Dirk Bogarde's lucky second act

Roger Lewis celebrates the centenary of a sad, dark actor who matured into a happy writer

- Roger Lewis

I always liked Dirk Bogarde’s earlier Pinewood performances. Particularly when he was Simon Sparrow in the Doctor films (‘What’s the bleeding time?’ – ‘Ten past ten, sir’; ‘Big breaths’ – ‘Yeah, and I’m only sixteen’).

The other medical students, Donald Sinden and Kenneth More among them, hare about, delivering their lines at a breezy clip, but Bogarde underplays – he is almost brooding, certainly priggish.

The role was an ‘absolute turning point’, he agreed later, ‘which secured me in my profession.’ By 1955, Bogarde was billed as the Idol of the Odeons. Cinema managers voted him ‘the World’s Greatest Money-Drawing Star’.

Nevertheless, his dark sullenness quickly edged into mannerism and camp. He was the first to admit this. Catching a clip of The Singer Not the Song at a BAFTA tribute, he was astonished to see ‘a very poovy person in black leather making eyes at John Mills’.

Bogarde was always ornate. One is very aware of him as an actor – his lustrous dark hair, posture, and fluttering hands. He never troubled to conceal his vanities. There is a stagey emphasis.

He liked to stand out – expected deference; was histrionic. Daphne du Maurier, for instance, was appalled at the way Bogarde portrayed her husband, General Browning, as ‘a poofy waiter’ in A Bridge Too Far.

Yet, alongside the excessive and artificial performances (Ill Met By Moonlight, Song Without End, Modesty Blaise), Bogarde could be immensely detailed, subtle, emotionally true, conveying what David Warner, who co-starred with him in Providence, called ‘an ice-thin veneer of unhappiness’.