TY - JOUR
AU1 - Johnston, Keith, M
AU2 - Rickards,, Carolyn
AB - In 1940, British cameraman and technician Roy Kellino was asked by Michael Balcon, the head of Ealing Studios, to create a model department that would help to deliver the range of special effects required at the studio. Reflecting on this in 1943, Kellino discusses how he had to overhaul the existing resources at Ealing, bringing in new approaches and employees to create substantial working models of the military aircraft and transport vehicles needed for the studio's wartime films: As each picture is finished, the models that have been used on it are returned to the shops for repair and so are ready for future use […] not only were our costs lowered but the standard of our work was raised. By retaining the same personnel in all departments from picture to picture our efficiency grew […] Chippies, electricians and grips alike contributed to the finished production.1 While his focus on camaraderie, craftsmanship and efficiency may recall traditional accounts of Ealing’s collaborative cottage-industry approach to filmmaking, Kellino’s account makes visible the studio’s regular use of illusionistic special effects, an aspect of production that challenges the Ealing legacy of low-budget, restrained and documentary-realist production.2 Using the case study of Ealing Studios’ wartime use of special effects, we argue that the invisibility of such work within histories of Ealing can be seen as part of a larger absence of special-effects work in histories of British cinema and beyond. By presenting a revisionist history of Ealing that uncovers the contributions of technicians such as Kellino, this essay offers a series of key interventions. It develops recent reassessments of Ealing Studios through a return to archival and textual evidence that queries existing grand narratives of the studio.3 It also offers a contrasting case study to the prevailing histories of special-effects cinema, dominated as these are by specific genres and attitudes around visual spectacle and narrative. Finally it considers the ways in which special effects have been written out of British film history more broadly, despite the compelling evidence they could add to recurring critical debates on realism and spectacle in British cinema, and despite the potent legacy of British-produced effects sequences from The Thief of Bagdad (Ludwig Berger, Michael Powell and Tim Whelan, 1940) or A Matter of Life and Death (Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, 1946).4 The last two decades may have been called ‘the era of the cinema of effects’,5 but we argue that there has never been an era of film history that was not highly dependent on special effects and the technicians who created them. While Ealing is linked to a specific critical discourse around realism, we posit that many studios and films would benefit from a similar reappraisal. Discussions of special effects in cinema tend to conclude that effects-based technologies have altered the presence of visual spectacle in narrative filmmaking. Beginning with the role of ‘trick’ photographic effects in the earliest cinema of attractions, such accounts link Georges Méliès’ ‘growing arsenal of special effects (the stop-action camera, model work, use of miniatures, double exposures, primitive matting, and filtered photography)’ to the ‘mechanical monsters […] scale models, back-projection, mirror-shots and stop-frame animation’ of Metropolis (Fritz Lang, 1927), and the ‘stop motion photography […] miniature Kong’ and rear projection of King Kong (Merian C. Cooper and Ernest B. Schoedsack, 1933).6 These historical examples fuel and influence later developments in key genres, most notably science fiction, fantasy and blockbusters. Such a historical arc is also clearly reliant on the development of the technologies that underpin the effects – from stop motion to motion control to computer-generated imagery (CGI) – and the different claims that have been made for the spectacular and illusionistic contribution of those technologies. Ealing’s use of special effects, particularly within the wartime productions that form the core of this case study, does not sit easily within an academic history of special effects that highlights tricks and visual spectacle. It is, therefore, worth pausing to consider the implications of that narrative, and not least what it might elide within film history. Work on special effects tends to focus on the genres and films where such effects are heralded (notably science fiction and fantasy), rather than on the ‘ninety per cent of […] feature productions’ that historically utilized these techniques for narrative and visually spectacular purposes.7 As a key genre here, science fiction’s alleged combination and display of reality and fantasy recurs in broader discussions about the history and development of audiovisual technologies.8 For example, earlier claims that sound and colour were driven by a realist agenda have been challenged, as the ‘desire for magic has driven technological developments as intensely as any quest for the real’.9 While Méliès and the science-fiction film remain key touchstones here, less overt forms of special effects have also been discussed, with the balance of the real and the illusory seen as key to processes such as optical printing or rear projection.10 Balance and harmony are key phrases in such accounts, with effects fitting in with, or blending into, other non-effects footage. Yet the lack of academic work done to assess the role and impact of special effects also suggests an ongoing uncertainty over the recognition and definition of ‘the sheer range and diversity of techniques covered under the banner term “special effects”’.11 Such definitional issues highlight those aspects of production that are identified as ‘special’ or ‘not special’, with academics urged to adopt specific terminology relating to the phases of production: construction (production, pre-visualization, imaginary); screen appearance (diegetic, filmic, narrational, visual); discursive (cultural, appreciation, remembrance).12 Focusing specifically on the first two aspects of that framework, our historical study of Ealing’s wartime films will demonstrate the value of such a holistic overview. This academic uncertainty and lack of engagement with special-effects processes becomes particularly clear when turning to the role that special-effects techniques and technicians have played within studies of British film history. While effects-work may permeate British films, its historical development remains largely invisible within academia, echoing the absence of other artistic/technical jobs and technician figures within British cinema history.13 We would argue, however, that unlike the editors and set designers in such studies, special effects are doubly elided. The processes themselves are uncelebrated (unless negatively attributed) and under-researched, and the craft or technical skills behind them are unknown. This essay, then, offers one avenue towards reclaiming some of this work through a specific historical case study. British cinema history offers some key reference points that mirror the special-effects narrative highlighted above: the pioneering work of Cecil Hepworth and R. W. Paul with trick photography and visual effects; Alfred Hitchcock’s use of the ‘Schüfftan Process’ (a combination of models, mirrors and live action) in Blackmail (1929) and The Man Who Knew Too Much (1934);14 the fantastic sets and models of Things to Come (William Cameron Menzies, 1936); or the Rank Organisation’s trial of the cost-saving process Independent Frame, which utilized rear projection, mattes and effects.15 Across the first fifty years of British production, however, artistic design and film cinematography have been privileged over the often unwieldy term ‘special effects’. The output of the Rank Organisation and the ‘prestige’ productions filmed at Denham and Pinewood Studios during the 1940s have been of particular interest in this respect, with specific commentary on special effects and optical processes used in films by The Archers production team, such as The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, 1943) and A Matter of Life and Death. Laurie Ede has described how the large stage at Denham was used for spectacular set pieces, including the £3000 celestial stairway featured in A Matter of Life and Death, with ‘106 steps, each 20 feet wide and powered in conveyor belt fashion by a 12 h.p. motor’.16 Yet whilst Ede discusses such colossal set designs and the mechanics behind them, there is little on their relationship with specific special-effects techniques such as miniatures, optical work and matte paintings. Pam Cook’s analysis of I Know Where I’m Going! (Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, 1945) offers a strong consideration of the combination of special effects with a range of camera techniques to create a specific aesthetic effect for the film: ‘the dream-like ambience […] achieved largely through using special photographic effects […] the use of remarkably subtle rear projection, but also through superimposition, and patterns of light and dark’.17 Cook’s discussion of the film’s special effects as a source of ‘the hallucinatory quality that establishes this Scotland as Joan’s fantasy projection’ situates that work within the established fantastic effects model discussed in relation to science fiction above.18 While the ‘Denham special-effects team’ is cited, however, they remain a group of invisible and nameless technicians, unlike the specific identification of cinematographer Edwin Hiller or David Rawnsley, head of Rank’s art department.19 The absence of commentary on special-effects personnel and techniques offers one possible reason for a lack of work around the influence and legacy of British special-effects production.20 A second, allied issue may be related to the succinct and clear definition of responsibilities. One route into a consideration of special effects within the British context is offered by existing work on film design, a field that has close ties with special-effects teams and departments. Set designers and camera technicians would work with such teams to create effects such as rear projection or matte painting. Indeed, one of the technicians within Ealing Studios’ art department, Norman Dorme, has claimed ‘back in those days we didn’t have special effects, there was no such thing really. Special effects were mostly run by the art department.’21 While that reiterates the methodological challenge in recognizing and defining what special effects were within the historical moment of the 1940s, either in production terms or in broader discourse, we believe it also confirms that British cinema history is ‘fertile ground’ to explore ‘the film technicians’ creativity […] the power wielded by technicians, as well as the more subtle forms of influence they may bring to bear’.22 Influenced by this recent work, our intention here is to combine historical production documents and the textual evidence of the films to ‘illuminate the creative function of the film technician’ within the specific practices of Ealing Studios.23 Ealing Studios was chosen for this study because of its status as a model of British film production during the war and in the immediate postwar era. Ealing has been described as ‘trying to assimilate the lessons of documentary into feature production, as a way of bringing a necessary realism into their treatment of war’; as being the apogee of the ‘merger […] between the 1930s documentarists and the mainstream commercial industry’; and as creating films that covered ‘the central themes of the cinema of the ’forties’.24 While we acknowledge that a case study of one studio cannot stand for the whole of the British film industry in the 1940s, when ‘films were produced in different ways, on widely varying budgets, for specific markets and audiences’,25 we would argue that Ealing’s place in the hierarchy of the British industry at that time, and in academic understandings of the importance of 1940s British film production in the decades since, make it an ideal starting point for investigating the role that special effects played in British cinema. Studies of Ealing impose a now-familiar documentary-led heritage on academic understandings of the studio, with discussions on visual style and genre focused on realism.26 The weight of that heritage is still felt, even in the more revisionist recent collection Ealing Revisited, in which new perspectives on issues of representation, aesthetics, design and technology are set in contrast to the dominant documentary-realist approach forged in wartime production.27 While building on existing precedents for challenging the dominance of documentary-realist aims at Ealing, it is claimed that Ealing’s ‘tales of dreamers and fantasists are all located firmly in realistic settings with solid points of references’, a suggestion that even the more fantastic films The Halfway House (Basil Dearden, 1944) and Dead of Night (Alberto Cavalcanti, Charles Crichton, Basil Dearden and Robert Hamer, 1945) do not stray too far from Ealing’s idea of reality.28 Ealing’s desire to produce special effects ran hand-in-hand with its wartime creation of a documentary-realist purpose. As seen below, Ealing’s use of fantastic visual techniques resembles Josephine Botting’s description of the studio hiding special effects in plain sight, as a recreation (simulation) of the real rather than presenting the fantastic visual spectacle of science-fiction and fantasy genres. In that sense, Ealing’s 1940s technique appears to match broader understandings of special effects decades later, when ‘the illusion of the real has had to be made more convincing and the spectacular has had to be made more “realistic”’.29 If science-fiction film effects favoured the combination of the spectacular with the real, then this essay offers a case study in which the potential spectacle of special effects was instead marshalled to create a convincing verisimilitude. Part of that approach may simply have been financial. Ealing offered a modest and constrained approach to studio production, housing three main stages each of about 8000 square feet (compared to Denham’s two stages each at 35,000) alongside editing and publicity departments. Strict budgets and tight shooting schedules (aiming for five films per year, each receiving an average of ten weeks on the studio floor) meant that productions often overlapped, creating a small-scale co-operative approach that influenced the feel and ‘shape’ of the films.30 Ealing wartime production budgets are given in the table below, and suggest that an average production budget was around £38,000, considerably lower than the effects-heavy films discussed above: King Kong is estimated to have cost between $517,000 and $680,000, at a time when $200,000 was a more standard cost,31 while I Know Where I’m Going! spent £40,000 on the Corryvreckan whirlpool sequence alone.32 Based on those estimated production budgets, then, Ealing appears to have delivered its special effects at a vastly reduced cost.33 While this should not be seen as a reflection on the quality of the effects-work being produced at Ealing (or indeed on other more budget-conscious British productions), it does speak to broader ideas around the firm emphasis Ealing Studios placed on financial control. We would argue that it is within that vision of Ealing in wartime – restrained and fiscally prudent, home to a coherent creative community, developing a new documentary-inspired aesthetic – that we can best understand and explore its parallel development and reliance on special effects techniques and technologies. Estimate of Ealing wartime budgets Film Release Date34 Estimated Budget Ships with Wings November 1941 £59,30235 The Big Blockade January 1942 £17,49636 Nine Men January 1943 £20,00037 The Bells Go Down April 1943 £30,78238 Undercover/Chetnik July 1943 £93,36939 San Demetrio, London December 1943 £39,29140 The Halfway House April 1944 £27,63541 For Those in Peril June 1944 £15,57242 Film Release Date34 Estimated Budget Ships with Wings November 1941 £59,30235 The Big Blockade January 1942 £17,49636 Nine Men January 1943 £20,00037 The Bells Go Down April 1943 £30,78238 Undercover/Chetnik July 1943 £93,36939 San Demetrio, London December 1943 £39,29140 The Halfway House April 1944 £27,63541 For Those in Peril June 1944 £15,57242 View Large Estimate of Ealing wartime budgets Film Release Date34 Estimated Budget Ships with Wings November 1941 £59,30235 The Big Blockade January 1942 £17,49636 Nine Men January 1943 £20,00037 The Bells Go Down April 1943 £30,78238 Undercover/Chetnik July 1943 £93,36939 San Demetrio, London December 1943 £39,29140 The Halfway House April 1944 £27,63541 For Those