THE HOLLY AND THE IVY: Blu-ray (British Lion, 1952) Kino Lorber
While long-since having attained the justly deserved moniker of an
unlikely ‘holiday classic’, director, George More O'Ferrall’s The
Holly and The Ivy was more squarely aimed as a reflection piece about England,
circa 1952 (the year of its release) than a Capra-esque homage to family; the
nation, buffeted on all sides then, by socio-economic upheavals, diametrically contrasted
with its well-ensconced, but dying traditions. However, as expertly scripted
product goes, screenwriter, Anatole de Grunwald (adapting from Wynyard Browne’s
stagecraft) never loses sight of the fact this ‘message’ is in service to the
movie’s entertainment value. I find a
good many movies today, either produced, directed or written by overzealous ‘messengers’
and ‘mandarins’, desiring to prove their point, as it were; hammering home what
a screenwriter and director have conspired upon as a ‘teachable moment’,
while largely forgetting that movies are not meant to be ‘the classroom’ of the
masses, but a temple of worship for those desiring escapism from their daily
woes. The Holly and The Ivy never surrenders its warm and fuzzy ‘feel
good’ merely to illustrate its purpose; nor, does it sink like a stone into
the molasses of its own treacle, and that alone, has made it perennial and
everlasting grade ‘A’ entertainment – if largely forgotten outside of the U.K.
ever since its debut.
As with much of England’s post-war filmic product, The Holly and The Ivy
is a frank attempt to address a cultural malaise in which faith and family are
put through the rigors of modern life; never again to be as they once were,
though heartwarmingly, made more secure than ever. At its core, the picture
exudes a faint whiff of sadness for the fast-fading England of yore, or
perhaps, its’ even more glorified facsimile depicted in the movies that never
truly was. The Holly and The Ivy effectively tugs at our heartstrings
without ever appearing maudlin or – even more miraculously, in the many decades
that have since passed – dated. One of England’s foremost actors, Ralph
Richardson, is the Reverend Martin Gregory – an elder statesman of the old home
guard, to whom his children, Jenny (the marvelous, Celia Johnson), Margaret
(Margaret Leighton) and youngest, Michael (Denholm Elliott) can scarcely
relate. Indeed, except for Jenny – who has remained at her father’s side to
offer him solace and strength in his emeritus years – the other offspring
regard Martin as something of a dinosaur, intractable in his views and out of
touch with life. Shamefully, they might have first inquired, rather than
assume, what those views are.
Herein, we pause a moment to pay homage to Ralph Richardson; a magical
presence in movies from the mid-20th century. A failed arts student
who, by his own admission “…was too lazy to be a painter ... I hadn't the
persistency – but then I hadn't got very much talent”, Richardson’s work in
the movies was naturally preceded by his love of the stage. As something of a
disciple of John Gielgud, he appeared from 1931 onward at the Old Vic – mostly in
Shakespearean parts, graduating to London’s famed West End, and then, Broadway.
Richardson’s reputation as a foremost actor of his generation quickly evolved
in movies like The Fallen Idol (1948), The Heiress (1949), Long
Day's Journey into Night (1962) and Doctor Zhivago (1965). Felled by
a series of strokes, just as he was coming off what one critic described as a ‘mesmerizing’
run in Eduardo De Filippo’s Inner Voices, Richardson’s last two
movies were released posthumously, both in 1984; Give My Regards to Broad
Street, and Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan. Every bit Richardson’s equal, at least in The
Holly and the Ivy, is Celia Johnson who, unlike her co-star, preferred the
relatively brief scheduling of work in the movies to lengthy ‘run of the play’
contracts that kept her away from her family and her work for the Women's
Auxiliary Police Corps. Johnson, however, proved unequivocally, she could
command a performance on the stage, her debut and early stagecraft, capped off
by a two-year run in The Wind and the Rain (1933–35), as well as rave
reviews for her Elizabeth Bennett in Pride and Prejudice (1940), and, as
the second Mrs. de Winter in the West End production of Rebecca (1940) garnering
her very high praise. She would forever be immortalized in the movies as Laura Jessen
– suffering from a dearth of romantic longing with her husband, and entering
into a passionate détente with Trevor Howard, in David Lean’s 1945’s classic
three-hanky weeper: Brief Encounter.
Johnson’s ability to exude an air of struggling devotion is again on
display in The Holly and the Ivy; as Jenny, the eldest and ever-devoted
daughter, desperately in love with David Paterson (John Gregson), who wishes to
whisk her away from the drudgery of life to an exciting new chapter for them
both in South America. Johnson’s suffrage roles have oft been unceremoniously
lumped together, rather unflattering, as ‘the frump’ or ‘martyr’. But there
is a great deal more to unpack from these portraits of integrity and reverence;
Johnson, wholly devoid of an air of moralizing, but enrolled in her commitments; placing the importance of a promise made to others
above self-interests. The Holly and The
Ivy opens at Martin’s parsonage in the quaint hamlet of Wyndenham in
Norfolk. In short order, we are introduced to the entire Gregory clan; all
except Margaret, who shall remain absent for much of the first half of the
picture, although ever kept alive in the screenplay’s clever conversations. At
the outset, our hearts are with Jenny who, in the absence of her siblings, has
become housekeeper for their aged parent. As the village parson, Martin is
first presented to us as having sacrificed his own family’s interests to serve his
parishioners.
