DELICIOUS COMEDY

Dominion, Volume 29, Issue 75, 21 December 1935, Page 17

DELICIOUS COMEDY

Edmund Gwenn in “The Bishop Misbehaves” (By John Storm.) Those who have enjoyed Edmund Gwenn • at his serious best—which I think must have been in “The Good Companions”—and those who remember him with joy at his most impish worst, in say, “How iHe Lied to Her Husband,” will look forward to a mixture of these two extremes mingled in “The Bishop Misbehaves.” It is comedy such as we seldom sec. Good and all as real comedies for the screen have become, I think it is among the first half-dozen I have seen. It is directed by E. A. Dupont, who made, besides many Continental successes, the British "Atlantic,” that world-famous psychological study. He has turned the light of his gift on- the gay and frothy in as telling a manner. The picture has the full philosophical and pscychological value of every moment enhanced to the full by his insight. For instance, the bishop and his adorable sister, the Lady Emily, spend a few minutes in vigorous thought and discussion before the fire in the bishop’s luxurious study, when they return from their nocturnal errand of discovery. Dupont and brilliant dialogue help to make this scene as telling as any that could be chosen from a good stage play. And Edmund Gwenn seems to me to be at the peak of his power. He is as funny as Charles Laughton in “Ruggles •f Red Gap.” We feel a tender, though mature satisfaction as we watch Edmund fly along his library shelves on a sliding ladder with such gleeful gusto that his coat tails swing in the breeze. Edmund is a bishop, but he has somehow missed the fiin of boyhood. Now, “under the rose” and “behind the cloth” he makes up for it. He luxuriates in boyish adventures so that we revel in every minute of them with him. As we all know, boyhood’s delight begins with a train and an engine—something to drag after one on a string—it buds into pirates, and blossoms into detective “clues.” Edmund is at the detective stage when we meet him. Before we know him we discover a desperate young lady, Maureen O’Sullivan, whose father has been swindled out of his patent rights to an invention. The villain of the piece, Reginald Owen, who has done this dastardly deed, is flourishing >n affluence while Maureen's father languishes in poverty. When ill-health k> added, Maureen decides to do something in the matter. Her decision is an unusual one.

Waller, the villain, has bought Mrs. Waller a handsome diamond necklace. Maureen decides to steal it, and when brought to justice to expose the villainy that led her to the deed. In medieval fashion she hires, not assassins, but professional thieves, among whom is “Red,” the keeper of an inn, played by Dudley Digges, of the original Abbey Theatre, Dublin. Wherever and whenever we meet this seasoned player we are sure of a moment of delight so that in this picture wn have in him the finished artist in conspiracy and "double crossing.” Maureen in her excited interviews and rushes here and there, meets Donald, played by Norman Foster, and here is the heart interest! He is a young man of determined aspect and intention, and he insists on a part in the game. All tills happens in a quiet, remote, sweet English countryside, where Edmund Gwenn, as bishop, reigns supreme. He lives in secluded splendour with his sister Lady Emily. By night he slips out from the manorial stillness and rectitude of his home and trots away down to “The Jolly Jack Catfish,” or such little inn or night club as will afford him a chance of hunting clues. On the night of the adventure in which we take part Lady Emily is with him, and as keen as the bishop himself, so that we think Lady Emily must have had an unsatisfied adventure over from her own childhood.

Lucile Watson plays the part. She is charming as a great lady can be charming. With easy grace she meets all emergencies, and as it is comedy, Lucile adds a dash of whimsicality which is completely disarming. The two are a delight together, and I could have watched them for hours.

“Strange, Emily,” says the bishop, pushing open the inn door gingerly, “an inn and no one to serve a drink, a good fire and no one to sit by it on such a night.” And the rain pours down, and ... a hollow groan strikes on their ears. The bishop’s eyes light up! And Lady Emily’s noble English eyes begin to kindle. Dear Edmund is about to make a discovery and she is in on it too!

Edmund flings open the door to an adjoining room and behold! Maureen’s victims gagged and bound, and the innkeeper, in the know, gagged and bound also, if,a little less tightly, as the bishop delightedly explains to Lady Emily. This is just the prelude to an hour and a quarter’s delightsome fooling. How the bishop entices the whole floek of would-be thieves, amateur and professional. to his house, how he unravels all the small counter-plots, is worked out in a series of cleverly contrived denouements as joyful ns the unpacking of a Christmas stocking. It is one more stage play transferred to the screen with brilliant success!