Reviews

This is a well-made and fascinating documentary about the construction of an oil refinery for BP in the agricultural land of the Isle of Grain in Kent's Medway River. Progress and modernity are set to destroy a way of life, and the film is unapologetic about compromises required by the need for oil, unsentimental about the unsustainability of the old way of life (a moribund hotel, which looks more like a prison camp, is all that is left of a previous role as a continental transport hub), and aware of the ubiquity of progress, even in the old farming community, where tractors have replaced horses. The film was sponsored by Anglo-Iranian Oil, BP's parent company. A collage of different voices express the effects of the coming changes, both on the locals and on those who will briefly stay to play their part in the construction.

As one might expect, the film is upbeat about the new construction, and honest in showing the extent of the disruption. But it still has an elegiac feel to it, nonetheless, as a community waits for annihilation.

I don't suppose it is now possible to verify, but it reminds me very strongly of the scenes in Winnerton Flats, in Nigel Kneale's TV serial Quatermass II (and the later film). The new housing for the incomers, the identification of the corporate interests with those of the community, the array of giant tanks to be built, and - most poignantly - the family driving in their car to a windswept beach for a picnic, looking eerily like the Quatermass II family who are shockingly machine-gunned in episode 3 of the serial - did this documentary provide some of Kneale's inspiration?

This is, of course, a quota quickie and therefore hardly a work of art. However, the other reviews do seem to be over-critical of it.

Production values are higher than the usual poverty row. The cast is pretty good for this kind of film. It's not super-slow, but the plot unfolds at a reasonable pace, while we get a couple of very decent twists. The acting is nice, Aylmer playing his dual part, while Donald Wolfit stands out as the petty crook, defiant but out of his depth. The brokers Curtail and Huntley are also excellently played in a couple of cameos. Evans is perhaps a little on the fey side.

It probably wouldn't withstand detailed scrutiny. For instance, it is never reasonably explained whether Nicholls wanted a lodger in his house, whether he wanted this particular lodger, or whether, as he maintained, he wanted no lodgers at all. And if not, why did he allow the advertisement to be placed?

In short, a very decent film of its type. If it's not your kind of thing, don't watch it - it's not far off a century old, with a low budget and strictly in potboiler territory. But if you do like this kind of thing, then rest assured that this is exactly the kind of thing you will like.

This short documentary movingly documents the relationship between Dafydd Rhys, school caretaker, and schoolboy Ifor Morgan. It is based on the real-life story of David Rees Griffiths, who plays his older self in the film. Over the years, Rhys has used his abilities and virtues to help others, from schoolboys like Ifor to his former colleagues down the mines, but when he loses his only son to tuberculosis, he temporarily withdraws into himself; Ifor repays his debt to Dafydd by helping him back into the social world. Dafydd's poetic elegy to his son only just fails to win the Chair at the Aberavon Eisteddfod. The sense of place (Ammanford) is strong, as is the sense of community. The film was the Welsh contribution to the 1951 Festival of Britain film festival.

However, given that the film is meant to be representative of Wales and the Welsh identity within Britain, criticism is in order. One which comes immediately to mind, given the strong rivalry between North and South Wales, is that this is a South Walian film - not a strong criticism in itself, but the only mention of North Wales is a very strong hint that only the favouritism of the judges from North Wales prevented Dafydd from winning the Eisteddfod Chair. Not a very unifying view of the nation.

The film also plays a little fast and loose with the facts of Griffiths' life (again, not objectionable in itself). He is seen with his wife mourning the death of his son, but in fact his wife died many years before. He raised his son single-handed, and pursued the career of journalist before taking on the caretaker's job. He had also won many Eisteddfod Chair over the years (over 50). So the film's framing of the marvel that a humble caretaker could come close, when deeply moved, to winning an Eisteddfod Chair, seems dishonest. In fact, a more likely framing is that a man of integrity and talent could find no better employment than a school caretaker.

Thirdly, the film is quite astounding, even for 1951, for the lack of women. There are no women in prominent roles - we are briefly shown Ifor's mother giving him a little nag, and Dafydd's wife giving birth to her son, and grieving over him. Apart from that, all we see are two cleaning ladies who have temporarily replaced Dafydd, in long shot, making a mess of things. One imagines, in a tight and small community such as Ammanford is portrayed, the women would have played an important role. The film gives them no credit.

There are some good actors in this, and the setting is interesting, especially for those of us who know the East of London nowadays. Joan Hickson puts in a great cameo, and Bill Kerr is convincingly twitchy. However, this really is not a very good film.

