BEAU BRUMMELL: Blu-ray (MGM, 1954) Warner Archive
Despite historical data to suggest Beau Brummell
was a social-climbing, arrogant prig, with more mouth than manners, Hollywood’s
affinity for this well-groomed 18th century metrosexual, whose
claims to fame include setting a trend in ‘long pants’ and ‘neckties’ in men’s
fashion, has found at least two noteworthy adaptations; the first – and better
– made in 1924, featuring John Barrymore in his absolute prime, running the
gamut of emotions to strangely humanize, if hardly dilute, the sanctimony of this
puffed out and preening popinjay. The 1954
remake, lavishly tricked out in all the finery Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer could
afford, and, also based on Clyde Fitch’s stagecraft, has a more arduous uphill
climb to ingratiate itself to audiences, perhaps because the picture’s star,
Stewart Granger, is almost as full of himself as our unsympathetic (choke!)
hero. It is more than a little
challenging to unearth the soul of the man – even a kernel of one who,
outwardly, is a veritable tinderbox of overconfidence and obsequiousness, most
self-involved with his own devastating male beauty. Quite easily, Granger makes us abhor this infamous
coxcomb who, for the briefest wrinkle in time, was a celebrated bon vivant in London’s
West End; that is, until he ran afoul of George – the Prince of Wales (the
marvelous Peter Ustinov). While MGM’s glossy and gargantuan spectacle falls
just a tad shy of exploring the full breadth of Brummell’s untimely demise, to
expire destitute, alone, and, as mad as a hatter from syphilis, the picture is
fairly unflinching in its depiction of Brummell as his own worst enemy, accruing
stifling debts and mistreating even those he otherwise would consider ‘friends’
with such open disdain, it really is a slog to see what others must have in
this venomous valedictorian of vices.
Granger is undeniably butch as the dandified Brummell,
transcending his meager start in life to become England’s foremost arbitrator
of good taste and form, but whose harshest critic, the Prince, is the one man
in the land he cannot placate. Pompously perceiving his current station will act
as the necessary buffer between him and any social indiscretion he may commit,
Brummell oversteps his place when he makes rather a crude reference to the
Prince’s portly stature. The future King George IV is willing to forget the
matter, provided Brummell apologizes. However,
when the self-aggrandizing Brummell absolutely refuses to entertain a
retraction, he is summarily banished from court, sacrificing his only chance at
happiness with the aristocratic, Lady Patricia (Elizabeth Taylor, ravishing
from start to finish). Shot at MGM’s British facilities, director, Curtis
Bernhardt’s flamboyant reboot has a tedious screenplay by Carl Tunberg, but at
least Alfred Junge’s opulent production design, and, Oswald Morris’ striking cinematography
to recommend it; also, a rollicking score by Richard Addinsell. It shares in
Metro’s exquisite pedigree for period costume dramas, and sports an exemplary
cast, to include, among the aforementioned, a meaningful assortment of
Brit-based thespians: Robert Morley (King George III), James Donald (Lord Edwin
Mercer), James Hayter (Mortimer), Rosemary Harris (Mrs. Fitzherbert), Paul
Rogers (William Pitt) and Noel Willman (as Lord Byron).
Regrettably, and for the most part, the cinematic
experience of ‘Brummell’ remains anchored to Fitch’s stagecraft,
fast stricken with grandiloquent verbal diarrhea that brings the pace of its
action to a complete halt. And Granger, perhaps cognizant – even concerned –
his screen image will never entirely recover from playing this narcissist, desolately
strains to add a modicum of charm, and, even more indelicate manly grace that,
otherwise, made him the stud du jour in many a Metro costume drama, though
usually, employed to far better effect. Elizabeth Taylor awkwardly stumbles through
these stately plywood palace sets as Brummell’s love interest. While I adore her
as a star presence, Taylor’s teenage and early twenty-something tenure at MGM was,
in hindsight, rather ill-served, appearing much too frequently as a statuesque,
though self-conscious fashion plate, capitalizing on the transparent magnetism
held by her undeniable momentous beauty. In Beau Brummell, Taylor is
very much exploited as eye-candy, but suffers from a dearth of sincerity to
carry off the degrees of chaos and sorrow to mark Lady Patricia Belham as a
truly tragic great lady. Peter Ustinov, fresh from the brilliant evil insanity
that was his Oscar-nominated, Emperor Nero in Quo Vadis (1951), delivers
another tour de force as the critical, cossetted and cranky Prince of Wales,
whom Brummell plots – in vain – to re-introduce into society as a more dapper
reincarnation of his former self. Robert Morley’s brief appearance is, perhaps the
most amusing, and, to skate on the edge of complete delirium. Morley, a decidedly well-seasoned ham, has
great fun with the role and makes the most of it too.
