Walbrook’s Leading Ladies: Part One. Anna Sten, Camilla Horn & Anny Ondra

Posted on August 10, 2014January 30, 2018 by James

This is the first in a series of blog posts looking at some of the actresses who appeared onscreen with Anton Walbrook. As the title ‘Leading Ladies’ suggests, the focus is on those who played opposite AW after he established himself as a romantic lead: this will not be an exhaustive list of every actress who appeared in his films, and I’ve chosen to limit the scope to his sound films. In future blog posts I may return to some of the lesser known figures. As usual, the illustrations are taken from my own postcards, film stills and cinema programmes.

Anna Sten (1908-93)

Starred with AW in his first sound film, Salto Mortale (1931).

Born Anjushka Stenski Sujakevich to a Ukrainian father and Swedish mother, Anna trained at the Moscow Film Academy after being spotted on stage in her hometown of Kiev by Konstantin Stanislavsky, creator of the famous school of method acting.

Like Anny Ondra (of whom more below), she had a short-lived marriage to a director – Fyodor Otsep – in whose films she appeared. After her husband cast her in Der Mörder Dmitri Karamazov (1931), she came to the attention of Sam Goldwyn who brought her over to Hollywood and spent the next two years trying, without success, to launch her as the new Garbo. Cole Porter gently mocked their endeavours in his 1934 musical Anything Goes:

‘If Sam Goldwyn can with great conviction
Instruct Anna Sten in diction
Then Anna shows
Anything goes.’

Just prior to this, Anna appeared in a number of Franco-German collaborations, of which Salto Mortale was one. French and German language versions of the film were shot simultaneously, with Sten, AW and Reinhold Berndt in the latter, playing three circus performers caught in a love triangle: Robby (AW) and Jim (Berndt) are friends who feed the lions and tigers, but who find themselves competing for the love of Russian stunt rider Marina (Sten.) When the circus launches a new attraction involving a highly dangerous trapeze act – the ‘Salto Mortale’ or ‘Leap of Death’ – Jim and Marina become partners on the trapeze while Robby operates the controls below. After a tragic accident leaves Jim with a damaged leg and unable to perform, he marries Marina, while Robby takes his place on the trapeze. Their deepening relationship places them in grave danger, for their lives depend on Jim releasing the trapeze with split second precision. As Jim sinks into drunken bitterness and jealousy, the stage is set for one final tragedy….

Anna divorced her husband in 1931 and married Russian-born producer-director Eugene Frenke, who followed her to Hollywood and enjoyed a successful career there. She made a brief appearance in Heaven Knows, Mr Allison (1957), which was produced by Fremke and starred Deborah Kerr, AW’s co-star from The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp. Frenke remade the film in 1962 as The Nun and the Sergeant, giving his wife the role that Kerr had played. It was her last feature film, and she died following a heart attack in New York on 12 November 1993 at the age of 84.

The film was released in America as ‘Trapeze.’ This is from the programme for its premiere in dubbed English, at the Little Carnegie Playhouse in New York.

The switch from silent to sound was a gradual transition, with the style and aesthetics of silent films carrying over into many of the early ‘talkies.’ This silent ‘after-glow’ is evident in Salto Mortale, which contains several scenes of slapstick and physical comedy, as well as some wonderful wordless sequences where meaning is conveyed without dialogue, through gesture and expression. It is a very physical film in other ways, with AW wearing vest tops and circus costumes that show off a muscular physique concealed through most of his career under a stylish wardrobe of lounge suits, evening dress and military uniforms.

Camilla Horn (1903-96)

Starred with AW in Die Funf Verfluchten Gentlemen (1932)

Born in Frankfurt-am-Main, Camilla began her career as a dancer and cabaret performer in Berlin, having studied acting under another of AW’s co-stars, Lucie Höflich, whom I will write about in another blog. One of her earliest screen appearances was as an uncredited dancer in the 1925 celebration of the human body, Wege zu Kraft und Schönheit (Ways to Strength and Beauty.) She was working as an extra at UFA the following year when director F W Murnau chose her for the role of Gretchen in Faust. Recognised now as one the great masterpieces of silent cinema, Faust was an extravagant production filmed over six months at a cost of 2 million marks; it won Murnau a contract in Hollywood and launched Horn’s career. She made a few silent films in Germany before following Murnau to Hollywood. Although Joseph Schenk cast her in two United Artists films opposite John Barrymore, her Hollywood career did not live up to expectations and she returned to Europe, making several films in Germany in the early 1930s.

