The Young Mr Pitt – 1942 | 118mins | Drama | B&W

Plot Synopsis

In the opening scenes of The Young Mr. Pitt, Carol Reed gets as solid a grip on his audience as a director could hope for. Pitt the Elder (an artificially aged Robert Donat) eloquently pleads the cause of the American colonists and implores the House of Commons to set them free without bloodshed. His young son (Geoffrey Atkins) watches raptly from the visitors’ gallery. Later at home, celebrating the boy’s birthday, Pitt permits his son to drink wine. As Pitt Jr. sips port, Pitt Sr. lays down guidelines for the boy’s future political career, which is already deemed a certainty. Although it is a bit too self-consciously principled to ring wholly true (‘Do not seek fame through war’, etc.), it is delivered with just enough affection and pomposity to offset its excessive nobility. Another tonic for this pontificating is Pitt’s gouty leg, which he keeps propped up on a chair. The contrast between his Ciceronian utterances and his oddities of manner and appearance creates a salutary tension; it is the stuff drama is made of. Pitt Jr. adds to the credibility of the scene by imperfectly comprehending his father’s advice and by growing tipsy.

But the movie that follows this hopeful prologue disappoints more often than it satisfies. In the next scene, Pitt is a brilliant twenty-four-year-old who has just been named Prime Minister. Appealing to his archrival Charles Fox (Robert Morley) for support, in the national interest, he is stingingly rebuffed. Fox is greedy for power, the exercise of which he wishes to alternate with his dissolute pleasures. Having revealed its biases, the movie proceeds to sort out all the complex issues of life in eighteenth and nineteenth-century England into a morality play in which there is no doubt as to who is virtue and who is vice. The glorification of Pitt is supposed to be, by historical transference, a glorification of Churchill, who, like Pitt, was the ‘pilot that weathered the storm’, the leader who rallied the country’s spirits in the dark days of war and fought on against a dangerous continental foe. Meanwhile, Fox plays the Neville Chamberlain role, supinely appealing for a peaceful resolution to England’s conflict with France.

The structure of Pitt is provided by the historical events it chronicles, and little effort is made to dramatize the inner lives of the characters. Instead, Reed’s camera rather passively records the script’s progress through the momentous events of’ the age – the reforms of the Pitt administration, the increase of French power during the rise of Napoleon, the ebb and flow of Pitt’s fortunes as he seeks to unite the English nation and revive her power and influence. History gave Reed two splendid climaxes for Pitt’s biography -Nelson’s destruction of the French fleet at Aboukir Bay in the Battle of the Nile (1798) and later in the Battle of Gibraltar (1804). As recreated on the screen, each follows a prolonged period of public dissatisfaction with Pitt, with the short-sighted populace, their bread and circuses severely rationed, subjecting him to intense obloquy. The Prime Ministers noble crusade is rendered all the more heroic by its loneliness and by the obtuse, selfish opposition he faces. As portrayed in the film, Pitt is a prophet who is only infrequently honoured in his own country. Except for his staunch ally Wilberforce (John Mills), Pitt must contend with a largely frivolous Parliament; the MPs, brocaded to their ankles, are an effete bunch who are either openly corrupt and purblind or too distracted by aristocratic dissipations to attend to the national interests. It is only by the sheer force of Pitt’s personality and oratory that he is able to impose his sensible and far-seeing policies on these recalcitrant parliamentarians.

On the oscilloscope of popular support, the needle swings wildly from warm affirmation to virulent condemnation, usually, depending on how sharp the pinch of economic deprivation is during times of stress. The English people are depicted, not quite intentionally, as a changeable, superficial mass of whims, incapable of comprehending the larger issues of state. In the early scenes, they are dissatisfied with the graft-ridden, self-indulgent coalition government of Charles Fox and Lord North (Felix Aylmer) and transfer their support to young Pitt, who seems likely to carry on the inspiring, high-minded traditions of his father, the ‘Great Commoner’. When the king dissolves Parliament and calls for a general election, Pitt sweeps to victory. As the moral and economic health of England is quickly reestablished under his leadership, Pitt’s popularity soars.

