Lady Churchill is going to turn into Mrs Robinson. The finest turn is that of Robert Shaw as Winston's father. He makes Lord Churchill's descent into syphilis-induced dementia poignantly real – you can see the man he was in there still, disintegrating. There are also plenty of big name cameos, but frankly these are far too brief to be of any note or impact on the picture.
So, altogether a mixed-bag of a life story. Everything we need to know is there, it just seems that on all accounts this was not a very cohesive effort, in which script, performances and general production have no particular aim or arc. As such, there are some great set pieces, and considered in bits most of Young Winston is very well done. As a whole however, it has neither the sweep nor the power to give us the impression of a life lived.
The writer of Young Winston was Carl Foreman, of High Noon and Bridge on the River Kwai fame. He had a strong starting point – the writings of Churchill himself, full of the man's sense with words and subtle humour. Foreman structures the first book of Churchill's biography into a coherent and entertaining screenplay – sensibly opening with a burst of action from a period in Churchill's adulthood, which not only hooks the audience but also gives us a promise that this adventuresome time will be returned to later. This is especially important since there are moments in the first hour or so where Young Winston threatens to become a dry, domestic biography. But Foreman makes an error in his striving to get various supporting details across. There are several of these bizarre "interview" segments, where major characters are grilled by an unseen questioner, clunkily breaking up the flow of the story. The revelations in the interviews are important, but a writer of Foreman's calibre should have known better and woven them into the regular narrative.
Foreman also produced, and he selected Richard Attenborough on the strength of his debut Oh! What a Lovely War. Attenborough seems perhaps a little overwhelmed by all the gadgetry of a larger production. His work looks pretty, but doesn't seem to have much point to it, especially the many slow zooms which become a little irritating. Still, there is his ability to create memorable and iconic imagery, both of actors and of landscapes. He also takes care to make the final shot of one scene dovetail somehow into the first shot of the next. For example a slow tilt upwards following Anne Bancroft on a staircase cuts to an opposing downward tilt to bring us in on the teenage Churchill's speech in the school hall. Such smooth linking devices are useful in a picture like this that has many sudden changes in place and tone.
Attenborough was apparently also chosen for his ability to pick a decent cast. He pushed hard for Simon Ward in the title role, and on the whole made a good choice. The fresh-faced Ward deftly depicts Churchill's transition from eager teen to levelheaded military officer. However his adoption of the real Churchill's famous mannerisms and speech patterns in the final scenes verges on the ridiculous. Anne Bancroft gives a steady performance as his mother, although she is perhaps too good at playing cold-hearted women, and when her character's tenderness begins to sour towards the end of the picture it suddenly appears Lady Churchill is going to turn into Mrs Robinson. The finest turn is that of Robert Shaw as Winston's father. He makes Lord Churchill's descent into syphilis-induced dementia poignantly real – you can see the man he was in there still, disintegrating. There are also plenty of big name cameos, but frankly these are far too brief to be of any note or impact on the picture.
So, altogether a mixed-bag of a life story. Everything we need to know is there, it just seems that on all accounts this was not a very cohesive effort, in which script, performances and general production have no particular aim or arc. As such, there are some great set pieces, and considered in bits most of Young Winston is very well done. As a whole however, it has neither the sweep nor the power to give us the impression of a life lived.