Last year, Imprint threw down the gauntlet with their excellent collection of films from the legendary British filmmaking team Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, known collectively as The Archers. In my review of that set, I spoke about how the choice of films included offered a stirring overview of the how the two filmmakers developed their artistic voices in conjunction and conversation with Britain's involvement in the Second World War. In their own distinct way, each film was a product of the conflict, even in its aftermath.
We now have Imprint's anticipated follow-up to that first collection, an even more extensive set of films, mostly picking up where they left off. With the exception of 'One of Our Aircraft is Missing' (1942), all the films in this second collection were released in the years following the war and see Powell and Pressburger reach their artistic heights. If the first set was a portrait of The Archers establishing themselves as an important force in British filmmaking, this second set sees their rise and fall, achieving a level of freedom that now almost feels like a cinematic coup before unchecked ambition led to the splintering of their professional partnership.
By the mid-40s, Powell and Pressburger were beginning to push against the boundaries of what British cinema thought itself capable of. Even in 'Aircraft', this is apparent. The film essentially replicates the premise of '49th Parallel'-soldiers behind enemy lines, except this time the soldiers are British - but where the prior film had wrestled with powerful moral conundrums, the latter film sees Powell and Pressburger sharpening their cinematic language. They're further questioning the relationship between subject, production and audience, finding playful approaches to what is, essentially, another propaganda film. Each sequence is beautifully crafted with rising levels of tension, an approach they would revisit later to even greater effect in 'The Small Back Room' (1949). What seems to be of interest here is more how the story is told than the story itself.
Even the relative modesty of 'I Know Where I'm Going!' (1945) still demonstrates a rise in ambition. Nestled snugly between the release of 'A Canterbury Tale' and 'A Matter of Life and Death', it's an incandescent romantic comedy rooted very much in time and place. There's the immediate post-war push for re-establishing order and pursuing regrowth, made manifest in Joan (Wendy Hiller), an ambitious young woman headed to a remote Scottish island to marry a rich industrialist. In lesser hands, this wonderful romance might seem frivolous, but 'I Know Where I'm Going!' is so deeply rooted in the languages and traditions of Scotland, the sense of history and permanence, as well as the complexities of adult romantic relationships. The war hangs silently over the film like a cloud, but as in 'Canterbury', it's the collision of the past and the future that makes the film so potent. Where the ambition comes is the immense sense of play in the film's storytelling, abound with visual and aural gags that, like the playfulness shown in 'Aircraft', sharpen the Archers' style even further.
Though the majority of their post-war films would leave behind the war as a subject, it remains subliminally throughout the rest of the films in the set. Two further examples of direct address are 'The Small Back Room', a beautifully intimate and genuinely moving chamber piece set in the darkest days of the war, and 'The Battle of the River Plate' (1956), a film whose scale and additional ballast sits strangely against its tighter, tauter predecessors. We'll come round to 'River Plate' again in a moment, but it's worth acknowledging how well 'The Small Back Room' completes an avenue of investigation that runs right through Powell and Pressburger's war-themed work, beginning with 'The Spy inBlack'. With 'Room', we see a brilliant young scientist Sammy (David Farrar) tasked with helping to crack an unusual new bomb being dropped on London, all the while combatting his alcoholism, used to dumb the pain from his fake tin leg. The wonderful drive of dramatic action in the earlier films now combines with the romanticism of 'I Know Where I'm Going' and 'A Matter of Life and Death', the spine of the film being the romance between Sammy and fellow back-room secretary Susan (Kathleen Byron).
What makes Powell and Pressburger's war films so special are their focus on human drama and relationships rather than battles and strategy, and here the human drama is far more melancholy and redemptive. It's so intimate as to, at times, feel voyeuristic, perhaps even suggesting the direction Powell would go in 1960 with his subversive classic 'Peeping Tom'. I would argue though that, with 'The Small Back Room', their black and white war films reach their apotheosis - it might not have the giddy wonder of 'I Know...' or the playfulness of 'Aircraft', but every choice made by the Archers here is so precise and clear.
