Review: The VIPs (1963)

 I went into this for a project I was doing on best supporting actress winners (Margaret Rutherford), but I stayed because I love a good ensemble film.

The film follows four storylines: A dramatic love triangle involving a woman (Elizabeth Taylor) who is planning on leaving her husband (Richard Burton) for an idle playboy (Louis Jordan) but wants to dodge confrontation through a Dear John note; a Yugoslavian director (Orson Welles) needing to leave England to dodge tax laws; an Australian magnate (Rod Taylor) with assistant (a not-yet-famous Maggie Smith) who needs to head to the board of directors before his company is bought out; and a loopy Duchess (Margaret Rutherford) who is trying to raise money to save her castle.

Unlike most ensemble dramas where there are a lot of intersecting characters, there's an urgent need for everyone to go in the same direction which is out of London's Heathrow airport which means the tension gets ratcheted up to 11 in one foul sweep, when a case of fog (this is a thing?!) delays all flights.

The film is at its most compelling when focusing on the Burton/Taylor/Jordan plot which has enough heft to support its own dramatic mid-century melodrama like the Douglas Sirk or Elia Kazan film.

Burton and Taylor were a tabloid phenomenon on screen and the pair had just come out of a film shoot where they just discovered each other's bodies (TCM reported that this film was rushed into production to capitalize on the tabloid). It was over the shoot of this film that an internally tortured Burton decided to leave his wife and marry Taylor: An idealized glamour that six other men had fallen under the spell of over the course of Taylor's life. It's not hard to imagine how viewers in 1963 felt watching the two act out a heated marriage spat felt like a glimpse of the tumultuous affair between two of the most beautiful and idolized people on the planet.

But the scene-stealer here is Louis Jordan. Referred to as a "gigolo" by a jealous Richard Burton, he's the kind of idle gentleman who casually walks through life bedding women and never thinking about his next meal. He's a gambler as if there's any profession cooler than that. He's properly vulnerable with Liz Taylor and he shows an intriguing splitting of the difference between empathy and verbal one-upmanship to the man whose wife he's stealing.

The Australian magnate plot is a solid B-story with the contrasting sense of gravity by Maggie Smith (another scene stealer) and the "Oh well, my life's over, might as well have champagne" attitude of Rod Taylor. There are a couple sweet twists and the story feels emotionally robust.

The Orson Welles and Margaret Rutherford plots are mostly filler. Welles dons an Eastern European accent and some fine character affectations and Rutherford shows a penchant for physical comedy as she constantly looks lost and fiddles with her hat a lot.

The upsetting thing is with the richness of the performances of Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, Louis Jordan, and Maggie Smith, Rutherford walked away with the 1963 Best Supporting Actress Oscar. Still, I'm glad this film won an Oscar of some sort so I had the chance to discover it.