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In 1950s London racial hostility to Commonweath immigrants is openly paraded. A pregnant girl, initially assumed to be white, is murdered. As two detectives start to investigate, and ... See full summary »
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This is a 'lost' film which really deserves to be better known. It features excellent performances by Sidney Chaplin, Audrey Dalton, and Peter Hammond in the lead roles. Sidney Chaplin was a very good actor who suffered from the resentment of others at his being the son of Charlie Chaplin, which hurt his career. Being the son of a famous father can occasionally work for you (Michael Douglas, Beau Bridges), but usually works against you. I only met him and chatted to him once, but it was immediately obvious that he was a warm and pleasant fellow. His acting talent seems to me obvious, but it was constantly called into question by carpers and grumblers. He has the lead role in this film, and delivers with authority and skill. The film is set in an ambiguous location: in the script they call the town Teignmouth, which is in Devon, but they are reading a local paper called the 'Surrey Comet', which is 200 miles away. Never mind. It is a cozy little town, and the house is beside a village green, and everything should be idyllic, but it isn't. That's because Sidney comes back after years away in America where an American accent 'kind of brushes off on you'. And then the trouble begins. And what trouble that is. Hence the tension, which gets worse every minute. Audrey Dalton as his sister really is so charming and sweet and genuine, one of those English roses they don't grow any more. The film was directed by Ken Hughes, and was perfectly suited to his abilities. I knew Ken well later on, and although he had a big commercial success as director of 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang', that was an accident, as he was not really a big picture director, he was meant for small and tight stories like 'Confession'. Ken had no head for facts. He was proudest of all at having directed 'Cromwell'. I never had the heart to tell dear Ken that it was all historically inaccurate, and I gave him old engravings of Roundheads to cheer him up. His pride and joy was the gigantic painting by Delvaux that dominated his living room in Hampstead. Ken was no highbrow, but he loved 'higher things'; he was an innocent abroad who never really grew up, and would give a pal the shirt off his back. This film is one of his finest achievements and I am pleased to be able to say so. It should get back into circulation, but then so should real money and silver dollars. If you can find it, don't hesitate.
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