The fate of The Rocking Horse Winner is proof of the snobbery about British film

Had Anthony Pelissier’s 1949 film The Rocking Horse Winner been made in Hollywood it would, because of the parochialism of American cinema, have won several Oscars and been fêted as one of the finest film noirs. As it is, it lingers in obscurity. Even given the snobbery that attaches to British cinema, it is hard to see why. It was the first time a story by DH Lawrence had been filmed: Pelissier adapted a short story from 1926 into a highly intelligent script laced with cynicism and a darkness rarely seen in British films. That it has aged so well reflects how ahead of its time it was; and it features exceptional performances by some of the greatest actors of the era, another reason for one’s mystification at how neglected it is.

The story concerns a boy, Paul, played by John Howard Davies, the foremost child actor of the time, famous from David Lean’s Oliver Twist, and who went on to become a legendary producer of BBC comedy series in the 1960s and 1970s. He develops a psychic power: that of predicting the winners of horse races, but seems almost possessed. Premonitions come when riding a rocking horse, given to him as a Christmas present. He is encouraged by his family’s servant Bassett, a retired jockey and wounded war veteran, played by John Mills, who also produced the film. 

Paul lives in a salubrious house with parents who go through the motions of loving him and his younger sisters, but who are obsessed with themselves and their social position. They are also living vastly beyond their means. His mother, Hester, played by Valerie Hobson – British cinema’s leading lady of the era (she had just made Kind Hearts and Coronets) – spends the income, and far more, of her indolent husband (Hugh Sinclair, one of the finest character actors of the 1940s). He makes things worse by recklessly gambling in order to try to win enough money to keep the family solvent. Of course, he fails, and the couple are constantly bailed out by Hester’s rich older brother, Oscar (played as a cynical old devil by the normally crusty Ronald Squire).

Hester poisons her son in two ways: first by complaining selfishly about their lack of money, and second by claiming this is down to a shortage of “luck” – not the self-inflicted wound created by her idiotic profligacy. In his mind, Paul hears the house they live in whisper to him about the shortage of funds, and he becomes determined to do something to help his mother. Colluding with Bassett and then with his uncle, from whom he borrows a small amount of money, he has bets placed on horses he believes will win, and soon they have amassed £10,000. Meanwhile, the bailiffs are demanding money, and Hester, in a gruesome scene, has to go to a nasty pawn shop to raise what she owes by selling her clothes. Hobson’s portrayal of her is brilliant: the viewer is never tempted to feel any sympathy for this supremely selfish woman, who gets what she deserves. 

Paul conspires with his uncle to get his mother some of his winnings; Oscar arranges for it to be thought that a distant relation has died and left her the money. However, the more she has, the more she spends. Hers is a futile existence, and the film demonstrates the corrupting and demoralising effect of the severance of the link between effort and reward: Hester, an incarnation of entitlement, expects everything to come to her on a plate. Even though Paul’s final premonition leads to him winning £70,000 on the Derby, having staked £5,000 at 14-to-1, there is no happy ending. Hester learns her lesson, her uncle (himself far from without fault) condemns her, her husband evaporates from the viewer’s consideration, and Bassett, whose only fault was befriending a lonely young boy, slopes off saturated by guilt.

The Rocking Horse Winner is a truly great film. Not only does it comment on the nature of wealth and its relation to morality, as well as on the class system in mid-20th century England; it also makes a point about the clash between illusion and reality. Pelissier’s script and the stunning performances are matched by Desmond Dickinson’s at times radical cinematography, and a superb score by William Alwyn. It is a feast in every respect, and essential viewing.

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