The one-and-done directorial debut that sparkles with audacity and risqué humour

While theatrical adaptations have long been a staple of British cinema, Clive Brook’s 1944 feature On Approval injected the form with an ingenuity that makes it unique. Producers were keen to film successful plays as they had built-in marketing value, but translating a largely static, dialogue-driven form to the screen presented problems that very few writers tackled with sufficient creativeness to break free of its limitations.

On Approval’s humour and inventiveness makes it one of the most satisfying cinematic re-imaginings of a popular play ever produced: a “weird, wild, totally unpredictable fantasy” as one commentator described it. Yet there were so many setbacks during its production that it’s a miracle that it got made.

The film was conceived in late 1942, when Brook, in search of a co-producer, approached Sydney Box with the idea. Brook was a successful stage and screen actor best known for playing stiff-upper-lip British military types. He felt that appearing in a film version of Frederick Lonsdale’s play about two couples who conduct trial marriages would allow him to demonstrate his skill at light comedy.

A script was written by Terence Young (who famously went on to direct three James Bond films in the 1960s), and Brian Desmond Hurst was contracted to direct, with Günther Krampf on camera. Krampf was a skilled lighting cameraman, but, after a week of shooting, Brook was frustrated by the length of time his set-ups were taking and both Hurst and Krampf were sacked. As Sydney’s wife Muriel Box recorded, they “were creating a pace breathtaking in its slowness, reminiscent of the Cabinet of Dr Caligari”.

After Hurst had been paid off, there was no money for another director, so Brook, despite never having directed before, took over. Filming restarted with cameraman Claude Friese-Greene, son of cinema pioneer and inventor William Friese-Greene.

Brook’s first decision was to shift the period of the film from the 1920s, when the play was set, back to the very end of the 19th century. This transposition to the ‘naughty ’90s’ added a frisson, as well as distancing the rather risqué storyline from the present moment, when cohabitation was still very much frowned upon. It also tapped in to the newly won financial independence women had gained through the Married Women’s Property Act in 1882, as both the female characters in the film are independently wealthy and thus hold the power over the men.

This period change necessitated a whole new set of costumes, and it just so happened that Cecil Beaton was at a loose end and was drafted in to create them. Beaton went on to win three Academy Awards for his designs and became an official royal photographer, but even at this point in his career he was one of the foremost arbiters of style in British society.

Brook must be credited with the film’s sheer audacity; perhaps as a first-time director he was less hampered by established narrative approaches. After it had been shot, he constructed a hilarious opening sequence that mimicked the popular newsreel style and invited the audience to travel back in time to a gentler age. He also uses direct address to the camera and even created some bizarre dream sequences, which one critic compared to the work of surrealist Luis Buñuel.

Brook even used his own London townhouse as the location for some scenes, although most of the filming was done in the studio. While the production started off in the well-appointed facilities at Denham, cast and crew moved to the tiny studio at Merton Park when money got tight.

The film’s comedy is surprisingly modern. The newsreel spoof is narrated in a tongue-in-cheek tone by E.V.H. Emmett, instantly recognisable to audiences of the time as the voice of Gaumont British News. The satirical use of this authoritative narration shows that wartime Brits were perfectly able to laugh at themselves decades before The Fast Show took to mocking them.

The opening montage signals that what we are watching is pure artifice, and implies the presence of an omnipotent narrator who chooses on a whim to take us back to the period setting. It’s a superb device that sets the audience up for the ensuing craziness, and makes it all the more regrettable that Brook didn’t direct any more films.

It’s highly likely that the experience of making On Approval was what put him off the cinema for good. The film was due to be released in 1943, but Rank, having no idea how to market it, shelved it for a year, and it didn’t reach cinemas until March 1944. But, as often happens with films that don’t fit a mould, On Approval found its audience and critics were delighted with its inspired, quirky humour.

Another reason to value this film is as a record of a performer once dubbed the funniest woman in the world but barely remembered today. Beatrice Lillie was a huge star of stage revue, and had been a favourite of the troops during World War I, but only made a handful of films. In 1920 she had married a baronet, gaining a title but no wealth, but soon bored of domestic life and returned to the stage. She became a celebrated comedienne, often performing the songs of her close friend Noël Coward. Lillie fitted in the filming of On Approval between a constant round of touring, once again entertaining the troops engaged in another world war. In the 1950s she developed a hugely successful one-woman show.

Lillie is a joy to watch, especially as part of the perfect ensemble formed by Brook, Roland Culver and Googie Withers, as the two couples who scandalise the servants by cohabiting to see if they get on. The cast work together beautifully, no doubt thanks to Brook’s expert direction.

This film has long been preserved at the BFI National Archive; in fact Brook’s personal 16mm print came to the collection in 1968, along with a nitrate duplicate negative that he had held on to. The BFI also holds elements with German titles and narration; this was presumably for a post-war release, as it’s hard to imagine the film would have reached the screen there in 1944. The archive made a viewing print from a nitrate element in 1995, and the film is also available to rent on BFI Player.