To be frank, I was surprised to learn that this was an American production (althought it might explain the somewhat strident note of the patriotic slant); I find it hard to picture the Hays Office ever passing a script in which the heroine is revealed, in the opening scene, to have already been the mistress of not just one man but many, and who then, once finally legally espoused, launches into an adulterous liaison with a married man resulting in an illegitimate child. Surely (however historically well-founded) this was scarcely the high moral tone that notoriously wanted to strip the merest occurrences of "God" from the screenplay of Shakespeare's "Henry V" -- the play of "God for Harry, England & St George"?
But then Emma Hamilton really did have the grace to die in alcoholic poverty, so perhaps history's moral was deemed adequate to the task. At any rate, for whatever reason, "Lady Hamilton" made it to the screen and remains in many ways a success. It is beautifully shot and lavishly produced, with a bravura performance from a truly lovely Vivien Leigh, and in its opening scenes boasts in addition a subtle and ironically intelligent script. Alan Mowbray shines as Sir William Hamilton, and Sara Allgood is gloriously vulgar as Emma's mother.
It is the character of Nelson that comes near to sinking the script, and it really isn't Laurence Olivier's fault. Arguably he doesn't convey Nelson's charisma -- there is little here of the 'Nelson Touch' that won him the devotion of captains and seamen alike, and it's hard to see what Emma sees in him other than the reflected glory of his achievements -- but in any case the part is a thankless and all but impossible one. It is not so much that Olivier is essentially playing trophy male in the leading lady's star vehicle, for this was his accustomed studio function at the period: he'd already adorned the screen opposite the dominance of Elisabeth Bergner, Flora Robson, Merle Oberon (twice), Joan Fontaine and Greer Garson. The trouble is the anachronistic political luggage hung on the part in an ill-fitting attempt to equate the Napoleonic Wars with the British Empire's battle against Hitler -- the speeches are at best clunky, at worst gratingly inappropriate when applied to the Corsican emperor's policies in place of those of the Nazis.
It's a pity, because the script and production are otherwise good and frequently excellent, and the special effects are also noteworthy. The layers of makeup that Olivier (enamoured as ever of prosthetics) uses to represent Nelson's increasing disfigurement are, while somewhat distracting, undeniably disturbing; Olivier's 'blind' eye is all too convincing in its unseeing lack of life. And his death scene in the bowels of the "Victory" is a remarkably accurate recreation in tableau of Arthur Devis' famous painting "The Death of Nelson" -- perhaps not Great Cinema, but instantly recognisable.
Meanwhile, the depiction of the Battle of Trafalgar itself, given the constraints of the era, is actually pretty well done. The use of models (and the occasional back-projection) is apparent, but the ships look as if they're actually moving under sail rather than just motoring along in the studio tank, the gun-flashes are in the right place (bow-chasers in reply to broadsides), and the drama of Nelson's head-on approach is genuinely tense. Ships loom abruptly out of rolling clouds of smoke as the French line is broken and all is thundering chaos; this is a far more lifelike representation of seaborne action than the vast majority of films of the time and a good many more recent productions manage, for all its unapologetic limitations.
But chiefly this is Vivien Leigh's picture as the title character. While her interactions with her husband as Nelson are somewhat turgid, when she is acting opposite Alan Mowbray or Sara Allgood she sparkles, and in the prologue she is convincingly raddled and worn. This is a one-woman show in which the rest of the cast are merely supporting players, and she rises entirely to the occasion, not only gloriously beautiful -- the Romney portrait in whose guise we first see her is simply dazzling, but the woman in the flesh is its match -- but compelling our attention as generous, frivolous, warm-hearted, adulatory Emma. She takes the character and makes her both human and sympathetic, and the film has laughter as well as genuine pathos.
Not perhaps in the first rank of 'weepies', but it's a fine piece of entertainment. It's just a shame the contemporary propaganda angle is so unsubtly done.
But then Emma Hamilton really did have the grace to die in alcoholic poverty, so perhaps history's moral was deemed adequate to the task. At any rate, for whatever reason, "Lady Hamilton" made it to the screen and remains in many ways a success. It is beautifully shot and lavishly produced, with a bravura performance from a truly lovely Vivien Leigh, and in its opening scenes boasts in addition a subtle and ironically intelligent script. Alan Mowbray shines as Sir William Hamilton, and Sara Allgood is gloriously vulgar as Emma's mother.
It is the character of Nelson that comes near to sinking the script, and it really isn't Laurence Olivier's fault. Arguably he doesn't convey Nelson's charisma -- there is little here of the 'Nelson Touch' that won him the devotion of captains and seamen alike, and it's hard to see what Emma sees in him other than the reflected glory of his achievements -- but in any case the part is a thankless and all but impossible one. It is not so much that Olivier is essentially playing trophy male in the leading lady's star vehicle, for this was his accustomed studio function at the period: he'd already adorned the screen opposite the dominance of Elisabeth Bergner, Flora Robson, Merle Oberon (twice), Joan Fontaine and Greer Garson. The trouble is the anachronistic political luggage hung on the part in an ill-fitting attempt to equate the Napoleonic Wars with the British Empire's battle against Hitler -- the speeches are at best clunky, at worst gratingly inappropriate when applied to the Corsican emperor's policies in place of those of the Nazis.
It's a pity, because the script and production are otherwise good and frequently excellent, and the special effects are also noteworthy. The layers of makeup that Olivier (enamoured as ever of prosthetics) uses to represent Nelson's increasing disfigurement are, while somewhat distracting, undeniably disturbing; Olivier's 'blind' eye is all too convincing in its unseeing lack of life. And his death scene in the bowels of the "Victory" is a remarkably accurate recreation in tableau of Arthur Devis' famous painting "The Death of Nelson" -- perhaps not Great Cinema, but instantly recognisable.
Meanwhile, the depiction of the Battle of Trafalgar itself, given the constraints of the era, is actually pretty well done. The use of models (and the occasional back-projection) is apparent, but the ships look as if they're actually moving under sail rather than just motoring along in the studio tank, the gun-flashes are in the right place (bow-chasers in reply to broadsides), and the drama of Nelson's head-on approach is genuinely tense. Ships loom abruptly out of rolling clouds of smoke as the French line is broken and all is thundering chaos; this is a far more lifelike representation of seaborne action than the vast majority of films of the time and a good many more recent productions manage, for all its unapologetic limitations.
But chiefly this is Vivien Leigh's picture as the title character. While her interactions with her husband as Nelson are somewhat turgid, when she is acting opposite Alan Mowbray or Sara Allgood she sparkles, and in the prologue she is convincingly raddled and worn. This is a one-woman show in which the rest of the cast are merely supporting players, and she rises entirely to the occasion, not only gloriously beautiful -- the Romney portrait in whose guise we first see her is simply dazzling, but the woman in the flesh is its match -- but compelling our attention as generous, frivolous, warm-hearted, adulatory Emma. She takes the character and makes her both human and sympathetic, and the film has laughter as well as genuine pathos.
Not perhaps in the first rank of 'weepies', but it's a fine piece of entertainment. It's just a shame the contemporary propaganda angle is so unsubtly done.