Film Reviews by Steve

This is the earliest big screen version of George Orwell's classic dystopian novel, released only seven years after its publication. Michael Anderson's adaptation is an interesting offshoot of the 1984 phenomenon, rather than a great political film. It's all there though, the Thought Police, Newspeak, Room 101, Big Brother...

The source is a novel of ideas, a work of political philosophy and there are limits to how much a film can actually replicate Orwell's prose. It looks like fifties sci-fi, though the sets are appropriately grim.  Much of the dialogue is exposition, but the relative lack of nuance and depth makes the screen version less immersive.

So instead the narrative focuses on the subversive romance between Winston Smith and Julia. For commercial reasons there were American leads. Edmond O'Brien is too chubby and toothy, and his desperation never feels real. Jan Sterling is strange casting, but she's better and has a long close up at the end which is the best moment in the film.

However, it does seem that liberation for her is the freedom to be a fifties American housewife. There isn't the dirty horror of Nigel Kneale's famous BBC adaptation of '54. This film was financed by the CIA as anti-Soviet propaganda, but it more strikingly echoes Nazi Germany than proposes a vision of future dystopia. 

Philosophical catholic noir adapted from Graham Greene's autobiographical novel. It presents a dilemma of faith within an interesting narrative framework which tells the same story twice. First from the point of view of a bumptious American novelist (Van Johnson). And then his ethereal lover (Deborah Kerr) who is married to an insipid drudge (Peter Cushing).

The wife suddenly disappears from the writer's life without explanation, leaving him to obsess over her deceitfulness. Her version is more of a confession. During a doodlebug raid towards the end of WWII, the writer appears dead. On a desperate whim, she prays that if he would only survive, she will give him up and go back to her husband.

When he lives, she is left to wonder about the mercy of god. The narrative twist is that the abandoned writer is motivated by egotism, but the woman he doubts is inspired by a profound, intense, unconditional love. But she suddenly discovers herself in a world designed by an interventionist god. Greene was a catholic, but we can choose to interpret her faith as a delusion.

The heart of the film is the haunting realisation of the power of her unceasing love. Kerr is extremely convincing in the unusual role. The weakness is Johnson, who isn't able to register his huge internal conflict. And it should have been a British actor. Edward Dmytryk shoots the long scenes of dialogue like film noir, but really this is a tragedy.

Extravagant historical melodrama of the kind that made Stewart Granger a star a decade earlier. Here he appears opposite his real-life spouse Jean Simmons as an unscrupulous, aristocratic brute who murders his rich older wife. Simmons is the Cockney maid who uses her insider knowledge to rise up the household hierarchy with a view to assuming the title of mistress.

But master has his eye on another wealthy woman, an imposing blonde (Belinda Lee). The only sure solution is for him to bump off the inconvenient servant. The emotional fluctuations of their power struggle occasionally defy probability. But this is melodrama, so that hardly matters. The film is a rich indulgence, and fast paced, with a splendidly ghoulish climax.

Arthur Lubin was a minor director but he creates plenty of suspense and atmosphere. Theres a lavish production shot in Technicolor, with splendid interiors and costumes and horse drawn carriages. Admittedly the external location footage is perfunctory. Most of all, it's the two stars who give the film class.

Their roles are melodramatic archetypes, but Granger and Simmons make them hugely enjoyable. Particularly Simmons as the whipped underdog gamely standing up for herself, but not too wisely. It's an unheralded Edwardian costumer, but immensely entertaining, which generates enough goodwill to overcome its occasional contrivances.

The western stalemate after the Battle of Britain was fertile territory for British film makers in the fifties. The war effort turned to daring special operations, often derived from unusual and hazardous plans. These were written up as best sellers in peacetime and adapted into popular films over the next decade, usually featuring the same pool of actors.

This is based on an attack by three mini-submarines on the German battleship Tirpitz, docked in a Norwegian fjord. John Mills is the paternal but vigilant leader of the operation, supported by officers Donald Sinden and John Gregson. But really it's an ensemble cast of familiar faces, with Michael Medwin standing out.

The film meanders through the training programme, but sparks suddenly to life during the suspenseful, dangerous mission, featuring extensive underwater photography. The men wear their bravery lightly; most of the dialogue focuses the usual grumbles of the lower ranks, of rations and home. But the team pulls together for the cause.