Camilla in the mid-1920s

Die fünf verfluchten Gentlemen (The Five Cursed Gentlemen) was directed by Julien Duvivier, who simultaneously filmed a French-language version: neither AW nor Camilla Horn appeared in Les Cinq gentlemen maudits although other cast members such as Allan Durant, George Péclet and Marc Dantzer were in both. The story begins with German millionaire Alexander Petersen (AW) and Camilla (Horn) on board a ship to Tangiers. She is travelling to visit her uncle Marouvelle at his farm near Fez. Petersen falls for Camilla, and is invited to spend a few days at her uncle’s farm along with two English passengers, Midlock (Allan Durant) and Strawber (Jack Trevor.) On the way there they visit the ruins at Moulay-Idriss, where the Englishmen meet two friends, pilot Lawson and racing driver Woodland.After one of the men tries to remove a beggar girl’s veil, her father – revealed now as a sorcerer – utters a curse upon the group: before the next full moon, all five will die, with Petersen being the last. It doesn’t take long before the curse starts to be fulfilled – Midlock falls off a roof, Woodland dies in a plane crash and Lawson is found stabbed…but is everything what it seems?

The film was shot on location in Morocco, making superb use of the dramatic contrast between blinding sunlight and cool shadows, and is filled with exotic sequences of snake dancers, crowded bazaars and dancing dervishes.

Camilla Horn did not star in any other AW movies after this, but she worked with many of his co-stars and colleagues and remained in Germany during World War Two. Distancing herself from the Nazi regime, she fell into disfavour and was prosecuted by the Gestapo for a minor financial offence. She struggled to find work in Germany under the Nazis, but despite a disappointing postwar career, she made something of a comeback later in life with Schloss Königswald (1988) alongside other actresses of her era such as Marianne Hoppe and Marika Rökk.

AW and Duvivier were, of course, reunited twenty years after this film in the dark, expressionistic L’affaire Maurizius (1954.)

Anny Ondra (1902-87)

Starred with AW in Baby (1932) and Die vertauschte Braut (1934)

Anna Sophie Ondráková was born in Tarnów, near Galicia, and brought up in Prague where she began acting after leaving school. She came to the attention of actor-director Karl Lamac, who featured her in several of his silent films in the 1920s and eventually married her. In addition to her smouldering beauty, she proved herself a skilled and subtle actress, and it was not long before she became a huge star in Czech, French, Austrian and German films. Like AW, her career transcended national boundaries.

Anny’s name was familiar to British audiences through working with directors Graham Cutts and Alfred Hitchcock, who cast her as Alice White in his first sound film, Blackmail, in 1929. Her thick accent required dubbing by an English actress, and realising that a career in British films was now closed to her, Anny settled in Germany and founded the Ondra-Lamac-Film company with her husband in 1930; the business lasted six years, continuing after she divorced Lamac and married champion boxer Max Schmeling in 1933. Both Baby (1932) and Die vertauschte Braut (1934) were produced by Ondra-Lamac Film.

AW and Anny in ‘Die vertauschte Braut’

In Die vertauschte Braut (The exchanged bride), Anny plays two roles – feisty American heiress Virginia Vanderloo and her double, poor street vendor Dolly. When Virginia is given a fortnight’s prison sentence for flying a plane over New York – a crazy mishap following an argument with her pilot fiance Charles (AW) – Dolly agrees to take her place in jail in return for $500 that will enable her to fulfill her dream of setting up a beauty salon. Unaware of the exchange, Charles goes to visit his fiancee in prison and finds his love rekindled by her unexpected gentleness and warmth…what has changed? And will he need to make further changes when the swap is revealed? The film ends with some farcical scenes Anny and skating snowmen in an ice ballet.

