MOONFLEET: Blu-ray (MGM, 1955) Warner Archive

An unmitigated box office fiasco when it premiered, most regrettably, at an epoch when even Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer could scarcely afford the luxury of a prestige picture, director, Fritz Lang’s Moonfleet (1955) is, in hindsight, a reverently flawed American adaptation of a prize-worthy English novel. An oddity to consider: although J. Meade Falkner’s 1898 novel was wildly popular in his native England, as much beloved in its own time as Robert Louis Stevenson’s similarly-themed Treasure Island, Moonfleet was almost immediately forgotten after its initial flourish of success. It would remain unknown and unpublished abroad until 1951! Even with an absence of 53 years, Moonfleet’s U.S. debut in paperback was a publishing phenomenon, prompting MGM – then, still regarded outside of Hollywood as the king of features – to snatch up the rights to produce it.  And Metro had the perfect star to partake of its lavish exercise; Stewart Granger (whose real name was James Stewart). Alas, by the time Moonfleet reached movie screens, MGM had been hit hard by escalating production costs, a severe dip in revenues, and the unceremonious deposition of its founding father, Louis B. Mayer. So, Moonfleet, in hindsight, became a studio-bound minor programmer, rather than a major masterpiece; imbued with Lang’s dark vision, ironically complimentary to the novel’s adult melodrama, and, utterly void of the usual swashbuckling nonsense that had, by 1955, become something of Stewart Granger’s stock-in-trade. Granger had come to America only to be typecast as the brawny and amiable swordsman in period pics; a valiant successor, inheriting the cod piece from Errol Flynn.  For his part, Granger abhorred this, much preferring the stage to screen work. Nevertheless, he made the very best from his aversion to kissing scenes, described as a ‘powdery mess’ with a thin trail of saliva often ruining the take.   

Between 1933 and 1940, the 6 ft. 3 in. Granger kicked around as a film extra. Fame, however, eluded him; the outbreak of war, delaying his screen ascendance by another three years. After the war he came to the attention of Gainsborough Pictures and from then on, began to build a repertoire of impressive screen credentials, billed as Britain’s answer to Cary Grant. A move to the Rank Organization in 1947 enriched his reputation, but did little box office. Then, in 1950, Granger crossed the Atlantic on advice from his agent. MGM was looking for someone to play H. Rider Haggard’s adventurer, Allan Quartermain in their globe-trotting adaptation of King Solomon's Mines. As Errol Flynn, the studio’s first choice had turned Metro down, Granger tested for – and won – this plum part, opposite another newly arrived Brit export: Deborah Kerr. The picture’s success guaranteed Granger a lucrative studio contract. He was cast in three major movies in rapid succession: Soldiers Three (1951), Scaramouche (1952), and The Prisoner of Zenda (1952) – the latter two, remakes of movies made during the silent era. All three were solid hits, as was Granger’s loan out to Columbia for Salome (1953), and, his return to MGM in another period costume drama, Young Bess (1953); costarring his second wife, Jean Simmons. While Young Bess was popular with audiences, it failed to recoup its costs; in hindsight, the kick start of a downward trend. Granger lost out to James Mason for the plum part of fading film star, Norman Maine in George Cukor’s A Star is Born (1954). Instead, he made two clunkers back-to-back: Beau Brummell, opposite Elizabeth Taylor, and Green Fire, costarring Grace Kelly (both released that same year). As both Taylor’s and Kelly’s pictures apart from Granger continued to make money for the studio, the rumor surfaced, it was Granger’s presence that cast the pall on success. Retreating to his native England, Granger had a minor hit for Columbia with Footsteps in the Fog (1955). Then, came Moonfleet.

MGM had great hopes for Moonfleet and, in hindsight, neither Granger’s performance nor Fritz Lang’s direction let them down. If any criticism endures, it is likely owed screenwriters, Jan Lustig and Margaret Fitts, who managed to distill Falkner’s character-rich and sprawling adventure into barely an hour-and-a-half of heavily truncated, and, cloistered vignettes; the cast, skulking about the heath, recreated mostly out of paper mâché, and, with very few exceptions, confined to sound stages. It must be noted that the new management at MGM after Mayer’s ousting really did not see the end of the golden era in picture-making; the various bean-counting regimes that miserably failed to make their mark or inculcate a sense of the same close-knit community on the back lot, still under the delusion that every movie could be made at minimal expense at the studio, preferably indoors, to gain absolute control over lighting and sound-recording conditions. Thus, the remote and fog-laden atmosphere of Dorsetshire was recycled from cycloramas with borrowed thatched roofs, weeds and woods from 1954’s indoor-bound Brigadoon. The throne room from Metro’s 1938 production of Marie Antoinette surfaced yet again, this time as the stately home of Moonfleet’s villain, Lord James Ashwood (George Sanders), as did the Tudor hall constructed for 1953’s Young Bess (also, glimpsed as the upstairs’ offices of the Tredway Corp. in 1954’s Executive Suite); herein, reconstituted as a rather lavishly appointed waterfront tavern, where Granger’s ‘gentleman’ pirate, Jeremy Fox, entertained smugglers and rescues his young charge, John Mohune (Jon Whiteley) from a fate worse than death.

