Cinema
VALUE FOR MONEY. (GRUMOIli.)---WE'RE No ANGELS. (Plaza.) Value for Money is very nearly an excellent comedy. Its hero is a Yorkshire rag merchant who has just inherited his father's business as well as his extremely mean and narrow out- look. Persuaded to come to London for the Cup Final, he becomes enamoured of a gold- digging chorus girl, and this leads to a great many complications which eventually turn him into a new man. John Gregson manages to make this somewhat unattractive character completely sympathetic, his agonised battles over bills, his scenes with waiters, his reluc- tance to tip—all highly unpleasant manifesta- tions in real life—becoming invested with a curious charm under the spell of his person- ality. Diana Dors, whose outré appearance always places her acting ability at a disadvan- tage, is good, as are Susan Stephen, Frank Pettingell and Charles Victor. Ernest Thesiger as a tottering old peer makes all too brief a visit. With some amusing situations and Ken Annikin's directional sense of humour the film starts out briskly, sags, recovers, and finishes in pleasant doldrums. But I do wish that English comedy did not depend so much on knocking things over. The number of people who actually run into hat-stands and flower- vases is comparatively small, yet in nearly all our comedies, whether on stage or screen, one out of every five encounters, and is defeated by, some inanimate object.
To those who have seen My Three Angels at the Lyric, We're No Angels will not bring to light any extra subtleties. It is, in fact, a faithful reproduction of Albert Husson's play and has its same qualities and defects : a very slow start in which the characters at Cayenne in 1895, an impractical storekeeper, his wife, his lovesick daughter, and three convicts escaped from Devil's Island establish their identities; a build-up oozing with Christmas sentimentalities; and a climax of pleasing amorality. As in the play, one becomes un- willingly seduced by the charms of the im- plausible villains, two murderers and a forger, who find it in their hearts to help the good and destroy the wicked, practising their rusted arts to this end like warmly whimsical Dr. Crippens. Humphrey Bogart, Peter Ustinov and Aldo Ray are the criminals who mix the slush and sharpness into an appetising sauce, Mr. Ustinov in particular spicing his share with an extremely funny .performance. The solids are provided by Joan Bennett, Leo G. Carroll, Basil Rathbone and Gloria Talbott. All are good cooks and the cloud-cuckoo meal is neatly served by Michael Curtiz.
VIRGINIA GRAHAM
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