Another scene from ‘Die vertauschte Braut’

Anny used her body to great effect in her performances – not simply in showing off her legs (as above), although she did a lot of that – but also in skilled slapstick and physical comedy. There’s an amusing scene in Baby where she gets drunk and falls all over the room, in a performance that rivals that of Keaton or Chaplin. She plays a French heiress in the film, who meets two English aristocrats – Lord Cecil (AW) and Lord James (Willy Stettner) – while travelling to boarding school in England with her friend Susette. Things get complicated as the friends pretend to be showgirls, swap identities, join a (real) singing group called ‘The Singing Babies’ and get caught up in various escapades involving cross-dressing and an excess of drink! It’s great fun, and AW even gets to show off his juggling skills.

***

Still to come – Liane Haid, Luise Ulrich, Olga Tschechowa, Lil Dagover, Renate Müller, Paula Wessely, Anna Neagle, Diane Wynyard, Danielle Darrieux, Martine Carol and many more……

Anton Walbrook died 47 years ago today

Posted on August 9, 2014January 30, 2018 by James

Anton at home in Hampstead in 1963

Anton Walbrook died 47 years ago today in Garatshausen, Bavaria, where he was visiting retired actress Hansi Burg. He was convalescing from a heart attack he had suffered on stage at the end of March, while playing the part of Sir Hugo Latymer in Noel Coward’s A Song at Twilight [Duett im Zweilicht] at the Kleine-Komödie in Munich. Latymer is an elderly writer who has hidden his homosexuality from the public, but is forced to confront his past when a former mistress visits him in his hotel room. The play’s themes of regret and bittersweet memories being evaluated at the twilight of one’s life made it especially apt, given the circumstances.

While being treated in a Munich hospital, Anton was contacted again by Kurt Loup, who was working on a history of the Wohlbrück family and was keen to discuss his research. Anton promised he would arrange a meeting as soon as he felt better, but in the meantime he was going to rest by the Starnberger See, a large lake some twenty miles from Munich and popular with holidaymakers. He went to visit Hansi Burg at Garatshausen, at the southern edge of the village of Feldafing on the western side of the lake. Directly across the water lay the spot where Ludwig II of Bavaria had been found dead in 1886.

Hansi was the daughter of Jewish actor Eugen Burg, with whom AW had co-starred in Der Stolz der 3 Kompanie (1932.) She had lived with actor Hans Albers before they were forced to separate by the Nazis. As a precaution, she married a Norwegian and fled to England via Switzerland in 1938. Her father was less fortunate, and died in Theresienstadt concentration camp in 1944. Burg and Albers were reunited after the war and remained together until his death in 1960.

One can only imagine the memories that were shared by Anton and Hansi at the edge of the lake, before he passed away on 9 August 1967. May he rest in peace.

Devil Girl from Mars (1954)

Posted on July 14, 2014January 30, 2018 by James

Thirteen years before Mars Needs Women, the red planet was apparently running drastically low on the other sex. To balance the numbers, a female Martian named Nyah – clad in black leather and accompanied by a giant robot – travels to earth on a mission to round-up suitable males for breeding…

This is the premise of Devil Girl from Mars (David Macdonald, 1954), a curious movie that certainly fits the ‘accidentally hilarious’ category, but also one that possesses some unusual quirks which set it apart from other science fiction B-movies of the decade. Distinctly British in its approach and execution, Devil Girl from Mars is played with a seriousness that contrasts starkly with its low-budget effects and stage set.

The basic concept was by no means unique, for the early 1950s saw a wave of Hollywood movies about alien intruders, including The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951), The Man from Planet X (1951), The Thing from Another World (1951), Invaders from Mars (1953) and The War of the Worlds (1953.) Without denying that these films may have had some influence, Devil Girl from Mars was a British production and feels very different from the American science-fiction movies it might have imitated. There are elements of the ‘country house mystery’ in the way disparate characters are drawn to the remote inn, a concern for matters like social class, moral behaviour, justice and redemption – plus a very British appreciation for tea and other beverages. Some of these elements betray the film’s radio play origins, although I have been unable as yet to trace any broadcast details. In structure and pacing the film remains stagebound, with its limited locations, excessive speechifying and over-reliance on dramatic entries and exits.

