Charm (Scarecrow Staked Here: spoilers herein)

Wendy Hiller and Roger Livesey in I Know Where I'm Going! (1945)

The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943)

Moira Shearer and Ludmilla Tchérina in The Tales of Hoffmann (1951)

Laurence Olivier, Leslie Howard, and Raymond Massey in The Invaders (1941)

David Farrar and Jennifer Jones in The Wild Heart (1950)

Kathleen Byron, David Farrar, and Jack Hawkins in The Small Back Room (1949)

David Niven and Kim Hunter in A Matter of Life and Death (1946)

Deborah Kerr, Kathleen Byron, May Hallatt, and Sabu in Black Narcissus (1947)

Eric Berry, Belle Chrystall, and Niall MacGinnis in The Edge of the World (1937)

Well, there are more ways than one of getting close to your ancestors. Follow the old road, and as you walk, think of them and of the old England. They climbed Chillingbourne Hill, just as you. They sweated and paused for breath just as you did today. And when you see the bluebells in the spring and the wild thyme, and the broom and the heather, you're only seeing what their eyes saw. You ford the same rivers. The same birds are singing. When you lie flat on your back and rest, and watch the clouds sailing, as I often do, you're so close to those other people, that you can hear the thrumming of the hoofs of their horses, and the sound of the wheels on the road, and their laughter and talk, and the music of the instruments they carried. And when I turn the bend in the road, where they too saw the towers of Canterbury, I feel I've only to turn my head, to see them on the road behind me.

Dennis Price and John Sweet in A Canterbury Tale (1944)

Dennis Price, Sheila Sim, and John Sweet in A Canterbury Tale (1944)

Sheila Sim and John Sweet in A Canterbury Tale (1944)

Eric Portman and Sheila Sim in A Canterbury Tale (1944)

Eric Portman

Sheila Sim

Dennis Price

Michael Powell

Emeric Pressburger

Three World War Two era pilgrims investigate a bizarre crime in a small UK town while on their way to Canterbury.

A Canterbury Tale

Neither here nor there

Some of the Archers&apos; films have moved and delighted me -- BLACK NARCISSUS, THE RED SHOES. Others have interested me but left me rather cold -- PEEPING TOM, TALES OF HOFFMANN. This one falls right in the middle. The wartime milieu, the surprisingly *dark* nighttime photography, the central characters, the supporting cast of Kentish country folk -- all these engaged me for about the first hour of the movie. But in the second hour, as the &quot;Glue Man&quot; theme became increasingly worn out and the prospect of &quot;miracles&quot; in Canterbury loomed larger, I felt more and more detached from the proceedings. Especially unwelcome was the churchy quality of the denouement. Still, I have no argument with the commenters who have praised the film so highly. So let me turn the denouement of my own commentary into a list of the positive impressions that stayed with me after &quot;The End&quot; appeared so unexpectedly on the screen.

First -- I loved the camaraderie that developed immediately among all the ordinary folks thrown together and forced to work as teammates for the common cause. (If war is good for anything, it must be that.) Second -- I liked the tall skinny American soldier and the difficulties and simple pleasures he found among the Brits -- I&apos;ve been there, done that, and P&amp;P captured the feeling very nicely. (Note: Bob Johnson&apos;s accent is quite authentic for a rural Oregonian, so stop complaining, you funny Commonwealth lot!). Third -- I enjoyed every minute that Sheila Sim was on camera. Finally -- that cut in the prologue, from the hawk to the fighter plane, was excellent indeed. (And yes, I&apos;d bet my piggy bank that Stanley Kubrick got his idea for the bone-to-space station cut in 2001 from this very film.)

But wait, I realize that I do have to register one last complaint. I love black &amp; white movies, so much that whenever I hear twentysomething kids whine that they can only watch movies in color, I am nauseated. And yet -- I wager that any filmmakers who purport to represent the beauty of the Kentish countryside on a summer day will truly achieve their goal only if they film in color. England&apos;s green and pleasant land just can&apos;t be painted in shades of gray.

A Canterbury Tale: Onward, Christian Soldiers

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Some of the Archers' films have moved and delighted me -- BLACK NARCISSUS, THE RED SHOES. Others have interested me but left me rather cold -- PEEPING TOM, TALES OF HOFFMANN. This one falls right in the middle. The wartime milieu, the surprisingly *dark* nighttime photography, the central characters, the supporting cast of Kentish country folk -- all these engaged me for about the first hour of the movie. But in the second hour, as the "Glue Man" theme became increasingly worn out and the prospect of "miracles" in Canterbury loomed larger, I felt more and more detached from the proceedings. Especially unwelcome was the churchy quality of the denouement. Still, I have no argument with the commenters who have praised the film so highly. So let me turn the denouement of my own commentary into a list of the positive impressions that stayed with me after "The End" appeared so unexpectedly on the screen.

First -- I loved the camaraderie that developed immediately among all the ordinary folks thrown together and forced to work as teammates for the common cause. (If war is good for anything, it must be that.) Second -- I liked the tall skinny American soldier and the difficulties and simple pleasures he found among the Brits -- I've been there, done that, and P&P captured the feeling very nicely. (Note: Bob Johnson's accent is quite authentic for a rural Oregonian, so stop complaining, you funny Commonwealth lot!). Third -- I enjoyed every minute that Sheila Sim was on camera. Finally -- that cut in the prologue, from the hawk to the fighter plane, was excellent indeed. (And yes, I'd bet my piggy bank that Stanley Kubrick got his idea for the bone-to-space station cut in 2001 from this very film.)

But wait, I realize that I do have to register one last complaint. I love black & white movies, so much that whenever I hear twentysomething kids whine that they can only watch movies in color, I am nauseated. And yet -- I wager that any filmmakers who purport to represent the beauty of the Kentish countryside on a summer day will truly achieve their goal only if they film in color. England's green and pleasant land just can't be painted in shades of gray.

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