SEPARATE TABLES - THE MOVIE (1958)

SEPARATE TABLES. - THE MGM VERSION

Released as long ago as 1958, SEPARATE TABLES was one of Burt Lancaster’s respectable efforts.  With the help of his earnings from major studios, he set up a production company with producer Harold Hecht, dedicated to producing mood- or lower-budget material containing a raft of stars.

SEPARATE TABLES is a good example.  It has already been produced with notable success in the West End of London and on Broadway, and for the film version Lancaster hired four stars to dream of - himself and Rita Hayworth for the companion-piece and Dav;d Niven and Deborah Kerr for TABLE NUMBER SEVEN.  The supporting cast for both plsys in their film lncluded Gladys Cooper , Felix Aylmer and Claire Bloom.  Two of the major stars were American, the other two were US-based.  The support cast comprised a mixture of British imports and British expats in the US.

Filming was done in Hollywood on a nondescript setting that had all Tighe jewselry and Knick-knacks characteristic;c of a British hotel, but had the space of its American counterpart.  This gave Delbert Mann the chance to integrate the action of the two playas, while giving each a separate room to continue their discussions in.

The most noteworthy aspect of the production is that Niven and Kerr are cast against type in their roles.  As the Major, Niven cultivates a pleasant, affable personality, wishing all the guests good day while telling anyone who would listen about his public school and army officer career. The only trouble is that ever piece of information is false: the Major is not a major at all, but a corporal who worked in the NAAFI close to home rather than fighting out in North Africa as he claims.    The bonhomie that we normally associate with Niven’s characters in movies is false: in truth (as he admits to Sibyl) he has no confidence in himself at all.

Sibylle has similar problems: continually dominated by her mother (Gladys Cooper) she sits meekly in the corner while her mother pontificates as her mother pronounced on everything and expects nothing but agreement from Sibyl.  As someone recovering from a nervous breakdown, Sibyl lacks any power of resistance.  In one argumentative sequence she rushes out of the living-room to lie down on her own.  Kerr plays Sibyl as a girl of minimal speech, who keeps looking down at her hands.  Sometimes she plays with a handkerchief, but doesn’t want anyone to see what she is doing.

At last she and the major contrive to find some time away from the rest of the group, and we learn the real reason for the major’s eccentric behaviour.  It turns out he has an unsuppressed desire to interfere with young women in the cinema, and has been taken to court and fined as a result.  Mindful of the effect such news would have on his reputation, the Major cultivates an aggressively masculine mode of conversation, while doing his best to ensure that Mrs. Ailton-Bell, Sibyl’s mother, doesn’t get to read it.  Yet all this subterfuge turns to nothing: the residents find out about the Major’s calumny and ostracise him.  His scene alone with Sibyl is perhaps the last chance he will have to tell the truth about himself.

Niven was never an emotional actor: on the contrary he played characters with stiff upper lips who tried their best to conceal their feelings from others.  Faced with an entirely opposite role here, he copes brilliantly with the situation, starting off with a smile, as usual, but ending up in tears in public, perhaps for the first time.  He knows what’s wrong, but admits to such shyness that he cannot think of treating women compassionately.  He likes women, but cannot get along with them.  For the first time in the drama Niven appears disheveled, his immaculately pressed jacket awry, his tie hanging down limply - just like the lower middle-class person he actually is.

We know Niven has done wrong, but at the same time realize just how much mental pain he has undergone as a result of his mental infirmity.  He is to be listened to, and helped out of his condition rather than rejected.  But Sibyl seems entirely the wrong person to listen to his complaints - sat mousily in the most anonymous looking chair, she doesn’t even look at him, almost as if the material were too X-rated for her innocent ears.  But Lancaster - as director - proves us wrong: as Niven continues, Sibyl understands the Major’s need for emotional support, even if it is only in the form of a sympathetic voice.  The two look one another in the eye for a few moments in a significant gesture: it’s the first time in the entire film they have connected in this way.  We listen to them talking: the majority of the conversation is unimportant, but the fact they are exchanging views is highly significant.

Yet the Major still believes that he has to leave the hotel for good, despite the owner’s (Claire Bloom’s) blandishments.  We observing him walking on his own slowly up the stairs to his miserable room, packing his few belongings into his suitcase and taking it downstairs.  He enters the breakfast-room alone, with the other guests sitting in silence, munching their way through tea, toast, eggs and bacon.  The waitress, in a tone of enforced jollity, orders the Major’s breakfast and leaves.

There is a further pause — and then one by one the guests take it in turns to speak to the Major.  The subjects are banal - the local racing tips, Sussex doing well at cricket, the possibility of going for a walk in the afternoon — but the context means everything, showing that they are prepared to forgive the Major snd let him stay, if he should so wish.  Incensed, Mrs. RAilton-Brown gets up from the table and prepares to leave the room, ordering Sibyl to go with her immediately.   But Sibyl refuses, preferring to finish her breakfast instead. Her first active decision to rebel is a significant one, proving that she has no particular dislike of the Major, despite his past.  The owner comes in at al electric moment, with everyone fearing what will happen next.  She defuses the situation by going directly up to the Major and speaking to him, much to Mrs. Railton-Bell’s displeasure.   All Mrs Railton-Bell can do is got storm out and go to her room, alone and defeated.

The room returns to its tranquil calm, with the Major continuing to eat and his fellow-guests continuing not to talk much to one another, but obviously happy in one another’s company, especially now Mrs. Railton-Bell has disappeared. 

Nothing much happens in TABLE NUMBER SEVEN, except for the two male protagonists disclosing their various pasts.  But that’s the basic point: no one can escape their pasts, and the way to deal with them is to confront them, however unsavoury they might be.  By doing so the Major learns the virtues of truth rather than simply trying to cover things up: it may not be much, but he has shown great character in telling Sibyl everything.  Like Niven himself, he has shown tremendous the bravery in doing something he had not done before to the best of his ability, and discovered that no one really worries about it.  On the contrary they admire him for his pluck.

The play has to do with emotional discovery, while suggesting that it’s not just the Major and Sibyl suffering from emotional inadequacies, but most of the residents as well.  It’s just how you deal with them, that’s all.