Ralph Thomas' direction is strong on the comic backchat. He splices in the newsreel footage with some skill. And the authentic risks of the plan brings natural tension into the story. The film attests to the generally high standard of the fifties special-ops genre. It is a well made, realistic war feature, with actors who often knew the territory from their own service.

Entertaining POW film which makes a great virtue of its location shoot in the famous old castle. It is based on the memoirs of Pat Reid (John Mills), who escaped from Colditz. The film doesn't attempt to be a realistic portrayal of men in captivity. So the prisoners are not scared, bored or lonely. They are too focused on planning their escape.

The castle is for officers who have already tried to abscond. So it becomes a pan-European hothouse for those most motivated to break out. When their competitive schemes lead to chaos, an escape committee is set up under the aloof but droll Eric Portman. Mills is the English representative, until he walks out the front gate dressed as a German guard...

For a film set in a high security prison, this is a superficial diversion with an anecdotal touch. The English are self effacing, the Poles are excitable and the French are unfriendly. And crucially, the Germans are mostly genial idiots. There are no meaningful consequences of escape; the prisoners are just returned to their cells.

A preface assures us that the film is entirely based on true events, so we get to see real life escape plans. Naturally there is an informer, but he is sidelined without bloodshed. And there is a concert party in which Ian Carmichael and Richard Wattis channel Flanagan and Allen! But no one has a nightmare or even complains about the food. This an amiable vision of war. Pure escapism...

Thrilling WWII  action film which has become a document of British national identity. This account of the audacious bomber raid on strategically important dams in the German industrial heartland breaks into three distinct acts: the conception of the bouncing bomb by Barnes Wallis; the formation of 617 Squadron led by Guy Gibson to deliver the unique explosive; and the attack itself.

While the film is incredibly compelling throughout, it is the procedural realism of the night time mission which is most dramatic. And yes, iconic. Sadly, the models and effects reflect financial and period limitations, but the documentary style of Michael Anderson's direction overcomes this impediment. It is stirring, but credible.

The casting of Michael Redgrave as Wallis and Richard Todd as Gibson is inspired. Erwin Hillier's imposing aerial photography of the Lancaster raid is also a huge strength. But what most elevates the action is Eric Coates' stirring, heart pounding musical theme, the Dambusters March, which has transcended the film to become an unofficial national anthem.

It was too soon for the narrative to closely evaluate the raid's validity and unintended consequences, though it does reflect at length on loss of life in the RAF. Curiously it finds time to exaggerate the developmental drag of bureaucracy; perhaps a political dig. But it endures as a patriotic drama that memorialises the ingenuity of the inventor and the bravery of the squadron.

Intense, sombre adaptation of Graham Greene's catholic tragedy, shot on location in Sierra Leone. The soundtrack uses local music, played on improvised instruments. With the glistening noir photography and the tropical rain, the film is full of atmosphere. And there's a classic Greene premise, loaded with irony and moral twists.

Trevor Howard is a burned out colonial policemen, tormented by his alien environment and his faith. And the memory of his daughter who died of a tropical disease. He gets into the debt of a corrupt wheeler dealer to give his unfaithful wife (Elizabeth Allan) some respite in South Africa. And so is forced to help run diamonds across the border.

While his wife is away, the middle aged officer falls in love with a young refugee from the war (Maria Schell). He is trapped between his passion and his certainty that it will damn him. The great joy of the film is to hear Greene's precise dialogue spoken by the impassive British cast, supported by Denholm Elliott, Michael Hordern and Peter Finch.

Howard gives one of his greatest performances as a desperate man condemned by his conscience. All the Brits are hollowed out by their occupation, uncertain of their purpose and local customs, and usually fighting off malaria. It's a film saturated in despair, but elevated by its flawed hero; a wise conveyance of human pity who cannot save himself.

Heavy, pessimistic revenge drama, shot in oppressive, looming misty-greys on the desolate Kent marshes. John Mills has done 12 years for a murder he didn't commit, and is  looking for payback. His former girl (Elizabeth Sellars) lied under oath, but is now married to the honest cop who sent him down (John McCallum). And doing quite nicely.

Aside from the rural setting, this is British noir. It feels inspired by the novels of David Goodis, with its cast of inarticulate deadbeats, haunted by bad luck and frustrated by their stupidity. John Mills is no-one's idea of a dumb, tough ex-con, but he's actually pretty good and doesn't try and make the character a fake winner.

