Jamaica Inn
(1939)
(SPOILERS) I’m sure there’s been a move to rehabilitate each
of Hitchcock’s more neglected pictures at some point, doubtless to varying
degrees of success. Jamaica Inn,
certainly, is justifiably deemed one of his lesser works, his last before
eloping to Hollywood and a rare journey into history for the director, one with
little for him to get his corpulent teeth into. It looks great, Cornwall
atmospherically conjured in the studio, but art direction and cinematography
simply aren’t enough.
Hitch apparently wanted out almost as soon as he read the
screenplay (he knew star Charles Laughton, as well as being of similar gait and
age, and agreed to make it sight unseen), bringing in Sidney Gilliat to rewrite
Clemence Dane’s adaptation of Daphne du Maurier’s novel. Laughton was
originally earmarked for the uncle, but decided he fancied playing the squire
instead (who had to be rewritten from a villainous vicar – the brother of innkeeper
Uncle Merlyn – due to Hayes Code stipulations) and brought in JB Priestley to
beef up his dialogue.
The aspect of these changes that most aggrieved the director
was having to knock the whodunit aspect on the head, revealing the squire as
behind it all before the half-hour mark. I’m not sure how legitimate a
complaint this is in isolation, as Hitchcock frequently experimented with the
suspense of the audience knowing something the protagonist doesn’t. In this
case, however, there’s definitely something up, as Jamaica Inn has no wind in its sails.
While Hitchcock referred to Laughton as “a nice man. A Charming man” he was also
profoundly annoyed by his behaviour, observing that “He wasn’t really a professional film man”. Laughton requested that
he be shown only in close shots until he worked out Sir Humphrey’s walk, which
turned out to be “inspired by the beat of
a little German waltz” and played a scene as a small boy who had wet
himself (I have to admit, I can’t tell which that is). Laughton is definitely
hamming it up hugely in Jamaica Inn,
and I usually have a great deal of time for prime ham, but it doesn’t really
slice here. This may be because the plot is so sloppy, and his performance
fails to offer effective contrast.
The result, between his star’s demands and producer Erich
Pommer, was that Hitchcock felt he was refereeing the picture rather than
directing it. His next film, Rebecca,
would see him slam dunking Du Maurier, but here her milieu entirely gets the
better of him. That said, what’s wrong with Jamaica
Inn is mostly about pace and tension; it isn’t actually bad. How it ended up in Michael Medved’s
The Fifty Worst Films of All Time (And
How They Got That Way) is a mystery (perhaps he just wanted a Hitch on his
list).
And it only actually begins to become a chore during the
last 40 minutes. While Maureen O’Hara (in her screen debut, picked by Laughton
and destined to play opposite him in his next big hit, The Hunchback of Notre Dame) rather fades in and out of being the
lead character depending on the requirements of Laughton and the need for
heroics from undercover cop (well, law officer) James Trahearne (Robert Newton,
who would turn to villainy a decade later, first as Billy Sykes in Lean’s Oliver Twist and then as Long John
Silver in Disney’s Treasure Island),
her introductory passages do engage.
Dropped off way past her intended stop (the titular inn) by
a fearful coachman, she fetches up at Sir Humphrey Pengallan’s abode, a plush,
decadent palace complete with a horse in the hallway. She proceeds to show
mettle in the face of her lecherous uncle Merlyn (Leslie Banks) and attempts to
persuade her aunt (Marie Ney, playing the familiar battered wife, ritually justifying
her husband’s actions) to have shot of him, amid some rather insensitive
remarks (“You were beautiful” she
says of her aunt in years past) before saving Trahearne from a lynching and
making a run for it herself soon after.
This sequence is a glimpse of classic Hitchcock at work:
Trahearne strung up, Mary watching through a hole in the floor – she breaks
through the boards to reach the beam and cut through the rope. It does seem to
have been rather foolish and not very savvy of Trahearne to be spread dissent
among his fellow wreckers if he meant to maintain his cover, however. Later,
they must escape from a shore cave as the wreckers give chase, before being
taken in by Sir Humphrey. Certain moments and performances stand out.
Emlyn
Williams plays Merlyn’s second Harry as psycho dandy in a hat, spitting in a
guard’s face as he awaits execution, and could almost be regarded as a
predecessor to Alexis Kanner in The Prisoner
and Malcolm McDowell in A Clockwork
Orange. Merlyn is offered surprising near-redemption as he rescues Mary for
the sake of his wife (“I’ll manage her,
just like I manage my Patience” he threatens early on), before both he and
Mary are killed by Sir Humphrey (“A good,
clean shot, wasn’t it?” observes the latter casually), and there’s a
palpable air of sexual threat surrounding Mary throughout, in these wild,
inhospitable climes.
Then there’s Wylie Watson (Mr Memory in The 39 Steps) looking forward to a proper public execution, with
the women watching. And Sir Humphrey’s exit, as he leaps from the rigging before
he can be strung up (“What are you all
waiting for? A spectacle? You shall have it, and tell your children how the
great age ended. Make way for Pengallan!”) It’s been underlined that Sir
Humphrey’s actions are mitigated somewhat by his being mad (his grandfather
suffered from such a condition, and Mary protests as much at the end), but
Laughton’s performance is such that this element never really beds in.
Perhaps the best scene, though, is the opening. Merlyn
instructs “No one gets clear of the
wreck!” as his crew brutally fall upon the survivors; in the aftermath, Harry
whistles nonchalantly as he wipes his bloody knife on his sleeve. Such
incidents aren’t enough to make this shine, unfortunately. The great director
clearly didn’t want to linger on what he saw as a failure (albeit, not
commercially); this is one with less than a page and a half of commentary in
the Truffaut book. It may also not be a coincidence that this was his last film
without a cameo (although, perhaps the prospect of dressing up in period garb
dissuaded him).
Agree? Disagree? Mildly or vehemently? Let me know in the comments below.