Moonfleet opens with a ground-swelling main title by composer, Miklós Rózsa; typical of the maestro in all its robustly romantic strains, ever so slightly skewed with dissident chords toward the ominous. What follows is a tale told mostly under the murky cover of a perpetual windswept and spooky night. For Moonfleet, circa 1757, is a foreboding coastal enclave in the south of England, a bastion for villainy, despite its God-fearing community, made superstitious by rumors of a ghost that haunts the craggy cliffs leading down to the waterfront. It should be noted Moonfleet - the movie - takes far too many artistic liberties with the novel; everything from changing the ghost’s moniker - ‘Redbeard’ instead of ‘Blackbeard’ to renaming its pint-sized protagonist; the novel’s John Trenchard, now John ‘Mohune’. Virtually all of the novel’s last act, including John’s imprisonment is excised. There are far too many discrepancies between the novel and the film to discuss at any length herein. But the biggest changes involve John Mohune, an orphan who lives with his aunt, Miss Arnold in the book. In the movie, John is alone in the world; wandering the moors in search of Jeremy Fox (a concocted film character with no counterpart in the novel): ‘a friend’ that his late mother has instructed him to seek out for guidance. In Falkner’s novel, John befriends, Elzevir Block – landlord of the Mohune Arms instead. Block has only just lost his son, David, killed by Magistrate Maskew (John Hoyt) during a raid. In the movie, we get hints of a former love affair between Jeremy and John’s deceased mother, Olivia; also, the inference, John may be Jeremy’s illegitimate son.

Mohune manor has fallen into a delicate state of disrepair, with not even a faint hint of its former glories afoot in its overgrown courtyards and decaying stonework. Discovering Jeremy carousing with a drunken Lord Ashwood and his cronies, the group entertained by a wild-eyed gypsy girl (Liliane Montevecchi), John is reluctantly ‘invited’ by Fox to spend the night; placed in the temporary care of Fox’s paramour, Ann Minton (Vivica Linsford) who shortly thereafter discovers the truth about his parentage. Imploring Jeremy to reconsider their lives together, Fox instead, and rather ruthlessly promises to send Ann away – back to the isles where he first discovered her. Meanwhile, John is introduced to the kindly Parson Glennie (Alan Napier), who rattles the rafters of his weather-beaten church with a full-bodied admonishment of his parishioners for their superstitious beliefs – an afront to God. Afterward, however, Glennie is kind and compassionate toward young John, whom he finds exceedingly courteous and intelligent. John is also befriended by Grace (Donna Corcoran), Maskew’s tween-age daughter. Departing the church after services, John inadvertently stumbles into an open grave; the ground beneath it giving way to a watery catacomb with caskets that also houses a pirate’s booty of stolen merchandise. Taking cover after hearing echoes emerging from behind the walls, John bears witness to Fox administering orders to his motley crew of followers in his smuggler’s operation.

Having unearthed the casket of Sir John ‘Redbeard’ Mahone, and now, in possession of his silver locket, containing cryptic instructions on where to locate a fabulous diamond, young John attempts to inform Jeremy of his discovery. Meanwhile, Jeremy is being entertained at Lord James Ashwood’s palatial estate. His wife, Lady Clarista Ashwood (Joan Greenwood), lures Jeremy into her private chamber adjacent the great hall where she makes a vain attempt to rekindle what was, presumably, their illicit affair. Jeremy is unimpressed, but modestly interested when Clarista suggests he and James enter into a lucrative alliance to defy Maskew’s finite determination to enforce the law. Intruding upon their détente, yet unable to find even a hint of impropriety with which to accuse Fox, Lord Ashwood further outlines the terms of their pending agreement.  The meeting is cut short as word reaches Fox; young John is in grave danger. Indeed, John is being held at knife point by Fox’s own men, including Elzevir Block (Sean McClory), Damen (Jack Elam), Hull (Dan Seymour), Felix Ratsey (Melville Cooper) and Tewkesbury (Ian Wolfe).  Maskew’s unanticipated arrival blunts John’s death sentence. As the boy cannot reveal their treason before Maskew without incriminating Fox, he chooses instead to remain silent until after Maskew and his soldiers have withdrawn. Block then challenges Fox’s authority. The two adversaries engage in a duel that ends humorously; Fox, victorious in subduing and humiliating Block before the rest of the men.