Jenny’s desire to wed engineer/lover, David Paterson is completely
overlooked by Martin. Indeed, Jenny realizes she cannot run away to South
America without first securing Martin’s welfare, either in the care of one of
her siblings, or perhaps, a distant aunt. As the Christmas holidays fast
approach, the remaining Gregory children, Michael and Margaret begrudgingly
assemble. However, tensions fester, particularly between Michael – an atheist Army
serviceman – and Martin. As Jenny struggles to maintain the tenuous peace in
the household her own dreams of marital bliss are shattered when Margaret,
having arrived late to this gathering, implicitly relays she has no intention
of surrendering her life as a magazine writer in London to retire to the country
and care for their father. Gradually, Jenny comes to discover her sister’s brittleness
is hardly cruel, but the bitterness of an alcoholic who, in separate
confidences with Jenny and Michael, painfully reveals, not only the particulars
of her addiction, but also, she previously bore a son out of wedlock, who has
recently died of meningitis. The motivating difficulty for all three siblings
is they cannot approach Martin with their problems, fearing their
unconventional lives would cause him to reproach them for transgressing against
God’s ordinances.
Regardless of these feelings, Margaret and Michael coolly elect to
abstain from a family get-together with their aunts, Lydia (Margaret Halstan)
and Bridget (Maureen Delany) on Christmas Eve. Instead, the pair rather selfishly retreat to
the cinema. On route, Margaret suggests a change of venue to the local pub; the
pair, getting soused and creating a scene upon their return home. The next
morning, Margaret packs – eager to return to London immediately. Meanwhile,
Michael engages Martin in a bitter dispute over the existence of God, at which
point Margaret confesses she too has since become an atheist. In reply, Martin reveals no malice toward his
children. Indeed, he seems implicitly to have understood their problems all
along, having spent a life administering his counsel to others, similarly
plagued by self-doubt, pity and regrets. Although wounded by Margaret and
Michael’s inference he has always been unapproachable as a parent, Margaret and
Martin are reconciled in a heartfelt confidence, shortly before his Christmas
morning service. Rather sheepishly, Michael
bows to his father’s earnest hope he will attend the university to better his
station in life. Even more miraculously Margaret, realizing the sacrifices
Jenny has made – and will continue to make without her intervention – elects
instead to give up her career to care for Martin; allowing Jenny and David to
marry and move to South America. Renewed in their commitments to each other,
the Gregorys tearfully bond as Christmas service begins.
The Holly and the Ivy is a sublime offering, extolling the virtues of an
imperishable familial bond, oft discounted – even then – in contemporary
society. The tight bond between the Gregorys, and its near dissolution, rings
with an air of sincerity because it continues to represent a microcosm in the
great generational divide, to have only worsened and widened with the passage
of time. The old masters of film were so clever in their art, applying universal
truths and the fundamentals of life, seemingly to appeal to the broadest audience,
yet, in hindsight, managing to strike an indelible image into the hearts and
minds of generations yet to follow them, and, even more strikingly, on an
intimate level to outlast the time capsule in which such artifacts were
originally made and remain perennially fashionable, in spite of time itself. We
can all relate to the Gregorys as a family in grave peril of losing their faith
and love – in and for each other, themselves, and, life in general, the plight
of one family, seemingly inconsequential in this vast and passing parade of
human evolution. The elemental truth, subtly unearthed by director, O’Ferrell
and screenwriter, de Grunwald, unassumingly provides its ‘teachable moments’
without ever sacrificing the ‘lump in the throat’ sentiment for kith and kin around
the fire at Christmas. While the Gregorys’ collective past has remained suspect
of their shared empathy for one another, their future – at least, this Christmas,
appears to have proven a maxim, repeated since, over and over again in
countless literary works, stagecraft and the movies. You can never truly lose
your family.
The Holly and The Ivy arrives on Blu-ray via Kino Lorber, in a 1080p
transfer that will mostly impress, with a few minor speckles and some other
brief age-related damage – largely excusable for a movie that has never undergone
a full-blown restoration. Most of the B&W image here is razor-sharp,
extoling the virtues in Edward Scaife’s gorgeously lit cinematography. Contrast
is superb, and overall tonality is excellent. Black levels are rich and inky,
while whites remain pristine. A light smattering of film grain looks very indigenous
to its source. Kino’s 2.0 DTS mono audio reveals some minute imperfections that
could have been eradicated, but have remained intact herein. Nothing to
complain about, however, and Malcolm Arnold’s score is as wonderfully realized
as ever. Kino has shelled out for an audio commentary from historian, Jeremy
Arnold, who offers copious knowledge on the making of the movie, as well as
back stories on its cast and crew – very comprehensive, and very much appreciated!
Kino has also added a few trailers to
advertise its other product, though no trailer for this movie. Perhaps, it no
longer exists. Bottom line: The Holly and The Ivy has been long overdue
for rediscovery. It’s absence in hi-def corrected, this one should be
considered a top-tier choice for holiday fare; every bit deserving to be canonized
along with the other great Christmas movies of yore. Never seen it? Bring Kleenex
and your smile to life’s party. And enjoy. A genuinely moving motion picture
for the ages.
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
4.5
VIDEO/AUDIO
3.5
EXTRAS
1
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