None of this can be anticipated from the film’s opening shots, however, in which an aircraft is mysteriously destroyed in mid-air. The mystery is not just in the mode of destruction, but also in its relevance to the story: it is never explained what this has to do with Nyah’s mission.

Following the plane explosion and the title credits, the scene switches to the Bonnie Charlie Inn ‘in a lonely part of Inverness-shire,’ which will be the setting for the rest of the film. Despite being closed for the winter, there are four staff in residence – Mr and Mrs Jamieson (John Laurie and Sophie Stewart), barmaid Doris (Adrienne Corri) and handyman David (James Edmond) plus Mrs Jamieson’s young nephew Tommy (Anthony Richmond). They have only one guest, glamorous model Ellen Prestwick (Hazel Court), who has come here to hide from her married lover.

This small household is soon bolstered by the arrival of escaped convict Robert Justin (Peter Reynolds), who was actually Doris’s lover before he was jailed for killing his wife, although her death appears to have been accidental: (and as Doris points out in his defence, ‘she was bad’.) Doris took the job at the Bonnie Charlie in order to be nearer Robert, although one wonders why she didn’t choose a pub nearer Stirling, which must be at least a hundred miles away. She might have been safer too, given the apparent pickpocketing powers of fish in the Highlands:

Isn’t it awful, Mrs Jamieson? He’s lost his wallet, he’s just been telling me…There he was crossing the stream, and he..he looks over to see a fish that’s in the water, and the next thing he knows…his wallet’s gone.

Mrs Jamieson will not withhold the Highland tradition of hospitality, but she gives Robert a suspicious look and warns him, ‘I’m counting the spoons.’

Next to arrive are Professor of Astrophysics Arnold Hennessy (Joseph Tomelty) and reporter Michael Carter (Hugh McDermott) from the Daily Messenger, who got lost in their car on their way to investigate reports of a meteor.

With all the characters now assembled, it is time for the Devil Girl to arrive. The spaceship lands right outside the inn in a cloud of fire and smoke, disturbing the group just as Carter reveals Robert’s real identity. Mr Jamieson declares that the craft ‘looks like a flying saucer’, using the term that had become popular since Kenneth Arnold’s encounter with UFOs seven years earlier. Professor Hennessy is reluctant to believe it could be a spaceship, but he and Carter head off to try and find a phone to inform the Home Office.

Miss Prestwick looking forlorn when Carter leaves the room. ‘I know it sounds silly, but I don’t like to be left here on my own.’

Viewers might agree that Ellen’s anxiety was justified when they receive their first sight of the ‘flying saucer’ pilot. After a dramatic stride down the landing ramp and a close-up of her face, the Devil Girl meets David and is unimpressed by his poor sight and limping gait.

All that is left of what Nyah judged ‘a hopeless specimen’

The Devil Girl’s agenda is not yet apparent, but this scene leaves no doubt as to her ruthlessness and capacity for cruelty. However, most viewers were probably still goggle-eyed at Nyah’s costume, with her skin tight helmet and full length cloak of black PVC. Once she enters the inn, the inner part of the costume is revealed as a black mini-skirt and tights.

Nyah explains her mission to Hennessy and Carter: on Mars, ‘the war of the sexes’ was literal, and after a bloody conflict the women emerged victorious, leaving only a handful of enfeebled male survivors with which to breed. Faced with the demise of their race, the Martians have sent Nyah to earth to bring back some virile men to help repopulate their planet. Before anyone asks why the Martians chose a remote part of Inverness-shire for their harvest of men, Nyah blames it on her sat nav: her spaceship was programmed to land in London, but having underestimated the thickness of the earth’s atmosphere (i.e. Scottish weather?), the spaceship was damaged on entry and forced to land in the Highlands for repair.

Nyah’s explanation of the repair process introduces the first of several technical discussions: we learn that the spaceship is made of organic metal that repairs itself by regeneration. The concept of a ‘living spacecraft’ was, I think, quite original at this time. A short while later Professor Hennessy quizzes Nyah on her spaceship’s power source:

N: A form of nuclear fission, on a static negative condensity
H: A negative condensity?
N: Exactly. Your atomic bomb is positive, it can cause an explosion to expand upwards and evaporate; our force is negative and explodes atomic forces into each other, thereby magnifying the power a thousand fold.
H: And the fuel?
N: Self-propagating

The science may be flaky in the extreme (don’t ask about the ‘perpetual motion chain reactor beam’), but there is something impressive in the deadpan seriousness with which it is presented. Despite its campy and unintentionally comic elements, this is an ambitious little film.

