For Whom the Belles Toll

The usual suspects were on hand for Thanksgiving at my house, which this year also happened to fall on my birthday. 18 altogether of friends and family were there, though a few left early while a few others arrived late so 14 was the maximum at any one moment. The standard advice to avoid politics on such occasions is sound, and was very nearly obeyed. It was “very nearly” rather than “entirely” only because food itself is political nowadays. I suppose it always has been to some degree, but it is more fiercely so today. Enough tolerance was demonstrated all around to keep things mostly congenial however. There were dishes on hand for vegans and carnivores alike. (I’m unabashedly one of the latter.) It was nice to catch up with everybody in person rather than through social media. Remarkably, no one at the table had a nose in a phone. That was nice, too.

When the table was cleared, the fridge filled with leftovers, the sink left for later, and the guests departed, the question arose of how to employ the time before the arrival of the sandman. “Turkey coma” is something of a misnomer, since I always have been exceedingly awake after over-indulging in poultry, sides, and desserts. It is true, though that I’m not ever motivated to do anything useful in that condition. A movie was the obvious answer. Two 20-something friends have been rewatching all the Harry Potter movies the past week because the films remind them of what they charmingly and without sense of irony call their youth. This brought to my mind another flick set in a British school: The Belles of St. Trinian’s (1954).

My first instinct was to recommend the movie to the two Millennials, but first instincts are not always wise. If they were, enough intelligence for second thoughts never would have evolved in hominins. That’s not to say we often make use of it. I’ve made the mistake before of trying to introduce favorite books and films to people for whom they were unsuited, only to bore the recipients to tears. No snobbery is intended by “unsuited”: few of those recommendations were highbrow, and I’ve received my share of recommendations for which I was unsuited, too. When it comes to classic films (“classic” in the sense of older than the 1990s rather than necessarily “great” or even good), young people generally have to find their own way to them. They can’t be pushed, or they will dislike them on principle. So, as quiet returned to the house Thursday evening I spun up the DVD for myself.

Ronald Searle infused his 1940s cartoons with a dark humor much of a kind with that of Charles Addams. The hellion schoolgirls of St. Trinian’s were a recurring subject for him. Searle is not as well-known today on this side of the pond as he was during what I call (with quite proper lack of irony) my youth. Back then The Belles of St. Trinian’s and its sequels aired frequently on television. They haven’t for the past few decades, and the 2007 St. Trinian’s sank like a stone. Searle is worth rediscovering. He occupies a space on my shelf next to Addams. The 1954 movie remains the definitive adaptation, and if you have found your own way to classic films but haven’t yet seen this one, do yourself a favor and do so.

Alistair Sim is marvelous in a dual role as the headmistress Millicent Fritton and as her underworld brother Clarence. Millicent describes her educational philosophy thus: “in other schools girls are sent out quite unprepared into a merciless world, but when our girls leave here, it is the merciless world which has to be prepared.” The plot involves a race horse owned a sultan father of new student: he had chosen St. Trinian’s for her only because it was near his horses. Millicent hatches a scheme to rescue the near-bankrupt school by betting on the horse though Clarence and the Sixth Form girls have contrary plans. In a subplot, police Sgt. Ruby Gates (Joyce Grenfell) goes undercover as a substitute teacher to uncover illegal activities at the school. There is a thoroughly enjoyable celebration of anarchy throughout the film. Keep in mind it is 1954, and the flick is intended to be kid-friendly, so don’t expect Quentin Tarantino, but it is still as much fun to watch as it was when I first saw it decades ago. It wrapped up my Thursday nicely.

Field hockey at St. Trinian’s