Karl Tunberg’s screenplay can be summarized as a rake’s
progress in reverse. The fancy-pantalooned Brummell’s ascendance to court life gets
off to a rough start. In 1796, Captain George Bryan ‘Beau’ Brummell of
the 10th Royal Hussars manages to insult the Prince of Wales with his facile honesty
regarding the regiment’s attire, actually designed by the Prince. This gets him
broomed from the army, after which Brummel embarks on an ambitious campaign to
keep this fresh wound incurred by his loaded barbs oozing as a cause célèbre
against the unjust sway the aristocracy holds on all polite society. Brummell,
a connoisseur of rigorously tailored tastes, disregards, then increasingly
shows shameless disrespect for the Prince. At a stately dinner he appears in
stove-pipe pants, and manages to ingratiate himself to Lady Patricia Belham,
the intended of Lord Edwin Mercer (James Donald). Asked how he could so willfully
derail his illustrious military career, Brummel self-righteously defends his dignity,
then, rather impulsively – and decidedly with great passion, kisses Patricia. Left
with no profession, no stature, and no inheritance on which he can rely upon,
Brummel and his ever-devoted valet, Mortimer (James Hayter), spy wily politico,
Sir Ralph Sidley (Ralph Trumen) addressing a crowd of spectators. Brummell intrudes
on Sidley’s speech to make one of his own; his vigorous assault, catching the
attentions of a newspaper reporter (Alexander Gauge) who invites him to readdress
these harsh concerns at a civic meeting. Soon, Brummel’s smarting denunciation of
the prince's excesses makes its mark on popular opinion.
Miraculously, Brummel’s brash braggadocio has the
opposite effect. Weary of the ‘yes men’ at court, and very much recognizing
Brummel’s mastery in the art of being popular, George IV commissions Brummel to
perform something of a makeover on him. This burgeoning alliance with the Prince
of Wales eventually bleeds into a deep empathy for George’s Catholic lover,
Mrs. Maria Anne Fitzherbert (Rosemary Harris) — whom royal protocol absolutely forbade
from making his Queen. The triumvirate of Brummel, the Prince and Fitzherbert
allies against Prime Minister William Pitt (Paul Rogers); herein, rather
unjustly distilled into the picture’s grey-area baddie, although Tunberg’s
authorship never quite manages to disclose what political intrigues Pitt might
be entertaining behind the scenes. The remainder
of Beau Brummell’s slender plot is basically spent – or, arguably,
squandered, on the complete curdling of this friendship. George is urged by
Mercer and Pitt to abandon all hope of the affair with Fitzherbert. However, Brummell
presses George to withstand their decision. Meanwhile, Brummel’s debts have overtaken
him. Mortimer forewarns, the creditors are impatient and further suggests Brummell
retreat abroad to escape payment. Brummell, however, has become invested in
George’s future, and, believing the Prince ‘needs’ him, chooses to remain at
his side. Showing off his elegantly endowed home to Patricia, she confides in
Brummel that while her feelings for him run deep, she also considers him a bad
risk and furthermore, informs him that her engagement to Mercer will be
announced at an upcoming hunting party. Heart sore, Brummell attends this
glittery ensemble where he is repeatedly praised by the Prince, even promised
to be made an Earl once he ascends the throne of England. Brummell and Patricia
deviate and indulge in a passionate embrace. Aware of her waning affections for
him, Mercer abruptly suggests a cancellation of their engagement plans.