How many earth men could Nyah have fitted in here?

The notion of the self-repairing spaceship is crucial to the plot. Nyah is stranded at the Bonnie Charlie for ‘four earth hours’ until her ship is ready to fly again, forcing her to kill time with the inn’s residents while she waits. Viewers of the film start to feel much the same way, as an inordinate amount of time is spent watching characters wander backwards and forwards between the spaceship and the inn. Did Nyah travel 200 million kilometres for this?

The purpose of her one-woman invasion of earth is really to test the capabilities of the organic spacecraft, in preparation for a much larger ‘man-hunt’ that will follow shortly. Nyah therefore shows little interest in kidnapping any of the five males at the inn. She takes little Tommy, but then is persuaded by Carter to let him swap with the boy. After Carter has wandered back to the inn, Hennessy strolls out for a look around the spaceship and offers to accompany Nyah to London to act as a guide. She agrees, but he is soon back in the Bonnie Charlie as well. When the ship is repaired and she is ready to leave, everyone is hiding down in the cellar except Robert….

The three women may not be at risk of being whisked back to Mars, but they are as determined as the men are about stopping Nyah’s mission. When Carter introduces the Devil Girl to Mrs Jamieson, the landlady is given one of the best lines in the film:

– ‘Mrs Jamieson, may I introduce your latest guest, Miss Nyah. She comes from Mars.’
– ‘Oh, well, that’ll mean another bed.’

The earthlings face the alien threat with the sort of stiff upper lip and cheeriness typical of British wartime movies. Mrs Jamieson exemplifies the spirit of the Blitz with her down to earth remark:
‘While we’re still alive, we might as well have a cup of tea.’
Tea is not the only beverage drunk at the inn, and copious amounts of alcohol are drunk by Mr Jamieson and Carter in particular. I find it quite refreshing when films of this era depict heavy drinking in such a matter of fact way, without either moral judgment or any suggestion that large and frequent tipples are indicative of a problem.

Carter orders ‘A very large Scotch and a very small soda’

‘Has the tomato juice girl got any Scotch?’ ‘No, but I have some brandy.’

The free-flowing whisky and the Highland setting are not the only Scottish elements in the film; the director and four of the main actors were Scottish. The name of the inn might even be a subtle joke – ‘Bonnie Charlie’ refers to Prince Charles Edward Stuart, who landed in the Western Highlands in 1745 seeking to gather an army of men to support his cause – Nyah might have done well to reflect on how well that turned out.

Patricia Laffan was best known at this time for playing Nero’s vixenish wife, Queen Poppaea, in Quo Vadis? (1951), a film in which Adrienne Corri had a minor role. Laffan excelled in long-legged imperious arrogance.

Devil Girl from Mars actually has a pretty good cast compared to similar B-movies of the era:

The lovely Hazel Court had enjoyed starring roles in several dramas and thrillers during the 1940s, and was even considered for the role of Vicky in The Red Shoes (1948), but following Devil Girl she moved into horror after playing Peter Cushing’s young fiancee in The Curse of Frankenstein (1957.) Her ‘scream queen’ career saw her appear in a number of Hammer horrors and Roger Corman adaptations of Edgar Allan Poe tales. In 1990 she said of Devil Girl: ‘I think it only took about two weeks to shoot and it was made on a shoestring. We got paid next to nothing.’

Shades of Dad’s Army – ‘Shoot, man, shoot!’

Although he is best known for his role as Private Frazer in Dad’s Army, John Laurie’s distinguished film career began way back in 1929 and he appeared in two Anton Walbrook films as well as Fanny by Gaslight (1944.) Sophie Stewart had appeared in two H.G. Wells adaptations, Things to Come (1936) and The Man who could Work Miracles (also 1936) while Hugh McDermott had a role in another Wells tale of space travel, First Men in the Moon (1964).

