ROYAL FLASH: Blu-ray (2oth Century-Fox 1975) Twilight Time
Richard
Lester’s Royal Flash (1975) typifies
the ribald English farce; a gaudy, bawdy spectacle following the exploits of
our iniquitous anti-hero, plucked from the pages of George MacDonald Fraser’s
second ‘Flashman’ novel. Initially,
Lester sought to begin at the beginning; the rights to Fraser’s first book
proving inaccessible. Incidents from that inauspicious elementary start to
Flashman’s life and career are briefly referenced in the movie’s derisory
prologue as our gangly and celebrated military man, Captain Harry Flashman
(Malcolm McDowell) is seen addressing a gaggle of impressionable adolescents on
what it means to be an English gentleman – something ‘Flashie’ knows absolutely
nothing about; his expert tutelage distilled to “take a cold shower every day.”
We regress to
that decisive moment in Flashman’s Afghanistan military campaign, the soldier
turned chicken denouncing the Union Jack, King and country to save his own
skin, only to be saved by the cruel and twisted hand of fate at the last
possible moment. A supporting wall inside his bunker collapses, knocking Harry
unconscious but also killing his enemies. Now a decorated war hero, we see
Harry in full regalia, framed by this nationalized emblem – the flag; the academic
setting that surrounds him a perfect foil for his rather clinical musings on
bravery to this quizzical lot of empty heads full of mush. In these
introductory moments we are reminded of a credo gleaned from The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962):
“When the legend becomes fact, print the
legend”, Flashman proving the lie over and over again as the rule rather
than the exception.
Fraser’s
inspiration for what ultimately evolved into a series of twelve novels
collectively referenced as ‘The Flashman Papers’ (his character
first gleaned from Thomas Hughes 1857 novel, Tom Brown’s School Days) details
the exploits of a rather repugnant rogue. Royal
Flash - the movie somewhat waters down Captain Harry’s caustic wit and
razorback defiance of authority while maintaining his exceptional cowardice. It’s a
gutsy move; taking this gross pig of a human being footnoted in one author’s
work of 19th century fiction and intellectualizing him through a 20th
century sort of English music hall rubric as the illegitimate
interloper/instigator and protagonist of history’s ever-unraveling and quixotic
tapestry. The ruse works, more so in
Fraser’s novel – but also in the movie – because our anti-hero is, at his core,
a loveably self-centered entrepreneur of earthy pursuits; clumsily boozing and
balling his way into adventures while accidentally stumbling upon the finer
points of human bing-bang collectively lumped together as ‘historical fact’.
The trick for
the movie lays in Malcolm McDowell’s queerly endearing performance. After all,
the novel’s Harry Flashman really is a slutty scamp; unrepentantly self-indulgent,
dishonorable in every way that a man can be, and quite shamelessly immoral in
his social/sexual proclivities. McDowell’s incarnation isn’t less so, per say,
just somehow more understandable in all his flawed nature and rampant thirst
for deliberate debauching – an altogether decidedly more bumbling rather than
brooding fish out of water; unable to believe his good fortune, though not
above taking advantage of it while hiding behind its grotesque parody.
Our
appreciation for the magnitude of Flashman’s ineptitude is compounded by Oliver
Reed’s demonic, steely-eyed and utterly terrifying presence, herein cast as
Otto von Bizmarck. Reed is an actor tailor-made for the part of the villain, I
suspect, because in real life his bellicose nature lent itself to bar room scrapping
and scrapes with the law that helped foster the general public impression of
him as a very loose cannon not to be messed with. The movie needs such obvious villainy
in order for Flashman’s temerity to come across as empathic spinelessness and
Reed delivers this in spades.
Royal Flash is also a rather impressive showcase for Alan Bates
as Rudi von Sternberg; the suave counter foil to Oliver Reed’s flourishing
brute. Bates, who remained married to one woman throughout his lifetime but
carried on many hetero and homosexual affairs to supplement that enduring relationship,
plays Sternberg as a manipulative mahatma. Whereas Reed’s glowering demigod
makes no apology or even attempt to mask his truly vial intensions, Bates’ cool
customer is almost the antithesis of this seething masculine rage, though not
ambition; a male equipoise of the sleek little minx, herein played to
perfection by Florinda Bolkan as kinky superspy, Lola Montez, the latter
reveling as she beats her suitors’ buttocks with a wire hairbrush. Bolkan’s bewitching trollop is offset by Britt
Ekland’s Duchess Irma; a rigid ice princess melting under Flashman’s sexual
tutelage.
Royal Flash is padded out with an exemplary roster of supporting
characters: Christopher Cazenove (in his first movie) as Eric Hansen, the
suspecting best friend of a Prussian prince held captive by Bizmarck and whom
Flashman – despite his uncanny physical resemblance – is unable to make
convincing through his masquerade. Michael Hordern’s gregarious headmaster,
Alistair Simms’ wily advisor, Mr. Grieg, Lionel Jeffries’ assassin, Kraftstein,
and, Bob Hoskins’ flighty police constable all contribute their moments. There’s
ballast to each of these performances even though most barely last more than a
few minutes on the screen. Finally, there are the movie’s production values to
consider; Alan Tomkin’s art direction and Peter Howitt’s set decoration a
sumptuous visual feast. Royal Flash
is a regally mounted sham-comedy, exquisitely photographed against some
spectacularly recreated sets and stunning Bavarian backdrops lensed by cinematographer
Geoffrey Unsworth using his archetypal soft diffusion technique.
