Michael Gough

Disney Plus-Or-Minus: Rob Roy, The Highland Rogue

~ electrictheatre ~ 1 Comment
Original theatrical release poster for Walt Disney's Rob Roy

When Walt Disney turned to live-action film production in the early 1950s, he had a very good reason for focusing on costume dramas. He was an avid history buff but that was only part of it. Walt was a forward-thinking entrepreneur and knew that historical epics would have a longer shelf life than films set in contemporary times. Movies like Treasure Island and The Story Of Robin Hood could be re-released again and again, just like his animated features.

On paper, the decision to make a film based on the legend of Scottish folk hero Rob Roy MacGregor makes a lot of sense. But Rob Roy, The Highland Rogue turned out to be another disappointment and marked the end of Walt’s commitment to big-budget historical dramas.

Walt must have felt that the tale of Rob Roy MacGregor had the potential to be another Robin Hood. Both were outlaws fighting against a tyrannical oppressor. Even better, the Rob Roy story was much less familiar to American audiences, so there weren’t countless other versions to compare it to. There had only been one prior film version, a British silent picture from 1922 that most likely didn’t get much play in the US. Stateside, the Rob Roy cocktail was probably better known than MacGregor.

Producer Perce Pearce’s British production team remained mostly intact from The Story Of Robin Hood and The Sword And The Rose. Lawrence Edward Watkin again wrote the script. Guy Green, the director of photography on Robin Hood, returned to that role. The four stars of The Sword And The Rose, Richard Todd, Glynis Johns, James Robertson Justice and Michael Gough, were cast in roughly equivalent roles here.

Pearce and Disney had hoped to get Ken Annakin back to direct. But Annakin was under contract to the Rank Organisation, who refused to lend him out for a third time. (He will eventually return to this column.) In his place, Disney hired Harold French. Both French and Annakin had directed segments in the popular anthology films Quartet and Trio, based on the work of W. Somerset Maugham.

The story begins with events already in motion. Rob Roy (Todd) leads an attack of freedom-fighting Highlanders against the Redcoat forces of King George. The specific reasons behind all this remain murky, so I’d recommend doing some independent research on the Jacobite uprising of 1715 if you’re interested. The important thing is that Rob is arrested and we discover that the King’s Secretary of State, the Duke of Argyll (James Robertson Justice) is related to Rob Roy and sympathetic to his cause. The scheming Duke of Montrose (Michael Gough) is very much not.

Montrose wants Rob sent to London to stand trial. Argyll finally concedes to this arrangement but not before helping to hatch a plan to spring Rob on the road. Rob returns home to marry Helen Mary MacPherson (Glynis Johns), a bonnie lass who frankly has very little to do other than stand by her man and roll her eyes at her father’s rambling stories and bad bagpipe playing. The delightful Finlay Currie plays Hamish MacPherson and his presence lends some much-needed Scottish authenticity to the proceedings.

Rob and Helen are no sooner married than King George’s men show up, stripping Clan MacGregor of their very name and taking Rob back into custody. He escapes yet again, plummeting over a waterfall thanks to some visual effects that haven’t exactly withstood the test of time. Rob Roy leads his clansmen in an all-out revolt, taking over a fort and weakening George’s grip. This all ends with a bit of a whimper when Argyll intervenes on Rob Roy’s behalf, convincing him to lay down his arms and make peace with the King.

The best thing one could say about Rob Roy, The Highland Rogue is that it’s a lot more action-packed than an interminable slog like The Sword And The Rose. There are battles large and small, daring escapes and high-energy pursuits. But French isn’t quite as adept at filming the action sequences as Annakin or Byron Haskin. Rob Roy’s river escape is a prime example. It’s half thrilling and half silly, prompting at least a couple of unintentional laughs.

Rob Roy also suffers in comparison to Robin Hood. This may not be fair but Disney brought it on himself by casting Michael Todd in both roles. The Story Of Robin Hood is familiar enough that you can get away with glossing over some of the details. Everyone still knows the basic premise and why Robin does what he does. That isn’t the case with Rob Roy. It’s difficult to care about his fight when we don’t really understand what he’s fighting for, apart from his name. And why is that such a great loss? He’s an outlaw. He should have changed his name anyway.

Also, Robin Hood doesn’t have to carry his entire movie on his shoulders. He has his Merrie Men, colorful supporting characters like Little John, Friar Tuck and Will Scarlet. Rob Roy has a whole passel of anonymous and interchangeable MacGregors, most of whom are lucky to get a single line of dialogue. (One of those MacGregors is played by Ian MacNaughton, the future director of Monty Python’s Flying Circus.) Richard Todd isn’t a bad actor but he’s better when he has someone to play against. He also doesn’t have a lot of range. About the only things distinguishing Rob Roy from Robin Hood are his dyed red hair and indifferently executed Scottish accent.

