BECKET: Blu-ray (Hal Wallis Productions/Paramount, 1964) MPI Home Video

First off, no comparison ought to be made between director, Peter Glenville’s 1964 epic, Becket and the homogenized drivel of today that gets peddled as such. By whatever barometer of fine grain finesse, one chooses to ascribe it, Becket is an articulate powerhouse of a human drama, grafted onto the resplendent production values of a mid-sixties’ road show blockbuster.  Setting aside the absolute eloquence in Edward Anhalt’s prose (based on Jean Anouilh’s play of the same name), the picture sports two world-class thespians – Peter O’Toole and Richard Burton, in what otherwise would be considered career-defining roles, if only each actor had not already defined, and then re-defined their respective passions for the art and craft of acting. Time and again, O’Toole and Burton have established themselves as monumental. So, to find them both in rare form as sparing partners in this English language stichomythic clash of wills is not altogether unique.  To bear witness to both men in the full flourish of their respective capacity for intellectual confrontation is supremely enriching to the mind, heart and soul.  Nominated for 12 Oscars, Becket remains in that rare upper echelon of battle royales, its tumultuous saga of princely intrigue and papal deception brought into total focus with O'Toole’s self-destructive and perverse sovereign locked in a platonic homoerotic 'affair' with his boyhood best friend, Burton’s Sir Thomas - a bromance, bitterly resolved in death and betrayal after the latter is appointed Archbishop of Canterbury.

Glenville demonstrates unequivocally that, given such peerless stars at his disposal, he can do no better than to graciously step aside and allow their stagecraft in great theater to take hold, augmented by Geoffrey Unsworth’s sublime cinematography. At its crux, Becket is the tale of a friendship, paradoxically desiccated by the blossoming of this mutual love, turned asunder by idioms and ideology. O’Toole’s is the more flamboyant part, running the gamut from temperamental, even childish attention-grabbing imp to thoroughly impulsive deviant. Countering this flash and flourish is Burton’s sustained cadence as the King’s trusted advisor and his most ardent critic. Rather decisively, Becket avoids the fallout of having two major stars vying in a sort of ruthless one-upmanship. Burton and O’Toole are so secure in themselves and each other, their generosity while invading each other’s space makes for one of the most satisfying exhibitions of star power ever put on celluloid. Burton is extraordinary while O'Toole is nothing less than larger than life. Even as Burton recognizes the innate value of offering a sustained/refrained meditation, full-bodied and steeped in sly intellect, O'Toole just keeps turning up the heat. Director, Glenville stages most every shot as though he were blocking a photographic account of the stage show – perhaps, deliberately, to advance our appreciation of these star turns, decorously framed by the occasionally formaldehyde-inducing accoutrements of this enormously satisfying stage-bound bon-bon - diction, conviction and the enormity of a very public love affair turned rancid. Viewed today, as 149 mins. of unalloyed ethos, Becket remains one of those vastly awaited and weighty mid-60’s spectacles that, at first glance, one might assume played better then, yet, so completely to suck in the audience on its mesmeric drama that, however artificially consummated, it nevertheless preys upon our remembrance, perhaps even more so, six decades removed from its theatrical release.

The project was originally conceived by Hal Wallis for his own indie production company, under a distribution deal with Paramount Pictures. Wallis, whose legendary career spanned the whole of Hollywood’s golden age – and then some – to have overseen such legendary cinema art as The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938), The Maltese Falcon (1941), Casablanca, Now Voyager (both in 1942), King Creole (1958), Blue Hawaii (1961), True Grit, and, Anne of the Thousand Days (both in 1969) – to name but a few highlights, affords Becket all of the cache and comforts of his extensive back catalog in film-making expertise. And while historians are quick to poo-poo the picture for its ‘inaccuracies’, these were already baked into Anouilh’s play as dramatic license. The most glaring of these is the depiction of Sir Thomas Becket as a Saxon, risen to prominence inside a Norman court, when, in fact, the real Sir Thomas was a Norman and Henry - the King, an Angevin. Anouilh was well aware of this error even before his play debuted, but exploited the contrived counterbalance to augment the mounting antagonism between the King and his cohort. Other artistic liberties included reshaping Henry’s youth to harbor an oedipal mistrust of all women, stemming from contempt for his own mother, Empress Matilda. History, however, teaches that the real Henry admired his mother for her influences in helping to shape him into the ferocious combatant and accomplished bureaucrat. Until the Empress’ death, Henry relied most heavily on her guidance and advice. Finally, in the play – and movie - Eleanor of Aquitaine is diminished – no longer the handsome intellectual, renown for her wit and daring, but something of the embittered harpy, who admonishes Henry at the end of the movie, threatening to bring grievances in their marriage to her own father’s attention. In reality, Eleanor’s father was dead by the time the maiden had turned fifteen; his death, marking her appointment as Duchess of Aquitaine, which translated into her viability in a marriage of pure political convenience.

