Trial by Killing

If I squint I might see parallels with some of my own circumstances the last few years, but really the reason I've become fascinated with Robert Aldrich's The Killing of Sister George is Aldrich's supreme artistry with Frank Marcus's wonderful play.

As you see more of Aldrich's movies you come to appreciate the depth of his versatility and humanity. A number of his films verge on camp, or, like Whatever Happened to Baby Jane, revel in it, but what distinguishes even the most outlandish of them is a simple feeling underlying the shooting and the shouting; The Killing of Sister George is broad, coarse, and satiric, sometimes bitterly so, but it's also sensitive and affectionate, especially toward its flawed heroine. (Incidentally, the Killing trivia section on IMDB is especially good, about a 6.9 -- we learn that the girl-on-girl sex so disgusted longtime Aldrich collaborator composer Frank DeVol, he quit working on Aldrich's pictures. Good riddance -- the scene DeVol found so offensive plays effectively as the movie's climax, in part because Aldrich considers the two not as lesbians, per se, but as people.)

Its view of lesbian life is progressive but unblinkered, with a detachment once referred to as "adult." Beryl Reid's George/June exacting punishment from Childie/Alice (Susannah York) by forcing her to chew on her cigar (which Childie turns on her by making a show of relishing the filthy cheroot out of sheer perversity, which George takes as a bad omen) is a supreme metaphor for straight and gay marriage alike.

Visually The Killing is startling, presented for the most part with the magnitude and pacing of an action movie. At pivotal moments the frame is distinctively and cinematically suited to the poignant story at the film's heart. One thing that is almost uconsciously disturbing is how unattractive Susannah York is from the start: despite her natural, hyper-sexy gamine appeal, when she's introduced she seems awkward, puerile, and unphotogenic; during the extended scene when she and George go to the lesbian nightclub to perform to do a Laurel and Hardy bit, her face is covered in greasepaint, less reminiscent of Stan Laurel than plain ghastly.

If you think that actors talking about their "best side" are just being vain, watch your own image taken from various POVs in a video recording sometime. Or, just try to find a shot of Susannah York looking pretty in the first half of The Killing Of Sister George, fighting some harsh lighting and a succession of chiffon baby-doll nighties in a failing attempt not to look like a vapid duck

then one of the most unfortunate wardrobe choices imaginable, a frilly apron over a polyester old-man leisure shirt

Aldrich even manages to make her look unappealing in her undies

Hold on a second, though, because here is a peaceful interlude that interrupts George's imploding professional and personal lives: in need of a good cry, George crosses the street to the flat of her neighbor, Betty Thaxter, a handsome madame/dominatrix, seemingly the only kind and unselfish being in George's life -- played by Patricia Medina, second wife of Joseph Cotten (!) and, according to IMDB, a big Lou Costello fan (!!). Dressed in a kimono, Betty is boiling water for tea in tableau framed by a doorway, in a shot reminiscent of a classic Japanese family drama

in case you weren't sure you'd been transported to an Ozu film, the off-angled wall behind George in the answering shot shows an opaque latticed window looking suspiciously like a shoji panel.

A few scenes later, as Alice begins to seduce Mercy Croft in earnest, she starts to get some better angles

and when the time comes to take her leave she is wearing a pretty dress that shows off a fashionable hairstyle and her beautiful neckline.

It isn't easy to say what purpose this sort of manipulation serves in Killing. It's not the wanton bullying of a pretentious second-rate director trying to bring life to his hollow metaphysic of pain. At first thought, the instinctive, sympathetic charm of an actress as alluring and intelligent and independent as Susannah York might simply need squelching for the sake of the drama. Surely one truth of the film is that Alice/Childie is so natural a seducer that she only comes alive when in pursuit; without that motive, she is indistinguishable from one of the dozens of dolls on her shelf. That she should become more beautiful as she vanishes from her life is another bitter aspect of George's superannuation.

From the very first glimpse of Alice -- when, hearing George at the door, she hastily and inexplicably rearranges some objects around the apartment, as though she had something to hide, even though she's been lounging around the house -- it becomes clear that having nothing in her own life to conceal, she feels compelled to conjure up a counterfeit narrative. However trivial it may be, she needs to lie about something until she's found a real escape.

It's not surprising that Susannah York reportedly fought Aldrich bitterly throughout the sex scene, but it also wouldn't be at all surprising if the source of her frustration had in fact been the director's dismissive brutality towards her character -- or just those outfits. What's clear is, whatever demands Aldrich made, there's great wisdom behind that invisible hand.