🏳️🌈, UK, she/her
If it was myself, why does it frighten me so much, why? (Libel, 1959)
If it was love, why should I want to stamp it out? Why would I do that if it was love? (Victim, 1961)
I've been meaning to rewatch this one for ages – it works as such an interesting companion to Victim (1961), centered on identity, wearing a false public-face, the terror of exposure, and a marriage that might be built on a lie.
I know now that the love we should have borne each other has turned into a bitter hatred. And that's all the problem is: not a very unusual one, I venture to imagine. Nor half so tragic as you seem to think it: merely the problem of an unsatisfied wife and a hen-pecked husband. You'll find it all over the world. It is usually, I believe, a– a subject for farce.
Fucking devastating – Redgrave's subtlety and pain; his ridiculousness;…
The train goes through the tunnel.
Had I but known I was embarking on an adventure so grave, so gay, perhaps, but, I fear, so scandalous – I would have turned back in dismay.
I really loved the opening of this – historical heroine Jean Kent delivering arch dialogue in a horse-drawn carriage; being mistaken for a lady of the night twice in six minutes; meeting the brooding master of the house, wind howling – as well as the ending portion where Kent and Kathleen Byron finally meet and get to swipe at each other. Other than that, quite dull.
When toffs suffer, it's sexy actually.
I love the looping, sultry jazz song in this, the destructive dependency in the lyrics ("can't love without you, must love without you, alone"), how Tony tries to use it to block out the sounds of Barrett and Vera's laughter, how it becomes inescapable and labyrinthine.
I think the Master is satisfied.
I know all about you, sonny.
I... I don't know what I'd do without you.
You've got a guilty secret, but you'll be caught.
Honestly, I've never been more comfortable... I don't have to think of a thing.
I have no idea what's going to happen. I... I just can't stay in this city, you know? Maybe I'll come back. You'll probably see me next week.
The hostility, paranoia and surveillance of this reminded me so much of The Conversation, including its asynchronous audio, but it's all better for having Jane Fonda.