I have been strongly opposed to the death penalty for a few decades now and can’t imagine my opinion changing. It bewilders me when people express outrage over the cost to incarcerate a person for life, when I am more worried about the possibility of an action being taken against a person which cannot possibly be reversed. As I write this, I find it bad enough immigrants are being expelled from the U.S. to some of the worst places on Earth and without habeas corpus. Still, there is more potential to undo that wrong than when all you have is corpus.
In this regard, I am in complete agreement with 1957’s Time Without Pity, not be confused with 1961’s Town Without Pity nor the Clown Without Pity segment of the third Treehouse of Terror episode of The Simpsons. Unfortunately, this UK production is thoroughly didactic in its approach, and the subject shoehorned in so blatantly as to have me questioning my stance.
The plot has Alec McCowen on death row with only a day left until he ascends the gallows, and father Michael Redgrave’s attempt to get a stay of execution however possible. Ideally, Redgrave will find the true killer of McCowan’s girlfriend Christina Lubicz, whom his son has been convicted of murdering.
From the very first few seconds of the runtime, we already know there won’t be a mystery as to who is that murderer, because we see Leo McKern just after he has committed the act. In this regard, it is a bit like an episode of Columbo. But Redgrave isn’t Lieutenant Columbo and is instead an alcoholic would-be writer (as regards the book he never got around to writing: “I was about to write it for a very long time”) who has been in a Canadian sanatorium until this very day. While there, they wouldn’t let him read his mail or even the magazines sent him, one of which has a MacGuffin of a letter which had been shoved between the pages of it.
When we aren’t thrilling to such scenes as phone calls made to, and received from, Canada, we get Redgrave pushing his way into places he doesn’t belong. Not that I can blame him, given what’s at stake, but it was strange to see him just barge his way into the apartment of McKern’s family and into each member’s bedroom. He is there because this is where the murder happened, and McKern’s adopted son Paul Daneman was McCowan’s best friend. But Redgrave proceeds to do such unusual things as rifling through the drawers of Ann Todd, Daneman’s step-mother, and taking the gun he finds there.
He also curiously feels entitled to know who Lois Maxwell is and why she dropped by the apartment. We will learn she was McKern’s secretary and possibly something on the side. Regardless of who she is, what we are shown doesn’t give him any right or reason to pursue her as somebody who might be of assistance in his efforts to free his son. He will go so far as to interrogate Maxwell’s mother (Renee Houston), who has been doing some serious day drinking and who derives an odd enjoyment from the sound of several alarm clocks going off simultaneously. I can’t imagine anybody deriving pleasure from that cacophony, let alone some body who is drunk.
Redgrave’s hysterics reach a fever pitch that frequently made me laugh, only to immediately find myself embarrassed that I had done so. He is often matched by McCowan, who has a complete freakout near the end that is astonishing in its extremity. And here I thought the Brits were always supposed to be reserved, the stiff upper lip and all that.
The rest of the cast is more reserved, though still a bit cartoonish. McKern plays far too broadly, possibly just to ensure he can hold the screen against Redgrave. Todd comes across the best, if only because her character is so uptight as to seem emotionally stunted. Maxwell goes over-the-top as Kern’s scheming ex-secretary. Peter Cushing, yet to be a star, tries to keep the picture grounded as McCowan’s lawyer, a minor role which has almost no opportunities for embellishment. To my considerable surprise, Joan Plowright has a bit part as a chorus girl and sister of the deceased. She is younger, and wearing far less clothing, than I ever seen her before.
The director is Joseph Losey’s first film under his own name since taking refuge in the UK after refusing to an answer a summons from the House of Un-American Activities committee. I wasn’t surprised he directed this, given the melodramatic elements of later features like The Servant and Accident, but was startled by how artlessly he handles that aspect of this movie. It is almost like he was afraid to reign in any of the actors, and so most of them pitch their performances at the rafters. Also, it is rather sloppy filmmaking at times, such a jaw-dropping gaffe when the entire crew is reflected in a car door.
The film isn’t helped by an overbearing score, which frequently provides unnecessary clatter when a scene demands silence. Maybe some of the overrating is because the cast was trying to be heard over the music.
It feels strange to so thoroughly dislike Time Without Pity while being in complete agreement with its core belief. I felt like I was being preached to, when I was already on its side. And it isn’t like it will change the minds of anybody not already opposed to capital punishment. Didactic and overwrought, I just looked forward to it ending, so I wouldn’t have to endure any more shouting. Maybe somebody would need to be drunk as Maxwell’s mother to enjoy this, as a great number of alarm clocks going off simultaneously might be an improvement.
Dir: Joseph Losey
Starring Michael Redgrave, Ann Todd, Leo McKern
Watched on Powerhouse/Indicator US blu-ray