Instead, an obedient Patricia vows never to see Brummell again.
George tells Brummell of Fitzherbert’s desire to
retreat to Italy, presumably, never to return. But Brummell now exposes that
Pitt has been concealing King George III’s insanity in an attempt to manipulate
the monarchy. Brummel implores the Prince of Wales to have the King certified mentally
incompetent and thusly to declare himself as England’s regent. As such, he
could wed whomever he pleases. Buoyed by Brummell and several doctors, the Prince
attends his ailing father, who is declared mad after he fails to recognize him.
Nevertheless, parliament limits the Prince’s powers, while granting him authority
to change the marriage act, thus making it possible for George to wed Mrs.
Fitzherbert. Brummell advises George to reject these parliamentary terms as
they infer Pitt still will be able to dictate to the King. Alas, Brummell has
overstepped his own influence. The Prince turn on him, and Brummell, unwilling
to take the accusation lying down, he is only out for his own self-interests,
publicly insults the prince, irrevocably rupturing their alliance. Smelling
blood in the water, Brummell’s creditors close in. Now, Brummell and Mortimer
flee to Calais. Our timeline advances by several years. George becomes King and
Mercer weds Patricia. Having heard rumblings abroad, Brummell - ailing and
destitute - a genuinely concerned George orders Mercer to discreetly provide
his old friend with whatever assistance he requires. Dying in his garret in
Calais, Brummell proudly rejects a money-spinning proposal to publish his
memoirs as they will surely embarrass the King. As his health fails, Brummell
is visited on his deathbed by George. Greatly moved, the two friends share an
emotional reunion. As the King departs, Brummell quietly expires, having
discovered the peace denied to him in life.
At 113 minutes, Beau Brummell is not
long-enough to be considered an epic in the traditional vein, and yet, somehow,
much too meandering to be effective as an articulate costume drama. Many scenes run on – and on – with interminably
maudlin, though not altogether successful, hand-wringing pathos. Undeniably, the
picture is one of the most sumptuously mounted, which is saying quite a lot,
considering it derives from MGM, a studio virtually celebrated for its surfeit and
visual magnificence. Such superficial
appointments are, indeed, mesmerizing – to a point. Yet, the picture lacks that
illusive ‘staying power’ associated with the greatest of Metro’s output. Tunberg’s
adaptation of Fitch amplifies the perverse power struggle at play – pitting Granger’s
haughty clotheshorse against Ustinov’s huffy doyen. And Granger’s Brummell is,
for the most part, ecstatically attractive; a distinct counterpoint to Ustinov’s
swinish monarch. The sincere regret here is that neither actor rises above the
material to make us care one way or the other about what happens next. Rather,
each expertly plays ‘a part’ that increasingly devolves in its vigor until the
drama is supplanted by a moving tableau, or, at its worst, a cyclorama audio-animatronic
dumb show of perfectly poised and pantalooned princes and prudes.
As the story increasingly settles on the conflict
between Brummell and the Prince, the screenplay makes short shrift of the other
interesting characters who populate, but never impact this narrative. Elizabeth
Taylor’s stupefied and fickle Lady Patricia founders as anything better than
window-dressing, while Rosemary Harris’ consort gets relegated to incidental
filler. And Prime Minister Pitt’s sole purpose herein seems to be preventing
the marriage of George to Mrs. Fitzhebert. Brummell’s deathbed scene, meant as the bittersweet
bromantic crescendo of all this courtly camaraderie gone before it, instead
coagulates into a mawkish mélange of the ‘life’s a bitch and then you die’
variety, gloomily draped in grace-notes of precipitous compunction. What
remains stellar about Beau Brummell is its production values. Scarcely
has a more lavishly appointed offering emerged from MGM during the cost-cutting
fifties. Culling together sets and costumes, amply endowed by Oswald Morris’
spellbinding cinematography, when all else fails – and, frequently, it does
– the picture’s peerless presentation yields exquisite attention to period
detail that no one can deny. The English
landscape lends visual cachet and a rare splendor to this frequently saggy/draggy
and deceitfulness melodrama. Had it the
opportunity, or even the rank cleverness of a screenwriter to infer as much,
this Beau Brummell might have contained a fascinating subtext of
homoeroticism between the Prince and his coxcomb.