The mournful foghorns blast out in the mist like unceasing cries of pain. But there is redemption through the unconditional love of another victim (Eva Bergh). She's the soul of the film; human flotsam who has suffered too, from war and violent men. She scrubs floors in the grimmest joint in film history. Without her sad, sweet stoicism, this would be too brutal.

Men are driven by hate, which dies with them. The flimsy shacks they live in feel ephemeral on the eternal moors. It's a slow, lethargic film by design. This means there are longueurs but its numb, narcotic atmosphere is what most makes it memorable. Not a crowdpleaser then, but another cult classic from Robert Hamer.

World War II special-ops story directed by Hollywood's military film specialist Lewis Milestone who was in Britain to evade the reach of Joe McCarthy. It is based on a real life raid on German airfields on the island of Rhodes in Greece (but filmed on Crete), and was scripted with the close co-operation of the two survivors, portrayed by Dirk Bogarde and Denholm Elliott.

The film was trashed by the critics and unsuccessful at the box office, but this is an exciting commando film which is plausible and spotlights the bravery of the saboteurs and the sacrifice of the Greek people. Dirk Bogarde plays an ostentatiously flawed leader, who accomplishes his mission, but at great loss of life.

Milestone directs with intelligence and compassion and delivers plenty of suspense too. But the most memorable factor is the location, captured in sumptuous Technicolor. Particularly the deep blues of the Aegean sea and sky. While the film is a little touristic, the heat of the Greek landscape gives the film a rare ambience.

The comic relief is awkward, and minor characters underwritten. One of the Greek pathfinders is a hotheaded stereotype. But this is a thrilling SAS film. There is ambiguity, rather than simple heroism. Some liberties have been taken with the details, but the outline is solid. And crucially, the director conveys a strong impression of what they were fighting for.

A very English take on the women in prison genre, surely inspired by the 1950 Warner Brothers classic, Caged. This isn't as hard hitting. Or as good. It was based on the experiences of an ex-jailbird, though it lacks realism. There is little friction between the screws and the compliant cons. Not much is said about the state of the prison system.

There's no exploitation thrills either. No lesbian guards, or shower scenes. Glynis Johns is a brittle society girl who likes a flutter and passes a phoney cheque. She gets sent down for fraud and is forced to rub along with a mixed bag of career crooks and sociopaths, and first timer Diana Dors who appears to have a salon on speed-dial.

Glynis' slumming toff is too shallow to carry the film, and Di has little to do other than lay on some sullen glamour. The most memorable contribution comes from Jane Hylton, as a mother whose baby dies alone while she is out on a date. She brings some more convincing suffering to the cells.

By the time Athene Sayler and Sybil Thorndike are poisoning an inconvenient husband for his inheritance, the film gives up and feels like more of an anthology of backstories. Though it's an amusing episode. There's nothing new here, but it's still an entertaining visit to a vanished past when female convicts knew their place. Which was weaving rugs.

Inspired British comedy loosely based on Ronald Searle's celebrated comic strips set in an anarchic public school for girls. The younger pupils are feral tweenies, marauding in packs and brandishing hockey sticks. The sixth form are smokers and boozers who use sex to procure favours. And the staff room is a last chance saloon for crooks and fugitives.

 The plot is a lively farce about conflicting bets placed on a Sultan's racehorse which is favourite for the Gold Cup. While the comedy has incredible energy, it is surprisingly clever and witty too. It's full of absurd plot twists and droll one liners. And the circus-ragtime soundtrack is perfect. It's not exactly PC, but there are no real victims.

There's a classic cast of comedy stalwarts, led by Alastair Sim in drag as the devious headteacher, with quality schtick from Joyce Grenfell. And George Cole's definitive performance, as Flash Harry, a dodgy wide-boy who acts as the girls' middle man. Belinda Lee makes an impression as a blonde sex bomb, still in school for reasons never explained.

Or because St. Trinian's is a place where normal rules do not apply. Into the fifties climate of sedate conservatism, Launder and Gilliat loosed anarchy in the UK. Figures of authority cower in the path of an unstoppable wave of delinquency, violence and subterfuge. It's difficult to imagine another country producing a film much like this.

Stylish London noir which is elevated by an impressive mix of UK and US actors. It's a British version of a classic American genre, the heist film. But the first act, the coming together of the gang, is the main focus. The crime and the disintegration are quite exciting, and well staged by director Lewis Gilbert, but take up little screen time.

