The Angel Wore Red (1960) ***

Given that this is filmed in black-and-white, it seems a curious title. So I’m assuming the color is a reference to a scarlet woman which, indeed, Ava Gardner (Mayerling, 1968) is, working in a “cabaret” in an unnamed town at the start of the Spanish Civil War. Strangely enough, the decision to shoot in black-and-white works in the actress’s favor. She was one of the last relics of the Hollywood Golden Age when brilliant cinematographers used innovative lighting to capture on screen not so much great beauty but tantalizing emotion.

The close-up was almost exclusively the preserve of actresses who could convey deep feeling with minute changes of expression or simply through their eyes. Here, a couple of joint close-ups prove the point: Gardner’s face illuminated, even in repose struggling to contain passion; that of lover Dirk Bogarde (Victim, 1961) merely the same as always.  

This Italian-American production is a curiosity, part homily, part reverential, part brutal. Arturo (Dirk Bogarde) is a priest on the run from the invading Communist forces. He takes refuge in a cabaret (code for brothel) where he is sheltered by Soedad (Ava Gardner). He has just denounced his faith so when captured is not executed as an enemy of the state, thus allowing him to begin a relationship with her.

They share an unusual type of innocence, Soledad because, as what was known in those days as a woman of easy virtue, she has never known true love, Arturo, for obvious reasons, denied such an emotion. Their trembling acceptance of this wondrous state of affairs is the beauty of the film.

The love story which would surely in any case have a tragic outcome unfortunately too often plays second fiddle to a subsidiary tale of safeguarding a sacred relic – about whose importance, strangely enough, both sides are agreed – and of arguments between various other political elements over the conflict. Hawthorne ( Joseph Cotton), a cynical journalist – are there any other kind? – bears testimony to the opposing perspectives while no-nonsense General Clave (Vittorio de Sica) deplores the “dirty” war. Neither side comes out well in the conflict the Communists, like a mob storming Dracula’s castle, destroy the cathedral, the Republicans committed to killing all prisoners so as not to hold up their advance. Only the clergy retain their principles even when tortured. 

No one can portray a fallen woman like Gardner, but even as a mature woman her steps towards true love are hesitant, almost believing it is tucked away beyond the rainbow way out of reach, while inner conflict had become central to the Bogarde screen persona.

Writer-director Nunnally Johnson (The Three Faces of Eve, 1957), in his final movie in the hyphenate capacity, had good reason for choosing to film in black-and white – it permitted use of newsreel footage of diving Stuka bombers and more importantly since much of the story takes place at night it creates a haunted background of dark alleys. Color would have destroyed such a vision. You could argue there is artistic purpose here, filming a country which has fallen into a state of spiritual darkness. But that would not be true of the star – black-and-white allows rare opportunity to show what the camera adores in Ava Gardner, her face, even in repose, absorbing the light, as if she were, indeed, redemption. 

A film that doesn’t take sides with characters caught in the middle can’t quite make up its mind where it wants to go.   

Garner rather than Bogarde is the reason to see it.