That small-scale precision in 'The Small Back Room' was itself a response to the film that came immediately before it, the centrepiece of this set and arguably their greatest work - 'The Red Shoes' (1948). I've written at length about the awe-inspiring brilliance of this film, a devastating Technicolor fantasia set in the world of ballet, but seeing it in context with the rest of their films both gives justification for its ambition and emphasises its singularity. It feels wholly unique and miraculous. Though not set in the war (in fact, it's hard to pinpoint when the film is really set), the immense emotional violence of 'The Red Shoes' speaks to the intense psychic rupture the war had caused. At its heart is the question of what we live for and what we are willing to sacrifice in order to preserve it, a notion that sits at the heart of the Archers' whole body of work. Here though it is presented as pure cinema, melodrama they had experimented with in 'Black Narcissus', but here realised with even more uncompromising vision. Powell and Pressburger were seeking a new kind of cinematic language, once where aesthetic would be central to the drama rather than dialogue, and lives could be explored through high art such as dance and classical music. Seen within this set from Imprint, it's clear that everything in their body of work was leading towards 'The Red Shoes'. It would be both their crowning achievement and the cause of their downfall.
'THE RED SHOES' TRAILER
They had now pushed cinema into a whole new direction, but their films following 'The Small Back Room' would see Powell and Pressburger push those boundaries beyond what audiences (and arguably, they themselves) could handle. Even more aesthetically ambitious and yet nowhere near as emotionally resonant as 'The Red Shoes' is their opera-on-film 'The Tales of Hoffmann' (1951). Powell and Pressburger take the essential principle of the ballet sequence in 'The Red Shoes' and turn it into a feature length experience, adapting Jacques Offenbach's beloved opera and combining it with world-class ballet, insane production design and groundbreaking special effects. The results are startling to look at but ultimately emotionally inert, all the visual bombast leaving little for an audience to grasp onto. This was part of an obsession for The Archers, one that starts with the Technicolor beauty of 'Colonel Blimp'-the idea of elevating cinema into high art. In many ways, 'Hoffmann' isn't that far removed from the ambitions of 'Fantasia' (1940), but where 'Fantasia' offers its audience constant variety, 'Hoffmann' often feels like the same trick repeated. It is such an impressive experiment and clearly demonstrates Powell and Pressburger at the true height of the power and influence, but there's also something dangerously frivolous about the film, plenty of ambition but lacking in clarity. There's almost nothing else remotely like it, but perhaps that's a sign of its limitations as well as its moments of brilliance.
This becomes the key concern with the final two films in the set, easily the weakest of the two collections. Coming four years after 'Hoffmann', 'Oh... Rosalinda!!' (1955) attempts to replicate the core idea of the former film by adapting the Johann Strauss opera 'Die Fledermaus' but in a more half-assed manner. The precision and skill simply aren't there, and while 'Hoffmann' isn't the most emotionally engaging film, at least it is impressive. 'Rosalinda' pushes beyond its means, unable to realise its ambitions within a much smaller budget, but rather than finding a new approach, Powell and Pressburger still try and reach for the same heights of their past. In the process, the narrative falls apart, with the opera relocated inexplicably to post-war Vienna. We're essentially in the same world as Carol Reed's masterpiece 'The Third Man' (1949), making it the most curious of Powell and Pressburger's films to grapple with the impacts of the Second World War, but all the political tension is replaced by lacklustre frivolity. The clear focus of the earlier films is gone, aesthetic goop filling in the gaps.
This brings the set to a close with 'The Battle of the River Plate', where we see The Archers returning to safe ground in the actual events of the war itself but finding themselves with nothing new to say and no new way to say it. Like 'Rosalinda', 'River Plate' is dramatically and aesthetically inert, even with some gorgeous VistaVision cinematography. Here, they do something they had never done with their war films before and actually depict battle - but they don't seem to know what to do with it, instead focusing on military process and protocol. This isn't a new approach for The Archers, with many of their war films paying close attention to the intricacies of military life, but the focused human stories of 'Aircraft' and 'The Small Back Room' are here sacrificed for disorienting cross-cutting between battleships, making it hard for us to invest in (or even differentiate) the many characters.
So how did this truly remarkable film partnership lose its way? Watching the films across the set, it feels as if what Powell and Pressburger often found themselves pushing against had shifted. Where initially it had been world events and social change, they later found themselves at odds with studio executives and suspicions around experimentation, checks on their ambitions that perhaps the lack of resources during the war had protected them from. They simply got too ambitious for it to remain sustainable. Perhaps also it was a shift in focus - they were no longer making films about what it means to be British, how country and culture and history shape our sense of self. With that throughline left behind, there was little to bind these later productions together.