Anouilh’s play was originally performed in French. But the author’s only interested in either of these towering figures from history was a threadbare comprehension of the historical record, onto which he draped his very elegant fiction. So, it mattered not to audiences that what was full on display lacked credibility with the historians or the critics. Indeed, Becket was a hit outright. In 1959, the play was translated into English, making the leap to Broadway with Laurence Olivier as Becket and Anthony Quinn as King Henry II in a production, also directed by Peter Glenville. Simultaneously, the play opened in London, directed by Peter Hall with Eric Porter and Christopher Plummer as its stars. As an interesting aside, Peter O'Toole was originally signed as Henry II in this production, but broke his contract after being offered the title role in David Lean's Lawrence of Arabia (1962). In preparing Becket – the movie, Glenville divided his time between exteriors at Alnwick and Bamburgh castles, and Bamburgh Beach in Northumberland, and, Shepperton Studios; home to some of the most impressive interiors ever built for a movie; production designer, John Bryan, and art director, Maurice Carter delving into a level of exceptional authenticity the material itself otherwise lacks.

Becket is set in the late 12th century, roughly one hundred years after the Norman conquest. The native ruling class deposed, Henry’s new monarchy, aristocracy and clerical hierarchy are rife with spies and deceivers. Saxon protégé and facilitator to the King’s carousing, Thomas Becket has ingratiated himself in the King’s service. After a particularly fanciful night of wenching, Henry reasons Becket as his most loyal subject and appoints him Lord Chancellor, assuming he, Henry, relying heavily on their ‘friendship’, will now have complete control over Becket’s decision-making process. Instead, Becket begins to challenge Henry’s authority in a jurisdictional dispute. Bored by his duties as monarch, and further frustrated in his corrosive arranged marriage to Eleanor, Henry is more interested in his drunken forays and sexual debaucheries. Resentment stirs from within, as Henry's Norman noblemen, his wife (Pamela Brown) and his mother (Martita Hunt) misjudge Becket’s influence with increasing contempt. Yet, Becket is not without flaws, chiefly - his inability to truly love anyone, including the ever-faithful Gwendolen (Sian Phillips). Upon learning Becket has traded her to Henry for the love of a peasant girl that he, in fact, has no desire to procure in a romance, Gwendolen commits suicide aboard Henry's barge - thereupon driving the first wedge between these two ‘friends.’ Henry remains in perpetual conflict with the elderly Archbishop of Canterbury, Theobald of Bec (Felix Aylmer), who opposes the Crown’s taxation of Church property in support of Henry's military campaigns in France. When the Archbishop suddenly dies, Henry exercises his prerogative and appoints Becket as the new Archbishop, believing he will now have Becket’s complicity to further his own warring plans. Instead, Becket sides with the Church. Contention is further stirred after Becket’s excommunication of Lord Gilbert, a loyalist to the Crown, for ordering the execution of a priest, accused of sexual indiscretions with a young girl. Gilbert refused to acknowledge his transgressions and seek absolution.

