A Canterbury Tale (1944)

A Canterbury Tale is a marvelous film -- and don't worry, one doesn't need an appreciation for Geoffrey Chaucer to be able to enjoy it. Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger have once again shown how it is possible to work magic in the cinema -- and as with all the best magic, figuring out how it works is pretty darn difficult. By all rights, Canterbury shouldn't be such an absorbing, engrossing and charming piece of work. The story wanders, starting out as one thing, becoming another, and ending a third. It's even structured in three distinct acts, which should make it feel rather stiff. But Canterbury is anything but stiff. It melts, it floats, it simmers, it soars -- and yet it always knows where it's going, even if the viewer isn't always quite so clear. Perhaps the secret to the film's success is that Powell and Pressburger are only tangentially concerned with the actual details of the plot; what they're really interested in is making the gentlest kind of propaganda film, a war film that gets at the heart of why Britain was at that time embroiled in a devastating war. It beautifully, movingly yet never cloyingly explores the very nature of England -- not the country, but the spirit -- to demonstrate why it was worth the lives of so many people. And yet it does this without becoming heavyhanded. There's also plenty of comedy and beauty in Canterbury, not to mention some of Powell and Pressburger's finest cinematic tricks -- including a breathtaking "hawk into plane" transition at the beginning of the film that is simply stunning. The compositions are masterful and dramatic, the cinematography is just about perfect, and the entire effect is simply a joy. Dependable actors such as Eric Portman and Dennis Price give delightful performances and are joined by novice John Sweet, whose unaffected, natural style is a treat. Canterbury must be experienced. ~ Craig Butler, All Movie Guide