London Belongs to Me

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.

Having achieved success in 'Brighton Rock', Dickie Attenborough now carved out a career for himself as a bland English actor with the aid of John Mills. I'm not sure what exactly audiences saw in what he brought to the screen but he certainly didn't have cross over appeal.

Richard Attenborough leads a somewhat disjointed cast in this rather lengthy drama. He is "Percy", a rather impressionable young man who lives with his beloved mother (Gladys Henson) in a boarding house amidst a host of interesting lodgers. Sadly for him, he is soon mixed up with the wrong sort - some small time hoodlums - and becomes a murder suspect. I suppose the house to be a metaphor for the broader United Kingdom following the end of WWII - a collection of the aspirational, the optimistic, and the resigned - but there are too many characters for us to keep tabs on, and though the efforts from Alastair Sim as the Dickensianly titled "Mr. Squales"; Stephen Murray, the lovely Fay Compton ("Mrs. Josser") and a superb series of scenes, rather late in the day, from Hugh Griffith all stand up fine on their own, the film as a combination piece is pretty much all over the place. Attenborough tries hard, and at times he does fire on all cylinders, but he isn't quite good enough to pull all the strands together, nor is the Sidney Gilliat direction/screenplay, so it can come across as just a little too much of an episodic compendium of loosely connected stories rather than a cohesive feature. Still, it does provide us with quite an interesting observation of post war London and of a way of communal life now (mercifully) long gone for most of us.

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.

It's all about a house and its tenants of very variable kinds, the last one moving in being a confused spiritualist somehow falling out of everything (Alastair Sim in an unforgettable character, later copied by Alec Guinness in "Ladykillers"), while the main character is Richard Attenborough as a young irresponsible luck-seeker without any luck, courting the daughter of the house while his former mistress won't leave him alone, which leads to the tragedy. The house becomes a web of intrigue and complications, the different destinies interlacing each other, leading to confusions and further tragedies - Alastair Sim is really the unluckiest of them all. A fabulous gallery of colorful actors, Stephen Murray and a young Hugh Griffith making a surprise entrance towards the end is just two of them, the idyll develops into a spectacular drama finally involving all London. It's a wonderful story with great warmth and empathy with its characters, almost like a documentary. Unfortunately I haven't read the novel, which should be even better. This is a must see for grass-root people, environmentalists, humanitarians and all defenders of the small people of narrow circumstances and humble conditions, making out the great majority of the ordinary harmless core of humanity.