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Serenity and its "silken bonds," Poe's "The City in the Sea" reversed. The breakneck opening departs from The Bitter Tea of General Yen, and contrasts with the meditative later sequences to illustrate Frank Capra's masterly modulation of tempo. Out of the tumult of revolution and into the limbo of tranquility, the airplane takes off from China and crashes in the Himalayas, the garden in the valley promises Life Lessons for assorted travelers. The paradisiacal spa that is Shangri-La, "you couldn't do better at the Ritz." Moderation is the local standard, just the thing for the disenchanted imperialist (Ronald Colman), an escape from the gathering storm plus the affection of a skinny-dipping schoolmarm (Jane Wyatt). A new purpose for the corporate embezzler (Thomas Mitchell) and healing for the tubercular party girl (Isabel Jewell), the archeological fuddy-duddy (Edward Everett Horton) learns to not be spooked by his own reflection. The dissenting voice belongs to the diplomat's brother (John Howard), "this place gives me the creeps!" A rarefied realm, the tyranny of tepidness, the New Age avant la lettre. Palatial halls and servile natives in the gelid heights, "just a blank on the map" presided over by the High Lama, played by Sam Jaffe as the beatific midpoint between Gandhi and Dr. Strangelove. Longevity is its own punishment, all told, the rebellious maiden (Margo) escapes only to wither in the snow. Capra gives a formal glow to the philosophical fatuities, and even the bridges for missing footage (abrupt 16mm inserts, disembodied voices over stills) enhance the oneiric strangeness. "I sometimes think the other is the dream. The outside world." A London club toast dissolves to a human speck on the Tibetan mountain, in the distance are satirical swipes by Boorman (Zardoz) and Resnais (La Vie est un Roman). Cinematography by Joseph Walker. With H.B. Warner, Hugh Buckler, and Willie Fung. In black and white.
--- Fernando F. Croce |