To ensure John’s safety, but also to rid himself of Ann once and for all, Fox arranges for the smuggler’s boat to take Ann and John back to the isles once they have successfully unloaded their smuggler’s cargo on the beach. Unwilling to yield to these plans, Ann informs Maskew of Fox’s illegal rendezvous. Fox and his men are intercepted by Maskew’s forces. Fox and John flee into the hills, though not before Fox is wounded by Maskew’s stray musket, but also manages to strike the magistrate in the head with a large rock, thereby knocking him off a perilous perch to his death. Seeing his way out of this terrible frame-up, Jeremy elects to take John to the military outpost at Carisbrooke Castle by impersonating Major Hennishaw (Lester Matthews), whom he has earlier drugged at the tavern and stolen his uniform. John is lowered down a well and recovers the fabulous gem. But John and Fox are momentarily delayed in their escape by Hennishaw, who calls them out as thieves. Nevertheless, after a spirited chase, the pair manages to flee to safety on horseback. Lying in wait on the open road by night, Fox intercepts Lord Ashwood’s carriage, engaging James and Clarista in his newly hatched plot to disappear to parts unknown with the diamond and John. Alas, Ashwood, ever the devious sort, refuses to partake of the scheme. After fooling a sentry posted to intercept Fox (Fox and Clarista pose as newlyweds being escorted on their honeymoon by Lord Ashwood) James reasons he can have his way with Fox and the diamond too. The men struggle and Fox is impaled on Ashwood’s sword. Although the wound afflicted will eventually prove fatal, Fox manages to shoot Ashwood dead. The horses, spooked by the noise, bolt, dragging the coach behind them and into a ditch, killing Lady Ashwood as well. Making his way back to their secret hiding place, Fox instructs young John to remain with him until the dawn, at which time he is to go to Parson Glennie with the diamond and a full disclosure of everything that has occurred. Nobly, Fox feigns a prolonged journey and period of separation – one, from which he will never return. As John falls asleep, Jeremy sets out in the nearby boat, his dying remains carried out to sea. At dawn’s first light, John awakens and fulfils his destiny; comforted by Glennie and Grace at the gates of Mohune Manor, but with his own future as yet uncertain.

Golden age Hollywood’s affinity for redefining great literary masterworks to suit its own tastes and temperaments is working overtime on Moonfleet. Famously, Samuel Goldwyn’s 1939 production of Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights jettisoned all but the notorious romance between Heathcliff and Cathy Linton, while still managing to be regarded as the definitive screen adaptation of that novel.  The changes to Moonfleet, however, are rather devastating, particularly the creation of Jeremy Fox – a character with no counterpart in the book; although, some of Elzevir Block’s traits have been transposed onto Fox, leaving the movie’s Block as one of the undisputed and unrepentant ‘heavies.’ While the movie version of Moonfleet functions as its own entity – particularly, if one has never read Falkner’s novel – it miserably fails to capture the essence of Falkner’s richly reviled characterizations.  The Lustig/Fitz screenplay expunges the entire last act of the novel, whereupon John gives the money acquired from the sale of the diamond to renovate and restore the village. In the novel, John grows into maturity, weds Grace, becomes Lord of the Mohune Manor and eventually, Justice of the Peace.  We witness the couple’s happiness, and the joy of their three children who grow up to serve King George while an aged John and Grace remain contentedly ensconced in Moonfleet. The movie concludes, rather optimistically, with Parson Glennie gingerly embracing young John and Grace, the trio marching beyond the imposing wrought iron gates, leading to the manor.

