Waterloo Bridge (1940)
'On Waterloo Bridge where we said our Goodbyes...'
The best view of London, they say, is from Waterloo Bridge. And as, in the 17th and 18th centuries, London shifted westwards, enhanced by the classical, bucolic squares of Covent Garden and St James’s; perhaps the epicentre of London moved too. To Waterloo Bridge. To the east lie the corporate skyscrapers of the City of London, dwarfing St Paul’s cathedral, money replacing faith. But then, perhaps, that was always so: from the coffee houses of St James’s to the counting house of the East India Company in Leadenhall Street (since demolished), where a handful of bureaucrats supervised an extraordinary— and ruthless— operation abroad, and mammon triumphed.
And as London moved to the west, the London docks moved to the east, to Tilbury, which caters for ships of a gigantic size. To the west of Waterloo Bridge lies the Art Deco splendour of Shell Mex House— like something from Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (1927); here Monet painted a fog-bound Waterloo Bridge from the balcony of the Savoy Hotel; Barry’s Palace of Westminster beyond, rising from the mist like a Gothic fantasy: an imagined Albion, even if conceived by Victorian landowners and industrialists.
London Fog is the name of an American raincoat manufacturer, and London will always be associated with the Holmesian pea-souper, for London is a city of mystery and intrigue— even if, today, the fog is a creature of the past, its absence a disappointment to visitors, tourists and hopeless romantics. And bridges, like railway stations, are transient places. Dickens understood this. In Oliver Twist (1838), Nancy meets Mr. Brownlow on the steps close to St Saviour’s Church (Southwark Cathedral) on the Southern bank of the ‘ancient’ London Bridge. And in Little Dorrit (1857), Arthur Clennam meets Amy on the Iron Bridge, as it was then called, the bridge linking the Borough of Southwark with the City of London. Railway stations have a similar romantic ideal, especially in the days of steam; used to great effect in Casablanca (1942), The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964), The Railway Children (1970), and numerous steamy, station farewells in numerous made-for-television movies, and of course, in David Lean’s Brief Encounter (1945). Put it this way, can you imagine Brief Encounter set in a motorway service station?
Which takes us to Waterloo Bridge (1940), Vivien Leigh's magnificent performance and Mervyn LeRoy's fine direction lift a black-and-white melodrama to the status of cinematic Valhalla. A destitute ballet dancer (Viv) turns to prostitution to survive, the result of coincidence, misunderstanding and missed opportunity. This is set against a love affair with a Scottish army officer, played by Robert Taylor, in a part originally intended for Laurence Olivier. Yet there’s a genuine chemistry between the two leading stars— more than understandable on the part of Robert Taylor, as Vivien is stunningly beautiful. The plot, based on the earlier film of 1931 (and play of 1930), is, perhaps, less contrived than one might imagine. In Victorian and Edwardian London, life on the streets was a very real alternative for unfortunate women thrown out of service— without a crucial reference.
And Waterloo Bridge (1940) takes place in foggy Old London Town during the First World War. It's very much a 1940s American reinvention— MGM's fantastic reinterpretation of the Big Smoke, with bizarre 'British' army uniforms (American forage caps and fur-collared Bulgarian overcoats), a chic nightclub straight from Park Avenue (Auld Lang Syne) and a supposed Scottish countryside, flat, swampy and dripping with moss, like a leftover set from Gone with the Wind (1939). The American reinvention of an imagined London is something that we will come across time and time again: in Gaslight (1944), The Picture of Dorian Gray (1945) and Mary Poppins (1964), in My Fair Lady (1964), Midnight Lace (1960) and Footsteps in the Fog (1955). And in Waterloo Bridge, there's no attempt at period dress either: the girls wear fashionable berets like SOE agents in Occupied France. Yet— strangely— as with Quadrophenia (1979) (Inter-City 125s and Renault 5s in the Goldhawk Road)— these curiosities and anachronisms add to the charm.
But it’s also missing the point. Waterloo Bridge is a marvellous film. Vivien Leigh’s at the height of her beauty, with a desperate vulnerability— appealing to both masculine and feminine sensibilities. And she’s a terrific film actress. The camera loves her. Every inch of her. In the scene at Waterloo Station, when she suddenly recognises Taylor, the transformation from coquette to intense sadness is incredibly moving. And the direction is to die for. Vivien, perhaps, never escaped from Gone with the Wind, the film which brought her immense fame. And without giving too much away, the final scene (beautifully edited) is, perhaps, a fitting end for such a vulnerable and sympathetic heroine. Waterloo Bridge makes you understand just how good she is.
‘As long as I gaze on Waterloo sunset I am in paradise…’
I watched Waterloo Bridge (1940) on Amazon Prime Video digital download,, although, if you’re clever, you might be able to find it for free on Vimeo, or a similar streaming platform. As you might expect, it’s also available on DVD and Blu-ray.
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An elegant assessment. Another classic Dickens evocation of a London pea-souper opens BLEAK HOUSE. "Fog everywhere. Fog up the river, where it flows among green aits and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping and the waterside pollutions of a great (and dirty) city. Fog on the Essex marshes, fog on the Kentish heights. Fog creeping into the cabooses of collier-brigs; fog lying out on the yards, and hovering in the rigging of great ships; fog drooping on the gunwales of barges and small boats...."
Indeed. "I am in paradise"