On 8 February 1957, Adrian Brunel attended a screening of his 1923 film The Man Without Desire at the British Film Institute's National Film Theatre, as part of its celebration of sixty years of cinema. It was the only British film among the programme of postwar silent titles, which included works by Film Society favourites Marcel l’Herbier, Carl Dreyer, Victor Sjöström and Fritz Lang. In fact, the accompanying blurb asserts that Brunel's film ‘stands comparison with the remarkable contemporary decors of the German cinema’ (National Film Theatre brochure, November 1956–February 1957: 23), suggesting that silent film should be appreciated above all for its European art credentials. The print shown had been restored especially for the event by the technical team at the National Film Archive under Brunel's personal supervision. The evening was reportedly a great success; Brunel had many requests for his autograph and independent distributor Contemporary Films expressed an interest in acquiring the theatrical rights to the feature.

Brunel was now sixty-seven years old and had just over a year of life left. It was twenty-eight years since he had received the Film Weekly award for The Constant Nymph and he had not directed another successful A-picture in that time. Whether the attention he received at the BFI that evening brought him comfort in the knowledge that his work was still appreciated, or dejection at the thought of the years he had spent in the wilderness, is impossible to know.

Past Faults

At the beginning of the sound period, Brunel had spent a great deal of time reflecting on the reasons for his rejection by the major British studios. By 1931, with his health suffering, he lamented that ‘every possible symptom of a nervous breakdown is afflicting me’ (22 July 1931, ABSC 9/112). He tried to pinpoint where his career had gone wrong. ‘I’ve been trying to discover my past faults,’ he wrote to Balcon, ‘so that I might correct any bad impressions I may have left with Gainsborough’ (23 February 1931, ABSC 9/112). His legal action against the studio was undoubtedly one of these ‘faults’ and he later conceded that it was ‘the greatest mistake in my life’ (1949: 154).