History at the Movies: The Early Modern Years

Ken Hughes’ 1970 epic film Cromwell poses numerous problems as a depiction of history, specifically the period of the English Civil War. Hughes attempts to explore the causes, events and personalities of the Civil War and its aftermath, from the recall of Parliament in 1640 to the dissolution of the Rump Parliament in 1653, but his attempt at a true depiction is hampered by the very nature of the film. As the title indicates, this is a film about Cromwell, but in his attempt to explore the Civil War period in its entirety, Hughes not only heavily edits historical events but fictionalises a great deal to make Cromwell a prime figure in the Parliamentarian movement from the outset. The context of the period when the film was made is also important to its content and the reinterpretation of history contained therein. Hughes attempts to make a series of points about revolution and the betrayal of revolution from within, perhaps apposite in the bitter aftermath of the 1960s and the age of supposedly egalitarian revolutions turning into military dictatorships.

In keeping with the general ‘great man’ approach to history that permeates cinema, Cromwell paints a picture of the Civil War that focuses primarily on a handful of key figures, portrayed by the stars as ‘major historical agents…lending the past a present stature, attributing its production to select individuals’ [1] . Although this overall framework for the Civil War is arguably wholly correct – a conflict between a king and a Parliament led by a number of important figures – it is a gross oversimplification of a war that drew in an entire nation. This is particularly true as Hughes attempts to trim the entire war down to a personal conflict between Charles I and Cromwell alone.

From the very beginning of the film Cromwell is given a far more pre-eminent role in the lead-up and conduct of the war than that which he occupied. Although the real Cromwell was a little known backbencher before the war and was not really involved in its ignition, Hughes places him as a personal friend of John Pym, the leader of the Parliamentary opposition, and makes him deeply involved in the start of war. This factor also leads to an early meeting between king and Cromwell, where Cromwell berates his monarch on the need for England to become a democracy, an anachronistic notion to put into Cromwell’s mouth. This confrontation supposedly leads directly to the attempted arrest of the Five Members, including Cromwell, who remains in he House when his compatriots flee and sparks the Civil War off. Cromwell was not one of the Five Members, all of whom fled the House before the king’s arrival, and the incident occurred when the war was still several months in the future. Hughes condenses the complex issues surrounding the start of the war into a convenient package fought out between Cromwell and the king personally, Cromwell being placed as the main war leader of the Parliament and thus supplanting Sir Thomas Fairfax, who in fact commanded until the end of the First Civil War.

More to the point, even these simplified issues are secondary to the individuals involved. As is usual with many depictions of the great events in history, Hughes focuses entirely on the relationship between the main protagonists and their motivations; hence the inordinately prevalent position of Cromwell and his personal relationship with virtually every important figure of the period, often to the detriment of other important figures such as Thomas Fairfax, who is side-lined and eventually vilified, John Pym and Henry Ireton. As Bordwell indicates, this is due to an audience expectation that the film must contain ‘psychologically defined individuals…[who] enter into conflict with others…The principal causal agency is thus the character’ [2]

It is in the depiction of these figures where such strengths the film has lies, although it is ironic that the most accurate depiction is that of Charles I, ably portrayed by Sir Alec Guinness. Considering the nature and subject of the film, focusing as it does on a glorification of Cromwell, Charles is remarkably sympathetically portrayed. The film captures his weak and indecisive nature, how he was strongly influenced by his counsellors and particularly his strong-willed wife. He is a man keenly aware of his position as a monarch appointed by God, driven to do anything to preserve the dignity of that position not because he is greedy for power but because, as a king, he can not compromise. At the same time he is a deeply human man, Guinness’ portrayal bringing this out particularly towards the end of the film, particularly in the scenes involving his wife and his children, where real affection is apparent.

Guinness’ Charles contrasts well with Harris’ Cromwell, a driven and ruthless man filled with religious zeal. His conscience forces him into a course he does not wish when circumstance intervenes, first of all in his return to Parliament after his tenants are brutalised, then into war when compromise is no longer possible, then finally into executing the king when he will not come to terms. There is an interesting comparison between the relationships both men have with their families, although Cromwell demonstrates his affection for his grown children in a different way to Charles, and the sense of both of fighting for their own vision of what England should be demonstrates further points of comparison. Hughes conveniently excludes a lot of the darker points of Cromwell’s character, the lengths to which his religious zeal led him, particularly in the Second Civil War and in Ireland, both areas of conflict being completely skipped in the narrative of the film, but which demonstrated more fully the nature of his character and his religious views.

Indeed, the film serves as more of an apology for Cromwell than any real exploration of his complex and torn character or the issues of the Civil War. Circumstance and the machinations of others drive him to the lengths he unwillingly goes to. Hughes seeks to explain the fact that having fought for liberty from a perceived religious tyranny, he ends up enforcing his own military dictatorship by suggesting that it was forced by the incompetence and greed of the Rump Parliament, not through any real desire on his part. Indeed, he previously turns down the offer of the crown made by Henry Ireton, on the grounds that England needs a king, an opinion he subscribes to at the beginning of the film. The institution of the Protectorate, then, is shown as being forced by absolute necessity, and moreover it will be a ‘benevolent dictatorship’ which will provide schools and universities – distinctly 20^th century rhetoric – and a proud, prosperous, God-fearing nation.

Although it is demonstrable that the incompetence of the Rump led to Cromwell’s ejection of it and his installation as Lord Protector, its members are overly vilified, particularly Sir Thomas Fairfax, in order to make Cromwell’s actions appear righteous. This last section of the film, particularly Cromwell’s closing monologue to the camera and the narrated epilogue, could very well have more to do with the social situation in 1970 than with the history of the Civil War. Hughes wrote and directed this film in the bitter aftermath of the so-called ‘heavenly decade’ in the 1960s, a revolutionary time which was many felt was supposed to change the nature of not only Britain but the world. By 1970 such idealistic pretensions were beginning to fade, and such revolutions as had occurred were slipping into increasingly brutal military dictatorships not wholly dissimilar to that of Cromwell’s which Hughes attempts to excuse. Although there is little evidence of a social agenda in most of Hughes’ other works (which include Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Casino Royale and Of Human Bondage [3] ), there can be discerned a very definite attempt to explain the failure of the 1960s revolutionary spirit and the vaunted Labour government of Wilson by explaining the failure of the English Revolution through being an internal betrayal which forced into being a brutal military tyranny.

The dangers of this style of film-making which is overly influenced by its contemporary context is amply demonstrated by a tradition of viewer commentary. This sees the film as being ‘mostly accurate…[with] a few flaws’, describing it as being ‘an interesting and mostly factual look at the English Civil War’ [4] . The film has a great many flaws, which few non-historians would ever recognise, dressed in a surface gloss of historical accuracy, particularly in the accurate portrayal of the trial of Charles and the slightly clumsy introduction of some of the issues involved, such as the Laudian altar decoration and the influence of the Scots and Irish issue. The film has thus misinformed entire generations of filmgoers about a seminal event in English history, turning a complex war into a celebration of a single individual involved in it.

Bibliography:

Barry Coward, Oliver Cromwell, Longman (1991).

Vivian Sobchak, ‘”Surge and Splendour”: A Phenomenology of the Hollywood Historical Epic’, in B.K. Grant (ed.), Film Genre Reader II, University of Texas (1995).

John Belton, Movies and Mass Culture, Athlone (1996).

John Walker, Halliwell’s Who’s Who in the Movies, Harper Collins (1999).

http://www/epinions.com

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