At barely 1 ½ hrs. Moonfleet is not only a grotesquely condensed adaptation of Falkner’s novel, but a completely re-imagined one as well. Stewart Granger plays Jeremy Fox with all the masculine ferocity befitting his Andre Moreau from Scaramouche (1952); an infinitely more satisfying vehicle for his light English charisma to blossom and charm us. He even engages in a duel herein, leaping from table to stairs to center stage, highly reminiscent of Scaramouche’s superior staged climax. Granger is elegance personified, making him a little tough to swallow as the ‘gentlemanly’ commander of these otherwise ruthless cutthroats. We can no more imagine his Jeremy Fox pledging an allegiance to the unscrupulous Lord Ashwood than suspect him of high treason against the crown, for which he is charged. Alan Napier distinguishes himself during Parson Glennie’s hell fire and brimstone church sermon – an excellent oration, peerless, but alas, pointless too, except to dispel the legend of Redbeard for the fearful parishioners. The rest of the cast, including George Sanders and Vivica Linsford, are utterly wasted in mere walk-ons; doing their part superbly, but given precious little to show off the truest mettle of their actor’s craft. This brings us to Jon Whiteley’s woefully plain John Mohune; a role, screaming for the likes of a Roddy McDowell, Mickey Rooney, or even Scott Beckett in their prepubescent prime. Whiteley, who only appeared in 5 movies and two TV series before abandoning acting altogether, herein is vaguely reminiscent of Mark Lester’s blonde moppet, Oliver Twist in Carol Reed’s bloated musical, Oliver! (1968); conveying precious little beyond bright-eyed innocence. When the camera is on him, Whiteley all but fades into the backdrop, never achieving an emotional response beyond inquisitive pang; part puppy dog/part bewilderment, as though more cue cards were required to explain the scene at hand.  

Director, Fritz Lang and producer, John Houseman fought like hell throughout the shoot; a working relationship, Houseman later described as imbued with a queer sort of mutual respect. “He (Lang) was very anxious to make a picture at Metro, and he rather wanted to make a picture with me. On the whole, we managed to turn out something very much off the beaten track-and... we had a good time.” The feeling was hardly mutual between director and star. “I hated working with Fritz Lang,” Granger later recalled, “It was a bloody awful film.” Lang’s temperament may have had something to do with this. Indeed, associate producer, Jud Kinberg later recalled an instance, hearing Lang ruthlessly admonish an actor on the set as ‘unprofessional, stupid and lazy’ – Lang, concluding “You are nothing at all!” When Kinberg poked his head around the corner to see what all the fuss was about, he was horrified to discover the recipient of Lang’s humiliation was Jon Whiteley; then, barely 9-years old! “It ended up being rather a crazy type of picture,” Houseman concluded, “…still very much admired by European filmmakers. Commercially, however, it was a disaster.”

The horror that cost MGM a whopping $1,203,000, comes to Blu-ray via the Warner Archive (WAC). Moonfleet was photographed in Eastman Color and Cinemascope by the great Robert H. Plaink, who had his work cut out for him here, fighting Eastman’s oft inconsistent and murky tones, plus the shortcomings of early vintage ‘scope’ with its one-focal-length lens responsible for virtually all camera set-ups. Given these disadvantages, miraculously, Moonfleet is a visual masterpiece; Lang, indulging in some truly impressive and complicated camera set-ups, the action – always – in focus with narrowly a glimpse of the grotesque screen curvature to the extreme left and right, while minimizing the Cinemascope ‘mumps’ (or horizontal elongation of faces in close-up). Lang uses the studio-bound claustrophobia inflicted upon the production to his very best advantage, under moodily low-lit conditions or ‘day-for-night’ photography to evoke and augment the all-pervading dark intensity of the story. WAC’s Blu-ray is solid, maintaining the truest intent of this original cinematography. Color balancing has brought back the image to a presentably ‘cool’ temperature. Previous DVD incarnations all leaned toward a decidedly ‘hot’ palette, owing to severe color fading. Flesh tones can still appear slightly pasty and orange. But reds, blues and browns look extraordinary ripe and robust. A light smattering of film grain is very indigenous to its source. Contrast is excellent and age-related artifacts are gone for a smooth visual presentation. The 5.1 DTS audio resurrects vintage 4-track ‘scope’ stereo and shows off Miklós Rózsa’s score to its best advantage. Moonfleet is a dialogue-driven movie. Nevertheless, the brief action sequences exhibit some interesting early directionalized stereo SFX. There are NO extras. Bottom line: Moonfleet is a curious and failed anomaly for MGM; never to be considered a faithful adaptation of J. Meade Falkner’s classic novel. Despite the changes, there is still some good stuff here, although much is given short shrift via MGM’s mid-fifties cost-cutting.  The Blu-ray is never anything less than excellent. Recommended.  

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

3

VIDEO/AUDIO

4.5

EXTRAS

0