By JERRY TALLMER
Michael Powell filmed the world at war and men and women in love
I don’t know if a movie has ever grabbed you by the throat, but there’s a motion picture that grabs me by the throat every time the theme music sweeps up behind the credits, when I first lay eyes on Joan Webster as a crawling baby who knows exactly where she’s going. By the time the credits are over and Joan Webster, age 25, has blossomed into Wendy Hiller, leopard toque cocked down over her right eye, informing her father that she’s heading to the Scottish isles to get married, I’m quite in love all over again. And not for the first time—or the tenth.
“You can’t marry Consolidated Chemical Industries,” says her banker father, as he peers at the card she’s handed him.
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