The movie does make a handful of interesting choices. The action temporarily shifts to London where we see how Rob Roy has already become a folk hero. Londoners eagerly snatch up copies of Daniel Defoe’s fictionalized pamphlet The Highland Rogue. A copy even ends up in the hands of King George, who’s impressed by his adversary’s exploits. All of this is rooted in fact and it’s unusual to see a film like this explore how myths are created.

Rob Roy, The Highland Rogue had its gala premiere in London on October 26, 1953. It opened in the US the following February. Like The Sword And The Rose before it, Rob Roy was a box office disappointment. It had cost nearly two million dollars to produce but only did middling business. By this time, work was well underway on Disney’s first fully American-based live-action production, 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea. There was no longer a need to shoot films exclusively in the UK, so Walt decided it was time to give the costume dramas a rest.

No one was more affected by this decision than producer Perce Pearce. Pearce had joined the studio in 1935 as an inbetweener. Over the years, he distinguished himself with key contributions to Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs, Fantasia and Bambi. When the studio began to experiment with live-action on Song Of The South and So Dear To My Heart, Pearce moved up to associate producer. Walt had a lot of faith in Pearce, entrusting him to act as his surrogate on the British productions.

But after the failure of both The Sword And The Rose and Rob Roy, Pearce’s star faded. Consensus around the studio felt that Walt blamed Pearce for the films’ failures to catch on. So Pearce was taken off film production and became part of the team developing The Mickey Mouse Club for television. The new assignment was short-lived. Perce Pearce died of a massive heart attack in July of 1955. He was 55 years old.

This would also be the final Disney film for Richard Todd. Todd never quite became a major star, at least not in the US. He went on to star in Michael Anderson’s terrific World War II film The Dam Busters and reunited with director Ken Annakin as part of the massive ensemble in The Longest Day. His biggest brush with stardom came when Ian Fleming selected Todd as his first choice to play James Bond in Dr. No. But a scheduling conflict came between Todd and 007, allowing Sean Connery, another former Disney star, to catapult to international fame.

Apart from Treasure Island, Disney’s British productions are today remembered as a footnote in the studio’s history. The studio has not treated them with much care. Two aren’t even available to watch on Disney+. But they’re interesting to look at as experiments, training grounds for the demands of live-action production. They cultivated relationships with people like matte artist Peter Ellenshaw and actors Glynis Johns and Finlay Currie, all of whom will be back in this column. But they generally aren’t up to the standards of the animation department. They had to learn to walk before they could run. And rest assured, the live-action division would be off and running very soon.

VERDICT: Disney Minus.

Like this post? Help support the Electric Theatre on Ko-fi!

Disney Plus-Or-Minus: The Sword And The Rose

~ electrictheatre
Original theatrical release poster for Walt Disney's The Sword And The Rose

By 1953, Walt Disney British Films, Ltd was proving to be a success. Under the supervision of producer Perce Pearce, the division had made two hits: Treasure Island and The Story Of Robin Hood And His Merrie Men. Walt would periodically visit the sets, so perhaps some of the atmosphere even rubbed off on Anglo-centric cartoons like Alice In Wonderland and Peter Pan. As ambitious as ever, Walt decided to swing for the fences with his next live-action British feature. The Sword And The Rose was pure 1950s Oscar bait, a grand, big-budget romantic costume drama. But the Academy did not bite and audiences were largely unimpressed.

Pearce reunited most of his Robin Hood team, including director Ken Annakin, screenwriter Lawrence Edward Watkin, composer Clifton Parker, and stars Richard Todd and James Robertson Justice. The script was based on Charles Major’s massively popular novel When Knighthood Was In Flower, which had been filmed twice before during the silent era. New to the Disney team was an up-and-coming cinematographer named Geoffrey Unsworth who went on to such classics as 2001: A Space Odyssey, Cabaret and Superman.

Todd stars as Charles Brandon, recently returned to England from the “foreign wars”. Brandon arrives as King Henry VIII (Justice) is holding a wrestling match pitting England against France. Brandon volunteers his talents but Henry, unwilling to let a commoner represent the court, has the Duke of Buckingham (Michael Gough, the man who would be Alfred to various Batmen) step into the ring instead. After Buckingham wins, Henry’s sister, Mary Tudor (Glynis Johns) suggests that Brandon take him on. Brandon wins, Mary is smitten and Buckingham and Brandon become rivals for her affection.

At Mary’s behest, Henry appoints Brandon captain of the guards. A clandestine courtship follows. Mary loves Brandon because he’s not afraid to tell her what he really thinks. Brandon loves her because…well, she’s a rich, flirty, attractive princess. Buckingham seethes with jealousy. But the triangle is complicated by Henry’s plan to marry his sister off to the elderly King Louis XII of France.