in Peril June 1944 £15,57242 Film Release Date34 Estimated Budget Ships with Wings November 1941 £59,30235 The Big Blockade January 1942 £17,49636 Nine Men January 1943 £20,00037 The Bells Go Down April 1943 £30,78238 Undercover/Chetnik July 1943 £93,36939 San Demetrio, London December 1943 £39,29140 The Halfway House April 1944 £27,63541 For Those in Peril June 1944 £15,57242 View Large Nineteen of Ealing’s thirty-one wartime features contain specific special-effects techniques such as back projection and miniature/model work.43 Our understanding of ‘wartime feature’ here is strictly chronological, from Cheer Boys Cheer (Walter Forde, released September 1939) to Dead of Night (released September 1945). The majority of these features deal with contemporary depictions of wartime life in Britain, or in Britain’s armed services, including the studio’s first foray into military narratives such as the oft-derided Ships with Wings (Sergei Nolbandov, 1941), home-front stories such as The Bells Go Down (Basil Dearden, 1943) and My Learned Friend (Basil Dearden and Will Hay, 1943), and the later fantasy narratives The Halfway House and Dead of Night. The number of films and prominence of the effects suggest this was a particularly vital moment in Ealing’s adoption of special effects, and one that ran parallel to the studio’s identification and initiation of a documentary-realist principle, adopting ideas of authenticity and verisimilitude in filmmaking in order to create a run of wartime features. That correlation offered a strong case study to explore how special-effects processes were marshalled in the service of the documentary-realist filmmaking tradition that dominated British cinema of the 1940s.44 Traditional sources such as industry-focused publications Kinematograph Weekly, International Photography and The Cine-Technician, and documents from the Michael and Aileen Balcon special collection, were enhanced by original floor plans and production drawings for Ealing films, which revealed additional details of how and where special effects were being placed within production design and studio space. This insight into Ships with Wings and The Halfway House, particularly, added to our analysis of how special effects could contribute to the ‘visual style of a film […] to make judgements about visual style […] that are historically appropriate’.45 A project like this cannot claim to be comprehensive, particularly given the relative invisibility of many of the special-effects team who worked at Ealing. The analysis below nevertheless offers a fuller understanding of the effects teams formed at Ealing in 1940, the recruitment and roles of key individuals, and the contributions they made to the realist agenda of Ealing’s wartime films. This was a team that created a small cottage industry of ‘light and magic’ in an unassuming stage at the back of Ealing Studios. Alongside Roy Kellino and Cliff Richardson, the team included such unheralded names as Norman Ough, Douglas Woolsey, Lionel Banes, Sydney Pearson, E. Hague and Wally Dolbear. These technicians worked across all of Ealing’s wartime features, although their specific contribution is not always obvious from individual film credits. While the titles of a later Ealing film such as Scott of the Antarctic (Charles Frend, 1948) specifically differentiate between ‘Art Director’, ‘Special Effects Art Director’ and ‘Special Effects’, most of Ealing’s wartime features simply listed ‘Effects’ or ‘Special Effects’ alongside ‘Art Direction’ and ‘Photography’.46 Starting with Convoy (Penrose Tennyson, 1940), Woolsey and Ough were specifically identified under ‘Effects’, while in fourteen films from Sailors Three (Walter Forde, 1940) to Dead of Night, ‘Special Effects’ would become the prevailing term. This not only suggests that Ealing had quickly adopted recognized industry terminology to describe these processes, but contradicts Dorme’s earlier statement that such work was contained within the art department.47 Such ambiguity underscores the challenges involved when analysing historical meanings attached to creative and artistic terms. Yet given that there exists a range of fourteen films with a precise ‘Effects’ credit, the case-study films explored below begin to construct a taxonomy of the substantial range of effects-work on display in Ealing’s films. These techniques are briefly discussed, before we move on to specific case studies that demonstrate how Ealing used them within their wartime films. Three years after Ealing created its model department, Kellino said that ‘it would be hard not to find a production out of Ealing Studios that has not had some help from the model department’.48 That department produced all of the visual-effects work undertaken at Ealing, working partly out of a seventy-nine by sixty-one foot (diameter) model stage, which featured ‘a permanent tank that was something like five feet high which [was] used a lot for the whacking great models we had to build’.49 Models and miniatures could be combined with live action through the use of matte paintings, travelling mattes, glass shots50 and painted ‘cut-outs’, pioneered in the USA during the early 1900s and still used by Ealing into the 1950s.51 The matte process involved a team of artists painting additional effects such as moving clouds, water or smoke onto a pre-photographed scene with the intention of creating a composite whole. Travelling matte provided the next stage in this process, whereby the matte object could change shape and/or position from frame to frame, representing the same movement as the object in the final film.52 The equipment, materials and specialist handling required for such techniques proved expensive, but far less so than transporting cast and crew to film on location. Back projection constituted another common technique employed by British studios (see figure 1), used to project moving or static backgrounds onto translucent screens located behind the artistes: normally used for passing scenery, as seen through the windows of trains or cars. More difficult is static back projection in which the foreground setting is stationary, e.g. a scene in an office in which buildings or moving traffic can be seen through the window […] the slightest unsteadiness of projection would give the game away and the result would be unacceptance.53 That stress on not ‘giving the game away’, or undermining the desired verisimilitude, underlines Ealing’s desire to achieve a level of artificiality that still offered an acceptable realism to audiences. Yet whilst the importance of back projection as an aesthetic and financial tool for the British film industry cannot be overestimated, it could also be unpopular: Alfred Davis, the chief projectionist at Gainsborough Studios, noted that back projection was ‘a very sketchy affair’ to which studio personnel developed an ‘intense dislike’, while Ealing’s Robert Hamer described back-projection sequences on San Demetrio, London as: monotonous and trying for director and cast […] an endless series of interruptions [which] enfeeble the concentration of everyone […] I cannot believe that this long practised and comparatively simple process need be operated on a system of perpetual trial and error.54 This suggestion of problems with back projection will thus be considered across the wartime films studied below. Fig. 1. View largeDownload slide The Halfway House (Basil Dearden, 1944) production plans highlight the relationship between set design and back projection, here creating the effect of a train carriage moving through the countryside. Reference images by author of uncatalogued collections prior to conservation treatment, used with permission from the BFI National Archive. Fig. 1. View largeDownload slide The Halfway House (Basil Dearden, 1944) production plans highlight the relationship between set design and back projection, here creating the effect of a train carriage moving through the countryside. Reference images by author of uncatalogued collections prior to conservation treatment, used with permission from the BFI National Archive. As well-established techniques, such processes allowed technicians to ‘combine our efforts with natural backgrounds. Model planes flying against real skies, model ships in real sea, and real artistes seen against model backgrounds.’55 This emphasis on maintaining a ‘realist’ aesthetic clearly resonates with other contemporary and