David Niven is definitely channelling old friend Errol Flynn here, in the role of the irrepressible Geoffrey Crisp! One assumes the part was created to afford a little feminine light relief, since the central character is -- inconveniently for the standard narrative curve -- already happily married as a young man when we first meet him, and omits to look elsewhere... At any rate, Niven-as-narrator is a charming scamp, and refreshingly the plot refrains from taking the obvious path of marrying him off to his 'snapdragon', R.J.Mitchell's formidable secretary Miss Harper. The relationship between the two eventually softens in their mutual affection for Mitchell, but never becomes romantic.
But it is Leslie Howard in the central role who undoubtedly owns the film; perhaps unsurprisingly, given that he is credited as both director and producer, but it is a typical 'quiet' performance that effortlessly overshadows Niven's endearing antics. As one bemused company director remarks after an encounter with the character's unassuming forcefulness, "But I thought you said he was *shy*..?"
The decision to open the film with extended sequences of anti-British propaganda sourced from Britain's enemies -- from Goebbels to Lord Haw-Haw -- is a striking one, and more effective than any tendentious rhetoric on "The last Bastion of Liberty" in establishing the concept of an existential threat. The riposte is made chiefly by a montage of quintessentially English images; 'this is what we are fighting for'. And the context is set in the Battle of Britain, with an overworked handful of pilots and Spitfires flying again and again against vastly outnumbering waves of attackers.
It is not, however, really a 'war' picture. If anything it is a biography of the Spitfire as much as of its designer, and the story effectively ends pre-war in 1938, with the commissioning of the first planes. If it has a fault, it is that I felt the film was perhaps a little didactic, an instructional piece of history rather than an emotionally engaging human drama; we witness Mitchell's career frustrations and achievements (oddly, it is never made clear just why Crisp blacked out with almost fatal results in that early seaplane competition; one would assume it was from the hitherto unexpected g-forces produced by banking at such record speeds, but the issue, subsequently a well-known fighter pilot phenomenon, is simply dropped unexplained)... but it is only at the end of the story, where Mitchell in effect deliberately sacrifices his own chances of survival in order to get the Spitfire design finished, that we are actually drawn into the tensions of the tale rather than merely observing. The enclosing narrative device is clever in that Mitchell's fate is left carefully ambiguous at the start; since neither the contemporary audience nor modern viewers are likely to be familiar with the history of this 'back-room' figure, the ultimate outcome remains 'up for grabs', as it were, and the hero's choice an active one until the end.
Rosamund John provides effective support as loyal wife Diana, despite the absence of conflict between them to provide a cheap motor for their scenes together (particularly memorable is a scene in the kitchen where Diana has to reinforce her husband's faltering resolution to maintain his integrity at the cost of his employment... while trying to get him to chop the parsley!) Scenes in pre-war Germany are handled with a light touch that distinguishes the German pilots and designers from the politicians responsible for their deployment, and with an ironic comedy that recalls "Pimpernel Smith", Leslie Howard's earlier potent propaganda vehicle. Script writer and ubiquitous character actor Miles Malleson can be glimpsed in a typical cameo role, and David Niven, while always entertaining, shades his character towards maturity while representing a whole generation of ex-WWI flyers who found themselves cast adrift at the end of hostilities. It was the ending, with his now-middleaged RAF officer taking to the air in person and then pursuing the German pilot who had shot down one of his squadron-mates. that I found a little trite.
But the final imagery, as the Spitfires fly away from the camera into an opening canyon of gilded cloud, is magical, aided by William Walton's soaring music.
Overall I enjoyed and would recommend the film, but felt it not to be entirely the dramatic equal of the other test-pilot picture with which I always confuse it, David Lean's 1952 "The Sound Barrier", nor of Howard's previous wartime excursion "Pimpernel Smith". It is undoubtedly a pity, however, that Leslie Howard's directorial career was cut short by enemy action; in his choice to serve his country in wartime cinema rather than pursue a Hollywood career, he proved himself to be a weapon of considerable effectiveness, and it is ironic in the context of this film that, as in the case of R.J.Mitchell, it proved to be a choice that may well have cost him his own life. As a swansong, the role is poignant but also appropriate.