Apart from the lack of tension, the very predictable playing out of the plot to its obvious ending, and the various very illogical decisions that practically every character makes, two particular problems stand out.

The most important is the not very impressive insight into female psychology. Would Googie fall in love with McCallum on the spot, just like that? Can Stockholm syndrome really set in after a couple of hours? Particularly as McCallum's character is pretty charmless, even as he thumps home his message that he is sacrificing all to get Bill Kerr back to Michigan.

And secondly, this is supposed to be a houseboat, yet appears to be the size of a decent suburban villa in Metroland. And furnished in more or less the same fashion. Three cabins and a spare one in case hostage-takers drop in. A giant living room containing the only grand piano ever on a Thames houseboat. And a galley that could host a cookery programme, complete with camera crew and audience. All with 15 foot high ceilings. This isn't a houseboat, it's a superyacht.

Like many of the other reviewers, I was totally captivated by this when I first watched it at the age of 9. I remember being very in awe of this young lad who could actually drive a car.

Through adult eyes, it's not quite the masterpiece of memory. Six and a half hours is an awfully long time given that very little happens in most of the episodes, except that we move on gradually from Devon to Edinburgh via the Lake District. One or two glaring coincidences help keep John and Susan on Tom's trail, and for the rest, they just are just able to follow on, even in the days when the M5 didn't stretch as far down as Devon.

Susan is everything we remember - pretty, brilliant, practical, sympathetic, pretty, uncomplaining, a sexy Scottish accent, and most of all, pretty. John is a whiny young man who could give the Pacific Ocean lessons in wetness. It isn't hard to guess which of the two would go on to a stellar career, and which, er, wouldn't.

My strongest memories were of Hilary Minster as the sinister motorcyclist, whose regular appearances were usually the cue for the cliffhanger and the end credits. While the first few episodes have the same structure every time - J & S shake off Hilary, follow Tom and the gang to a new town, only to encounter Hilary again - the programme loses momentum once Hilary is written out. It's not obvious why he is so effective - he has very few lines - but he really was scary at the time.

Occasionally, Outward Bound people would turn up to give us all stern warnings about wearing seat belts or not going canoeing without proper preparation. We could do without them. There is also a lot of library footage of the Edinburgh Tattoo, which serves to remind us why we were so bored with the Tattoo when it used to be live on the television.

The grown-ups tend to repeat themselves as well - Brian Peck teases Glyn Houston, who returns impassive looks into the middle distance, looking like a rubberised Easter Island statue in a loud jacket. Peter Copley is rather wasted on the last couple of episodes. At the end, everyone gives in rather easily.

But it is great fun to remember watching it first time round. It really did stick in the mind, and it gave us Jan Francis, after all.

A very poor outing. Extremely static camerawork and pedestrian editing, largely filmed in a single building that seems to be both the Unicorn's bolthole and Steed's headquarters. Unexplained incidents, such as the car chase at the beginning and the attempted assassination of the Minister, lead up to the main stand-off, which is then dragged out forever. A roster of French TV actors struggles with the English dialogue. Purdey wears the same (rather silly) outfit two days running, so she would probably be a bit whiffy by the end of it. Fortunately she has changed her clothes for the final scene. Car chases soak up footage, and one suspects an exploding car soaked up most of the budget. It's a mess, and the reviewer who suggested it might just pass muster as a plot for the Protectors is spot on.

This is the greatest film of the greatest comedy team of all time. However, it is probably not the best place to start, if you are a Marx newbie and want to see what the fuss is about.

The plot is tenuous - two countries are permanently at the brink of war. It is not fully explained why Margaret Dumont is funding the economy of Freedonia, nor why she thinks Rufus T. Firefly would make a great leader. But she is, and she does, and she insists that he is appointed. Two spies of varying and dubious loyalties, Chicolini and Pinky, are sent by Sylvania to get the dirt on him.

While there is a plot going, there are more delights than can be catalogued. The welcoming ceremony through which Firefly sleeps, and his subsequent dialogue with Mrs Teasdale; Chicolini and Pinky's encounter with a vindictive lemonade vendor; Pinky trying to open a "safe" without making a noise; the cabinet meeting; the final challenge between Firefly and Trentino; three Fireflys running around the Presidential Palace after the plans; Chicolini's trial. And, of course, the piece de resistance, the legendary mirror scene - not the first use of the gag, but the greatest. Possibly the greatest comedy scene of all time.

