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WSWS : Arts
Review
Actor Dirk Bogarde dead at 78
By David Walsh
13 May 1999
British film actor Dirk Bogarde died of a heart attack in London
Saturday at the age of 78. He had suffered a serious stroke, which
disabled him, a year before. Anyone concerned with art in film
will mourn his passing.
The future actor was born Derek Niven van den Bogaerde. His
father, of Belgian origin, was art editor of the Times
of London; his mother had been an actress. Bogarde grew up in
a milieu of artists, journalists and actors.
For a brief time Bogarde attended art school, where he was
taught by Henry Moore, among others. He first found work in the
theater in 1939, but was called up by the army the same year.
The world war had a significant impact on him. He was involved
in the Normandy invasion and visited the Belsen concentration
camp shortly after its liberation. "At twenty-four, the age
I was then," he wrote in one of the volumes of his autobiography,
"deep shock stays registered forever. An internal tattooing
which is removable only by surgery, it cannot be conveniently
sponged away by time."
Bogarde's first leading role in a film came in 1948. With the
help of his talent and good looks, the actor became something
of a matinee idol. In the mid-1950s he was Britain's number one
box office draw, starring in the comic "Doctor in the House"
series. Bogarde also spent an unhappy period in Hollywood, where
he starred as Franz Liszt in Song Without End (1960). (He
later satirized life in Hollywood in his novel, West of Sunset.)
Bogarde, ironically considered "the British Rock Hudson"
at the time, made a remarkable decision in the early 1960s, one
which not very many film stars make: to abandon a successful and
lucrative career in the commercial cinema and devote himself to
more complex works. The film that signaled a significant shift
in Bogarde's work was Basil Dearden's Victim (1961), the
first British film to deal with the problems of gay men in public
life. He alienated some of his erstwhile admirers as a result
of his performance.
Joseph Losey's The Servant (1963), based on the script
by Harold Pinter, represented a turning point in Bogarde's artistic
career. The actor played a vengeful, malevolent servant to James
Fox's bewildered young aristocrat. No one who has seen the film
can forget the disturbing pleasure Bogarde takes in cruelly destroying
his master.
Bogarde went on to make several more films with American expatriate
and blacklist victim Losey, King and Country (1964), Modesty
Blaise (1966) and Accident (1967). He also starred
with Julie Christie in Darling (1965) for John Schlesinger.
By this time Bogarde was perhaps Britain's most serious international
film performer. He had the opportunity to work with the great
Italian director, Luchino Visconti, on two films. The Damned
(1969) is a remarkable study of a family of German industrialists,
its psychic disintegration and embrace of Nazism. Bogarde was
brilliant as Gustav von Aschenbach, the aging, dying composer
in love with a young boy and with beauty itself, in Visconti's
extraordinary adaptation of Thomas Mann's Death in Venice.
In his autobiography, Bogarde recounts the story, told him
by Visconti, of the first screening of Death in Venice
for "the American Money," i.e., a room full of studio
executives. "[W]hen the lights went up in the Los Angeles
projection room," Bogarde writes, "there was not a sound,
and no one moved. Visconti said that this encouraged him enormously:
obviously they had been caught up in the great emotional finale
of the film.
"Not at all. Apparently they were stunned into horrified
silence.
"No one spoke. Some cleared their throats uneasily, one
lit a cigar. A group of slumped nylon-suited men stared dully
at the blank screen.
"Feeling perhaps that someone ought to say something,
anything, a nervous man in glasses, got to his feet.
"'Well: I think the music is great. Just great. It's a
terrific theme. Terrific! Who was it did your score, Signore Visconti?'
"Grateful that anyone had shown the remotest interest
in his film, Visconti said that the music had been written by
Gustav Mahler.
"'Just great!' said the nervous man. 'I think we should
sign him.'"
In 1973, Bogarde returned to the theme of German fascism in
The Night Porter, directed by Liliana Cavani, playing an
ex-SS officer who encounters the daughter of an Austrian Socialist.
He co-starred with John Gielgud in Alain Resnais' Providence,
based on a script by David Mercer, in 1976.
Bogarde had moved to Provence in southern France in 1968 with
his manager and long-time companion, Anthony Forwood. He worked
less and less in films, describing the majority of the scripts
he was offered as "crap," and began to write. He would
eventually write seven autobiographical works and seven novels.
Bogarde wrote wonderfully about his own life.
In 1977 he was lured back into filmmaking by the prospect of
working on German director Rainer Werner Fassbinder's version
of Vladimir Nabokov's Despair, scripted by Tom Stoppard.
This proved a happy choice. Bogarde did excellent work for Fassbinder
as a German businessman in the 1930s who chooses to go mad in
the face of an impossible social and personal situation.
Bogarde wrote about the experience: "Rainer's work was
extraordinarily similar to that of Visconti's; despite their age
difference, they both behaved, on set, in much the same manner.
Both had an incredible knowledge of the camera: the first essential.
Both knew how it could be made to function; they had the same
feeling for movement on the screen, of the all-important (and
often-neglected) 'pacing' of a film, from start to finish, of
composition, of texture, and probably most of all they shared
that strange ability to explore and probe into the very depths
of the character which one had offered them."
After Despair, the actor made only four subsequent appearances
on screen, two of them in television productions. Daddy Nostalgia
(1990), directed by Bertrand Tavernier, was his last feature film.
He moved back to London in the 1980s when Forwood's cancer required
hospital care; the latter died in 1988.
Toward the end of An Orderly Man (1983), his third autobiographical
work, Bogarde has this to say: "No longer do the great Jewish
dynasties hold power: the people who were, when all is said and
done, the Picture People. Now the cinema is controlled by vast
firms like Xerox, Gulf & Western, and many others who deal
in anything from sanitary-ware to property development. These
huge conglomerates, faceless, soulless, are concerned only with
making a profit; never a work of art ...
"It is pointless to be 'superb' in a commercial failure;
and most of the films which I had deliberately chosen to make
in the last few years were, by and large, just that. Or so I am
always informed by the businessmen. The critics may have liked
them extravagantly, but the distributors shy away from what they
term 'A Critic's Film', for it often means that the public will
stay away. Which, in the mass, they do: and if you don't make
money at the box-office you are not asked back to play again.
"But I'd had a very good innings. Better than most. So
what the hell?"
What one remembers, above all, about Bogarde was the sensitivity
and precision of his expressions and gestures, the obvious high
intelligence of his choices, his relentless artistic commitment.
I don't believe it would be an exaggeration to say that one could
read something about the tortured character of the middle and
late twentieth century in Bogarde's face and body.
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