Rent The Long Memory (1953)

The Sun, the Moon - and More Than Two Stars! - The Long Memory review by CH

Strangely, the Radio Times Guide persists in grudging this two stars out of five.

Others of us might say that this maritime-based tale is a near-masterpiece of British noir, superbly filmed by Robert Hamer (who adapted it from a novel by Howard Clewes which should also be sought out). The title refers to the long prison sentence endured by John Mills for a crime that nobody committed.

Duly released, he is out for revenge. Things become more complex than such a black-and-white matter - and, indeed, the filming, whether beside the Kent shore or the side of the Thames in London is a marvellous sequence of shades of grey; of the Sun dappling pebbles before moonlight heightens wet cobbles (complete with cat). The tangle of sub-plots never drags under a narrative which finds a place for clanging squad-cars and the long barometers of suburban hallways (where, upstairs, a married couple have a narrow bed apiece, separated by a table upon which a telephone rings at awkward moments).

British Noir. - The Long Memory review by Steve

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.