KIND HEARTS AND CORONETS (1949) *** What an odd little tidbit of cinematic history. And very clever, and not really so little, I suppose. Oh, there have been films in some ways like it, as there have been writers in some ways like Dickens. Not many, of course, and not much. The oddity, or perhaps most prominent among them, is that it's a film in which Sir Alec Guinness is repeatedly-which is to say willingly-out performed in terms of both elegance and grace. Dennis Price, you see, in a rather stirring indictment of what can only be considered remnants-and more economic ones than social these days, though etiquette remains a stronghold-of the class system. Price is at once admirable, in so many slight and evident ways; and entirely reprehensible in those matters that allegedly most interest Saint Peter. Given that he's said to be something of an Italian it was probably unavoidable that revenge would count heavily amongst both his motivations and repertoire, but a more singularly refined gentleman would be difficult to identify even if your search was limited to those whose very existence has been confined uniquely to the House of Lords. And so it's really no surprise at all, the ladies' response to him, is it? Joan Greenwood and Valerie Hobson, playing to their own strengths both real and imagined, and Price no doubt spending some small amount of time wishing it were something other than a film. Modern aficionados of the cinema may at times find the action slight, particularly for such a rather emphatic recitation of murder, but some compensation must surely be found in the fact that no subtlety is spared, and there's little subtlety enough in that.
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