When first we
meet our disreputable English bastard, Capt. Harry Flashman, he is expounding upon
the virtues of being one of the noble gentry to a packed auditorium of aspiring
Rugby schoolboys. We regress into a not so distant porthole from Flashman’s
past, exemplifying his cowardice in the face of insurmountable odds on the
battlefield. As fate would have it, Harry’s not for the sword…not just yet,
surviving his Afghan ordeal quite by accident and subsequently decorated despite
his obvious lack of heroism. The die is cast. The legend takes hold. There’s no
going back. That evening Harry attends a house of ill-repute raided by the
police. In his subsequent escape from authorities he ducks into a nearby
waiting carriage, discovered by Lola Montez and her suitor, Otto von Bizmarck.
Lola finds Harry rather foppishly charming; Bizmarck decidedly less so. In
fact, Bizmarck makes an honest attempt to have Harry arrested by the constable.
Instead, the constable acknowledges Harry as a celebrated soldier and threatens
to have Bizmarck deported for being a foreigner.
A short while
later, Harry incurs Bizmarck’s wrath yet again during a demonstration pugilist’s
match. Bizmarck suggests that boxing is a crude sport unfit for gentlemen. So Harry
goads him into accepting a challenge from noted champion, John Gully (Henry
Cooper), who manages to illustrate the finer points of fisticuffs while
senselessly pummeling the disgraced Bizmarck, forced to begrudgingly
acknowledge his humiliating defeat in front of Lola Montez. Bizmarck makes Harry a threatening promise: that
if ever he should come to Bavaria, the point of a sword shall prove his
undoing. Not long thereafter Harry is tricked by Lola and forcibly dragged to Bavaria.
There, he is introduced to the smooth schemer, Rudi von Sternberg who further
complicates matters by returning Harry into Bizmarck’s clutches.
George
MacDonald Fraser’s screenplay now kicks into some rather high-gear plagiarism
of Anthony Hope’s celebrated novel, The Prisoner of Zenda. Harry is
commanded by Bizmarck to impersonate a Prussian prince betrothed to the icy
cool Duchess Irma, but suffering from an outbreak of gonorrhea, thereby
preventing a consummation of their pending marriage. Bizmarck delights in his ‘training’ of Harry to take the prince’s
place; blackening his hair and even going so far as to scar his face with a
sword to mimic the prince’s own facial wounds incurred during his early years
of military sparring. Harry makes several madcap attempts to escape this transformation,
before discovering that Irma is quite an attractive creature; albeit one
utterly inexperienced in the ways of the flesh. Harry breaks Irma of these
sexual hang ups and thereafter finds her a most willing partner in bed.
Eventually,
Harry latches onto the idea to steal the crown jewels locked in the palace
clock tower and free the real prince from his dungeon beneath the castle,
thereby exposing Bizmarck’s master plan. It all goes awry, however. After all,
how could it not. Bizmarck is unmoved by this reversal in their deceptions.
Harry escapes with the jewels and his legacy as a tawdry adventurer intact,
only to be cheated by Lola out of his pirate’s booty, awakening in her coach
after their in flagrante delicto with Rudi at his side; the pair indulging in a
game of Russian roulette that ends with a mysteriously unseen shot ringing out.
Royal Flash was not a success when it debuted. Had it been
otherwise, we might have seen the entire Flashman Papers find its way onto
the big screen. Perhaps the movie’s fractured perspective on history went over
the heads of most sitting in the audience. After all, you have to know
something of history in order to admire George MacDonald Fraser’s wickedly aberrant
take on it. But Royal Flash is an
exquisitely sublime circus rather faithfully grounded in the historical record,
deriving its humor in these truth-based absurdities rather than a complete
fabrication or revision made for art’s sake.
The audacity
of history is one thing. Tweaking its misfires to expose a shambles of human
folly is quite another. Having any genuine appreciation for the latter requires
a capacity to recognize this distinction. The sophistication in Fraser’s screenplay is
admirably abetted by the exemplary cast doing their utmost to blur the dissimilarities
further still. In the end we’re left with a fairly accurate tale of
considerable text book merit; but one retold from a rapscallion outsider’s
perspective. Captain Harry Flashman is the proverbial fly on the wall – more
often than not, with his wings clipped – as he finds himself stuck in the
ointment of this grand narrative. Surviving the ordeal is the real challenge.
Twilight Time’s
Blu-ray is a fairly welcome affair. Geoffrey Unsworth’s heavily diffused cinematography
still appears marginally problematic at the start of the movie; the blown out
whites tending to impact overall contrast levels and color saturation. Flesh
tones veer ever so slightly on the unnatural pink side. Film grain has been
accurately reproduced throughout. But there are a few obvious instances where
age-related artifacts intrude, mostly under the main title and end credits. The
2.0 DTS is faithful to the limitations of its vintage audio. Twilight Time pads
out the extras with a very comprehensive audio commentary from Nick Redman,
sitting down with star, Malcolm McDowell – the two reminiscing in great detail
about the making of the film. We also get a pair of fascinating featurettes; Inside
Royal Flash and Meet Harry Flashman with insightful
sound bytes from historians and crew, plus Twilight Time’s usual commitment to
providing an isolated score in stereo, this one featuring Ken Thorne’s
marvelous re-orchestrations. Finally, Julie Kirgo offers her usually stellar intuition
and opinions in some handsomely reproduced liner notes. Bottom line:
recommended!
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
3.5
VIDEO/AUDIO
3.5
EXTRAS
3.5
Comments