Filmmakers always yearn to make A Simple Love Story, and this was extravagantly praised in its day for being such a film (and itself pats itself on the back for it's understated, thoroughly British 'realism' when the guilty pair have a good laugh at the local pictures at a nonsensical piece of Hollywood hokum called 'Flames of Passion').
The accents sadly make it almost impossible for today's audiences to take seriously British films of the forties, but 'Brief Encounter' remains largely immune to the knee jerk ridicule most of its contemporaries are subject to; and people remain too polite to admit really it's 'just' a beautifully crafted weepie (with superb, sometimes stylised photography by Robert Krasker) which despite its much-vaunted lack of Hollywood schmaltz shamelessly tugs at the heartstrings with its crashing Rachmaninov score (which stays with you long after the film is over) and thoroughly enjoyable as such. (No 'just' about it!)
It functions equally well on whatever other level the viewer wishes it to. Knowing that Noel Coward played the male lead in the original 1936 West End production of his own play adds an obvious gay subtext to its tale of forbidden love; while despite being set before the war (the copyright date on 'Flames of Passion' is 1938) looks thoroughly wartime (especially Celia Johnson's chic, pre-New Look suit) and must have struck a chord with lonely wartime wives tempted to stray while their husbands were away on active service.
Now comes the moment where I must declare my own interest. I find Celia Johnson quite breathtakingly lovely and heartbreakingly moving at the core of the film, she looks terrific in that suit, and I could spend all day just looking into those big, sad, imploring eyes of hers...
The accents sadly make it almost impossible for today's audiences to take seriously British films of the forties, but 'Brief Encounter' remains largely immune to the knee jerk ridicule most of its contemporaries are subject to; and people remain too polite to admit really it's 'just' a beautifully crafted weepie (with superb, sometimes stylised photography by Robert Krasker) which despite its much-vaunted lack of Hollywood schmaltz shamelessly tugs at the heartstrings with its crashing Rachmaninov score (which stays with you long after the film is over) and thoroughly enjoyable as such. (No 'just' about it!)
It functions equally well on whatever other level the viewer wishes it to. Knowing that Noel Coward played the male lead in the original 1936 West End production of his own play adds an obvious gay subtext to its tale of forbidden love; while despite being set before the war (the copyright date on 'Flames of Passion' is 1938) looks thoroughly wartime (especially Celia Johnson's chic, pre-New Look suit) and must have struck a chord with lonely wartime wives tempted to stray while their husbands were away on active service.
Now comes the moment where I must declare my own interest. I find Celia Johnson quite breathtakingly lovely and heartbreakingly moving at the core of the film, she looks terrific in that suit, and I could spend all day just looking into those big, sad, imploring eyes of hers...