SMALL BACK ROOM, THE: THE CRITERION COLLECTION - DVD review

Let's make a movie about a bomb expert. But we need a hook. Oh yeah, he's crippled and, yeah, he's an alcoholic too.

This premise could be the set-up for many different kinds of films depending on the storytellers: a gross-out comedy from the Farrelly Brothers ("Oh man, I'm so wasted, I can't even tell which wire is bl… BOOM!"), a sexually charged melodrama from Douglas Sirk ("Why are my bombs always going off too soon?"), or even a film starring Nicholas Cage (cue sad-eyed puppy-dog face.)

Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger opt instead for a small-scale character study, though with a dash of that Sirkian sexual melodrama stuff thrown in for good measure.

Sammy Rice (David Farrar) works for a weapons research group with tenuous connections to the war-time government. Under the auspices of Dr. Mair (Milton Rosner), Sammy and his team advise the military about new technologies. One day the very proper Captain Stuart (Michael Gough) comes looking for Sammy. German planes have been leaving behind deviously disguised bombs which go off when picked up, and British citizens (including children) are dying as a result. Sammy, like any good citizen, promises his assistance but the story gets a little more complicated from there.

Sammy's professional veneer barely covers up the seething rage and insecurity inside. He has a badly injured leg (presumably related to his explosive profession, though we are never told) and it has greatly diminished his sense of masculinity. His devoted girlfriend Susan (Kathleen Byron) tries to bolster his esteem, but her tender ministrations sometimes only make him more depressed. It is possible his injuries have damaged more than just his leg though, once again, we are never given any details.

"The Small Back Room" was filmed in 1949, but set in 1943, which meant that while the setting was fresh in everyone's memories, audiences still had a few years to create some distance and enjoy the film as an entertainment rather than as another chronicle of life in war-time England like Powell and Pressburger's "A Canterbury Tale" (1944). The director/writer duo who took dual credit on their films were on as hot a streak as is imaginable: "49th Parallel" (1941), "One of Our Aircraft is Missing" (1942), "The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp" (1943), "A Canterbury Tale" (1944), "I Know Where I'm Going!" (1945), "A Matter of Life and Death" (1946), "Black Narcissus" (1947), and ‘The Red Shoes" (1948). It was a decade of output virtually unmatched in film history: a film per year, each of which can reasonably be described as a masterpiece.

On this lofty scale, "The Small Back Room" can't help but come off as a modest disappointment. It also marked the end of their remarkable run. With the exception "Tales of Hoffman" (1951), Powell and Pressburger would not match their success of the 1940s, though Powell struck gold on his own with "Peeping Tom" in 1960.

"The Small Back Room" is more modest in scope than any of the other 40s films except perhaps for my personal favorite "I Know Where I'm Going!" It is a film about a man who has lost his confidence and needs redemption. But Sammy is not a simple victim who earns the audience's sympathy. He's self-absorbed, whiny, and occasionally cruel to those who show kindness to him, especially Susan. His alcoholism explains some of it, but quite frankly he needs a little more of that stiff upper-lip British stoicism to get him through the day. A bum leg is a bum deal, but it's a thin excuse for wallowing in misery at the bottom of a bottle.

Farrar delivers a quiet, grounded performance that avoids the usual mawkishness of stories about alcoholics. There is one distinct exception, however. Following in the tradition of the famous ballet sequence in "Red Shoes," Powell indulges his penchant for whimsy by plunging Sammy into a surreal alcoholic fantasia complete with oversized whisky bottles and the booming tick-tocks of mammoth alarm clocks. It worked beautifully in "Red Shoes" but, to my taste, sticks out like a sore thumb in this otherwise sedate character study.

As simple as the basic story is, it rambles quite a bit on the way to its conclusion. You would expect Captain Stuart's appearance to launch Sammy headlong into the quest to stop the evil Germans but he really doesn't get around to it for quite some time. He's got some drinking to do, after all. Once he finally does, though, the film concludes with a taut and brilliantly staged set-piece that is no loses none of its effectiveness simply because we have a pretty good idea of how it's going to turn out.

Aside from Farrar, Gough also stands out in a limited role. Byron, who dazzled as the deranged Sister Ruth in "Black Narcissus," has a fairly thankless role as the loving and supportive girlfriend. Leslie Banks is memorable as Colonel Holland.

"The Small Black Room" is not one of Powell and Pressburger's greatest achievements. It still succeeds as a finely calibrated character study and, to a lesser degree, as a thriller.

Video

The film is presented in its original 1.33:1 aspect ratio: the image is picture-boxed, like most recent Criterion full-screen releases. This restored transfer shows a little more evidence of damage from the source print than most Criterion editions, but that's a minor complaint. The image quality is very sharp, and the black-and-white contrast is simply gorgeous.

Audio

The DVD is presented in Dolby Digital Mono. Optional English subtitles support the English audio.

Extras

The film is accompanied by a feature length commentary track by film scholar Charles Barr.

A new (2008) interview with cinematographer Chris Challis (21 min) is a very welcome extra. Challis, looking incredibly spry at 89, recounts his experiences with the Archers (the name Powell and Pressburger adopted) from "Red Shoes" through "Tales of Hoffman."

Criterion has also included another excerpt from Michael Powell's dictation for his autobiography "Million Dollar Movie." The audio excerpt is 48 minutes long. It's interesting as archival material, but I don't expect too many people will listen to it in its entirety.

The relatively slim insert booklet features an essay by "Sight & Sound" editor Nick James.

Film Value

I hesitate to relegate this film to the category of "minor Powell and Pressburger." Rather, it occupies a space somewhere between their masterpieces of the 40s and their disappointing work in the 50s ("Tales of Hoffman" excepted.) It's a quiet and engaging film which presents a very memorable and authentic protagonist, and tacks on a tense and ingenious denouement as a cherry to top off the sundae.