IT ALWAYS RAINS ON SUNDAY: Blu-ray (Ealing, 1947) Kino Lorber

Ensemble picture-making is some of the hardest work in the world. On the one hand, you have the ‘star’ or ‘stars’ – those names above the title, by the very nature of their popularity with audiences, to command a greater amount of screen time, thus throwing the balance of the whole ensemble off kilter. On the other, there is the star’s ego to satisfy as a basic requirement with indeterminate amounts of screen time and close-ups, expressly designed to set them apart from the other players. And finally, there is marketing to consider: which players will sell more tickets, and therefore, command a greater involvement and profit at the box office. Nevertheless, ensemble picture-making endures: particularly, in vogue in Britain, perhaps, in part, due to the British film industry’s more tempered approach to ‘stardom’ in general. From Shakespeare’s time to the present, England has produced some very fine thespians; all of them, considered ‘good actors’ first – and ‘stars’, only in the fan mags. British film-making therefore represents a collectivism rather than celebrating the individual – the notion that a movie is not made or sustained by any one star – even the names above the title – may have something to do with the industry’s natural affinity for making movies with larger, and, more intricately woven casts.

One of their most intriguing ensemble pieces is director, Robert Hamer’s It Always Rains on Sunday (1947), a picture to attempt a snapshot of then contemporary life in all of its many facets. For although the central plot involves escaped convict, Tommy Swann (John McCallum), returning to the crowded suburb of Bethnal Green, briefly reunited with Rose Sandigate (Googie Withers) – his lover of some years past, the screenplay by Hamer, Angus MacPhail, and, Henry Cornelius (based on Arthur La Bern’s novel of the same name) is a skillful integration of intermingling bloodlines and converging subplots, to culminate in an exhilarating police manhunt through the railroad stockyards. It Always Rains on Sunday has so many finely wrought character studies at play – and, all at once – it is, at first, dismissively simple to lose one’s self in these seemingly unimportant theatrics.  Steadily, however, Hamer builds upon his congested community’s close proximity to one another as an elemental drama of humanity trapped by its own destiny. Googie Withers, whose spooky squint and pie-faced visage has always reminded me of a summer stock knock-off of Dame Judith Anderson, is marvelous as Rose; once – a blonde, and passionately involved with the criminally prone Swann, whom she intended to marry before his incarceration.  Since then, Rose has retreated to her natural hair color and wed George (Edward Chapman), fifteen years her senior. It is hardly a marriage of convenience: what, with the couple, crammed into a drafty London flat with barely a stitch of grass or backyard, living on top of each other with George’s two adult daughters from a previous marriage: the headstrong and superficial Vi (Susan Shaw), presently pursuing married band leader and local shop keeper, Morry Hyams (Sydney Talfer) – whose brittle and careworn wife, Sadie (Betty Ann Davies) knows all about it, and, is on the cusp of leaving him – and, the more demure, Doris (Patricia Plunkett), briefly, to alienate her own boyfriend, Ted Edwards’ (Nigel Stock) by entertaining a ‘job offer’ from randy playboy, Lou Hyams (John Slater) – who also happens to be Morry’s brother. George and Rose also have a son together, Alfie (David Lines), whose discovery of Vi’s affair leads to a deftly executed bribery to maintain his silence. Chummy little group, isn’t it?

The cast would already be teaming with excellent performers. But the MacPhail/Cornelius screenplay is not finished yet; introducing us to a trio of small-time thieves; the sheepish, Dicey Perkins (Alfie Bass), slightly psychotic, Whitey (Jimmy Hanley) and nervous front man, Freddie (John Carol), who are attempting to pawn some hot roller skates for quick cash. Their fence, Caleb Neesley (John Salew) is hardly interested, that is, unless their initial offer of £10 per pair can be cut down to five. Reluctantly, the boys agree. And who can blame them, since steely-eyed Det. Sargent Fothergill (Jack Warner) and his partner, Det. Sargent Leech (Frederick Piper) are hot on their trail. Investigating a flop house run by Mrs. Spry (Hermione Baddeley) the dicks are told off in no uncertain terms. Aside: although Baddeley only appears in this one scene, it is indelibly etched by the actress’ inimitable cockney accent, and, her added touch of casually scratching her behind as she retreats from the inquisitive officers. Meanwhile, Tommy has returned home, taking refuge in Rose’s fallout shelter, and, imploring her to help him in his planned escape to the country. Old passions die hard. Rose cannot help herself. Ordering her husband and stepdaughters out on an errand, Rose sneaks Tommy into her bedroom. While drying his wet clothes by the fire, she prepares him food, placing herself in the precarious position of being caught – either by the family, or Det.’s Fothergill and Leech, who arrive to make their impromptu inquiries.

