THE CINEMA
"The First Gentleman." (Empire.) — "One Night with You." (Odeon, Marble Arch.) IT is strange how producers of films about the Prince Regent persist in selecting actors with aquiline features for the part. Mr. Cecil Parker is infinitely more suited than was Mr. Peter Graves, but he is still far from being Prirmy. Perhaps it is a matter of small importance, yet I believe were Mr. Charles Laughton ever cast in the role of the Duke of Wellington we should be pardonably annoyed, and I see no reason why, if it is unthinkable to have a Wellington without a hooked nose, it should be in order to have a Prince Regent without a snubbed one. The First Gentleman is an elaborate pro- duction, a bit on the slow side and, like so many costume films centred round Royalty, a shade unconvincing. Mr. Parker is admir- able as the debauched, egocentric witty Prince, save that he denies us even an inkling of that roues Charm of which there are abundant proofs ; but the rest of his family, except when they are talking in guttural English, have never, I think, got nearer a Court than Croydon. I have nothing against Croydon, but on the whole very few Royalties are born there, and it naturally takes these a little time to get into the swing of things at Clarence House. Miss Joan Hopkins as Princess Charlotte is charming to look at, and so is M. Jean-Pierre Aumont as Prince Leopold, and so, now I come to think of it, is Miss Margaretta Scott as Lady Hertford ; but the acting honours must go to Miss Amy Frank as the forlorn embittered Princess Caroline. She has a small part, but brings it so acutely to life she casts a shadow over the others. The direction of Cavalcanti is good, yet for all its authenticity this story of young love triumphing over paternal egotism only to end in tragedy appears to
be unreal and, alas, boring. * * * *
One Night With You is a comedy about an Italian tenor, and with that irresistible urge the English have to step over the edge into farce, it has been cheerfully ruined. Most of the characters are overplayed to such an extent that they lose all touch with reality, and though there are witty lines these are all but submerged in the wash of verbal horseplay. As the scene is set in Italy everybody, regardless of his nationality, talks pidgin English. No, that isn't quite fair, because Mes:.rs. Hugh Wakefield and Guy Middleton talk Western Brothers argot, and Mr. Stanley Holloway has the novel task of not talking at all ; but the general impression is that of a good-natured insult to the Italians. It seems that these inept, gesticulating, vociferous, passionate and unpunctual people are still good for a hundred laughs, as of course are all foreigners, bless their dear ridiculous hearts. So here we go with a comic lover, a comic film director, a comic jailer and a comic station-master, and
somewhere in the middle is the tenor, M. Nino Martini, the only true Italian amongst them, fighting for dear life to get a couple of songs in before another of his countrymen is caricatured. He has a fine voice and a pleasing modest personality. How they resisted stuffing a cushion into his trousers and putting a black curly wig on his head I do not know, but it is possible he rejected these humiliations in his contract.
It is a pity this film has got so out of hand, for had it gone on as it started it would have been amusing. Even now it is possible to pluck a few plums from the pie, but I cannot recommend a visit save for those to whom Miss Patricia Roc's beauty acts as a sedative. VIRGINIA GRAHAM.
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