if....

if… is a genuinely magnificent feat in cinema. The idea of poetic realism is something that has always enamoured me greatly; the idea that a film, in its honesty and underlying, unwavering integrity and ultimate love for humanity, is able to slip past the realm of mere realism and enter into a state of filmic poetry. There is no movement in cinema I love more. And of the forefathers of that movement, perhaps the most important is Jean Vigo. In 1933, Vigo made Zero for Conduct, a film I have always found unfortunate in its unremarkable nature. if… is what that film should have been, and Lindsay Anderson, perhaps the driving force of these ‘angry young men’ with their unapologetic anglicism and kitchen sink realism, is the most sincere continuation and development of poetic realism I have encountered. The story itself has a novel-like quality to it, in that it is not as structurally tight or defined as tends to be the case in cinema, rather more loose in how it whimsically flows onwards - and it really works. I do believe that elements of this film, namely the sub-plots with the new boy and the new teacher didn’t really seem to be developed on or to serve a great deal of narrative purpose, probably not needing to be in the film in the first place, but either way it still works, as the very nature of this film allows it to be so. This story of rebellion, this cautionary tale against the very foundation of British society itself, is Buñuel-like in its absurdity, Godard-esque in its audacity, and akin to Renoir in its simplistic yet intricate technical genius. Lindsay Anderson here makes a film that encapsulates Poetic Realism, the Nouvelle Vague, and indeed the British New Wave, and he does it with such regard. You cannot help whilst watching this to see The Grand Illusion or Zero for Conduct or Pierrot le Fou being mirrored. Yet at the same time, not only does Anderson manage to keep this film uniquely British, but he also manages to keep it uniquely his. This is a film that in every facet of its nature contains irony: irony in the feigned severity of degenerate staff; irony in the juxtaposition between the rebelliousness of the Crusaders and the scale of their rebellion, and their really rather comfortable bourgeois lives; irony in the archaism of the college and the modernity that roams within. The absurdity lies merely in accentuated truth. I think the main substance one can draw from this film can be done so through observation of its technical aspects. Lindsay Anderson’s affinity for framing and shot selection, is as I previously mentioned, akin to Renoir, in how simply yet effectively, and more to the point beautifully it is done. His camera movements and mise en scène especially are indicative of a director whose work comes from a source of true cinematic understanding. Black and white itself isn’t really used in this film for much of a purpose. Rather, it serves to amplify the effect of colour when it bursts back onto the frame. For Lindsay Anderson if anything here, is able to elicit a sense of freedom. Despite his sometimes even conservative style, he knows how to extract the utmost emotional substance out of the least. He is simply one of those directors who, on both a visual and metric level, simply gets when to push slightly harder or to show slightly more reserve. And it means that when he releases that burst, whether it be during the motorcycle ride or the sex scene or the ending or whenever, it is all the more liberating and all the more beautiful. Malcom McDowell by all means shows as well why Stanley Kubrick selected him for A Clockwork Orange only three years later. His performance is outstanding. I don’t usually like to talk about acting for I frankly have little right, but the way he is able to capture simultaneous senses of snideness, charm, arrogance, rebellion and indignation is incredible. I think on simply every level, despite some really quite abject flaws, this film is too brilliant not to be regarded as a complete and utter masterpiece.