1972 BAFTA Best Supporting Actor
It's often said that great books make bad films but that is clearly untrue and here is a prime example. This is a wonderful adaptation of L.P. Hartley's classic memory novel, scripted by Losey's frequent collaborator, Harold Pinter. The story is set in 1900, so it is late Victoria but visually it creates what is now my image of Edwardian rural England, across the class divides. A boy spends the summer at a country estate passing illicit messages between Julie Christie's aristocratic beauty, and Alan Bates' earthy farmer. The boy, Leo is unable to understand the repercussions of the relationship he helps to prosper. It is a slow, languid film set in the long summer of our distant pasts against the grey, drizzly world of the grown up Leo's present reality. From where he understands the past is a foreign country; they do things differently there. Losey is another American who made his way to the UK to escape the scrutiny of HUAC and his filmography is like a red album of consistent hits (with Modesty Blaise his Yellow Submarine).
Sun-drenched repressions dn buttoned-up longing should be a winning combo, especially with Pinter behind the script. But The Go-Between is oddly stiff—emotionally bottled and dramatically flat. The central idea is strong: a boy caught in a doomed romance, used as a pawn by adults too cowardly to face consequences. There’s plenty of room for tension, but very little arrives.
The visuals have a hazy, postcard charm, and Julie Christie is as compelling as ever, even if she’s not given much to do beyond smoulder in period costume. Alan Bates broods. The boy frets. And yet, despite the promise of secrecy and scandal, much of it trudges.
What surprised me most was how clunky and syrupy some of the dialogue is—Pinter, usually a master of subtext, seems oddly sentimental here. It’s not without its moments, and the framing device adds some bite, but for a film about forbidden desire, it’s remarkably well-behaved. More wilted rose than English rose.