Why not the place to start? Well, after about 40 minutes, the plot is completely thrown away, war is declared and we have a series of quick-fire sketches and skits that end totally arbitrarily. Nothing wrong with them, but it's likely to be very challenging for someone not used to the purest versions of Marxism. A better place to start would be the great MGM films, more conventional, with bigger budgets and linear plots, yet still with deathless scenes and brilliant lines - A Night at the Opera, A Day at the Races, At the Circus. Take these as gateway drugs to the harder stuff, the uncompromising Paramount pictures, with Duck Soup as the paramount Marx Brothers Paramount.

This is a great film, with a decent plot and wonderful location work, not least in the Battersea Power Station climax, as well as claustrophobic interior work, especially in the Ellis electrical shop.

Whether or not the red menace was ever plausible in this sense, there was enough friction to make it a reasonable starting point for a thriller (it's more likely than an invasion from outer space, surely). I suspect it is only the anti-Communist message that caused the film to be totally neglected; I have never seen this on British television, and only found it on DVD. No other film of this quality and style has been so effectively hidden for so long.

What is really worth emphasising is the brilliance of the cast. I can honestly think of no other British film boasting so many familiar faces - there is a period of about 20 minutes in the middle where every scene produces another well-known actor doing a cameo. The 19 billed players are pretty recognisable, but what other film could additionally include, uncredited, Jean Anderson, Alfie Bass, Harry Fowler, Everley Gregg, Peter Jones, Moultrie Kelsall, Sam Kydd, Harry Locke, Victor Maddern, Dandy Nichols, Marianne Stone and Lockwood West, and those were only the ones I spotted. The IMDb cast list includes several others that I will have to look for on a second viewing.

It is almost unbelievable that this film was made with an amateur cast, very few of whom have a second entry in the IMDb. The lead actor Alberto Fumagalli is tremendous, and the boy Rupo, Antonio Cucciare, has so much talent and charm. Incredible that these two were lost to the industry.

The tale is a retelling of the nativity story through a doubly framed narrative. We begin with what looks like a modern day re-enactment of a medieval religious pilgrimage, that somehow warps into a genuinely medieval world, with a priest and his acolytes leading a group of villagers through the pristine Italian countryside. A star in the sky, that sounds like an aeroplane, invests the event with religious excitement, and the pilgrims become convinced they will find the new Saviour. The parallels with Matthew's gospel then become even stronger, first as they bump into two Eastern princes, complete with camels and elephants, also following the star, and then as they find a new Herod, concerned that his authority is being usurped and suspicious of the travellers. Suddenly the pilgrims seem to be part of the events already narrated in the Bible they have been carrying around with them.

The priest is eloquent and devout, but lacks courage. He leads the procession across rivers and mountains, but his doubts about whether a bridge might be safe to cross portend a far more serious test for his faith. The ending is tragic yet ambiguous.

The film is long, but doesn't outstay its welcome. The camera observes unobtrusively, with little flashes of gentle humour, capturing a world that is simultaneously alien and a foundation of modern European civilisation. Great events are hinted at, but humanity, in all its imperfections, always shines through.

This was a very lightweight comedy detective series, where a pair of glamorous but grounded, impossibly pleasant, middle-aged creative types sailed through life and the picturesque parts of Yorkshire solving mysteries. Julia Foster was artist Amy, realistic, understanding, unthreatening but sexy, with a hairstyle that appeared to be armour plated, often seen in sophisticated Janet Reger undies. John Stride was thriller-writer Rupert, grumpy, perpetually trying to avoid income tax, smooth and witty, acerbic and brilliant.

John Lee, as Rupert's agent, would generally drop in, to provide some comedy and leaven the sweetness and light. He was usually a welcome addition, and made more appearances as the series developed.

They were appealing to a particular demographic, of risk-averse middle aged people who really wanted to swan around being wonderful. Even their car, a Triumph TR7, was British Leyland's latest attempt to woo the aspiring driver. The show only managed a series, so perhaps that demographic wasn't so well-populated.

It was a light-hearted piece of entertaining froth, fun to watch, but no more memorable than candy floss, as comfortable as a pair of old slippers (with the exception of an oddly downbeat final episode, which may possibly have hinted at new directions in the future, and possibly dissatisfaction with the current).

Rather like The Beiderbecke Affair, it probably needs you to want to be these people to enjoy it to the max. But really, it made The Beiderbecke Affair seem like Strindberg.