subsequent descriptions of Ealing productions, and it underlines the important combinatory role that effects teams were responsible for in a period when ‘filming on location became unfeasible’.56 Miniature production has historically been crucial in creating ‘landscapes, buildings, entire cities, train wreck scenes, floods, fires [and] earthquakes’, and Ealing clearly used models and miniatures as part of its desire to construct believable locations and landscapes, and create authentic reproductions of warships, military aircraft and other vehicles.57 While Ealing’s use of such techniques may have been intended to create realism, at a distance of seven decades we have a limited capacity to identify what would have counted as ‘realistic’ to a 1940s audience member (notwithstanding the fact that there would have been no one dominant understanding of that term). As has been noted, ‘The photographic realism of any age assumes quaintness or distance as soon as “improvements” achieve fresh immediacy: our notions of the “real” are changed by the “realisms” which supercede [sic] each other to represent it’.58 Our intention here is not to make claims for a film to be more or less realistic, but to try and assess how Ealing used these techniques in combination with surrounding live-action sequences to contribute to the studio’s developing ideas of what documentary-realist filmmaking could achieve. Matthew Sweet writes of Ships with Wings as being a retrograde step in every respect […] acts of extravagant self-sacrifice by yah-yah Fleet Air Arm officers are represented by yards of substandard model work. Balcon was furious with his son for suggesting that the special effects shots were achieved with the use of Dinky toys: perhaps this small remark also helped to enshrine documentary realism as the studio’s guiding principle.59 The film has been seen as a pivotal point in Michael Balcon’s decision to insist on realist approaches within Ealing’s filmmaking. The film follows disgraced Lt Dick Stacey (John Clements), who redeems himself (and the British Fleet Air Arm) through an act of personal heroism and sacrifice. Critics of the film (among them Winston Churchill) bemoaned the lack of wartime realism in favour of melodrama, with Balcon stating ‘there was some departure from that principle [of realism], and the story was too heavily fictionalised’.60 Balcon’s much celebrated 1943 speech urging British filmmakers to depart from ‘tinsel’ and ‘cheap romances’ in preference for a more documentary-realist approach may also echo his feelings on this specific film.61 If the above claim from Sweet is accurate, then the quality of the special-effects shots may have played a key role in Balcon’s declarations on the film. Yet this rejection of Ships with Wings and its effects-work has to some degree been challenged through the analysis of Mass Observation reports on the film, and its maligned reputation in terms of Ealing’s special-effects abilities is equally misunderstood, perhaps unfairly wrapped up in the mythologization of Balcon’s quest for realism.62 The evidence from production files and design speaks clearly of the special-effects team’s desire to recreate authentic military aircraft and naval vessels of the period, with many based on actual ships serving in the fleet. The British aircraft carrier Ark Royal ‘starred’ in the film as the Invincible, thanks to the use of extensive location footage and model work. Production drawings show detailed scale designs of the bridge and on-board equipment such as control panels and engine room, with notes stating the Ark Royal/Invincible bridge set was ‘to be fixed on a wheeled, rocking rostrum’ to replicate the motion of the waves.63 Sketches outline how scale models of naval ships would be filmed inside a water tank, including a torpedo attack sequence and the construction of a Greek island and the rocky headlands surrounding a dam (see figures 2 and 3). The close attention to detail is evidenced further by drawings of allied and enemy aircraft, including intricate closeup designs of the German engineered Junker tail unit and throttle to be used as reference points by the model team. At this stage, Ealing’s special-effects team was composed of Kellino, Richardson and Woolsey, with experienced craftsmen drafted in to create models from the original designs. Such a figure was Ough, a Cornish artist who designed scale models of naval vessels for the Military of Defence during the war. It was Ough’s skilled workmanship that produced the scale model of Ark Royal that appears in Ships with Wings. Twenty-five feet in length and weighing half a ton, the model had a long post-film life, being displayed across the UK as part of the 1942 ‘Warship Week Campaign’.64 Fig. 2. View largeDownload slide Ships with Wings (Sergei Nolbandov, 1941) production plans show the creation of a mock-up plane and cockpit, with panoramic painted backdrop behind. Reference images by author of uncatalogued collections prior to conservation treatment, used with permission from the BFI National Archive. Fig. 2. View largeDownload slide Ships with Wings (Sergei Nolbandov, 1941) production plans show the creation of a mock-up plane and cockpit, with panoramic painted backdrop behind. Reference images by author of uncatalogued collections prior to conservation treatment, used with permission from the BFI National Archive. Fig. 3. View largeDownload slide Detail of a miniature shot of two ships (the Mayflower and the Conti di Cavour) and an exploding jetty, set up in Ealing’s water tank. Reference images by author of uncatalogued collections prior to conservation treatment, used with permission from the BFI National Archive. Fig. 3. View largeDownload slide Detail of a miniature shot of two ships (the Mayflower and the Conti di Cavour) and an exploding jetty, set up in Ealing’s water tank. Reference images by author of uncatalogued collections prior to conservation treatment, used with permission from the BFI National Archive. The film’s opening scene, featuring the launch of the Invincible, is also its first attempt to create an authentic montage of different filming techniques. The film cuts from documentary footage of workers removing wooden supports and cheering the launch, to model shots of the bulk of the ship as it launches (with a series of dockyard cranes down both sides), to stage-bound images of the naval officials at the launch party (which also includes back-projection shots of the dockyard). It is arguably a moment of spectacle similar to the genre-specific effects sequences discussed earlier, and a clear sign that the ship will play a significant role in the continuing narrative. The quick pace of the montage supports the different techniques, despite the clear difference in film stock and scale involved, and offers a smoother combination than some of the later model sequences. In the first half of the film, however, it is the back-projection effects that feel most artificial, with jarring sequences of actors walking in front of projected live-action images (largely planes on runways), offering little or no depth of field between the two planes of action. The combination of models, live action and practical effects can be found throughout, but the final twenty-minute attack on the Italian–German stronghold at Panteria is particularly reliant on that balance of techniques. Both Panteria and the island of Pamos are models, built in the water tank and shown in establishing shots or with planes flying overhead; while both can feel static, they do successfully convey the location of the drama. Indeed there is no live-action footage of Panteria except the interior of buildings or plane cockpits, so the entire sequence (bombing raid, plane dogfight and Stacey’s final dam-busting sacrifice) relies on the models to convey its scale and layout – details that are intrinsic to the final act of the narrative. Ships with Wings thus confirms an earlier notion that special-effects sequences are there to find ‘a better or otherwise impossible angle to further the completeness of the story [and] the only possible solution to get the desired effect’.65 Without such sequences, this story could not be fully visualized. The aesthetic balance struck in the opening launch sequence is less effective here, largely due to the reliance on the models to deliver almost every beat of the action. In the first bombing raid on Panteria, for example, the