The African Queen
(1951)
The film that bagged Humphrey Bogart his
Oscar, and generally regard as an unqualified classic. I’m not sure its
reputation is really justified, however. The
African Queen coasts along happily enough under the star power of Bogart
and Katherine Hepburn but the construction is so lightweight it would float
away without them.
Nevertheless, John Huston received dual
Oscar nominations (for directing and co-adapting C. S. Forester’s novel with
James Agee). On neither front is it the director’s most memorable work. The story
takes place at the beginning of WWI, and the opening section suggests a film
with a bit more bite than transpires. Hepburn’s Rose and Robert Morley’s Samuel
are British missionaries working in German East Africa. When German soldiers
burn down their village, Samuel’s mind is afflicted and he dies. It’s
interesting to see Huston taking in the bored villagers attending the
missionaries’ church service, and Samuel’s preoccupation with a colleague who
has climbed the Methodist career ladder more quickly than he.
But that wit soon absents itself; Rose is
bundled aboard Charlie Allnut’s (Bogart’s) titular boat, ostensibly heading for
safe harbour. But she hatches a hare-brained scheme to destroy a German
gunboat, the Queen Louisa. To reach it downriver, they must negotiate
treacherous waters. During which time romance inevitably blossoms.
As soon as Rose’s plan is revealed, it’s
clear that this is going to be a fantasy romance set against an unlikely (for
Hollywood) real location. The events of Forester’s novel are very loosely based on a true story, but
the function of the attack on the Louisa in the film is purely to provide a
trajectory for the narrative and a source of conflict between the odd couple;
there is little weight given to the dramatic moments; even when rapids are
surfed, the boat comes under fire or execution is imminent. There’s a knockout
line at the climax, from the extremely dry Louisa captain (Peter Bull, who was
most memorable as the Russian Ambassador in Dr.
Strangelove), but mostly the dialogue lacks sparkle.
And, it has to be said, Rose and Charlie
are much more interesting characters when they’re at loggerheads. Once they are
canoodling the boat trip becomes almost insufferably sweet. There’s some
enjoyment in seeing Hepburn essay Rose’s midlife sexual awakening, and Bogart
slightly at a loss without the crutch of hardboiled cynicism to rely on, but it
only stretches so far.
Huston meanders with the film as much as
the featured river. Consequently, the jarring mismatches between the location
filming in Uganda and the Congo (problematic and eventful, eventually inspiring
Clint Eastwood’s White Hunter Black Heart)
and the studio work in England, replete with ropey rear projection (highlighted
all the more by the choice to shoot in colour), distract the attention. It may
seem like a shallow criticism (and it probably is), but it’s inevitable if the
romance between Rose and Charlie fails to completely captivate you.
Although an atypical role for Bogey, this
is far from the best of his six collaborations with Huston. Likeable but
inconsequential, it says something that giving The African Queen only faint praise seems tantamount to slaughtering
a sacred cow. I always laugh heartily at the clip of Charlie used in Road to Bali, however.
***
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