Joseph Losey’s The Servant (1963) delves into class conflict with piercingly economical incisions. The most salacious elements of the story are shown from blocked vantage points; we hear the boring edges of conversations about potentially interesting things. The narrative unfolds along prescribed lines: Tony, a young member of the declining British upper crust, seeks to employ a manservant for his new home. Hugo Barrett is well-trained and seems to know his place. Tony impresses his girlfriend, Susan, with vague plans to “clear the jungle” and build a number of cities in Brazil to “fill with people from Asia Minor.”
Harold Pinter’s script thus matter-of-factly reveals a system of poorly-conceived imperialist idealists nominally clinging to relevance, blissfully and pathetically unaware of the surrounding world’s changing conditions. Tony’s new house, supposedly a mere waystation between adolescence and foreign conquest, becomes with Barrett’s help a last stop on a road toward decadent irrelevance, a tastefully decorated funhouse-brothel-crypt. Pinter and Losey’s application of social conventions to a story about their breakdown emphasizes the irony of such conventions’ strict usage in a society that has largely outgrown the need for them.
The film’s recurring song, “All Gone,” scores scenes of love and betrayal with mocking detachment: the soul-bearing drama of the lyrics, “can’t love without you, must love without you,” as characters struggle to express themselves beyond allusions to unsavory topics, underscores their repression to an almost comedic level. When Tony visits a beatnik bar, his incongruence with the environment is emphasized by the juxtaposition of Tony’s stiffness with the twangy guitar music.
Similarly, a scene in which Tony and Susan visit a noble older couple’s manor (unclear whether they are Susan’s parents, Tony’s parents, some other distant relation, or just members of the couple’s milieu) starkly contrasts imposing mise-en-scene with tedious dialogue to point out the ridiculousness of the ruling class. Lady Mounset works at an embroidery hoop while Lord Mounset sips a highball, the two-shot buttressed by neo classical nude statues and spindly, baroque furniture. The high-culture aesthetics of ancient civilizations loom over the elderly couple while simultaneously being relegated to the background, a visual reminder of the imperial powers after which the British Empire models itself. The couple’s leisurely pastimes denote the privilege as well as the frivolity of their class position. Another discussion of Tony’s business prospects in Brazil leads to a disagreement about the meaning of the word “poncho”: Susan defines it as the article of clothing that “drapes down in the front and behind,” while Lady Mounset maintains that it is “what the cowboys are called” in “The Argentine.” Again, the wealthy display their ignorance in matters that extend beyond the drawing-room even as that parlor visually represents the seat of western imperial power. The ease with which Barrett monopolizes Tony’s home and assumes control over his life further exemplifies the paradoxical nature of the class structure in situations that would be comical if not for the overwhelmingly pathetic downfall of Tony; when he writhes on the floor in an alcoholic stupor, we can’t help but pity him.
The LA Times called The Servant “the coldest film ever made.” To me, this description is made accurate by the ice inherent in the film’s hints of warmth, by the penetrating winter snow that is almost always visible through the townhouse windows. Warmth emanates from the hearth, lit by a resentful servant in a display of false domesticity; it emanates from glasses of brown liquor and cigarette smoke, vices that pair with and substitute for “intimate” trysts coldly arranged by that same servant. The fickle warmth of the relationship between Barrett and Tony is tinged with cold, boyish competition petrified by stifling class designations. Susan and Tony fail to express their emotions while standing in a snowy field that accentuates their repression. The Servant coldly depicts a social structure in which authentic warmth is made impossible by outdated conventions. The imperial fantasy of developing the global south is an unreachable mirage in the declining era of the empire.
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