London Belongs to Me

The quaint, dated elements of old British, black and white, post-war films are just my cup of tea.

Intimate insights into the lives of a disparate group of characters, forced to tolerate each other, is the sort of thing only the British do expertly.

Numerous familiar players all excel in their respective roles with stand-outs being Alistair Sim, Joyce Carey, Fay Compton and Richard Attenborough whose convincing portrayal of a terrified good boy gone wrong is palpable.

Great atmospheric music, photography and narration, along with the acting, make this a priceless gem of a film.

If , like me, you love the plays of Terence Rattigan then "London Belongs to Me" belongs to you too.

A nicely evoked 1930s setting provides much interest for a viewer in the early 21st century; unfortunately, "London Belongs to Me" has little else to recommend it besides lashings of quaint English charm. All of the problems rest with the deeply unfocused story. The main plot concerns the actions of young lad Richard Attenborough, the problems he gets into and how the community in which he lives bands together to save him from society's laws. Or something. The main issue here is that Attenborough's character brings everything upon himself and, quite frankly, is guilty of almost every accusation brought against him, so it's baffling why the film (and all the characters) have so much sympathy for him. He's treated as a victim of circumstance when he really, really isn't; and what's more he isn't shown to have very much remorse for his actions, only caring about getting away with things he didn't mean to do. Alastair Sim gets a lot of screen time in a subplot that has absolutely nothing to do with the main plot line and you wonder what he's doing there (though Sim is, as always, superb). You know there's a problem with the structure when the main plot impacts constantly against the subplot but not vice-versa. And, following a sedate pace and a careful build up, the plot completely falls apart in the last 20 minutes with a deeply unsatisfying and unexplained conclusion which doesn't even show us if Attenborough's character has developed at all from the previous proceedings. The film doesn't end, it just stops.

The acting, direction and the general feel of the film can all be commended but unfortunately the story and structure of the piece jars constantly. A last point of trivia: Alec Guinness based his performance in the vastly superior film "The Ladykillers" on Alastair Sim's performance in this film, right down to both the characters having almost identical first scenes.

This film seems by turn to be a comedy,a drama,a romantic film,and a horror film.There are so many different styles in this film.Likewise the acting,from the restrained Wylie Watson to the wildly over the top Alistair Sim and Hugh Griffiths.You then add in the nightmare suffered by Richard Attenborough whilst awaiting trial,which seems to have been inspired by Dead Of Night.At times this film feels as if it has been written by such diverse talents as Noel Coward and Terence Ratigan.Attenborough as usual plays a bit of a coward and it is really hard to sympathise with his predicament.A really strange film.Although quite long it nevertheless holds the viewer as you don't know what is going to happen next.

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.