Dulcimer Street

As such, and coming from the pen of a well-to-do gentleman who ran both ITV and BBC-TV during their infancy (Norman Collins, who wrote the novel upon which the film is based), it's more than a little patronizing, though its warmth is sincere.

The film concerns the doings of various denizens of the fictional Dulcimer Street, a once-grand neighborhood now considerably frayed at the sleeve.

"All the characters in this novel are imaginary," Collins wrote. "The London of the title is real enough - that's London all right. But Dulcimer Street and the lives of the people in it, like the other lives which cross with theirs, are all fictitious. And so are the various Funlands, cafés, Sprititualist Societies, agencies, hospitals and institutions, with which the story deals." The story concerns the true urban dwellers, Collin informs us: "plenty of real Londoners who sleep the night in London as well as work the day there - some in love, some in debt, some committing murders, some adultery, some trying to get on in the world, some looking forward to a pension, some getting drunk, and some holding up a new baby. This is about a few of them." At the center of the hubbub is a retired gentleman, pensioned off to get "a pound a week for doing nothing," his long-suffering wife who pines for a suburban cottage, and their attractive daughter of marriageable age. The young lady has two suitors, one Percy Boon (Attenborough), a young man of flexible morals (we know he is an "at-risk" youth from his first frame, as he is shown reading a comic book -- a notorious corrupter of the age), the other a police officer. Aside from the police officer, everyone this little family knows is unsavory; the criminal Attenborough, the con-man Sim, the venal, man-hungry widow Joyce Carey, the tramp St. Helier, and their Uncle Henry (Stephen Murray), a communist agitator.

Collins seems to grant that crime, suffering and unequal justice are the inescapable lot of the less privileged, but Uncle Henry's political buffoonery is there to let us know that radical politics are not his aim.

This environment, and the film's plot primarily concerning Attenborough's slippery slope to criminality, has the seeds of noir, but what springs from those seeds is half domestic drama, half screwball comedy.

It's clear early on that Collins forgives all of his characters for both their willful sins and their hapless mistakes. If you aren't too annoyed by the patronizing noblesse oblige of the author, you'll find yourself having a good time and perhaps, like myself, sufficiently curious about the characters to seek out the novel (five pounds, used, at Amazon.UK)

This odd little comedy/drama from Sidney Gilliat doesn't really hold a lot of water, but does hold a fair amount of charm, as the motley occupants of a London boarding house rally in support of one of their own, a young would-be spiv arrested for murder. As the youth in question Attenborough is pop-eyed, guilt-wracked and hapless, eerily resembling a young Peter Lorre-- we feel sorry for him, though we may not empathize much. But the film's emotional shadings come from the older actors like Wylie Watson, Fay Compton, and Joyce Carey (no, not the novelist), who stand by the boy simply because they know it's the right thing to do.

The plot's barely there, but there's a lovely eccentric atmosphere to it all, and also a juicy supporting bit for the great Alastair Sim. Hilariously morose, with a strange and seedy profession, his Mr. Squales would provide inspiration some seven years later for Alec Guinness's great turn in The Ladykillers, down to the overbite and the lank, terrible hair. Sim was a few years away yet from being the UK's most popular film star; he was the weirdest and most watchable of screen idols. He walks away with the film.

Good but not great story of group of characters living in a London boarding house in 1938. The story begins well and then starts to meander all over the place with the ending so weird that it borders on the surreal. Standout performances by Alastair Sim, right around the time of A Christmas CAROL, and Faye Compton as the widow he entrances. Hugh Griffith pops in late in the film to chew the scenery and bring a few chuckles. The cinematography is good and a nightmare sequence reminds one of DEAD OF NIGHT. There is a warmth about the film, one that was made in 1948 and looks back at London ten years earlier, that should appeal to all Londoners as well as Anglophiles around the world. A good film for a rainy afternoon with a"cuppa" and a scone.

Richard Attenborough leads a somewhat disjointed cast in this rather lengthy drama. He is "Percy", a rather impressionable young man who lives with his beloved mother (Gladys Henson) in a boarding house amidst a host of interesting lodgers. Sadly for him, he is soon mixed up with the wrong sort - some small time hoodlums - and becomes a murder suspect. I suppose the house to be a metaphor for the broader United Kingdom following the end of WWII - a collection of the aspirational, the optimistic, and the resigned - but there are too many characters for us to keep tabs on, and though the efforts from Alastair Sim as the Dickensianly titled "Mr. Squales"; Stephen Murray, the lovely Fay Compton ("Mrs. Josser") and a superb series of scenes, rather late in the day, from Hugh Griffith all stand up fine on their own, the film as a combination piece is pretty much all over the place. Attenborough tries hard, and at times he does fire on all cylinders, but he isn't quite good enough to pull all the strands together, nor is the Sidney Gilliat direction/screenplay, so it can come across as just a little too much of an episodic compendium of loosely connected stories rather than a cohesive feature. Still, it does provide us with quite an interesting observation of post war London and of a way of communal life now (mercifully) long gone for most of us.

A brilliant performance from Wylie Watson,with fine back-up from Alistar Sim and Faye Compton. The only downside to the film is the poker faced performances from Dickie boy and the other younger actors.Wylie Watson should have been knighted for his services in bringing tears to a glass eye.