I Am a Camera

This British film version of the stage play I AM A CAMERA is based on Christopher Isherwood's "Berlin Stories." This is the source material for the famous musical CABARET.

Julie Harris, a major stage actress of her day, reprises her 1951 Tony Award winning role as Sally Bowles. She's a far cry from the Liza Minnelli character but the basic "Sally" is all here despite the various film codes that would have blocked this story from being filmed in Hollywood. Harris is perhaps stagy but she's also quite good as the madcap and maddening Sally. Her singing number is obviously dubbed (by Marlene Dietrich no less) although Harris apparently sings for herself in other moments.

Laurence Harvey (with the very ugly hair) plays Isherwood with zero charm and can't even make the character interesting. Shelley Winters does little with the role of Natalia (Marian Winters won a supporting Tony for the play), and Anton Diffring is OK as Fritz. Ron Randell plays the caddish Clive but seems a tad loud. Lee Seidl is funny as the landlady.

Yet despite the overall staginess and cheap look, Harris takes center stage and she is amazing. This film was released the same year as EAST OF EDEN in which Harris gives a glowing performance as Abra. Comparing the two performances gives a good look at the talent Miss Harris possesses. These two characters couldn't be more unalike. Harris' Sally preens and prances about and growls out a very lascivious laugh. She also acts circles around the boring Harvey.

Without the music and with a familiar storyline, many viewers may find little here to recommend this film, but it's a great chance to see the great Julie Harris repeating what was probably a very shocking role in 1951.

I only watched this film because I was determined to spot Patrick McGoohan in an early film role. I watched Laurence Harvey as the aimless, charming character he plays, thinking of his breakthrough role as the surly grasping man at the top. Good old Anton Diffring flashing his gnashers in all their gap-toothed glory. Shelley Winters as an innocent rather than a Vamp. It was all jolly good stuff. I kept wondering where I'd seen the Sally Bowles character before.

My McGoohan moment came and went, he went through a gamut of emotion, exercising his foreign accent in his entrance, quite keen, then looking thoroughly bemused as his part became slapstick, not to say fed up by the last you saw of him. I almost packed the film up at that point, but decided I might as well see the end. It had become a little surreal by then so I was curious to see how they would wrap it up.

In what I would guess would have been the theatrical Third Act, it all became clear. The affable nonsense of the earlier scenes was all thrown into focus by the stark, grim realisation that evil was about to take over the world. The characters each found their own ways to escape or avoid it and I was pleased for all of them. It was in these final scenes that it suddenly dawned on me who Sally Bowles was. She was the timid, tragic victim in one of my favourite ever films: 'The Haunting'. The actress I was always confusing in my mind with Deborah Kerr, as a fragile feminine beauty.

Some readers may now be remarking 'What a dork! It says Julie Harris on the cover!' But I didn't remember this person as Julie Harris. The name meant nothing. I remembered her as poor Eleanor and Eleanor has haunted me for years. I prefer to believe that, rather than me being an unobservant dork, it is a tribute to the talent of Ms Harris that for most of this movie I simply didn't recognise her.

Anyhow, the point is that, but for my compulsion to watch a movie just to see an early bit-part of one favourite, I would never have seen a starring role of another. I find a certain peace in the discovery.

Lots of history behind this story of Sally Bowles, party-girl in 1930s Berlin who befriends a stolid English gent amidst the Nazi uprising. Curious, rather indifferent drama isn't helped by Julie Harris as Bowles; Harris tries hard, but she's too intelligent a presence to be convincing as a flake and her big moments don't come off. Non-flashy adaptation of both Christopher Isherwood's "Berlin Stories" and John Van Druten's subsequent play, it is sure to interest fans of Bob Fosse's "Cabaret" as a great deal of the dialogue mirrors passages in "Cabaret" almost verbatim. Those who stumble upon it unawares will probably find the movie stilted and dull. It's little more than a footnote now in this chain of literature and cinematic events. ** from ****

This film was inexplicably made in England, and though there is some staginess - noticably in the yelling of some of the actors - director Henry Cornelius provides some clever imagery eg the decadence of the Berlin nightclub by a piglet and two smashing beerglasses, and Christopher standing at a window in the past bringing out us out of the narrative flashback. It also features a remarkable hotel party setpiece.

The infamous role of Sally Bowles is written as a pretentious innocent, and the knowledge that Isherwood was gay feeds into the notion of Sally as a coded drag queen, or at least, an effeminate gay man. The screenplay is full of gay subtext eg Christopher's narcissism demonstrated in his lotions and weights and boufant hairstyle, Sally's descriptions of male musculature, the repeated use of sausages, Sally telling Christopher he doesn't "understand" women, his describing her sex appeal as "inadequate", the rectal thermometer, his massage, his confession that he is "not the marrying type", and fear of being "embroiled" with her. The major difference between this treatment and that of Bob Fosse's Cabaret is the Clive Mortimer character, who here is heterosexual, but would be later turned into the bisexual Max.

Julie Harris performed the role of Sally Bowles on Broadway, and one's opinion of her performance cannot help but be influenced by Liza Minnelli (as is one's opinion of the film as a piece). Harris works against her basic miscasting (she doesn't even use an English accent when we are told Sally is English) because Sally is such an artificial creation. She is like an Actors Studio version of a junior Auntie Mame, and even when her antics become tiresome, she is still far more likeable than Laurence Harvey's starched and basically asexual Christopher. Harris may not have Minnelli's street urchin vulnerability, but she has some inspired moments - posing in front of a mirror wearing a mink coat, her drunken giggling, looking behind a silk scarf, or licking milk with a wild tongue.

With two shining stars such as Julie Harris (the Julie Andrews of the 50s), and Lawrence Harvey, this film was almost guaranteed to be a success. The film is not as graphic as the later, superior production, but it is fun to watch, nevertheless. Even Shelley Winters gives a decent performance for a change (oh no, my harshest critic will be offended!). The Harvey character was supposed to be gay, which the latter production made clear, but during this film period, that issue was pretty much taboo in movies. The film has a Capraesque feel to it, and yet it has a few serious moments as well. I am restricted in my use of the word recommended by my critic, but I am going to use it anyway.