The end of WWII sparked a big bang of British B noir which lasted until colour and tv became dominant in the mid-'60s. This is among the best, and features a rare leading role for Herbert Lom as identical twins who are gypped out of their lottery win by a wide boy (Terence de Marney) and his grifter girlfriend.
Lom plays hot blooded trapeze artists and the action is staged among real life circus acts. Budget restraints mean that often the screen presents the back of the stand-in's head, but when both twins are in the frame, the camera effect isn't bad. And there's plenty of gloomy atmosphere to hide the threadbare sets.
The femme fatale is played by Phyllis Dexter who was more famous as a nude artiste at the Windmill theatre. She can't really act, but her constant, rigid smile gives this a touch of the strange. Watching her situate herself between the high wire performers, who rely on trust for their safety, feels awkwardly squalid.
The narrative plods occasionally, but the conclusion delivers a thrilling dramatic twist. And this is powerfully performed by Lom, who is a revelation. It's a brooding circus noir with a knockout punch. And a lingering aftertaste of melancholy. British crime cinema is rarely as satisfying as this.