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Basil Dearden is not generally a name that stirs excitement in the hearts of movie fans, or even classic movie lovers. I knew him as a British director who had worked in the 1950s and 1960s, but he did not make horror films for Hammer, and though he worked at Ealing Studio, he did not direct any of those iconic comedies that show up in retrospectives or DVD collections. Like many movie fans, my appreciation of British film of this period tends to lean toward Hammer and Ealing. Though I recognized Dearden’s name, I was not familiar with his body of work. After stumbling across All Night Long (1963) currently streaming on FilmStruck, I gained a newfound respect for him.
I am sure many aficionados of “cool jazz,” that style of modern jazz popular after WWII, already know about All Night Long. Real-life jazz musicians Charles Mingus, Dave Brubeck, Johnny Dankworth, Bert Courtley, Keith Christie, Ray Dempsey and Tubby Hayes, among others, play themselves in the film, and spend considerable screen time making music. However, the film is more than a showcase for popular jazz artists; the narrative is actually a reworking of Othello set in the world of contemporary jazz. The music serves to transition the story and sometimes express the internal feelings of the characters.
As the title suggests, All Night Long takes place over the course of one evening during a party held in a warehouse in London’s industrial district on the south bank of the Thames River. Long before warehouses were turned into cool living spaces in the 1980s, this film was set in a hip space/bachelor pad. The downstairs is basically one huge room with stylish modern furniture, a well-stocked bar, abstract paintings and a designated area for musicians and their instruments. Up the winding staircase is a cozy living space. The cool digs belong to millionaire jazz aficionado Rod Hamilton, played by Dearden favorite Richard Attenborough. The one-room set-up allows for complex deep-space compositions by cinematographer Ted Scaife whose crane and tracking shots probe and prowl around the characters as they gossip and scheme.
Hamilton’s party is in honor of band leader Aurelius Rex and his bride of one year, vocalist Delia Lane. Rex is jealous and possessive, even of the friendship that Delia shares with their manager, Cass. But, the driving force behind the narrative is drummer Johnny Cousin, played by Patrick McGoohan, who schemes and manipulates to get what he wants. A misanthrope and narcissist, Cousin believes the key to his success and happiness hinges on starting his own band, with Delia as vocalist. Delia has retired from performing to devote herself to her marriage, and though she misses singing, she won’t agree to join Johnny’s combo. Without her commitment, he can’t land the booking support he needs from Lou Berger. Handsome and charismatic, McGoohan steals the film as Johnny deftly puts his plan in place, playing on the fears and weaknesses of his “friends.”
It has been a while since I have seen a version of Othello, but Rex and Delia correspond to Othello and Desdemona, while Johnny Cousin is Iago. Cass is a version of Cassio, Cousin’s wife Emily is Emilia and Lou is Lodovico. The cast consists of both American and British actors. Unfortunately, the least interesting performances are those by Paul Harris and Marti Stevens, who make a stilted Rex and a dull Delia. More interesting is the character of Emily, who is played by Betsy Blair, better known as the leading lady in Marty (1955). Blair is heartbreaking as she tells the story of her spontaneous marriage to Johnny, who wed her on a lark while he was drunk.
The reworking of Othello is clever, but the shock of the film is the progressive depiction of interracial relationships. Rex is black and Delia white, but, surprisingly, race is not an issue in the film; it’s not even a theme. I suspect interracial relationships were accepted in the bohemian jazz scene of the time, but they were not common onscreen. All Night Long was released in England in 1962, a full five years before the mainstream Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (1967) and the two years before the groundbreaking indie film One Potato, Two Potato (1964). Rex and Delia are not the only interracial couple: Cass, who is played by white actor Keith Michell, is in love with Benny, played by Maria Velasco, an actress of color. During the party scenes, black and white characters of opposite sexes mingle and mix.
I admire the way Dearden handled this aspect of the film. During the opening scenes of the party, characters talk about Rex and Delia, setting up their importance to the viewer. We not only anticipate their arrival but we are anxious to see the golden couple. When they finally come through the door, a medium shot clearly reveals their racial difference. In other words, the viewer is set up to be surprised. However, within minutes, Dearden has directed our attention to Johnny and his manipulations, and the racial difference between Rex and Delia is not a part of the story. I can’t speculate on the way audiences of fifty years ago reacted to the film, but it did not take me long to lose my initial feeling of surprise and become absorbed in the story. A couple of lines of dialogue reflect on race, as when Johnny jokes about the lack of white American jazz musicians, so Dearden is not ignoring it. It’s simply part of the milieu—not the impetus for the drama.
While poking around a bit, I learned that Basil Dearden directed several controversial films in the 1950s and 1960s. Violent Playground (1958) deals with juvenile delinquency; Sapphire (1959) is about the racially motivated murder of a young girl, while Victim (1961) stars Dirk Bogarde as a lawyer who stands up to a ring of criminals blackmailing homosexuals. (Check out StreamLiner Jill Blake’s article on Victim here.) Dearden and his partner, art director Michael Relph, who later became his producer, preferred social problem films while others of their generation gained fame in horror and comedy.
All Night Long‘s pedigree is rooted in the Hollywood blacklist. Co-producer Bob Roberts previously produced films by directors Abraham Polonsky and John Berry, who were blacklisted. Roberts, who held the script rights to All Night Long, had been impressed with Dearden and Relph’s Sapphire and asked them to do the film. The original script was penned by Nel King and Peter Achilles, the latter a pseudonym for blacklisted writer Paul Jarrico (Salt of the Earth, 1954).
I discovered All Night Long by perusing the FilmStruck site. I always say some of the best films are those that you stumble across by accident.
Susan Doll
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