George Moore O'Ferrall, the director of this film came to it straight off The Holly And The Ivy, arguable the finest 'christmas' film in the history of cinema - and, no, I have not forgotten the original Miracle on 34th Street - and so I was predisposed to look favourably on anything else he worked on. Alas, for reasons best known to himself and/or his bank manager, he opted for one of Graham Greene's doom- fests in which Catholic guilt rears its ugly head as soon after the opening credits as is feasibile and an angst-filled time is had by all. This time around it is Trevor Howard who totes the burden as an English policeman on the lookout for diamond smugglers in Freetown, Sierra Leone, circa 1942. Unhappily married to Elizabeth Allen but unable to scare up the passage money to send her to where she yearns to go he, 1) succumbs to the blandishments of the corrupt and amoral Gerard Oury and 2) the all-but-virginal charms of Maria Schell, thus landing himself with enough guilt for both Catholics and Jews. Howard is, as always, outstanding as is the support which, apart from those already cited, includes George Colouris and Denholm Eliot. Clearly it's not easy being Greene.
Review of The Heart of the Matter