only live-action shots are occasional cockpit views of the pilots and short documentary clips of planes swooping down. Everything else – the dockyards, German ships, buildings, airfields, dam, torpedoes launching from planes – is conveyed through models and miniatures. Such shots remain strong throughout, with sharp editing never lingering on any for too long, although there are two that offer a point-of-view as a plane skims down towards the water to fire a torpedo, a pause in editing that underlines the detail of the model work. As the sequence progresses, however, the aesthetic strength of the effects does waver: the bombing of Invincible’s airstrip requires extensive model work of the destroyed deck and the planes as they attempt to land, while lines of German tanks and other vehicles are less convincing miniatures, particularly when washed away during the final destruction of the dam. Given the focus on authentic pre-production design, the varied achievements in models and miniature work, and the compelling (if inconsistent) aesthetic combination of those models with back projection, live action and documentary footage, the evidence of the film does not immediately support the film’s poor critical reputation. A Mass Observation report noted that audience response was mixed, albeit largely positive, and likely to highlight the ‘unrealistic’ plotline and characters, and the ‘imposed’ love-story narrative.66 Individual comments on special effects ranged from ‘You couldn’t see that any of them were models’, to ‘There is a bit too much model work in it. It’s too obvious.’67 Yet despite Sweet’s comment on the film’s ‘substandard’ model work, we would argue that Ealing’s decision to adopt an increasingly realistic approach to its wartime films had more to do with concerns over the melodramatic nature of Ships with Wings than audience reaction to variable effects-work. Indeed the evidence of Ealing’s wartime mode of production between 1941 and 1944 suggests that the studio’s effects department went from strength to strength. One lesson that may have been learned after Ships with Wings was to avoid a narrative reliance on effects such as the Panteria attack, and to focus instead on achieving a montage of live action, effects-work and documentary footage. That balance clearly informs effects-work in The Big Blockade (Charles Frend, 1942) and Undercover (Sergei Nolbandov, 1943), for example, although three central narrative events in San Demetrio, London are reliant on effects in a more overt fashion. As for Ships with Wings, advance publicity for this film promoted the Ealing’s effects teams’ desire for ‘authenticity of detail […] accurate down to the tiniest detail’ in miniature work and set design.68 Those models are crucial in the opening scenes of the ship, throughout key battle sequences, and when the lashed-together vessel reaches the coast of Ireland; while the sequence where the Jervis Bay cruiser is sunk by enemy fire and shells explode on the deck of the San Demetrio offers an echo of the larger role played by model work in Ships with Wings. A refined version of the earlier approach, this film combines effects as a crucial third component alongside live action and documentary footage. The back projection that Hamer complained about so bitterly is jarring, partly due to its use in night-time sequences, but also because it is a constant presence as the crew drift in the lifeboat, and is not, unlike the other effects, subsumed within a montage-based approach.69 The realistic aesthetic and narrative direction of Ealing’s wartime dramas are, therefore, reliant on the combination of models, miniatures, set design, back projection and practical effects developed by Kellino and his effects team. While a honing of skills is evident between the productions of Ships with Wings and San Demetrio, London, we argue that the perceived success (or otherwise) of the special-effects work is due to the narrative and characterization that underpinned both films as much as the quality or dominance of the work itself. As Ealing developed other, less combat-focused films through the war years, the effects team would continue to demonstrate the vital role they served in Ealing’s projection of Britain. Ealing’s clearest statement of intent to combine dramatic narrative, documentary realism and special-effects techniques is found in its depiction of contemporary life in The Bells Go Down. Released in April 1943 (eighteen months after the effects-heavy Ships with Wings) The Bells Go Down offers a concrete example of Ealing’s continued commitment to the use of special effects within more realist-led productions. The blend of techniques found here is not dissimilar to Ships with Wings or San Demetrio, London, but there is a confidence visible in the film’s potent combination of live action, back projection and model work to provide its story of the Auxiliary Fire Brigade, a confidence underpinned by the continued success of Kellino and Richardson within the studio. The film’s effects can be divided into practical (physical fires and smoke in the background of studio-shot scenes), miniatures (several long sequences and establishing shots of firefighting rely on models of streets, firefighters, fire engines and buildings), and back projection (relied upon as a low-cost solution and as protection for key actors such as Tommy Trinder and James Mason). The use of model shots is particularly important, placed within the visual narrative for establishing shots, depth of field and action that would be impossible to create within both the limited budget and resources of the studio. Some of these are nuanced effects to enhance the background of shots: models of factories and chimneys are visible behind the window of the men’s barracks, thus extending the image beyond the studio set. Elsewhere the models enhance character point-of-view shots, most notably when the camera gazes up a long, thin, swaying (miniature) ladder that stretches up towards the fires blazing from (miniature) buildings. The film contains six significant firefighting sequences, each utilizing a combination of these techniques, but here we focus on the fire at the Sundura Fabrics building (which occurs around fifty-seven minutes into the film). It opens with a bravura camera movement around a model set that establishes the scale of this fire and the nearby buildings and dockland warehouses. In a shot lasting around twenty seconds, the camera pans around the ladder that sits near the centre of the screen, with fire engines, small figures, and hoses spraying water onto the factories, with the night-time sky behind. While the model figures are clearly static, the camera pushes into the scene to reveal more ladders reaching up to the building, more firefighters and hoses, more practical fire effects bursting out of the warehouse. For the narrative, this immediately gives scale to the operation, particularly as the need to save these warehouses becomes a key story point. Cutting away from the establishing model shot, the sequence follows a pattern established throughout the film: back-projection sequences where the stars are framed against a pre-filmed backdrop of firefighters struggling with hoses; the cast on studio sets with full-size fire engines and more controlled practical effects of smoke, fire and water. Cut into these sequences are more model shots: firefighters at the top of the ladders spraying water onto a burning roof, or the ladder moving around the model. In these sequences, ‘realism’ is constructed through the interplay of back projection (‘real’ images of firefighters at work), live-action stars on set (or against back-projected sequences), practical effects, and model work as described above. Clearly placed at the centre of the aesthetic recreation of this world, the special-effects team offers a skilful balance of techniques. Such work was not restricted to The Bells Go Down or even to dramatic films of contemporary life. My Learned Friend features many of the same techniques, including an effects-centred narrative set piece and a similar desire to blend effects into live action through careful editing.70 The bulk of the film relies on one technique – cost-effective back projection during driving sequences – until the final act requires the special-effects team to create a comic chase sequence across the face of Big Ben. The use of national monuments in special-effects history