Twilight Women

This film apparently has the distinction of being the first film to get the new X certificate.Was it I wondered the sight of a dubbed Laurence Harvey singing?The film betrays its stage origins and there is very little attempt to open out the film.It has a rather pre war feel about it.The music is certainly old fashioned as are some of the performances.Was illegitimacy such a problem in 1952.Bear in mind the effects of the war.Difficult to believe that having a baby out of wedlock was so stigmatised in those days.Dora Bryan stands out with her bright performance ,which is exactly what this grim film needed.Frieda Jackson gives it her all as the Landlady/baby farmer.Not likely to find much of an audience today,Indeed I think that this has not been shown here on TV.

Creaky British drama set in a boarding house for single mothers that takes its time to get going, but builds up quite a head of steam in its' final act thanks to a wonderfully sinister performance from Freda Jackson as the outwardly benign head of a baby selling racket.

Other than for the presence of Laurence Harvey in a supporting role, Twilight Women would be long forgotten today. Some interesting performances characterize this film about a topic that would be seldom mentioned on the Code driven American cinema.

The topic is unwed mothers and Freda Jackson's home for them in London. An outwardly charitable woman, Jackson is quite ruthless and a touch mad as her only interest is getting control of the infants and selling them on the black market. And of course staying way below the radar of law enforcement and social welfare.

Harvey is the criminal father of Rene Ray's baby and is scheduled to hang for a murder which he does. Ray's struggle to survive against Jackson is what drives the film. Jackson however gets the kudos, you will not soon forget that woman. It's what gives this rather cheap production the reason to see it.

Oddball British import, circa 1953. I'm not sure where this tricky flick would be shown in 1950's USA as it apparently was (Lippert Distributers). After all, it's about unwed mothers getting sanctuary in a run-down apartment run by a sinister landlady (Jackson). The whole topic of pregnancy was a touchy one in an age when not even Lucille Ball could say the word "pregnant" on TV's I Love Lucy. Still, the topic is soft-balled in the movie, such that the more pejorative aspects of unwed motherhood are elided, which may have made it more acceptable to US audiences.

Anyway, the narrative mainly occupies interactions between the women, with men hardly seen at all, including future star Harvey who gets only brief screentime. Then too, there's no attempt to glamorize or even prettify the girls. The plot itself develops into a growing bond between wounded-soul Vivianne (Ray) and kindly lady-like Christine (Maxwell). It's Ray's various shades of inner suffering that carry the drama, which she does quite well. At the same time, I couldn't help noticing how much the film resembles a women's prison flick with Nellie (Jackson) as the slyly cruel warden and the girls struggling to just get by. In fact, the crafty Nellie only houses the desperate girls in grim conditions so she can sell their wedlock babies. Oh my.

On the whole, it's a well-acted 90-minutes on a touchy subject that refuses to glamorize in any fashion. Thus, for all its interesting aspects, the movie's probably not a good choice if you're feeling need for uplifting eye-appeal.

When Freda Jackson's boyfriend, Laurence Harvey, is arrested and eventually found guilty of murder, she's left to deal with her pregnancy alone. Tossed out of his quarters, she finds a lodging house where the landlady runs several related rackets, including baby farming.

This movie has the distinction of being the first British film to be awarded an X certificate (no one under 16 admitted). It's quite frank for its era, with the women -- including Renee Ray, Lois Maxwell, and Clare James -- offering a melancholy bunch of losers. Cheaply directed by Gordon Parry, it offers a compassionate script by Anatole de Grunwald. It's depressing and not my cup of tea, but quite good in its own tawdry way.