But it is Leslie Howard in the central role who undoubtedly owns the film; perhaps unsurprisingly, given that he is credited as both director and producer, but it is a typical 'quiet' performance that effortlessly overshadows Niven's endearing antics. As one bemused company director remarks after an encounter with the character's unassuming forcefulness, "But I thought you said he was *shy*..?"
The decision to open the film with extended sequences of anti-British propaganda sourced from Britain's enemies -- from Goebbels to Lord Haw-Haw -- is a striking one, and more effective than any tendentious rhetoric on "The last Bastion of Liberty" in establishing the concept of an existential threat. The riposte is made chiefly by a montage of quintessentially English images; 'this is what we are fighting for'. And the context is set in the Battle of Britain, with an overworked handful of pilots and Spitfires flying again and again against vastly outnumbering waves of attackers.
It is not, however, really a 'war' picture. If anything it is a biography of the Spitfire as much as of its designer, and the story effectively ends pre-war in 1938, with the commissioning of the first planes. If it has a fault, it is that I felt the film was perhaps a little didactic, an instructional piece of history rather than an emotionally engaging human drama; we witness Mitchell's career frustrations and achievements (oddly, it is never made clear just why Crisp blacked out with almost fatal results in that early seaplane competition; one would assume it was from the hitherto unexpected g-forces produced by banking at such record speeds, but the issue, subsequently a well-known fighter pilot phenomenon, is simply dropped unexplained)... but it is only at the end of the story, where Mitchell in effect deliberately sacrifices his own chances of survival in order to get the Spitfire design finished, that we are actually drawn into the tensions of the tale rather than merely observing. The enclosing narrative device is clever in that Mitchell's fate is left carefully ambiguous at the start; since neither the contemporary audience nor modern viewers are likely to be familiar with the history of this 'back-room' figure, the ultimate outcome remains 'up for grabs', as it were, and the hero's choice an active one until the end.
Rosamund John provides effective support as loyal wife Diana, despite the absence of conflict between them to provide a cheap motor for their scenes together (particularly memorable is a scene in the kitchen where Diana has to reinforce her husband's faltering resolution to maintain his integrity at the cost of his employment... while trying to get him to chop the parsley!) Scenes in pre-war Germany are handled with a light touch that distinguishes the German pilots and designers from the politicians responsible for their deployment, and with an ironic comedy that recalls "Pimpernel Smith", Leslie Howard's earlier potent propaganda vehicle. Script writer and ubiquitous character actor Miles Malleson can be glimpsed in a typical cameo role, and David Niven, while always entertaining, shades his character towards maturity while representing a whole generation of ex-WWI flyers who found themselves cast adrift at the end of hostilities. It was the ending, with his now-middleaged RAF officer taking to the air in person and then pursuing the German pilot who had shot down one of his squadron-mates. that I found a little trite.
But the final imagery, as the Spitfires fly away from the camera into an opening canyon of gilded cloud, is magical, aided by William Walton's soaring music.
Overall I enjoyed and would recommend the film, but felt it not to be entirely the dramatic equal of the other test-pilot picture with which I always confuse it, David Lean's 1952 "The Sound Barrier", nor of Howard's previous wartime excursion "Pimpernel Smith". It is undoubtedly a pity, however, that Leslie Howard's directorial career was cut short by enemy action; in his choice to serve his country in wartime cinema rather than pursue a Hollywood career, he proved himself to be a weapon of considerable effectiveness, and it is ironic in the context of this film that, as in the case of R.J.Mitchell, it proved to be a choice that may well have cost him his own life. As a swansong, the role is poignant but also appropriate.