has been linked to moments where ‘animators, production designers, and computer engineers worked in unison to create a sense of contiguity between the space of the “real” national monument and the space of the imagined change to which it is subjected’.71 In the science-fiction film’s combination of known and unknown – such as the flying saucers that buzz Washington in Earth vs the Flying Saucers (Fred F. Sears, 1956) – the special effect remains a spectacular addition. We would argue that the combination of real footage and special effects in My Learned Friend is not designed to highlight the fantastic addition but to enhance the comic verisimilitude of the sequence. Again there is no single shot that highlights the effects-work but a montage of complementary techniques: model shots of Big Ben (exterior and interior), back-projection shots of Westminster Bridge, and a key model-based moment where the clock hand breaks and three models of the lead characters are left hanging off it. In all instances these images are intercut with live-action footage, enhancing the quicker pace required for the chase but also the requirement for reaction shots from the cast. Alongside The Next of Kin (Thorold Dickinson, 1942) and The Goose Steps Out (Will Hay and Basil Dearden, 1942), Ealing’s contemporary drama and comedy films continued to showcase the special-effects techniques that lay at the heart of the studio’s financial and aesthetic restraint. While that tradition would continue after the war, with films such as Frieda (Basil Dearden, 1947) and Train of Events (Sidney Cole, Charles Crichton and Basil Dearden, 1949) reliant on the same combination of model work, back projection and live-action footage, the last eighteen months of wartime production saw Ealing engage in films with a fantasy or supernatural bent: The Halfway House, They Came to a City (Basil Dearden, 1944) and Dead of Night. Yet unlike a contemporaneous film such as Blithe Spirit (David Lean, 1945), these Ealing films resist the generic expectation of overt display of effects, employing instead a careful placement of such techniques. ‘[Dead of Night] in no way depends for its thrills on trick photography or special effects, but instead demands concise dialogue, powerful acting and a unique sense of direction.’72 This assessment by Kinematograph Weekly identifies a common theme across the three films considered in this section. While the wartime and contemporary films discussed above demonstrate a balance of effects and other techniques, these fantasy films are much more selective about the display of optical effects, miniature shots and back projection. Unlike The Bells Go Down’s reliance on such effects-work throughout its narrative, or the marshalling of those techniques for specific sequences (as in the comic ending of My Learned Friend), these films pull back from foregrounding overt effects-work. While it is tempting to link this to Ealing’s broader realist strategy, painting the studio as reluctant to commit fully to a fantastic use of special effects, the evidence of the films suggests this may have more to do with the tone of Ealing’s fantastic excursions. The Halfway House, a melodramatic tale of a ghostly inn that draws in a cast of characters damaged by the war, provides a pertinent example of this approach. The film applies specific optical tricks, camera positioning and back projection to set up its supernatural tale. Production notes detail the delays in filming Mervyn and Glynis Johns’s ethereal innkeepers to ensure that in no scene did they cast a shadow.73 Equally, each character’s separate journey to the inn is captured through studio-bound back projection, and the inn appears as though through a haze, optically shimmering into place in a previously empty landscape (figure 4). Utilizing these techniques highlights both the dreamlike nature of the trip (and the central location) and the narrative’s interest in the uncertainty of vision, with the Ealing film paralleling themes identified in I Know Where I’m Going!, albeit on a much slimmer budget.74 Model work is largely restricted to background shots (outbuildings, walls and landscape visible through the physical set, often in soft focus in the rear of shot), and miniatures are sparingly deployed (a brief waterfall sequence is the most obvious example), at least until the final bombing and destruction of the inn is visualized through scale models and pyrotechnics. This final effects display is not, however, a moment of effects-driven catharsis over which the film lingers (as in I Know Where I’m Going!, the science-fiction examples discussed earlier, or even similar moments in The Bells Go Down), but a brief transitional sequence through which each character passes as they depart for new and renewed lives. As such, the placement of effects throughout the film is illustrative and thematic, each instance narratively precise rather than visually spectacular in its own right. Fig. 4. View largeDownload slide A floor plan for The Halfway House, indicating the model work for sheds and painted backdrops that would be seen through the inn’s windows. Reference images by author of uncatalogued collections prior to conservation treatment, used with permission from the BFI National Archive. Fig. 4. View largeDownload slide A floor plan for The Halfway House, indicating the model work for sheds and painted backdrops that would be seen through the inn’s windows. Reference images by author of uncatalogued collections prior to conservation treatment, used with permission from the BFI National Archive. Ealing’s muted approach to visualizing this supernatural narrative was indicated by a critic who complained that ‘the ghosts are photographed without such elaborate camera angles as was the case in Thunder Rock’.75 Although the comparison with this earlier Boulting Brothers’ film was clearly intended as a criticism, it can be seen instead as a crucial identification of Ealing’s more nuanced and conservative approach to fantastic narratives and special effects. The use of effects to enhance performance and set design (as seen in The Halfway House) is also central to They Came to a City. Once again focusing on a series of disparate characters who have life-changing experiences through their interactions with a fantasy landscape, the film’s central conceit – that the characters each see their own version of this futuristic city – lacks any on-screen visual expression. While the film shows us Michael Relph’s impressive modernist city walls, the studio ‘wisely shied away from trying to visualise Utopia’.76 The depiction of other futuristic metropolises, from Fritz Lang’s version to those in Just Imagine (David Butler, 1930) or Things to Come, demonstrates that the use of special effects to crystallize a vision of the future had already become a dominant approach. Ealing’s subversion of this tendency was more likely a result of practicality and budget than a deliberate policy, but its use of brief optical effects throughout They Came to a City underlines the nuanced approach the studio took when dealing with narratives in cases where other studios or producers might have prioritized and promoted the special-effects work. The final film in this period is also Ealing’s most famous supernatural film, and one where optical effects, miniatures and set design remain in constant dialogue. The portmanteau film Dead of Night stands, then, as a fascinating compendium of Ealing’s special-effects and art departments at the end of wartime: ‘Hearse Driver’ uses back projection in its initial race-crash sequence, and miniature work to create both the street outside the hospital where racing driver Hugh (Anthony Baird) recovers and the dramatic bus crash he manages to avoid due to a premonition; ‘The Haunted Mirror’ creates ‘an entire set beyond the mirror’ for the gothic vision that obsesses Peter (Ralph Michael);77 while ‘Golfing Story’ features both optical printing and a compressed air prop to suggest a ghostly presence moving a golf ball, and further optical work to make the spectral Larry (Naunton Wayne) appear within the frame (and later to make George [Basil Radford] disappear).78 As with the other Ealing fantasy films, the effects do not add spectacular visuals that stand alone as a unique attraction, but include them within a montage of techniques that, when used together, create the unsettling atmosphere of this anthology