We can forgive Clyde Fitch this oversight, as the play
- written in 1890 – for renown Richard Mansfield, still had the beggary laws with
which to contend. Much later, Fitch’s fable was dusted off when in 1934 two competing
projects were announced; the first, to be made at Warner Bros, starring Leslie
Howard; the other, produced by Edward Small, featuring Robert Donat. As rights
eventually fell to MGM in the Spring of 1939, plans for the Donat version
proceeded, initially with Joseph L. Mankiewicz to produce. Alas, the cost-cutting measures of WWII
precluded any further involvement, even as MGM pressed on until March of 1941, with
a planned resurrection of the stage play, now to be directed by Clarence Brown and
starring Donat. Time again, passed uneventfully, and, in 1946, the British film
industry toyed with the idea of making their own movie. Again, nothing happened. So, in 1951, MGM retooled their efforts with
Stewart Granger, who had just finished King Solomon's Mines (1950) and
was immediately signed to a long-term studio contract. But filming was delayed
as Metro found other projects to suit Granger’s talents; glossy Technicolor
remakes of The Prisoner of Zenda, Scaramouche (both in 1952); then,
Young Bess, and, All the Brothers Were Valiant (both in 1953).
The original plan to reunite Granger, either with Scaramouche co-star,
Eleanor Parker, or King Solomon’s Deborah Kerr also failed to gel.
Meanwhile, Kirk Douglas became the proverbial ‘fly in the ointment’ when he
announced his intentions to star in an indie-produced Brummell project.
Mercifully, this never materialized.
And thus, at the tail end of 1953, Dore Schary green
lit the long-delayed MGM project with Curtis Bernhardt to direct. Afforded a Royal
Command Performance in London, the movie was openly criticized for its ‘poor taste’
in depicting an ancestor of the Queen as being insane. Some purists also
challenged the notion the Brummell and the Prince were ever reconciled as it would
have had to have been the other way around, Brummell having outlived George by
nearly 10 years! Whether or not this ultimately hurt the picture’s attendance
is debatable. But Beau Brummell would go on MGM’s books, recording a net
loss of $383,000. Worse, Granger openly admitted to disliking the picture. And
yet, despite its uneven narrative, it eventually found a niche as a popularly
revived ‘classic’ on cable networks. Viewed today, Beau Brummell is ever
more an artifact from that ancient flowering of studio-bound product, wholly
dictated by an ‘in house’ studio style and actors who, because of their well-honed
and stage-born craft, implicitly knew how to make even the stodgiest tale come
to life.
Beau Brummell arrives on Blu-ray via the Warner Archive’s (WAC)
usually peerless attention to detail. Remastered from a new 4K scan derived
from the original camera negative, Beau Brummell’s exquisite
cinematography proves the real star here. Colors are fully saturated and
breathtaking. Fine details pops and contrast is excellent throughout. This
really is an exceptionally nuanced visual presentation, bordering on reference
quality, and, with absolutely nothing to complain about. Age-related artifacts?
What are those? Flesh tones? Superb! Now, if we could only encourage WAC to do
as much for Granger’s greatest movie made at MGM – Scaramouche. But I digress. For those who have only
experienced Brummell before on late night television broadcasts,
this Blu-ray will serve as a revelation. The 2.0 audio sounds absolutely
fantastic, showing off Richard Addinsell’s sumptuous orchestrations to their
very best effect. Alas, there are no extras.
But WAC has spent its money wisely on restoring and resurrecting this
movie’s visuals for a whole new generation to admire. I found myself enjoying
this presentation immensely. It is still a mediocre movie. But oh, how absolutely
ravishing it looks in 1080p. Bottom line: highly recommended for Blu-ray authorship.
WAC’s efforts are truly commendable!
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
3
VIDEO/AUDIO
5+
EXTRAS
0
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