Technically, forms of colorized film have existed nearly since the dawn of cinema itself. Film tinting was common in silent movies, while a No Film School piece astutely observe that hand-colored projects like the 1903 short La Vie et la passion de Jésus Christ predates those film tinted features! The excessive costs of rendering films in color, though, made such projects scarce for many years, particularly in feature-length movies. 1935's Becky Sharp, though, broke important ground for longer feature-length movies by deploying a more cost-effective three-strip Technicolor technique that filled the silver screen with vivid hues.
I bring up this history just to consider what Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger were in their craft. Using colorized imagery on lengthy movies wasn't even a decade old process when they embarked on their first colorized motion picture, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp. Something like 1929’s The Broadway Melody (one of the first sound musicals) encapsulates how awkward it is when filmmakers try to adjust to new technological norms. No such growing pains exist in Colonel Blimp. The imagery on-screen is as sumptuous today as it was in 1943. It’s like this mold of visual storytelling was just waiting for the duo to arrive.
Powell and Pressburger's Colonel Blimp screenplay begins with a prologue set in 1942, where audiences meet Major-General Clive Wynne-Candy (Roger Livsey) in a vulnerable position. A naked (save for a towel wrapped around his waist) Candy's been bamboozled. Younger soldiers have started pre-planned war games hours earlier! After these fresh military faces disrespect Candy, Powell and Pressburger submerge viewers 40 years into the past. Candy is no longer an old man with a gigantic mustache covering up his face. He's now the young man with a skip in his step and a willingness to defy orders.
The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp proceeds to chronicle four decades in the life of Candy. A precursor to Jia Zhangke's Ash Is Purest White screenplay chronicling 16 years of Datong history behind its lead characters, crucial European history unfolds around Candy across 40 years. The film’s protagonist undergoes many universal experiences of being young, like falling in love, heartbreak, and the price of excessive pride. However, he also navigates turmoil very specific to somebody growing up in Britain at the dawn of the 20th century, particularly his trials in The Great War and its lingering ripple effects.
“Why can’t more movies look like this?” was a thought racing throughout my head in nearly every Colonel Blimp scene. Rather than being a warm-up for subsequent visual masterpieces A Matter of Life and Death, Black Narcissus, and The Red Shoes, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp is an utter tour de force in imagery. So many sets and costumes are rich with colors, while even intentionally drearier landscape like No Man's Land in World War I aren't just a mish-mash of greys. This desolate terrain still appears with crisp camerawork and tremendously detailed matte paintings. There are even flickers of blue poking through those grim skies signaling potential better days ahead.
Even a seemingly mundane location like a gymnasium where Candy has his fateful duel Theo Kretschmar-Schuldorff (Anton Walbrook) is an awe-inspiring locale. Wide shots let one appreciate the vastness of this space adorned with walls lightly tinted with purple. The production design and costumes on-screen alone are sumptuous. Better yet, though, is how those elements are exploited through Powell, Pressburger, and cinematographer Georges Perinal’s gift for constantly knowing just where to place the camera. Precise camera angles really let these visual elements shine.
For example, there’s this early shot of Edith Hunter (Deborah Kerr) staring out a window wistfully with her hands behind her back. It’s told through a wide lower-angle image, with Hunter existing on only one side of the frame. Right in front of her is a peek at a lusciously colorful outside world sharply contrasting the more subdued interior colors dominating the frame. Just in what’s visible, Hunter's framed on the cusp of change gazing out into an uncertain future. This single image has more depth than other entire movies! You could spend hours analyzing the intricacies of this Colonel Blimp shot, but perhaps the greatest compliment to its power is how it left my jaw on the floor. The moment I saw this contemplative Edith Hunter image, I knew I’d never forget it, a whisper of “woah” escaped my lips that barely communicated how impressive this filmmaking is.
“Why can’t more movies look like this” indeed. Whether Colonel Blimp is framing people engaging in a duel, nuns eating in a church, or just a woman standing in front of an open window, its visual impulses remain masterful. Every single scene is an opportunity to exploit all the possibilities of colorized storytelling, not to mention cinema’s unique visual opportunities. Impressively, these mesmerizing shots don’t just register in 2025 as a relic of filmmakers reveling in new tools afforded by the cheapening of colorized filmmaking tools. In an age of relentlessly dimly lit movies and TV shows, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp is just as essential and Earth-shattering as ever!
I could spend hours just blabbering about my favorite visual details in Colonel Blimp, including how blue-colored costumes have never looked so good in film. However, Powell and Pressburger’s artistic accomplishments also extend to this feature’s sterling script. Going forward, Colonel Blimp will join my pantheon of go-to examples for why long movies rock actually. The lengthy runtime has many benefits, but it especially accentuates the quiet tragedy in Candy. Here is a man epitomizing the British “stiff upper lip” persona. Candy always clings to manners, a reserved demeanor, and rarely explodes in any of his emotions.
Over Colonel Blimp’s runtime, Candy remains intentionally static even as the world around him drastically changes. There’s a fascinating tragedy in the contrasts between himself and German duel-adversary-turned-friend Theo Kretschmar-Schuldorff. Even with his Great War stint, Candy is shielded from so many harsh realities. Theo Kretschmar-Schuldorff, meanwhile, has no choice as a German in the early 20th century but to recognize the planet’s complexities. While Kretschmar-Schuldorff is forced to evolve (including embracing the English language as a form of survival), Candy’s removal from these historical events grants him the privilege of consistency
Even as he ages, he clings to the past and whatever’s familiar to cope with the terrifying here-and-now. Just look at how he keeps surrounding himself with women resembling Edith (all of them played by Deborah Kerr) so that he can, in some fashion, rub shoulders with “the one that got away.” These compelling qualities about Candy resonate extra powerfully thanks to Powell and Pressburger’s expansive storytelling scope. Plus, a 163-runtime really lets Roger Livesey flex his deftness with portraying Candy at so many different stages of his life. Usually, these kinds of performances of men over decades of existence are rooted in real-world historical figures. Livsey has no such material to reference for how Candy should walk, talk, and behave at different stages of life. This reality just makes it extra impressive how lived-in and believable his acting is throughout all of Colonel Blimp.
Much like how Candy cannot escape both the larger world and history’s relentless march, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp's inextricably connected with colorized film's earliest years. The breakthroughs of short features at the 20th century's dawn (not to mention 1930s films like Becky Sharp and The Wizard of Oz) paved the road for this extraordinary achievement in visual storytelling. All those years of technological advancements paid off in allowing something this glorious looking to manifest in movie theaters. Better yet, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp is just as sharp thematically as it is visually. Substance and style work in perfect harmony in this Powell & Pressburger masterpiece.