The beauty of sets such as these two collections from Imprint is that they allow these lesser films to sit comfortably beside the many, many, many masterpieces Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger gave to the world. It also helps to see them as part of a continuing artistic experiment, with the same level of structural imagination as present in 'River Plate' as it is in 'Aircraft'. The two volumes of The Cinema of Powell and Pressburger are, I think, the most impressive project for Imprint thus far, pulling together films from various studios and licensees into the most comprehensive collection of their films yet assembled. There are still four absent here - 'Contraband' (1940), 'Gone To Earth' (1950), 'The Elusive Pimpernel' (1950) and 'Ill Met By Moonlight' (1957), but it's likely either good versions for the film weren't available or, in the case of the complicated history of 'Gone To Earth', beyond their reach. As a passionate lover of the work of this monumental creative partnership though, these two sets feel like a miracle, a worthy celebration of their work and legacy.
PICTURE AND SOUND
The sources available to Imprint for this second collection are of a much higher quality than the first, as demonstrated by the presence of four films on 4K UHD disc. These four titles - 'I Know Where I'm Going!', 'The Red Shoes','The Small Back Room' and 'The Tales of Hoffmann' - take advantage of the extensive restorations of these movies spearheaded by The Film Foundation, and, in the case of 'Back Room' and 'Hoffmann', are making their world debut on 4K UHD.
To address those films first, all four are presented in their original 1.37:1 aspect ratios and 2160p transfers with Dolby Vision. The two Technicolor films ('Red Shoes' and 'Hoffmann') look predictably ravishing, though it's important to remember the age of these films. There's only so much additional detail that 4K can offer for films of this age, and so in both cases, it's the breath of colour offered by the High Dynamic Range that really sells these releases. In the case of 'The Red Shoes', the transfer is the same as that used for the Criterion release (even including the Criterion and Janus Films logos as the start of the film).
'I Know Where I'm Going!' and 'The Small Back Room', the two black-and-white 4K films in the set, also look remarkable, though again, the limitations of the source have to be considered. There are a lot of optical tricks in 'I Know...', which does impact the resolution of the image (an example being the superimpositions during June's train journey montage). I assume the transfer on 'I Know...' will likely be the same as that for the recent Criterion release. Of the four 4K UHD films, it was actually 'The Small Back Room' that surprised me the most. The clarity of the image is incredible, with barely signs of age in the image. The close-ups of Sammy in particular are startling, especially in depths of his addiction or during the climatic bomb disposal sequence. You can see every pore dripping with sweat, only adding to your own anxiety.
So how did this truly remarkable film partnership lose its way? Watching the films across the set, it feels as if what Powell and Pressburger often found themselves pushing against had shifted.
All four films are accompanied by Blu-ray discs with both 1080p presentations of the films and relevant special features. They all utilise the same 4K restorations and look likewise impressive for the lower resolution format.
The other three films, only presented on Blu-ray with 1080p transfers, are bit more of a mixed bag. 'One of Our Aircraft is Missing', presented in its original 1.37:1 aspect ration, definitely needs a full restoration, but the film still benefits from the higher level resolution and some clean-up work has probably occurred. It's likely the transfer is the same as the out-of-print BFI Blu-ray, which made use of a 2K negative scan. 'Oh... Rosalinda!!' however, shot in Cinemascope, is another story, a transfer presented in 2.35:1 that doesn't serve the film's candy-coloured colour palette with its soft resolution. It always feels like there's a veil between us and the film. Some serious work needs to be done to this film, though considering its lower position in Powell and Pressburger's body of work, is unlikely to get it. Surprisingly, 'The Battle of the River Plate' comes off looking the best. Shot in VistaVision 1.85:1, the 1080p transfer benefits from restoration work done on the film, though perhaps not as rigorous as those spearheaded by The Film Foundation. The ocean scenes in particular look gorgeous, with the high definition transfer preserving a good amount of detail.
In terms of audio, all six films feature LPCM 2.0 Mono tracks, and the quality of them depends on the level of restoration. The 4K films sound wonderful and clear, while 'Rosalinda' sits on the other end of the spectrum as lacking clarity and detail.
