I was, of course, sorry to hear of the death of Deborah Kerr this morning, just a couple of weeks after her 86th birthday. She had been one of the last surviving stars of the classic era of both British and American cinema, and we certainly don’t have anyone like her working today.

This was a woman who can be funny and keep a speck of dignity playing a sex-crazed Mata Hari spy (or something) in a train-wreck of a film like the the 1967 Casino Royale. (One obit I read this morning actually referred to her as a “Bond girl” in the film. “Bond woman,” more like.)

Anyhow, inspired by The House Next Door’s ongoing Close-Up Blogathon, I thought I’d share some screen captures from the first of her three roles in The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp in which the 21-year-old Deborah Kerr gives the best performance in what I really think might be the most perfect and most agreeable film ever made. I’m always afraid to make those kind of pronouncements about films; next week I might see something more perfect and more agreeable. However, I feel safe in saying that no one could hold a close-up better than Deborah Kerr does here.

Here Ms. Kerr is registering first fright and then annoyed resignation as a meeting between her new male friend and a weaselly, slander-prone German officer escalates from confrontation (which she wanted) to physical violence and a full-blown international incident (which she hadn’t asked for). This all happens over the course of a few seconds, but we know exactly what she’s feeling. That second shot says something worth at least several thousand words about this woman’s knowing acceptance of male foibles and their sometimes disastrous consequences.

Here she is, eyes mostly closed. (As in one of the shots above, Ms. Kerr could provide more visual emotion with her eyes closed than most actors can with them open.) In this scene, she is gambling over a coin toss with her friend, with whom she is probably falling in love — only to be distracted when someone else falls for her and bothers to tell her so.

This very small moment expresses the easygoing intimacy between the two. In fact, I said “probably falling in love” because I’ve never been fully convinced that her character in this sequence was necessarily in love with Roger Livesey’s Blimp, though he later realizes he’s blown a crucial opportunity. So believable are they as close friends in moments like this, it’s possible that she’d just as soon not ruin things with too much emotion, and thus when an equally good, arguably superior, man expresses an open interest, she makes another selection.

I had to include this shot. I think Deborah should have nailed both a British and American Academy for this moment alone. Anyone else would have been upstaged by the bird.

You can read a lot more about Deborah Kerr and her awe-inspiring career (I even forgot she played the archetypal unreliable narrator in 1961’s stunning The Innocents) via Greencine and this NYT obituary. None of the obits I’ve read have been bad, but they’ve all given short-shrift to Blimp. That’s okay, as long as they respect the lady. Here’s another capture of her, avec chapeau de oiseau.

UPDATE: Since I posted this morning, a few of the cinephile best and brightest have had some very worthwhile things to say. And so I direct you to a touching post by the Self-Styled Siren, another by Edward Copeland, and last but certainly not least (especially since she quoted me and unintentionally helped me to correct an error above), Cinephile, who gets way metaphysical in a discussion of the later/earlier portions of “Blimp.” Cinephile also has the finesse to works in a mention of the also recently deceased Joey Bishop who, even in death, is having the spotlight stolen by greater talents.