After his handpicked admiral, Horatio Nelson (Stephen Haggard), crushes the French fleet in Egypt, the pendulum swings back resoundingly in Pitt’s favour. Another period of public scorn follows, however, when the English are defeated on land, and Pitt feels compelled to submit his resignation. Only in the hour of greatest national crisis, with the French massing across the channel for invasion, is the unimpeachable wisdom of Pitt’s statecraft appreciated. Then the people rally behind him, his political enemies are converted, and his protege Nelson demolishes the French once more. An exultant nation celebrates the greatness of its selfless leader.

As indicated earlier, very little of the drama in The Young Mr Pitt arises from Pitt’s private life, which is largely non-existent, or even his psychic life, which is simply a continuum of self denying dedication to the state. A less marmoreal side of Pitt is revealed in his abortive romance with Eleanor Eden (Phyllis Calvert), an ambassador’s daughter, and to a lesser extent, in his bantering relationship with his protective old nanny. Although Pitt and Eleanor fall in love, the self-sacrificing Prime Minister renounces his beloved because the duties of the state are so all consuming. The scolding, protective familiarity of the nanny recurs throughout Pitt’s life, but the episodes are hackneyed and do nothing to round out the portrait of Pitt.

Raymond Durgnat reviles Pitt for its political inaccuracies, but even a historically ignorant observer can see that the movie is tendentious and oversimplified. It is a rare epoch indeed in which the momentous dilemmas of the day can be so confidently and unqualifiedly reduced to black and white. Similarly, men are seldom as easy to tag and label, as this film would suggest. Except for Wilberforce, the men who surround Pitt are either knaves, like Fox, or fools, like Addington (Henry Hewitt). This oppressive hagiography cripples the drama, diluting its conflict and denying Pitt the human frailties that would make him believable. His incompetence in financial affairs is touched on briefly, but dismissed as another example of his indifference to anything other than England. Morally as well as politically, he would be more credible if he were less perfect.

An epic hero like Pitt needs a monster to slay, and this role is tailored to Napoleon, whose Hitlerian appetite for power is the only explanation that is put forward for his aggressions. The first episode in the allegory deals with the birth of the French emperor in Corsica, where his birth certificate is made to look as if it were written in blood. A few segments of his life are inter-cut with Pitt’s, so that we are prepared in advance for the coming struggle between good and evil. Later, in early manhood, the coldly brilliant Frenchman instructs his elders on military strategy. By the time he assumes the leadership of the French state, he is a ruthless monomaniac bent on global conquest.

The costumes are by Cecil Beaton, who, ostentatiously enough, signed his name in the credits; yet he has dressed the performers in Pitt handsomely. The waistcoats and cravats, the gowns and petticoats are exquisite. The actors move around in them as easily as if they had never worn anything else. As always, Reed’s sense of taste is unfailing. The sets and costumes have a refined beauty that avoids the vulgar, overripe quality of similar Hollywood productions. Freddie Young‘s black and white photography stresses the order and classical patterns of English life at this time. Reed’s gift for miniaturism flourished in Pitt. The use of wine to reflect and symbolize different aspects of the story shows a high degree of cinematic sophistication. As Pitt the Elder in the second scene, Donat is able to toast himself and his successor at the same time. The wine is port, as simple and unaffected a creation as the old earl himself, and, defying his doctor’s orders, he lifts a glass to his lips and smiles at Wilberforce.

There are other fine touches in Pitt. Less intricately developed but equally memorable is the housekeeper’s intrusion into one of Pitt’s late-night labours over the affairs of state with a veal pie that she insists he eat. Reed defines it specifically, choosing a typically English dish, a homely but endearing contrast to the sautéed and pureed meals of the pretentious cuisine across the channel. The technical excellence that Reed had been nurturing also adds a layer of artistry to the film. There is an especially striking shot of Eleanor’s younger brother through the window of Pitt’s carriage. The use of montage is highly assured throughout, and the complex pulse of political life in Britain and France is telescoped efficiently.