Experienced, talented actors like these deserved a better script, but unlike many B-movies in the genre, the film appears to take itself quite seriously, and the cast do their best with the cornier lines and contrived situations. There is, unfortunately, one stand-out leaden performance, and that is from Nyah’s companion Chani.

‘I can control power beyond your wildest dreams! Come, come and you shall see! Now earthmen look, watch the power of another world…’

Chani is Nyah’s robot companion, whom she parades before the inn’s residents after Carter’s ill-advised attempt to shoot her with Jamieson’s revolver. The robot is operated by a handheld remote control device, and Nyah clearly enjoys demonstrating her robot’s powers as he destroys a tree, broken-down tractor and a barn using a light beam fired from his head. The muskets used at Culloden were probably quicker to aim and fire than Chani’s head-beam, but Nyah is blind to his flaws; the only time she shows any emotion in the film is while watching her robot perform before the awestruck earthlings.

Proud mum. Nyah is clearly bursting with pride as she shows off Chani’s abilities at walking and blowing up tractors. Such human touches give the film a curious charm.

Mind that branch… Chani may not be the most frightening robot in cinema history, but for entertainment value he beats anything in the Transformers franchise

Devil Girl from Mars is probably best remembered for two costumes: Nyah’s black PVC dominatrix uniform and Chani’s cardboard fridge & styrofoam coffee-cup arms. These Martian invaders make an odd couple, and though they were clearly inspired by the pairing of Klaatu and the robot Gort in The Day the Earth Stood Still, they fall far short in terms of effective teamwork and combined resources. Despite her impressive robot, powers of hypnosis and ability to enter the fourth dimension, Nyah’s mission turns out a spectacular failure. At the end of the film, is there a moral as to why?

The inability of the Martian women to procreate is symbolised by Nyah’s pairing with the mechanical Chani; furthermore both of them show a total absence of feeling throughout the film. In contrast, the Bonnie Charlie is a hotbed of romance and warm emotions, even in the depths of winter: Doris and Robert are reunited and both show willingness to sacrifice everything to protect the other; Ellen falls for Carter, finding the strength to break away from her married lover while succeeding in breaking through Carter’s cynicism and gruff exterior. Behind the Jamiesons’ constant bickering banter, there seems to be a steadfast relationship and a tender devotion to their young nephew. The cheesy dialogue and over–wrought domestic dramas may well amuse modern viewers, but they show that Devil Girl from Mars was looking in the opposite direction from most of its contemporaries. This is not another Cold War metaphor or guilt-ridden nightmare about atomic power. Devil Girl borrows the trappings of 1950s science fiction while exploring some fairly old-fashioned British themes about love, duty, altruism and moral principles. The similarity between Nyah’s black-booted outfit and the Nazi uniform is surely no coincidence; this is a flying saucer movie that looks to the past as much as the future.

This blog post is part of the ‘Accidentally Hilarious’ blogathon, and there’s some brilliant pieces on other classic films – including silent movies, the work of Ed Wood, more monster/alien flicks and all sorts of wonderful weirdness – to be found here. Enjoy!

Haldane Macfall’s Whistler

Posted on July 2, 2014April 29, 2020 by James

Last Friday ago I picked up this little book in an antique shop by the River Exe. Whistler: Butterfly, Wasp, Wit, Master of the Arts, Enigma, (Edinburgh & London: T.N. Foulis, 1906) presents a brief account of the life and work of artist Sir James Abbot McNeill Whistler, and was written by Haldane Macfall (1860–1928.)

Macfall’s literary career began while serving in Africa with the West India Regiment in the 1880s, when he began writing about his experiences for The Graphic. A skilled artist, he also contributed illustrations to the magazine, designed bookplates, decorated books and exhibited at the Royal Academy.

Quite apart from my interest in Whistler, I was attracted to the book’s design and page layout, and particularly intrigued by the presence of hand-drawn pencil sketches opposite the opening page.

There is nothing here to identify the artist, although there seem to be quite a few copies of Macfall’s books in circulation bearing pencil sketches on their blank pages.