During a clandestine rendezvous with the Bishop of London (Donald Wolfit), Henry lays out his plan to destroy Becket’s credibility through scandal and innuendo. Alas, these feeble allegations deflate when Becket confronts his accusers outside the rectory. At once exhilarated, yet deeply embittered, Henry’s latest attempt at defrocking Becket is but a warning volley of things to come. In secret, Becket retreats to France, encountering a sympathetic ear in the enterprising King Louis (John Gielgud). Becket journeys to Rome, where he implores Pope Alexander III (Paolo Stoppa) to allow him to renounce his position and retire to a monastery as an ordinary priest. Instead, the Pope reminds Becket of his obligations to the Church.  As a matter of principle, Becket begrudgingly returns to England, but asks Louis to intervene on his behalf with Henry on the beaches at Normandy. Already deeply mistrusting his old friend, Henry inquires whether Becket ever ‘loved him.’ Becket concurs that he did to the best of his ability. A truce is declared and Becket is granted safe return to England. Alas, almost from the moment of his arrival, Henry’s mistrust of Becket accelerates.  The barons (Percy Herbert, Niall MacGinnis and Christopher Rhodes) further stir Henry’s ire by pointing out Becket has become a folk hero among these vanquished Saxons. Finally disturbed to the point of wild distraction by his own cold-hearted mother’s insistence that his father would have dispatched with Becket for the sake of the realm, a distraught Henry calls out, “Will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?” Given permission to carry out their awful deed, the barons hasten to Canterbury, executing Sir Thomas and his Saxon deputy, Brother John (David Weston). A deflated Henry retreats to the catacombs in the cathedral where Becket’s body has been laid to rest, undergoing his penance for the murder, whipped by Saxon monks. Emerging with his battle scars, Henry declares Sir Thomas Becket a saint, inferring that those who committed the murder shall be brought to justice.

Becket is a class ‘A’ revision of history, made over truer still by the art of good writing. Superbly scripted by Edward Anhault, it is the dialogue-driven venom between these mounting adversaries that is remembered best today.  The picture teems with elongated exchanges in punctuated discussion between our two central antagonists, in tandem to reveal more socially-constructed truths about the pliable destructiveness of a souring relationship, as well as crystalize a thumbnail sketch of history into a cohesive, if rudimentary account of the facts.  Glenville’s camera remains refreshingly still; Anne V. Coates’ editing, deliberately preserving the stage-bound nature of this richly verbal movie, which refrains almost entirely from the usual prerequisite battle fatigue of delivering a ‘spectacle’ at the mercy of substance.  Instead, the camera remains steadfast, largely in two shot set-ups to capture the caustic dynamism between these two adversaries caught in the throes of a devastating ‘lover’s quarrel’. Becket remains superb high drama. Thought to have been lost in a vault fire long ago, an original negative of Becket eventually resurfaced after 40 years in isolation, allowing for a restoration of sorts and this Blu-Ray release from MPI Home Entertainment in conjunction with the Academy Film Archive.

The Blu-Ray, now well over a decade old, sports weaker than anticipated color density. Given that the picture was shot in Panavision and DeLuxe color, the results ought to have been better than this. While image clarity is never in question, color grading and color density decidedly are a problem. For one, the image sports wan flesh tones and tends to favor a bit of fading, leaning toward the orange/brown spectrum. For another, colors frequently shift from shot to shot.  Contrast is anemic. No solid blacks - just ruddy deep browns, grays and/or muddy-looking blues. Worst of all, a modicum of edge enhancement rears its ugly head in fine details and creates some disturbing halos. Add to this, some minor – though nevertheless obvious – gate weave and Becket’s visual presentation is passable at best; though, at times, just barely. There is better news for the audio – remastered in 5.1 DTS and sounding decades’ younger than the picture looks. Extras have all been ported over from Becket’s DVD release and include barely 8 mins. dedicated to the Anne V. Coates, film editor, and 6 mins. on composer, Laurence Rosenthal’s contributions. Ironically, there is no ‘making of’ featurette, though Peter O'Toole offers some good solid reflections on the picture in an audio commentary well worth the price of admission. Bottom line: Becket is a masterpiece. It deserves a better Blu-ray release than this!

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

4.5

VIDEO/AUDIO

2.5

EXTRAS

2