So Long at the Fair

Ever since Miss Froy disappeared from a central European train in Hitchcock's "The Lady Vanishes" the "Suddenly there - next moment not" film genre has made for sure-fire entertainment. Of all its many offshoots the one I often return to with great pleasure is the little known "So Long At The Fair" which stars a radiant Jean Simmons as a young English woman visiting the Great Paris Exhibition of 1889 with her brother (David Tomlinson) who disappears from his hotel bedroom after the first night of their stay. What is even more intriguing is that the room itself appears to have vanished. The rest of the film is almost entirely taken up with the girl's desperate search for her brother in a beautiful city that has suddenly become alien through her frightful circumstance and the lack of understanding and sympathy of most around her. Fortunately during the latter stages there is a Prince Charming to aid her quest in the form of Dirk Bogarde at his most gallant. If his reassuring presence takes away something of the film's tension, the scenes up to this point are almost unbearable as we share Jean Simmons's frustrations and watch her one lifeline to the truth she is telling come literally tumbling from the skies. Even knowledge of a most convincing denouement does not dissipate the film's many pleasures on subsequent viewings. These include Benjamin Frankel's delightfully catchy "Carriage and Pair" that actually made the "Top Ten" in its day, the beauty of Jean Simmons lovingly celebrated in a glorious closeup at the very beginning and that strange rarity for a British work of that period, a film in which the French characters actually converse with each other in their native tongue rather than resorting to "'Allo, 'Allo" speak, and this without a single subtitle. Expressions make everything abundantly clear.

A brother and sister check into a Paris hotel days before the 1889 World's Fair kicks off. But the brother disappears overnight and nobody even remembers seeing him.

Perhaps an appropriate tagline would be: A solid, rewarding mystery with an exceedingly clever solution to a classic riddle. The gaslight theme isn't new at this point, and neither is the, "I know I see/saw this person but everyone else sees nothing" premise. However, the key to this intriguing mystery is that there is no mental illness and, believe it or not, no criminal activity. How, then, does someone disappear and why is everyone lying about it?

This movie helped launch the careers of both Simmons and Bogarde and I think they're both great in just about everything (if you haven't yet, check out Bogarde in a fantastic and similarly intriguing film, Libel, with Olivia de Havilland). There's very little chance you'll guess the reason and motive behind it all, but it makes perfect sense when it's finally revealed.

Don't watch this period piece if you're feeling at all frustrated. Because it's about 90-minutes of on-screen frustration as poor Vicki (Simmons) tries to convince everyone that her version of reality is truer than everyone else's. The trouble is she had a brother in the hotel the night before, but in the morning everyone else says she didn't. So, where is her brother and why are the hotel people lying and will the French authorities ever take the word of one small English woman who can't speak their language. It's just one maddening frustration after another. Meanwhile, we're wondering what the heck is going on.

It's a really good suspenser as we accompany Vicki while she tries, with George's (Bogarde) help, to unravel the baffling mystery. The studio does a great job re- creating the appearance of 19th century Paris and its elaborate Exhibition, especially the ballooning episode. Also, I really like the boisterous nightclub scene that overflows with energetic gaiety. David Tomlinson too is perfect as the rather uptight English brother who can't seem to get into the swing of things Parisian. And where did they get that hotel majordomo (Catherine Nesbitt) who's officious enough to intimidate King Kong.

Anyway, the movie's enough to make you appreciate everyday things like a common reality we can all agree on. The riveting premise may have been done more than once, but never better than here.

Fascinating film from Britain's Rank/Gainsborough Pictures, slyly written by Hugh Mills and Anthony Thorne, has young woman from Naples traveling with her stuffy brother to Paris in 1889 for the Exposition, only to awaken the next morning in their hotel to find her sibling strangely missing. Plot-line has since been well-trodden, and probably wasn't completely fresh in 1950, however the mechanics of the situation are engrossing due in no small part to the direction and performances. Jean Simmons, in both period dress and costume for the festivities, looks very beautiful and handles the high drama with aplomb (though perhaps giving her Vicky Barton more dialogue might have made the character even sharper). Dirk Bogarde, as a painter who met the missing man quite by chance the night he vanished, is excellent teaming up with Simmons to play detective. Stylish, enjoyable film plays fair with the audience to a large degree; a few far-fetched incidents, including a head-scratching balloon disaster, don't detract from the fun. *** from ****

"So Long at the Fair" manages to fuse the macabre with the swank in a singularly enjoyable nerve wracker set in 1889 Paris.

Director Terence Fisher leads his audience with aplomb from the gaiety of the Moulon Rouge to the lugubrious shadows of a convent hospital with an assurance missing from most modern thrillers.

Production values are first rate from the elegant hotel to the elaborately wrought fair sequences.

One could scarcely ask for a more debonair and attractive couple than Mr. Bogarde, (with his famous pompadour intact), and the exquisite Miss Simmons, who, in her turn provides a welcome reminder of 19th century feminine deportment. And Villainess Cathleen Nesbitt, with her cut glass diction, and rustling black bombazine, defines sinister suavity in a way you won't soon forget.

Kudos also to Honor Blackman who wears a bustle with distinction.