film. Andrew Higson has claimed that wartime British films such as those produced at Ealing contain a tension: between the documentary and narrative modes […] certain sequences depend entirely on montage construction […] [while others] depend on the classical narrative editing strategies of moving from establishing shot to point of view shot, particularly through shot/reverse shot structures.79 What is overlooked in that description, though, is the role that special effects played within both montage and the shot/reverse-shot structure. In Ealing’s deployment of this approach, the use of effects such as back projection and miniatures helped construct ‘the studio’s characteristic (if by no means all-pervading) low-key naturalism’.80 While there may be little in Ealing’s wartime films to rival the epic special effects of Things to Come or I Know Where I’m Going!, it is clear that films such as The Bells Go Down, San Demetrio, London and My Learned Friend are underpinned by similar effects techniques. What is also clear is the debt such wartime films owe to the largely unsung special-effects department established and developed at Ealing. Like many of the effects they produced, such technicians remain largely invisible within existing criticism, leaving few traces in contemporary records of British film production. Yet this department was responsible for creating what could not be realistically filmed or staged, with individuals such as Cliff Richardson regarded as ‘the man who would attempt anything’.81 From aerial dogfights and naval battles to London bombings and firefighting, Ealing’s ‘realist’ approach relied heavily on the fantastic creation of models (and their pyrotechnic destruction), alongside extensive use of back projection, matte images and optical printing techniques. On the evidence of the Ealing films identified in this essay, there is a compelling need to reassess a range of wartime British films for which a documentary aesthetic has been claimed. That aesthetic, based around the combination of documentary and narrative traditions, cannot account for the full experience of these films unless these special effects are included.82 Effects played a crucial narrative role in montage and continuity editing, created expansive establishing shots where it was physically difficult to film (or where locations simply did not exist), used back projection to place actors within specific group shots (often at the heart of narrative action), and could create otherwise impossible point-of-view shots up smoke-wreathed ladders, down vertiginous drops towards London landmarks, or into a range of fantasy landscapes. As Ealing moved from a wartime footing to more expansive postwar productions across multiple genres and styles, its effects team continued to expand, contributing to films as diverse as The Lavender Hill Mob (Charles Crichton, 1951), The Cruel Sea (Charles Frend, 1953), Meet Mr Lucifer (Anthony Pélissier, 1953), The Ship that Died of Shame (Basil Dearden, 1955) and The Night My Number Came Up (Leslie Norman, 1956), until the studio’s demise in the late 1950s. While the post-Ealing exploits of everyone on that special-effects team are largely unknown (underlining again the invisible nature of such figures), its ghostly presence was still felt by a fledgling two-man special effects team from the BBC who toured the now-empty studio when the Corporation took it over in 1955: in a store room we found a horde of miniature trains and railway equipment […] made to scale with every detail a perfect replica of their full-sized counterparts […] Searching around we found several packing cases that contained scale models and submarines […] model street facades which were so real that by closing one eye we could see how they would have appeared to the camera; the detail was amazing but, of course, with the resultant image enlarged on the cinema screen many hundreds of times such attention to detail was essential.83 Ultimately consigned to a skip before Bernard Wilkie and his colleague could rescue it, the physical remnants of the Ealing special-effects team were rendered as ephemeral as their piecemeal records, often leaving only the films behind as evidence. As we have shown, however, that team helped to consolidate Ealing Studios’ position at the heart of the British film industry from 1940 until the company’s demise in the late 1950s, and their contribution to its realist-documentary ‘projection of Britain’ deserves to be both recognized and celebrated. Acknowledgement We would like to thank the staff at the British Film Institute National Archive in Berkhamsted for their help in accessing the Ealing production blueprints, stage plans and memos that helped us piece together some of the working practices of the Ealing special-effects team. Footnotes 1 Roy Kellino, ‘The photographing of models’, The Cine-Technician, vol. 44, no. 9 (1943), p. 98. 2 John Ellis, ‘Made in Ealing’, Screen, vol. 16, no. 1 (1975), pp. 78–127; George Perry, Forever Ealing (London: Pavilion Books, 1981); Charles Barr, Ealing Studios (3rd edn) (Moffat: Cameron and Hollis, 1998). 3 Mark Duguid, Lee Freeman, Keith M. Johnston and Melanie Williams (eds), Ealing Revisited (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012). 4 The most obvious legacy of such films is their influence on the ‘movie brat’ generation of the 1970s. For example, Martin Scorsese and Francis Ford Coppola talk about the impact of The Thief of Bagdad on their careers (and those of Steven Spielberg and George Lucas) in their director commentaries on Criterion Collection’s 2012 Blu-Ray release of the film; while Scorsese lists three of The Archers’ films (A Matter of Life and Death/Stairway to Heaven, The Red Shoes and The Tales of Hoffman) in his ‘top 85’ films list. See Rick Tetzeli, ‘Martin Scorsese’s film school: the 85 films you need to see to know anything about film’, Fast Company, 24 February 2012, <https://www.fastcompany.com/1679472/martin-scorseses-film-school-the-85-films-you-need-to-see-to-know-anything-about-film> accessed 20 March 2019. 5 Sean Cubitt, ‘Digital filming and special effects’, in Dan Harries (ed.), The New Media Book (London: BFI Publishing, 2002), p. 27. 6 J. P. Telotte, ‘Film, 1895–1950’, in Mark Bould, Andrew M. Butler, Adam Roberts and Sherryl Vint (eds), The Routledge Companion to Science Fiction (London: Routledge, 2009), p. 43; Thomas Elsaesser, Metropolis (2nd edn) (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), p. 37; Jack Williamson, ‘King Kong: a parable of progress’, in Karen Haber (ed.), Kong Unbound: The Cultural Impact, Pop Mythos and Scientific Plausibility of a Cinematic Legend (New York, NY: Simon and Schuster, 2005), p. 89; Patricia D. Netzley, Encyclopaedia of Movie Special Effects (Phoenix, AZ: Oryx Press, 2000). 7 ‘Super miniature astounds’, International Photography, vol. 5, no. 7 (1933), p. 25. 8 For a more comprehensive narrative that traces effects from Victorian magic shows and scientific lectures to the introduction of CGI, see Michelle Pierson, Special Effects: Still in Search of Wonder (New York, NY: Columbia University Press, 2002). 9 Philip Hayward and Tana Wollen, ‘Introduction: surpassing the real’, in Hayward and Wollen (eds), Future Visions: New Technologies of the Screen (London: BFI Publishing, 1993), p. 2. 10 Cubitt, ‘Digital filming and special effects’, p. 19. 11 Dan North, Bob Rehak and Michael S. Duffy, ‘Introduction’, in North, Rehak and Duffy (eds), Special Effects: New Histories/Theories/Contexts (London: BFI/Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), p. 3. 12 Ibid., p. 8. 13 Laurie N. Ede, British Film Design: A History (London: IB Tauris, 2010), and Martin Stollery, ‘Technicians of the unknown cinema: British critical discourse and the analysis of collaboration in film production’, Film History, vol. 21, no. 4 (2009), pp. 373–93. 14 Katharina Loew, ‘Magic mirrors: the Schüfftan Process’, in North, Rehak and and Duffy (eds), Special Effects: New Histories/Theories/Contexts, pp. 70–72. 15 Wheeler Winston Dixon, ‘The doubled image: Montgomery Tully’s Boys in Brown and the Independent Frame process’, Film Criticism, vol. 16, no. 1/2 (1991/92), p. 19. 16 Ede, British Film Design: A History, p. 52. 17 Pam Cook, I Know Where I’m Going! (London: BFI Publishing, 2002), pp. 16–17. 18 Ibid., p. 36. 