Director Robert Aldrich probably isn’t best known for his films What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? and The Killing of Sister George. Still, he was inexplicably drawn to womanly melodrama during the late 1960s. There’s clearly a sharp intelligence behind Sister George, but despite fine performances and a dry British wit, its portrayal of a lesbian love triangle is dated.
Holding the production together is Beryl Reid, in a virtuoso seriocomic performance as actress June Buckridge, better known to television fans as motherly nurse Sister George. June’s identification with her character is so complete that even her girlish lover Alice (Susannah York) knows her as simply ‘George.’ George’s fiery, booze-guzzling temperament strains both her personal and professional relations, and with her popularity flagging, it’s hinted that she may soon be written out of the series. Meanwhile, George suspects Alice (appropriately nicknamed ‘Childie’) of seeing a man on the sly.
The film unfolds without fuss in a handful of interior settings, owing in part to its origins on the stage. This affords the opportunity to have characters yell at each other, and George does most of the yelling. Despite Reid’s sure-footed portrayal, George’s mood veers so suddenly and frequently from sweet to nasty that the character becomes tiresome. Childie, meanwhile, takes an immediate interest in chilly Mercy Croft (Coral Browne), the calculating BBC executive who keeps George posted on the status of her employment. Compliments fly (“What delicious-looking scones!”) as Mercy and Childie trade recipes – this film seems fascinated by the very existence of lesbians, and every scene is loaded with a superficially feminine subtext.
The choice of lesbian subject matter has been interpreted as an example of Altman’s fondness for outsiders, but the decision seems intended to spur controversy rather than sympathy. Key scenes arrive at regular intervals – 32 minutes in, George finally kisses Childie full on the lips; after another hour, a long sequence is staged at a lesbian bar; just past the two-hour mark, we finally get the overtly prurient sex scene that we’re presumably waiting for. Most of the, ahem, action takes place outside of the frame, but the sequence plays like a freak show. (It drew an X rating in 1968, but was downgraded to R in 1972.)
The Killing of Sister George could be kindly described the same way Childie describes the title character: a wee bit overwrought. It’s entertaining but overlong, and only approaches resonance at the very end, as George finally falls apart. Humiliating this character, however, is like shooting a fish in a barrel. Nonetheless, there’s camp value here, if you appreciate that, and the dialogue is yummy in a feline way (CHILDIE: “Not all girls are raving bloody lesbians, you know.” GEORGE: “That is a misfortune that I am perfectly well aware of.”). Don’t expect a sophisticated view of lesbianism or women’s issues; at best, a viewing of this film is a lesson in how far Hollywood’s portrayal of homosexual characters has come (or not) over the decades since this production.