Knowing there’s not much he can do to prevent the wedding, Brandon resigns his post and makes plans to sail for the new world. Mary runs away to join him, “disguising” herself as a boy to pose as his page. I use the term loosely because it’s the least convincing get-up in the history of cross-dressing. The ship’s crew sees through the ruse (though not as quickly as they should, considering she’s still wearing lipstick and mascara) and send the pair back to shore, where they’re picked up by Henry’s men.

Brandon is locked up in the Tower of London while Mary is shipped off to France after securing Henry’s promise that she be allowed to choose her second husband after Louis’ death. The treacherous Buckingham tells Brandon that Mary has abandoned him to his fate and arranges an “escape”, during which Brandon is apparently killed. In France, Mary does whatever she can to hasten Louis’ death, first getting him drunk, then challenging him to a horse race.

Louis succumbs to whatever illness he’s suffering from and Mary discovers that the new king is eager for her to stick around. Buckingham arrives with news of Brandon’s death and offers to marry her immediately. Just when all seems lost, Brandon returns to challenge Buckingham and win Mary’s hand. The age of chivalry lives on. Or something like that.

Ordinarily, I don’t bother with detailed plot recaps like this because I assume most people are intimately familiar with the majority of the movies we’ve discussed in this column. But it seems useful in this case, partly because the film is relatively obscure but also to help convey just how boring it is. This is not a swashbuckling adventure filled with bold knights and acts of derring-do. It’s the kind of historical romance that your grandmother may have read or watched. It’s the sort of movie that isn’t content with a five-minute ball scene showing elaborately costumed couples dancing in unison. It also needs a lengthy sequence with our leads learning the dances they’ll soon be performing. Yawn.

Cover art for the comic book adaptation of The Sword And The Rose in Four-Color Comics #505

Richard Todd, who had been perfectly adequate as Robin Hood, turns in an identical performance as Brandon. He’s a fine square-jawed, twinkly-eyed leading man but he doesn’t have the presence necessary to elevate inferior material. Glynis Johns is fun and spunky enough to sort of gloss over the fact that she essentially kills the King of France. But she and Todd don’t exactly have the kind of chemistry that ignites the screen.

To be fair, this may be more Disney’s fault than the actors. On the face of it, The Sword And The Rose feels like an attempt to branch out into more adult-oriented fare. There’s nothing in the movie that would be particularly appealing to younger audiences. The action and adventure scenes are perfunctory and rare. But Disney’s idea of romance remains remarkably chaste. The result is a movie that seems explicitly designed to satisfy nobody.

There are a few things about the picture that work. James Robertson Justice, Little John to Todd’s Robin Hood, appears to be having a grand old time playing Henry VIII. And Michael Gough is effectively smarmy as Buckingham. His performance is reminiscent of Vincent Price, who was playing a lot of slimy characters in period pieces himself around this time. We’ll see all four of The Sword And The Rose’s lead actors again in this column.

This is also a nice-looking movie thanks to Unsworth’s cinematography, the lavish costumes designed by Valles, and the matte paintings of Peter Ellenshaw. Annakin used Ellenshaw’s work sparingly in The Story Of Robin Hood but he makes up for it here. Ellenshaw reportedly painted more than 60 backgrounds for The Sword And The Rose, giving the film an epic scope.

Perhaps I should say that I assume this is a nice-looking movie because the version that’s most readily available looks pretty terrible. Disney hasn’t yet made the film available on Disney+, much less Blu-ray. The only DVD release to date has been a Disney Movie Club Exclusive. You can buy or rent it online but it looks like a digitized VHS. I’m sure The Sword And The Rose doesn’t exactly have a fervent fanbase but come on, Disney. You can do better than this.

The Sword And The Rose was released in August of 1953 and landed with a resounding thud. Walt’s hoped-for Academy Award nominations failed to materialize (although he dominated the ceremony elsewhere, something we’ll get into next time). And for the first time since the war, box office returns were significantly less overseas than expected.

One theory for the UK’s lack of interest in The Sword And The Rose holds that British audiences couldn’t get past the film’s historical inaccuracies. This is absolutely the kind of “historical” drama that makes actual historians tear their hair out in frustration. Charles Brandon wasn’t some commoner that Henry chanced to meet at a wrestling match. He was one of the King’s oldest friends, having been brought up in the court of Henry VII. Brandon and Mary never attempted to escape by sailing to the new world. The English wouldn’t start colonizing America at all for another fifty years or so. Any student trying to use this movie in lieu of reading a textbook would get an immediate “F – SEE ME” in red ink slapped on their test paper.

But audiences forgive the most egregious factual errors if they’re in service of telling a ripping good yarn. The Sword And The Rose is not that. It’s a stodgy, plodding drama that doesn’t know what audience it’s trying to please. Too boring for kids and too juvenile for adults, it’s a misstep in Walt Disney’s journey into live-action filmmaking.

VERDICT: Disney Minus.

Like this post? Help support the Electric Theatre on Ko-fi!