All six films include English subtitles.
SPECIAL FEATURES
As with the first collection, this second set in The Cinema of Powell and Pressburger combines new special features with pre-existing archival material, the bulk on the Blu-ray discs in the set. The breakdown is as follows, with the new material marked as such...
ONE OF OUR AIRCRAFT IS MISSING
The two short films were also included on the BFI release. They're in need of a good restoration but great to have them included here. The BFI release also had additional propaganda films from their archives, along with an audio commentary from Ian Christie, not included here.
I KNOW WHERE I'M GOING!
The only carryover here from the Criterion release is the Mark Cousins documentary, otherwise the rest of the material is unique to this high definition release. A theatrical trailer is listed on the cover but not included on either disc.
THE RED SHOES
THE SMALL BACK ROOM
The pre-existing material here comes from the Studiocanal Vintage Classics Blu-ray release from 2024. Again, a theatrical trailer is listed on the cover for the 4K UHD disc but not included.
THE TALES OF HOFFMANN
This disc adds the most new material for any film in the set. The Scorsese introduction, Schoomaker interview, stills gallery and restoration trailer come from the 2015 Studiocanal Vintage Classics Blu-ray release.
OH... ROSALINDA!!
The only previous Blu-ray release of 'Oh... Rosalinda!!' came from Network in the UK in 2019, and that release just included an image gallery. This makes all the material on this disc a welcome addition to this strange film.
THE BATTLE OF THE RIVER PLATE
There doesn't appear to have been an English-language Blu-ray release of 'River Plate', though there have been a few international releases. The restoration, beautifully demonstrated in the restoration featurette, appears to have been for the DVD release of the film from Network in the UK.
Also included in the set is director Craig McCall's excellent 2010 documentary 'Cameraman: The Life and Work of Jack Cardiff', which looks at the legendary cinematographer who shot 'A Matter of Life and Death', 'Black Narcissus' and 'The Red Shoes'. Presented in a 1080p 1.85:1 transfer with LPCM 2.0 Stereo sound and English subtitles, the disc also includes the following features...
This disc seems to replicate the material on the Strand Blu-ray release in the US from 2011. The featurettes are mostly material not used in the final film.
As with the previous set, there's a wealth of material included in this set, though not quite as much new material as for the first collection. These new retrospective critical interviews are the highlights, especially those with Ian Christie. His life-long dedication to the works of Powell and Pressburger brings a wealth of knowledge on both how the films were made and received, and then how they have persisted over time. Other highlights include critic and author Kim Newman arguing a case for 'The Tales of Hoffmann' being The Archers' only horror film and historian Matthew Sweet giving valuable context for the making of 'Oh... Rosalinda!!'. Of the archival material, I have always enjoyed the retrospective making-of featurettes created for the Carlton Film Library DVD releases of many of their films. They're definitely showing their age, but this also means that a number of those involved, who have since passed away, have the opportunity to speak about their experiences. It helps break up the academic quality of the new features produced by Imprint.
In terms of what is missing, that material mostly comes from the Criterion releases of 'I Know Where I'm Going!' and 'The Red Shoes', produced exclusively for those releases. Best to hold onto them if you have them. It would also have been wonderful to have 'Made in England: The Films of Powell and Pressburger', David Hinton's tremendous 2024 documentary, included in this release, though the inclusion of 'Cameraman' is a worthy substitute.
Unlike the first collection, this second set also includes a lovely 236-page hardback book, featuring the following...
The material is reproduced beautifully and includes a wealth of additional production material, though it would have benefited from a contents page at the beginning. The packaging itself continues the striped patterning of the first set, with the discs and book housed in a massive hard box case. Each film has its own case with original production release artwork, though some of the choices of posters aren't particularly attractive.
With there still being four Powell and Pressburger films missing, it's unclear whether this is the end of the line for Imprint's Cinema of Powell and Pressburger collection. As I said, there are likely issues around rights and available elements for those films, so I don't think a third set is likely, though it's kind of insane that they've been able to pull together what they have so far. Even if no further sets await us, both volumes in this retrospective are true treasures for film lovers and must-own items. I can't imagine them being bettered anytime soon. They'll certainly be taking pride of place in my own collection, and I'll relish all future chances to delve into them again and bask in the glory of these truly great filmmakers.