The Hippopotamus versus Alone

Physical schtick inexpertly filmed: The Hippopotamus

John Jencks' The Hippopotamus, based on the novel by Stephen Fry, concerns a besotted poet investigating a series of miraculous events at an English country estate. As a film, The Hippopotamus is something of a botch. Jencks' comic timing is off. He misframes the pratfalls and ends up undermining the possible hilarity. The film tells you rather than shows you the tale. This actually works in the viewers' favor because the narration by Roger Allan, as the poet, is wickedly droll. On the other hand, a blind man could enjoy this film every bit as much as I did. The film at least preserves Fry's tone which is similar to the acerbic wit and misanthropy of Evelyn Waugh, Kingsley Amis, Fay Weldon and Tom Sharpe. If you are into this sort of thing, Allan's work is reason enough to see the film. The cast is overall fine, particularly Tommy Knight who plays the supposed miracle worker.

John Hyams' Alone shows you the story instead of having a character tell you what is going on and is a better film than The Hippopotamus because of it. The film has an overly familiar scenario: a single woman trapped and menaced by a serial killer. Fortunately, Hyams' approach is lean and efficient. The wordless first reel captures well the woman's plight as she tries to escape her unhappy past by venturing into the foreboding Oregon woods. Jules Willcox and Marc Menchaca play well as mouse and cat, respectively. Menchaca is particularly memorable as an embodiment of the banality of evil, Orygun style. Alone is more of a technical exercise than a fully rounded film, but I appreciated its well-tuned mechanics. 

On the run: Jules Willcox in Alone