Lease of Life

It's not often that British film makers can have the fun of getting sentimental and still hope to survive in the American market. Lease of Life, the latest example of British scenario-with-message, is uncommonly plausible and hence may do quite well commercially. Much of it is excellent.

English studies are generally fairly adult in dealing with religion, which is practically a dirty word in squeamish Hollywood. Too often protectors of American faith are protrayed as grinning flaxen-haired Catholic priests, who just love baseball, or late, great, Senate chaplains, who equally love their Georgia peaches. Evidently, director Charles Frend has a healthy respect for accuracy when he gives us the inside line on the Church of England.

The plot is no heavy-weight. Country pastor's doctor says he has a year to live; country pastor has beautiful daughter who needs piano lessons in London; country pastor has no money, but takes brave anti-orthodox stand which costs him higher-paid job; wife steals needed money, he returns it; in grip of death, country pastor finds new meaning in life.

To foist such a tale upon clamorous Americans requires some audacity. Yet the attempt is successful because it is never strained and because each of the three principals has carefully developed a character. The Church of England is doubtless happy to be exported in such a complimentary fashion. It probably recognizes that there are few Anglican preachers who can get church-bound schoolboys to listen as attentively as Robert Donat succeeds in doing. Apparently, even the bulbous Dean of Gilchester, symbolic of church authority, approves in some small measure of his "live life while you live it" philosophy.

Donat, when he is supposed to get ruffled in uncomfortable situations, is very good indeed. His distinguished manner never falters as he lets his hair down and becomes a surprisingly human being. Kay Walsh, his neurotic, ambitions, but basically good wife, is somewhat less successful. The contrast she must draw with her godly husband and noble daughter is difficult to define. No Anglican vicar in all England could possibly have as lovely a daughter as Adrienne Corri. Her back-talk to the smart aleck, home-town piano teacher who has great hopes for her future, is sparkling. She obviously will move to London for her piano lessons, he will give chase, and they will marry and have fourteen children--but the movie ends too soon for all this. GAVIN R. W. SCOTT