Hormonal trainee draughtsman Alan Bates fancies nice-but-dim typist June Ritchie.Er,that's about it really.Formula kitchen sink plot,sub-sub John Osborne/John Braine characters.Sit and watch it in the 3/9d seats whilst stuffing your face with Smith's crisp(watch out for the little blue bag containing salt) and smoking your "Strand".Turn off your brain and put your hand on your girl friend's knee.Well,that's what I did in 1963,but after about 3 minutes screen time I realised I was watching something exceptional.Somehow John Schlesinger had turned this sow's ear into a beautifully observed,moving life-affirming work of art. As an entity this film is so much better than the sum of its parts. The plaintive brass band music adds immeasurably to the atmosphere. June Ritchie is heartbreaking as the naive Ingrid and Alan Bates gives what is arguably his best film performance. The exteriors are well-chosen,the photography elegaic. All the elements for a clichefest are present,but,dammit,it turns into a tour de force.