I doubt whether Sherlock Holmes lost much sleep about this rival. Shame about this series - with such a depth of source material in Victorian detective stories, it really should not have run out of steam in its second series. This is a pretty duff encounter, confusing and unsatisfactory. It begins with a dramatic flash-forward, for no good reason at all. Valmont then kicks off in charming style, solving a little mystery for absent-minded Lord Semptam. He is then presented with a forgery case by baffled Scotland Yard. He not only solves this, with barely any detection at all, but he also homes in on another case, although it is not obvious what crime has been committed, or even if it is a crime. Few characters, apart from undercover man Podgers, catch the eye. How Valmont is progressing is never clear, except he says gnomic things that imply that he knows what is going on, even if Scotland Yard doesn't. It is hard to care who did what. The conclusion is disappointing to say the least. Underwhelming all round. Sherlock is safe, if this is the best the competition can do.

A rather tedious parable of greed, with the man himself rather peripheral to the action - Jason's purring self-satisfaction is hardly compatible with the desperate desire for money or gold. It is drawn out over two episodes, either to get the maximum use out of location filming in Paris, or with an eye to cutting into a feature film. Either way, it's hardly Jason King at its best, though not at its worst either. There are compensations - Jason and his boring friend Mallen have a running battle to see who gets to enjoy the delectable hyper-English pleasures of Madeline Smith, who as ever steals every scene in which she appears. Guess who gets the girl (and a couple of others at the end). Also, the viewer can enjoy Anton Rodgers as he was never seen before or since.

I'm not sure, but to my ears, the voice of Clinton Greyn (Mallen) is dubbed by Paul Maxwell, or perhaps Shane Rimmer, while that of Leslie French (Deshfield) is dubbed by David Bauer. Can anyone confirm or deny?

What a shame that this is one of the lost episodes of Hancock. However, the soundtrack was recently discovered, and so at least it can be listened to. The script is relatively wordy, and there aren't too many purely visual moments. Broadcast a mere four days after the final episode of Quatermass and the Pit, the Nigel Kneale horror serial that gripped Britain, The Horror Serial spoofs it brilliantly and respectfully. One would probably need to have sat enthralled through Quatermass to understand most of the jokes in this, but what a treat if, like me, you know the serial backwards.

Hancock has just watched the final episode with Sid's mum, and has terrified himself. Back at Railway Cuttings, he and Sid find a mysterious piece of metal in the garden. Hancock thinks its an alien spaceship, millions of years old; Sid thinks it's a piece of an old mangle. A bone is found below it. Scratches are found on the walls of the house next door. Soldiers, led by John le Mesurier, are brought in to see what it might be. Perhaps it's an unexploded bomb, of an unknown type. Hancock now believes that everyone will be possessed by the Martians, but despairs of persuading the unimaginative military mind. "It's Hob's Lane all over again!"

Virtually every key moment of Quatermass has its analogue in Railway Cuttings. Worthy of special mention is the incidental music, presumably by Wally Stott. A shame that we can't see Hancock's facial expressions of terror that no doubt accompanied every dramatic burst.

An absolute corker of an episode, with hissable villains doing dastardly things with the law behind them, Hadleigh up against the wall, crisis upon crisis - and then a delicious twist in the final scene.

With the added pleasure of early run-outs for Donald Sumpter (with lots of hair) and Isla Blair. And in the crown green bowling scene, one or two genuinely good woods by the actors!

The final starring film for Jack Hulbert and Cicely Courtneidge, moving into Will Hay/George Formby territory as inept spies foiling the Nazi war effort.

If you don't like their style of humour, don't watch it; it was a little old-fashioned even when it was made. They are who they are, and moaning about how antiquated 80-year-old comedy is doesn't seem a sensible use of time. But each is near the top of their game.

Courtneidge's masquerade as Carole's maid is a highlight, as is Hulbert's double taking when he spots her. Hulbert's dance to steal back the carburettor is another high point set piece. Of the songs, the best is Cicely's The Empire Depends on You, while drilling a battalion of schoolgirls, and a tour around British accents with an adaptation of Tiger Rag.

A wonderful performance, with hardly any lines, from Glynis Johns, and a blink-and-you-miss-it sighting of Terry-Thomas at the party are welcome additions.

Bilko is faced by a snobbish local socialite, just back from Paris, who turns down the opportunity to be Doberman's mardi gras queen. Well, Doberman has been to Paris too ("what did I see, I was in a Sherman tank?").

For the honour of the platoon, Bilko has to persuade the reluctant gentry that she wants nothing more than Doberman, that short, glistening ("some would call him greasy") Buddha figure.

Bilko at his most brilliant, devious in his sentimental cause. A number of classic scenes, including Doberman being taught how to talk to a girl (Zimmerman in a wig), and, perhaps the highlight, the Doberman calypso.