19 While Ealing and Denham created their own teams, it is not currently clear whether all major studios and production companies had the same policy. There is evidence that not all studio systems operated in this way, with UFA in Germany not having a special department but hiring in staff for larger-budget films that required effects, such as Metropolis. See Elsaesser, Metropolis. 20 John Brosnan, Movie Magic: The Story of Special Effects in the Cinema (London: MacDonald and Jane’s, 1974) repeats the broad historical narrative discussed above but also contains a chapter on the history of British special-effects work. It offers the only discussion of this legacy, largely told from the perspective of Cliff Richardson and Wally Veever. 21 Norman Dorme, qtd in Robert Sellers, The Secret Life of Ealing Studios (London: Aurum Press, 2015), p. 130. 22 Stollery, ‘Technicians of the unknown cinema’, pp. 377–79. 23 Laurie Ede, ‘Art in context: British film design of the 1940s’, in James Chapman, Mark Glancy and Sue Harper (eds), The New Film History: Sources, Methods, Approaches (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009), p. 77. 24 Penelope Houston, Went the Day Well? (London: BFI Publishing, 1992), p. 9; Connelly, The Red Shoes, p. 12; Barr, Ealing Studios, p. 10. 25 Ede, ‘Art in context’, p. 75. 26 Ellis, ‘Made in Ealing’; Barr, Ealing Studios; Perry, Forever Ealing. There is discussion on the visual style of later Ealing output in Sue Harper and Vincent Porter, British Cinema of the 1950s: The Decline of Deference (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), pp. 57–73. 27 Duguid et al. (eds), Ealing Revisited. 28 Julian Petley, ‘The lost continent’, in Charles Barr (ed.), All Our Yesterdays: 90 Years of British Cinema (London: BFI Publishing, 1986), pp. 98–119, and Josephine Botting, ‘“Who’ll pay for reality? Ealing, dreams and fantasy’, in Duguid et al. (eds), Ealing Revisited, p. 177. 29 Hayward and Wollen, ‘Introduction: surpassing the real’, p. 2. 30 Ellis, ‘Made at Ealing’, p. 90. 31 Cynthia Erb, Tracking King Kong: A Hollywood Icon in World Culture (Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1998), p. 41. 32 Cook, I Know Where I’m Going!, p. 69. For a full description of how this sequence was shot, see Alfred Junge, ‘The rational application of special processes to film production’, British Kinematograph, vol. 19, no. 3 (1951), pp. 74–75. 33 These production budgets are from original production documents available in The Michael and Aileen Balcon Papers, located at the British Film Institute National Archive in Berkhamsted. While they are clearly estimates rather than the final amount spent on each film, they remain suggestive of Ealing’s more frugal approach and its desire for low costs. 34 Release dates are taken from the comprehensive filmography, in Duguid et al. (eds), Ealing Revisited, pp. 255–81. 35 ‘“Ships with Wings” [budget]’, The Michael and Aileen Balcon Papers, (hereafter MABP), MEB-1224. 36 ‘“Blockade” [budget]’, MABP, MEB-1226. 37 Perry, Forever Ealing, p. 72; Andrew Roberts, ‘The people’s war: the making of Ealing’, in Duguid et al. (eds), Ealing Revisited, p. 49. 38 ‘“The Bells Go Down” [budget]’, MABP, MEB-1253. 39 ‘“Chetnik” [budget]’, MABP, MEB-1229. 40 ‘“San Demetrio” [budget]’, MABP, MEB-1259. 41 ‘“Half-Way House” [budget]’, MABP, MEB-1255. 42 ‘“For Those in Peril” [budget]’, MABP, MEB-1254. 43 Identified in Keith M. Johnston, ‘What is the Great Ealing film challenge?’, The Huffington Post, <http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/dr-keith-m-johnston/great-ealing-film-challenge_b_1091968.html>, and Film Studies for Free, ‘The Great Ealing film challenge’, <http://filmstudiesforfree.blogspot.co.uk/2012/08/the-great-ealing-film-challenge-by.html> both accessed 25 February 2019. 44 Andrew Higson, ‘“Britain’s outstanding contribution to the film”: the documentary-realist tradition’, in Barr (ed.), All Our Yesterdays, pp. 72–97. 45 James Chapman, Mark Glancy and Sue Harper, ‘Introduction’, in Chapman, Glancy and Harper (eds), The New Film History, p. 8. 46 The ‘Special Effects Art Director’ for Scott of the Antarctic was Jim Morahan; ‘Special Effects’ covers the team of Richard Dendy, Norman Ough, Geoffrey Dickinson and Sydney Pearson; the Art Director is Arne Åkermark. 47 ‘Visit to Ealing Studios’, British Kinematography, vol. 17, no. 1 (1950), p. 1. 48 Kellino, ‘The photographing of models’, p. 98. 49 Lindsay Anderson, Making a Film: The Story of Secret People (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1952), p. 217, and Tony Rimmington, qtd in Sellors, The Secret Life of Ealing Studios, p. 131. 50 Created by placing a piece of glass in front of a stationary camera with artistic background that has clear areas for live-action filming to look like a ‘real’ environment. 51 M. J. Morahan, ‘Modern trends in art direction’, British Kinematograph, vol. 18, no. 3 (1951), p. 81. 52 An example of the travelling matte ‘split-beam’ process can be seen during the Eiffel Tower spiral staircase sequence in The Lavender Hill Mob (1951). The split-beam process was developed ‘by using special lighting during filming to make it easier to separate the live action form its background’. Netzley, Encyclopedia of Movie Special Effects, p. 221. 53 Baynham Honri, ‘The film studio: the development of equipment and operation’, British Kinematograph, vol. 22, no. 3 (1953), p. 83. 54 Alfred Davis, ‘What’s wrong with BP?’, The Cine-Technician, vol. 11, no. 53 (1945), p. 32; Robert Hamer, ‘Robert Hamer to Michael Balcon’, 17 June 1943, MABP, MEB-1259. 55 Kellino, ‘The photographing of models’, p. 98. 56 Brosnan, Movie Magic, p. 90. 57 ‘Miniatures’, International Photographer, vol. 9, no. 6 (1937), p. 23. 58 Hayward and Wollen, ‘Introduction: surpassing the real’, p. 2. 59 Matthew Sweet, Shepperton Babylon: The Lost Worlds of British Cinema (London: Faber and Faber, 2005), p. 178 (our emphasis). 60 Michael Balcon, Michael Balcon Presents … A Lifetime of Films (London: Hutchinson, 1969), pp. 133–34. 61 Robert Murphy, Realism and Tinsel: Cinema and Society in Britain, 1939–45 (London: Routledge, 1992), p. 39. 62 Jeffrey Richards and Dorothy Sheridan, Mass Observation at the Movies (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1987), pp. 364–80. 63 Ships with Wings production sketch, Ealing Studio Design collection, British Film Institute. 64 ‘Showmanship abroad’, Motion Picture Herald, vol. 148, no. 2 (1942), p. 49. 65 Willis O’Brien, ‘Miniature effects shots’, International Photographer, vol. 5, no. 4 (1933), p. 39. 66 Richards and Sheridan, Mass Observation at the Movies, pp. 377–78. 67 Ibid., pp. 369, 372. 68 ‘Hay film in final stages’, Kinematograph Weekly, vol. 314, no. 1877 (1943), p. 34A. 69 Hamer, ‘Robert Hamer to Michael Balcon’, MABP, MEB-1259. 70 My Learned Friend is set before the war but was filmed and released in 1943. 71 Miranda J. Banks, ‘Monumental fictions: national monument as a science fiction space’, Journal of Popular Film and Television, vol. 30, no. 3 (2002) pp. 144–45. 72 ‘Horror stories At Ealing’, Kinematograph Weekly, vol. 337, no. 1976 (1945), p. 32. 73 ‘“The Halfway House” production schedule’, MABP, MEB-1255. 74 Cook, I Know Where I’m Going! 75 ‘The Halfway House’, Monthly Film Bulletin, vol. 11, no. 122 (1944), p. 13. 76 Botting, ‘Who’ll pay for reality?’, p. 181. 77 Sellors, The Secret Life of Ealing Studios, p. 77 78 ‘Horror stories at Ealing’, Kinematograph Weekly, vol. 337, no. 1976 (1945), p. 32. 79 Higson, ‘“Britain’s outstanding contribution to the film”’, p. 86. 80 Mark Duguid and Katy McGahan, ‘From tinsel to realism and back again: Balcon, Ealing and documentary’, in Duguid et al. (eds), Ealing Revisited, p. 68. 81 Brosnan, Movie Magic, p. 90. 82 Higson, ‘“Britain’s outstanding contribution to the film”’, p. 86. 83 Bernard Wilkie, A Peculiar Effect on the BBC (Reigate: Miwk Publishing, 2015), p. 139. © The Author(s) 2019. Published by Oxford University Press on behalf of Screen. All rights reserved This article is published and distributed under the terms of the Oxford University Press, Standard Journals Publication Model (https://academic.oup.com/journals/pages/open_access/funder_policies/chorus/standard_publication_model)
TI - The spectacle of realism: special effects at Ealing Studios, 1940–45
JF - Screen
DO - 10.1093/screen/hjz006
DA - 2019-06-01
UR - https://www.deepdyve.com/lp/oxford-university-press/the-spectacle-of-realism-special-effects-at-ealing-studios-1940-45-b0WMPHrOpT
SP - 261
VL - 60
IS - 2
DP - DeepDyve
ER -