Three hard luck fall guys meet regularly in a pub to drown their sorrows. Stanley Baker is a washed up boxer who has lost his left hand and his savings. Richard Basehart is a demobbed GI with a kid on the way and no money in the bank. John Ireland is a soldier gone AWOL , whose sexy wife who is pure hot trouble. Yes, Gloria Grahame

Their latent criminality is activated by Laurence Harvey's psycho-aristocrat. And they hold up a security van. Stanley Baker gives the eye catching performance, primal and brooding. Harvey is nauseatingly over-ripe, but he's supposed to be a villain, so it sort of works. Gloria is the best of the WAGS, lifting some flat dialogue with her incomparable petulance.

Gilbert directs with great élan, though the suspense comes and goes. The film hints at political themes, but mostly concludes that life is unfair and people are users or losers. And as in classic noir, hope is a commodity hoarded elsewhere. It's not the equal of the great Hollywood heist films, but still a fascinating British variation.

Feelgood comedy-drama from Ealing studios, shot around Glasgow and the Hebrides. There's a premise which has been pitched many times, but never better realised. A wealthy American businessman (Paul Douglas) wants to get his modern bathroom furniture to his rustic island retreat. Through a logistics mix-up, the job is snatched by the wily old skipper of a dilapidated steam puffer...

So the stressed yank busts a gut trying to get his luxury goods off the ramshackle steamboat, partly because he doesn't want to be taken for a mug. Naturally, when he spends time on the old wreck, the tycoon re-evaluates his values. Though the story arc isn't as schematic as that suggests. The protagonist was never a monster, and he doesn't become a dupe.

What we mainly witness is the gradual loosening of the grip of modern life. The troubled stranger to the islands only knows conflict. But opening up to his humanity is painful. Which takes a subtle performance from Douglas. The crew is made up of nonprofessional actors, and Alex Mackenzie as the poor, canny captain, and Tommy Kearins as the feisty child are magnificent.

The b&w photography of the old puffer and its crew is impressive, with the shots of the Scottish islands a bonus. As a comedy, it is whimsical rather than hilarious, though there are some classic lines. While the film delivers a huge emotional uplift, it is shrewd and even-handed, which offsets the sentimentality. This feels like it was made with a lot of affection.

Britain's first ever animated feature film is a simplified but brutal and macabre version of George Orwell's political allegory about the betrayal of the Russian revolution by Joseph Stalin. Or in this case, Napoleon, the pig. Aside from an incongruously cute baby duck, there could hardly be a greater contrast with contemporary Disney cartoons.

The production was secretly financed by the American CIA to show to children in classrooms as anti-Soviet indoctrination. The uprising of the animals against the cruel farmer proves futile as the pigs merely assume the role of exploitative suppression.

But the film doesn't really work as anti-communist propaganda as it creates such a powerful impression of the transgressive cruelty of capitalism. Though the ending is changed to leave us with a little optimism, this adapts Orwell's theme with faithful clarity. The author abhorred Joseph Stalin's treachery, but he was still a socialist.

Mátyás Seiber's score and the sound treatment of Maurice Denman's animal voices are crucial contributions. The artists create a powerful sense of (often surreal) threat, but the landscapes rather charmingly evoke the idyllic poster art of Britain between the wars. There is impressive, old school animation, but this feels an incredibly dark film for kids!

1954 was the year that Dirk Bogarde became a major British star with Doctor in the House. But The Sleeping Tiger was a more significant indication of the actor's future direction. It was the first of many collaborations with Joseph Losey, an elaborate psycho-drama with Dirk playing a complex, dangerous criminal who moves in with a psychiatrist.

Alexander Knox plays the narcissistic shrink who wants to get into the head of the volatile delinquent, and unlock his suppressed trauma with Freudian analysis. But didn't reckon on his bored, beautiful wife (Alexis Smith) falling for the handsome, imperious younger man. Wrong move! She has hidden motives too. And the film becomes a malign power struggle.

It's the kind of cerebral, brooding psychological stand off for which Losey is remembered. It's an actors film, and Alexis Smith is excellent as an emotionally hungry neurotic who is outwardly assured and elegant. But Bogarde dominates playing a sardonic, insidious sociopath; a forerunner of his signature performance in Losey's, The Servant.

Losey released his UK debut under a borrowed name, because he was a refugee from McCarthyism. He became arguably the standout director of 50s-60s British films. This is an intelligent and unconventional drama, rather than groundbreaking. He wasn't quite there yet. But it's an early gateway into his oeuvre, and the dark charisma of Dirk Bogarde.