Chambers Haldane Cooke Macfall was born in 1860 but lost his mother when he was still young. His father Surgeon-Major David Chambers McFall (1833-98) remarried in 1871, and his new bride – Frances Clarke – became stepmother to Haldane and his brother Albert. At sixteen, Frances was only six years older than her eldest stepson, and within a year she gave birth to a boy named Archibald. The Macfalls spent five years in the Far East, returning to England in 1876, but the marriage proved an unhappy one. Frances left her husband in 1890, subsequently changing her name to Sarah Grand.

Sarah was a forceful campaigner for women’s rights and a prolific writer of both fiction and non-fiction. Her first novel, The Heavenly Twins (1893) sold over 20,000 copies and caused some controversy due to its strong feminist message and frank treatment of medical matters relating to sexual behaviour. She was active throughout the 1890s, lecturing on topics such as women’s suffrage and rational dress. In 1898 Haldane McFall moved in with his step mother, having been forced to leave the army due to a serious bout of fever. His first novel The Wooings of Jezebel Pettyfer was published the same year. His next novel, The Masterfolk (1903) was a witty portrait of Bohemian life in London and Paris in the 1890s, declared by Vincent Starrett – in his essay on Macfall in Buried Caesars (1923) – to be ‘the last word on the English decadents.’ Other novels include Rouge (1906) and The Three Students (1926), while his biographies included Ibsen: The Man, His Art & His Significance (1903), Sir Henry Irving (1906), Fragonard (1909), Boucher (1911) and a spirited defence of his friend Aubrey Beardsley (1928.) He returned to the army to serve during World War One, and published a number of books and essays on military topics. He collaborated several times with the artist Claud Lovat Fraser, who – along with Edward Gordon Craig – provided illustrations for Macfall’s essay on art and aesthetics, The Splendid Wayfaring (1913.) Macfall seems to have been on friendly terms with both artists. Gordon Craig’s father had been a friend of Whistler’s, and he was godson of another of Macfall’s biographical subjects, Henry Irving. He engraved bookplates for both Macfall and his wife Mabel, and wrote an appreciation of Macfall after his death.

Whistler exercised a considerable influence on the aesthetic movement in Britain – not only through his artwork, but also by his insistence on the autonomy of art, which he believed existed for its own perfection rather than for didactic purposes. Wilde had made a similar argument during his 1895 trials, and Whistler also found himself defending the notion in court during the libel case that followed Ruskin’s slur on the artist’s Nocture in Gold and Black. By contrast, Whistler’s response to reading some of Macfall’s art criticism was apparently ‘Ha ha, this man knows.’ It was probably just as well that he found nothing to offend, for Whistler made a formidable enemy – the waspish wit collected in The Gentle Art of Making Enemies (1890) may amuse readers, but being on the receiving end of Whistler’s wrath was far from pleasant.

This aspect of Whistler’s work was symbolised in the butterfly monogram that appears on the cover of Macfall’s book and elsewhere inside. The artist used this on his paintings in place of a signature from 1869 onwards, basing it on his initials ‘J.W’ but developing a series of variations over the years. When using the monogram to sign his more acerbic correspondence, he would give the butterfly a stinging tail.

Whistler knew of course that these theatrical exchanges with the press would provide valuable publicity for his art, and he enjoyed near celebrity status when Macfall’s career was beginning. Although Macfall seemed to abandon the paint brush for the pen later in life, he produced some interesting artwork that reveals the influence of fin-de-siecle aestheticism. This Beardsley-ish image formed the frontispiece to The House of the Sorcerer (actually a fragment of The Wooings of Jezebel Pettyfer):

I’ll be keeping an eye out for more of Macfall’s work in future.

‘the happiest I’ve ever been’ – Exeter Plaque

Posted on June 13, 2014January 30, 2018 by James

During the years I’ve lived in Exeter I’ve had many occasion to walk along Blackall Road, and this plaque makes me smile every time. I’d love to know the story behind these words, and yet at the same moment I fear this might take away the mystery and diminish its appeal. However, I’m grateful to whoever wrote these words and took the trouble to have them fixed to the wall; so many memorial inscriptions and commemorative plaques ask us to remember deaths and tragedies – it’s rare that someone invites us to share in a happy memory, even if one senses here a tinge of the bittersweet.