Miraculously, Rose manages to keep Tommy away from these prying eyes. At one point, she instigates a fight with Vi, who vehemently despises her stepmother. In reply, Vi packs her bags and retreats to the local nightclub where Morry is playing with his orchestra. Previously, Morry had promised Vi a spot with the band as a singer – a shallow ruse, as she possesses no musical skill at all. Naively having fallen for Morry – and his suave act, Vi is instead confronted by Sadie at the club. Far from holding a grudge, Sadie merely explains to Vi the sort of man with whom she is about to become entangled; pointing to all her husband’s character flaws before casually announcing to Morry she has decided to leave him. In reply, Morry pursues Sadie, leaving Vi wide-eyed and jilted. As night settles in, Tommy makes his big break, promising to send for Rose just as soon as he has established himself in parts as yet unknown to either of them. Neither actually believes this happy reunion will ever materialize and Rose, after sharing several passionate kisses with her ex-lover, reminds him, too much time has passed to make any difference now. In the meantime, Fothergill and Leech arrest Dicey and Freddie at the local pub; Whitey, having gone off to settle a score with Neesley, who is also implicated in their thievery. Inadvertently, local newshound, Slopey Collins (Michael Howard) is directed by the pub’s barmaid to interview Rose about Tommy, and discovers the pair about to part ways for the last time. Tommy beats Slopey senseless, and also manages to knock Rose unconscious, before running off. He is pursued by the police, manages to steal a car, and then, after being forced to ditch it - a bicycle, before going it on foot in the railway stockyards. Fothergill and Leech make chase and eventually apprehend their man. From her hospital bed, Rose dutifully apologizes to her husband for having made a spectacle of their marriage. He politely forgives her before departing the hospital to return home.

It Always Rains on Sunday – and indeed, it almost always does in this movie – can be seen as a metaphor, celebrating the old adage about ‘into each life, a little rain must fall’. All of these lives are impacted by their own torrential downpour of secretive personal regrets. The picture is refreshingly factual in its depiction of ‘lower class’ living conditions in England circa 1947; an era when British picture makers, by far and large, still tended to concentrate on telling tales of the dwindling aristocracy and bygone yester-years of the upper classes; cultured, fanciful and escapist outings, prone to far more theatricality and cordiality. That It Always Rains on Sunday was made by Ealing Studios, renown more for its black comedies than melodramas, is another reason to regard it as unique. But perhaps most impressive of all is the way none of these skilled thespians manages to over-indulge or upstage the competition. Virtually every performance given is solidly integrated, and, of the ‘little gem’ class.  While several performers undoubtedly distinguish themselves - Withers, Warner and McCallum top-billed - virtually everyone given even a handful of lines to recite, strikes an indelible mark in these proceedings. The one failure – and it remains minor at that – is Googie Withers. Her brief escalation of rekindled passion for the wayward and manipulative Tommy is strikingly rich and convincing; her retreat into piety, once stirred to reconsider her actions, imploring George from her bedside for his forgiveness, a little less so.  In the end, It Always Rains on Sunday remains a microcosm of character study, as well as a commentary on the living conditions for many in England after the war.  What’s here is hardly glamorous or escapist pop-u-tainment, and it delivers the goods in spades.

It Always Rains on Sunday arrives on Blu-ray via Kino Lorber’s alliance with Studio Canal. The results are mixed. While care has obviously been taken to remaster the picture from the best surviving elements, image quality toggles between a relatively crisp 1080p rendering of the original B&W elements, showing off Douglas Slocombe’s cinematography to its very best advantage, and, an occasionally hazy and soft derivative – especially in the picture’s third act – suggesting no original elements have survived, and the source consulted was from less than optimally archived second – or even third – generation film stocks. When the image is crisp, it reveals superb amounts of fine detail, and, a light smattering of grain looking very indigenous to its source. The softer bits are disconcerting. Here, film grain seems to vanish, or rather, evolve into a clumpy mess, offset by some untoward digital sharpening. This can result in minor edge enhancement. It is not egregious, but it is present and slightly distracting. The DTS mono audio accurately reproduces the original soundtrack with no hiss or pop. We get two brief featurettes produced for the Studio Canal release; the first, under 20 min. – featuring several noteworthy British film historians and critics, to reflect on the making of the movie. There is also another, at barely 6 min., covering the film’s locations. Imogen Sara Smith weighs in with an audio commentary, exclusive to Kino. It covers a lot of ground on the production’s history. Theatrical trailers for this and several other Brit-based Kino product are also included. Bottom line: It Always Rains on Sunday is an interesting movie. As an ensemble picture, or an Ealing masterpiece, it deserves to be more readily seen, despite the shortcomings baked into this 1080p transfer. Judge and buy accordingly.

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

3.5

VIDEO/AUDIO

3

EXTRAS

2.5