It's only taken me 25 years and change to come to the realization that there may be no greater pleasure in the life of the filmgoer than to watch a film from the Archers, especially an Archers movie from the 1940s. The Archers, made up of the writing/producing/directing team of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, have never been the most popular filmmakers, despite making so many great films and influencing so many classic American filmmakers, from Steven Spielberg to Francis Ford Coppola, who managed to revive Powell's career by putting him in residence at Zoetrope.
The Archers, during the 1940s, were about as amazing as it gets, in terms of cinematic output. 49th Parallel. The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp. A Canterbury Tale. I Know Where I'm Going. Black Narcissus. The Red Shoes. The Small Back Room. And, in the middle of this, from 1946, A Matter of Life and Death. This romantic fantasy did not break the mold; it is the mold. When we watch movies these days and wonder why they (they being Hollywood, or filmmakers in general) don't make movies the way they used to, this is the kind of movie we hearken back to. This is the movie that epitomizes what defines classic filmmaking. The stylistic flourishes here are present in all aspects, and yet are never in-your-face. It's hard for A Matter of Life and Death to not be in-your face, what with its plot and storytelling devices, and all the more successful by not rubbing your nose in it.
The movie opens with a tense and somehow sweet sequence in which two characters meet cute, as Roger Ebert would put it, over the most uncute situation: the female lead is June, a cheery and cute radio operator from Boston working in Britain during World War II. The male lead is Peter, a Royal Air Force squadron leader who expects to be dead in about five minutes. His plane has been shot at, all but one of the squadron have parachuted to safety, the other man is dead, and his parachute is shot to pieces. Before Peter jumps out of the plane (he'd prefer not to blow up), he talks with June and, crazily enough, falls in love, even if it's just with a disembodied voice. Still, the time comes for him to jump, and he does so.
And then a funny thing happens. Peter wakes up. On the shore of the beach he jumped into. Alive and unharmed. What's more, Peter has landed in the same place where June lives; with a new lease on life, he runs to her and they begin their affair in earnest. The problem for Peter has ended temporarily, but is just beginning for his celestial conductor, a fop from the French Revolution who was meant to claim Peter's body for death as he jumped out of his plane. Thanks to all the fog, though, he missed Peter and has to reclaim the man for death. Peter, though, chooses to appeal with the highest court of all, so he may continue to live with June. Thus, all that's left to wonder is if Peter and June will make off or not (take a wild guess).
What makes A Matter of Life and Death so charming, so livable, and so enviable to anyone with a mind to make movies is not just the script, full of whimsy and life, but the actors, all of whom seem to so embody their characters that you wonder how they can do so much with seemingly so little. David Niven, future Oscar winner, plays Peter as a smart and dashing rogue, a man troubled by what appear to be realistic hallucinations in the form of his conductor, but not too troubled to ask for some tea or watch a game of ping-pong. Kim Hunter, another future Oscar winner, plays June, the personification of the phrase "cute as a button". What red-blooded man wouldn't want to move heaven and earth to live out a second life with her? Their chemistry, while never reaching the erotic peaks attained in the next film from the Archers, Black Narcissus, is still white-hot. In a winning and unique performance as Dr. Reeves, the man who ends up being Peter's worldly and ethereal counsel is Roger Livesey, the same man who played Colonel Blimp. Here, he doesn't age, but his wit, his smarts, and his camera obscura, a device which allows him to see all, if from a darkened vantage point, make the character as instantly iconic as Blimp or Thomas Colpeper from A Canterbury Tale. Other notable performances come from Marius Goring, as the French conductor; and Raymond Massey as the prosecuting counsel for the case of Peter's life, a true American patriot felled by the first bullet of the American Revolution.
Jack Cardiff's cinematography, mixing Technicolor during the scenes set on Earth and black-and-white during the Heaven-set sequences, is splendid and stunning. Here was a man who knew how to make the world come alive, color or not. One of the most haunting shots of the film comes early and is set in Heaven, as some of the recent dead peer down through large holes, facing towards them. Still, the color photography is as lush as anything he ever put on screen. His work with Powell and Pressburger is second to none. The work done by Powell and Pressburger is second to none.
I realize that I'm too late to this party; frankly, if it wasn't for the diligent and tireless work done by Martin Scorsese (yes, Martin Scorsese), and the mention of The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp courtesy of Roger Ebert in his Great Movies column, I don't know if I'd know much about Powell and Pressburger. I've discovered their films and am happier for doing so. The stories they tell are fully lived in. Without seeming like they're working on it, these two men built characters, towns, lives, worlds. From fantasy to fable, the war to the ballet, the Archers set their sights high, and often hit their targets. A Matter of Life and Death is one of their finest efforts.
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